CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MATTEO
I’d just gotten out of the shower when the phone chimed.
That little sound sent a thrill through me that ricocheted off my bones and hit me in the gut.
It had taken a lot to ask him to have sex with me and the instant I’d sent the text through, I’d regretted it because I was sure he was going to say yes.
My insides twisted, the nerves making me lightheaded.
But it was an exciting kind of nervousness, the same sensation I’d gotten when kissing a high school friend.
I opened the message.
SEAN: So, U want me to be your Daddy, huh?
I grinned at the tease.
ME: You fit the role. But you said it, so that leads me to believe you’ve got a boy fetish on the mind.
I watched the dots jump around as I slipped into the freshly-dried joggers he’d given me for Christmas, the warm cloth nice against my skin.
I waited for the message to come through, knowing he was only a few feet away.
I pushed a T-shirt over my head and smoothed it down my body, suddenly self-conscious.
I took my time working the lotion into my hands, and massaging my fingers.
It had always been a routine for me and living as a transient for the last few years, it was difficult to keep to the ritual.
The motions were soothing as if I was getting ready to play for someone I cared about.
SEAN: If we’re going to do this, we should talk about a few things. U know, adult kind of things.
My heart skipped a beat and my throat tightened.
We were going to have sex? A million things raced through my mind.
Did I wash every nook and cranny? Did my breath stink despite having brushed my teeth?
What if I did something stupid and knocked him unconscious by hitting him with my forehead as I tried to kiss him?
I forced myself to breathe and focused on an étude in my mind, the notes relaxing me.
If I could perfect “La Campanella” at the age of fifteen, I could manage sex with him.
Playing the piano had always been an intimate experience because I opened my soul to it.
My piano was just a tool to express the music inside of me.
Intimacy in the physical sense would be a piece of pie.
ME: Dirty talk? I’m in. Let me tell you all the ways I plan to drive you wild.
SEAN: You’re such a brat! U definitely need a Daddy to put some discipline into U.
I collapsed against the couch with a huge grin and mulled on how to respond. My recent messages were a mix of flirtations and vulnerability. It surprised me that I could be so open and honest with him despite only knowing him for a month. All the bickering that came before seemed like foreplay.
Debussy’s “Reverie” sang through me, the gentle notes loosening my muscles and slowing my heart until I was in a state of peace. When I was ready, I sent my response.
ME: How do you plan to discipline me? Take me over your knee? Maybe stick your cock in my mouth so I can’t talk?
SEAN: You’re terrible. How do U expect me to get any work done when U go and say something like that?
I could practically hear the resignation in his voice.
This was happening. It had been a long time coming, hadn’t it?
The past three years of flirting and bickering, the game of him getting me tossed out of bars and clubs while I teased him about his belly and called him Pooh Bear because he was a big oaf that hadn’t the foresight not to wear a red shirt with a pair of teddy bear-ears attached to a headband.
I was floating through the clouds now, the musical notes thrumming against the sky, sending splashes of color everywhere. It was what I imagined heaven might look like if it existed.
I heard the creak of the stairs leading up to his apartment through the beat of the music and jumped to my feet. Was he coming home this early? But I wasn’t ready.
Sure enough, he walked in the door, looking a bit feral as if I’d poked the beast and got a grizzly instead of a teddy bear. He passed me an annoyed look and set his phone on the coffee table. I forced the lump down my throat as he tugged his black t-shirt off, drilling his eyes into me.
“What happened? I thought you were going to drive me wild, but you’re just standing there like a deer in headlights,” he said.
“There’s still time,” I huffed and looked away. “Don’t heckle me, I’m still sick.”
He made a sound that let me know he was calling my bluff. “I need a shower. The air of the club has a way of getting in your skin. I’m on call for emergencies, so if that phone rings let me know right away.”
I parted my lips to speak but nothing came out as he gave me his back and disappeared into the bathroom.
I thought I’d have a few hours to prepare, and think about what I’d do and how, but what did it matter if this happened now or later?
It was happening.
Maybe, it was always supposed to happen. My heart thrummed in my ears and a rush of discordant notes buzzed in my mind. I listened to the shower come on, the gentle hiss of the spray like a concerto to the music within me.
I stood where I was, listening, unsure of what to do.
The water cut off, he cleared his throat, and whispered something indecipherable that sounded like a curse.
He seemed to spend an age in the bathroom, and it eased me to know he might be as nervous as I was about this.
He finally appeared in nothing but his jeans that were loose at the lapels as if he wasn't sure he should even put them on, his hair slicked back, his beard unusually unkempt.
“You’re going to be honest with me. No hiding behind clever insults, amirite?” he said, his shoulders rolling as he breathed heavily.
I nodded, all my senses lighting up. I noticed little things like the tiny drops of water clinging to the fuzz on his chest, that he had an innie belly-button, and the way his lip was between his teeth as if he were unsure.
And when he came as close as he dared, I caught the faint scent of soap coming off his body.
Reaching out, I touched his shoulder gently, where his collarbone plugged into his deltoid. He seemed surprised, his throat shifting as he tracked my touch with burning green eyes. I moved to his center, tracing the bone, and thrust my hand into the curls on his chest.
He cupped my cheek, the contact surprising and shocking and fucking amazing. If he could make me feel so greatly with a single touch, I wondered what his lips were going to do to me.
I sought his mouth, completely out of control, uncoordinated, dizzy. He met me halfway, our lips pressing and in my desperation, I knocked our teeth together.
“Slow down,” he murmured, taking his lips from mine. “There’s no reason to rush. Let’s sit and chill for a bit.”
The moment I was off my feet, I let go of the breath I’d been holding.
Sean settled next to me and bumped me with his shoulder. “Looks like I’ve blown your mind.”
Rolling my eyes, I huffed. “You’re so full of yourself.”
He smiled slyly and took my hand, his skin rough. He ran his fingertips all over me, tracing the bones of my knuckles. “You have such nice hands.”
“The better to touch you with.”
He gasped in delight, and I covered my own laugh. It was cheesy but it was nice goofing off with him. I leaned against him, his arm circling around my shoulders.
He said against my hair, “You can change your mind, you know.”
“I don’t want to. It’s just… I learned at an early age to force myself into the mold my parents decided upon and to do that I’ve had to hide who I am and not talk about my feelings.
I’m finding it hard trying to reshape myself.
” I focused on our linked hands, the color of his skin lighter against mine.
He didn’t moisturize and his nails were jagged as if he bit them off when they got too long, like a typical uncouth macho man. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He puffed out his chest and tipped his chin up. “Which is why you chose me. Because not only am I hot, but I’m something of a sexpert.”
I rested my head against his shoulder. He wasn’t wrong. He’d made a good case for why he should be the one to guide me into this world. Still didn’t make it easy.
I recalled everything I’d gone through the last few years of surviving my parents. Stopping now would be counterproductive. Rolling my head back, I looked at him for a long while, trying to commit everything about him to memory. I had a feeling he was going to consume my thoughts for a long time.
Maybe the rest of my life. Like the old saying went: You always remember your first.
I touched his neck, grabbing his attention and guided his mouth to mine. Slow, he’d said, and I let him set the pace. When his lips touched mine, the contact sent a bolt of electricity through me, energizing that part of my being that was ready to live.
The kiss was careful, chaste, and I opened for him, silently pleading for him to come in, because I needed him to lead the way.
He accepted my invitation, his tongue swiping across my bottom lip.
A rush of excitement shivered through me and I dug my fingers into his neck, demanding more, begging him to show me wonders.
“Slow,” he whispered against my mouth and pushed me down on the couch.
I grabbed onto him, fisting his hair, clawing at his back, feeling completely out of control and it was glorious. This was what I needed. Freedom. I needed to be wild and unconstrained. I was desperate to kiss and touch another man, to be myself, the way I’d been created.
He wrestled my hands from him and pushed them over my head. I tried to kiss him again and growled when he took his lips away. He smirked, his eyes hooding. Every time he came a little closer and I tried to claim the kiss, he backed away. It was frustrating and hot.
“What's wrong?” he purred.
“I want to kiss you already,” I growled.
“You will, when you slow down,” he said firmly. “Remember Christmas morning snow?”
I blew out a breath and forced myself to relax. He was right. If I rushed into this I was going to do something embarrassing, but I was so desperate for it I couldn’t contain my need.
He pecked my cheek, kissed my jaw, nipped at my neck, the sensation of his teeth scraping against my skin going right to my groin. He moved to kiss my lips and it was difficult, but I waited for him to close the distance. The moment his lips came in contact with mine, I moaned with relief.
“That’s better,” he whispered and kissed the corners of my mouth. “Just need to take the time to enjoy it and not rush to the conclusion.”
I nodded, and rasped, “Like playing an adagio.”
He took my lips again and I opened for him, his tongue connecting with mine.
It was a bit different than I imagined, the soft and slippery wetness a new sensation.
I followed his lead, responding to the motions, matching his own.
His beard was as soft as I’d thought, like silk against my chin.
I wanted to thrust my hand into it, stroke it but he had my wrists pinned.
I realized at this moment I was a pogonophile and was totally okay with that.
My whole body was lighting up, buzzing with need and anticipation.
He whispered a praise, dove a little deeper into my mouth, the scent of soap and gruff man making me dizzy. Then he did that frustrating thing again by taking his lips away when I tried to kiss him a little too aggressively. He grumbled a little laugh.
“If I let you go, are you going to be nice?” he purred.
“I’m always nice,” I countered.
“I don’t believe that one bit.”
“You like my bite,” I said.
Rolling his eyes, he huffed. “You’re not wrong.”
He released my wrists and I thrust my hand into his beard, tugging him gently back to my mouth. I swallowed his laughter, unable to get enough of him as if I were dying of thirst and he had what I needed.
My kisses were still clumsy, but I was learning and finding a common rhythm with him. I did manage to relax and savor the moment, enjoying the myriad of sensations kissing him brought. His body sunk into mine, like a puzzle piece.
He skimmed his hand down my body and cupped my cock through my pants. He swallowed my moan as the touch sent off all kinds of sensations through me.
The world started to fade, the unimportant bits getting fuzzy and out of focus until the only thing that existed was Sean and what he was doing for me. The sensations of his tongue slipping against mine and the smacking of our lips mingled with breathy gasps. Music, raw and simple, and timeless.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last long, and the shrill ring of his phone was like the shattering of glass.
“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he growled and glared at his phone vibrating on the coffee table.