Page 17 of Wild Stars (Rock His World #2)

CHAPTER 17

Dare

Of all the things I thought I’d see in my life, my teenage crush decking a man in front of me giving off touch him and die energy , was clearly not on my fucking list.

But the minute I see Matty punch the guy, I know one thing is for certain.

I’m in love with Mateo Starr.

I know it’s batshit crazy and it makes no sense.

I’m twenty-three, he’s thirty-nine.

I’m a mess, and he is all fucking order.

But fuck if I don’t want to climb all six foot four inches of this man like a damn tree because the man just punched a guy for me.

For me!

No one, man or woman, has ever thrown hands over me before.

How fucked up am I that I consider violence romantic?

My stupid, dumb heart grows three sizes bigger at the realization that maybe Matty feels this, too, this thing between us.

Even if he doesn’t say it with his mouth.

His fist hitting that guy’s face says it all.

“Fuck,” he says as he shakes his hand, turning heel once more.

And I know he’s going to run, but this time...

This time, I’m not letting him get away from me.

“Matty, wait...” I yell as I run after him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t get too far from the dance floor before my hand is around his wrist once more. He stops, trying to break my hold, but I don’t let him. I tighten my grip around his wrist and I pull him toward me.

“I’m sorry, I?—”

I bring myself closer to him. In his jeans and t-shirt, even with his sunglasses in his pocket, he looks divine.

While I’m used to the man who’s always dressed for a funeral, there is something about the sight of him like this—dressed down, casual—that makes him feel more accessible, more relatable.

Younger, even.

His dark eyes peer at me, dancing with anxiety, and I can tell he is scared.

Because beneath the powerful, bitter, rockstar Batman persona of Mateo Star...

Matty is just a man like me.

Someone who needs the kind of love and acceptance he gives everyone else.

The words come easy to me, and I don’t think twice about them as they slip from my lips. I’ve never felt as confident off stage as I do when I look at him.

“Do you want to, uh, get out of here? Go somewhere else?” I know the darkness in my voice is exposing me as the desperate man I am.

Desperate for him.

I watch as his bright blue eyes sparkle like stars in the night sky. I don’t miss the glimmer of excitement that shines in them amid the neon lights as he tucks his shades in his front shirt pocket.

For a moment, I think he’s going to snap, that he’s going to pull away from me or deck me himself.

But he does no such thing.

His flesh against my palm is hot, and I can feel his pulse racing beneath my touch.

“Yes.” It’s a simple answer, but the weight of it is not lost on me.

Yes.

“Okay,” I say, smiling as he pulls out his phone.

“I... think it is late, and we should get you home,” he states, his voice gravelly, and all at once I think I gravely miscalculated.

He doesn’t want to leave with me. Not like I thought. But I can’t fight him, thinking perhaps maybe he is right. Maybe after this crazy day, I do need to just head home.

Matty pulls me through the crowd as my thoughts spiral, and by the time we are out of Rosie’s, the limo is already waiting.

Matty opens the door for me, and I crawl in, feeling a sense of defeat as I try to wrap my head around everything’s that happened.

How could such a great night go to shit so fast?

I performed my heart out this evening for him.

And now...

The door is barely shut before I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t make it out.

Because the second I open my mouth, Matty’s lips crush mine with a startling ferocity.

I crumble like a well-baked cookie underneath his force as he grabs me by the throat.

His tongue slides into my mouth, and I note that he tastes bitter, like whiskey, but there is a smooth, sweetness that lingers on his lips.

But that’s just Matty. He’s bittersweet, and I love his taste.

I think I’m totally in love with him.

Fuck me.

“Matty,” I sigh, as he pushes me into the cushions, throwing his leg over my lap. His hand on my neck tightens as he grinds his jean-clad cock against me, making me see stars as he bites at my lower lip.

I’ve only had one beer, but I have the feeling I could get drunk off of this man’s kiss, off the way he touches me.

“Shut up,” he bites, his tone edged in equal desperation as his hand on my hip travels to the waistband of my jeans.

The weight of him on top of me feels too good to fight, and I don’t want to fight him.

Not when I can barely think straight because of the way he’s touching me.

Like he wants to own every inch of me.

A deep groan escapes my throat as my last brain cell takes a nosedive.

“Make me,” I breathe out, knowing it will be my death.

But death by Mateo Starr seems like a good way to go.

Matty’s lips travel to my jaw, then my neck as he pops the button on my jeans, sliding his hand beneath them, the only thing separating my cock from heaven, a thin barrier of fabric. Though I’m more than aware that I’m harder than a slab of marble at the moment, I raise a shaky hand and test the waters.

I settle my hand on Matty’s hip, tracing my fingers along his firm muscles, and the prominent tent in his fucking pants. His hand finds the slit in my boxers and within seconds, I can feel the warmth of his touch as he finds my cock.

The only sound thought in my brain is that I have died and gone to heaven. Because there’s no other earthly explanation for why Mateo Star would be stroking my cock right now.

Right?

“Where are your words now, Darren?” he growls, his teeth nipping at my earlobe as he whispers in my ear. His voice is dark, confident, demanding.

“Fucking hell, Matty...”

His fingers tighten their grip. “You like this, don’t you?” he bites, his fingers slipping through the precum of my weeping cock.

I close my eyes as my head falls back, his tight grip the only thing keeping me attached to the earth.

“Maybe...” I say, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.

He chokes me just a little, and my cock throbs.

“There are no maybes, my little wild star. Only yes, or no.”

My entire body melts into a puddle at his words.

My little wild star.

“Yes,” I moan. “Yes, sir. I like this. Very fucking much.” My breath hitches, coming faster.

Matty freezes, and for a moment, I think maybe he’s changed his mind.

That maybe the two drinks have metabolized out of his system and he’s going to stop, like he did the other night at Saint & Sinner.

But instead, he tilts my chin up, forcing me to look up at him as he works my cock slowly, pumping, squeezing.

I’m so close... so damn close.

And almost as if he knows , he stops completely. My balls tighten and reflexively I thrust my hips, trying to keep the friction going, but Matty only shakes his head.

“Matty... please,” I choke out as he removes his hand.

I need to feel his touch, I need to come so bad.

Matty grins evilly at me as he shakes his head. “No. Not yet,” he says as he takes his now free hand, gliding it up my stomach. He presses his palm against my flesh, massaging my hips, and my cock throbs.

He’s such a fucking dick.

“I need you to understand something first.”

“Anything,” I say, like the desperate man I am.

“This body...” He breathes the words against my ear as he removes his hand from my neck, bringing both hands to my hips and grabbing me. “This body is capable of great things,” he says. His voice is dark, rumbling over the shell of my ear and sending shivers skating down my spine.

I swallow harshly as a bout of heat forms in my core. His legs pin me, and I can’t move, my exposed cock twitching as a fresh bloom of wetness forms from the tone of his voice alone.

“This body...” he whispers in my ear, “...is a work of fucking art.”

His right hand slides up beneath my shirt, fingers plucking at my nipple ring while his left grips my hip, squeezing my love handles, rubbing the extra bit of skin there that I’ve never been able to shake.

“Say it,” he commands, and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I want to say the words, but they are trapped in my throat. I look at him with pleading eyes. The way he’s touching me, the sound of his voice makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with sex.

His bright eyes are full of heat, full of command. His fingers trace my skin, even the squishy bits, making my entire body warm.

“Matty, I?—”

“Say it,” he growls, like sexy Batman. “Know your worth, Dare.”

He lifts his face from my neck, turning my chin to look into his eyes once more.

His thumb brushes my cheek and I nod.

“My body is capable of great things,” I respond, my voice shaky.

“And?” he growls, his hand sliding down my neck, over my shoulder, trailing ever so leisurely down my chest. He traces the spot on my chest where the giant stitched heart lays.

“This body is a...” I swallow, feeling strangely on the spot, vulnerable.

I’ve performed for sold out crowds for the last year, given a hundred interviews—all disasters, nevertheless—but somehow these words are the hardest I’ve ever had to say.

“This body is a work of art.” My voice is barely a whisper.

Matty holds my gaze.

“Good boy.” His voice is stern and commanding as he slides down my legs, to the limousine floor.

His hands push my legs apart, and he gazes up at me from between my legs, keeping eye contact as he takes my cock into the back of his throat in one swift motion, and I cry out with pleasure.

I don’t know if I’m going to be able to hold it.

And when Matty rolls his tongue around my shaft, while massaging my damn balls, I can’t.

My body locks up as I come and my hands find their way into Matty’s dark hair, his fingers digging into the underside of my thighs.

I look up, through the skylight in the limo, and all I can see is the stars, and I feel like I am finally worthy of being one.