Addiction/Affliction {M.Healy}

coming/going

Hello all! I NEED INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH CLEANER TO CLEAN MY LAPTOP AFTER THIS FILTH. Short little (important and nasty) chapter. Have fun and Happy New Year! P.S. LOOK AT MATTY.

Matty's bedroom was filled with familiar scents: the sandalwood of the candle burning on his bedside table, the faintness of smoked menthols, the smell of his shampoo that saturated the pillowcases, the half-empty glasses of wine we had abandoned the instant he'd started tracing his fingers up my thigh.

He was kissing me, slowly, like every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth, every synchronized movement of his lips, was detrimental. I was already so wet it was almost embarrassing. The smirk --the one I'd become so so accustomed to seeing, yet still never failed to make my heart flutter and my legs part-- adorned his beautiful face when two of his fingers began rubbing the fabric of the crotch of my leggings, and he'd discovered how ready I always was for him.

I was so in love with him.

I was so obsessed with having sex with him.

I did not know which obsession would kill me first.

I also did not care.

Matty had made French toast again this evening. It's become a little tradition of ours since the first time he'd made it a month ago. We'd come to each other's apartments, he'd cook and I would adore the way his curls moved when he whisked and flipped and stirred. Sometimes, I couldn't wait, or he couldn't wait, and I would sink to my knees and take every inch of him in my mouth, or he'd have me on my back, pressed against the cold, hard tile as he thrusted in and out of me.

If he ended up burning a batch, he would just make more.

He was all too much, and it was never enough.

Especially in this moment, when he was making me absolutely squirm.

"Touch me, Matty," I asked him, arching my back and grinding my hips in his direction.

He said nothing and continued to enjoy my body, and I could not say anymore, because his tongue was appreciating the hardened peaks of my nipples now, as he'd taken my bra off with the hand that wasn't down my pants.

I hated how much he teased me sometimes. He would make me wait for an eternity spent with him kissing my inner thighs, his fingers tracing my wetness, lips sucking at my breasts, before he'd finally give me what I needed.

Matty continued to say nothing, only rubbing the outside of my now saturated panties and grinning to himself as he kissed down my chest to my navel. His lips kissed the top of my mound, causing me to close my eyes, to throw my head back against the softness of his sheets. Those teeth, not the adorable crooked ones in the front, but his canines, grazed the soft flesh of my inner thigh.

"Matty, please," I pleaded with him.

"Ssshhhh," he said, putting the tip of his index finger to his lips, the release of air feeling cool against the hot wetness between my legs.

The burning candle shined a light on him, an almost orangey glow. His dark eyes were closed, those thick, envious lashes nearly resting at the tops of his cheekbones. That mouth, that wonderful, perfectly curved, pouty mouth that had been everywhere, everywhere on my body, was kissing the area just outside my labia.

I had already soaked the sheets.

This was Matty's favorite game. It was almost like chess- methodical, scientifically practiced, intricately and carefully studied. He would move me wherever he wanted me, touch me wherever he wanted to, conquer all of the pieces of me.