The first hints of dawn bled through the gaps in the curtains, painting the bedroom in soft amber. The air carried the lingering scent of Bambi's vanilla perfume, now mingled with the earthy musk of sleep and the faint metallic tang of last night's tension. Mateo shifted beneath the tangled sheets, his broad shoulders rolling as consciousness pulled him from the depths of rest. His lashes fluttered open, and there she was—Bambi, perched on the edge of the mattress beside him, her fingers worrying the frayed hem of the blanket. The morning light caught the auburn strands of her hair, turning them to molten copper where they spilled over her bare shoulders. Her nightgown, thin and slightly rumpled, clung to the curves of her body, the fabric doing little to hide the way her nipples had already tightened in the cool air.
She didn't turn when he stirred. Her gaze remained fixed on the window, her hazel eyes distant, as if she were trying to unravel some invisible thread of thought. The muscles in her jaw flexed, a sure sign she was biting back words. Mateo knew that look—the way her brows knit just slightly, the faint crease between them deepening when she was lost in her own head. Last night's argument still hung between them, a ghost neither of them had fully exorcised. He could practically taste the residue of it on his tongue, bitter and sharp. But the way the morning light gilded her skin, the way her breath hitched just a little when he shifted closer—it was impossible to resist.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for her. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of gripping tools and weights, and they brushed against the delicate skin of her forearm with a featherlight touch. The contact was electric. Bambi flinched, her body going rigid, as if his touch had scalded her. For a heartbeat, she didn't move, didn't breathe. Then, like a skittish deer sensing danger, she tensed, her shoulders rising toward her ears. Mateo didn't pull away. Instead, his thumb began to trace slow, hypnotic circles over the inside of her wrist, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips.
"Hey, beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, but already laced with that low, velvety tone that never failed to unravel her.
Bambi's breath caught. She didn't answer. Her gaze flicked to where his hand rested against her skin, his fingers dark against her paleness, the contrast stark and intimate. She should pull away. She should. Last night's words still stung—You're overreacting. You always do.—echoing in her skull like a taunt. But then his thumb grazed higher, drifting over the sensitive underside of her arm, and a traitorous shiver raced up her spine. Her traitorous body leaned into the touch, just a fraction, before she could stop herself.
Mateo noticed. Of course he did. A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips as his hand slid upward, his fingers skimming the delicate ridge of her collarbone before settling at the nape of her neck. His touch was possessive now, his thumb pressing into the hollow just beneath her ear, where her pulse jumped wildly. Bambi's eyelids fluttered, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She could feel the heat of him at her back, the solid wall of his chest rising and falling with each breath, the faint scratch of his morning stubble against her temple as he leaned in.
"You're thinking too hard," he breathed, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The hard planes of his body molded to the softness of hers, his erection already thick and insistent against the curve of her ass. Bambi's breath hitched, her thighs pressing together as a familiar, unwanted heat coiled low in her belly. She hated how easily he did this to her—how one touch, one whispered word, could reduce her to a trembling, needy mess.
"Don't," she managed, but the word lacked conviction. Her voice was too breathy, too thin.
Mateo chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that vibrated against her skin. "Don't what, mi amor?" His lips trailed down the side of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive tendon there just enough to make her gasp. "Don't touch you?" His hand slid from her neck, fingers splaying over her sternum before dipping lower, palming the weight of her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Her nipple pebbled beneath his touch, aching, and Bambi bit her lip to stifle a moan. "Don't remind you how good we are together?"
She should stop him. She should. But then his thumb flicked over her hardened peak, and a whimper escaped her before she could swallow it. His other hand slid down her thigh, his fingers inching beneath the hem of her nightgown, tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Higher. Higher. Until his knuckles brushed the damp heat between her legs, and Bambi's hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more.
"Fuck," she breathed, her head falling back against his shoulder.
Mateo groaned, his lips finding the pulse point beneath her jaw. "That's it," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Let go, bebe." His fingers teased her through the soaked fabric of her panties, circling, pressing, but never quite giving her what she craved. Bambi's nails dug into his forearm, her body arching into his touch, her mind a fog of need. The doubts, the arguments—they were still there, lurking at the edges of her consciousness, but they felt distant now, drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears, the slick ache between her thighs.
His teeth sank into the tender flesh of her shoulder, just hard enough to make her cry out, and then his hand was gone—sliding up, gripping her chin, turning her face to his. His dark eyes burned into hers, hungry and possessive. "Tell me you don't want this," he challenged, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. "Tell me, and I'll stop."
Bambi's breath came in ragged gasps. She should tell him. She should push him away, demand answers, make him earn this. But then his mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue sweeping past her lips in a deep, claiming kiss, and all coherent thought dissolved. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, her body melting against his as the last of her resistance crumbled. The doubts were still there, but they didn't matter—not when his hands were on her, not when his touch set her skin on fire.
And when his fingers finally slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, finding her slick and swollen and so ready for him, Bambi couldn't even pretend to care about anything but the way he made her feel.