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9
TRAVIS BARNES
The last twenty-four hours have been… interesting, to say the least. Mateo is infuriating, and even more so since he can work my body over like a puppeteer and I’m his marionette. I need the snow to melt now, so I can get a locksmith here and I can go home. Being in his proximity is fucking with my head.
He’s a smug bastard, and no matter how good he makes my body feel, I can’t get the image out of my head of him railing Nathaniel, and the cocky look on his face when I caught them. Like he found great satisfaction in ruining a relationship. And I know, I know, Nathaniel is more to blame than Mateo, but it isn’t Nathaniel I’m trapped in this house with, forced to spend dreadful time with. So, it’s much easier to place my anger with Mateo at the moment.
Now, I’m standing in his room, freshly fucked and showered, wearing his clothes, staring out the window at the winter fucking wonderland happening outside. The snow has at least stopped, but none of it seems to be melting. Who fucking knows how much longer I’m going to be trapped here. The sun needs to come out and wipe this shit away, and fast.
I don’t even know how much time has passed that I’ve been standing in here. I vaguely heard Mateo come in and get dressed before leaving the room. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything to me, and just let me be. That shower was too much. The way he washed my hair with delicate fingers, and scrubbed my body down, making sure to take his time and get every single inch of flesh. God, it felt so fucking good, and he knew it too with the way my cock bobbed in front of his unreadable face.
The aroma of something I can’t quite place meets my senses. It’s food of some sort, and my stomach grumbles as I smell it, reminding me that I haven’t eaten in far too long. Another inconvenience due to this goddamn snowstorm from hell. After contemplating starving myself in favor of hiding out in this room for as long as I can, I decide food is more important to me than holing up, so I begrudgingly pad out to the living room where I see Mateo in the kitchen, Neon Grave by Dayseeker playing softly, while he cooks… something. I’m still not sure what.
At the sound of my bare feet on the hardwood, he glances up, his usual unreadable expression plastered on his face. “You finally decided to come out,” he deadpans.
Deciding to ignore his statement, I sit down on the stool at the bar. “What are you making?”
“Breakfast burritos and hash browns.” He doesn’t look up from his frying pan as he speaks to me. “How do you take your coffee?”
“I don’t.” When he snaps his head up to look over at me, I clear my throat. “Uh, I mean, I don’t like coffee. Water is fine.”
“Are you a child? Who doesn’t like coffee?”
Scoffing, I reply, “No, I’m not a fucking child. It just tastes like shit, asshole.”
When he smirks, his teeth practically sparkle and his dimples poke out, and I have to look away for fear of my stupid knees giving out on me. He has no goddamn right to be that gorgeous.
He points the spatula in my direction and chuckles. “God, you’re hot when you’re feisty.”
“Fuck off,” I growl.
Clutching his chest, he bows his head. “I’m hurt. So hurt.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” I roll my eyes, turning to walk toward the couch.
“You’ll love it one day,” he quips.
“Doubtful.” Glancing to my right, the sun is finally shining through his giant open window. “Can I use your phone?” I ask him, wanting to try the locksmith again.
“It’s on the counter.”
When I reach the counter, he grabs the phone, pulling it toward him, throwing me a shit-eating grin. “You can use the phone on one condition.” He arches a brow while he waits to see what I say back.
He’s so fucking annoying. Making a show of dramatically rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest. “And what’s that?”
Tapping his index finger to his lips twice, he says, “Give me a kiss.”
A laugh claws its way up my throat. “Ain’t no fucking way.”
He shrugs, pocketing the phone, returning to cooking. “Then no phone.”
“Mateo, come on. I need to call a locksmith and get home.”
“Then kiss me, baby.” He peers at me from under his lashes. “It’s not like you haven’t had my whole ass cock in your mouth already. One kiss, one phone call.”
Amusement dances in his eyes as I narrow mine at him before throwing my arms in the air, groaning loud enough that you could probably hear it from my apartment. “You’re so fucking impossible.” Rounding the bar, I hold out my hand. “Fine. One kiss.”
I lean in, lips puckered, but he backs up. “Ah-ah,” he says in a chastising way. “A real fucking kiss, guapo.”
