I cup his bulge with my hand and start to slide my fingers up and down his shaft. Matt shudders and moans, and before I can do it for him, he’s pulled his pants down. I kneel at his feet and gaze up at him as I stroke his cock. Matt threads his fingers through my hair, gripping a handful and tugging.
“C’mon, baby. Suck it dry.”
Rather than diving right in, I start off slow. Long, languid licks up, soft suction at the tip, then licking back down. Tug the balls, massage them, pay them just as much attention as his cock. I know Matt, know what he likes from watching him with other men, so despite his being the only cock I’ve ever sucked, I’m able to give him exactly what he craves.
Matt trembles while I work, and each time I suck his tip into my mouth, his body jerks.
“Fuck, Aron, how did you get to be such a fucking pro at this?” he asks as I run my tongue around the soft edge of his head.
I pull back just long enough to say, “I pay attention,” before getting back to work.
By the time I finally take him fully into my mouth, Matt’s shaking all over. He moans and pants, sucking in sharp breaths every time I hit a sweet spot—which is quite often.
The first time I sucked Matt off, I had a little trouble with the length. It takes some practice to suppress the gag reflex, as I’ve found, though I’m apparently a quick study. Now I’ve learned how to relax my throat and breathe through my nose while swallowing him down.
Inch by inch, I suck him deeper and deeper into my throat. Once I’ve reached the base, he starts to gently thrust into me. We work out a smooth rhythm of swallows and thrusts, completely in sync.
I wait for the perfect moment—the point of no return, where Matt’s muscles shudder and clench—before trying something new. In addition to the suction and tongue action and the gentle squeeze of his balls, I slide two fingers, slick from rubbing my saliva over his cock, in Matt’s ass. He gasps, and when I curl them slightly, he loses all control. He grunts softly as he empties his balls down my throat, filling me beyond overflowing. Cum slides down my chin to drip onto my chest, ruining a perfectly good shirt. Sloppy as fuck, but oh, so worth it.
Matt releases his hold on my hair and strokes my cheek.
“That was amazing, baby. Do you want me to finish you off?”
I chuckle as I rise to my feet. “Too late,” I say, pointing to the damp stain on my crotch. Getting Matt off was so enjoyable that I came in my pants, completely hands-free.
“Fuck, that's hot.” He pulls me close for a kiss despite the mess he made of my mouth, guiding me to the bed as we make out. Once there, we strip out of our remaining clothes and crawl under the covers. At this point, we're both limp and spent. Matt wraps me in the blankets and holds me close.
“I think I'll keep you,” he says with a grin.
“Good luck getting rid of me. I'm here to stay, Don Matteo. No force on Heaven or Earth could drag me from your side.”
Chapter 23
Matt
When I wake up, it’s to a depressingly empty bed.
After a moment’s panic, I find Aron’s note on the nightstand. The handwriting seems a bit off, but then again, his hands were trashed. I’m surprised he managed this much.
Matt - Went to the docs. Hands hurt. Be back soon. Love, Aron.
Well, at least he’s getting himself looked at. I thought he brushed off our physicians a little too brashly last night, but maybe he’ll finally allow them to wrap his hands in sterile bandages. It can’t be safe to walk around with so many open, uncovered wounds.
Since I have the suite to myself, I take a leisurely shower and allow myself the luxury of having my coffee brought to the bedroom, so I can go over the most recent numbers in peace. Oftentimes I’m interrupted with miniscule problems that could be easily solved without my input.
Dad ran the Syndicate like a well-oiled machine, but he always made sure he manned the controls. I prefer to think of it as a tight ship, one that I can steer from the helm without anyunnecessary micromanaging of my crew.
By the time I’ve checked all our remaining accounts, it’s long past breakfast. Where’s Aron?
Taking Jules with me, I march to the physicians’ wing. Certainly, Aron’s hands should be taken care of by now.
Dr. Nilczek greets me with a cheery smile, one that vanishes the second I mention Aron.
“I’m terribly sorry, Don Matteo, but he hasn’t been here since last night, when he watched us treat your wounds from the fight.”
“What?”
He exchanges a worried glance with Dr. Carne, the other physician on duty. “He hasn’t even called for more pain medicine. We only gave him a quick IV bolus yesterday. It’s long since worn off. We offered to prescribe some narcotics, or at the very least some strong anti-inflammatories, but he refused it all. Wouldn’t even accept acetaminophen.”
