Was I okay?
“Fuck, what if you hadn’t been there?” I said, and his fingers slid into my hair.
“You would have done exactly what I did, except possibly for putting the IV access in. Heidi would still have been okay,”
he said reassuringly, then we were kissing, slow, coaxing kisses.
I melted. He tasted of bacon and egg and himself, and the metallic smell puzzled me until I realised it was Heidi’s blood I could smell on him, and on myself. That was a little creepy.
His hand was sliding under my T-shirt, and across the flaking patches of dried blood on my chest, and it didn’t stop me from finding his cock through his scrubs.
He pulled back a little shakily and I could see his teeth and lips shining in the car park lights. “How about we go back to my place and shower?” he said, and it sounded like a damned good idea.
“You think we’ve had enough sex in a public place for one night?” I asked.
Andrew chuckled and nodded. “Oh, yeah, let’s go somewhere private for a change.”
Chapter Fourteen
There was a real luxury in leaning back against the tiles and letting someone else scrub the dried blood out of my pores and the creases of my skin. Matthew’s hands were gentle, and there was nothing sexual about the slide of the wash cloth down my arm, but my body was miles ahead of us, taking each stroke of my skin and completely misinterpreting it, leaving me hard, stomach muscles fluttering as Matthew pressed kisses against my belly.
When we’d come home, I’d cracked a bottle of chenin blanc for us, cranked the central heating all the way up, and had been standing here, under the stream of hot water, while Matthew drove me completely crazy, long enough that the taste of the wine was fading.
Not a bad thing in itself, not when Matthew stood up again and kissed me, replacing the taste with his lips and tongue.
Fuck, I could see the headspace he was in, feel it in his fingers as they brushed across my neck, pressing briefly against my carotid, thyroid cartilage, then larynx. “Go and make sure you’re clean,” he said, turning the shower taps off.
“I’ll wait in the bedroom for you.”
When I walked into my bedroom, Matthew was standing beside the bed, towel wrapped around his hips, his hair dripping still. The top drawer of the nightstand was open, and when he looked up from studying its contents, I knew my cover was blown.
There wasn’t anything particularly incriminating there, no porn or toys, not with a pre-pubescent son that lived with me some of the time, but there was enough for Matthew to put the pieces together obviously.
He undid his towel and tossed it on the bed, and he was rock hard and naked and so utterly gorgeous that breathing was difficult. He picked up one of the packs of gloves and undid it, laying the sterile package out on the nightstand. Part of my brain was still on the same planet as the rest of humanity because I noticed that he put the first glove on with the correct technique, sliding his hand in without touching the outside. The second glove went on right, too, fingers of the first hand inside the cuff, the quick wriggle of his hand, then the casual sorting out of fingers. There was a snap of latex on skin and I thought my knees would fail.
Fuck.
He tossed a strip of condoms onto the bed and pointed at his abandoned towel.
I crawled every inch of the way.
The mattress sagged under his weight, but I kept my eyes closed tight. I didn’t want to see him, didn’t want him to see me either; I was too naked for this.
Latex-clad fingertips trailed softly up my spine and Matthew’s lips brushed over my ear, the damp tails of his hair tickling over my shoulder and neck. “Shh,” he said, and his fingers traced circles over my scapula.
There was a way to do this, to surrender, and I let myself just feel Matthew’s fingers as they traced down my back.
Trapezius, lattisimus dorsi, ridge of my scapula, teres major, teres minor, deltoid. He circled again and the tension ebbed out of me. Third circle, and my eyes were open and the tiny check pattern of my quilt and the rough ecru loops of the towel swam in front my eyes.
“That’s better,” he whispered. “No one else will ever know about this, I promise you.” C2, C7, down my nuchal line, iliac crest, sacrum.
Downy hair became coarser. I exhaled slowly, deeply, and the mattress moved again.
I could wait.
Click. That was the cap of the lube. Squelch. Oh, yeah.
Long, long pause, and I could almost hear the rub of lube over latex as Matthew warmed the liquid for me. It made me smile.
Matthew chuckled, this warm sound beside my ear, then he kissed my cheek and settled back onto the bed close beside me.
The lube was cool, not cold, when Matthew trailed his fingers down the crack of my ass.
His breathing was slow and deep in the quiet room, over the faint hiss of the central heating, and his fingers traced the ridged skin.
Desire crept out, stood between me and the bedside light, casting its shadow over me, and one finger slid in easily.
“Oh, fuck,” I said.
I thought he’d make me turn over, make me even more vulnerable, but he didn’t. His finger see-sawed in and out and the towel was rough underneath me when I rocked my hips involuntarily.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he said, and he licked his tongue over my ear. Helix, triangular fossa, concha, lobule, tragus. Two fingers. He was right; rubbing against the towel was going to hurt. I stilled my hips while I could.
The world shrunk in. I stopped being able to name the places that Matthew was kissing me, touching me. He didn’t touch me there, though there would soon be a time when he wouldn’t be able to avoid it. He was biting me now, moaning, too, and my back was slick with sweat. I could feel it trickling down my ribs.
He changed angles, pulled back, slid in with three fingers.
I started to fall apart, clutched at the bedding, ground down, and then back onto his hand.
He stopped, added more lube one-handed, and it was cold and sharp and slippery and stinging and so fucking good.
Matthew may have made a hell of a lot of noise earlier in the bar, but I was matching him now. This was beyond sexual, far too intense to only be about arousal or pleasure. This was all of me, and there was nothing else that did this to me.
Four fingers now, and there was no way Matthew could miss hitting the right spot inside me, but he didn’t give me a chance to adjust, just pulled his hand back, bunched his fingers tight, and pushed back in.
I yelled, top-of-my-lungs hollered, and was vaguely aware of Matthew laughing, then the pressure was over. I was completely overloaded with endorphins, blissed out, floating now, boneless, smiling beatifically, no doubt. F could keep his chemicals; they were no match for this place.
I couldn’t come like this; hell, I couldn’t talk or move, could barely breathe, and Matthew slid his hand back out.
“Wait for me,” he said, and he grabbed a condom and ripped the pack open while I rolled over, an inane smile on my face.
Taking him was nothing, though he was still considerate enough to go slow, presumably just in case I was sore.
I wasn’t; just kind of raw. There was a reason I had the very best lube there was in my drawer.
I didn’t last, didn’t have a chance, just came the instant he was inside me and kissing me, and it was the sort of orgasm that was blinding in its intensity. I came with all of me, every pore, every cubic centimeter of air in my lungs, every drop of fluid in my body, came utterly and completely.
It left me stupefied. I couldn’t do anything except grin back at Matthew and loop one anaesthetised hand
