31. Fischer

31

FISCHER

M atthew's kiss is a force of nature, stronger than any hurricane or monsoon I've ever stood in. It's tearing me apart, razing me to my already shaky foundation and addling my mind. He's thick, hot, and throbbing in my fist. His lips are as shiny, wet, and as swollen as the crown of his cock. His midnight eyes are heavy-lidded with unmistakable want. The way he looks at me is so stirring, so powerful, it's like staring at the sun.

I left him for so long—left him wanting. Left him searching and needing. I don't deserve this much of him. There's almost no chance I won't disappoint him.

But I can't resist him, either. Having him like this—committing to me—is getting to me. Emotionally. As much as I want him, as much as I've known since our first kiss that I was utterly fucked, here I am like a bird flying straight into a turbine engine, hoping for the best. That maybe I'll get lucky.

"You're everything," he argues. "There's no way you couldn't be enough."

I nod, glitching.

I let go of his cock because holding it suddenly feels awkward. I put my hand on his rough cheek instead, and he does the best and worst thing I can imagine. He pulls me in for a hug.

His hands smooth my shirt up and down my back, chin resting on my shoulder. I melt against him. His arms are my safe place. My sense of personal space includes him.

I trusted him with my broken body, and now he's asking me to trust him with my heart, and I find, suddenly, that it's a leap I'm not sure I can take. I'm not sure I know how to. If I could leave my family—my son—what the fuck makes me think I won't turn into some selfish asshole again and leave him, too? I would never forgive myself.

Still, in his arms, it feels like he's welding all the pieces of me threatening to fly apart back together. I breathe deeply, and the air releases from me jaggedly, lust saturating and confusing every cell in my system.

"You overwhelm so easy," he says.

The thing is, I normally don't. One of the most common words used to describe me is stoic. I've had to be. Expressionless. Unbiased. Unfazed. But I'm more like a dormant volcano. Quiet, unassuming, until it's all too much, and I explode.

"You overwhelm me on purpose," I say, half affirmation, half accusation.

Everything about tonight feels different than being with him at the loft. It's not a "last time," or merely "one more time." It feels like a beginning, and I'm afraid to trust that feeling. I know how wild he is. How inconstant with his lovers. He's my best friend, and I know more about him than he realizes. Those apps he uses…

I know one other thing without a doubt—I want him more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I wonder if his other lovers felt the same way when they were the center of his attention, the object of his desire. He's beyond passionate. Everything he does, he does with his whole chest. Despite my seeming lack of participation in our liaisons so far, he still doesn't make me feel like I'm simply a series of holes to get off on, or that I only get some small part of him. It feels like while I have him, I have all of him. But how can I be enough, much less everything ? Divorced with an ex, a kid, a demanding job—I'm spread so thin already. He could have more. He could have anyone he lays his eyes on…

"It's insanely hot," he tells me—meaning the fact that he reduces me to a mass of shivering need whenever he touches me.

That same need kicks into a higher gear at his words and overrides the sudden onslaught of doubt—it's not going anywhere. But he might, if I don't work to keep him here. "What're you gonna do to me?" I whisper with my mouth practically on top of his ear.

I feel the shiver running through him, and I give his earlobe a lick to test a theory. He sucks in a breath. Good to know …

"Depends on what you can handle," he whispers shakily. "I know what I want to do."

"I'm listening," I say.

"You want me to paint you a picture?"

"Yes," I sigh against his ear, making his grip on me tighten, making him rub his cock against mine again, heating me back up.

"I want to get you into bed. Get you really comfortable. Really hard. And then suck your cock while you're sucking my cock. I wanna come in your mouth. And then bury myself inside you."

It's my turn to shudder. "You want to fuck me to sleep?"

"If you'll have me."

I nod, my chin digging into his shoulder. I wanted him here for a reason.

Matthew pulls back but keeps his hands on me. He looks me up and down and says, "Why don't you head that direction since you walk so slow. I'll just be a minute."

"What are you doing?"

"Grabbing some water. We might need it."

"Okay," I say in the manner of Jesus .

I take a moment in the bathroom to remove my shirt, make sure I don't smell, and just for good measure, I brush my teeth. He's still not in the room when I finish up. I hear him, though, in the kitchen.

I remove my pants but leave my underwear on. My hard on has flagged due to nerves and intrusive thoughts like " you're such a bottom, though ." What did that even mean? And does he think I'm good at it? Is it a dig? Is he a strict top, and he has a sixth sense about it? Why am I twisting myself in knots over someone I know outside the bedroom as well as the back of my hand?

I sit on the edge of the bed and try to gather myself, my thoughts, and rein in my anxiety.

"You praying?" he asks.

I lift my head from where I had it bent over my folded hands.

He's still dressed, and he's holding two glasses of water.

I don't answer him, watching as he moves from nightstand to nightstand, placing a glass on each. And then he's standing in front of me, his fingertips underneath my chin, tilting my face up so he can look into my eyes. "You still with me?"

I nod.

"Scoot back."

I do, and it gives him room to slide his knees onto the bed and straddle my lap. Sexiest move ever.

He lifts my hands and places them on his hips. His pants are still open, but his dick is back in his shorts. Still hard. Jesus, he's hot. This is hot. He leans in slowly, and our mouths meet once…twice…and then we open to each other again.

He smooths his hands up my chest, my neck, then cradles my face as he kisses me first tenderly, and then taking the passion up a notch, one long stroke at a time. I lose myself in it for I don't know how long. His stamina is truly staggering, and he's so good at edging me with his mouth alone. I'm already close. But this time, I don't think this is a reflection on me so much as how filthily erotic Matthew's kiss is.

It's an immersive experience. The way his body moves against mine, the way he sighs into my mouth, the way sometimes it's just a wet, open-mouthed thrashing of tongues that I can't even describe except to say it drives me right to the limit until he closes his lips and changes his method into something less dirty, but far more intimate.

Eons pass before he gets a firmer grip on my face and separates his mouth from mine. "More," he whispers.

"Anything," I say like a beggar.

He backs up, standing to strip his clothes off.

I grab a sip of water while he's pulling his shirt over his head. As he lowers his arms to get rid of his pants, his pecs flex, and his abs crunch. I know for a fact he's never set foot in a gym, so I have to assume it's the sculpting that keeps his muscles so toned. I have a thirty minute free-weight routine prescribed by my physical therapist that I do most days of the week at home. Overall, our builds are similar, but the similarities end there.

I'm olive, he's rose-gold. I'm dirty-blond and he's dark-haired…everywhere. My gaze travels the trail from his navel to his cock. He's waxed, I think. I keep myself hairless, too—a habit I picked up in my Grindr era and resurrected once I got back to New York.

"Why are you not naked?" he asks as he shoves his pants and boxer briefs down past his calves.

I lie back on the bed, peeling my underwear off, hyperconscious of my erection slapping my belly.

He steps away from his discarded clothes. Toward me. "Fuck, you're pretty."

My face heats. I've known for a long time he sees my scars differently than I do. Not as disfiguring but as proof of life. But the enthusiasm behind his obvious attraction is beyond reassuring.

After crawling over me, he drops onto his side and runs a hand down my damaged leg, tracing my longest scar with his fingertip, like he's drawing it on. "So, back in the day," he says, "Did you ever sixty-nine?"

"No."

"I'll tell you a secret…I haven't with a man either."

I'm fucking quivering . "Can I ask you something, too?"

"Sure," he says.

"Do you always top?"

"No."

"Do you need?—"

"No," he says firmly.

I was going to say more , but my brain is glitching again with a naked Matthew next to me. "Should that hurt my feelings?"

"I meant it as a compliment."

I don't know what that means, but then he gives me a sexy grin, grips my cock, and folds his body to wrap his mouth around it. He's groaning the moment my crown hits his tongue. His body bends, slides, and reorients until he's on his other side, and his own leaking cock is staring me in the face.

I turn toward him, and he runs a hand over my hip, resting his fingers between my ass cheeks as he sucks me to his throat. His mouth might actually kill me. He uses it so wickedly well. I brace myself for the onslaught I know is coming before I lick my lips and taste him.

Spice and musk. Dark and fucking delicious. My jaw is all warmed up from the kissing, so I'm able to fit him in with one try. And fuuckkk …he's satin on steel. So hard and so soft and so fucking good my hips buck, making him grunt and give me a rough swallow. I groan helplessly, not sure why this sounded like a good idea, but it's a whole different kind of overwhelmingly impossible. I'm gonna come in two seconds. All I can do is try my best to focus and get him there with me.

As much as I want to play with his ass the way he's teasing mine, Matthew's dick requires a hand.

We fall into a pattern of sucking and being sucked, giving each other breaks as we work through how to deal with doubling our pleasure.

I've definitely missed sucking cock, and it's obviously Matthew's favorite hobby. He's voracious and ruthless, too. Not only does he avidly deep throat, but he probes my slit like he wishes he could sink his entire tongue inside it. It's the hardest sensation to bear, making me unbearably warm and restless, punching the breath straight from my lungs.

"Jesus…don't stop…" I groan incoherently around his shaft.

He gently fucks into me, and I take each thrust. His breaths shorten. "I'm close. That's so good, princess. I'm so close… fuck …"

He rubs his open mouth across my crown as his sounds grow more chaotic and his cock gives a telltale jerk.

"You're making me come, Fischer…oh, God, oh shit …I'm coming…. Uunnhhh … unhhh…sshhiiit… "

I hold him firmly as his cock twitches violently in my hand, his load splashing the back of my throat in several strong bursts. I swallow and suck, swallow and take the rest as he makes all those tortured sounds I've been dying to hear all night.

As his cock settles, I draw in a breath, but when he sticks a finger in my ass and engulfs my dick until his nose is buried in my sac, I lose my goddamned mind.

" Matthew! " I shout, and I sound terrified, but he apparently gets that I'm not asking him to stop because he doesn't until I'm coming so hard I'm practically sobbing on his stomach.