15. Casey
fifteen
Casey
M att hoisted me onto the cold granite counter before I could process the fizzy pleasure of the one thought that kept playing on repeat in my mind: he hadn’t forgotten my birthday. His mouth crashed against mine with the same reckless energy that made him leap across rocks in the river, all salt and cinnamon toothpaste, and that little growl he made when something made his cock hard. I grabbed two fistfuls of his sleep-rumpled t-shirt, cotton stretching taut over pecs I wanted to bite.
“Showered,” I said against his lips, fingers scrambling under fabric to find hot skin. “Felt icky when I woke at 4 am, and wanted to be clean in case...”
His teeth sank into my bottom lip, swallowing the rest of my sentence. The hoodie I’d stolen from his floor last night felt suffocating, every inch of me hypersensitive where his palms mapped my ribs through thick cotton. I arched into him just as a shiver wracked my spine as his hands slid back under the thick cotton, roaming over my back and chest, until his thumbs circled my nipples like he was tuning a guitar.
“Fuck, your hands,” I groaned, head thunking back against the cabinet. Cold air rushed under my hoodie as he peeled it upward, calluses catching on the ribbed hem of my briefs. “They’re like… god, like you could build a house and wreck me at the same time.”
“You showered and prepped for me to fuck you? I thought you were pissed off at me?” He nipped at my neck, and I blushed, caught.
“Never hurts to be prepared.” He didn’t need to know how sexy he’d looked in bed with me, or how horny waking next to him had made me.
Matt huffed a laugh into the hollow of my throat. “Says the brat who’s still wearing clothes.” He pushed my hoodie up and over my head, leaving me in just a pair of skimpy red briefs.
He tugged at the waistband. “These better be for me.”
“Who else would they be for?” I squealed as he lifted me and spun me around, biting my ass. He set me on my knees on the counter and nipped at the edge of my underwear, tugging it down.
"This cute little ass is a work of art," he said again, and I yelped as he sunk his teeth in, my cock going rock hard.
Spinning and kneeling in front of him on the hard granite, I yanked at his t-shirt, fighting to get it off of him. His chest emerged like a damn Renaissance painting—sun-kissed ridges and the glint of metal piercing his nipple.
He’d planned a party. He’d remembered.
My thumbs found his nipple piercings, twin steel bars that made him jerk against me. I was going to thank him with every inch of my body.
“How could you be secretly a romantic?” I kissed the word into his collarbone. “You’re supposed to be a fucking lumberjack.”
His palm cupped me, stroking my length, blunt pressure that had my hips stuttering. “I was always romantic,” he laughed. “And just because you call me a lumberjack doesn’t make it so.”
I dragged my teeth along the cord of his neck. “Does too. So does all the flannel.” He grabbed my face and kissed me, slashing his lips across mine and thrusting his tongue into my mouth, commanding and forceful.
His pajama pants were halfway down his thighs before I realized he’d untied them one-handed, because of course fucking Matt Blackstone could multitask even while devouring my mouth like a man starved. I hooked my ankles behind his knees, pulling him flush against me, his cock rubbing against mine through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs in the most delicious way.
“Wait.” He braced himself on the counter, chest heaving. “Casey, I need—”
“I know what you need.” I rocked up, relishing the strangled gasp it ripped from him. The evidence of how badly he wanted me pressed against my balls, hot and rock hard. “Same thing I’ve needed since you made me come in that shed.”
With a rough groan, Matt broke our kiss, his exhale ragged against my spit-slick lips. “But you didn’t open your present.”
His cock strained against worn cotton inches from my fingertips, and I skimmed my hands over his erection. “A backpack? We can open that present later. Right now, I want to unwrap this.”
“Nuh-uh.” Matt caught my wrists, sunlight catching on the silver chain he wore around his wrist. “Birthday rules.” His grin turned wolfish as he reached behind the espresso machine, producing an obnoxiously large gift bag stuffed with rainbow tissue paper.
He must have known I couldn’t resist gifts, and he teased the bag over my head as I lunged for it, freeing it from his grasp.
“Happy birthday, brat,” he said, and I grinned big at him as I dug in. The crinkle of paper drowned out his laughter as I excavated treasures—cellophane packs of tortoiseshell guitar picks, a pack of upscale guitar strings, sheet music, and oh god, a jumbo bottle of lube.
“That’s…ambitious.” I dangled a glass butt plug by its heart-shaped base, watching color bloom across Matt’s throat. He shrugged and reached for my bare cock, stroking it, reminding me that I was naked in front of him, and rock hard.
“I want to find every possible way to make you come.” He grinned, looking a little shy. “But there’s more.”
My breath hitched as he reached into a closet and produced a long case wrapped in colorful paper. The shape of it was obvious.
“You got me a guitar?” I shot him a wide-eyed look, and he just shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.
“You’re going to be teaching the kids guitar, right?”
The case was thick and sturdy, bearing the mark of a small bespoke guitar company, which meant he’d spent more than he had any right to. I gasped as I pulled it out, my fingers skimming over the intricate inlay. It had a gorgeous rosewood neck and Sitka spruce body, with a mother-of-pearl fretboard inlaid with blooming cherry branches—pink petals swirling through iridescent white. It was fucking beautiful, and I was crying. Again.
"Matt, this is too much." I stroked my hand over it, blinking back tears.
"I know the guy who makes these, and I asked him about your old guitar. He said it was in rough shape, and the only thing I could think was that you deserve better." Matt scuffed his socked foot against the floorboards. Then he looked up at me and winked. “Figured if you’re gonna write songs about me…”
“About you?” I laughed, pushing playfully at his chest as I set it in my lap and strummed a few chords. Fuck, the sound was beautiful, deep and rich and perfect, and my tears were flowing freely. "I've never had an instrument this lovely."
“Okay, okay, you can use it to write queer rights anthems. Whatever suits you. Either way, the look on your face right now is so worth it.”
I met his eyes for a beat, then gently set the guitar on the counter with a hollow thunk and launched myself at him. Our teeth clacked together, my legs locking around his waist as he staggered back against the fridge. Pine-scented hair filled my fists when I deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of what I was feeling into it. He remembered. He cared.
“Next year,” I panted against his lips. “At least tell my brother instead of trying to make it a total surprise, okay?”
He blew out a shaky breath. “There’ll be a next year?”
"I have birthdays every year, asshole."
He grabbed my ass and hauled me against him, carrying me to the couch. I whimpered, arching up to press my body against his. “Eager little slut,” he rumbled against the back of my neck, as he positioned me on my hands and knees, his hands rough as they skimmed over the dip of my spine, exploring my bare skin, pinning me against him. He let go for a moment and reached for the big bottle he'd bought me.
The plastic cap snapped loud enough to make me flinch, and I knew what was coming I moaned as Matt’s blunt fingers slicked themselves between my cheeks. I'd waited for so long for this, and it was beyond perfect that it was him.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, teasing at my hole. “We could stop and just do something—”
My hand shot back, fumbling for his wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He chuckled—that low, predatory sound that liquified my joints—and pushed a finger into me without warning.
I saw stars.
“Damn, Casey.” Matt’s forearm corded beside my head as he worked the first knuckle deeper. “This needy fucking hole is so tight.”
The stretch burned gloriously, every ridge of his fingers magnified. “F-fuck you—” I choked when he crooked his finger, sparks shooting up my spine. “Finger isn't enough. I need all of you.”
His free hand slid under my chest, palming my nipple through damp cotton. “Ask nicer.”
“Matt.” I rocked backward, impaling myself further. “C’mon, I’m not — oh god — fuck me.” The second finger stung, delicious, and white-hot. His thumb found my perineum, rubbing firm circles that turned my threats into gibberish.
“There we go.” Satisfaction dripped from his voice as I melted into the cushion beneath me, keeping my ass arched up as an offering to him. “Knew you could shut up if—”
“Stretch me.” My nails dug into the couch cushions as I went up on my hands and knees and arched for him. “Do it. Now.”
“Or what?” He reached for a drawer and I shook my head frantically.
“No condom, I’m allergic to latex. I’ve never…”
He stilled. Breath puffed hot against my sweat-slicked shoulders as the hand on my ass tightened, unmistakably possessive, and the fingers inside me stilled. “I’m your first?”
“First in my ass, not first guy,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him. He looked wild, almost feral, and it made me want him more. Which might have been a little unhinged. He curled the fingers inside me, like he was coaxing more information out of me, and I squeaked. “I usually do blow jobs and stuff, you know. Because of the latex allergy.”
“We don’t have to do this, if you’re not ready.” Matt’s voice was steady and calm, even as his third finger slid in with the others, working me open. “I want to keep you safe.”
“We’ll be safe. Do you get… tested?” I was having trouble finding the words. “I do. Need your cum in me.”
“I do get tested,” he murmured, thrusting in and out of my hole now. “And I'm negative. And I really want to stuff myself in this slut hole.”
“Oh fuck!” The cry punched out of me, half pain, mostly triumph. He scissored fast—too fast—stretching me wide around brutal thrusts that I never wanted to stop. “S’good, s’good, just—”
“Just what?” He mouthed the shell of my ear, fingers never slowing. “Use your words, birthday boy.”
Fireworks burst behind my eyelids. Every drag over that sweet spot left me dumber, needier. I barely recognized the wrecked voice spilling from my lips. “Fuck me, please. Want you. Please. Wanna feel your cock—”
Matt’s groan vibrated through my bones. He withdrew abruptly, leaving me clenching around nothing. “Turn over.”
“No.” I reached back blindly, grabbing at his arm. “Like this. Now. Come on—”
Air rushed as he spun me—back hitting the cool leather of the couch, legs forced wide around his hips. Matt loomed over me, pupils blown out. Lube glistened on his cock.
“Still giving orders?” He pressed the blunt head of his cock against my hole, teasing. “Thought you wanted something.”
Every muscle trembled. Pride disintegrated. “Please.” Arching up, I dug heels into his ass. “Matt, I need—”
He surged forward, stealing the plea with a filthy kiss. Thick stretch bloomed into mind-melting fullness. The first inch stole my ability to think in complete sentences. Those metal bars on his cock dragged through me—ridges catching then sliding, the prince Albert’s ball bearing a ruthless caress against a delicious spot deep inside me. My hips jackknifed off the couch, fingernails scoring twin trenches down Matt’s forearms.
I whined.
Matt’s chuckle came out jagged, sweat dripping from his hairline onto my collarbone. “So you like it.” He rocked deeper, each millimeter a revelation of heat and delicious friction. The frenulum piercings created a ridged texture that flared white-hot every time he shifted angles.
I choked on a whine, thighs clamping around his waist. “Of course I fucking like your cock, you asshole.”
“Happy birthday.” He braced his hand on the couch by my head as he sheathed himself fully, the dense thatch of hair at his base grinding against my neatly shaved balls. Every labored breath pressed our chests together, his heartbeat thrashing against mine.
Too much. Not enough. He held still, claiming me and caring for me all at once.
I scrabbled at his back, seeking leverage as I tried to press my hips up into his. “Move. C’mon, move or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” Matt nipped at my jaw, hips making tiny circles that lit up every nerve ending. His voice dropped to gravel as he held me pinned like that, impaled on his cock. “Gonna make me?”
The challenge ignited something primal. I hooked an ankle behind his knee, yanking hard. Matt’s balance faltered—just enough for me to flip us, and we rolled together onto the soft rug in front of his couch. He landed with a grunt, his broad back hitting the rug with a thud, my knees bracketing his hips, the force of the fall driving him deeper into me. Triumph surged through me as I took control, rising and falling on top of him, giving myself what I needed.
“Jesus, you’re—”
I silenced him with a roll of my hips, savoring the way his piercings rolled inside me.
His answering snarl sent liquid heat pooling low in my gut. Calloused hands seized my waist, helping me rise until only the tip remained before slamming me back down. Pain and pleasure sparked behind my eyelids as the piercings dragged up, until they were almost out of my hole, then punched back in. Matt’s throat worked soundlessly, tendons standing out in sharp relief as he fought for control.
“You and your control issues.” The sofa rattled against the wall as I gripped the seat and rode him harder. “Wanna see you lose it.”
Something snapped.
Matt surged up, mouth crashing into mine as he rolled me onto my back, laying me flat on the soft carpet in one fluid motion, much gentler than I'd been with him. My legs locked around his waist, the new angle driving him impossibly deeper.
“Always gotta push me.” He mouthed the words against my pulse point, hammering up into me. Each thrust knocked a punched-out noise from my throat. “Fucking…relentless…”
The world narrowed to slick skin and bruising grips. I clawed at his shoulders, chasing the coiling tightness that made my cock ache to be touched. His rhythm stuttered when I thumbed over his nipple piercings, the metal barbells pebbling under my touch.
“Close. Matt, I’m—”
He swallowed the warning with a kiss, his free hand sliding between us to wrap around my cock. Two strokes were all it took—white-hot release ripped through me, and my cum shot across his abs as my inner muscles convulsed around him. Matt’s shout vibrated through my body as he followed, hips jerking erratically while he emptied himself deep inside. His warmth filled me up, marked me in a way no one ever had, and I let out a quiet whine as I clung to him for a moment, before coming down from the high with a shuddering laugh.
We collapsed onto the couch in a sweaty heap, limbs tangled. “Good birthday gift?”
I kissed his chest. “The best. And I feel vindicated. I told Ben you were cranky. Why didn’t he believe me?”
Matt burst out laughing, and his palm slid up my spine. “I’m not cranky.”
”Even now, you’re arguing with me! Maybe you just enjoy bickering.”
"I do not," he muttered into my collarbone. “But shit, I could grow addicted to fucking you.” At some point, his hair band had come loose, and I reached up and combed my fingers through it, stroking the silky tendrils out of his face.
His thumb swept over the bite mark he'd left on my shoulder—apologetic or possessive, I couldn't tell. When he met my eyes, his looked storm-wrecked. Blue gone hazy like Eagle Lake at dawn.
Our noses bumped as we both moved in for a kiss, tender and calmer now.
“You’re not running away this time.”
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and sighed happily. “I don’t think I could. Maybe in a few hours when my legs work again.”
“Or maybe never,” he muttered. “What the fuck was that ninja move you did on me?”
I beamed at him. “Never go up against an Asian kid whose mom was afraid he’d get beat up by the white boy bullies. I’ve had so many martial arts classes.”
“Noted. Also, that’s pretty damn sexy.”
“Everything about me is pretty damn sexy,” I said smugly.
He didn't argue.