My Holiday Hook-Up

Chapter 7: Warmth

Matty’s hands framed my face, his thumbs brushing the corners of my mouth like he was memorizing the shape of me. His kisses slowed, deepened, becoming deliberate and consuming. Every press of his lips, every touch, unraveled another tightly wound thread of my restraint.

"Jo," he murmured against my lips, his voice low and gravelly, "you're making it really hard for me to behave right now."

"Who says I want you to behave?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my breath hitching as his hands slid down, resting at the curve of my waist.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise and something else— desire— crossing his face. "Careful, Jo. You’re playing with fire."

"Maybe I like the heat," I whispered, my fingers tightening on his shirt.

That was all it took. His lips were back on mine, hungrier this time, as though my words had struck some match in him. His hand found the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and I felt the hard lines of his body, the strength in his hold. It was intoxicating, dizzying.

He lifted me effortlessly, his movements sure, and the next thing I knew, I was on my back against the soft velvet of the chaise near the corner of the room. The firelight from the hearth cast golden shadows, flickering warmth across his sharp features as he hovered above me.

"You’re dangerous," he said softly, his lips brushing my jaw, then lower, just beneath my ear. Each kiss left a trail of fire in its wake, and my pulse hammered wildly.

"You’re the one who kissed me first," I shot back, though my voice betrayed me with its breathlessness.

"And I’d do it again," he murmured, his lips finding the hollow of my throat. His hands slipped beneath the hem of my sweater, his fingers skimming my skin, rough yet gentle, as if he was afraid to push too far.

My breath hitched, the sensation sending shivers through me. "Matty..."

He stilled, his forehead pressing lightly against mine. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, a mix of raw vulnerability and desire. "Tell me to stop, Jo. If you’re not ready— if this isn’t what you want— just say the word."

But the word never came. Instead, I reached up, tangling my fingers in his hair, pulling him back down to me. His sharp intake of breath was the only sound before our lips crashed together again, the kiss full of need and want and something I wasn’t ready to name yet.

His hand slid along my side, his touch reverent, like he was discovering me inch by inch. My body arched into him, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch. It was impossible to think, to remember why this was a bad idea. All I could focus on was him— his weight, his warmth, the way he seemed to make the whole world disappear.

When his lips left mine, trailing lower, I found myself murmuring his name, over and over, like a prayer I didn’t know I’d memorized. And for the first time in weeks— maybe longer— I felt whole. I felt wanted.

Matty lifted his head, his gaze locking on mine. His hair was mussed, his breathing uneven, but his eyes held a tenderness that stole the breath from my lungs. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft, yet edged with concern.

I nodded, unable to speak, and reached for him again, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile— something I hadn’t expected from him— and it made my heart stutter.

"Good," he said, his tone warm now, teasing. "Because I’m nowhere near done with you."

We stayed like that for what felt like forever— his body covering mine, his lips and hands sending sparks through me, like he was trying to fix the broken pieces Stefan had left behind. And maybe he was.

The fire between us burned brighter, but there was no rush, no urgency to reach an end. It was about the moment— the warmth, the connection, the quiet understanding that this was more than just a distraction from the pain.

And as the night stretched on, his words echoed in my mind, leaving a warmth that chased away the cold for the first time in a long time.