Page 16 of Matteo's Mettle
“Matteo.” Damn it, I’m almost certain he knows exactly what he’s doing now, even if he didn’t earlier. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
The dam bursts and my thoughts pour forth from my mouth, bypassing my filter entirely. There’s no rhyme or reason to them. No order. I just blurt out all of my concerns, my fears, and my hopes in a barrage of rapid-fire statements.
Despite my embarrassment, I tell him about how badly I would love for him to try being my Daddy. About how much I miss having someone who understands my needs. About how I desperately want to find someone who genuinely cares and wants to look after me, and for whom, in turn, I can be a good boy. The best boy.
This rambles into my snowballing feelings of inadequacy. My voice shakes as I tell him about how lonely and utterly pathetic I’ve felt; the rejected boy, not good enough for any Daddy. Lastly, I go into how miserable I’ve been, knowing that it’s the choices I’ve made which have made me so undesirable.
It’s like the last two years’ worth just explodes out of me. Even though I’ve vented to my friends, it’s never been quite like this. I’ve always held back with them, not wanting to burden them or make them feel awkward. But with London, this veritable stranger, I let it all out.
I realize that unloading like this is the least sexy thing I could do when I originally invited the guy in for a hook-up, but there’s no stopping the flow of words, and I find the entire experience cathartic.
London holds me through it, carding fingers through my hair and squeezing me reassuringly. He doesn’t interrupt once. Occasionally, I feel him make a sound of commiseration or understanding, but it’s not until I’ve said the last of it and have then reiterated that I don’t want to use him simply because he’s the only man to show me even close to the attention that I crave that he finally says anything.
But what he says isn’t anything I expected at all.
“Can I give you a bath?”
Chapter Six – London
After his outpouring of information, I can see Matt is emotionally and physically exhausted. The poor guy’s clearly been holding most of that in, struggling away on his own for the last couple of years. Oh, and then there’s the fact that it’s his fucking birthday and, if not for my being here with him, he’d be alone for it.
It tugs at my heart, making it squeeze painfully in my chest. I’m overwhelmed by the same feeling I had when that asshole in the club made him cry. This time, though, Iamable to wrap my arms around him, offering him what comfort I can, but I want to take away his hurt. I want to make him smile. I want to look after him and cherish him and, well, be the Daddy he so clearly needs.
Sure, there’s the slight complication that I’ve never been anyone’s Daddy before, as well as the fact that I’ve kept my lingerie secret to myself, but instinct will assist with the former and I get the feeling the latter won’t bother him too much. I mean, he’s a forty-five-year-old man who wears diapers for fun: if anyone will understand me wanting to wear panties because they make me feel good, I think it’ll be him.
But would hemindhaving a Daddy who indulges in what’s traditionally seen as a more effeminate kink?
Considering how beefy he is, would he prefer his Daddy to be the same? I’m solidly built (no abs to speak of but no beer gut either, though I can’t deny there’s a little softness around my middle) with a frame that rivals his, even if I am a little shorter. As much as I hate labels, I fit that whole ‘masculine’ vibe. You know, aside from my penchant for satin and lace.
But I’m getting way ahead of myself right now. Something about Matt inspires that from me. His vulnerability calls to me in ways I can’t quite put into words.
So, instead of reacting to any of his emotional outburst (as desperately as I might want to address his specific concerns about me or the spark between us), I ask to give him a bath.
He blinks at me. “A…bath?”
I know I could have picked a far less intimate activity -one not involving nudity- but we met at a BDSM club, for fuck’s sake. I’m also pretty sure he invited me in for a hook-up anyway, and this entire discussion has been dancing around our mutual desires to explore our connection, for lack of a better word. Besides, he’s emotionally worked up and a bath will be relaxing if nothing else.
I nod decisively. “A bath, yes.”
“Like…as a Daddy?” His question is tentative and spoken so quietly that I have to strain to hear it. There’s a world of emotion packed into those few words -hope, longing, disbelief- and I want nothing more than to reassure him.
“Yes. If you’re okay with that.”
Wide green eyes look at me with that same ‘are you stupid’ expression Kate gave me earlier this evening. “I ammorethan okay with that.”
Which is how I find myself standing next to a giant-ass bathtub in the master bathroom. Unlike most of the house, this space has clearly been renovated recently. The tiles are modern white subway tiles with glossy black accents. The shower, like the tub, is spacious enough to easily hold two adult bodies (even those as big as ours), and the toilet is positioned comfortably between the two, with a double vanity on the opposite wall.
I’d half expected to feel nervous for this moment, but a sense of how right this feels settles over me instead, and I’m calm and confident when I ask Matt if I can undress him.
“You really want to do this?” He double checks, even as he comes to stand in front of me while the tub fills. “This scene?”
I grin. “I really do.” Excitement simmers beneath my skin. Not just at the prospect of getting him naked, even though my cock stirs valiantly at the thought, but excitement at seeing if the Daddy/boy dynamic will work for me.
For us.
“Safe words?” He prompts. “I usually use the stoplight system.”
That much I had gathered at the club, but I nod. “Perfect.”
