CHAPTER 17 #2
I wanted to absorb every detail: the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, damp with a hint of sweat; the flex of his shoulders as he moved, muscles bunching under skin; the tattoos inking his arms—an intricate sleeve of symbols and patterns that told stories I wanted to learn with my fingertips, my tongue.
I wanted to trace them all, lick along the lines, taste the salt of his skin, feel the raised edges of ink under my lips, commit every swirl and shadow to memory.
“Matty,” I whispered, my hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles shift under my palms, the heat radiating from him like a furnace. My nails scraped lightly down his spine, and he shuddered, a low growl escaping him. “I need to see you. All of you.”
He lifted his head, and his eyes met mine. They were glazed and heavy with lust, his pupils wide enough to swallow the blue. “Anything you want, pretty baby.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulders before falling away.
His body was a masterpiece, powerful and sculpted, tapering from a strong chest to a narrow waist, defined abs etched from years of training, that deep V-line disappearing into his jeans like an arrow pointing to sin.
I’d seen him shirtless before—out on the field, when he went running and I’d followed him, in those moments when he’d seemed untouchable, a living, breathing fantasy I had no right to want.
But this…this was different. There wasn’t a crowd or a camera or distance between us.
He was here, right in front of me, skin within reach, real in a way that made my throat ache.
A new bandage clung to his arm, but I barely registered it; I was too caught up in everything else. Another tattoo, a band of geometric patterns, wrapped around his bicep, intersecting with a quote inked in fine script that read Rise. Always Rise.
My breath caught.
He was going to see mine.
The same words curved along my ribs in French. They did mean something to me, every word of them…but I’d gotten them from him. From the day I saw that tattoo on his arm during practice, the sun hitting his skin just right, the words burning into my brain and never leaving.
I’d needed them after that.
Emotion tangled with desire, tightening my chest. I reached up slowly, almost reverently, my fingers trembling as I touched him. I traced the lines of ink over his pec, following them to the steady rhythm beneath, the pulse that matched mine, wild and human and his.
“You’re so beautiful,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was small, shy, the kind of confession that made my cheeks burn. “I can’t believe I’m touching you.”
For a split second, mortification fluttered in my chest.
But if he noticed, he didn’t show it.
His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t mock. Instead, something softer flickered there, something that made my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with how he looked at me…like my words had just undone him.
My fingers followed the ink, dipping into the valleys of his abs, circling a small scar just above his hip, a pale mark from some old injury.
I leaned in, pressing a kiss to one tattoo, then another, my tongue darting out to taste him.
I licked along the edge of a pattern on his ribs, feeling him tense, his breath hitching.
Another kiss to his collarbone, my teeth grazing the skin, and he groaned, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head.
His breath hitched again, and he groaned deeper, his hand covering mine, pressing it harder against his chest.
“You’re killing me, Ophelia. Touch me all you want. I’m yours.”
The words sank into me like a brand, carving their way straight into my heart. I wanted them to be true. Wanted I’m yours to mean you’re mine…not just for tonight, but always. The sound of his voice saying it made every fragile, impossible thing inside me ache to believe it.
He leaned down, capturing my mouth in another kiss, his body pressing me back into the mattress, the weight of him delicious, grounding.
His hands worked at my jeans, fingers fumbling with the button in his haste, then sliding the zipper down slowly, teasingly, the sound loud in the quiet room.
He peeled the denim down my legs, taking my panties with them, the fabric catching briefly on my hips before giving way.
I was completely bare beneath him now, the cool air kissing my skin, but his gaze was fire, warming me from the inside out, making me feel exposed and cherished all at once.
Matty paused, sitting back to look at me, his eyes roaming over my body like he was committing it to memory—every curve, every flush, every tremble.
“Fuck, look at you. Spread out for me, so wet and ready. My pretty baby, all mine.”
His fingers traced lightly over my inner thighs, parting them wider, the touch feather-soft at first, then firmer, spreading me open. I whimpered, the anticipation building, my core clenching at nothing.
He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my stomach, my hips, the sensitive skin just above where I ached most, his stubble scraping deliciously.
“I haven’t stopped tasting you since Saturday,” he rasped.
“That bathroom—Fuck, I’ve come five times just replaying how you flooded my tongue, how you drenched my fingers, how fucking sweet you were.
Best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. I’m getting it again, baby.
Tell me you want my face buried in this pussy as bad as I do. Say it.”
His words made me blush, heat flooding my face and core, but they also made me bolder, the praise igniting something confident inside me.
I’d dreamed of this too…of pleasing him, of making him lose control the way he did to me, of tasting him and watching him unravel. “Yes,” I said, huskily, my voice thick with want. “But I want to taste you, too.”
His eyes widened, a pleased grin spreading across his face, slow and predatory. “Yeah? You want my cock in that pretty mouth?”
“Please,” I begged.
He shifted, undoing his jeans with quick, eager movements, shoving them down along with his briefs, the fabric pooling at his knees before he kicked them off.
His erection sprang free, huge and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum, the small silver piercing at the head catching the dim light, a glint of metal that made my pulse race.
I stared, my mouth watering, my obsession flaring at the sight of him—bigger than I’d imagined in my dreams, veined and hard, curving slightly upward, the piercing a promise of something new, something intense.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word slipping out before I could stop it, raw and desperate. “Yes. I need it.”
A rough groan tore from his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin like it came from somewhere deep and uncontrollable. “Fuck, baby, that’s it. Show me how bad you need it.”
I leaned forward, my tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting the salty precum beading there.
It was addictive—musky, slightly bitter, but uniquely him, a flavor that sank into me like a drug, flooding every sense, making my head spin and my core clench.
I wanted to drown in it, to bottle it, to live with it on my tongue for the rest of my life.
I whimpered, the sound surprising even me, shameless and desperate, and took him deeper into my mouth, my lips stretching around his girth, the piercing cool against my tongue.
He was too big.
I couldn’t take all of him…my jaw already burned from the stretch. But I sank down as far as I could, lips sealed tight, tongue swirling the piercing in slow circles.
My hand twisted at the base, slick with spit and precum, matching the rhythm of my mouth. It was my first time, but I was desperate to get it right, to feel him lose control because of me.
A thrill shot through me as I watched his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back, a low moan escaping his lips, his tattoos shifting with the strain in his neck.
“Ophelia—Shit,” he hissed, his hand tangling in my hair, not pushing, just holding, grounding himself as his hips twitched. “Your mouth’s fucking unreal. Hot, wet, fucking perfect. My good girl, sucking me so good. Look at those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, begging for more.”
His praise spurred me on, and I bobbed my head, hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue around the piercing, feeling it bump against the roof of my mouth, the metal warming quickly.
I experimented, flicking my tongue against it, tracing the slit, earning a sharp gasp from him, his thighs tensing under my free hand.
He groaned louder, hips bucking slightly, his free hand fisting the sheets until his knuckles whitened.
“That’s it, baby. Take what you can. You’re doing so well—making me feel so good.
Fuck, your tongue—Keep doing that. Suck harder, yes, just like that. ”
I hummed in happiness around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath, a string of filth spilling out. “Fuck, yes, baby. It’s so good.” His thighs tensed further, the muscles in his abs clenching, the tattoos rippling with every breath.
Precum spilled in a steady stream, coating my tongue in a salty rush.
I chased every drop, swirling, sucking, greedy for more, the flavor exploding across my senses.
It was better than any dream, and the fact that I was the one drawing it out of him, that I held this power over the man I’d worshiped from the shadows, made my head spin.
I’d replayed this moment a thousand times in the dark, but it was nothing compared to the way his taste flooded my mouth, to the way it made me feel invincible.
My hand twisted faster at the base, slick with spit and him, while my lips sealed around the head, sucking hard, then easing into soft, teasing flicks across the slit.
My other hand traced the ink on his abdomen, fingers mapping every line and shadow, then dipped lower to cradle his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten under my touch.
He shuddered, a broken string of praise tumbling out, voice cracking with every breath.
“You’re a fucking miracle, baby. Look at you, swallowing me down, pulling every drop out of me. My perfect girl, worshipping this cock like it’s yours. It is yours, isn’t it? You fucking love it.”
His voice was strained, his abs clenching harder, the tattoos rippling like waves.
I whimpered in agreement, the sound muffled around him.
I did love it. I wanted to worship it, to drain every last pulse from him and keep it inside me.
I wanted him to spill down my throat, hot and thick, and I’d swallow it all happily, letting it settle deep in my stomach like a secret I’d carry forever.
I wanted him to feed it to me every day, to mark me from the inside out, to let me taste his release on my tongue at breakfast, lunch, and in the dark hours when the world was quiet and it was just us.
“Fuck,” he growled, yanking out of my mouth with a slick, filthy pop. A thin strand of spit clung between us for a heartbeat before snapping. He clamped two fingers around the base of his cock, knuckles white, chest heaving as he dragged in ragged breaths.
“I’m not coming until I’m inside you, Ophelia. That’s nonnegotiable.”
A shiver raced through me, heat flooding my cheeks and pooling low. I nodded, breathless, the words barely a whisper. “Yes. I want that. Please.”
He eased me back onto the mattress, palms sliding down my arms until my shoulders hit the sheets. His gaze never left mine as he settled over me. “My turn,” he murmured.
My body thrummed with need, my lips tingling from the stretch, my jaw sore in the best way.
He positioned himself between my legs, his cock pressing against my entrance, the piercing cool against my heat, a teasing promise.
“Matty,” I whispered, my hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into the inked skin, tracing the patterns there. “You…you’ll be my first.”
The words slipped out before I could take them back, hanging in the air between us.
A sudden wave of fear tightened my chest…fear that he’d hesitate, that the weight of being my first would spook him, send him retreating.
I just wanted him to know.
That I’d saved myself for him.
That it was him.
That it had always been him.
He froze. But he didn’t seem startled. Instead it was like a switch had flipped for him, locking everything into perfect, inevitable focus.
His fingers dug into my hips, a fierce, claiming pressure that made my breath hitch. A shaky exhale left him, and his blue eyes swept my face as he drank in every flicker of vulnerability like he was etching it into memory.
“Fuck,” he rasped reverently. “I knew it.” His thumb grazed my cheek, softer now, but the heat in his stare only flared brighter. “No one else has ever touched you. I’m so lucky, sweetheart.”
He brushed a kiss against my lips, then spoke against them, his words slipping out in a low murmur that I felt more than heard. “And no one else ever will.”