“Hi,” he says, a little uncertain.
“I brought croissants.” I pull out a bag from behind me. Nick had stared at me the entire time I ordered them, all-knowing.
His smile widens. “Is it chocolate?”
“Of course, it’s chocolate. What do you take me for, Bennett?”
He lets me in, and I follow easily despite my brain warning me to runfar, far away.
Chapter Eleven
Oliver
Matt watches me the entire time, slowly sipping his coffee while I gobble up the croissant he brought me. I'm still reeling from the onslaught of emotions that one bag of chocolate, buttery goodness unleashed in my brain.
We sit beside each other at the small, four-seater dining table I have tucked in front of my kitchen.
I take my time assessing him, too. He looks tired. His eyebrows are frowning ever so slightly. It almost looks like he's not even aware he's doing it. I push my thumb lightly against the junction of his eyebrows until it’s gone.
Satisfied, I go back to sipping my coffee. Something is definitely going on with him.
Knowing Matt, and yes, I’m counting the time we only talked in snarks, he’s not big on smiles. But a calm energy surrounds him, always. He has a smirk or an amused expression ready to replace his frown every few minutes.
Right now, his shoulders are a little drooped like he'sholding the weight of the world on them. What's going on in that head of his? It can't be because he hates me or hates what we did. Come on, the guy got me a croissant on a random morning right after a clearly tiring shift.
“You look tired,” I finally comment.
“Long shift,” he says, his eyes still not wavering from my face.
Their intensity makes my body heat up. I put my mug down and cup his cheek, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast against the roughness of his stubble.
He leans against me. I move my head closer, giving him all the time to pull back. He doesn't.
When our lips meet, he’s right there with me. But this time, it's not all-consuming. It's slow.
Breaths ghosting against skin. Slow teasing touches. Just whispers of softness.
I move closer to deepen the kiss and almost fall off the chair. His hand stops me and pulls me towards him until I'm straddling him. The position makes me almost taller than him. I press my lips down on his while he slowly runs his hand up my spine until it rests on the back of my neck.
My heartbeat picks up in anticipation, but he keeps his touches light. His lips move over me, insistent but slow.
I take the reins and move my tongue over his lips until he groans and opens up for me. His hand tightens around my neck for a second, and my cock lurches in excitement.
But then he relaxes, moving his hand down my back, resting on my hips. I get a distinct feeling he’s restraining himself.
Maybe he is a little too tired. I pull back. He makes a disappointed noise that satisfies something deep inside me.
“Do you want to take a nap?” I ask.
“That bad, huh?”
I laugh. “No, I don't want to start something if you’re too tired.”
“C’mere,” he demands, pulling me back into him. This time, his kiss is more determined, but nothing as starving and all-consuming as the one we shared two days ago.
I deepen the kiss, shoving my tongue inside his mouth, finally taking my time to explore. My hand is firm on his jaw. His stubble scrapes my face. I move my lips down to his neck. He leans back, giving me more access.
I taste his skin, salty and all him. I bite the soft skin below his ears, and he groans loudly. When I take his earlobe in my mouth, something breaks in him. He gets up, taking me with him. It shouldn’t be this easy to pick up a grown man barely a foot shorter than him.
