Page 41 of The Official Problem
Kieran reached up, slipping Matthieu’s glasses off, and set them on the table by the door. “Where do you want me?”
Everywhere.
All the goddamn time.
“Against the mirror.” His words came out scratchy. “I want to see your eyes roll back when I fuck you. I want to remember it tonight while I watch you skate. I want the satisfaction of knowing you still feel me inside you, hours later.”
“Fuck, Matt?—”
Matthieu prowled toward him, backing him into the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“Do you like the thought of that?” he whispered, breath hot at Kieran’s ear, fingers trailing the waistband of his sweats.
He tugged them down, pleased to find Kieran bare beneath. His gorgeous cock was hard, flushed an angry red against his stomach, the tip already leaking for him.
“Trying to skate with that deep ache I left inside you.”
He scraped his teeth along Kieran’s jaw. The prickle of stubble only drove him wilder. He wanted that prickle between his legs, wanted it to leave marks on the inside of his thighs that he’d still feel days later.
“I bet every twinge will make you hard remembering it.”
Kieran let out a mewling noise. Desperate for friction, he thrust against Matthieu, who held him firm.
“Did you do what I asked?”
“Why don’t you look and find out?”
Matthieu spun him, pressing Kieran’s chest hard to the mirror, reveling in the whoosh of breath as his forehead bumped the glass. He kissed along Kieran’s neck and shoulders, slow and deliberate. Matthieu didn’t know if he was torturing Kieran more or himself, only that he needed to prove he still had an ounce of control. If he could deny himself a few moments longer, he’d have somehow won.
Kieran groaned. “Matthieu, I don’t have all day.”
“Then beg for it,” Matthieu whispered into the warm space behind his ear, hand trailing slowly up the outside of Kieran’s thigh.
He dug his fingers into a bruise on Kieran’s hip, shushing and cooing as Kieran bucked at the tenderness. Matthieu hated whoever had put that mark there. Something dark, maybe a little depraved, wanted him to be the only one who left bruises on Kieran’s skin.
“Beg for me, sweetheart.”
“Matty, please,” Kieran let out with a shudder.
“We both know that’s not good enough.” Matthieu bit down on his shoulder, loving the yelp it earned him.
“Please fuck me,” he choked, locking eyes with Matthieu in the mirror. “I need you. I think I’ll die if you don’t.”
Matthieu chuckled. “So dramatic.”
“Please.”
“Let me see if you were a good boy first. Spread yourself for me.”
Kieran obeyed instantly, widening his stance and gripping his ass to hold himself open. Matthieu stepped back, eyes lingering on Kieran’s before dragging down the line of his spine.
The sight alone nearly undid him. Kieran’s hole was pink and slick, glistening with leftover lube from where he’d worked himself open. The puckered skin, stretched and needy, waited for him to sink in. Matthieu ran his hand down Kieran’s crease, moaning as his fingers slipped through the tight ring of muscle with barely any resistance. He worked two fingers in, watching Kieran’s reflection for any flicker of discomfort, but there was none.
“You have been a good boy.”
He bit at Kieran’s shoulder again, then pressed a third finger into his tight ass, spreading them to make sure he was nice and stretched.
“Tell me one thing,” Matthieu purred, slipping his fingers out to grab the lube and condom from his wallet. Kieran tracked the motion with hooded eyes, breathy, desperate pants spilling from his lips. “What were you thinking about as you prepped yourself?”
