Page 21 of Matteo's Mettle
Whatever lingering fear I harbored that he might just be playing along for my sake evaporates completely and I’m elated because my birthday wish seems to have come true. I’ve found a Daddy. A super hot Daddy, at that.
Oh, sure, we don’t actually know each other, and the age gap isn’t ideal, but those are issues to discuss later. For now, I just want to enjoy the moment. It’s been far too long since I’ve been with another man, and even longer since I felt truly free to let go and be myself in bed.
But with London I don’t feel any reason to hold back. I can call him Daddy. I can let him take control. He doesn’t expect me to top, or to dominate, or to boss him around (not that I don’t enjoy being a bossy bottom every now and again). London knows that I’m needy, that I’m starved for affection, that I want to be looked after and have my decisions made for me. And I trust him to give me what I need. I trust him when he says he wants more than just tonight.
Lunging, London rolls me onto my back again, kissing me while he struggles to push his shorts the rest of the way off. It’s an awkward maneuver, but we’re both worked up now and neither one of us has the capacity to be suave.
His hands tug at my boxers next, and I lift my hips, my mouth still connected to his, helping him remove them to a point where I can kick them free. I don’t care where they land after that.
The only clothing separating us now are those sexy as hell panties he wears, and my hands slide over his perfect, firm ass, squeezing the smooth skin I find there. It turns out the pants are cut like cheeky boy shorts, the scalloped lace fanning out from his crack in graceful arches, feeling like they frame the globes of his cheeks to perfection. I want to demand that he stand up and show me, but that would involve stopping the kiss – not something I’m inclined to do.
“They’re gonna have to come off if you want me to fuck you,” London all but growls against my lips. I’ve been toying with the edges of the lace and squeezing his ass, so I’m not surprised that he’s thinking along the same lines as I am.
“You strip, I’ll grab the lube.”
“I like the way you think.”
We’re a mess of limbs and movement for a brief interlude, each of us dedicated to our respective tasks, and when we meet back up in the middle of the bed again, there’s no longer anything between us. He’s gloriously naked and I drink in every inch of him, my hand gravitating to his hard length.
His cock is shorter than mine, but he’s fucking thick. Just imagining the delicious stretch and burn of something that size inside me has me steadily leaking precum. The idea of him being inside me without even the thinnest barrier is even hotter.
“You sure you’re good without a condom?” I double check. It was one thing to confirm we were both free of STIs before he licked my dick earlier, but this takes that implicit trust to a whole new level. I haven’t gone bare since my relationship ended. But this thing between London and me isn’t a one-night stand. It’s the start of something new. Something serious. “We’re going to be exclusive, right?” He’d said that earlier, hadn’t he? Or am I just imagining the things I want to hear?
I feel only a little bit awkward as I ask these questions, like a fumbling teenager instead of a grown man. But it’s important that we’re on the same page. Especially when we’re talking about unprotected sex. I get tested regularly and I’m on PrEP, but you can never be too careful.
London nods. “Definitely exclusive, sweetheart.” As if reading my thoughts, he adds, “Like I said before, my tests have been negative, I haven’t been with anyone since my last test, and I’m also taking PrEP.” His lips curl upwards and he bumps our noses together. “And I want to see my cum dripping out of your tight, little hole.”
Holy fuck.
Yeah, I’m done talking.
I lunge for his mouth, pulling him against me until our bodies are flush against each other. Wriggling my hand between us, I wrap it around both our cocks as best I can, pumping them together with our combined precum aiding the glide of flesh against flesh. This kiss is rough and needy, and I can’t distinguish which moans and groans belong to him, or which have come from me. His hands feel like they’re everywhere, exploring my body, tugging at my hair, driving me crazy for him. Then he picks up the lube from where I dropped it at my side.
I spread my legs for London without instruction, far too desperate to make him work for it. I can feel him smiling into our kiss and hear the click of the bottle lid opening. He manages to work some lube onto his fingers in a one-handed movement that has to be well practiced, then snaps the lid shut again, dropping the bottle back where he found it before bringing his coated fingers to my hole, all without breaking our kiss.
He doesn’t tease me or draw out the prep, something I’m grateful for in this moment. There’ll be time for slow and romantic later. Tonight, we’re both too wound up. I bear down as he’s adding a third finger, already babbling obscenities and begging for his cock.
“Fuck me already,” I demand in a flash of lucidity, “please, Daddy.”
The magic words have him stroking more lube over his cock. We make matching sounds of pleasure as he notches the head against my entrance and slowly sinks in, stretching me further with short, careful thrusts until he bottoms out. He gives me a moment to adjust and, once I’ve relaxed properly and the burn is less pain and more bliss, he pulls back out and then thrusts back in again in one smooth move.
It’s not long before we find our rhythm, London spread over me so we can kiss as feverishly as we’re fucking. My hands grip his shoulder blades, slipping over sweat-slicked skin, and a gasp is torn from my lips as he grazes my prostate.
“Daddy,” I plead, hoping he’ll hit that same angle again.
“Fuck,” he draws the word out, his voice thick and gravelly, “you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. So tight and hot for Daddy.”
I almost come at that. If he thinks me calling him Daddy is hot, it’s nothing on hearing him refer to himself that way. My hips rock upwards, out of sync, my cock seeking friction.
“Please,” I’m back to babbled begging, my heart hammering and my breath coming out in pants as the tension builds. I’m so fucking close, but I need more. “I need…” I don’t know what I need. Not really. All I know is I’m cresting the wave, but my orgasm is just out of reach.
London shifts his weight onto his left arm, resting on his elbow and forearm so he can slip his right hand between our bodies. When his hand wraps around my leaking cock, I almost sob with relief. “Is this what you need, sweetheart?” He begins pumping me in time with his thrusts.
I don’t answer. I’m unable to. Instead, I manage to partially warn, “I’m gonna-” My words cut off with a grunt as his dick pistons over my prostate again and I come hard, spurting over his hand and coating both our bellies.
He rides me through it, his movement becoming jerky before he curses and slams back in one last time, his hips stilling while the heat of his release fills me. When he pulls out slowly, I wince only a little. He presses a gentle kiss to my left pec, then flops onto his back at my side, catching his breath.
The silence between us is comfortable, but soon enough the sensation of his cum trickling out of me makes me squirm. London catches my movement and rolls out of bed, heading into the bathroom. I hear the cupboard open and shut, then the sound of running water. When he returns with a wet washcloth and cleans me up, my heart flutters.
