10. Matty #2
“And I never stopped wanting you,” I finished. “I still want you. On your knees, on your back, in my arms. Doesn’t matter, as long as you’re mine.”
For a long second, he just stared at me. Then, he let out a shaky laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a sob.
“You’re gonna kill me with words like that, tesoro.”
I tilted his chin up with two fingers. “Live a little longer, kiss me again, and please don’t stop this time.”
His mouth crashed back into mine. Harder, hungrier. Like a dam had finally broken.
I snaked my hands down to grip his ass through his slacks, pulling him tighter against me. Sweet mercy. I had seen his ass a thousand times, but feeling it under my palms was something else entirely.
I groaned into his mouth just thinking about how it would bounce when I spread him wide, when I stripped him down, bent him over, and—
“Bed,” I hissed against his lips.
I hooked my arms under his thighs and lifted him clean off the floor. He yelped with delight, circling his thighs around my waist.
“Goddamn, Alabama,” he breathed. “You gonna manhandle me all night?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Works for me.”
I smiled against his lips and lowered us to the mattress. He moved before I could come down on top of him, rolling until I was laid flat and he straddled my hips.
“Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” he suggested cheekily.
“We’ve been over this. I’m a farmer.”
“Two sides of the same tractor.”
He leaned down and kissed me again, the slow, filthy roll of his hips matching every thrust of his tongue. The friction was maddening, every drag sending sparks up my spine. My fingers dug into his ass, encouraging his pace.
“Already hard for me, tesoro?”
“God, Peter.” I groaned. “I’ve been hard for you all night.”
“Fuck,” he growled against my throat. “I love it when you say my name.”
I nearly came in my pants when he bit down.
“Peter.”
I thrust up to meet him, but it was a losing battle. I might’ve had a few inches on him, but Diaz was denser, more muscular, the kind of strength built from years of explosive movements on the field and hours in the weight room. He pinned me easily, hips grinding down with purpose.
I guess that’s what I get for skimping on leg day.
We kissed for hours, or at least that’s what it felt like. Truthfully, I could’ve just gone on like this all night, but he had other plans.
Eventually, he sat back on his heels, dragging me with him until we were both sitting up. His hands went to the hem of my shirt.
“Arms up,” he ordered softly.
I obeyed without thinking, helping him peel the fabric off in one smooth tug. He tossed my shirt aside, then dragged both palms down my torso.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, Matty,” he murmured.
Before I could come up with a response, his hands dropped to my belt.
He took his time, hooking his index fingers under the leather, brushing his thumbs back and forth across the metal buckle in a deliberate slide.
When it finally clinked open, the sound sent a fresh bolt of heat straight to my cock.
But then, he paused.
“I know you’ve never been with another man, so I’m going to need you to tell me where your head is at,” he said softly. His eyes searched mine in the low light. “How far do you want to take this?”
The gentleness in his tone nearly undid me.
“I want you,” I admitted, my voice shaky.
He rocked against my cock, smiling when I moaned. “I can tell. But—”
“But I’m not ready for . . . you know.”
“Anal. Got it.”
I swallowed, heart hammering. “Not tonight.”
“Don’t worry.” He leaned in and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to my mouth, then another to the corner of my lips. “There’s so much else we can do, tesoro. So much I’ve been dying to do to you.”
I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
He tugged my belt free one painstaking inch at a time before flattening his palms on my thighs, stroking the inner seams of my jeans.
Up. Down. Up again.
Each pass brought his fingers closer to where I was aching, straining against the zipper.
“Please,” I begged.
“Shh.” He lightly nipped my bottom lip. Then, he followed it up with another gentle kiss. “Let me play.”
His fingers found the button of my jeans. Pop. The sound was sharp. The zipper came next, metal teeth parting one by one, the rasp of it dragging out forever.
“Can I touch you, Matty?”
“God, yes.”
He slipped his hand inside the parted material, laying his palm flat against the boxer briefs stretched tight across my cock. I jerked against his fingers, a choked sound escaping my throat.
“So thick,” he murmured. “I can barely wrap my hand around you.”
Well, I could barely breathe.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and tugged them down just enough to free me. Cool air hit my aching cock, and I hissed as it slapped against my stomach.
Diaz wrapped his hand around the base, tracing his thumb once along the thick vein underneath. Precum welled up immediately and he spread it over the head with a lazy swirl that made my hips snap forward.
“Look at you.” He stared at me like I was something sacred. “Somebody’s already close,” he teased.
“Can you blame me?”
He gave a firm stroke from root to tip, then another, twisting gently at the head. My hips jerked up into his fist as a broken sound escaped me.
“Still okay?”
“More than okay,” I rasped. “Fuck, Diaz. Don’t stop.”
“It’s Peter.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. “When you’re naked underneath me, tesoro, screaming, begging, it’ll be my first name on your lips. Got it?”
He gave another rough squeeze of my cock.
“Yesss.”
“Yes, who?”
“Peter,” I cried. His name came out half moan, half plea. “Yes, Peter.”
Holy shit, this was good. Different. Rougher than any hand job I had ever received from a woman.
Diaz’s grip was stronger, the rhythm less tentative, like he knew exactly how much pressure I could take and he wasn’t afraid to give it to me. It was so goddamn right that I felt my eyes sting for a second.
“Lift up,” he said.
I did, hips rising off the bed so he could strip me bare. And just like that, I was naked under him, my cock flushed and leaking, every inch of me exposed to his gaze.
Diaz licked his lips.
I let out a shaky laugh. “You look like you’re fixin’ to swallow me whole.”
“That’s kind of the plan.” His gaze dropped pointedly to my cock. “Any objections?”
I shook my head.
“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but that’s one magnificent cock.”
Laughter shook my chest. “You’ve seen me naked before.”
“Never like this.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Never when you were hard for me or I got to look my fill without pretending I wasn’t.”
His raw honesty made me squirm.
I reached for the hem of his shirt, but he caught my wrists, pressing them back to the mattress.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “I need to taste you.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
He kissed a trail down my throat, down the center of my chest, pausing to flick his tongue over one nipple until it pebbled tight.
I hissed, back arching. He soothed the sting with a slow circle, then moved to the other side and did it again.
Every pass of his mouth sent fresh heat pooling low in my gut.
He moved lower still, kneeling at the foot of bed.
His fingers found the trail of strawberry-blond hair that started just below my navel and arrowed downward. He traced it with the pad of his index finger, following the soft line like he was mapping uncharted territory.
In a way, he was.
“Fuck,” I breathed, hips twitching. “Peter, please.”
He pressed a kiss right at the start of that happy trail, then dragged his tongue lower. The roughness of his stubble scraped just enough to make me shiver. When he reached the base of my cock, he paused, nose brushing the coarse hair there, inhaling like he was savoring me.
He wrapped his hand around the root and looked up at me through hooded eyes.
“Eyes on me, tesoro,” he said. “Watch.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
He leaned in and licked a slow, broad stripe from base to tip. My hips jerked off the bed, and he pressed a forearm across them, holding me down with gentle pressure.
“Stay still,” he murmured against my skin. “Let me have you.”
I nodded enthusiastically.
Little did he know that he could have me any which way he wanted—on my knees in the locker room, bent over one of the recliners in his home movie theater, trembling under his mouth, completely at his mercy.
The thought alone sent another hot pulse of want racing through me. I’d spent months pretending I didn’t ache for him to take me apart, and now that the moment was here, the only thing I felt was bone-deep need.
Peter Diaz could have all of me. I was his for the taking, and fuck if that didn’t feel like coming home.
He sank down slowly, lips stretching around my length. His tongue swirled along the underside until finally, I hit the back of his throat.
My fingers twisted into the sheets.
Diaz pulled back just enough to take a breath and then sank down again. His free hand slid lower, cupping my balls. He rolled them gently in his palm, stroking over the sensitive skin behind them in slow, steady circles. The dual sensation was enough to make me forget my own name.
He pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen.
“Talk to me, country boy,” he rasped.
I swallowed hard, chest heaving. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me what you want.” He dipped back down, teasing my slit until a low whine slipped out before I could stop it. “Tell me how to make you come.”
“I, uh—”