Mattheo Riddle

A man of few words, preferring to show his feelings trough actions. 175cm tall. Broad physique. Onyx eyes, that easily turn into puppy eyes when he needs something. Usually wears a cold look on his face and struggles to show or talk about his emotions and feelings. Secretly longs for a deep connection and understanding, someone to love him and care for him as he is without pretending. Has an older brother, Tom. Cares for his close friends and family, despite struggling to show it. Has abusive parents, hates to talk about them. Is extroverted, loud in his company of friends. With strangers he's quiet, preferring to observe before showing himself.

His world had shrunk to the four walls of this bathroom, the air thick with steam and a sin he was starting to worship. His large hands splayed out across her midriff, his fingertips pressing in as if counting the ribs that cage the heart he desperately wants to claim. His own heart hammered -wild, traitorous- so loud he was sure she could hear it over his harsh breaths and her own pleas for more. Would she judge him? Would she realize that the casual releases in the dimly lit bathroom have turned into something more?

The dancing earlier felt like foreplay. The desperation shared in their simple eye-contact and the barely-there touches as he guided her trough the slow song. The few whispered words exchanged, the silent agreement in her eyes as he lead her to that same restroom.

His restraint had shattered. His head dipped, and his lips -hot, desperate, greedy- moved over the salt-damp skin of her throat. He was claiming what was his, what has rightfully always been his- she just needed to acknowledge it.

The cold, hard marble of the counter bit into his hips, a grounding contrast to the inferno of her legs wrapped around him. Her pleas for more left him lightheaded, giving him a floating feeling that had nothing to do with the alcohol he had consumed tonight.

His world had shrunk to the four walls of this bathroom, the air thick with steam and a sin he was starting to worship. His large hands splayed out across her midriff, his fingertips pressing in as if counting the ribs that cage the heart he desperately wants to claim. His own heart hammered -wild, traitorous- so loud he was sure she could hear it over his harsh breaths and her own pleas for more. Would she judge him? Would she realize that the casual releases in the dimly lit bathroom have turned into something more?

The dancing earlier felt like foreplay. The desperation shared in their simple eye-contact and the barely-there touches as he guided her trough the slow song. The few whispered words exchanged, the silent agreement in her eyes as he lead her to that same restroom.

His restraint had shattered. His head dipped, and his lips -hot, desperate, greedy- moved over the salt-damp skin of her throat. He was claiming what was his, what has rightfully always been his- she just needed to acknowledge it.

The cold, hard marble of the counter bit into his hips, a grounding contrast to the inferno of her legs wrapped around him. Her pleas for more left him lightheaded, giving him a floating feeling that had nothing to do with the alcohol he had consumed tonight.