Page 20 of Matteo's Mettle
London’s eyes are warm and his smile is fond. “I figured as much. From what I’ve read, and what I’ve seen -and, hell, what I just experienced as well- this sort of thing involves trust and familiarity that a casual relationship isn’t generally cut out for. Well, at least for most people. And, to be honest, I’m an all-in kind of guy, too. So…” There’s vulnerability on his face again, reminding me that we’re equals in this. It steadies my nerves. “I’d like to date you. Exclusively. To be your Daddy…if that’s what you want.”
“This isn’t going too fast for you? Like, you’re not just doing this for my benefit, right?”
I hate how insecure I sound.
Another fear is that he’s just saying what I want to hear and then I won’t hear from him again after tomorrow. But he honestly doesn’t strike me as the type of guy to pull that sort of stunt. I can’t know that for sure, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I need to.
The covers rustle as he gets more comfortable, wriggling closer, pressing our bodies together. He’s hard, his bulge grinding into mine, eliciting a soft gasp from my lips. “This is perfect, sweetheart. And I’m benefiting, too.”
How is it that he is so damn mature? When I was in my mid-twenties, I was a fucking mess. And that wasbeforeI discovered my kinky side.
I’ve got one arm trapped beneath him, but the other coasts down his strong back, sneaking under his shirt, teasing his skin before dipping towards the band of his borrowed boxers. He stills then exhales, “There’s one more thing.”
With our chests against each other, I can feel his heart rate picking up. Concerned, I pull my head back, watching him closely as I ask, “What’s wrong?”
London swallows roughly, spots of pink on his cheeks. “I…” He clears his throat but doesn’t look away. “I like to wear lingerie. Namely panties. Lace and satin do it for me.”
Huh. I wouldn’t have picked that from his big, rugged frame. But now the image of him wearing a strap of lace and nothing else forms in my brain and my cock gets impossibly harder. “That’s fucking sexy.”
“Really?” He sounds bewildered, like this was not the reaction he was expecting. I can’t imagine why, considering I think my kink is even more taboo, socially speaking.
My fingers tease at the top of the boxers again. “Are you wearing a pair now?”
His resulting nod is slow and hesitant. Gone is the bold, confident man I’ve seen all evening, and in his place is someone wholly relatable.
“Can I see you?”
If I hadn’t been so focused on him, I think I might have missed the panic on his face in the dim lighting. “I’ve never…” He trails off, averting his gaze.
“Never what?”
“I…I’ve kept it to myself.” He bites his lip. “I’ve never let anyone else see me wearing them. I’ve never worn them if I even thought someone else might see them.”
I blink, surprised by that. “Really?”
London bobs his head in affirmation, blushing in the dim lighting.
Holy shit.
Even though I’ve been enamored with his self-assurance until now, this vulnerability is somehow even sexier. The idea that he feels comfortable enough to share this secret of his with me, a veritable stranger, is heady. Maybe he sees it as a mutual thing, though, considering the way I spilled my own secrets to him earlier tonight.
“I’m the luckiest boyever.” I blurt, then realize that he hasn’t actually agreed to show me. I rush to fix my presumption. “I mean, I will be when you’re comfortable showing me.If. If you’re comfortable. There’s no pressure.”
London’s shoulders relax, the tension in his body fading while I babble. Then he’s kissing me again, cutting off my ramble and rolling me onto my back. This kiss is even more intense than the last. It’s sloppier, harder, less coordinated. London ruts against me, grinding his cock against mine while our tongues twist together. I pant into his mouth while I rock my hips up to meet his movements.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, managing to get the thought out through the lust-induced fog in my brain. “Please, Daddy.”
London groans, a deep sound full of pleasure that rockets straight through me. “God, hearing you call me Daddy is something else.”
I don’t need to beg him any further, though. He rolls off me, kneeling on the mattress to pull his borrowed shirt over his head, and I watch through hooded eyes as his thumbs tuck into to the waistband of his shorts. After taking a steadying breath, he pushes the cotton down where it catches around his thick thighs, revealing the black elastane and lace through which his cock is making a bid for freedom, straining against the fabric.
His blue eyes are pinned on me, watching me for my reaction. He has nothing to worry about, though. If anything, seeing him like this turns me on more. I lick my lips, reaching for him. My fingertips brush against the smooth, silky front which is edged by soft lace scallops. His dick jumps at the touch.
“Gorgeous,” I murmur, palming him properly now through the material. There’s a damp spot forming over the head of his cock, as though I needed any further proof of how much he’s enjoying this. Thumbing over it, I relish in the sounds he’s making.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” London says after allowing me to tease him for a while longer.
I’m aching and leaking precum in my own shorts, ignored by both of us to this point. “Daddy,” I practically whine, and I can feel the jolt of arousal that shoots through his cock when I do. Grinning, I file that information away, beyond pleased to have proof that he really does enjoy it when I use the title on him.
