Chapter 22 Kieran
TWENTY-TWO
KIERAN
If only you’d fought for me.
If only you’d fought for me.
If only…
The words pounded in Kieran’s mind like a curse, mocking and merciless.
How had he been so blind? So stupid? If only he’d stopped for one second—just one—to think about how those words would have hit Matthieu, he would’ve known.
Kieran would’ve chased him across the damn continent if it meant Matthieu knew he was the only person who ever mattered. Instead, Kieran had let him go.
Sure, he’d called. Texted. Left voicemails that got no reply.
If he’d truly understood what Matthieu believed—what he felt—Kieran would’ve jumped on the next flight to New Jersey.
He’d have hammered on his door until his knuckles bled.
Instead, he let the years pass—years where Matthieu truly believed Kieran never loved him, that he was disposable.
Just a chapter in Kieran’s story, not the whole damn book.
Now Kieran had to live with that. The pain he’d caused. The time he’d wasted. The distance he’d forced between them like a battering ram. That knowledge might split him in two.
He broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to Matthieu’s, their breaths tangled in the narrow space between them. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “If I’d known what you believed—God, Matty—I never would’ve let you go.”
Matthieu’s jaw twitched beneath Kieran’s hand. His gaze dropped, as if he couldn’t face the weight of Kieran’s grief—or maybe his own. But he didn’t pull back, didn’t move.
Kieran cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of Matthieu’s perfect mouth. “Let me fix this. Let me try.”
Was it even fixable? How could anyone erase years of damage they’d carved into someone else’s heart?
If there was even the slightest chance Matthieu could forgive him, if any road back to them still existed, Kieran would take it.
He’d do whatever it took if Matthieu gave him the faintest sign there was still hope.
“Anything you need, Matty. I’ll do anything you need me to.”
“I need you to take me to bed.” Those eight words weren’t spoken; they were prayed—a plea disguised as a command.
Who was Kieran to deny Matthieu anything?
He gripped Matthieu’s thighs and lifted him easily into his arms. Matthieu melted against him, mouth finding the pulse in Kieran’s neck, lips working over the sensitive skin.
Soft, indecipherable words slipped from his lips—words Kieran couldn’t catch, but felt like heat branding his skin.
Kieran had never been to the apartment before, but Matthieu’s bed was visible through an open doorway at the end of the hall. It only took a few steps, one’s he wouldn’t even remember later, before he was inside. He laid Matthieu down against a tangle of uncharacteristically rumpled sheets.
He tugged the Seattle hoodie over Matthieu’s head slowly and reverently; a quiet ache settled in his chest as it hit the floor.
He wanted to be fucked by Matthieu in that hoodie.
Or better, in his jersey, number twenty-five stretched across his arms as he drove into him, pounding Kieran closer and closer to the edge.
He wanted Matthieu’s skin more, needed it.
Kieran would trade every atom of oxygen in his lungs to taste Matthieu again.
He wanted to trace every ridge of Matthieu’s shallow abs with his tongue, to press sweet, tender kisses into the light dusting of hair on his chest. To suck the soft, dark skin of his nipples until Matthieu was shaking, vibrating with uncontrollable need.
Kieran took his time, dragging his mouth slowly down Matthieu’s body as if searching for salvation in his flesh.
And he was. Matthieu wouldn’t let him continue his worship for long, Kieran knew that.
However, there was something in the way Matthieu looked down at him—soft, open, stripped bare and raw in a way Kieran had never seen.
It made him think that maybe, just for tonight, he would.
Maybe Matthieu would let Kieran be his salvation, too.
“I love you,” Kieran whispered into the soft flesh at Matthieu’s waist.
Matthieu jolted beneath him, a sound, half-gasp, half-moan, torn from his lips.
“I want to show you,” Kieran murmured, steadying him with one hand. “How fiercely I missed you. Every day. Every night. All these years.”
He kissed lower, teasing his tongue beneath the fabric of Matthieu’s sweats, then back up again.
Slow. Torturous. He left no inch of Matthieu untouched.
Unloved. Kieran’s obsession in every brush of his lips.
Matthieu writhed under him, each breath ragged and broken as he begged for more. For anything. Everything.
Kieran was drunk on him, so lost in the haze of desire that when he finally rose to kiss Matthieu, it took no effort at all for Matthieu to flip them.
He moved fast, pinning Kieran to the mattress with a snarl.
Kieran gasped, his thighs falling open. Matthieu ground against him, pressing down almost painfully where Kieran was already aching and trapped inside his shorts.
A fierce, wild look burned in Matthieu’s eyes.
Kieran drank it in, letting it consume him.
He bit Matthieu’s lip, letting himself struggle a little.
He could’ve flipped them back easily if he wanted.
But he didn’t. Wouldn’t. He loved this, loved giving in, loved letting Matthieu take control. Loved being his, being owned by him.
“I need you,” Kieran whimpered.
Matthieu let out a dark, delicious chuckle. It rumbled up from his chest in a practically feral growl.
“Are you going to be good for me, Kieran?” he purred, voice curling like smoke. He sank his teeth into Kieran’s pec, right above his heart, hard enough to draw a cry from his lips. “Or do you need me to remind you who’s in charge?”
Kieran shuddered beneath him, every nerve on fire. “Remind me, please.”
“You’re so pretty when you beg,” Matthieu said softly.
His fingertips danced over Kieran’s ribs, and Kieran arched into him, breath catching as those deft hands tugged his shirt up and over his head.
“You don’t need to beg for me tonight, sweetheart,” Matthieu murmured, pressing a kiss below Kieran’s jaw. “I’m already yours.”
A soundless moan slipped from Kieran’s parted lips as Matthieu’s full weight settled on top of him. Every inch of Matthieu’s lithe body pressed him into the mattress. Holding him. Anchoring him. Surrounding him with a warmth that made Kieran feel like his heart might explode.
Gone was the hopeless ache that had lived there only that morning.
Gone was the wishful longing. The doubt.
The deep, relentless fear that Matthieu would vanish from his life again without warning, just like he had the last time.
In its place bloomed something else entirely: a seed, tiny and fragile, filled with so much fucking promise.
Kieran vowed to nurture that seed. He’d pour hours into its care, shelter it from any storm, and give his heart and soul to helping it grow.
It was hope.
“I’ve always been yours,” Matthieu murmured—a vow.
It struck like a match in dry grass, igniting every inch of Kieran’s skin.
His breath hitched as Matthieu kissed him again, deep and languid, like he had all the time in the world.
Like he was savoring this. Savoring him.
He reached for Matthieu’s waistband, desperate to pull him closer, to feel the hard length of him pressed against his own.
Matthieu caught his wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. “Let me,” he said, low and commanding, “take my time with you.”
Kieran nodded, wide-eyed. Wrecked already.
Matthieu’s mouth traced a hot line down his throat.
His teeth scraped over Kieran’s collarbone, slow enough to tease, hard enough to leave delicious marks on flushed skin.
Kieran arched, desperate for more—anything.
Matthieu only chuckled, shifting down and pinning his hips with the weight of his own.
“Stay still.”
That tone, sharp-edged yet laced with affection, made Kieran’s cock twitch in his shorts.
He whimpered, muscles trembling, caught in a delicious stasis as Matthieu’s lips grazed his chest, taking his time, lavishing attention on each nipple, humming his approval at every gasp Kieran gave him.
He kissed lower, brushing his lips across Kieran’s abs, then knelt between his spread thighs.
One hand finally released Kieran’s wrists to glide down the outside of his leg.
“Keep them there,” Matthieu said firmly, stripping Kieran’s shorts in one fluid motion.
His cock sprang free, already slick and flushed an angry red at the tip. Matthieu’s tongue flicked out to trace his lower lip at the sight. Kieran couldn’t have disobeyed if he tried.
“You’re perfect,” Matthieu murmured, leaning in to lick a slow stripe up Kieran’s cock. Kieran’s hips jerked, helpless against the sensation. “Still,” Matthieu commanded again. “I’m going to make you feel so good, sweetheart.”
Then he did.
His mouth, God, his perfect fucking mouth, was everywhere.
Licking. Sucking. Tongue swirling over the head, teasing the slit.
Taking Kieran inch by inch, so fucking slowly it nearly broke him.
And his fingers, those long, clever fingers, ghosted between Kieran’s thighs, massaging the inside of his leg.
Tracing circles that left him trembling.
One slid back, teasing his desperate hole.
Just the softest brush, not pushing in. Kieran gasped, his whole body taut as a wire.
“Please,” he breathed. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need,” Matthieu said, lifting his mouth to speak, his words heavy with need. “But you’re going to wait. You’ll take everything I give you, and only then will I let you cum. Do you understand?”
Kieran had no words. His entire body was at Matthieu’s mercy, Matthieu’s torture.
“I asked you—” Matthieu pulled his hand away, starting to sit up.