Is it possible for you to do something for the Stockbroker with a model gf? (Up to you if you wanna include smut)
Expectations
Summary: Tonight is important. A night that could determine the trajectory of your modelling career for the foreseeable future. As prepared as you feel, it's the partner you have tagging along that makes you feel a little more nervous. (AKA The Stockbroker tags along to your very important modelling event, but when he leaves you embarrassed, you decide to have him beg for your forgiveness.)
Warnings: light smut, toxic relationship, mentions of alcohol and drug use, arguing, light dom/sub undertones, submissive man, begging, whining and whimpering, The Stockbroker acts like an asshole and ends up getting humbled for it
Word Count: 6294
Notes: Thank you so so much for requesting something for this man - I hate him so much but he’s still so hot and I lowkey love him so I felt the need to humble him here.
Title is what is is because I had the Olivia Rodrigo song stuck in my head (very specifically the first verse) while thinking about this horrible man lol
I decided to include very light smut (because I think this man is an overly sexual manchild) though it’s nothing very explicit.
Enjoy!!! 🩷🩷🩷
It feels as though you've checked your appearance a hundred times before you finally feel ready to head out the door.
Tonight is important. Crucial. A night that could determine the trajectory of your career for the foreseeable future. An 'informal' mixer in a fancy rooftop bar that's anything but casual. An evening with already established models and high-up representatives, significant individuals in your very favourite fashion brands, talking and socialising and pretending you're not scared to death of what they think. Networking disguised as a very friendly social event, disguised just about as well as the big bad wolf dressed as grandma.
Through the nerves, you can at least recognise how prepared you are, and the effort you've put in - you know everything about the people who will be in attendance. Your hair is freshly done, makeup too, and the outfit your Wall Street boyfriend bought you is anything but cheap.
As prepared as you feel, it's the partner you have tagging along that makes you feel a little more worried. It isn't unlike him to think with everything else but his brain, and a worry starts gnawing at your chest as you think over his typical behaviour, cocky and arrogant, particularly when there's any kind of alcohol involved.
Shoving this thought down, you give one final little check in the mirror before you make your way out to the living room.
Your plus one is waiting on the couch when you enter, head cocked in your direction already, having seemingly heard your heels approaching on his hardwood floor. He's dressed neatly in a crisp white shirt and trousers, shiny new Rolex on his wrist not so subtly showing off his wealth. At least his dress sense is one thing you won't have to worry about. You hope he likes the way the dress looks, considering it was his money that bought it.
It doesn't take long to find the answer to this as you get closer.
He rises from his seat and lowers his eyes to scan your figure, brows raising with a very approving hum. Large hands find your hips to pull you closer towards him.
"Very nice." He stares at your lips. You settle into his hold, both of your hands coming up to rest against his chest. "Are you trying to make a good impression, or just turn them on?"
Batting your long lashes up at him doesn't have a very strong effect when he's not even looking at them. His gaze is far more focused somewhere lower, darting between your mouth and your chest. You smile at him sweetly. "Good impression, I hope."
"I hope so too." One hand moves to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your dress. The suddenness makes you gasp quickly in surprise, and he smiles widely at the sound. "Don't need you turning everyone else on too."
Leaning down, his lips press to your temple, then lower to start along your jaw.
"You think we can spare a few minutes?" Both hands move down now to your arse, giving it an even harder squeeze, and he groans quietly when he pulls you even tighter against him. "You just look so good..."
The closeness along with the way his lips dust your skin does begin to tempt you, though you ignore the warm feeling it brings up. You put a little pressure against his chest as a signal to stop his advances.
"Not if we ever want to actually get to the event." He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek before pulling back to stare down at you again. "Come on, we're already late as it is."
"Mmm, you'd rather go out than spend the night with me?" His head tilts while he speaks, eyes half lidded as they fixate themselves on your lips. Then finally he meets your stare with a pout. "How am I supposed to resist you all night? My girlfriend, the supermodel."
"Shush!" A blush creeps up to your cheeks, and you're suddenly grateful for your foundation. "Wait and see how tonight goes before you start calling me that."
For a moment, he just watches you, not bothering to respond. The grip he has on you is far from gentle, and there's a smugness on his face as he takes your features in.
Nervous hands move along his chest to smooth the fabric of his shirt underneath them, and you try to ignore just how clammy your palms feel. The nerves you had been trying to fight down are slowly getting the better of you. The arousal he had started to cause you certainly doesn't help.
"Just... behave, tonight." A snort and a roll of his eyes. He often likes to act as though he is unaware of his own bad behaviour, as though ignorant to how annoying he becomes once any substances hit his system. "Please?"
Another roll of his eyes, but then a slow nod. After a moment of very careful consideration, the only response is a low "mhmm". His gaze drops down to your mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips before both hands pull you in even closer to press your body against his own.
Before his lips can reach yours, you give another light push against his chest, raising a brow when he reluctantly meets your eyes. It takes him a second to realise that you're waiting on a response.
"Yeah, sure." You let you a deep sigh of relief at this answer, though it's slightly short lived when you feel one hand move to toy gently with the hem of your dress. "As long as I get to take this off of you later."
Barely an agreement, but better than none at all.
Another sigh and a playful shove against his shoulder before you move to grab the last of your things. He follows very close behind, hands still touching you whenever they can, still eager to have some form of a hold on you still even as you head out the door.
***
For most of the evening, it really does seem as though he is making a very real attempt to behave.
A subtly possessive hold around your waist all night shows off to the entire club that you're his, though it never moves any lower than the small of your back. A respectful improvement from his end. On a normal night either one or both hands would have already ended up on your arse countless times without a care for who may see before you had even finished your first drink.
He buys only the finest of everything - a glass of top shelf whiskey doesn't leave his hand all night, and a glass of the best wine on offer is never empty in yours. It feels as though he wants the whole place to see the casual way in which he splashes his cash, along with the way his pretty model lingers by his side. Some quiet assertion of dominance to a crowd who you're supposed to be the one trying to impress.
Every conversation he has while you remain tucked into his side seems polite. Normal introductions, casual chit chat, and for a while his newly mature presence almost makes you feel at ease. Even when talking to the most important representatives, he never sets a single foot out of line, and even makes sure to talk highly of you while he does it.
While you do briefly consider the idea of reminding him that it's you who should be doing the socialising while he trails behind, you quickly decide that doing so may derail his well mannered act. Correcting his attempts to be polite may throw him straight into a tantrum and, aside from his usual show-off nature, he really does seem to be making an effort tonight. Even his usually wandering eyes remain respectful around the most beautiful women in the room. If anything, he pays even more attention to you when he sees them. It's almost suspicious to see him keeping so in line.
Not at all like his usual self.
The first time he leaves your side all night is to go to the bathroom, excusing himself quietly while you speak to a pair of vaguely familiar models. The exchange isn't exactly riveting, and you don't blame him for wanting to miss it - your input in it even in his absence proves to be minimal. While these people aren't exactly rude, they're just not very exciting to talk to. You dread to think that you may have to get used to this sort of mixing if you do want to make it any higher in this industry.
In his absence, you tune out for a moment and let your thoughts drift away from the dullness, mind dwelling on your plus one's surprisingly good manners. You begin to think over the many ways you could reward him once you get home. Behaving this well has surely earned him a bit of a treat. Your mind begins to wander, mulling over the ways you could make him feel good, though you know exactly what sort of things he'll want - all of them involving your dress being ripped off the moment you step inside your front door.
"Your boyfriend seems nice." One of the girls in front of you speaks up, pulling your attention reluctantly back to her. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger while she smiles at you politely.
"And cute." Adds the other, earning her a giggle from the first girl while she stares in the direction he went.
For this, you're relieved by his absence - hearing two beautiful models compliment him so sweetly would certain swell up his ego.
"Yeah, he's..." you look down to the now empty wine glass in your hand, having thrown back the last drop in his absence, and think over how to continue. You don't feel nice is the right word for him. Something like arrogant, materialistic, or vain would be a much better fit. "He's cool."
The two before you share a brief look you don't quite recognise before turning back to the very dull chat again.
After a long few minutes, your boyfriend finally returns. At first you feel a relief upon seeing him approach - hoping he may be coming to save you from the mind numbing you're enduring - but when he makes his way over, this brief sensation of safety is quickly shattered.
Something about him seems very different. His head is suddenly held much higher, though his gaze on you goes lower. His hands do too, and when he reaches your side you're surprised to feel one just the slightest bit too low on your back to be decent. Something is off about him, though it's hard to tell what - it's not just the energy of someone who's had a few too many drinks, nor is it the warmth of a partner excited to see you. The women in front of you seem totally unbothered by his sudden change, even if both pairs of eyes are now trained on him.
When you finally turn to look up at him closely, a tiny touch of white powder on his nose lets you know exactly what his problem is.
"What the..." you barely say it out loud, too surprised at the sight to even know where to start.
Your blood boils, having finally felt at ease with the very respectable act he had kept up all night. Good things never do last too long.
Now it's your turn to excuse the both of you from the mundane conversation, politely dipping out even though your mouth feels ready to spit fire, and a tight hand on his arm pulls him just out of earshot.
"Jesus, are you-" Only a few steps into your attempted departure, a hand on your ass now that you're a little more alone makes you jump. "Are you high?"
He snaps his free hand up to wipe his nose with the back of it, and he instantly shifts into a much more defensive demeanour.
"So what if I am?"
Your stomach turns at his snappy response. You bring a hand to his chest, pushing him away with a shove. The corners of his lips turn down at the action.
"You're high? Tonight?"
Rather than take a hint, his hand finds your hip to pull you close once again.
"Don't worry about it, it's fine. I'm fine."
You know he's fine, but you're certainly not. Your head begins to hurt. It would be hard to measure just how much time you've spent telling him exactly how important this event is to you, yet he has still decided to act on stupid impulse instead of behaving for once in his life.
"You do know what tonight is, right?" He frowns while you speak. "You are aware of who these people are, right?"
"Of course, I'm not stupid." You're beginning to doubt this fact.
He leans in closer, and the only thing you can smell is the whiskey on his breath. With that and the coke you can tell he just snorted, you dread to think how he'll be acting when he reaches his peak.
The way you pull back as he leans down is far from subtle.
"Hey, don't be like that." Another squeeze of his hand on your side, and you pull back even further. "I met some friends in the bathroom, what was I supposed to do, say no?"
"Yes!" The idea of his actions even being a possibility is something you're having a very hard time processing, and the fact of them being reality is just downright unbelievable. "You could have easily said no!"
Even after your earlier warning, he seems as though he could no longer care any less about the importance of this evening. His priorities lay more with having his fun with his friends and, judging by the way his hand still squeezes your hip, having his fun with you.
"Come on baby - there's a real quiet corner over there, why don't we go and have some fun?"
A knife twists further in your gut the longer he touches you. Normally, in this late hour, in a club when you've both had a little too much, you ache for his touch. You seek it out desperately without a care for whoever may be watching. Without any care other than whatever arousal his groping brings up. But tonight, when you have the audience you know you have, and the lack of substance in your system like the ones he has?
Tonight, his touch brings up nothing but bile in your throat.
You push his greedy hand away roughly, stepping back and staring up at him in disgust. "Are you joking? You want to sneak off here?!"
"Don't be like that!" Lips pout in a plea, and he steps forward to close the new gap. "Don’t be such a tease! You just look so hot, how am I supposed to resist you? This dress makes you look so fucking-"
A hand moving the hem of your dress up to cup the bare skin of your ass proves to be your final straw.
"Ugh- Jesus, I'm going home-"
"Oh come on," it's hard to tell if his words are dragged out on purpose, or slurred in his state, but the desperation starting to seep from them is undeniable. You've already taken a step back before he continues, hands scrambling to fix your dress that he seems to so desperately want off. "Don't act like you don't wanna. Come on, come feel how hard I-"
"I'm going home."
You turn to make your exit. You're not even entirely sure where the way out is, but all you're concerned with right now is getting yourself very far away from him, and further from the prying eyes of the very people you had come out here to impress.
It feels stupid to glance up as you pass them, but you do so anyway, eyes scanning the crowd and holding on to some tiny shred of hope that they may not even be looking. Sure enough, they seem to have seen the whole thing - a dozen sets of eyes are locked onto you in various shades of confusion, shock, and disgust. Each one you see is an extra sting to your already burning eyes, so you twist your head away from their surveillance, continuing on your unknown path. A harsh bite down on your bottom lip isn't enough to stop the salty water that breaks through to start spilling from your eyes.
A familiar voice pipes up from far behind you, reminding you of the very person you're attempting to get away from, and the very one causing this hurt in the first place.
"Baby, I was kidding, I-"
Though he begins to call after you, it doesn't take long for you to lose him in the crowd.
***
The next morning, the first thing you become aware of upon waking is just how badly your head hurts. It throbs. Initially, you wonder if you may just be hungover, until your memories click. It doesn't take long to remember your swift departure from your event, and the tears that flowed all night because of it. An ache restarts in your chest while you think of it.
The second thing you become aware of is the string of desperate texts your boyfriend decided to leave you to wake up with.
2.32am
Where did u go?
At that hour, you were probably still up crying into your pillow.
2.46am
Where are uuuu
3.01am
Cpme on baby whrre r u
3.15am
Whwrr u. go
3.40am
Gon hpme
By this time you had finally knocked out with exhaustion.
3.50am
U awwke ???
4.02am
Nwed u
R u up
Nred u soo bsd
Ever the romantic, as though his cock had typed the messages for him.
5.25am
R u aqake???
Then, one final text this morning.
11.16am
Morning baby, missed u last night
The thought strikes you that the only thing he likely missed was one of your holes.
Glancing at the time lets you know it's already been a half hour since that last text. You've slept in much later than you expected, seemingly worn down from the stress this whole situation has caused you.
When you turn your attention back to the chat, your fingers hover over the screen with a heavy hesitation. How are you even supposed to respond to any or this? You can't just message him back and pretend that none of it ever happened, and you don't even know where to start when it comes to getting your feelings out over text.
Instead, you opt to set down your phone and ignore the situation completely, even if only for a little while, hoping that your lack of response will convey your mood sufficiently. No part of you can be bothered with wasting the energy in explaining his wrongs to him right now, especially knowing he'll probably just argue back anyway.
That, and your head still throbs too hard to even begin to try to process it just yet.
With every intention to ignore his existence and enjoy your free time alone, you eventually rise from your bed to force yourself into a shower. At least trying to freshen yourself up might make you feel a little bit better.
Once washed and dressed in the most comfortable shorts and t shirt you could find, you're just beginning to enjoy your peaceful afternoon when a knock at your front door soon disrupts this. It doesn't take long to guess who may be on the other side.
Opening the door reveals a scene like one from a romantic movie - there he is, standing with a large rose bouquet in one hand, and a sizeable designer gift bag in the other. The man himself is not the most romantic looking however, save for his smart shirt and dress pants - the rings under his eyes betray his late night partying.
You're tempted to slam the door straight in his face, feeling that doing so would be much easier than having to deal with him, until he steps slightly forward to fill the entrance.
"Hey, baby," The sweetness seeping from his words is almost sickening. It takes some power to resist the urge to roll your eyes at his greeting. "I missed you last night. Can I come in?"
Wordlessly and reluctantly, you take a step back to allow him to do just that.
"These are for you." Both hands stretch to move the gifts in your direction. The smile still sitting comfortably on his lips only pisses you off further.
"What is this?"
His smile briefly falters before he pulls it up again with a casual shrug, as though nothing about this is out of the ordinary.
"These are gifts."
"No, I mean... this. This whole display." He doesn't seem to pick up on your disapproval of his arrival. "Are you just going to act like nothing happened?"
His brow furrows, and his jaw ticks. "What do you mean?"
A part of you begins to wonder whether the coke may have wiped his memory, or if he really does think you're stupid enough to not be upset. Shifting where you stand, you cross your arms in front of your chest and try to push down a steadily growing rage.
"Last night? The way you acted?"
Another shrug in response to this makes you wonder if he's actually just doing this to piss you off further. Whether he can remember the night or not, you decide to do him a favour and remind him of it.
"You acted like an idiot. You made me look like an idiot. Do you know how important those people were?" This doesn't seem to register with him. "My entire career might have depended on last night!"
"Oh baby come on! It wasn't that bad..."
It feels pointless to even put effort into giving this a response. You snatch the items quickly from his hands, not bothering to even mutter a half arsed thanks, before turning to take the few steps needed to place them both on your kitchen counter. Even as you move you can feel him follow closely behind.
You try to ignore his presence, though your attempt proves to be fruitless - within a second of your hands being free, he's on you, long arms snaking around your middle, face pressing into your hair.
And as is very often the case, he's already hard.
"Ok I get it, I fucked up. Let me show you how sorry I am," his voice is low, gravely, and you're sure he means for it to be seductive. Given the situation it only serves to piss you off more. He ruts against you with a groan, arms wrapping tighter around you. "Let me make it up to you. I'll make you feel good."
Shifting to loosen his grip, you notice his hips still gently moving. "You can't just fuck me and expect everything to be alright."
He moves to press his wet lips to your neck. The feeling makes you freeze, doing anything except for arousing you in the way he seems to wish. He speaks in a low hum against you skin. "It'll make you feel better."
"No way. Seeing you begging on your knees would make me feel better than that."
Though the words are meant to be mocking, they plant a slowly spreading seed in your mind. A one you don't bother to shake out.
There's a long pause, as though he's having to think hard about what to say. It feels as though this is the first time he's ever had to make an attempt at a real apology. It probably is.
Eventually, his grip loosens more, though only slightly. "I said I'm sorry."
"You don't seem that sorry." Twisting out of his arms brings some relief to your tensed up limbs. His expression is much less warm now that you face him once again.
"What, have I not apologised enough? You want me to take back what I bought you?"
"Buying things doesn't mean-"
"Jesus, can't you just fucking let it go!"
The moment he snaps, your face shifts. Mild annoyance turns into something in between disbelief and anger. Eyes narrow, staring up at him with a glare that would slice him in two if it could.
Whatever attempt you had been making to restrain yourself goes flying out the window now that he's chosen blatant disrespect.
"Let me guess, you didn't get your dick wet last night, and you wanna get it wet now?" A moment passes before he shrugs. This only fuels your fire further. "Yeah, as if you're getting it wet now. Go home."
Tired features screw up in disgust. "Jesus, if I knew you were gonna be like this, I would have just gone home with those other girls."
A dagger straight into the chest. Your mind flicks back to the model who had told you he was cute, and your mouth feels suddenly dry as you remember her eyes trained in him.
"Excuse me?"
"Those two girls. You're telling me you didn't notice how bad they fucking wanted me? They barely even looked at you the entire time we talked to them." Something about the way he speaks feels slightly boastful, like he enjoys the way his apparent popularity must hurt you. The memory of one girl giggling and twirling her hair flashes into your mind. "They were all fucking over me after you ran off, but I was too worried about you to even entertain it."
While you can't prove whether what he's saying is even true, the idea of it alone makes your gut begin to twist. If you weren't already so pissed off, then the way he is trying to paint himself as such a loyal, caring boyfriend would certainly do the trick.
While he's never exactly been the most kind partner, it surprises you that he would start going quite as low as this. There's almost a smug energy surrounding him as he sees the way his words affect you.
"Yeah, maybe you should have just fucked them." You spit the words out, fists balling up in an attempt to hold back what little bit of rage you can. He doesn't appear too pleased by the fact that his sob story hasn't worked. "Now go, and get the hell out of my apartment."
"For fucks sake, I didn't mean-"
"Just fucking go!"
If the neighbours can hear you, you certainly don't care. Even he looks shocked at the way you've just shouted. Both hands raise to his side in some form of surrender, eyes widen, and his face falls into something a little softer than before.
"Fine..."
Slowly, he backs away, hands still raised as though waiting for more verbal bullets to fire in his direction. When eventually they don't come, he lowers his hands and pouts, head tilting downwards and eyes dropping to the floor. In his mind, the expression probably reflects a man deeply sorrowful - in yours, it just looks like an idiot who hasn't gotten his way.
Though you're sure his expression is an attempt to garner some form of sympathy, it only ends up stirring something else. The roots of the previously planted seeds begin to spread through your thoughts, and the idea of making him show just how sorry he is becomes even more appealing.
Although he's not yet forgiven, you decide you can make the most of his naturally needy nature before deciding whether his apologies can be accepted.
When his hand reaches for the door, moving to turn the handle and exit as you've just instructed, you impulsively decide to give him one more chance.
"Wait..." A heat creeps up your cheeks as you mull over how to do this, and how to even approach the concept in the first place. "You said you want to show that you're sorry?"
This perks him up. A smile tugs at his lips, clearly assuming that you've decided to finally let him get his dick wet after all, and he lets go of the handle to turn to face you now fully. It's unfortunate for him that his hopes are about to come crashing straight down. A nod, and a very low "Yeah?"
"I could forgive you..." Tensed up shoulders relax, and he takes a slow step towards you. Hungry eyes eye up your frame. "If you ask me to."
This stops him in his tracks. "I... did, though."
"No. You asked to fuck me."
His lips press tight, and you can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tries to understand. "Okay... well, forgive me, then?"
Initially you don't respond. A glance down below his belt makes you aware his arousal hasn't yet died down, the outline of it blatantly obvious through the fabric of his pants, and when you meet his eyes he seems almost proud of it. Like he enjoys you knowing he's turned on, or just enjoys the fact that you even bothered to look down there in the first place.
Anticipation sees his eyes brighten as you slowly step towards him. They're glued to you, trained on your every move, and he swallows hard as you get closer and closer. When you finally reach him, another glance down shows you that he's gotten even harder, and you're sure you even see it throbbing through his clothes.
His breath catches in his throat when you press a palm gently to his bulge.
"You want me to forgive you?" He nods so quickly you think his head may fall off, pride suddenly forgotten, eyes so full with desperation and a quiet plea for more. Pressing harder draws out a breath, and even harder again brings a whimper. Hips push into your touch, and for a moment you indulge his steady rhythm against your hand. "Beg for it."
His movements still.
"What?"
"Beg me to forgive you."
"That would be embarrassing."
Pulling your hand away and stepping back results in a very desperate whine from him, hips bucking forward once in an attempt to chase your touch and cease the absence of pressure.
"Oh you care about being embarrassed? Did you not care about embarrassing me last night?"
"No, I- yes, of course I cared." He tries to close the gap between you but you widen it even more. "I'm sorry!"
"I don't believe you."
"Listen, I don't know what more I can do to convince you. What do you want me to do, get down on my fucking knees or some shit?"
This sparks an idea. Wetting your lips, you give him a small smile for the first time since last night.
"Sure."
His face drops, clearly not expecting you to take him up on his unserious offer. Tired features twist into a confusion, mouth opening quickly before shutting closed even quicker, and something about seeing this change in him sparks a newfound confidence within you.
"But I already said I'm sorry."
"Show me that you are."
He seems desperate to find something else to say, any other possible way to express his apparent sorrow. Watching his panicked eyes flick down to the floor gives you a little ounce of hope, before a defeated look fills his face when he finally decides to do as you ask.
Long legs lower his body to the hard floor slowly, as though waiting for you to change your mind the whole way down, and then a disappointment becomes clear in him when you don't. Once settled on his knees, tired eyes stare up at you in desperation from where he kneels at your feet. You're sure his hangover probably has his head throbbing, and you would be lying if you said he didn't deserve it.
Moving closer towards him, you tilt your head as you admire the way he looks below you. There's something strangely enticing about seeing him complying to your request.
"Bet you wish you had just fucked one of those other girls after all, huh?"
A large hand rises and cups the back of your thigh softly as he begins to beg.
"Baby, please, I told you I'm sorry!" His face reddens as he speaks, eyes not quite meeting yours. Apologising so profusely clearly doesn't come naturally to him.
Your hand reaches out, and he eagerly leans towards your touch instantly. Long, pointed nails lightly scratch the skin of his scalp, palm pressing to the top of his head while your fingers stretch out.
"Are you really?"
The whimper that falls from him as your nails continue to move on his skin is a desperate one. Underneath your hand you feel him shudder. It's clear that he's feeling starved of your touch after spending the night alone. His eyes flutter closed, lips parted as you begin to slowly massage his scalp with your nails, and the hand on your leg grips it harder.
"Y-yes." Even with a stutter, he does sound a little more sure. "Just let it go, please."
Another soft whimper falls from him. It sparks a curiosity in you, wondering now just how much he really is enjoying this embarrassment. Glancing down into the gap between you offers up a very desperate scene - while he stares up at you, his free hand has moved to palm his still hard cock through his pants. His hips rock ever so slightly against the hand in an attempt to further his own pleasure.
The view from up here warms your belly even more than you ever could have expected it would.
When your hand moves away from his scalp, his eyes shoot open, and a quiet whine of protest shows his disappointment. This is short lived once you move it to cup his cheek. The action draws out a quiet hum from him as he lets himself lean into your touch, large eyes staring up at you with a silent plea for forgiveness.
Like this, he looks pretty. Almost innocent. Like butter wouldn't melt.
You don't allow him to enjoy this peaceful moment for too long. Pulling away, you step back to put a bit more space in between you, loosening your leg from his touch. He makes a move as though he may follow, but one swift icy glare his way tells him to stay right where he is.
Admiring him from just a couple of steps back allows you a moment to think over your next course of action, the options in mind starting to feel seemingly limitless. It also allows you to see just how painfully his erection now presses against the fabric of his pants. He has little shame in continuing his slow stroking, long fingers gliding over his clothed bulge, and a very strong desire fills his eyes while he stares up at you.
The idea of giving into his want does pop up, though only briefly. The needy sight before you is new, but not a one you dislike, and you indulge in it like a voyeur for just a little longer than originally intended. It stirs an arousal deep down within your core.
The thought of denying his desire only stirs it even more.
"Does this turn you on?" A mocking sweetness oozes from your words. You see a brief flicker of uncertainty, then a quickly rising shame that makes his eyes dart down to the floor, as though he's just been snapped out of a trance. "To beg on your knees like this?"
He doesn't respond, though the way his jaw tenses and Adam's apple bobs indicates a very embarrassed yes. It's as though he doesn't quite want to admit his enjoyment.
"I guess I'll accept your apology then."
Eyes snap up to finally meet yours, his entire face brightening with a mix of both shock and honest relief. For a moment he just stares, unsure of how to respond, but then he breaks out into a grin. "Really?"
A deliberately drawn out moment of contemplation only teases him even further. "Sure."
"Oh baby, you don't know how happy that makes me." He very quickly rises, coming to his feet while briefly rubbing his seemingly sore knees. An arm extends to finally touch you, aching for any part of your skin, but yet another step back sees you widening the distance even more.
"I still want you to go, though."
What flickers in his eyes can only be described as genuine fire - having felt the relief of you finally lowering your guard and accepting his pleas, he now seems even more embarrassed than he was when he was begging at your feet. His eyes narrow as he stares straight down at you, piercing through your own with a very real anger.
"Are you fucking kidding?" It's a hiss through gritted teeth. At this stage he's seemingly seething.
"Yeah, I think it's better if you do."
His mouth clamps shut, jaw tensing harshly while his face screws up. Large hands are thrown up in defeat before he spins, practically pulling the door off of its hinges with the force with which he opens it. There's not even a mutter of a goodbye before he slams it hard behind him.
You'd be lying if you said you were very sorry to see him go. If anything, you're merely relieved to finally have the day back to yourself.
Even with such anger spilling out of him, you know full well that it'll only take a couple of hours until he's sliding into your messages once again, as though the entire last 24 hours had never happened.
