Chapter 4: The Third Date
The shower steam couldn’t scour the memory of Oliver’s mouth from his skin, but Matthew dressed for Conrad with a methodical precision, as if the right clothes could armor him against his own regret. The navy shirt, the charcoal trousers, a dash of cologne on the wrists.He looked at himself in the mirror. A man going on a date.A normal man.
The bistro in SoMa was the kind of place that felt both exclusive and unpretentious, all dark wood and soft lighting, vintage Atari posters sharing space with abstract oil paintings.Conrad was already at a table near the back, rising as Matthew approached. He looked effortless in a heather-gray henley and dark jeans, his smile immediate and warm. The sight of him, solid and expectant, sent a wave of relief through Matthew.
“You made it,” Conrad said, leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek. The gesture was casual, proprietary in a way that made Matthew’s stomach flutter.
“Traffic was a nightmare,” Matthew said, sliding into the booth.“You look great.”
“So do you. Recovered from your week of dateless misery?” Conrad teased, his blue-gray eyes crinkling.
“Barely.” Matthew forced a laugh, picking up the menu. The scent of rosemary and seared meat was heavy in the air.“This place is fantastic.”
“I remembered you said you liked gnocchi. Theirs is stupidly good.”
They ordered wine—a crisp Sancerre—and small plates. The conversation picked up exactly where their texts had left off, easy and wide-ranging. Conrad talked about the absurdities of his Stuttgart trip, a story involving a client who wanted to sue a rival for “theft of corporate aura.” Matthew recounted a minor victory at work, analyzing a user engagement metric that made Judy beam.Throughout, Conrad’s touches were constant and natural. A hand on Matthew’s knee under the table as he laughed. Fingers brushing Matthew’s wrist when he reached for his wineglass. A warm palm settling on the back of Matthew’s neck as Conrad leaned in to whisper a joke about the sommelier’s overly dramatic presentation. Each touch was a brand, a quiet claim staked in the crowded room.Matthew felt seen in a way that was entirely new. This wasn’t furtive Grindr intimacy or the charged, dangerous glances with Oliver. This was open, affectionate, real. He let himself sink into it, the warmth of the wine and Conrad’s attention slowly dissolving the knot of anxiety in his chest.
“You’re different tonight,” Conrad observed as their main courses arrived.“Am I?”
“More present. Or maybe I’m just getting to see more of you.” He speared a piece of roasted halibut. “I like it.”
“I feel present,” Matthew said, and for a moment, it was entirely true.The gnocchi was pillowy perfection in a brown butter sage sauce. The wine was bright on his tongue.Conrad’s leg pressed firmly against his own under the table. It was enough.It was more than enough.
They shared a decadent chocolate torte for dessert, two forks fighting playfully over the last bite.When the bill came, Conrad snatched it without a glance. “My treat.I dragged you across town.”
“You didn’t drag me. I wanted to come.”
Conrad’s gaze held his. “Good.”
Outside, the night had cooled, the fog wrapping the skyscrapers in soft gauze. They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the city noise a dull roar.
“Your place or mine?” Conrad asked, his voice dropping, playful but intent.The question was a cliff’s edge. Matthew’s mind, lubricated by wine and good feeling, briefly conjured the familiar, depressing tableau of his own bedroom, likely smelling of Dominic’s turpentine. Then he thought of Conrad’s apartment, which he’d never seen, all clean lines and a view.The promise of a new space.
“Yours,” Matthew said.“I want to see the famous view.”
Conrad grinned. “It’s better at night.” Instead of heading toward the curb to hail a cab, he took Matthew’s hand and led him down a narrow, dimly lit alley that ran alongside the restaurant. The air here was colder, smelling of damp brick and discarded citrus from the kitchen’s back door.“Shortcut,” Conrad explained, his fingers lacing tightly with Matthew’s.
They were halfway down the alley, shrouded in shadow between two pools of faint light, when Conrad stopped. He turned, his body crowding Matthew’s against the rough brick wall.The shift was sudden, electric.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” Conrad murmured, his voice rough. His free hand came up to cradle Matthew’s jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbone. The touch was devastatingly tender.Then he kissed him.
It wasn’t like the soft, perfect kiss at Lands End. This was hungry, insistent, all the pent-up anticipation of the week poured into the press of his lips, the slide of his tongue. Matthew gasped into it, his back against the cold brick, the warmth of Conrad’s body pinning him in place. One of Conrad’s hands slid down to Matthew’s hip, gripping him firmly, pulling him closer. The other hand remained tangled in his hair. It was possessive, overwhelming, and Matthew surrendered to it completely, his own hands clutching at Conrad’s shoulders. The taste of wine and dark chocolate, the scent of Conrad’s cologne mixed with the alley’s earthy decay—it was intoxicating. For a few blissful minutes, there was no Oliver, no Toby, no Jake, no clock ticking toward thirty.There was just this man, this alley, this perfect, consuming heat.
A distant shout from the street finally broke them apart.They were both breathing heavily, foreheads resting together.
“Okay,” Conrad whispered, a low laugh in his throat. “Now my place.”
The cab ride was a silent, speeding capsule through the city’s neon veins. Conrad kept his hand high on Matthew’s thigh, his thumb making slow, possessive circles on the inside seam of his trousers. Matthew watched the blocks of the Financial District rise, their gleaming grids a stark contrast to the colourful, cracked pavement of his own neighborhood. He thought of Dominic, probably still entangled with Leo, and felt a gulf widen between that life and this one.
Conrad’s building was a monolith of steel and tinted glass. The lobby was a cathedral of quiet, polished stone, the only sound the soft chime of the elevator. His apartment was on the twenty-fourth floor.When he opened the door, the view was a sudden, breathtaking punch. The entire north face of the living room was glass, framing the glittering necklace of the Bay Bridge and the dark expanse of the water.“Jesus,” Matthew whispered, stepping inside. The apartment itself was a study in minimalist luxury: a low-slung sofa, a single abstract painting, shelves of books and a few pieces of elegant Japanese pottery.
“It’s just a view,” Conrad said, slipping off his shoes.But his smile showed he was pleased. He moved to a built-in console, selecting a vinyl record from a neat collection. The crackle of the needle preceded the smooth, melancholic strains of a Billie Holiday track. He poured two glasses of a deep red wine from a decanter, handing one to Matthew.They stood by the window, clinking glasses. “To being present,” Conrad said.
Matthew took a sip, the wine rich and complex, but his nerves were singing a different tune. He set his glass down on the concrete windowsill, the sound a firm punctuation in the quiet room. Conrad raised an eyebrow, a question forming on his lips, but Matthew was already crossing the space between them.He needed this. He needed the distraction, the confirmation, the solid weight of Conrad to crowd out everything else.
He took Conrad’s glass from his hand and placed it beside his own. “I don’t want the wine,” Matthew said, his voice lower than he intended.He kissed him, pouring all his conflicted urgency into it. Conrad responded instantly, his arms wrapping around Matthew’s back, pulling him flush. Matthew’s fingers worked at the buttons of Conrad’s henley, fumbling in his haste. He pushed the soft fabric off Conrad’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.Conrad’s body was a revelation. The gym-toned physique was more impressive shirtless; defined pectorals, a flat stomach etched with muscle, shoulders that tapered to strong arms.A light dusting of dark hair traced the center of his chest. Matthew ran his hands over him, palms skating up the solid pecs, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, trying to memorize the landscape.This was curated strength, disciplined and real.
“Your turn,” Conrad murmured against his mouth, and his hands made quick work of Matthew’s navy shirt. Buttons popped loose.The shirt joined Conrad’s on the floor. Conrad didn’t speak for a moment, just looked his fill, his gaze hot and appreciative. “You’re beautiful,” he stated simply, and the raw sincerity of it made Matthew shudder. Conrad bent his head, planting a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses from Matthew’s shoulder to his sternum, his tongue flicking over a nipple.A groan escaped Matthew’s lips. They stumbled toward the sofa, a tangle of limbs, and collapsed onto the soft, charcoal-gray fabric. Shirtless now, skin to skin, the heat between them intensified. They kissed deeply, slowly, with a languorous intensity Matthew wasn’t accustomed to.There was no frantic race to the finish. Conrad’s hands roamed Matthew’s back, exploring the planes of his shoulder blades, the dip of his spine. Matthew reciprocated, kissing Conrad’s jaw, his neck, the salt of his skin.
He focused on Conrad’s chest again, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tight nub, then sucked gently, then with more pressure. Conrad’s breath hitched.“Fuck, Matthew,” he groaned, his hips bucking upwards. The sound, the movement, sent a jolt straight to Matthew’s cock, which was straining painfully against his zipper. He switched to the other nipple, biting down just enough to make Conrad curse again.
Conrad’s hand slid down between them, palm pressing firmly against the hard line of Matthew’s erection through his jeans.Matthew gasped into Conrad’s chest. “Someone’s eager,” Conrad whispered, his fingers deftly finding Matthew’s belt buckle.The leather slithered free. The button of his jeans popped.The zipper’s drone was loud in the room. Conrad’s hand slipped inside, over the damp cotton of Matthew’s underwear, and cupped him fully. Matthew arched into the touch, a ragged sound tearing from his throat.
“Feel how hard you are,” Conrad said, his own breathing uneven.He squeezed, the pressure delicious and agonizing through the fabric. This slow burn, this meticulous unraveling, was nothing like the clinical, efficient hookups with Jake, or the desperate, stolen moment with Oliver.This was being savored. He never wanted it to end, even as every nerve screamed for more. Conrad’s fingers began to move, stroking him through the cotton, and Matthew’s world narrowed to that agonizing, exquisite friction.
Conrad’s fingers began to move, stroking him through the cotton, and Matthew’s world narrowed to that agonizing, exquisite friction. He could feel the slick precum soaking through, making the fabric cling, and he thrust weakly against Conrad’s hand. “Please,” Matthew breathed, the word more a gasp than a request.Conrad smiled, a predatory flash of white in the dim light. “Please what?”
“Just… don’t stop.”
“I don’t plan to.” But he did stop.He withdrew his hand, leaving Matthew aching and exposed. Conrad sat up, his own arousal evident in the tight strain of his jeans. He stood from the couch, the vinyl record still spinning its lonely ballad, and offered Matthew his hand. “Come on.”
Matthew took it, letting Conrad pull him to his feet.His legs felt unsteady. Conrad guided him wordlessly down a short hallway, pushing open a door into a bedroom dominated by a large platform bed and another breathtaking slice of the city’s grid. Before Matthew could take in the view, Conrad spun him around, pressing his back against the cool, solid wood of the bedroom door.
Conrad kissed him again, a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of wine and want. Matthew’s hands flew to Conrad’s belt buckle, his fingers fumbling in their urgency. He got the leather free, the metal clinking softly, then popped the button of his jeans. He shoved the pants down Conrad’s hips in one desperate push, his cock straining against the fabric.
“Impatient,” Conrad murmured against his lips, but he helped, stepping out of the pooled fabric. He made quick work of Matthew’s own trousers, stripping him until they were both standing there in only their underwear, skin glowing in the ambient city light. Conrad’s black briefs hugged the hard line of his erection; Matthew’s grey cotton was tented obscenely.
“Bed,” Conrad commanded softly, taking Matthew’s hand again. He led him the few steps to the edge of the mattress, then turned him and pushed him down onto his back.The duvet was cool and smooth. Conrad followed him down, covering his body with his own, pinning him with a weight that was firm yet yielding. He braced himself on his elbows, cradling Matthew’s face.
For a long moment, he just looked down at him, his blue-gray eyes searching Matthew’s in the semi-darkness. Then his hand slid down Matthew’s stomach, over the tremble of his abs, to the elastic hem of his boxer briefs.Conrad hooked his fingers there. He paused, his gaze locking onto Matthew’s, a silent question hanging in the air between them.
Matthew nodded, a quick, desperate jerk of his chin.
Conrad pulled the fabric down, slowly, revealing Matthew’s cock inch by straining inch.It lay flushed and full against his belly.Conrad didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head and took Matthew into his mouth all at once, deep, until the head pressed against the back of his throat.Matthew cried out, a shattered sound. Conrad’s mouth was hot, wet, impossibly skilled. He began to move, his lips a tight seal as he slid up and down the shaft, his tongue swirling around the crown on each upstroke. One of his hands cupped Matthew’s balls, rolling them gently, while the other arm lay across his hips, holding him down.The sensations were overwhelming, a concentrated pool of pleasure that drowned out every other thought. Conrad worshipped his cock with a focused intensity that felt like devotion. He swallowed him down, humming, and the vibration made Matthew’s toes curl.
“Oh god, Conrad… I’m gonna…” Matthew choked out, his hips stuttering. He was hurtling toward the edge, the tension coiling unbearably tight in his gut.
Conrad released him with a soft, wet pop just as the first tremors of orgasm began.Matthew groaned in frustrated relief, his cock throbbing. “Not yet,” Conrad said, his voice husky. He sat back on his heels, shoved his own briefs down, and finally freed his cock. It was impressive, thick and veined, curving upward.He stroked himself slowly, once, twice, his eyes never leaving Matthew’s. “What do you want, Matthew?”
The sight of him, finally naked and fully hard, sent a new jolt of hunger through Matthew.This was nothing like Jake’s transactional roughness. This was deliberate, intimate.“I want you inside me,” Matthew said, the words raw and honest.
Conrad leaned over, yanking open the drawer of his nightstand. He retrieved a small bottle of lube and a single condom packet. He sheathed himself carefully, then poured a slick, cool pool into his palm. He coated himself thoroughly, then pressed a slick finger against Matthew’s entrance.“This okay?”
“Yes. Just… yes.”
Conrad worked him open with a patient, tender precision that made Matthew’s breath catch. It was a world away from Jake’s hurried, perfunctory stabs. Conrad watched his face, responding to every hitch and sigh, adding a second finger only when Matthew’s body softened around him. He scissored him gently, stretching him, brushing against that spot inside that made white light flash behind Matthew’s eyelids.
“Now,” Matthew begged. “Please, I need you now.”
Conrad lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against Matthew’s opening. He pushed forward, an inexorable, slow invasion that stole the air from Matthew’s lungs.He filled him completely, a burning, perfect stretch. Conrad stilled, buried deep, dropping his forehead to Matthew’s shoulder. “You feel… incredible,” he gasped.Then he began to move. His thrusts were deep and measured, each one pulling almost all the way out before sliding home again. He set a rhythm that was relentless but not brutal, a pounding that resonated in Matthew’s bones. One of Conrad’s hands tangled in Matthew’s hair, the other gripping his hip, anchoring him. Matthew wrapped his legs around Conrad’s back, pulling him deeper, meeting every thrust.He didn’t touch his own cock. He didn’t need to. The friction of Conrad moving inside him, the perfect angle, the hungry look on Conrad’s face, it was all building a second, more profound wave of pleasure. It gathered low in his spine, a tightening cord. Conrad’s rhythm began to fracture, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, less controlled.“Look at me,” Conrad grunted.
Matthew forced his eyes open, meeting Conrad’s stormy gaze. He saw the exact moment Conrad tipped over the edge. A harsh groan ripped from Conrad’s throat as he slammed deep and held there, pulsing inside the condom. The sight, the feeling, the sheer surrender in Conrad’s face was the final trigger. Matthew’s orgasm erupted without a hand ever touching him, stripes of cum painting his stomach and chest in hot, wet ropes as he convulsed around Conrad’s cock.
They collapsed together, a slick, breathless heap.Conrad carefully withdrew and disposed of the condom. He returned a moment later with a warm, damp towel and cleaned Matthew with a gentleness that felt almost clinical after the violence of their pleasure.He tossed the towel aside.
Matthew, buzzing and spent, made a feeble motion to get up. “I should probably…”
Conrad pushed him back down onto the mattress, a firm hand on his chest. “You aren’t going anywhere.” He pulled the rumpled duvet over them both, then wrapped Matthew in his arms, drawing him close so Matthew’s head rested on his bare, still-heaving chest.
They lay in silence for a while, listening to the distant hum of the city. “That was…” Matthew started, but couldn’t find the word.“Yeah,” Conrad agreed softly. His fingers traced idle patterns on Matthew’s shoulder.“So tell me something real.Not work.Not the city. Something from before.”
And so Matthew did. He talked about growing up in suburban Ohio, about his mother’s quiet disappointment when he came out, about his father’s strained attempts to connect over football. He talked about the first guy he ever loved, a college senior who broke his heart with a text message. Conrad listened, interjecting only with soft questions, sharing pieces of his own history in return—the pressure of being the only son of a Japanese immigrant and a high-powered lawyer, the year he spent in Kyoto feeling like a tourist in his own culture.
Matthew felt the steady rise and fall of Conrad’s chest begin to slow, his breathing deepening into the regular pattern of sleep. The room was dark, safe, quiet. Lying there, enveloped in Conrad’s warmth, Matthew felt a profound contentment settle over him.This was what stability felt like.This was what being chosen felt like. He pressed his ear closer to Conrad’s heartbeat, a steady drum pushing all other noise into the background. He closed his eyes, hoping, truly hoping, that this could finally be the thing that chased the thought of Oliver from his mind for good.