Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
MATTHIEU
If the click of Kieran’s key in the lock didn’t give him away, the stomping feet and the crash of his duffel on the hardwood certainly did. Kieran arrived everywhere like a storm—a flurry of bags, shoes, and coats discarded as fast and loud as possible.
He’d always been the same. Back at Michigan State, the team had a running joke about it.
No one knew about them romantically, but it wasn’t a secret how close they were—the best of friends.
“Fire and water,” their coach would tease.
Kieran, all power and destructive force. Matthieu, calm and steady like a river.
The corner of Matthieu’s mouth lifted at the irony. Kieran might have been a hurricane on the outside, but inside he was steady as they came. Matthieu was the real mess. The order he maintained was only a disguise, carefully crafted to hide the chaos within.
Kieran was the only reason Matthieu had made it through the last few weeks.
His mother had been discharged shortly after Christmas, only to be readmitted a few short weeks later.
It wasn’t another heart attack, but a murmur serious enough that the doctors kept her under closer watch.
Since then, it had been a constant whirlwind of back-and-forth.
She flipped from doing great to on death’s door and back within a matter of hours.
If Matthieu let himself be bitter, he’d swear she was doing it on purpose—another way to derail his life. He knew that wasn’t fair. He knew thinking that made him a terrible person.
Matthieu tried to visit when he could. With his travel schedule and his need to spend every moment with Kieran when he was home, visits happened less than they should have.
Most days, the guilt still ate at him. But hearing Kieran’s calming voice—in person or over the phone—was enough to settle his anxiety.
Kieran was muttering something, still unaware of Matthieu’s presence.
He’d parked around the corner, partly to surprise Kieran, mostly because it was the first open spot in the neighborhood.
Not that Kieran should be surprised. Spending Christmas together had unlocked something in Matthieu, and the need to keep him at arm’s length had faded.
Matthieu spent most of his downtime at Kieran’s, whether he was there or not.
It was the only way he could sleep lately—enveloped in the scent clinging to Kieran’s sheets.
Something was shifting between them. Sure, they’d promised each other they’d actually try, but now Matthieu was committed.
He wanted them as much as Kieran did, and it no longer scared him.
So he used Kieran’s obliviousness to admire how stunning his boyfriend was.
God, that word made everything in Matthieu’s chest tumble.
If you’d told him a year ago—hell, even six months ago—that he’d be sitting in Kieran’s house thinking words like boyfriend again, he’d have called you crazy. Yet here he was.
Kieran stared at his phone, tapping away with a furrowed brow. His tie hung loose beneath the collar of his shirt, untucked and half-buttoned, like he’d started undressing on the drive home. Kieran’s lack of awareness was astounding. Matthieu could have been a burglar, and he’d be none the wiser.
The ringing of Matthieu’s phone finally snapped Kieran’s attention up. “You’re here.”
Matthieu let out a low chuckle. The look in Kieran’s eyes, seeing Matthieu on the couch like he belonged there, always made the time apart worth it. If they didn’t go days—sometimes a week—without seeing each other, would that same excitement still exist?
“I've been sitting here watching you for the last ten minutes. You were in a world of your own.”
Kieran rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth lifted in that smile he saved just for Matthieu. He bent to line up his shoes by the door—the way Matthieu liked—then grabbed his coat and keys from where he’d tossed them in the madness of arriving.
Matthieu knew this was only for his benefit.
If he weren’t here, those items would’ve stayed where Kieran left them until they were needed again or frantically cleaned up before Matthieu’s next visit.
Warmth pooled in his chest at knowing this about Kieran.
Kieran’s messiness had always driven him wild, yet he’d never tried to change it.
Once the entryway was tidy again, Kieran finally crossed to the couch where Matthieu sat.
He took the paperback from Matthieu’s knee, slid in his bookmark, and set it aside with care.
Then he climbed into Matthieu’s lap, strong hockey thighs bracketing his hips, and pushed Matthieu back into the sofa.
“I love it when you read.” He grinned down at him.
The way they sat, Matthieu had to tilt his head back to meet Kieran’s dark eyes. It never made him feel small. He loved the weight of this man on top of him—six-one and over two hundred pounds, sitting in his lap like Matthieu owned him.
And God, didn’t Kieran own him just as much?
“You just like it when I wear my glasses.”
“They’re unbelievably sexy.”
“I’m glad you find my deteriorating eyesight sexy.”
Kieran slipped the glasses off and set them on the book. He bent low and pulled Matthieu’s earlobe between his teeth. Warm breath on his neck made Matthieu’s hips buck involuntarily, and Kieran chuckled, fully aware of the effect he had.
“I find everything about you sexy.”
Matthieu hummed, turned his head, and caught Kieran’s mouth with his.
Kieran kissed him back—willing, eager, like always.
He kissed with his whole body, a power to it that drove Matthieu feral.
Even when Kieran submitted like this, it wasn’t about weakness.
It was because he knew Matthieu would meet him, push for push.
That they could clash, war with each other.
He knew Matthieu could give him exactly what he needed and never back down.
Kieran moaned softly, and Matthieu deepened the kiss, hands sliding down his sides to grip his hips, guiding them to grind against him.
Matthieu swallowed the moan like he was starving for it.
Kieran’s breathy sounds whenever they kissed lit a fire inside him.
He could never kiss Kieran without wanting more.
His dick seemed to agree—he’d been hard since the moment he heard Kieran crash through the door.
Now Kieran was in his lap, kissing him like salvation, rolling his hips slowly.
Matthieu was at risk of coming from that alone.
He pulled back to mutter, “You’re wearing too many clothes, sweetheart.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“Stand up. I want to watch you strip.”
Kieran obeyed, slipping from his lap and stumbling back in his eagerness, nearly tripping over the coffee table. Blushing, he shoved it aside to give himself more space.
“You want a show, Matty?”
That hadn’t been his intention. But now Kieran stood in front of him, looking slightly disheveled in that navy suit that always drove him wild—and Matthieu realized: yes.
He did want a show. He wanted to watch Kieran peel each layer off slowly, to savor every inch of skin revealed until he stood bare before him.
Then he wanted to ask Kieran for something he’d never asked of anyone before.
The weight of that want left him a little breathless.
“Let me see what’s mine,” Matthieu managed to say.
Kieran obliged. With uncharacteristic care, he removed each layer, placing every piece of his tailored suit over the back of the chair.
Once he was finally naked, Matthieu took a long, assessing look before crooking his finger to beckon him forward.
He spread his knees so Kieran could step between them, then leaned in to press a kiss to a fresh bruise darkening across his thigh.
“Who did this?”
He ran his tongue up the hurt, glancing up at Kieran as he answered.
“Not sure. Caught a puck off the boards.”
Lucky. Matthieu couldn’t promise fairness to the player who’d marked Kieran next time he was on his ice. Things had been softer lately, but Matthieu was still the only one who got to mark Kieran’s gorgeous skin.
Matthieu trailed kisses across his thigh, reveling in the twitch of Kieran’s cock each time his mouth neared, then pulled away. He was patient. Kieran knew if he behaved, Matthieu would give him everything he wanted—everything he needed. He couldn’t deny Kieran a damn thing.
“How was the game?” Matthieu muttered against the inside of his thigh.
Kieran’s grip tightened in his hair. “You’re not seriously asking about hockey right now?” he said, breathless with a laugh.
“I just wanted to know if you were sore,” Matthieu said, drawing back to study his face. He needed to see him clearly before speaking his next words.
“I’m never too sore to be taken apart by you.”
“I thought maybe tonight you’d want to do the fucking.”
Kieran’s jaw dropped. His pupils blew wide. “Really?” he whispered, like he expected Matthieu to laugh it off.
“Mhmm.”
“We never… have you ever?”
“No,” Matthieu admitted, sliding his hands around to grab Kieran’s ass in a punishing grip. “I think it’s time I know what I’ve been missing. Don’t you?”
“We don’t have to. We never have to. I…”
“Kieran, I want you to fuck me.”
That cut Kieran off. He trembled in Matthieu’s grip, shaken by the rawness of that confession.
Kieran had only ever asked to fuck Matthieu once—ten years ago, back when they first got together.
Matthieu had flat-out said no. He’d never been particularly interested.
The idea of giving his body up like that made him feel exposed, vulnerable.
It wasn’t about trust; he trusted Kieran with everything. It wasn’t even nerves. He’d always known that if he gave himself up that way, it would be to his forever person—the last thing he had left to give after already giving away every other part of himself.
“Well, if you’re sure.”