32. Matthias

32

MATTHIAS

W hen Ciaran's room was empty, I knew something was wrong, especially when I heard voices coming from my bedroom.

My locked bedroom.

Bursting inside, I never expected to see Ciaran straddling Jason, in my closet of all places.

I'd never been angrier. And I'd never been more turned on in my life. I was rock hard and struggling to think straight.

If I'd taken clearer stock of the situation, it would have been obvious that it was a scuffle between Ciaran and Jason, and not a hasty form of BDSM involving my ties and belts.

I would deal with Ciaran later, but for now Jason was my priority.

Punching Jason in his smug face and kicking him out of my house felt good. It helped relieve the agitation that'd been building up in my arteries, clogging all reasonable thought.

Not even my smarting shoulder could dim the satisfaction of making Jason bleed. My shoulder would hurt later, and Coach would probably suspend me, but with all the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I didn't care.

Pivoting at the front door, I spun to see Ciaran at the top of the stairs. We were alone in the guesthouse. I'd already sent everyone down to the beach. It wasn't the fear in his eyes that motivated me. It was the excitement.

He was daring me to take him. To punish him.

The problem was, if I punished him, I also punished myself. I was worried I wouldn't be able to stop once started.

Think straight, Matty.

I told myself I was in full control of myself as I sprinted up the stairs, never taking my eyes off Ciaran. He didn't move. He didn't cower. I drank him in.

All I wanted to know was if Jason touched him…hurt him. I might have even asked that out loud. Just the thought—the fucking thought—of anyone touching Ciaran ignited the anger boiling deep inside me.

Pent-up energy jumped between us as I grabbed his shoulders and I pushed him into my bedroom. I didn't bother closing the door. Perhaps I wanted Ciaran to know he could leave at any time. Even in my heightened state, I'd never force my attentions on someone who wasn't willing.

Ciaran fought back so I kept pushing him because it seemed to be the only way—the only valid reason—to touch him. I couldn't keep my hands off him. I needed him to feel what he was doing to me. The anguish. The denied desire. The knowledge that I could not have him.

Ciaran would never be mine.

That shouldn't make me angry, but it did, and, except for fighting him, I didn't know how to reconcile it. It felt like the accumulation of thunder before a storm.

Why was I torturing myself? The fight in me was ebbing away after I pushed him into the closet. Standing in the doorway of my closet, I stood a foot away from Ciaran.

I stopped everything.

Breathing.

Thinking.

I also stopped denying myself.

I didn't actively remember deciding to move. My hand closed around Ciaran's throat. Beneath my fingers, the strong pulse of his erratic heart matched my own.

I pulled him to me.

Lost in his piercing blue eyes, I felt like the world contained just the two us. We breathed in shared oxygen and exhaled a lifetime of what-ifs .

The world was ours for the taking.

All I could lay claim to was my breathing, his breathing, and Ciaran's parted lips.

And I had to taste them.

Like this, standing how we were, alone, with anger and an unspoken need flowing between us, I had to know what his lips felt like under mine when he knew it was me and not someone else.

In a strained voice, I asked, "God, what are you doing to me, Ciaran?"

Then I crashed into him. Hard. Unforgiving. I wanted him to taste my hunger for him because I couldn't say it. Not out loud.

I growled into his lips, demanding, begging, worshipping.

He was stiff in my embrace and when I felt him press his palms against my chest and push me away, my soul very nearly shriveled and died.

I staggered back two steps.

"I—" I started, intending to apologize, but the intensity I saw flash in his eyes cut me short.

Ciaran stood there, his chest heaving. I saw him processing everything in his mind, putting everything that had transpired between us together.

Seconds turned to eons.

It was a flash of movement. Ciaran's nostrils flared, his hands clenched at his side.

His body was vibrating so much I could hear it like string music. Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance, pushed me into the far wall, and slammed into me, his mouth hungrily capturing mine.

Ciaran growled into my mouth, taking and demanding, and my cock pulsed. He pulled back to offer a satisfied grin before kissing me again, though gentler this time, his teeth nipping at my lower lip.

I moaned approvingly. Spinning us around, I pinned him to the wall, wedged his legs apart, and pressed all of me against him. The rods holding my jackets crashed to the floor, sending my expensive wardrobe down with it, and I didn't give it a second thought.

Ciaran's erection pressed against mine and I rocked up into him. Sparks of friction made me go weak. It was all at once wonderful but also not enough to quench my desire.

My hands were in his hair, at his neck, at his back, and skimming up the inside of his shirt before we parted just long enough to remove the shirt altogether.

When my bare chest skin touched his chest, the connection sizzled, sending flares of intense pleasure to my brain.

Dear God, when his tongue slid into my mouth, my heart leapt for joy. I deepened the kiss, needing more. I needed to possess all of him.

But I knew that was too fast. I didn't know Ciaran's level of experience.

"I've wanted to do this to you almost since the moment I laid eyes on you," I admitted through a ragged breath as I attacked his neck with my tongue and teeth. I was not being gentle. He'd have marks come tomorrow. "Tell me what you want, Ciaran."

Ciaran's hands came to my lower back, his nails scratching in the exact same spot he'd done as when he thought I was Drew. There was an imperceptible pause in his actions before he cupped my ass, pulling me hard against him.

We both still wore our swim trunks, but the material was so thin it was almost like wearing nothing. I could feel every inch of him and dear God, it was glorious.

"I want…" Ciaran gasped out, his head falling against the wall. With an even unsteadier voice, he added, "Everything."

The sound in the back of my throat was primal. Hot need pinched my insides and I'd do just about anything to bury my cock deep inside him.

I took the opportunity to lick his collarbone and he moaned erotically as my tongue slid up his throat, over his jaw, and up to his mouth. His hand shifted to the back of my head, pressing me, guiding me. His eyes fluttered as Ciaran's hips ground against me rhythmically. "But I've never actually…you know…" He trailed off.

I leaned back. His lips were red and his face flushed, but his expression was unsure, doubtful, and I wasn't sure if it was because he was inexperienced or if he was worried I'd be upset about his lack of experience.

"That's okay," I said, trying my best to cool my ardor. If I wasn't careful, I'd go too fast for Ciaran, and I didn't want him to regret anything. "We can go slow, do whatever you're comfortable with." I kissed him softly. "As long as I can keep kissing you."

Ciaran smiled and my heart melted, which was…unusual for me.

"I don't think you could stop me." He pulled me back to him, kissing me deeply, and my cock jerked awake again. "It's just that I'm not sure if I want my first time to be in a closet, literally or metaphorically."

Laughter bubbled out of me at that. I took stock of my closet. It wasn't completely destroyed, but it did look as if someone had gone berserk inside of it. I just hoped we hadn't ruined thousands of dollars worth of clothing.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Ciaran asked. "About wanting to do this to me as soon as you saw me?"

"Yes." I nodded. "No sense in lying about it. My raging hard-on would contradict me." Together we looked at our crotches. Our cocks were very much on board. "I've been trying to avoid you, too. Sorry about the mixed messaging."

"What about Zoey?"

I fixed Ciaran's mussed-up hair and trailed a finger over the red marks glowing on his neck. "It's not a real relationship," I confessed. "It's a long story, but in short, she and I are not together."

Ciaran nodded, and his eyes flicked over my shoulders and into my bedroom. He tensed beneath my fingers.

"Um, Matty." Ciaran pointed. "Does Zoey know that?"

I spun around. Zoey was in my doorway, dressed for surfing, with Joan and Filipe bringing up the rear. Filipe merely raised an eyebrow while Joan was giving the scene two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

I suppose this was one way to confirm I had the hots for Ciaran.