Page 141 of The Hyena’s Guardian

Matt kissed him first, and with almost unbearable care, like he was giving Theron every opportunity to stop this before it became something neither of them could pretend not to feel anymore.

Theron did not pull away.

He stepped into the kiss instead.

The kiss deepened gradually, warmth spreading through the bond with every soft movement of Matt’s mouth against his. Nothing about it felt rushed. After everything beneath the mountain, this felt less like surrendering to desire and more like finally allowing themselves to stop fighting what had already grown between them.

Matt’s hand slid carefully along Theron’s jaw before settling against the back of his neck, grounding him gently beneath the contact.

Theron kissed him back with growing intensity before he could stop himself.

Matt made a quiet sound against his mouth that sent heat spiraling sharply through the bond. The reaction startled both of them.

Matt pulled back just enough to look at him, breath uneven now beneath the steam curling around them. “Okay,” he said softly. “That’s going to become a problem.”

Theron stared at him for one suspended heartbeat before something unfamiliar and dangerously light moved through his chest. Amusement. Real amusement. The kind that crept up without warning and settled somewhere behind his ribs, warm and foreign.

“You continue saying strange things during serious moments.”

Matt smiled. Water streamed down his face, catching in the hollow of his throat. “Yeah, but now you like it.”

The warmth that spread through Theron afterward answered before words could.

It was true.

He did like it. Liked the way Matt’s humor cut through the weight he carried, the way he refused to let the moment grow too heavy. Liked that Matt saw him, all the sharp edges and quiet spaces, and still smiled like that.

Steam curled between them, the shower spray beating against Theron’s shoulders, tracing rivulets down his chest. He had turned the water hot. Almost too hot. The kind of heat that forced his muscles to loosen, that made him feel less like he was braced for something.

Matt’s hand found his jaw again. Slower this time. Deliberate. The calluses on Matt’s palm scraped gently against the stubble there, and Theron’s breath caught without permission.

He did not pull away.

Matt’s thumb traced the line of his cheekbone. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I’m always thinking.”

“I know.” Matt’s eyes held his, warm and brown, darker in the dim light. “That’s why I keep distracting you.”

Theron huffed something that might have been a laugh. Rustier this time, but still there. Still real. “It’s working.”

And this time, when Matt kissed him again, Theron stepped willingly into it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. He pressed forward, meeting Matt’s mouth with an openness that surprised them both. His hand came up, palm flat against the tile beside Matt’s head, caging him in without meaning to. The water cascaded over them both, hot and relentless, plastering Matt’s hair to his forehead.

Matt made a sound against his lips. Low. Pleased. His fingers slid into Theron’s wet hair, tugging gently, and Theron’s spine went liquid.

The kiss deepened. Slower than in the cave. No desperation clawing at the edges. Matt’s tongue traced the seam of his lips, and Theron opened for him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had been doing this for years instead of hours.

Matt’s other hand found his chest beneath the spray. Fingers spread wide over the muscle, palm pressing flat, feeling the rhythm of his heart. Theron knew what he would find, a pulse hammering too fast, a body that could not hide what it felt no matter how still he kept his face.

“You’re shaking,” Matt breathed against his mouth.

Theron stilled. He had not noticed. His hands were steady against the tile, but somewhere deeper, somewhere in the bones, there was a tremor he could not name.

“Not from cold,” Matt added softly. Like he already knew.

Theron’s jaw tightened. The truth sat in his throat, too large to swallow. “I don’t know what to do with this.” The admission came rough, scraped raw. “With you. With any of it.”