Page 26 of The Official Problem
Fuck.
He’d taken too long. The guy had probably sensed his hesitation and decided to cut his losses, find what he needed elsewhere. Kieran would have to try again.
He took a moment to reset, breathing deep into the near silence. The club music didn’t reach back here, though Kieran could still feel the beat pulsing through the floor. The notes were barely more than a hum. Maybe he should just head home. As much as he needed this, his energy was shot.
He decided to give up before embarrassing himself and turned toward the door, only to stop in his tracks.
TEN
KIERAN
“Who was he?” snarled a familiar figure, silhouetted by the light creeping in through the cracked door. The shadow stepped toward Kieran, who stumbled back, barely catching himself before he hit the floor.
“I asked, who the fuck was that?” The voice came again, now inches away. Kieran hadn’t even realized his eyes had shut.
“I don’t know,” he said, with all the false bravado he could muster, which, truthfully, wasn’t much. “I didn’t get his name.”
“So you were what? Going to fuck him back here? Let him fuck you?”
“We hadn’t decided yet.”
“Were you going to suck his dick?”
“I’d thought about it.”
Matthieu snarled again, stepping in impossibly close and driving Kieran’s back into the wall. One hand came up around his neck, fingertips digging into the space just behind his pulse point. The grip was firm, not quite choking, but enough to hold him in place.
“Then what?” Matthieu’s other hand hit Kieran’s hip, slamming it against the wall with more force than seemed possible.
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“No, you hadn’t.”
Matthieu leaned in, running his tongue up the side of Kieran’s neck. Kieran couldn’t breathe, though it had nothing to do with Matthieu’s grip and everything to do with the way his presence sucked the air from the room.
“You hadn’t thought about what seeing you with him would do to me?” Matthieu growled.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kieran blinked, taken aback. Whatever had come over Matthieu was completely absurd.
Matthieu nuzzled his cheek, rubbing sharp stubble across Kieran’s jaw, nipping along the side of his face. Kieran stayed frozen. His arms hung at his sides, not touching Matthieu, afraid that even the slightest movement might anger him more—or worse, make him leave.
“I thought I was rid of you,” he hissed. “It took me years to stop seeing you when I closed my eyes. To stop aching for you every goddamn minute. Now you’re here, up in my face one minute, chasing attention, and flaunting it with someone else the next.”
Matthieu’s grip tightened. The already-thin air struggled to reach Kieran’s lungs. If he kept this up, Kieran would have bruises tomorrow. The idea of seeing those marks sent a wave of pleasure rippling through him when it should have been fear.
What the hell was he doing?
He should’ve shoved Matthieu away, should’ve been screaming at him to back off. Dragging him out and handing him over to security for assaulting him in one of the backrooms. Instead, Kieran leaned into the hand, taunting Matthieu to seal off his airway completely, maybe even do more.
“You’ll never be rid of me,” Kieran rasped. He was close to passing out.
Matthieu’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring with heat, as his hand finally dropped from Kieran’s neck. He sucked in huge gulps of air, coaxing his burning lungs to expand again. The pain was addictive.
Matthieu’s fingertips traced featherlight up the side of Kieran’s face, his thumb brushing the corner of his lip before disappearing into his hair. “Get on your knees.”
“Fucking make me,” Kieran spat back, though there was no venom in his tone.
It might have been the fierce ache he’d carried since Matthieu reentered his life that brought him to his knees. Maybe it was the two drinks he’d downed thirty minutes ago in quick succession. Or maybe it was that now he could breathe again, all the blood in his body was rushing south, making him impossibly hard. But it wasn’t Matthieu’s barely-there push, just a tap to the shoulder, that made him sink to the floor without protest.
