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Win pushed away from him with a rough sound and got to his feet. Turning to the sink, he rinsed his mouth—even though he hadn’t actually thrown up—and splashed water on his face, using a nearby towel to wipe up. Then he left the bathroom without looking at Mathieu, leaving him kneeling on the floor.
Mathieu jumped up and went after him. “Win.” He caught Win’s arm but the other man shrugged away, making his way to the kitchen. “What is it? Why are you angry?” Because the sudden silent treatment and stoic expression? That fuck-off attitude Mathieu was all too familiar with? They all signaled a pissed-off Win.
Win didn’t answer him, so Mathieu grabbed him by the shoulder and spun the other man around. Win faced him with a mutinous expression as Mathieu backed him up against the closest wall.
“You’re such a fucking idiot.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Mathieu couldn’t help the anger that matched Win’s. “How am I an idiot for consoling you? Huh, Win? You’re on your knees in our place—our place!—with tears in your eyes for someone else and I’m still trying to comfort you.” His chest rose and fell, the words making him ache. “And I’m still trying to give you what you need.” He would always strive to do that.
“I’m not crying over Jairo, you fucking ass. You almost died! You!” Win jabbed a finger into Mathieu’s chest. It kinda hurt, but Mathieu barely registered it.“You’re walking around acting like nothing happened, but you were almost blown up.” Win’s lips trembled as he gazed at Mathieu, tears shimmering in his eyes. “You could’ve been killed, Mathieu.” His voice was the softest thing, shaking. “And that would’ve killed me.”
Mathieu blinked, pulling back slightly so he could stare deeper into Win’s eyes. Searching for the things Win wasn’t saying. Things Mathieu could’ve sworn he heard all the same. “Win—”
Win’s lips on his stopped his words.
26
It was justsomething he had to do. Something long overdue. Pressing his lips to Mathieu’s took courage when Win would’ve told anyone he had none. Mathieu froze against him and for a moment Win thought he’d fucked up. Misread the signals. Overplayed his hand. But Mathieu made a sound, deep and filled with an ache Win knew all too well.
Then his lips parted under Win’s and shit was over with.
In no time flat, they were lost in the violence of a kiss Win had been needing for so fucking long. Hands on his neck, fingertips biting into his skin, the weight of Mathieu’s body pressing him into the wall.
Win didn’t mind it.
In fact, he loved it. Always had.
Mathieu had always been bad for him. But he tasted so sweet, so good, so familiar. Nothing had changed. Not the way he fucked Win’s mouth with hungry strokes of his tongue, deep and searching, hips pushing into Win, who grabbed the front of Mathieu’s shirt and jerked him in closer.
There was nowhere to go; they were already chest to chest, groin to groin, but Win still wanted closer. He let his hands roam Mathieu’s body, touching everywhere as Mathieu moaned into his mouth, body jerking, kisses suffocating. He took Win over and Win loved nothing better. Every swipe of Mathieu’s tongue gave him the shivers. He’d been without this for so long—without Mathieu’s touch, lungs burning because Mathieu refused to break the kiss—and Win had no sense of self-preservation.
He ached in places long neglected by anyone but him. Mathieu touched him now, hands rough but still reverent as they moved down his body and around to grab his ass and squeeze. Mathieu finally broke the kiss, burying his face in Win’s neck, nipping his skin, goose bumps spreading. Win’s head fell back, and he clasped Mathieu to him, panting, chest rising and falling aggressively.
Breathing was a second thought. This was far more important: Mathieu’s lips on his. His erection poking into Win, proving Win wasn’t the only one in need. Win bucked against him and Mathieu made a strangled sound and pulled back, glazed eyes staring into Win’s. Mathieu’s lips were wet and he licked them, catching the bottom one between his teeth as he dropped to his knees.
Win’s breath hitched.
Mathieu stared up at him, holding Win’s gaze as he undid Win’s jeans and unzipped him before dipping inside to free Win’s throbbing cock from its confines.
Mathieu’s hand on him…
Win’s knees buckled and he slapped a hand onto the wall to hold himself upright. His lashes lowered as he peered down at Mathieu. His grip was the same, warm and tight, and the roughness of his skin against Win’s aroused flesh was fucking insane. His brain was short-circuiting. He might just come like this, his cock throbbing in Mathieu’s palm, the other man on his knees with a glint in his eye.
“You want this?” Mathieu’s voice was sex, whiskey, and smoke, and it wrapped around Win’s body, undulating against his skin in the most sensual waves.
He couldn’t find his tongue, so he nodded.
Mathieu squeezed him and pre-cum spilled from Win, wetting the other man’s palm, slicking it. Mathieu’s tongue glided over his bottom lip. “Use your words, Win.”
He didn’t have words! Hell, he didn’t have any notion of time and place. All he knew was that Mathieu was on his knees for him, back down there after so fucking long, and…he’d missed it. Missed him. Terribly. Terribly. “P-please. Mathieu.”
“You want this?” Mathieu asked again. His voice was gravel this time and Win ached to roll around in it until he was raw and scarred beyond belief.
“Yes.” He swallowed, somehow finding the strength to utter that word. “Yes.”
Something happened in the depths of Mathieu’s eyes; they got darker, filled with heat and promise. In those orbs, Win saw his own feelings of need and breath-stealing anticipation. “Then let me give you what you need.”
“Yesss,” Win hissed. Shaking. He couldn’t stop shaking and all Mathieu did was talk. And hold Win’s cock in his palm. “Please.”
