Chapter 61
**Matthew’s POV**
The days had blurred into a seamless rhythm, a mix of work, responsibility, and moments stolen with Heizel. Each moment with her felt like a shift in the steady pulse of my life—a quiet yet undeniable reminder that there was something more than the world I had built for myself.
Work kept me busy, with Taylor and I falling into our usual dynamic. While I handled the structured side of things—the office, the meetings, and the bureaucracy—Taylor thrived in the chaos, chasing down leads and managing the shadows we often couldn’t step into.
It had been a week since Taylor moved out of Heizel’s penthouse, leaving the space feeling uniquely hers once again. The atmosphere had softened, the walls no longer holding just the weight of her trauma but also the warmth of her presence. She seemed more at ease now, though there were still moments when the shadows of her past crept in. Her father’s enemy being out of jail loomed over us both, but she carried it quietly, with the kind of strength that made me both proud and concerned.
Most nights, we found solace in each other’s company. Quiet moments that stretched into hours, sometimes filled with laughter and teasing, other times with the simple comfort of shared silence. In the past week, I had learned more about Heizel than I had in all the time I’d known her. Every revelation about her felt like another piece of a puzzle I was eager to complete.
The soft light in the kitchen highlighted Heizel’s focused expression as she stood by the stove, stirring something that smelled heavenly. Her movements were deliberate, precise, as if she were orchestrating a symphony with her utensils. I leaned against the doorway, watching her for a moment before stepping in.
“Need some help?” I asked, my voice teasing.
She glanced at me over her shoulder, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I think I can handle it. But if you’re bored, I suppose I could find something for you to do.”
I smirked, stepping closer to peek at what she was making. “Bored? Never. I’m just concerned that you might be taking this all too seriously.”
“Too seriously?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Matthew, cooking is an art form.”
“And what’s art without a little fun?” I replied, reaching for the small bowl of flour on the counter.
Before she could react, I swiped my fingers through the flour and dabbed a streak across her cheek.
“Matthew!” she gasped, turning to me in mock outrage.
I grinned, stepping back just enough to avoid her swat. “You looked too perfect standing there. Had to fix it.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Oh, you’re going to regret that.”
Before I could move, she dipped her own fingers into the flour and lunged at me, smearing it across my jawline.
“Touché,” I said, laughing as I reached for more flour. “But two can play at this game.”
The next few seconds were chaos. Flour flew through the air as we chased each other around the kitchen, laughing like kids. Heizel managed to smear some on my nose, and I retaliated by brushing a streak onto her forehead. By the time we stopped, the kitchen was a mess, and we were both covered in a fine layer of white powder.
She leaned against the counter, catching her breath, her laughter fading into a soft chuckle. “This is the most fun I’ve had in the kitchen in... well, ever.”
I stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face, leaving another streak of flour in its wake. “You’re welcome.”
The kitchen was alive with laughter and chaos as we hurled flour at each other, dodging and weaving like children in a food fight. Heizel’s laughter was infectious, her cheeks glowing and her hair dusted with white streaks. She was breathtaking, even when she was an absolute mess.
“Truce?” she asked, breathless, holding up her hands in surrender as she backed against the counter.
I grinned, stepping closer. “Truce—for now.”
But as I reached out to swipe a streak of flour from her forehead, she smirked, and before I knew it, she flicked a handful of flour at my chest.
“Alright, that’s it,” I said, grabbing her waist and lifting her effortlessly onto the counter.
She gasped, her hands bracing against my shoulders. “Matthew!”
“You asked for it,” I murmured, pinning her in place as I leaned closer.
The energy shifted in an instant. The laughter faded, replaced by something heavier, hotter. Her breath hitched as my hands slid from her waist to her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. The flour on her skin seemed to glow in the warm light, and her eyes locked onto mine, dark with anticipation.
“You’ve got a little something right here,” I said softly, brushing my thumb against her cheek where a streak of flour lingered.
Her lips curled into a faint smile. “You’re covered in flour too.”
“Guess we’re both a mess,” I replied, my voice low.
I leaned in, my lips brushing hers in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened as her hands slid up to my neck, pulling me closer. She tasted faintly of the wine we’d had earlier, sweet and intoxicating, and I couldn’t get enough.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, anchoring me to her as my hands roamed, slipping under the hem of her dress to find the soft skin of her thighs. She shivered beneath my touch, her fingers tangling in my hair as the kiss grew hungrier.
“Matthew,” she breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. Her voice was soft, laced with need.
“Yes?” I asked, my lips brushing against her neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone.
“We’re making a bigger mess,” she murmured, though her tone was more amused than concerned.
“I don’t care,” I replied, my hands tightening on her hips as I pulled her closer.
Her breath hitched as my fingers traced slow circles on her thighs, inching higher, teasing. “Do you ever stop being so in control?” she teased, though her voice was shaky.
“For you?” I murmured, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Not a chance.”
Her laugh turned into a gasp as I pressed against her, my hands exploring every inch of skin they could reach. Her body responded to mine instinctively, her back arching as she melted into me.
“Matthew,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with urgency.
I paused, my forehead resting against hers as I searched her eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
She shook her head, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
With her permission, I let go of any restraint I had left. My lips claimed hers again, the kiss deep and possessive as my hands slid beneath her dress, tracing the curve of her hips. She moaned softly against my lips, her nails digging into my shoulders as I lifted her higher onto the counter, positioning myself between her legs.
The cool granite beneath her was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between us. Every touch, every kiss, sent a jolt of electricity through my veins. Her skin was soft and warm, her body fitting perfectly against mine as if she were made for me.
“You’re driving me insane,” I murmured against her neck, my voice rough with desire.
“Good,” she replied, her voice breathy.
I couldn’t help but smile, even as I kissed her again, my hands sliding up her back to pull her impossibly closer. The world outside the kitchen didn’t exist anymore. It was just us—our laughter, our chaos, our desire.
Her head tilted back, exposing the curve of her neck, and I took full advantage, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. Her hands slid under my shirt, her touch setting my skin on fire as she pulled me closer.
“Matthew,” she gasped, her voice filled with both urgency and trust.
Hearing her like that—needing me, wanting me—it sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t put into words. My hands slid to her waist, gripping her firmly as I pressed against her, her body molding perfectly to mine.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. The kitchen, the flour, the world beyond these walls—it all faded away, leaving only her, only us, and the fire that burned between us.
I wanted her, all of her. And as her lips met mine once more, I knew I wouldn’t stop until she knew just how much.