Chapter 11 #2
Matty is lying on the couch—my couch, our couch—in the t-shirt I loaned him.
It’s hiked up above his hips, showing off his smooth, toned stomach just above the band of his boxers.
They’re a pair of deep red tight ones that conform to him very well.
He’s got one hand scrunching the shirt over his abs, and the other is cupping his crotch, thumb positioned over a peak in the material.
Is that his dick?
As sexy as he is in the photo, it’s the expression on his face that gets me. His cheeks are stained with blush, lips parted and a little puffy like he’s been kissing someone when I know it’s just from the way he chews them. His eyes are a little wet but not sad—no, they’re tears of frustration.
I want to save it to my phone, make it my damn background, but I don’t know how, and I wouldn’t dare. Not without his permission.
And then I read the caption.
Is it bad I keep hoping he’ll come out and catch me?
See me rubbing myself raw and offer to play with me instead?
His lips felt so good on my neck. I can only imagine what they’d feel like around my cock.
It’s been years since anyone has taken me into their mouth.
What would you do, Lee? How would you make me come if I offered myself up to you? Fuck. I’m too horny for my own good.
Sex hasn’t been on the table for me in a while. Even moments of self pleasure are few and far between.
Right now, my cock is so hard that it hurts. My jeans are stretched uncomfortably tight, and it doesn’t matter that I’ll have to get dressed again in an hour. I flick open the button and shove them down my thighs, shaking them off onto the floor.
A sticky wetness clings to my thigh, and I grip my aching length in a tight fist. Pleasure rolls through me, and I lay down on the pillows, head thrown back and eyes closed.
Matty has crossed my mind in plenty of broad sexual senses. He’s hot, excruciatingly so, and watching him dance and sass me around can be downright erotic.
I’d never considered what it would be like to go beyond deep kisses and heavy petting.
I’m thinking about it now, though.
So is he.
It’s safe to say this is no longer just a crush—I’m in full blown lust with Matty Nichols.
The shower is still running, and it hits me that while I may have been joking, this is Matty’s time to himself. Taking the edge off—especially before he anticipates me invading his space on the couch—makes a whole lot of sense.
I want to see him.
I want to touch him.
I want to kiss him.
Something about Matty acts as a beacon for me—my body seeks him out even when it’s warring with my mind. Half of me wants to twist the bathroom handle, test it and see if any part of him is open to what I’m thinking of doing now, but I have enough control of myself to hold back.
I knock and listen to the water fall. Nerves and something more sensual have turned my insides into a playground, and it crosses my mind belatedly that Matty might not actually hear me at the door without his hearing aids in.
Biting down on my lip, I contemplate backing out. The thought makes me nauseous.
I slip my phone out of my hoodie pocket and navigate to mine and Matty’s text thread. My fingers hover over the keys, contemplating, before I take a breath and send off a quick message.
Me
Open the door, please?
His phone’s vibration is so loud even I hear it buzz from outside the door. The shower curtain rustles, and I’m stuck in a limbo that feels like it lasts an eternity, but in reality is cut short by the sound of the water shutting off.
Heat climbs up my neck until I start to sweat. My breathing grows heavy. My skin feels like it’s being teased by razorblades.
I yank the hoodie off and throw it toward my open bedroom door, and my shirt is soon to follow. The prickling sensation eases away, the heat is less overbearing, but each breath still feels like it’s being forcibly dragged from my lungs.
My phone shows the message read but no reply. I tap it on my thigh and—Oh, right. I took my pants off in the room.
I’m standing here in nothing but a pair of boxers—a wet pair of boxers—with half a hard-on that doesn’t seem likely to go away.
I could run back to the room and grab my pants so I don’t look like I’m trying to proposition him, but I mean … What am I doing?
Before I get a chance to ponder, the bathroom door swings open, and every single thought in my head turns into a blank canvas. Worries, fears, questions—all obliterated by the sight of Matty with his long, damp hair pulled over to one shoulder, still dripping slightly down his very naked torso.
Not just that, but the only thing—the only thing—covering any part of him is the towel knotted just above his hips.
I said something about self control earlier, right?
Wrong.
So wrong.
I swallow around the dryness in my throat, too busy willing my dick not to react to the blatant display of hotness right in front of me to remember to coordinate my mouth and my vocal chords.
“Lee?” Matty’s voice is a whisper, one that brings my wandering gaze to his mouth. I watch it part on a shaky exhale, and then I flick my attention to the wide eyes he watches me with.
“I didn’t think this far ahead,” tumbles from my lips, but Matty’s rise into an amused smile, and I’m not sure I can last another day without tasting it. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”
His shoulders tense, but his cheeks turn a deep shade of red. He huffs out a laugh, and when he catches me following a bead of water down to his waistline, he clears his throat.
“You’re one to talk.” My body feels like it’s on fire from how his eyes trail all of my exposed skin. I wonder if he feels the same. “Did you need the shower?”
“No,” I’m quick to reply, wetting my lips. “I need you.”
There’s no confusion, no apprehension, nothing in his expression or demeanor that says he needs clarity. Like most matters of our attraction, we’re on the same page.
My name falls from his lips again. Lee. Lee. No one has ever called me that before, not without a Mr. in front of it. That’s not how Matty means it.
For him, it’s something intimate.
The same as when “Princess,” comes from my own like it does now. He shudders, but when I step forward, he reaches for me. His hands dig straight into the soft handles at my waist with his head tipped back so our eyes can easily find one another.
“I can’t take it anymore, Matty.” I frame his neck and face with my hands. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”
His fingers tighten on my sides, and when I touch his forehead with mine, his entire body trembles.
“I think I have some idea,” he chuckles softly, voice wobbling. “Lee … please …”
Please.
Please.
I pitch forward, but our mouths don’t quite connect. He’s right there. Holding his breath. Waiting for me to tell him this is okay.
“I don’t want you to get over it.” There’s the barest touch of our lips as I speak, and it makes his eyes flutter—I feel them threaten to close. “Don’t get over me.”
Neither of us can hold back anymore. I pull him forward just as he yanks on my hips, and this is a moment that will be seared in my soul for the whole of eternity.
Our lips crash together, and it’s like two universes becoming one.
I’ve kissed my fair share of girls—have slept with any number of them. It always felt good, like something I want to do again and again. Kissing is one of my favorite parts of being with someone.
Kissing Matty goes beyond anything I’ve ever felt. My chest burns from lack of oxygen, because one sweep of my tongue in his mouth isn’t enough. He tilts his head, gives me more room to work his mouth into a frenzy.
His tongue tangles with mine, a moan vibrating where our lips touch, and I give in to the urge to press my body against his, to get as impossibly close as I can.
Matty whimpers, a desperate sound that only intensifies when my now full blown erection makes contact with his stomach.
He doesn't stumble back or pull away; he pushes in closer. His arms slide around my back, fingers finding perch on my shoulders.
Matty might be lean and on the shorter side, but I don’t know that I’d call him small. Against me, he feels every bit the powerful dancer I know he is.
I glide a finger down his spine, intoxicated by the way he shivers from the touch and arches closer to me. We're skin to skin, his warm and soft from the shower, mine chilled with little raised bumps.
He breaks away to catch his breath in the crook of my neck, his hips rocking as I rub along his waist.
“I've lost my mind,” he mumbles, and I'm not sure I was supposed to hear it. “The steam and horniness got to me, and now I'm having a sexy fever dream.”
I snort out a laugh against the top of his head, squeezing him to me until he makes a tiny gasp.
“What would we do next in this fever dream of yours?”
He moans into my skin, nails digging crescents into my shoulder blades.
“Don't tease me, Elias.”
I thread my fingers into his hair and tug on it lightly until he looks up, just barely pulling back so I can see his damp eyes.
“Hey now.” I let his hair sift through my fingers. “I know you feel how excited you make me.”
The ever present blush on his cheeks intensifies, and then he's hiding in my neck again.
“I wish you could feel me,” he says in a rush, followed by an almost pained whine. “How hot and hard and wet I am just—”
He jolts away, panting so hard his entire frame rattles with it. “We should stop. Before we cross a line we can't uncross.”
I want to reach for him, to reassure him that there isn't a line imaginable I’d regret crossing with him, but I know at least part of that is my libido talking.
“Pick the line,” I find myself saying. “Tell me where you want this to end, and that's as far as I'll let us go.”
He shakes his head, but he has to grab onto the counter behind him to hold himself up.
“That's the problem. I don't have one. I’d do anything you wanted, anything you’d ask, if it got you to kiss me again.”
Semantics. We both want the same thing.
“All you have to do is say it.” I look him straight in the eyes and rest my hand experimentally on his hip. “Ask. Demand. I don't care.”
“Elias Lee.”
I love it when he says my entire name. It makes me want to drop to my knees and give every single piece of myself over to him.
“I have never needed to be touched so badly in my life,” he grumbles, another little bit that was more for him than me, but it still makes me smile.
“Tell me what to do for you, Princess.”
Matty shudders at the nickname and throws his head back.
Fuck me, he's so goddamn attractive.
“Pick me up,” he finally says, breaths uneven as his own arousal wins out. “Put me on the counter.”
I bend a bit to clasp my hands onto his thighs below the edge of the towel and hoist him up. As soon as his ass hits the counter top, his arms fly around my neck, putting a steady pressure that gives away his next command.
His eyes search mine, a little bit wild, a little bit guarded, and I move my hands to his waist to stroke softly. He tilts his head back, inching me down further until his nose bumps mine.
Matty is the one to smile this time.
“Kiss me, Lee.”