Page 36 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

I was lost in the steam and sensation when Matt strolled in, as nonchalant as a cat claiming its territory.

Without a word, he twisted the faucet, and water began to gush into the tub—a porcelain basin large enough to swim in.

It dawned on me then that in all my time being dragged around by Matt, I’d never once considered taking a dip.

As the tub filled, Matt busied himself with his teeth-brushing ritual, leaning against the sink with that infuriating ease of his. His gaze was on me—steady, unblinking—and it scorched my skin hotter than any shower could.

“Do you mind?” I shot him a glare through the mist.

He just smirked with that infuriating curl of his lips. “It’s a free country,” he drawled. “I’ll look wherever I damn well please. And right now”—his eyes roamed with shameless appreciation—“this beautiful scenery before me is quite captivating.”

My face flamed hotter than Hades’ summer home. With a huff that would’ve made any self-respecting horse proud, I turned my back to him. “Enjoy the view,” I muttered.

“Nice ass,” came his immediate response.

My glare could’ve stripped paint off walls.

He finished up at the sink and sauntered over to shut off the tap, pouring some kind of essential oil into the steaming water. It smelled like serenity had been bottled and sold to the highest bidder—which in this case was probably Matt himself.

I was contemplating just how nice it would be to soak away my worries when suddenly, Matt’s arms were around me—solid and real and alarmingly bare. He lifted me from the floor as if I weighed no more than air.

“Jesus—what the hell?” I squawked.

“How about a nice soak in the tub together?” His voice was as smooth as silk sheets.

I looked down and sure enough, Matt was as naked as the day he was born. My mouth went dry because damn it all, if he didn’t look like some Greek god carved out of pure sin. But sharing a bath? With him?

The thought sent an entirely different kind of heat spiraling through me.

I’d like to say I put up a fight when Matt scooped me up and placed me in the bathtub like I was some kind of oversized rubber ducky, but truth be told, I didn’t.

Not really. As soon as my body hit the water, a sigh of bliss escaped my lips unbidden.

The temperature was perfect—like the Goldilocks zone of bathwater.

For a brief moment, I entertained the fantasy of luxuriating in this aquatic haven solo, sprawling out with all the grace of a starfish.

But Matt had other plans. He slid into the water behind me, making waves like Neptune storming the shore.

Before I could negotiate personal space boundaries, his arms snaked around me and suddenly, there I was, nestled snugly between his legs with my back pressed against his torso that felt like it was chiseled from marble.

“There’s enough room in here for an Olympic swim team,” I pointed out, trying to wriggle free without appearing too eager to escape his clutches.

“I prefer you right here.” Matt’s voice rumbled through me, and he pulled me tighter against him. “Just relax.”

Relax. Right. Because that’s exactly what you do when you’re sitting in the lap of a billionaire who looks like he bench-presses small cars for fun. But as much as my mind rebelled, my body betrayed me. Muscles uncoiled, tension seeped away, and I found myself sinking deeper into his embrace.

I let my eyelids flutter shut, allowing the sensation of floating to consume me—until Matt’s lips pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. Then my cheek. Then the nape of my neck. Each kiss was like a stamp of ownership, yet somehow gentle, apologetic.

“I’m sorry about Sean,” he murmured into my skin.

The words stung—a reminder that Sean’s blood might as well be on both our hands. “It’s not your fault,” I said quietly, staring at the patterns the water made on the tiled walls. “Sean… he dove headfirst into deep waters.”

I didn’t mention how desperation had driven me to follow Sean into that deal. How James’ unexpected contact with Mia had lit a fire under me to settle our debts before we both ended up drowning in them.

“Things just happened so fast,” I continued, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Matt’s arms tightened fractionally around me, as if he could keep the world at bay just by sheer will—and biceps. For a moment there, cradled in his arms, I almost believed him.

As the warmth of the bathwater seeped into my bones, I found myself drifting—not just through the soothing embrace of the water, but back through time. “You know, Sean isn’t the first person I’ve lost,” I said, the words bubbling to the surface unbidden.

Matt’s arms stilled around me, his breath pausing in a silent question.

I swallowed hard, staring at a droplet making its slow journey down the faucet. “When I was eleven, my parents died in a car crash. We were coming back from a road trip. A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and…” I trailed off, unable to say the collision part—it still hit too close to home.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt murmured, his voice low and steady like the rumble of distant thunder.

“It was a long time ago,” I said, forcing a nonchalance I didn’t feel.

“It took me two years to stitch myself back together after that wreck—two years to just start feeling like a real person again. But even then…” My breath hitched as memories of Miley and Herbert clawed their way up, dark tendrils threatening to choke me with their poisonous touch.

“Life with my aunt and uncle—let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a fairy tale.

” My body shuddered involuntarily at the mere thought of them, as if my skin remembered their touch before my mind did—a cold revulsion mixed with a spike of fear.

To escape that dark alley of memories, I shifted gears with all the grace of a clunker on its last legs. “So, are you giving Ethan a raise just because he’s my friend?” I asked.

Matt chuckled—a sound that rumbled through his chest and into my back like distant thunder. “You think I’m the type to hand out favors like candy?”

I shook my head against his shoulder, sending ripples through the water. “No way. You only give credit where it’s due.”

“Exactly,” Matt confirmed. “Ethan’s one hell of a dealer at the casino. Brings in more high rollers than anyone else.”

I couldn’t help but snort. It wasn’t just Ethan’s dealing skills that drew in the crowds—it was probably his angelic looks and those hands… those hands that could make dice dance and cards sing.

Matt’s arms remained around me, and I found myself sinking a little deeper into their stronghold—just for now, just until the water turned cold.

Silence enveloped us once more, a comforting blanket that muted the chaos of the world beyond the bathroom walls.

The warm water lapped at my skin, a soothing caress that untangled the knots of anxiety in my muscles.

Matt’s presence behind me was a steady anchor, and every so often, his lips would brush against my skin—lazy, leisurely kisses that sent shivers skittering down my spine.

It was ridiculous how much I liked it. It was like a promise whispered in the dark, full of potential and as tantalizing as a sin yet to be committed.

In an impulsive surge of recklessness—or maybe it was just the audacity that grief loaned you—I shifted. With an agility that surprised even myself, I swung a leg over and straddled Matt, my arms looping around his neck like vines seeking sunlight.

Matt’s eyes widened a fraction—a rare crack in his usual facade of unflappable control.

I met his gaze head-on, all challenge and fire. “You know what we should do?” I said, a grin playing at the corners of my mouth.

“What’s that?” Matt asked, the rumble of his voice vibrating through the water.

“We should have sex,” I declared as if suggesting we share a pizza.

He chuckled—a deep sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Pet, you’re grieving. You’re not thinking straight.”

I snorted. “Of course, I’m not straight—I’m as crooked as a politician’s smile.” My humor danced on the edge of recklessness. “And yes, I’m grieving. Hence, grief sex. Can’t you help me forget? Just for tonight?”

Matt’s sigh was one part frustration and two parts reluctant affection. He looked like a man who’d been asked to solve world hunger with a can opener.

“Fine,” I huffed when he didn’t immediately pounce on the offer. “If you won’t have sex with me, then I’ll just have to seduce you.”

With that bold claim hanging in the steamy air, I leaned in and captured his lips with mine. It wasn’t the gentle peck of a bashful first date; it was all Andy Donovan—a full-throttle kiss with enough heat to boil the bathwater.

He leaned back against the bathtub, surrendering control but not quite conceding defeat.

I attacked with a fervor that was half passion, half desperation, my lips moving hungrily against his.

His lips were surprisingly soft for a man carved from stone, and they moved against mine with a mix of hesitation and something that felt suspiciously like hunger.

My hands crept up into his hair—gold-brown strands slipping through my fingers like threads of silk—and pulled him closer.

His taste was intoxicating, a heady mix of mint and something uniquely Matt. I teased his lower lip with my tongue, coaxing, demanding entry. A low groan rumbled from his chest—a sound that shot straight through me like an electric current—and his lips parted just enough for me to slip inside.

I wasted no time. My tongue plunged into his mouth, seeking out his own with an eagerness that bordered on frantic. For a heartbeat, he clamped down, trapping my tongue in a vise of warm, wet pressure. But then he relented, and our tongues intertwined in a passionate dance.