Page 85 of The Hyena’s Guardian

“I will.” Theron’s gaze dropped to where their hands met, then rose over Matt’s chest, his throat, his mouth. “And you. Tell me what you need. Even if you don’t know the words for it yet. Show me.”

Matt’s breath caught. His free hand rose from the water, water streaming from his fingers as they found Theron’s jaw. He traced the line of it, like he was memorizing bone and skin both.

Theron’s eyes fell half-closed, and instead of retreating from the touch, he moved closer into it.

“This,” Matt whispered. “This is what I need.”

He kissed him.

It started soft, a brush, a question. Theron answered by tilting his head and opening his mouth just enough to let Matt find the rhythm. Matt’s hand slid from his jaw into his hair, fingers curling in the damp strands, and Theron made a sound that vibrated through Matt’s chest.

Theron’s hand released Matt’s beneath the water and found his hip instead. His palm pressed flat against the jut of bone, thumb sweeping the hollow where hip met stomach. Matt shivered against him.

“Cold?” Theron murmured against his mouth.

“No.” Matt’s laugh was soft, breathless. “Not cold.”

Theron’s hand slid higher, spanning Matt’s ribs, counting each one with his fingertips. Matt’s skin rose in goosebumps beneath the touch, and Theron watched his own hand move as though he could not quite believe it was real.

“You’re beautiful,” Theron said.

Not flattery. Observation. Like he had just noticed something true about the world.

Matt’s eyes went bright. He kissed Theron again, harder this time, hungrier, and Theron met him there, one arm wrapping around Matt’s waist and pulling him flush against his body beneath the water.

Their bodies brushed through the warm current, and both of them stilled.

Matt pulled back just far enough to look at him.

“Okay?”

Theron’s nod came slow. “Okay.” His voice cracked on the word. “More than okay.”

Matt’s hand slid down Theron’s chest, slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of muscle and every scar his fingers found. He did not ask about the scars. He just traced them, one by one, like he was learning a language written in skin.

Theron’s breathing went ragged. His hands found Matt’s waist, holding him steady, grounding himself in the warm solidity of another body.

“You can touch me,” Matt said. “I want you to.”

Theron’s eyes lifted to his. Something raw passed between them, trust offered and trust accepted.

Theron touched him gently at first, almost reverently, and Matt’s head fell back as a sound escaped his throat, half laugh and half moan.

“That’s—” Matt’s voice broke. “God, that’s—”

Theron watched his face closely, reading every breath, every tremor, every flicker of pleasure and uncertainty.

“Like this?”

“Yeah.” Matt’s hand found Theron’s shoulder, gripping tight. “Yeah, like that.”

Theron’s other hand came up to cup Matt’s jaw, tilting his face back down so their eyes met. “Look at me.”

Matt did. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, his breath coming fast.

“I want you,” Theron said softly. The words came steady, like a truth he had been holding for years. “But only if you want that. Only if you’re sure.”

Matt’s hand slid from Theron’s shoulder to his chest, feeling the heart hammering beneath his palm. “I’m sure.”