62. Matthias

62

MATTHIAS

I didn't know that freckles could transform a bad-boy hard-ass guy like me into mush .

Literal mush.

The sun was already on full blast, with yellow light slanting into the bedroom. My eyes cracked open and Ciaran's freckles came into laser focus. They swept across his nose and cheeks, and they fascinated me to no end. I couldn't explain it.

He was facing me, still asleep, when I started counting them. Last night we'd all but passed out with me spooning him, but at some point, he'd shifted. Our legs were tangled together, and his hand was lazily hooked at my hip, pulling me toward him. Even in his sleep he was possessive.

That made me smile.

Our commingled heat brought about memories of last night, of my tongue on him, making him writhe and sob with pleading agony. My cock balls-deep in his ass, Ciaran screaming my name as he climaxed. I got hard just thinking about it.

Not that it was difficult to get a stiffy in the mornings. It was almost a given. But with Ciaran in my bed? Yeah, I was already as hard as granite.

Last night was easily the best encounter of my life.

And the most meaningful.

Ciaran stretched and yawned like a cat waking up from a delightful dream. I watched it all unfold without moving, breathing, because I didn't want to lose count.

When Ciaran aimed that sleepy smile my way, my heart fluttered at the baby blues peering back at me.

Yeah, I was so far gone it wasn't even funny.

"Morning," he croaked before rolling onto his back to stretch out.

"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, which was, of course, the wrong reaction here. Ciaran's sleep-induced smile was brilliant enough to inspire a Top 40 single.

Ciaran didn't seem to take offense. He turned back to me and pushed a lock of hair out of his face. Chuckling, he asked, "Not a morning person?"

"No, I am," I said. "Good morning." I brushed my lips against his. If I let it become anything more than a brief good morning kiss, we'd never leave the bed. We had a five-hour drive ahead of us. "But you made me lose count."

"Lose count?" He scrunched his nose in confusion. The freckles scrunched, too. He was fucking adorable. He needed to stop doing that.

"Of your freckles. I was up to twenty-four. Then you moved and I lost my place."

Ciaran hid his face in the pillow and groaned. "I hate my freckles." He popped one eye open to judge my reaction. "They make me look childish."

"Childish?" I lifted the blanket to reveal my erection. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"That's just morning wood," Ciaran said, without actually looking down at the evidence.

Was he embarrassed? Did he regret last night? My stomach churned.

"Morning wood on freckle-steroids," I clarified, swallowing hard.

He snorted. "Freckles are not arousing."

"On you they are."

"Weirdo." He shoved at me playfully, though I didn't miss his pleased-as-peaches blush.

Okay, so maybe he didn't regret last night. Still, I should make sure.

I propped up on an elbow. My eyes locked on the super-prominent hickeys. His neck was roughed up, too, red with beard burn. I scrubbed my jaw. It was scratchy with two days' growth.

My boy looked good and fucked.

It'd be so obvious what we got up to the second Joan and Filipe saw us.

"Listen," I started. Ciaran's head jerked at my sudden serious note. "I'm not usually insecure about these things, but it's different with you." I drew circles on his chest with my finger. "Any regrets? Do you want to talk about anything?"

His eyes danced. "Regrets about what?" he asked with a smirk. "What do we need to talk about what?"

I gave him a look. "You're going to make me spell it out, aren't you?"

"Oh, definitely."

His impish grin made my heart squeeze. I plopped myself on top of him.

"Matty!" he wheezed. Air whooshed from his lungs as I let my full weight press down on him. I started nuzzling at his neck. His stubble scraped against my own, and I enjoyed the rough sensation, even as he tried to squirm away due to the ticklishness.

"What?" I asked with faux confusion. "You asked me to spell it out for you."

"Using words ."

"My vocabulary is rather limited when there's a hot guy in my bed."

"You think I'm hot?" Ciaran wrapped his legs around me, and our erections slotted together.

A soft moan escaped his lips.

"Uh, yeah ." I waited for him to reciprocate the statement. Ciaran offered me a wicked gleam. He could read me so well. I loved that he kept me on my toes. He thrust against me, though there was no urgency to it, but it didn't stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he asked innocently as his hands slid down my lower back.

"Brat."

"You adore me."

"I'm seriously reconsidering that." I pouted, and a stupid grin spread on Ciaran's face.

"Have you seen yourself? Paparazzi follow you around. The world thinks you're hot, Matty."

"I don't care what the world thinks. I care what you think."

"Fine, I'll stop tormenting you. You're hot and sexy and you make me smile like I'm a besotted fool. And, before you ask again, I don't have a single regret."

"Thank God," I exhaled, but realized I couldn't leave it at that. "I mean, you're allowed to regret it, of course. I can't tell you how to feel but I'm relieved you don't regret it. Last night was amazing and you're perfect and you took me beautifully." I buried my face in his neck. I felt hot, like my mouth was running away from me. If I kept at it, I'd start naming our children or something. "And it was good for you? Pleasurable? I didn't hurt you?"

"You're cute when you're insecure." I bit his shoulder and he yelped. I soothed the area with my tongue. "Yes, it was very pleasurable and no, you didn't hurt me." He leaned into the touch and his nails scraped my lower back. Then Ciaran went very, very still. "Oh, my God," he gasped.

Did he figure it out? My heart sputtered. Would he be mad or upset with me? Would he think I took advantage?

"W-what?"

"You didn't bring someone home that night, did you?" Ciaran asked. "The night of the bonfire party." He didn't sound mad. It sounded more like he was solving a mystery that'd been bothering him. "It was me."

"Uh…"

"Matty, tell me what happened."

So I did. "You were pretty drunk, so I carried you up to your room. You seemed to gain a second wind and started kissing me."

Ciaran groaned. "Oh God, what else did I do?"

"Well, I mean, I started kissing you back and you took off my shirt."

"I pulled you on top of me, didn't I? And I must have dug into your lower back."

"Yeah…"

"So what aren't you telling me? I'm pretty sure nothing actually happened beyond that. Bits and pieces are coming to me."

"You, uh, called me Drew and then started throwing up."

Ciaran blinked a few times. "Fuck," he breathed out. "Matty, I'm sorry. That was shitty of me."

"I should be the one apologizing, babe," I said. "I should have handled the situation better."

"Matty," Ciaran started, "no one is to blame here. You know now that I was hung up on Drew when I first arrived. I gained the closure I needed last night." He cupped my jaw with such tenderness that I felt the burn of tears behind my eyes. "It's you I want. It's been you since we met, even if we fought it."

"So you're not upset?"

He shook his head. "I'm actually relieved. I'd been low-key jealous thinking you hooked up with someone that night."

He leaned up to kiss me.

"Still," I added, "I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner. I didn't know how to bring it up without bringing him into the conversation."

"No, I know. And thank you." He kissed me again. "I love that you took care of me that night." Okay, so it wasn't a declaration of love , I thought, but I could be patient. Ciaran was worth waiting for. Ciaran peered at the clock and let out a reluctant sigh. "I hate to say this, but we should probably get cleaned up and head back to Malibu."

"Ciaran Galbraith, the voice of reason." I lifted my head so I could look into his face. "We could stay here and live off my trust fund," I joked.

"And Mr. Moneybags has returned," he deadpanned.

"You have the worst nicknames for me, sweetheart."

"Perks of being Matthias Vaulteneau's boyfriend."

Well, that made me speechless.

Ciaran snickered. He bit my chin a second before he pushed me off. I tried to grab him, but he quickly jumped out of bed. Not that I was complaining about the view of Ciaran's firm backside as he slipped into the bathroom.

"Holy shit," Ciaran gasped from the other room. He saw the hickeys. A minute later, the shower turned on. He popped his head in the doorway, his blond curls flopping into his eyes. "Are you coming?"

Hell yes.

In the shower, we made quick work of cleaning each other while our erections acted like jousting rods eager to play together.

"This is going to be a problem," Ciaran muttered as he rutted up against me. His eyes fluttered closed and I had him pressed against the shower wall.

I took both our cocks in hand and started stroking. "A problem I'm only too happy to solve."

Ciaran hissed and let his head fall on my shoulder. His hands roamed, landing on my hips, ass, and up my chest. Feeling his shaft pressed tight against mine, both in my grip, fired my insides.

I wanted the sensation to last, to make it good for both of us, but in reality, we'd entered the shower already on edge. It wouldn't take long.

"I'm close," he sobbed.

His mouth captured mine.

"Me, too," I moaned into his lips.

Ciaran arched into my strokes, his moans and mutterings beautiful but unintelligible. He pressed erratic open-mouth kisses on my collarbone.

I loved his responsiveness, the way he gave himself up to pleasure.

His blond hair, slicked back with water, looked darker. It made him look older. When he looked up at me, his cobalt eyes flickered with desire.

Heat built in my groin, with tendrils of pleasure shooting up my spine and down my limbs. My belly tightened and I wondered who'd win this race.

I spilled first, with Ciaran, thrusting into my grip, following me seconds later. The hiss of the shower muffled our cries.

We'd made a mess on our stomachs and soaped up again. I couldn't keep my hands off him as I placed butterfly kisses on his nose and cheeks as we caught our breath.

"You're insatiable," Ciaran said.

He swatted me away as we dried off and got dressed in the bedroom. Thankfully, we'd both packed an overnight bag and didn't have to wear last night's clothing.

"Now that I'm allowed to touch you," I said, "I don't want to stop."

"I never realized you were so romantic."

Me, neither. "It's because of the freckles," I admitted.

"Obsessed much?" Ciaran chuckled as he unlocked his phone. He let out a bark of laughter. "Joan's already asking for details."

"She'll pepper you until you divulge everything. She's very persistent."

He angled his head back, exposing his neck to me.

"Words won't be necessary with proof on full display." There were at least four visible hickeys. More were hidden by his shirt.

"You can always develop a sudden affection for colorful ascots and scarves, à la Fred from Scooby Doo ."

"Oh, sure." Ciaran motioned toward his attire. "Like that won't be even more conspicuous in a T-shirt and jeans." My mouth twitched at the mental image. "I'll get the statue," he muttered. "At least she won't offer bad fashion advice."

Laughing at his retreating backside, I checked my phone for any new texts. Dad and Theresa appeared to be in New York City based on the photos Dad sent.

Joan's messages were similar to what she sent Ciaran, though she also asked if she could hack into Coach Anderson's home Wi-Fi. I typed back, No .

Andy texted a middle finger emoji while Dante's four a.m. text asked what I'd done to piss off Andy.

I got the boy is what I'd done to piss off Andy. I didn't type that. Instead I wrote, I'll call you this weekend with the details.

That conversation should be a phone call and not a text message considering my brother and Andy were thick as thieves when they were younger, though these days they weren't as close. Still, I didn't want to leave room for misinterpretation.

Davies texted, asking when we'd be returning, but I left her on read.

I grabbed our overnight bags and did a once-over of the penthouse to ensure we didn't leave anything behind. I sent a text to concierge, asking the housekeeping staff to change the bedding and tidy the unit.

Ciaran carried the statue into the kitchen as he opened cabinets and the fridge, looking for food. He wouldn't find anything other than water, wine, and liquor. Concierge stocked the penthouse only if we gave notice.

"How is it," Ciaran said as we made our way to the elevator, "that a billionaire doesn't even have a damn granola bar in this place?"

I made the mistake of thinking he was asking me . Oh, no. He addressed his question to the statue in his arms.

Using my keycard, I called the elevator, which zipped us all the way down to the garage level.

"We'll grab something on the way back home," I said.

Once in the garage, I unlocked the car and we carefully placed the wrapped-up statue in the backseat. We dumped our overnight bags on the floorboard.

"You're going to let me eat fast food in your car?" Surprise brightened his expression. Ciaran walked to the passenger side and peered at me over the roof of the car, his hands skimming the cherry-red surface. "Your half-a-million dollar, custom-designed Ferrari?"

The corner of his mouth quirked when I blanched. It was obvious I didn't think that one through and couldn't get out of it now.

"Yeah. I'm hungry too and we have a long drive."

He shook his head and slid into the passenger seat. "You must really like my freckles."

Ciaran had no idea.