29. Matteo
TWENTY-NINE
MATTEO
I close my eyes, humming against Theo’s chest, every now and then flicking my tongue out to taste the skin I’ll never get enough of.
We’ve been lying here for what feels like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, naked bodies pressed tight. It’s probably only been around twenty minutes, but time has always ceased to matter when I’m with him.
When I saw him on the other side of the door earlier, I just couldn’t help myself. I won’t lie and say I hadn’t grown self-conscious when I didn’t see or hear from him for five days. Fear like I’ve never felt before struck me, but it’s all floated away now, leaving me on a cloud of peaceful oblivion.
My ass is sore from how roughly he treated me, but his sweet gentle touches with the tips of his fingers to the mark he left on me make it fade away.
“When do you have to go?” I ask, nuzzling further into his chest, nearly purring like a cat when he starts running his fingers through my hair.
He shifts, tipping my chin up with his forefinger, a sweet brush of his lips against mine. “Not for a bit. I took the day off work.”
“So, you’re telling me I have you all to myself for the rest of the day?” I question, sitting up so I can crawl on top of him, rubbing every inch of me against his pale freckled skin. “Imagine all the things we can do.”
He smirks. “I’m sure your dirty mind could come up with a few ideas.”
“A few?” I mimic, dragging my teeth along his hard jaw. “ Precioso , I have an infinite number of things I want to do with you, and you have my permission to do whatever you want to me. Everything I do, I want it to be with you.”
I see him flinch lightly at my last sentence, but I choose to ignore it. Not now. Just… I need this. When I said there was no going back, I meant it. Everything besides him doesn’t matter right now. Maybe I’ll feel differently when he leaves and I’m left alone to stew over
my thoughts, but not right now.
“I’m…” He trails off, reaching up to run his finger along my cheek, tipping up so he can follow the path with his lips. “You make me so happy, Matteo.”
I press my forehead against his, breathing in the sweet citrus, mouth hovering over his lips. “You make me happy too.”
“No, baby, I mean it.” His eyes flutter open, unshed tears glimmering in the blue depths, something achingly beautiful shining through them. “You make me feel special.”
I understand completely. With Theo, I don’t just feel special; I feel seen. Like my very existence is validated simply because I can make him smile. The enormity of my passion for him is endless, spanning decades we haven’t spent together and overwhelming anything I might have felt in the time before him.
But there’s so much we need to discuss. So much that we need to?—
“You make me feel like I matter,” he continues, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t want it to go away.”
My thoughts instantly melt in the face of his confession.
Nothing else matters but him.
“So, let’s keep feeling this way,” I tell him, kissing away his tears, lapping at the saltiness so I can remember the moment in time when everything was perfect, committing it to memory to get me through my days. “Let’s keep being happy together.”
He nods, capturing my mouth with a wild intensity I have no choice but to match. He slips his tongue into my mouth, owning another part of me. When his hands start to wander, sensual touches that caress my skin, imprinting himself on me, I can’t help myself.
I break apart from him so I can work my way down his body, nipping every freckle, kissing his beauty marks, showing him just how special he is to me too. He gives me a choked whimper when I lick a stripe from his balls to the head of his cock. He grows hard in an instant, hands migrating to thread into my hair, gently bobbing me up and down his length.
I treat him like precious glass—like a prized possession—like something that only comes by once in a lifetime because that’s what he is.
He’s my once in a lifetime.
He comes down my throat with a whispered ‘ baby ’ on his lips, but I stay exactly where I am. His cock softens after a few minutes, but I don’t move, greedily suckling it until it grows hard.
Again and again, I do this until he’s begging me to stop. Only then do I move back up, giving him the same treatment I did before. I drape myself across his chest as he sips the taste of his cum from my lips. We lie with each other until lunchtime comes around but neither of us are hungry for anything else besides the other. He says he needs to go, but he stays. He says he has things to do, but he kisses me anyway.
We touch and we kiss again and again, prolonging the inevitable. We whisper the most tender words to each other, cloaked in the secrecy of our daylight meeting.
I want you.
I need you.
I can’t be without you.
We hover around the door, still feeling each other, lips so close but never touching. We take from each other the strength he needs to go. His fingers trailing down the mark he left, my hands tracing the freckles on his nose, the air around us charged with sticky tension.
Promises are exchanged in the deep recesses of the setting sun, not a care in the world besides making pacts we intend on keeping. The dying light casts mosaic patterns on our embrace, highlighting the beauty of the moment. I don’t feel anything but the weight of his longing on my shoulders.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
I’ll get away.
I don’t want to go.
But he does with a single kiss to my lips, eyes locked on me as he walks backward out the door, fingers twitching like he wants to come back.
He does.
The frenzy is reignited, hands grip clothing, as our mouths meet, and we settle into infinity. We breathe each other in, everything desperate and wanting and entirely consuming.
When we’ve delayed the inescapable truth that he needs to go, it’s with a smile on my lips because the softly muttered words he speaks before he leaves settle in the deepest parts of me.
You felt so good.
Baby, I can’t help myself.
One more time, please.
There isn’t another time. Not right now, at least. I go through the rest of the evening with his name aching to slip from my lips. We send messages to each other throughout dinner, and I’m almost able to hear the hushed words in my ear. When I head to bed, the sheets smell like him. They smell like sex and passion and want.
It’s almost as if he’s still here with me and that thought carries me to sleep and through until the next time I see him again.
Smiling. Laughing. Kissing.
Trapped happily in the prison we’ve willingly entered.