25. Fischer

25

FISCHER

M y eyes are locked on Matthew's face as he undoes my pants and shoves them down my thighs. "Sit."

When I lower myself to the edge of the bed, I nod up at him. A signal that I want this as much, if not more, than he does.

I want to be lewdly exposed and have Matthew's dark blue eyes drinking every inch of me in. There's nothing he could ask of me that I won't do tonight. It's not like he can break me worse.

He kicks my knees wide to step between and grabs two fistfuls of my hair. He tips my head back and forces me to look at him.

For a long time, all he does is stare. I want to rise to the occasion. Meet his eyes and not blink. It's nearly impossible. He's the most perfect thing I've ever seen. I want to tell him this. I want to tell him I've been floating in a sea of denial, not of what I knew but of what I wanted—what I was denying myself because I thought he'd ruled me out years ago for too many reasons to count. I thought I was lucky to get to watch TV with my head on his lap. To have the privilege of him warming my bed and letting me grab his hand when I needed it. To wrap myself around his body when I needed more but was afraid it was too much. My lips part to whisper some small summary of this, but his mouth is on mine before I can get a single syllable out.

Fuck.

This again. My dick thumps up against my abs as his tongue wraps around mine and pulls it into his mouth. I no longer believe that two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time. He's kissing me so deeply, it's like we're merging into one.

I brace myself by hanging on to his waistband, stretching my back and neck to bind us together. My cock jerks again, but I can't blame myself if I come from his kiss. It's like being fucked in the face except it actually feels good.

His pace is perfect. Powerful and slow, intense and earth-shaking. My lips are going to be bruised, and I couldn't care less. He groans, long and low, as he drops to his knees, bringing my mouth along for the journey. My hands slide up his sides, drift up his neck, and grip the back of his head.

He slips a hand beneath my chin and pulls away, breathing heavy and staring at me with red, shining lips and a determined gaze. "You gonna give me what I want?"

I nod, in a trance.

"Don't fight me."

I take my hands off him, place them flat on the mattress and lean back.

He stares at the swollen, seeping tip of my cock. "You won't stop me?"

Why the fuck would I do that?

I grip myself by the base and angle myself at his mouth.

"Thank you," he whispers like grace before bending forward to engulf my cock.

"Oh, God …"

He's got me in his throat in two seconds, and his lips are working up and down my shaft while he moans like he's the one a few heartbeats away from exploding.

His mouth is a million degrees and so wet . His tongue is velvety soft, fitting itself to me and guiding me deeper and deeper until he digs his nose into my pubic bone and swallows my crown, compressing me with his fucking esophagus.

My hands shake and tear at the sheets. I shout as the nearly instant orgasm tenses my thighs, lights me up, and shoots into him.

He slides back, popping off me with a gasp but aiming my dick to catch the next few spurts on his tongue. So goddamn hot. The next gush doesn't go airborne, and I swear that was the one he was waiting for, because it gives him a perfect excuse to suckle maddeningly at my tip, nursing me for every last drop.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus…

"No no no…" I fight to catch my breath, but my hips are bucking, fighting back against this attack when my dick can't take any more.

He slaps a hand on my pec and digs his nails in, beginning his next blow job more playfully. It's an all-out assault on frayed nerve-endings, and I'm immediately on the verge of tears, whimpering and begging him to give me a minute—to please slow down, "Fuck, Matty, I can't take it."

He gives my nipple a light pinch, distracting me, but he doesn't stop. His lips are a firm ring dragging up and down half my cock and flicking his tongue over my slit with every upstroke.

" Jesus Christ …" I groan, surrendering to the aftershocks and what feels like electric zaps up my shaft. I twitch and gasp and whine until he slowly but surely manages to draw deep groans from me again. I'm still edged with burning need—another orgasm wanting to burst through. It's beyond intense, and it's turning me into an animal. My hips fuck into him rhythmically, seeking every bit of friction he has to offer. He moans his pleasure with my response and takes me deeper, a reward for letting him take control.

Then, just as I'm literally peering over the edge of another orgasm, he pulls off and wraps a fist around my base, choking off what felt imminent. "Why so quiet, princess?"

"Matthew, please ." I need more— fuck —I'm sweating for it. Dying for it.

He gives me half a salacious grin. "Please what?"

"It feels so good. I'm gonna come."

"But you already came."

"I need to come again."

"You like it when I suck you?"

"Yes." I'm verging on losing my temper. This side of him is sexy and infuriating, and he's been keeping this from me.

"You ever pass out from coming before?" he asks.

I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek almost hard enough to draw blood, definitely enough to leave a mark. My hips are still moving. I feel high . Vibrating with primal need. "Is that the plan?"

"It's a fantasy. Can I keep fucking you if you're passed out?"

"You can do whatever you want to me." I only halfway understand what I'm saying to him. But my general thoughts are yes . Yes to everything. Anything .

"Fuck, that's a good answer." Using his left hand, he jerks me back to the edge, then wraps his lips around my tip and literally sucks my next release straight from my core.

I shout out in shock. It shatters me so completely, I lose sensation in my arms and legs. I collapse back, but he's got me by the hips and doesn't let go. Doesn't miss a single drop. All that's left of me is a stream of pathetic whimpers.

Instead of going straight back to blowing me this time while I shudder and gasp, he kisses and licks, covering every square millimeter of my dick. I get the sense he could do this all night, and just when I start to get genuinely concerned that's what he's planning, I feel my jeans sliding down my thighs, and I stop breathing.

I sling an arm over my eyes because I know what he's seeing now. Scars, both surgical and jagged. Staple marks. The dent above my left knee. Nothing he hasn't seen before, but never like this. His fingertips dip into my missing piece, and he mutters something I can't hear beyond the blood rushing through my ears. The waistband of my jeans settles behind my calves as he takes off my shoes, then my socks, before he strips my pants all the way off.

"Lie on your stomach and get comfortable," he says. "I'll be right back."

Thank God. We're moving on. Also… oh shit .

I assume the lube and condoms are about to come out. I need to take some deep breaths and rally.

Blinking the post-orgasmic haze from my eyes, I get my bearings, focusing on the exposed duct work in the ceiling above me. When I can feel my arms again, I make my way up the unmade bed, flattening the lightweight covers to clear a path toward the pillows.

I get comfortable on my back, but then I vaguely remember he told me to lie face down. Without putting any thought into it, I flip over, gathering a pillow beneath my head after giving it a long sniff. It smells feminine. I could be like him and make him change all the sheets, but I don't have the energy to be jealous. I'm sure I'll get plenty of opportunities for that later.

He appears in my periphery from the bathroom door to my right. He's taken off his jeans, but his Calvins are still on, and he's a vision. I can't take my eyes off him.

As he comes closer to the bed, I notice he's still brutally erect, still hidden behind the thin, black, cotton cloth.

He opens the drawer of the steel file cabinet next to his bed that serves as a nightstand. A bottle of lube comes out. A roll of condoms. He sets them on the shiny surface and turns on the lamp. I watch as his gaze roams the length of my backside, fully displayed for him, my right knee hitched up slightly, mirroring the position I sleep in, and I am close to drifting. Two orgasms and a soft bed…

His hard-on has my attention, though. Aesthetically, there's just something about a big dick that I, like most people probably, can appreciate. However…knowing where he means to put it has me clenching with anxiety. I'm no longer relaxed.

Nicole took months to warm up to my cock, and if she were faced with Matthew's, she'd nope out quick, but maybe it's different for women since there are structures inside them that stop progress, but an ass goes on forever, as long as he can manage to get through the hole.

"I'm not sure I can do this," I tell him in a low, quiet voice.

His mouth quirks slightly, but he doesn't meet my eyes. "Afraid it's gonna hurt, princess?"

"Is that unreasonable?"

He takes off his boxer briefs, and I get the full frontal picture. His cock's not just big, it's fucking beautiful .

He gives it another long, slow stroke as he kneels on the mattress. He slides that same hand over my scars. "How bad did this hurt?"

His touch soothes, but the memory eviscerates. Being hit by the bomb blast was the worst physical pain imaginable. Agony. A shattered femur, shrapnel piercing my spleen, a blown up knee-cap. I could only black out for so long. Inevitably, the pain brought me back to consciousness again, and yes—nothing hurts a man worse than a metal spike through the testicle. I close my eyes as his hand moves over my ass cheek, gripping the flesh and sliding his thumb through my crease.

What I thought he was saying at first was that it couldn't be any worse than what my body's already been through. But what he's telling me with his hand is there may be no comparison. That this agony may be the sweetest I'll ever know.

"Don't worry, princess," he whispers. "I'm not in any hurry."