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Sex, for Matt, was never nearly as pleasurable as he wanted it to be. That is, until he met you.
Matt’s first time was hardly what he’d hoped and exactly what he expected - his senses were overloaded - by the wet heat around his dick, the smell of sweat, hormones and cheap perfume, and the sheer knowledge that he was actually having sex - the girl he was with was only seeking her own satisfaction, and he lasted all of forty-five seconds. Way to go, Murdock.
After that one experience, Matt became a bit more comfortable sexually. He had only just breached manhood then, but as he got older and continued his rigorous training regiment, Matt gained new awareness of his sex appeal and the effect it had on women, and boy, was it strong. He could smell a woman's arousal from a block away. Disgusting, true, but helpful when Matt needed to single out someone ready and willing to assist him in relieving any pent-up sexual frustration for a night. He could detect the faint scent of hormones even before a woman knew she was aroused, and an elevated heartbeat or raised temperature confirmed his suspicions as clearly as a spoken word could. Once he knew he was desired, it was easy to go from there. All it usually took was a touch - he could read women well because of their telltale physical signs - be it on the knee, the hand, the cheek, and Matt had a girl in his bed and release in his sight.
But it was never quite that simple. Sex was... often a let down. It wasn't that Matt had high standards for the sexual abilities of his partners, nor did he ask anything strange or overly kinky of the women he took to bed, he just never got what he needed from sex. Sure, he'd reach climax, sometimes multiple times if he was lucky, but there was always something lacking from his many encounters that he'd never found until he was at last nestled between your thighs.
The women weren't bad, that was not often the case, but they had their own desires and those often conflicted with Matt's. Some women liked loud music; It pounded in his ears and distracted him from the actual sex. Some were only in for a quick fuck and kept him at arm's length; Matt wanted a bit more closeness, or at least to feel liked by the girl. And of course there were women that saw his blindness as a kink and completely overwhelmed him, rubbing their sweat-slicked bodies all over him, groping too roughly to be sexy, kissing wetly and biting in too many places that the stimulus did the opposite of arouse him.
But with you - oh, with you - sex is beautiful.
Matt knew the exact moment he slipped inside of you that you had changed sex forever for him. When he’s inside you, the world disappears around him, clouding out because it is absolutely irrelevant and you deserve every bit of his attention. You have experience - Matt sometimes wonders how you've become so good, but has to force the thoughts away because of the envy that boils in his veins at the thought of another man's hands on you - and you use it to bring Matt to new heights of pleasure. Matt uses his experience to do the same for you. The two of you are as close as you could be to a single entity, moving with each other in a beautiful tangle of limbs, your musical moans filling the air and flowing through Matt's ears like an erotic symphony.
There is an element of clarity to your lovemaking; all Matt's previous experiences had been rushed and chaotic, and it's not to say you and Matt don't have those nights of adrenaline-fueled passion, but there is a sense of need and fulfillment with you that is overwhelming and clear at the same time. Matt always knows what to expect but you always manage to leave him breathless.
As lovers, the two of you are quite adventurous. You take some nights to try new positions and find new favorites. One Friday, both of you called in sick to your respective jobs to kick off an extended weekend of going through your new Kama sutra book, cover to glorious cover (You actually had to call in sick the following Monday because you barely had the strength to stand). Most nights, though, you wind up in the same position; you lying sprawled underneath Matt, nails lightly scratching his back, ankles locked behind his rocking hips, and his arms on either side of you as he flattens himself against you so with each thrust your bodies move in tandem, undulating like waves under Matt's silk sheets as he revels in your even silkier skin. Matt likes to rest his cheek against yours so he can both hear and feel every little breathless sound you make right in his ear like you’re whispering dirty secrets to him all night long.
But as much as Matt loves all the kinky little things he does to you, he loves the things you do to him so much more. He loves your voice, the sultry lilt that holds so many promises for the night ahead that makes his blood rush, and the slight rasp he detects the morning after a particularly loud night that fills him with pride. He loves your skin; on special nights you spend an extra ten minutes in the tub making sure you shave every little hair off of your legs for him, leaving your skin as smooth as satin. He can’t stop his hands from roaming your body - it takes too great a conscious effort to do so - memorizing you inch by tantalizing inch, reading the goosebumps on your skin like braille. He loves it when you’re just so, so close and the only word you seem to know is his name; ‘Matt,’ you moan, ‘Oh, Matt’ it falls from your lips like a prayer. He can’t help but feel like he’s getting away with something, having such a beautiful - he doesn’t need sight to know you’re beautiful - girl like you doing so many nasty things to him. He thinks he must have some kind of fetish for your mouth because of all the beautiful filthy things it does to him: kissing, moaning, biting, sucking, teasing, all of it. Matt isn’t sure if you fully understand the effect you have on him. He never has enough of you, he’s like an addict, always coming back for another fix, another taste...
But still, all the wonderfully dirty things you do, the effect and control you have on him that you aren’t aware of, the mix of adventurousness and gentleness you pour into your lovemaking, none of it really explain entirely why you’re the best of the countless women he’s had over the years.
What does explain it is that Matt loves you, which makes sex all the more beautiful.
It hits him now, as your back arches off the mattress and your nails scrape lightly down his back, as you roll your hips with his, so close to your release but still so far, as Matt kisses you deeply when he finally pushes you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. He loves you. He rolls the words around in his mind as he lies on top of you, still sheathed inside your wet heat as you both bask in the aftershocks of pleasure. He rests his cheek on your breast, listening to the steady drumming of your heart and your soft, panting breaths as you come down from your high. You gently stroke his hair and he leans into your fingertips. You never complain about his weight on top of you, you actually keep your legs around his waist hoping to keep him there just a little longer. Matt likes - loves - that about you.
After some time, Matt rolls off of you to lie on his back. He loves you. You immediately tuck yourself against his side, your fingertips gently tracing intricate patterns on his scarred chest. Matt works his arm under your head and slides his hand down your smooth arm. He loves you. Your cheek is resting on his chest and he feels your lips, parted and softly panting on his skin. He loves you.
You lie in peaceful silence, and Matt listens to your heartbeats slow until they are beating in unison. He can smell your sweat and the faint scent of your perfume, he feels you shift slightly against him to lie one smooth leg between his, he still tastes you on his lips. What used to be only a jumbled mess of hormones and hurried movements is all clear because of your very existence.
“I love you.”
He knows you’re looking up at him, searching his face for any hint of post-sex drowsiness that could have made the words accidentally slip. He feels your heart skip a beat when you realize that he means what he’s said. He smiles brightly when he hears your beautiful lips form the most radiant smile there ever was.
Then your lips are on his and the world disappears around him once again, and you’re saying his name over and over like a prayer, and he’s saying ‘I love you, I love you,’ right back as you fall back into that familiar rhythm under his silk sheets, nails lightly scratching his back and ankles locked behind his rocking hips as Matt’s senses are overwhelmed by you, bringing him clarity.