Chapter 10 Kieran
TEN
KIERAN
“Who was he?” snarled a familiar figure, silhouetted by the light creeping in through the cracked door. The shadow stepped toward Kieran, who stumbled back, barely catching himself before he hit the floor.
“I asked, who the fuck was that?” The voice came again, now inches away. Kieran hadn’t even realized his eyes had shut.
“I don’t know,” he said, with all the false bravado he could muster, which, truthfully, wasn’t much. “I didn’t get his name.”
“So you were what? Going to fuck him back here? Let him fuck you?”
“We hadn’t decided yet.”
“Were you going to suck his dick?”
“I’d thought about it.”
Matthieu snarled again, stepping in impossibly close and driving Kieran’s back into the wall. One hand came up around his neck, fingertips digging into the space just behind his pulse point. The grip was firm, not quite choking, but enough to hold him in place.
“Then what?” Matthieu’s other hand hit Kieran’s hip, slamming it against the wall with more force than seemed possible.
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“No, you hadn’t.”
Matthieu leaned in, running his tongue up the side of Kieran’s neck. Kieran couldn’t breathe, though it had nothing to do with Matthieu’s grip and everything to do with the way his presence sucked the air from the room.
“You hadn’t thought about what seeing you with him would do to me?” Matthieu growled.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kieran blinked, taken aback. Whatever had come over Matthieu was completely absurd.
Matthieu nuzzled his cheek, rubbing sharp stubble across Kieran’s jaw, nipping along the side of his face. Kieran stayed frozen. His arms hung at his sides, not touching Matthieu, afraid that even the slightest movement might anger him more—or worse, make him leave.
“I thought I was rid of you,” he hissed. “It took me years to stop seeing you when I closed my eyes. To stop aching for you every goddamn minute. Now you’re here, up in my face one minute, chasing attention, and flaunting it with someone else the next.”
Matthieu’s grip tightened. The already-thin air struggled to reach Kieran’s lungs. If he kept this up, Kieran would have bruises tomorrow. The idea of seeing those marks sent a wave of pleasure rippling through him when it should have been fear.
What the hell was he doing?
He should’ve shoved Matthieu away, should’ve been screaming at him to back off. Dragging him out and handing him over to security for assaulting him in one of the backrooms. Instead, Kieran leaned into the hand, taunting Matthieu to seal off his airway completely, maybe even do more.
“You’ll never be rid of me,” Kieran rasped. He was close to passing out.
Matthieu’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring with heat, as his hand finally dropped from Kieran’s neck. He sucked in huge gulps of air, coaxing his burning lungs to expand again. The pain was addictive.
Matthieu’s fingertips traced featherlight up the side of Kieran’s face, his thumb brushing the corner of his lip before disappearing into his hair. “Get on your knees.”
“Fucking make me,” Kieran spat back, though there was no venom in his tone.
It might have been the fierce ache he’d carried since Matthieu reentered his life that brought him to his knees.
Maybe it was the two drinks he’d downed thirty minutes ago in quick succession.
Or maybe it was that now he could breathe again, all the blood in his body was rushing south, making him impossibly hard.
But it wasn’t Matthieu’s barely-there push, just a tap to the shoulder, that made him sink to the floor without protest.
“Still a submissive brat, I see?”
He’d meant it as a taunt, as if Kieran should be ashamed of this part of himself. As if the deep, overwhelming desire to be controlled—dominated—by Matthieu should be something to hide.
Kieran would never tell Matthieu it was only him who brought out this side of him.
Never tell him that watching quiet, anxious Matthieu transform into someone else entirely in bed drove him fucking wild.
There wasn’t a single thing Matthieu could ask of him in that moment that he wouldn’t do.
He’d crawl on his fucking knees. Matthieu just had to say the word.
Matthieu’s hands moved through Kieran’s hair. Gentle, affirming passes, in sharp contrast to the scolding look in his eyes. Kieran felt completely cut open, like every feeling he had for the man standing over him was bleeding out onto the floor.
“Hands behind your back.”
Kieran complied.
Matthieu flicked open his belt buckle, then the button on his dark-washed jeans.
Kieran swallowed the moan threatening to escape as Matthieu pushed them to the floor.
He fought the urge to lean forward and mouth at the bulge beneath Matthieu’s briefs.
He stayed still, fingernails digging into his own skin as he resisted the need to tug Matthieu’s cock free.
Matthieu stood, looking down at Kieran for what felt like hours, before finally tapping a long finger against his lower lip. “Open.”
Gladly. The pathetic creature in Kieran’s chest whimpered, and so he obeyed, watching Matthieu pull himself free.
Matthieu’s dick was long, slim, with a slight upward curve that Kieran knew firsthand hit all the right places effortlessly when buried inside him.
Kieran didn’t usually bottom. He had nothing against it, enjoyed it even, but most men hooking up with a hockey player expected a specific dynamic.
One rejection had been enough to make him stop asking altogether.
With Matthieu, it had never been that way. He’d always known what Kieran needed and given it to him willingly. Kieran knew Matthieu got off on having him beneath him, whimpering as he fucked into him—and he got off watching Matthieu lose every bit of his composure.
Kieran wondered if Matthieu would fuck him here. If he’d let him.
The tap of Matthieu’s cock against Kieran’s lower lip snapped him back to the present. He opened wider, taking the head into his mouth, moaning at the taste—slightly salty, slightly sweet. The headiness of it overwhelmed all his senses.
Keeping his hands behind his back, Kieran leaned forward to run his tongue from the base of Matthieu’s cock to the tip, flicking it over his slit before tracing long, lazy circles around the crown. He took Matthieu into the back of his throat, swallowed around him, then pulled off with a pop.
Matthieu let out a deep, throaty groan and tightened his grip on Kieran’s hair, almost to the point of bruising, but it only spurred Kieran on.
He buried his face in Matthieu’s neatly trimmed pubes, breathing in his scent.
He lapped at his balls. He nuzzled into the base of his cock.
He nipped at the sensitive flesh where Matthieu’s groin met his hip.
He took him back into his mouth, lost in the moans and whispered curses spilling from Matthieu’s lips. Kieran felt powerful. Anchored. So fucking turned on. Reducing Matthieu to nothing but rambles and pleas from his knees made him feel invincible.
“That mouth,” Matthieu managed. Kieran glanced up through his lashes, and the look on Matthieu’s face was enough to undo him. “Your lips are so much prettier wrapped around my dick than when you’re running your mouth.”
Calloused fingers ran down Kieran’s face, stroking his cheek with tenderness that clashed with the wild look in Matthieu’s eyes.
Kieran knew that look. Matthieu had given him a similar one moments before pinning him to the wall by the neck.
The jolt of fear made Kieran’s dick throb painfully, desperate for friction—admittedly a strange reaction.
Even the slightest contact would send him barreling over the edge.
Kieran saw the moment Matthieu’s buttoned-up control snapped.
The shallow, rhythmic thrusts into his mouth quickened. His cock slid deeper with every roll of his hips. Kieran tried to keep up, but the brutal pace made him splutter and gag. He tried to pull back for air, but his head thudded into the wall as Matthieu drove into his throat.
Kieran scrambled, yanking his hands from behind his back and pressing his palms to Matthieu’s thighs. He meant to push him off, but his traitorous fingers curled into Matthieu’s pants, spurring him on.
“No, no, no, stop,” Kieran tried to say, but the words came out garbled, barely audible over the screaming in his head.
What a way to go, Kieran thought, trying to gasp for air, but it was useless.
He smacked his palms against Matthieu’s solid thighs as panic overtook him.
He had to breathe. Needed air. He was seconds from biting down when Matthieu gave one final, punishing thrust and came.
Hot, salty cum shot down Kieran’s throat.
Matthieu’s cock slipped from Kieran’s lips as he collapsed to his knees in front of him.
Kieran tried to swallow, but his bruised throat couldn’t manage it.
Cum dribbled down his chin, pooling on his knees as he bent forward, fighting for breath.
It stung. Tears welled in his eyes as he clutched his neck.
“What the fuck, Matty!” he croaked. Each word felt like a dagger tearing up his throat.
Matthieu hooked a finger under Kieran’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Leave me the fuck alone next time.” He didn’t even sound like himself. “Don’t push me again, Kieran.”
Kieran closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. He couldn’t look at Matthieu. He focused on slow, steady breaths. On the ache of his bizarrely still-hard cock. On the sound of Matthieu’s footsteps fading as he left him alone in the dark.