⚠︎smut, oral (m recieving), dirty talk, cum swallowing, lowkey filth, face fucking, bigdick!chris ⚠︎
♡ and rb please!! (not forcing!!)
chris' cock hits the back of your throat with every buck of his hips, saliva dripping down your chin and falling onto the wooden floor below you.
your situated on your knees, one hand jerking off the part of chris' dick that you can't fit in your mouth.
chris' head is thrown back in ecstasy, grunts and deep moans leaving his mouth as he uses his hands tk grip your hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucks your mouth ruthlessly.
"mm o-oh ffuuck ma, m-mouth was fuckin' made for me" he says inbetween thrusts.
his balls slap against your chin and you gag and scratch his thighs. all that can be heard is the obscene sound of slurping and slapping throughout the room
"mm, you take it s'good, my fuck- my fucking slut. keep goin' " he struggles to get his words out. some words breaking off into groans and moans.
you swirl your tongue around his tip, which makes his hips buck, pushing his dick so far down your throat you swear you get a bulge in your neck.
you feel his dick twitch in your mouth, signalling that he's close.
"baby-fuck-i-oh ma, m'gnna cum all over your pretty fuckin' mouth."
you moan around his shaft, his hips stutter and his load spurts into the back of your throat, the warm feeling dripping down.
once you've milked him dry, he pulls out of your mouth with a 'pop' sound.
"open up, stick that tongue out."
you swallow every single last drop then proceed to follow his orders, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. you swallowed it all.
he grins, pulling you up off of your knees to kiss you, tongues clashing together, him tasting his own release on his tongue, the kiss is full of pure hunger.
he breaks the kiss and whispers in your ear "your turn ma."
𝒋𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆!- this is not proofread at all i literally wrote it in 30 mins lmao. ngl though guys im enjoying writing now.. and thank you so so much for over 100 notes on my last post!!! I appreciate it so so so much!! <3 I hope you enjoy this one :)
the one where you and chris are ceos of two rival companies and a private meeting needs to take place in his office (6.5K words)
Contains: smut, office sex, unprotected piv, fingering, slight f masturbation, oral (f receiving), breast/nipple play, hickeys, soft!dom! work rival chris x sub!fem work rival reader
I built The Elysian from the ground up, a name that breathed luxury and left competitors restless. In New York’s hotel world, my reputation spoke for itself. People called me demanding, perfectionist, and even cold. I didn’t mind. They could call me whatever they wanted, as long as they couldn’t call me second best.
When I caught my reflection in the elevator doors that morning, I looked exactly how I needed to. Hair tied back, tailored black dress, expression calm and unreadable. My assistant had just confirmed I’d finally secured a meeting with one of Tokyo’s most influential businessmen. Months of negotiations had led to this moment.
Fifty luxury suites. That was what he wanted to buy in New York. And I was going to make sure they were mine. It wasn’t just another deal. It was the deal.
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, where my driver was already waiting. “Good morning, ma’am.” he greeted, holding the car door open.
“Morning.” I replied, stepping in. The city stretched around me as we pulled into traffic, sunlight spilling between the high-rises. I ran through my mental checklist: key talking points, projections, and proposals. Every detail was prepared. Every word specifically chosen. Every reason The Elysian should be his only choice.
The meeting was only ten minutes away, and I arrived with two minutes to spare, as always. The driver rounded the car to open my door, and I stepped out, smoothing down the hem of my dress. The hotel was an architectural marvel: steel, glass, and arrogance in physical form. I could respect that.
Inside, I strode towards the elevators, pressed the button, and exhaled slowly. Showtime.
The doors slid open. I stepped in and hit the button for the top floor. They were just beginning to close when they suddenly stopped… and then reopened.
I looked up, and my stomach tightened when I saw him.
Chris Sturniolo.
He stepped through the doors wearing a tailored black suit, looking as infuriatingly composed as ever. A familiar hint of amusement tugged at his mouth.
“Well,” he said easily. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Business meeting.” he replied. “Important one.”
“With who?”
He met my gaze, and in a smooth and casual tone, the kind that could cut, he answered. “Yamaha Fukuzo.”
I laughed once, short and sharp. “Nice bluff. I’m meeting him right now.”
“Funny,” he said, a ghost of a smile forming. “He told me the same thing.”
The elevator chimed before I could respond. As the doors opened, I stepped out first, heels clicking against the marble floor.
If Mr. Fukuzo thought he could play us both, he was about to find out exactly who he was dealing with.
The boardroom was minimalist and immaculate, all glass and steel. The kind of place where deals were made quietly but carried weight for years.
When I entered, the man I’d been chasing meetings with for months stood to greet me, his expression warm.
“Ah, you must be from The Elysian. So nice to finally meet you, Miss.” he said, his accent thick but clear.
I offered a polite smile and stepped forward, shaking his hand. “It’s an honour to finally meet you. Thank you for making the time.”
“Of course, of course. Please, have a seat.”
The table stretched long and glossy across the room, sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I slid into one of the leather chairs, setting my folder neatly in front of me. Every move precise. Every breath measured.
And then the door clicked open again.
“Mr. Sturniolo.” The Japanese businessman greeted him with equal enthusiasm.
My grip tightened around my pen. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know he was smirking. I forced my expression to be neutral, though irritation clawed at my composure.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Chris said, his voice calm, professional, and completely unfazed.
“Please, sit.” Mr. Fukuzo said, gesturing towards the table. “We have lots to discuss.”
Chris took the seat directly across from me. My pulse thudded once, sharp and irritated.
I crossed my legs and straightened in my chair, posture perfect. “Mr. Fukuzo, if I may… I have a question.” I began, my voice calm.
“Yes, of course.” he nodded expectantly.
“Have I been misinformed? I was under the impression this discussion would be between just you and I. Why is Mr. Sturniolo here?”
“Ah, yes.” he said with an apologetic smile. “That’s what I was just about to explain. Your hotels are among the most successful in New York. Both highly regarded. I’ve reviewed each proposal carefully and, frankly, I find myself unable to choose.”
He laughed lightly, but I didn’t. My expression stayed even. Inside, I was already running through possible outcomes and counterarguments.
“So,” he continued, folding his hands on the table. “I thought it would be best if we discuss things together.”
I leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “I appreciate the transparency. I still believe that The Elysian is the ideal match for your vision. Our partnerships are built on precision and trust, and my team ensures every promise is delivered flawlessly.”
“Of course.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Fukuzo and…” Chris’s eyes flicked towards me briefly. “Your company’s work is impressive, but your investment would be better placed with mine. The Sturniolo Group offers an unmatched global reach. Our name alone draws international attention. If your goal is visibility, that’s something we specialize in.”
I slowly turned my head towards Chris. “Visibility doesn’t guarantee loyalty.” I said softly. “Clients might arrive for the name, but they stay for the experience. That’s something you can’t fake.”
The businessman chuckled, seemingly amused by the quiet tension weaving through the air. “You both make excellent points.” he nodded. “Miss, The Elysian has also been performing remarkably well for domestic clientele, isn’t that right?”
“You’re correct.” I straightened my posture, smiling. “In the last two years alone, several high-profile figures have chosen to stay with us. The experience we deliver speaks for itself.”
Mr. Fukuzo laughed again, looking between us. “Do you now see why I’m so conflicted? Both of you make very compelling points.” He paused, folding his hands. “Perhaps there’s a compromise that benefits both parties.”
My heart sank before he even said it.
“I propose splitting the offer evenly.”
I blinked once, my jaw tightening. “You mean, share the deal?”
“Yes,” he said, still smiling kindly. “It isn’t what I initially planned, but it’s the only fair way forward. You’re both incredibly young and successful. I wouldn’t want either of you to lose from this.”
Chris nodded immediately, easygoing as ever. “That sounds reasonable to me.”
Of course it did.
I forced a polite smile. “If that’s what you think is best.”
“Wonderful.” he said, clearly pleased as he reached for the documents. “I’ll have the contracts finalized by the end of the day.”
I thanked him, shaking his hand once more before gathering my belongings and standing. Chris rose too, his movements far less unhurried.
As we left the room, the door closing behind us, my irritation hadn’t softened in the slightest.
The elevator waited at the end of the hallway. The moment we stepped inside, I turned to him. “I can’t believe you agreed to it.”
“So did you.” he said smoothly.
“Well yes, because I wasn’t going to lose everything to you. I had to agree to that ridiculous deal just to get something out of it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. “Fuck.”
“You don’t seem too happy about sharing.”
I turned towards him again, arms folding instinctively. “Because I’m not.”
“Still, you got half.”
“Half.” I repeated. “Not exactly my idea of winning.”
He shrugged lightly. “Sometimes winning means not losing.”
“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
His lips curved, amused. “You always take things so personally.”
“Because I actually care about what I build.” I shot back. “Not everything’s a game.”
“You seem a bit too stressed.”
“Because I am, dammit.” I glared at him. “And how the fuck are you so okay with this? We’re competitors, remember?”
“This was just one deal.” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I get offers like this every day.”
I scoffed in response. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“Look, don’t get it twisted. I get business offers just as much as you do. The only difference is that I like to win the entire deal, and not split it up like its slices of fucking pizza.”
“Alright.” He simply smiled, facing the elevator doors again.
I rolled my eyes, his calm demeanor only further fueling my annoyance.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open again. I stepped out first, refusing to spend another moment near him.
Right as I was about to exit the building, Chris stopped in his tracks just before the doors. “Come over to my office and we’ll have a drink. We should celebrate.”
“I’m good.” I said with a forced laugh, for him to even have the audacity to offer. “Thanks.”
“Oh, come on. It’s good news for the both of us. One drink won’t kill you.”
I hesitated. He was right. It was technically good news. And maybe a drink would make the sting a little duller.
“Fine.” I said quietly.
He smiled, gesturing towards the sleek black car waiting by the curb.
And before I could talk myself out of it, I followed Chris outside.
The black car waited by the curb, its engine low and steady. Chris opened the door, his hand resting lightly on the frame as he looked at me.
“After you.”
I hesitated for half a second before sliding inside. The leather was cold against the back of my legs, and the faint scent of cedar and something darker filling the space. He followed in after me, settling beside me with just enough distance between us to keep it professional.
The city blurred past the tinted windows as we pulled into traffic. I leaned back, eyes fixed on the skyline, letting silence fill the air. My mind should’ve been replaying numbers, projections, and the conversation with Mr. Fukuzo. Instead, it circled back to the man sitting next to me.
Chris was quiet, his gaze focused out the opposite window. The light from passing buildings cut sharp lines across his profile. From this close, I could see the tiny details that annoyed me more than they should’ve. He always looked so calm, unbothered, and effortless.
I turned away, pretending to watch the streets. The sound of the engine filled the silence.
My attention drifted back to him despite myself. His hands rested loosely in his lap, fingers long and marked with a few silver rings. There was even a silver chain bracelet on his wrist that slightly peeked out from underneath his sleeve. I followed the motion as he adjusted his cuff, veins shifting under his skin.
Then his voice broke through the quiet. “You done staring?”
My head snapped up. “Huh?”
He turned to me fully now, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I said, you done staring?”
Heat pricked the back of my neck. “Oh. Sorry.”
“I didn’t mind,” he shrugged, his grin deepening.
I rolled my eyes, forcing my focus back out the window, but my uneven pulse betrayed me.
The car slowed to a stop as we approached another building, glass and steel rising above the street. I reached for the door handle, but Chris was faster, stepping out and circling around to open it for me.
I stepped out, adjusting the crease in my dress as I glanced up at the building. “So this is where you plan to ‘celebrate’?”
He smiled faintly. “You’ll like it.”
“I doubt that.”
“But you still came.” His voice was low and steady, just enough to make my breath hitch for a second.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of replying.
Instead, I followed him inside and towards the elevator, dreading another ride in a compact space with him within the same day.
When we arrived onto the floor Chris had pressed for earlier, the doors slid open to a reception area. The lobby was quiet at this hour, only the faint hum of conversation coming from the reception desk. The woman behind it greeted us with a polite smile before returning to her phone call.
I followed him down the hallway, heels sinking slightly into the thick carpet. Every few steps, I caught the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air… clean, smooth, and expensive. Chris stopped at the end of the corridor and pushed open the last door on the left.
The office was sleek and masculine, all black and silver. A wide window stretched across one wall, with the city lights spilling in through the glass. The furniture was modern, minimalist, and every piece deliberate.
“Nice place.” I said, taking it in.
“Thank you.” he replied easily, already heading towards a small bar tucked in the corner. He opened a bottle of wine, a faint pop filling the quiet.
I moved towards the desk and took a seat across from it, legs crossing out of habit. My back straightened automatically, the same posture I kept in every meeting.
He walked over a moment later and handed me a glass. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
Chris leaned against the edge of his desk instead of sitting down, one ankle crossed over the other, his glass held loosely in his hand. The city skyline glowed behind him.
He took a sip, then looked at me. “Tell me something.”
I swirled the wine in my glass. “Yes?”
“Work stress you out?”
While taking a sip, I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. I slowly pulled the glass away and tilted my head to the side. "Why do you ask?”
“Just asking.” he shrugged. “You always seem so tense. Like you’re one bad email away from ripping someone’s head off.” he chuckled to himself and went to take another sip.
I gave a short, humorless laugh and took a slow sip before setting the glass down. “I enjoy my job, thank you very much. I just happen to get pissed if someone gives me a reason to.”
“Do your employees hate you? You seem like the worst boss to have around.”
“Excuse me?” I shot back, half amused and half offended. “No one hates me, okay? They might be terrified of me though. There’s a difference. And I know when to tone it down when I need to.”
“If you say so.” He took another sip, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips as if teasing me was his new favorite pastime. Then he lowered the glass, his tone suddenly quieter. “When's the last time you had sex?"
The question caught me off guard. “Excuse me?” I put my glass down and shot up from my seat, my eyes enraged with anger.
"Offended?" he smirked. "Damn, it must've been a long time then."
My pulse spiked. “You have no right to ask me something like that.” I stomped over to him huffing out a breath. The heat of irritation replaced the calm I’d fought to keep all evening. “Whatever image you’ve built of me in your head, keep it there.”
Chris put his glass down also and stood up, looking into my eyes. He took a step forward which caused his chest to brush up against mine. Before I could step away, Chris held me at the small of my back, keeping me in place. "But I'm truly concerned about you." he whispered, fanning my face with his breath.
I swallowed hard and tried to push him away from me but I couldn't do it, so I remained still.
"How long has it been since a gorgeous woman like you got fucked the way you deserve to?" he husked, making my cheeks bloom with heat. "Tell me." His voice was low, almost pleading, as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles along my spine.
"E–Eight months." I replied in a whisper, completely mortified.
"That's a shame. You deserve better than that." Chris said, making me involuntarily release a quiet whimper.
Chris stilled for a moment and then suddenly pulled away as he walked over to his desk, making me feel disappointed from the absence of his heat. He pressed a button on the landline machine which then caused a woman's voice to speak up.
"Yes, Mr. Sturniolo?"
"Am I scheduled for anything soon?"
"No, sir. Not for another two hours."
"Alright, thank you. If anything does come up, please handle it. I'm in a very important meeting and I would not like to be interrupted."
"As you wish, sir."
"Thank you." Chris let go of the button and went to the door to lock it. He then came back to me. He held me by the hips and pulled me against him, stealing my breath away. "Can I?" he asked, leaning towards me and whispered into my ear.
I felt a chill travel down my spine. I couldn't even think straight anymore. A part of me wanted to slap him across his face and stomp out of his office, while another wanted myself sprawled across his desk with nothing but my stockings and heels on. I was so desperate to be taken by someone. I hadn't had any intimate contact with a man for more than half a year and that was driving me up a wall. I was so desperate to be touched, that I didn't even care if the man that got under my skin, could commit the deed for me.
I didn't bother saying anything in reply but instead wrapped my arms around Chris' neck and pressed my lips to his. Chris kissed me harder and deeper, tilting his head to the side. He held me tight but firm, by the hip with one hand and with the other he cupped the side of my face. His tongue slipped past my lips, making me slowly open up for him, and coaxed a moan out of me when his tongue slid against mine. My arms unhooked from Chris' neck and my palms rested against his chest, feeling his fast, but steady pulse from underneath.
I grabbed the collar of his blazer and wrapped my leg around his causing the hem of my dress to bunch up, as I began to grind myself against his thigh. I felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing back, as he gripped my thigh to hold me in place. I knew he could tell he felt just how soaked I already was, from the wet heat emitting from where I made contact.
Chris broke the kiss first and moved towards my neck to begin peppering kisses down the length of it. He nipped at the skin and then soothed it with the run of his tongue. I moaned as a bloom of pleasure spread through me and my hips continued to buck against his, still frustratingly separated by a few layers of fabric. Not wanting to deprive a woman in desperate need, Chris slowly put my leg down and pulled his hips back just enough for him to slide a hand up my dress, down the waistband of my underwear, and to my aching slit, which was already soaked and slick with anticipation.
After just a stroke up and down my swollen lips, gathering moisture, he let a finger slip inside. My fleshy walls clenched around his thick middle finger, as I threw my head back in pleasure and let out a strained breath, my eyes shutting tightly. “O–Ohh fuck!”
His long finger stroked me gently as his thumb rubbed at the tender nub. I began to shudder when I felt two more fingers slide in me, and gasped out loud when I felt Chris plunge his fingers deeper. He started rhythmically twisting his fingers and moving them in and out of me. They slid smooth and fast, as he gradually surged deeper and deeper inside, opening me up further. Then Chris abruptly stopped, and pulled his hand out which went directly into his mouth to wipe his fingers clean, making me whimper in disappointment but nevertheless aroused to see him brazenly taste me like that.
"No need to frown, darling." Chris smiled, running the pad of his thumb against my lower lip. "I just want you to get comfortable, alright?"
"Alright." I urgently nodded, as I tried to regain my breath and brace myself for what else awaited me.
Chris' mouth found mine again and began to kiss me greedily as his hand went to my back to unzip the dress. I was able to slightly taste myself off his tongue, which made me want Chris to taste me again… but this time properly.
He slowly peeled the dress off my body, the suspense making me grow more impatient. So instead I pulled away, letting the fabric fall instantly and pool around my feet. Chris was left speechless as he took me in completely, moaning softly. Under my dress, I was clad in a full black lingerie set: a sheer corset cupping my breasts just right, a scant bikini that barely covered anything, and matching black thigh-high stockings that accentuated my legs perfectly.
"Fucking hell." Chris breathed. "I'm pissed I didn't fuck you sooner."
I let out a chuckle and shook my head. "Well, make up for it now, then."
And he did.
Chris took me in his arms again and kissed me. My arms went around his neck and pressed my tongue against his, as Chris reached around to give my ass a tight squeeze. I pressed myself into him, as I began to undo the buttons of his blazer. I quickly slid the material off of him with his help, and then worked to remove the neatly tucked in shirt next. I was left in complete awe and lust, when my eyes met his perfectly sculpted body. Smooth, warm, and absolutely no imperfections whatsoever.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groaned, biting my lip, shamelessly staring.
Chris chuckled before taking me by surprise, making me squeal, when he wrapped his hands around my thighs and lifted me up. He spun us around and placed me onto his desk, causing me to shiver from the cold press on my bare legs. He laid me down on my back as he began to kiss me again, making my legs bent at the knee and my heels propped up against the surface of his desk. Chris then peeled off my underwear past my legs and tossed them aside carelessly.
He glanced at the newly exposed area, my dripping folds, aching to be taken by his mouth. He then looked back up at me, stifling a groan, “You’re fucking perfect.” I watched in anticipation, breathing hard through my nose as I bit my lip. His words alone could have me come, if he tried hard enough.
Without any warning, Chris eased his first finger into me, and then his middle finger again, making me moan out loud from how tender I already was. I arched my back off the table and spread my legs even further as I started to slowly ride his fingers, wanting him deeper inside of me.
Chris then suddenly pulled out his fingers and without giving me a second to react, he dived into me with his tongue, making me squirm and cry in bliss from the transition of his thick fingers to his warm, wet tongue. He licked a stripe down my slit and then rubbed the tip of his tongue a little harder against my clit. He moved his tongue up and down, tracing the outline of my slit, running his tongue along the lips, as he alternated by also attending my tender spot occasionally. Chris opened his mouth wider and pushed his tongue inside, flicking at the inside of my walls as he soothed my thighs with the run of his warm hands.
Chris then stretched the slit open with his fingers and tongued me deep inside as I grinded my hips, quietly moaning. He began to flick his tongue rapidly, and he brought it out again to give my throbbing clit some attention too. Chris repeatedly lapped at it as I gasped from the wave of pleasure that was slowly building and washing over me. He continued this sweet torture until I began to tremble, my breaths shortened, and my cries grew louder. Then suddenly I was overcome with a violent orgasm that had me coming straight into Chris' mouth, taking every drop with his tongue like a true starved man. Chris helped with riding out my euphoria until my body fell limp against the desk.
"H–Holy shit." I stammered, as I tried to regain my breath.
Chris pulled his head away from between my thighs, his mouth and chin glistening, and slid up my spent body as he nuzzled his face into my neck. His hands resting upon the desk on either side of me, he asked, "You okay?".
"Mhm." Was all I could say, nodding. My lips were pursed tight as I heavily breathed through my nose once I started to feel him beginning to kiss my neck again. When I felt his hands starting to roam across my corset, my body froze still.
"Relax." he whispered against my ear, as he soothed his hand over my tensed torso.
I obliged and sighed, softening in reaction to his touch and words. "Go ahead." I breathed, giving him the permission to undress me even further.
As Chris' lips continued to plant gentle kisses upon the patch of my skin on my neck, his fingers began to unlatch the hooks that were sewn into the lingerie. As he did so, his mouth began to slowly move south, and his kisses led a path starting from my neck, down my cleavage, and ending at my stomach, as each hook came undone. Placing one last kiss on my navel, Chris pulled apart the corset and to help him further, I slightly arched my back, as he pulled the constricting lace fabric off my body and tossed it aside. I laid down flat on my back and completely submitted my nude body to the man in front of me, who was ravenously staring back.
A smirk curved onto my lips as I watched how Chris was staring at me speechless, while biting his lip. His eyes were everywhere but on my eyes. I gently reached forward and wrapped my hands around his wrists, which finally caught his attention and looked up at me expectantly. I brought each of his hands over the swell of my breasts, and clamped my own down over his, and gave his hands and my breasts a harsh squeeze, making me release a quiet moan as my head tipped back. "Touch me, Chris." I whimpered, my voice heavy with lust. "Fuck me... please."
Watching me beg for him like this on his desk, made Chris elicit a groan and mutter a curse. At once, he began to knead my breasts with his palms, not even attempting to be gentle while doing so. My hands fell from Chris' and went towards my hair to rake my fingers through it, after I undid my bun. My fingers combed through the strands, as breathless moans left me urging Chris to continue his delicious torture.
Chris' hands constantly squeezed and rubbed harshly, and then the tips of his index finger and thumb pinched my sensitive erect nipples, making me gasp out loud.
"Oh, God. Yes." I moaned out loud.
As one of Chris' fingers and thumb continued to assault my taut nipple, the other one was momentarily left untouched before he roughly grabbed my other breast and latched his mouth onto the nipple. My body squirmed instinctively and my sex’s throbbing intensified, feeling heavily clouded with arousal.
He sucked on it, rolling and sliding his warm tongue all over it, and then even gave it a teasing bite. Chris then moved over to the other nipple and toyed with it with the same amount of attention, as he continued to knead the other, making sure his hands and mouth were all over my chest at all times. I was slowly losing myself again to his touch as I panted and writhed underneath him. By the time Chris was done, my nipples were equally red and bruised. He moved his mouth a little further up and sunk his teeth into the flesh of my left breast, until he marked me as I cried out in pain and pleasure.
Chris pulled back, with him hovering right above me, and gazed at the markings his mouth left on me. Seeing the dark red and slightly purple bruises on me made him wickedly smile… the bastard was so pleased with his work and himself
Seeing him look so impressed with his work on me, it made me smile as well. I reached forward and titled his chin up so he could look at me instead. "How do I look?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Perfect. Just perfect."
Chuckling to myself, I sat up with my legs dangling off the edge of the desk. My smile vanished as I set my hands upon Chris' well built chest, as his hands settled on my waist. Every inch of him was sculpted into perfection. Each curve of his body was moulded perfectly, making him look much more magnificent than he did when he had clothes on.
My hands slowly trailed down his hard chest as my lips followed, planting a trail of open-mouthed kisses and kitten licks. Hearing him exhale a heavy sigh, I continued further down, as my hands went towards the waistband of his pants. I didn't waste a single moment to undo Chris' belt and the buttons, along with the zipper of his pants. I pulled my mouth away and looked down to pull the pants off his waist, quite obviously getting impatient now.
"Take them off. And hurry up." I demanded.
A deep chuckle left him but he obliged and slipped off his shoes first, to help himself in removing his pants faster. Chris' patience was running thin as well as he swiftly tore off both the layers that were constricting his strained cock. As he stood there in front of me completely bare, I inhaled sharply and swallowed deeply as I stared at his thick, erect length, which was ready to fuck me.
To show him I was eagerly waiting for him to make a move, I brought my legs up and spread them apart as wide as I could, resting my heels against the desk as I held myself up with just my elbows. I couldn't stop staring at his shaft, which was glistening at the tip, as I grew more and more needy for him. To help soothe the ache between my legs, I reached down to my clit and began to rub myself, as Chris watched utterly mesmerized. A strained breath left the both of us as I watched his cock twitch and he watched me get myself off to him.
Chris' chest heaved with each stroke that I pleasured myself with. Once my breath started to shorten and my moans got louder, he knew I was very close to my release because he abruptly grabbed my hand to stop me.
"Why?" I whined, looking up at him but my tongue fell slack. Chris was staring at me with his eyes now dark and his jaw clenched tight.
Chris didn't say anything in reply but instead made me lie down completely flat and urgently captured my mouth with his, kissing me messily as his restraint began to fray. He held my hands down with his own and brought them above my head. I moaned against him from the pressure he exerted upon me, absolutely relishing in it.
Chris then took me by surprise as he held my legs and threw them over his shoulders. And without any warning, he began to run the moist head of his cock against my quivering slit.
"Oh, fuck!" I pulled away, and cried out loud from the friction I felt against my sensitive sex caused by Chris repeatedly running his tip over me, making him stick and slide from the milky moisture leaking from the both of us.
Then he locked his lips with mine again before thrusting his entire self into me, making me whimper out loud against him. My eyes shut tight as I tried to adjust to his size. Chris stood motionless as he gave me a chance to settle around him, strained breaths leaving the both of us.
"God, you're so tight." he groaned, as he slowly pulled out until only the head was buried between my lips. "Are you okay?" he then asked, knowing it had been a while since someone had penetrated me.
"I–I'm fine." I replied, my voice trembling. To further assure him and to have him be buried deep within my folds again, I reached up and wound my arms around his neck to pull him down against me, and kissed him hard.
Seeing I was holding up just fine, he eased into me again as my walls clamped tightly around his length. He began to pump into me hard and deep at a very slow speed, but eventually picked up his pace and I began to rock my hips against him too, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Chris let go of my wrists and he instead grasped my waist, holding me down while his thrusts picked up momentum. He was no longer seeking to please me only. He was using my body to chase his release too. Feeling how hard he drove inside of me and how deeply he stroked me from within, made my body feel like it was on fire and was ready to combust at any moment.
Chris then moved his mouth away from mine and rested his face into the crook of my neck and began to kiss, bite, and suck on my skin there. My eyes rolled back and quiet moans which consisted of Chris' name only, left my parted mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist, which at this angle, caused my clit to keep getting striked by his pubic bone, as he grounded his hips into mine. I quickly locked my ankles behind Chris' back, intensifying the grinding sensation. A broken gasp left me as I felt the pressure I had felt earlier build up inside me again.
Chris picked up speed and rhythm, thrusting against me in just the right way. I bit into his shoulder as the wave of my impending orgasm became too much to bear. Knowing I was close, Chris brought a hand down to where we joined and slid his fingertips into my mound. He gathered the warm, sticky mess nestled between where his cock mercilessly pounded into me, and then smeared it over my clit, where he began to massage the oversensitized bud. I let out a loud groan and various incoherent sounds as I began to writhe against Chris.
"C–Chris… I–I'm close." I whimpered.
To finish off, he thrusted deeper and deeper — varying speeds and angles every so often to tease every ounce of pleasure out of me— as his fingers continued to rub my clit, which was growing stiffer beneath the pads of his fingers. Soon enough, the white, hot burning feeling started to build between my thighs again, as I reached the brink of my climax. With one final, hard thrust from Chris, a scream erupted out of me as an intense orgasm washed over me, making me fall limp under Chris.
Chris was also near to coming undone so he quickly pulled out, releasing himself onto the hardwood floor groaning, as the hot liquid spilled out of him all while he still held me against him.
With both our bodies well spent, Chris held me by wrapping his arms around my bare back and pulled me flat against him. I sighed deeply as I tried to regain my breath and strength. Chris' hands rubbed up and down my back to soothe me as he buried his face into my hair. I placed a soft kiss on his chest before slowly pulling away, as a sated smile took over my lips. I leaned up and kissed Chris on his mouth, as I felt him smile against me.
I then slipped myself off his desk as my chest pressed flatly against Chris'. After sharing one heated glance, I pulled away and began to collect my clothes to dress myself again.
"That was… insane.” I giggled, putting my underwear back. It was possibly the best sex I had ever had in a long while… or ever. But I didn’t need to feed his ego further. “Um, thank you, I guess."
Chris chuckled in reply and nodded, as he watched me stumble across his office gathering my things. “Anytime, beautiful.”
Chris also began to dress himself again and once he slipped on his pants, he turned around to look for his shirt, but instead bumped into me. I was standing fully clothed again, waiting for him to notice me.
"Yes?" he asked, raising his brow and looking at me expectantly.
"Don't think this means I've forgiven you for taking half my deal with Fukuzo." I replied, with a faint smirk on my lips as I rested my hand against his bare chest.
"That's alright. And if I may advise, maybe to help ease your frustration, you're welcome back here anytime… to release some of the pressure." he smoothly replied back.
I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "You wish."
"I don't have to."
I shook my head as I stepped away and grabbed my glass of wine, which miraculously didn't spill over while Chris fucked me, and chugged the remaining contents of it. After placing the glass down, I headed for the door. Before pulling the door open and stepping out of his office, I turned around to face Chris again. I took in the mental image of him standing shirtless in the middle of the room for the future, as I bit my lower lip. I knew very well I was going to be back here very soon.
"Bye." he waved his hand, capturing my attention which he knew very well was preoccupied by staring at his abs.
"Right, bye." I cleared my throat, snapping out of it and finally opening the door.
"Pleasure doing business with you." I heard Chris say aloud behind me, as I turned and walked away. I shook my head to myself as I walked down the hallway. Pleasure doing business indeed, I thought to myself as I gathered my hair and pulled it into a tight, neat bun.
the one where you and chris are ceos of two rival companies and a private meeting needs to take place in his office (6.5K words)
Contains: smut, office sex, unprotected piv, fingering, slight f masturbation, oral (f receiving), breast/nipple play, hickeys, soft!dom! work rival chris x sub!fem work rival reader
I built The Elysian from the ground up, a name that breathed luxury and left competitors restless. In New York’s hotel world, my reputation spoke for itself. People called me demanding, perfectionist, and even cold. I didn’t mind. They could call me whatever they wanted, as long as they couldn’t call me second best.
When I caught my reflection in the elevator doors that morning, I looked exactly how I needed to. Hair tied back, tailored black dress, expression calm and unreadable. My assistant had just confirmed I’d finally secured a meeting with one of Tokyo’s most influential businessmen. Months of negotiations had led to this moment.
Fifty luxury suites. That was what he wanted to buy in New York. And I was going to make sure they were mine. It wasn’t just another deal. It was the deal.
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, where my driver was already waiting. “Good morning, ma’am.” he greeted, holding the car door open.
“Morning.” I replied, stepping in. The city stretched around me as we pulled into traffic, sunlight spilling between the high-rises. I ran through my mental checklist: key talking points, projections, and proposals. Every detail was prepared. Every word specifically chosen. Every reason The Elysian should be his only choice.
The meeting was only ten minutes away, and I arrived with two minutes to spare, as always. The driver rounded the car to open my door, and I stepped out, smoothing down the hem of my dress. The hotel was an architectural marvel: steel, glass, and arrogance in physical form. I could respect that.
Inside, I strode towards the elevators, pressed the button, and exhaled slowly. Showtime.
The doors slid open. I stepped in and hit the button for the top floor. They were just beginning to close when they suddenly stopped… and then reopened.
I looked up, and my stomach tightened when I saw him.
Chris Sturniolo.
He stepped through the doors wearing a tailored black suit, looking as infuriatingly composed as ever. A familiar hint of amusement tugged at his mouth.
“Well,” he said easily. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Business meeting.” he replied. “Important one.”
“With who?”
He met my gaze, and in a smooth and casual tone, the kind that could cut, he answered. “Yamaha Fukuzo.”
I laughed once, short and sharp. “Nice bluff. I’m meeting him right now.”
“Funny,” he said, a ghost of a smile forming. “He told me the same thing.”
The elevator chimed before I could respond. As the doors opened, I stepped out first, heels clicking against the marble floor.
If Mr. Fukuzo thought he could play us both, he was about to find out exactly who he was dealing with.
The boardroom was minimalist and immaculate, all glass and steel. The kind of place where deals were made quietly but carried weight for years.
When I entered, the man I’d been chasing meetings with for months stood to greet me, his expression warm.
“Ah, you must be from The Elysian. So nice to finally meet you, Miss.” he said, his accent thick but clear.
I offered a polite smile and stepped forward, shaking his hand. “It’s an honour to finally meet you. Thank you for making the time.”
“Of course, of course. Please, have a seat.”
The table stretched long and glossy across the room, sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I slid into one of the leather chairs, setting my folder neatly in front of me. Every move precise. Every breath measured.
And then the door clicked open again.
“Mr. Sturniolo.” The Japanese businessman greeted him with equal enthusiasm.
My grip tightened around my pen. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know he was smirking. I forced my expression to be neutral, though irritation clawed at my composure.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Chris said, his voice calm, professional, and completely unfazed.
“Please, sit.” Mr. Fukuzo said, gesturing towards the table. “We have lots to discuss.”
Chris took the seat directly across from me. My pulse thudded once, sharp and irritated.
I crossed my legs and straightened in my chair, posture perfect. “Mr. Fukuzo, if I may… I have a question.” I began, my voice calm.
“Yes, of course.” he nodded expectantly.
“Have I been misinformed? I was under the impression this discussion would be between just you and I. Why is Mr. Sturniolo here?”
“Ah, yes.” he said with an apologetic smile. “That’s what I was just about to explain. Your hotels are among the most successful in New York. Both highly regarded. I’ve reviewed each proposal carefully and, frankly, I find myself unable to choose.”
He laughed lightly, but I didn’t. My expression stayed even. Inside, I was already running through possible outcomes and counterarguments.
“So,” he continued, folding his hands on the table. “I thought it would be best if we discuss things together.”
I leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “I appreciate the transparency. I still believe that The Elysian is the ideal match for your vision. Our partnerships are built on precision and trust, and my team ensures every promise is delivered flawlessly.”
“Of course.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Fukuzo and…” Chris’s eyes flicked towards me briefly. “Your company’s work is impressive, but your investment would be better placed with mine. The Sturniolo Group offers an unmatched global reach. Our name alone draws international attention. If your goal is visibility, that’s something we specialize in.”
I slowly turned my head towards Chris. “Visibility doesn’t guarantee loyalty.” I said softly. “Clients might arrive for the name, but they stay for the experience. That’s something you can’t fake.”
The businessman chuckled, seemingly amused by the quiet tension weaving through the air. “You both make excellent points.” he nodded. “Miss, The Elysian has also been performing remarkably well for domestic clientele, isn’t that right?”
“You’re correct.” I straightened my posture, smiling. “In the last two years alone, several high-profile figures have chosen to stay with us. The experience we deliver speaks for itself.”
Mr. Fukuzo laughed again, looking between us. “Do you now see why I’m so conflicted? Both of you make very compelling points.” He paused, folding his hands. “Perhaps there’s a compromise that benefits both parties.”
My heart sank before he even said it.
“I propose splitting the offer evenly.”
I blinked once, my jaw tightening. “You mean, share the deal?”
“Yes,” he said, still smiling kindly. “It isn’t what I initially planned, but it’s the only fair way forward. You’re both incredibly young and successful. I wouldn’t want either of you to lose from this.”
Chris nodded immediately, easygoing as ever. “That sounds reasonable to me.”
Of course it did.
I forced a polite smile. “If that’s what you think is best.”
“Wonderful.” he said, clearly pleased as he reached for the documents. “I’ll have the contracts finalized by the end of the day.”
I thanked him, shaking his hand once more before gathering my belongings and standing. Chris rose too, his movements far less unhurried.
As we left the room, the door closing behind us, my irritation hadn’t softened in the slightest.
The elevator waited at the end of the hallway. The moment we stepped inside, I turned to him. “I can’t believe you agreed to it.”
“So did you.” he said smoothly.
“Well yes, because I wasn’t going to lose everything to you. I had to agree to that ridiculous deal just to get something out of it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. “Fuck.”
“You don’t seem too happy about sharing.”
I turned towards him again, arms folding instinctively. “Because I’m not.”
“Still, you got half.”
“Half.” I repeated. “Not exactly my idea of winning.”
He shrugged lightly. “Sometimes winning means not losing.”
“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
His lips curved, amused. “You always take things so personally.”
“Because I actually care about what I build.” I shot back. “Not everything’s a game.”
“You seem a bit too stressed.”
“Because I am, dammit.” I glared at him. “And how the fuck are you so okay with this? We’re competitors, remember?”
“This was just one deal.” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I get offers like this every day.”
I scoffed in response. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“Look, don’t get it twisted. I get business offers just as much as you do. The only difference is that I like to win the entire deal, and not split it up like its slices of fucking pizza.”
“Alright.” He simply smiled, facing the elevator doors again.
I rolled my eyes, his calm demeanor only further fueling my annoyance.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open again. I stepped out first, refusing to spend another moment near him.
Right as I was about to exit the building, Chris stopped in his tracks just before the doors. “Come over to my office and we’ll have a drink. We should celebrate.”
“I’m good.” I said with a forced laugh, for him to even have the audacity to offer. “Thanks.”
“Oh, come on. It’s good news for the both of us. One drink won’t kill you.”
I hesitated. He was right. It was technically good news. And maybe a drink would make the sting a little duller.
“Fine.” I said quietly.
He smiled, gesturing towards the sleek black car waiting by the curb.
And before I could talk myself out of it, I followed Chris outside.
The black car waited by the curb, its engine low and steady. Chris opened the door, his hand resting lightly on the frame as he looked at me.
“After you.”
I hesitated for half a second before sliding inside. The leather was cold against the back of my legs, and the faint scent of cedar and something darker filling the space. He followed in after me, settling beside me with just enough distance between us to keep it professional.
The city blurred past the tinted windows as we pulled into traffic. I leaned back, eyes fixed on the skyline, letting silence fill the air. My mind should’ve been replaying numbers, projections, and the conversation with Mr. Fukuzo. Instead, it circled back to the man sitting next to me.
Chris was quiet, his gaze focused out the opposite window. The light from passing buildings cut sharp lines across his profile. From this close, I could see the tiny details that annoyed me more than they should’ve. He always looked so calm, unbothered, and effortless.
I turned away, pretending to watch the streets. The sound of the engine filled the silence.
My attention drifted back to him despite myself. His hands rested loosely in his lap, fingers long and marked with a few silver rings. There was even a silver chain bracelet on his wrist that slightly peeked out from underneath his sleeve. I followed the motion as he adjusted his cuff, veins shifting under his skin.
Then his voice broke through the quiet. “You done staring?”
My head snapped up. “Huh?”
He turned to me fully now, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I said, you done staring?”
Heat pricked the back of my neck. “Oh. Sorry.”
“I didn’t mind,” he shrugged, his grin deepening.
I rolled my eyes, forcing my focus back out the window, but my uneven pulse betrayed me.
The car slowed to a stop as we approached another building, glass and steel rising above the street. I reached for the door handle, but Chris was faster, stepping out and circling around to open it for me.
I stepped out, adjusting the crease in my dress as I glanced up at the building. “So this is where you plan to ‘celebrate’?”
He smiled faintly. “You’ll like it.”
“I doubt that.”
“But you still came.” His voice was low and steady, just enough to make my breath hitch for a second.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of replying.
Instead, I followed him inside and towards the elevator, dreading another ride in a compact space with him within the same day.
When we arrived onto the floor Chris had pressed for earlier, the doors slid open to a reception area. The lobby was quiet at this hour, only the faint hum of conversation coming from the reception desk. The woman behind it greeted us with a polite smile before returning to her phone call.
I followed him down the hallway, heels sinking slightly into the thick carpet. Every few steps, I caught the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air… clean, smooth, and expensive. Chris stopped at the end of the corridor and pushed open the last door on the left.
The office was sleek and masculine, all black and silver. A wide window stretched across one wall, with the city lights spilling in through the glass. The furniture was modern, minimalist, and every piece deliberate.
“Nice place.” I said, taking it in.
“Thank you.” he replied easily, already heading towards a small bar tucked in the corner. He opened a bottle of wine, a faint pop filling the quiet.
I moved towards the desk and took a seat across from it, legs crossing out of habit. My back straightened automatically, the same posture I kept in every meeting.
He walked over a moment later and handed me a glass. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
Chris leaned against the edge of his desk instead of sitting down, one ankle crossed over the other, his glass held loosely in his hand. The city skyline glowed behind him.
He took a sip, then looked at me. “Tell me something.”
I swirled the wine in my glass. “Yes?”
“Work stress you out?”
While taking a sip, I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. I slowly pulled the glass away and tilted my head to the side. "Why do you ask?”
“Just asking.” he shrugged. “You always seem so tense. Like you’re one bad email away from ripping someone’s head off.” he chuckled to himself and went to take another sip.
I gave a short, humorless laugh and took a slow sip before setting the glass down. “I enjoy my job, thank you very much. I just happen to get pissed if someone gives me a reason to.”
“Do your employees hate you? You seem like the worst boss to have around.”
“Excuse me?” I shot back, half amused and half offended. “No one hates me, okay? They might be terrified of me though. There’s a difference. And I know when to tone it down when I need to.”
“If you say so.” He took another sip, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips as if teasing me was his new favorite pastime. Then he lowered the glass, his tone suddenly quieter. “When's the last time you had sex?"
The question caught me off guard. “Excuse me?” I put my glass down and shot up from my seat, my eyes enraged with anger.
"Offended?" he smirked. "Damn, it must've been a long time then."
My pulse spiked. “You have no right to ask me something like that.” I stomped over to him huffing out a breath. The heat of irritation replaced the calm I’d fought to keep all evening. “Whatever image you’ve built of me in your head, keep it there.”
Chris put his glass down also and stood up, looking into my eyes. He took a step forward which caused his chest to brush up against mine. Before I could step away, Chris held me at the small of my back, keeping me in place. "But I'm truly concerned about you." he whispered, fanning my face with his breath.
I swallowed hard and tried to push him away from me but I couldn't do it, so I remained still.
"How long has it been since a gorgeous woman like you got fucked the way you deserve to?" he husked, making my cheeks bloom with heat. "Tell me." His voice was low, almost pleading, as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles along my spine.
"E–Eight months." I replied in a whisper, completely mortified.
"That's a shame. You deserve better than that." Chris said, making me involuntarily release a quiet whimper.
Chris stilled for a moment and then suddenly pulled away as he walked over to his desk, making me feel disappointed from the absence of his heat. He pressed a button on the landline machine which then caused a woman's voice to speak up.
"Yes, Mr. Sturniolo?"
"Am I scheduled for anything soon?"
"No, sir. Not for another two hours."
"Alright, thank you. If anything does come up, please handle it. I'm in a very important meeting and I would not like to be interrupted."
"As you wish, sir."
"Thank you." Chris let go of the button and went to the door to lock it. He then came back to me. He held me by the hips and pulled me against him, stealing my breath away. "Can I?" he asked, leaning towards me and whispered into my ear.
I felt a chill travel down my spine. I couldn't even think straight anymore. A part of me wanted to slap him across his face and stomp out of his office, while another wanted myself sprawled across his desk with nothing but my stockings and heels on. I was so desperate to be taken by someone. I hadn't had any intimate contact with a man for more than half a year and that was driving me up a wall. I was so desperate to be touched, that I didn't even care if the man that got under my skin, could commit the deed for me.
I didn't bother saying anything in reply but instead wrapped my arms around Chris' neck and pressed my lips to his. Chris kissed me harder and deeper, tilting his head to the side. He held me tight but firm, by the hip with one hand and with the other he cupped the side of my face. His tongue slipped past my lips, making me slowly open up for him, and coaxed a moan out of me when his tongue slid against mine. My arms unhooked from Chris' neck and my palms rested against his chest, feeling his fast, but steady pulse from underneath.
I grabbed the collar of his blazer and wrapped my leg around his causing the hem of my dress to bunch up, as I began to grind myself against his thigh. I felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing back, as he gripped my thigh to hold me in place. I knew he could tell he felt just how soaked I already was, from the wet heat emitting from where I made contact.
Chris broke the kiss first and moved towards my neck to begin peppering kisses down the length of it. He nipped at the skin and then soothed it with the run of his tongue. I moaned as a bloom of pleasure spread through me and my hips continued to buck against his, still frustratingly separated by a few layers of fabric. Not wanting to deprive a woman in desperate need, Chris slowly put my leg down and pulled his hips back just enough for him to slide a hand up my dress, down the waistband of my underwear, and to my aching slit, which was already soaked and slick with anticipation.
After just a stroke up and down my swollen lips, gathering moisture, he let a finger slip inside. My fleshy walls clenched around his thick middle finger, as I threw my head back in pleasure and let out a strained breath, my eyes shutting tightly. “O–Ohh fuck!”
His long finger stroked me gently as his thumb rubbed at the tender nub. I began to shudder when I felt two more fingers slide in me, and gasped out loud when I felt Chris plunge his fingers deeper. He started rhythmically twisting his fingers and moving them in and out of me. They slid smooth and fast, as he gradually surged deeper and deeper inside, opening me up further. Then Chris abruptly stopped, and pulled his hand out which went directly into his mouth to wipe his fingers clean, making me whimper in disappointment but nevertheless aroused to see him brazenly taste me like that.
"No need to frown, darling." Chris smiled, running the pad of his thumb against my lower lip. "I just want you to get comfortable, alright?"
"Alright." I urgently nodded, as I tried to regain my breath and brace myself for what else awaited me.
Chris' mouth found mine again and began to kiss me greedily as his hand went to my back to unzip the dress. I was able to slightly taste myself off his tongue, which made me want Chris to taste me again… but this time properly.
He slowly peeled the dress off my body, the suspense making me grow more impatient. So instead I pulled away, letting the fabric fall instantly and pool around my feet. Chris was left speechless as he took me in completely, moaning softly. Under my dress, I was clad in a full black lingerie set: a sheer corset cupping my breasts just right, a scant bikini that barely covered anything, and matching black thigh-high stockings that accentuated my legs perfectly.
"Fucking hell." Chris breathed. "I'm pissed I didn't fuck you sooner."
I let out a chuckle and shook my head. "Well, make up for it now, then."
And he did.
Chris took me in his arms again and kissed me. My arms went around his neck and pressed my tongue against his, as Chris reached around to give my ass a tight squeeze. I pressed myself into him, as I began to undo the buttons of his blazer. I quickly slid the material off of him with his help, and then worked to remove the neatly tucked in shirt next. I was left in complete awe and lust, when my eyes met his perfectly sculpted body. Smooth, warm, and absolutely no imperfections whatsoever.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groaned, biting my lip, shamelessly staring.
Chris chuckled before taking me by surprise, making me squeal, when he wrapped his hands around my thighs and lifted me up. He spun us around and placed me onto his desk, causing me to shiver from the cold press on my bare legs. He laid me down on my back as he began to kiss me again, making my legs bent at the knee and my heels propped up against the surface of his desk. Chris then peeled off my underwear past my legs and tossed them aside carelessly.
He glanced at the newly exposed area, my dripping folds, aching to be taken by his mouth. He then looked back up at me, stifling a groan, “You’re fucking perfect.” I watched in anticipation, breathing hard through my nose as I bit my lip. His words alone could have me come, if he tried hard enough.
Without any warning, Chris eased his first finger into me, and then his middle finger again, making me moan out loud from how tender I already was. I arched my back off the table and spread my legs even further as I started to slowly ride his fingers, wanting him deeper inside of me.
Chris then suddenly pulled out his fingers and without giving me a second to react, he dived into me with his tongue, making me squirm and cry in bliss from the transition of his thick fingers to his warm, wet tongue. He licked a stripe down my slit and then rubbed the tip of his tongue a little harder against my clit. He moved his tongue up and down, tracing the outline of my slit, running his tongue along the lips, as he alternated by also attending my tender spot occasionally. Chris opened his mouth wider and pushed his tongue inside, flicking at the inside of my walls as he soothed my thighs with the run of his warm hands.
Chris then stretched the slit open with his fingers and tongued me deep inside as I grinded my hips, quietly moaning. He began to flick his tongue rapidly, and he brought it out again to give my throbbing clit some attention too. Chris repeatedly lapped at it as I gasped from the wave of pleasure that was slowly building and washing over me. He continued this sweet torture until I began to tremble, my breaths shortened, and my cries grew louder. Then suddenly I was overcome with a violent orgasm that had me coming straight into Chris' mouth, taking every drop with his tongue like a true starved man. Chris helped with riding out my euphoria until my body fell limp against the desk.
"H–Holy shit." I stammered, as I tried to regain my breath.
Chris pulled his head away from between my thighs, his mouth and chin glistening, and slid up my spent body as he nuzzled his face into my neck. His hands resting upon the desk on either side of me, he asked, "You okay?".
"Mhm." Was all I could say, nodding. My lips were pursed tight as I heavily breathed through my nose once I started to feel him beginning to kiss my neck again. When I felt his hands starting to roam across my corset, my body froze still.
"Relax." he whispered against my ear, as he soothed his hand over my tensed torso.
I obliged and sighed, softening in reaction to his touch and words. "Go ahead." I breathed, giving him the permission to undress me even further.
As Chris' lips continued to plant gentle kisses upon the patch of my skin on my neck, his fingers began to unlatch the hooks that were sewn into the lingerie. As he did so, his mouth began to slowly move south, and his kisses led a path starting from my neck, down my cleavage, and ending at my stomach, as each hook came undone. Placing one last kiss on my navel, Chris pulled apart the corset and to help him further, I slightly arched my back, as he pulled the constricting lace fabric off my body and tossed it aside. I laid down flat on my back and completely submitted my nude body to the man in front of me, who was ravenously staring back.
A smirk curved onto my lips as I watched how Chris was staring at me speechless, while biting his lip. His eyes were everywhere but on my eyes. I gently reached forward and wrapped my hands around his wrists, which finally caught his attention and looked up at me expectantly. I brought each of his hands over the swell of my breasts, and clamped my own down over his, and gave his hands and my breasts a harsh squeeze, making me release a quiet moan as my head tipped back. "Touch me, Chris." I whimpered, my voice heavy with lust. "Fuck me... please."
Watching me beg for him like this on his desk, made Chris elicit a groan and mutter a curse. At once, he began to knead my breasts with his palms, not even attempting to be gentle while doing so. My hands fell from Chris' and went towards my hair to rake my fingers through it, after I undid my bun. My fingers combed through the strands, as breathless moans left me urging Chris to continue his delicious torture.
Chris' hands constantly squeezed and rubbed harshly, and then the tips of his index finger and thumb pinched my sensitive erect nipples, making me gasp out loud.
"Oh, God. Yes." I moaned out loud.
As one of Chris' fingers and thumb continued to assault my taut nipple, the other one was momentarily left untouched before he roughly grabbed my other breast and latched his mouth onto the nipple. My body squirmed instinctively and my sex’s throbbing intensified, feeling heavily clouded with arousal.
He sucked on it, rolling and sliding his warm tongue all over it, and then even gave it a teasing bite. Chris then moved over to the other nipple and toyed with it with the same amount of attention, as he continued to knead the other, making sure his hands and mouth were all over my chest at all times. I was slowly losing myself again to his touch as I panted and writhed underneath him. By the time Chris was done, my nipples were equally red and bruised. He moved his mouth a little further up and sunk his teeth into the flesh of my left breast, until he marked me as I cried out in pain and pleasure.
Chris pulled back, with him hovering right above me, and gazed at the markings his mouth left on me. Seeing the dark red and slightly purple bruises on me made him wickedly smile… the bastard was so pleased with his work and himself
Seeing him look so impressed with his work on me, it made me smile as well. I reached forward and titled his chin up so he could look at me instead. "How do I look?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Perfect. Just perfect."
Chuckling to myself, I sat up with my legs dangling off the edge of the desk. My smile vanished as I set my hands upon Chris' well built chest, as his hands settled on my waist. Every inch of him was sculpted into perfection. Each curve of his body was moulded perfectly, making him look much more magnificent than he did when he had clothes on.
My hands slowly trailed down his hard chest as my lips followed, planting a trail of open-mouthed kisses and kitten licks. Hearing him exhale a heavy sigh, I continued further down, as my hands went towards the waistband of his pants. I didn't waste a single moment to undo Chris' belt and the buttons, along with the zipper of his pants. I pulled my mouth away and looked down to pull the pants off his waist, quite obviously getting impatient now.
"Take them off. And hurry up." I demanded.
A deep chuckle left him but he obliged and slipped off his shoes first, to help himself in removing his pants faster. Chris' patience was running thin as well as he swiftly tore off both the layers that were constricting his strained cock. As he stood there in front of me completely bare, I inhaled sharply and swallowed deeply as I stared at his thick, erect length, which was ready to fuck me.
To show him I was eagerly waiting for him to make a move, I brought my legs up and spread them apart as wide as I could, resting my heels against the desk as I held myself up with just my elbows. I couldn't stop staring at his shaft, which was glistening at the tip, as I grew more and more needy for him. To help soothe the ache between my legs, I reached down to my clit and began to rub myself, as Chris watched utterly mesmerized. A strained breath left the both of us as I watched his cock twitch and he watched me get myself off to him.
Chris' chest heaved with each stroke that I pleasured myself with. Once my breath started to shorten and my moans got louder, he knew I was very close to my release because he abruptly grabbed my hand to stop me.
"Why?" I whined, looking up at him but my tongue fell slack. Chris was staring at me with his eyes now dark and his jaw clenched tight.
Chris didn't say anything in reply but instead made me lie down completely flat and urgently captured my mouth with his, kissing me messily as his restraint began to fray. He held my hands down with his own and brought them above my head. I moaned against him from the pressure he exerted upon me, absolutely relishing in it.
Chris then took me by surprise as he held my legs and threw them over his shoulders. And without any warning, he began to run the moist head of his cock against my quivering slit.
"Oh, fuck!" I pulled away, and cried out loud from the friction I felt against my sensitive sex caused by Chris repeatedly running his tip over me, making him stick and slide from the milky moisture leaking from the both of us.
Then he locked his lips with mine again before thrusting his entire self into me, making me whimper out loud against him. My eyes shut tight as I tried to adjust to his size. Chris stood motionless as he gave me a chance to settle around him, strained breaths leaving the both of us.
"God, you're so tight." he groaned, as he slowly pulled out until only the head was buried between my lips. "Are you okay?" he then asked, knowing it had been a while since someone had penetrated me.
"I–I'm fine." I replied, my voice trembling. To further assure him and to have him be buried deep within my folds again, I reached up and wound my arms around his neck to pull him down against me, and kissed him hard.
Seeing I was holding up just fine, he eased into me again as my walls clamped tightly around his length. He began to pump into me hard and deep at a very slow speed, but eventually picked up his pace and I began to rock my hips against him too, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Chris let go of my wrists and he instead grasped my waist, holding me down while his thrusts picked up momentum. He was no longer seeking to please me only. He was using my body to chase his release too. Feeling how hard he drove inside of me and how deeply he stroked me from within, made my body feel like it was on fire and was ready to combust at any moment.
Chris then moved his mouth away from mine and rested his face into the crook of my neck and began to kiss, bite, and suck on my skin there. My eyes rolled back and quiet moans which consisted of Chris' name only, left my parted mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist, which at this angle, caused my clit to keep getting striked by his pubic bone, as he grounded his hips into mine. I quickly locked my ankles behind Chris' back, intensifying the grinding sensation. A broken gasp left me as I felt the pressure I had felt earlier build up inside me again.
Chris picked up speed and rhythm, thrusting against me in just the right way. I bit into his shoulder as the wave of my impending orgasm became too much to bear. Knowing I was close, Chris brought a hand down to where we joined and slid his fingertips into my mound. He gathered the warm, sticky mess nestled between where his cock mercilessly pounded into me, and then smeared it over my clit, where he began to massage the oversensitized bud. I let out a loud groan and various incoherent sounds as I began to writhe against Chris.
"C–Chris… I–I'm close." I whimpered.
To finish off, he thrusted deeper and deeper — varying speeds and angles every so often to tease every ounce of pleasure out of me— as his fingers continued to rub my clit, which was growing stiffer beneath the pads of his fingers. Soon enough, the white, hot burning feeling started to build between my thighs again, as I reached the brink of my climax. With one final, hard thrust from Chris, a scream erupted out of me as an intense orgasm washed over me, making me fall limp under Chris.
Chris was also near to coming undone so he quickly pulled out, releasing himself onto the hardwood floor groaning, as the hot liquid spilled out of him all while he still held me against him.
With both our bodies well spent, Chris held me by wrapping his arms around my bare back and pulled me flat against him. I sighed deeply as I tried to regain my breath and strength. Chris' hands rubbed up and down my back to soothe me as he buried his face into my hair. I placed a soft kiss on his chest before slowly pulling away, as a sated smile took over my lips. I leaned up and kissed Chris on his mouth, as I felt him smile against me.
I then slipped myself off his desk as my chest pressed flatly against Chris'. After sharing one heated glance, I pulled away and began to collect my clothes to dress myself again.
"That was… insane.” I giggled, putting my underwear back. It was possibly the best sex I had ever had in a long while… or ever. But I didn’t need to feed his ego further. “Um, thank you, I guess."
Chris chuckled in reply and nodded, as he watched me stumble across his office gathering my things. “Anytime, beautiful.”
Chris also began to dress himself again and once he slipped on his pants, he turned around to look for his shirt, but instead bumped into me. I was standing fully clothed again, waiting for him to notice me.
"Yes?" he asked, raising his brow and looking at me expectantly.
"Don't think this means I've forgiven you for taking half my deal with Fukuzo." I replied, with a faint smirk on my lips as I rested my hand against his bare chest.
"That's alright. And if I may advise, maybe to help ease your frustration, you're welcome back here anytime… to release some of the pressure." he smoothly replied back.
I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "You wish."
"I don't have to."
I shook my head as I stepped away and grabbed my glass of wine, which miraculously didn't spill over while Chris fucked me, and chugged the remaining contents of it. After placing the glass down, I headed for the door. Before pulling the door open and stepping out of his office, I turned around to face Chris again. I took in the mental image of him standing shirtless in the middle of the room for the future, as I bit my lower lip. I knew very well I was going to be back here very soon.
"Bye." he waved his hand, capturing my attention which he knew very well was preoccupied by staring at his abs.
"Right, bye." I cleared my throat, snapping out of it and finally opening the door.
"Pleasure doing business with you." I heard Chris say aloud behind me, as I turned and walked away. I shook my head to myself as I walked down the hallway. Pleasure doing business indeed, I thought to myself as I gathered my hair and pulled it into a tight, neat bun.
kinktober day five: needy!matt being obsessed with you
⤷upcoming au [?]
his hands gripped your sides as you leaned closer, pressing the back of your thighs to his lap.
matt was in his boxers, but the precum and your wetness made him forget it was even there.
you took your bra off, finally. his hands immediately going to cup your tits without even thinking. "fuck" he muttered under his breath, squeezing them like it was a stress reliever.
and they were. matt had a thing for them, and ever since you got them both pierced he was almost obsessed.
"what, baby?" you asked softly as you ran a hand in his hair, looking down at his eyes, how they looked up at you desperately
matt's eyes darted between your tits and your eyes, his voice all stuttery since you were still grinding on his aching dick. "please? I-I really need them." he pleaded, and nothing can explain how joyful he was when you nodded, his mouth immediately latching on one of them, sucking gently.
he was already close a few minutes ago, but he knew he had to hold it. you told him to, but you also kept pressing on him with your sweet core, just a thin fabric between.
the rythem of your riding was intoxicating and oversimulating at the same time, making him want to throw his head back but not able to leave your chest.
"you're close?" you queried, your hand sliding down to the back of his head as you pulled him back, not too much, just so he could talk.
of course, matt immediately nodded, and with how much you wanted to keep denying him, you needed to see him falling apart beneath you way more.
matt whined as you lifted yourself up─ "no, no don't leave". but he calmed down when he saw you were taking his soaked boxers off. "oh I'm not going anywhere" you giggled, getting on top of him again before you placed him at your entrance.
he could die right there, his eyes were closed shut, his mouth open holding a choked moan, he was falling apart just like you wanted him to.
you knew with all your denying and now this it was a metter of seconds until matt will cum, but until then, why not torture him some more?
his fingers wanted to dig into the skin of your ass but you slapped them away, "no touching" you murmured, biting your lips quickly so he won't hear how needy you were.
you leaned down to leave small, open mouthed kisses across his jaw, he could feel you smirking through them when you heard him gripping the sheets for deal life.
matt had to let go, he needed it too much. but he knew he had to ask. it was pathetic, really, but he also knew that if he came with no permission you'll never let him come again. "baby... baby, baby please, I-I need to cum please let me I'm─"
"okay"
"w-what do you...okay?"
"yeah" you nodded as matt smiled, happy that he finally could touch you, his arms roamed your body as he sucked on another pierced nipple, rolling his tongue on it.
it didn't took too long until he thrusted his hips up, holding you down on his cock as he whimpered in your ear. "mm...fuck, I love you."
it took your off guard, you were dating for a few months yeah but it was still weird to hear that from him. weird but...reassuring. you cupped his face, giving him a small kiss on his lips before you pulled back, looking down at him. "I love you too."
kinktober day five ayyy should I start with this au or not??
summery: You and Matt cannot stop fighting. You resort to an old way of coping and Matt catches you. It is based on the song Not in the Same Way by 5SOS.
tags: angsty fanfic, y/n usage, drinking mention, not a happy ending.
word count: 3149
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not today, I'm waking up to my mistakes again
I know you love to point them out
Baby, I'm sick of sadness and you're sick of Xanax
We're good at this game, game
Your relationship with Matt has always been one your friends were jealous of. Matt was always the first one to tell you how proud of you he was, buying you flowers for any and all achievements (big or small), and he never forgot to remind you daily how loved you were. Your friends craved the love he gave you. You finally felt free and safe and let your guard down.
Lately, things between you two have been rough. The last few weeks every small thing turned into a full blown screaming match. You two have never even raised your voices at each other until a few weeks ago when Matt snapped and yelled at you because you forgot to set out meat for dinner to cook after he’d suggested cooking for dinner instead of eating out to save some money. Since then, everything you do is wrong and causes an argument. Every argument leaves you feeling worse and worse about yourself.
Matt isn’t unfamiliar with the look of dark undereyes and an unshaved face, but lately it’s gotten worse. It almost looks like he always has two black eyes all the time and he hasn’t shaved in weeks. You’re not one to care but it’s been worrying you how little he’s taking care of himself.
As for you, your usually tamed depression has been going wild ever since this sudden shift in your relationship started. A couple years before you’d met Matt, your depression was worse and it turned you into a major drinker. If you couldn’t get rid of the pain, you could numb it. That’s what you always told yourself, after every shot. Once the shots started going though, you didn’t know how to stop. This is a side to you that Matt did not know personally but you’d told him about it when you guys started dating when you would talk about your past. You never wanted him to know how badly you’d regressed recently…but fate had other plans tonight.
You were at home, Matt was going over to Nick’s apartment to film a video for their youtube channel. He’d also mentioned staying the night just for a boy’s night with him and Chris. You were thankful for the time away from him, to think about the latest argument you’d had. But before you thought about it, you needed a drink.
Slipping into the pantry and digging to the back of the farthest back shelf, moving the nutella, peanut butter, and unlabeled canned vegetables, and reaching for the handle of cheap vodka you’d bought a few days ago. It was a little under half full at this point. Grabbing it and bringing it out of the pantry, you make your way over to the counter and set it down next to the shot glass and opened can of Dr. Pepper.
“Back to square one.” You mumbled to yourself as you tipped the vodka bottle over the shot glass, counted to 5 as the glass filled and then set it down. Without even a second of hesitation you picked up the shot glass and threw it back, the familiar burn of the liquid mixed with the burn of the alcohol hitting your empty stomach felt like sweet relief.
After setting the glass on the counter and taking a drink of your Dr. Pepper to get rid of the bitter taste, you took a deep breath and leaned against the counter. Your hands resting on the edge, pressing into the palms of your hands, sure to leave an angry red line on both of them. You wanted to talk yourself out of it, to just go to bed, but there was no use.
Once the seal had been broken, there was no stopping until you physically couldn’t do it anymore.
You repeated the process about ten more times, each one got easier and easier to go down. Your mind was getting foggier, but the one thing that stayed clear in your mind was the last argument you two had. You stared at the counter, the alcohol taking over at this point, as you closed your eyes and could picture the argument perfectly,
“Hey babe, have you seen my phone?” You asked as you made your way into the living room where Matt could usually be found. You stopped in your tracks as soon as you saw he was sitting on the couch with your phone in his hand. Not because you had anything to hide, you loved Matt with every fiber of your being, even when you guys were fighting. You were hurt though, you almost thought you heard your heart crack inside your chest, because he stooped to a level you both agreed early on to never go. You crossed your arms, “Can I help you find something?”
Matt’s head snapped up from the phone and his face immediately turned red with embarrassment of being caught, “Wait, Y/N, I’m sorry!” He started immediately apologizing, you didn’t say anything yet. Picking up your phone and sliding it into your pocket,
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Your demeanor was calm for the most part but your voice betrayed you, you sounded angry, because you were. There has never been any reason for Matt to not trust you, you’ve never been dishonest or lied to him or stepped out of the boundaries of your relationship. There was no reason for Matt to think the only way to solve anything was to invade your privacy and he better have a damn good reason to break this trust between you guys.
“Y/N, please, it’s not what it looks like.” He protested, begged almost, standing up from the couch and moving to stand in front of you. His face had sorry written all over it but there was also some underlining feeling you could quite read.
“Eleborate then, because what it looks like to me is you breaking the trust between us in a way we both agreed to never do. What were you trying to do exactly? Find a reason to leave me?” You shot out at him. Your words visibly wounded him, you could see it on his face, but you were too angry to care at this moment.
“No, I wasn’t looking for a reason to leave you…” he started defending himself, “I was just..” he paused,
“Just what?” You pressed, he was thinking of what to say,
“Just curious.” He said weakly, almost like even he didn’t believe that.
“OHHH my bad, you were curious. By all means, go through my phone and break my trust all because you were curious.” You shot at him, sarcastically. Matt frowned and then his words came out a little angier as well this time,
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous.” You scoff at his words and roll your eyes, “Instead of talking to me about whatever is going on, you decided to go behind my back and I’m the ridiculous one.” You said it like you couldn’t believe he’d even say that. “Why didn’t you?”
“Why didn’t I what?” He asked, dumbly.
“Talk. To. Me.” You said enunciating every syllable. “All you have to do is talk to me, Matt. We can talk about anything.”
“Can we? Can we really talk about anything these days without you starting a fight over it?” He shot back,
“Me? Matt, you get mad at me for simply fucking existing recently.” You begin yelling.
But your memories were cut off as you heard the front door suddenly opening. You knew you didn’t have time to hide everything but you tried, pushing the vodka to the wall and putting the shot glass behind you as you turned around, not a good idea with how drunk you’d become.
“Y/N .. are you drunk?” Matt’s words came out, he sounded worried, hurt, and confused all at once and it hurt you. You watched his eyes connect the dots of the vodka bottle on the counter, the shot glass that you failed to hide, and the Dr. Pepper in your hand. You’d never drank a day in your life around him so the confusion makes sense.
“You weren’t supposed to be home yet.” Your words slurred just enough to tell Matt something was off with you. He walked over to you and grabbed onto your hand, he started to guide you towards the bedroom, something about silent Matt was almost worse than arguing with him because in your state right now you don’t know what he’s thinking.
“Don’t touch me.” You protest, shaking your arm out of his grip. Unfortunately for you, your dizzy from walking so you immediately stumble, about to fall down completely but Matt catches you. Grabbing onto your shoulders to make sure you’re up right again,
“Let me help you.” He whispers softly, and the look in his eyes, soft and sad, makes you fold. You let him help you to the bedroom. He gets you into bed but not under the blankets yet. You don’t say anything as he goes to the dresser and pulls out a pajama set. He comes back over and starts undressing you, without a word from either of you.
He gets you changed into the pajama set, and gets you under the blanket. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before he sits down on the bed next to you.
“I had to come back for something we needed for the video.” He spoke softly, he didn’t know if you’d remember this conversation tomorrow. He didn’t know how drunk you were or if he should even leave you alone, “Should I stay home tonight?” He asked,
You shook your head, “No, I can take care of myself tonight.” you say,
“Can you?” He asked, unsure whether to believe you or not.
“Yes, Matt, Jesus.” you frown at your outburst, “Sorry, I’m just..” you stop talking before it gets you deeper into whatever this is, “I’m just going to go to sleep.” You say, “Go to Nick’s.”
He stares at you for a minute before nodding and patting your thigh as he gets up.
“Goodnight, Matt.” You whisper as he reaches the door,
“Night.” He says, before exiting the room.
You lay there, you listen to Matt moving through the apartment and that’s enough to send you into a peaceful sleep before Matt had even left the apartment.
Drink all night, never sleep
You say go, I won't leave
I love you, you love me
But not in the same way
Rip my heart out and leave
On the floor, watch me bleed
I love you, you love me
But not in the same way
You woke up with your head banging. You don’t remember how you got into bed last night, which also means you don’t remember Matt coming home either. Looking over at your nightstand, you see a glass of water, a couple aleve pills, and a note sitting there and it came back to you, Matt came home and put you into bed.
Matt caught you in your secret life. You’re embarrassed and you’re sad.
You laid in bed for a while, working up the courage to move. One thing you loved about Matt was he loved a dark room so the room was dark but it still made you nauseous to move. Eventually you sat up in bed, the room was spinning slightly so you closed your eyes to ground yourself. Reaching over for the aleve and water, you popped the pills into your mouth and then guzzle down the glass of cold water. It feels so nice going down your throat but as soon as you finish the water you set the glass down and it hits you.
If Matt had put that there last night it’d be room temperature..but it was ice cold. Matt was home.
You felt sick for multiple reasons now. You read the note
We need to talk.
Matt
You knew what was coming. You knew that this was about to be the end. You were bracing for the impact of losing Matt. You weren’t quite ready to talk yet so you stayed in bed, waiting for the medicine to alleviate your headache before you were ready to talk to Matt.
A rough and dizzy 30 minutes passed before you were able to push the sheets off of you and get out of bed. You took your time walking towards the door, your bedroom door opened right into the living room, as soon as you opened this door there was no going back.
You took a deep breath and opened the door with the annoying squeak that Matt always mentions fixing but never does. Another fight you guys had recently.
When you opened the door, Matt was sitting on the couch, staring at the floor. His eyes tore away from the spot on the carpet he’d be staring at ever since he sat down to look up at you.
You step out and walk into the living room, the light hurts your eyes but you try to ignore it. There was no use in complaining, you’d done it to yourself. Crossing the living room to sit on the opposite sit of the couch from Matt, leaving one cushion between you two, felt like you were walking the plank.
You sat down and you’re both silent. Neither wanting to be the one to start this conversation. Matt is looking back down at the floor, you were looking at him. His dark eyes had gotten a lot worse, like he hadn’t slept in days. His skin was paler, like he hadn’t really eaten either. The messy hair but not messy from sleeping but messy from running his fingers through it constantly.
“Y/N,” Matt started, finally breaking the silence, but still not looking at you, “I know that you’ve felt it too…the tension between us. I know the constant arguing and yelling is also getting to you.” His voice was soft, the softest you’d heard it in weeks. He finally looked at you, at your eyes as he continued, “But, I didn’t realize how bad it was affecting you, until last night.” He explained, the frown he had on his face made that crack from yesterday even bigger, “I never wanted to be the reason you went back to drinking. I never wanted to be that person for you.” His voice quivered, as he fought back tears.
You don’t know what to say, if there’s even anything to say, so you reach over and grab his hand to comfort him like you’d done hundreds of times over the course of your relationship. This time, he slowly and hesitantly pulled his hand away from yours. You retract your hand and rest it in your lap, your turn to fight the tears.
“Matt..plea-” You start but Matt cuts you off,
“Yesterday I wasn’t lying when I said that I wasn’t looking for a reason to leave…but I was looking for a reason to stay.” He explained, the weight of his words were heavy. He looked like he was lighter but in return you felt heavier. Like he’d just passed the weight onto you and it was your turn to balance it. Your vision began to blur so you looked down so you didn’t have to face him if you weren’t strong enough to hold in your tears.
“Did you find one?” You asked with a shaky voice, unsure if you actually wanted to know the answer or not, but deep down you already knew the answer. If it was anything good, this conversation would feel a lot different.
Matt didn’t say anything for a few beats, it was silent and then finally he just whispered, “No”.
He broke down, you instinctively pulled him into you and held him.
That crack in your heart? Broken completely.
Your tears fell as well. You stayed in that position, Matt’s head resting on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your lower torso and your arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him. You rested your head against his.
You guys sat together crying, not moving, for well over an hour. Just embracing the last time you guys will hold each other. The last moments you guys are spending together and you’re holding each other still.
Eventually, Matt finally pulled away and you followed his actions. You scooted back to your original position on the other side of the couch, sniffling and wiping your tears wit the sleeve of your pajamas.
“I love you so much, Matt,” You finally say with a shaky voice and blurry vision, “ and I know you love me just the same, but we don’t love each other in the same way.”
“I know,” His voice is raspy from crying and his throat drying out. He barely spoke above a whisper.
“You’re drinking again and I haven’t slept in days. This just isn’t good for us anymore.” He admitted, shamefully.
“I know,” You said, hurting and crying.
“This is goodbye.”
“I know.”
Neither of you could bare to move though. Neither of you knew what to do next. Who was going where, who was supposed to stay in this apartment where you guys shared all your memories together? Matt eventually stood up,
“I’m going to go to Nick’s.” His voice was monotone and lost, he didn’t say anything else as he walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. You heard him on the phone, you assumed with Nick, telling him what’d happened, and you felt cemented to the couch. You couldn’t get up. Your legs were betraying you. You were telling them to move, to get up and fight for him, but even your legs knew that it wasn’t worth it anymore.
A few minutes later he emerged from the room with a duffle bag on his shoulder and he looked at you, but he didn’t say anything. He knew if he spoke that he’d break down again and he couldn’t. He just walked towards the front door.
You whispered out a “Goodbye, Matt.” Just as the door closed. The sound of the door closing snapped you into reality. That was the last time you were going to see the love of your life and it was the most soul crushing feeling in the world. You curled into a ball on the couch and broke down.
When you tell me you love me
Then you wanna leave me
Pouring your pills down the sink
Saying, "It's not what you think"
Don't know if I love you
Don't know if I hate you
But I can't forget you
And I'll always let you
a/n: this is my way of getting back into fanfic writing as well as my intro into the Sturnblr side of things. :) let me know what you think, i'm a little rusty because i haven't been writing but I needed to do this.
i do also have a part two in mind based on another 5SOS song if you'd want that so let me know!
this was a spencer reid fanfic a few years ago I just rewrote it (I was the OG author) so if you're in both fandoms and recognize it somehow, that's why lol
if you want to be added to me DT list, i'd love to add you just let me know.
nerdy!matt wants to take a quick study break in a secluded corner of the library and college student!reader can’t refuse his offer (2.8K words)
Contains: smut and public fingering
We were supposed to be studying. Laptops out. Coffee cups in hand. Pretending we weren’t actively hooking up in secret. Pretending I hadn’t let him sneak into my bed three nights ago and leave just before sunrise, kissing my shoulder before whispering, “This never gets old.”
Then it started with a look.
Matt sat across from me, his hoodie’s sleeves pushed up and his chain just visible beneath the collar. He spun a pen in his hand, fake-focused on his laptop, but his eyes kept drifting.
I shot him a glare. He raised an eyebrow. I mouthed, stop. He smirked.
I tried. Genuinely tried, to focus on the notes in front of me. But he was looking at me like he was already undressing me in his head. And the worst part? He knew I knew.
“You’re annoying.” I whispered across the table.
He leaned in. “And you’re doing a terrible job trying to fool me.”
“Matt.” My face flushed instantly.
He reached over slowly, and gently dragged two fingers along the top of my open notebook. My breath hitched.
“Come with me.” he murmured.
“What?”
“Upstairs. In the far back. No one goes there after 10.”
“That’s not—” I glanced around. No one was looking. “Matt, we are not—”
He stood up grabbing his bag, and looked down at me with that maddening calmness he always wore when he knew he’d already won. “You can either follow me,” he said. “Or keep thinking about what I’d do to you if you did.”
Then he walked away.
I sat there for a full ten seconds trying to convince myself to stay seated. I didn’t.
The third floor always felt abandoned at this time. Too far up. Too quiet. The bulbs hummed like they were tired of trying, the air sat a little too warm, and the shelves breathed dust when you slipped between them. Everyone else learned to avoid it. We learned to claim it.
He was waiting for me when I stepped off the stairwell. His glasses were low like he’d been reading something he didn’t care about just to look busy. He held a textbook in his hand, open to the middle, as if it could ever hold his attention when I was the one walking towards him. It couldn’t. It never did.
He looked up, mouth tipping into that slow, unhurried smile that made my chest tighten.
“Knew you’d follow.” he murmured.
“Whatever.” I whispered as I rolled my eyes smilingly, moving into the aisle.
His smile sharpened, not bothering to hide it. “You’re getting predictable.”
“No,” I said, stepping close enough for the shelf to press into my shoulder blade. “You’re just that hard to stay away from.”
The book closed with a quiet thud. He slid it back on the shelf without breaking eye contact. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans and tugged me closer, pulling me against him until I could feel how hard he already was.
I gasped.
The sound came out small, humiliating and perfect, and his eyes darkened like he might swallow me whole. His breath nudged my cheek. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Don’t start.” I warned, but it had no weight. My voice was already thinner than I wanted it to be.
But of course he didn’t care and leaned in. The first kiss landed slow, then grew greedy real fast. Heat skated up my spine and loosened everything that made me careful. He tasted like spearmint and coffee. The shelf behind me caught my balance when my knees forgot how to behave, and books clicked together in a soft domino along the row.
“Quiet.” he whispered against my lip.
“You’re the one making noise.” I tried, but it sounded like I wanted him to.
He chuckled and let the laugh melt into my throat. He nosed under my jaw and kissed there, small open-mouthed presses that were more breath than lips. My fingers fisted in his hoodie like I could keep him exactly where I wanted him if I just held on hard enough.
He took his time. He always did when he wanted to be cruel in that devoted way that only he could pull off. His palms mapped over my t-shirt without even attempting to ask for my permission. A slow sweep up my ribs. A warmer slide back down. No rush. No questions. Just the kind of pacing that makes you realize your heartbeat is not steady at all.
“M—Matt.” I said, hating how my voice shook.
“Mm?” His mouth hovered by my ear. The hum vibrated into my neck.
“This is— we’re in public—”
“Exactly,” he murmured, and his lips brushed the place that made my stomach dip. “Which means you’ve gotta be real quiet. Think you can do that for me?”
The words settled like heat under my skin. He kissed me again and I tried to remember how to breathe through my nose.
He didn’t strip me. He didn’t have to. The shape of his hands through the fabric was enough. The pressure. The suspense. The gentle cruelty of Matt pretending he had all night when both of us knew any footfall on the stairs could send us flying apart. He kept close enough for warmth to pass between us. He let the moment stretch until the air felt thick, until the hush turned into permission.
“Say it.” he whispered suddenly, forehead bumping mine.
“What?”
“That you want me.” he said, as if I hadn’t already given myself away ten times in the last minute. “I wanna hear it.”
“I want you.” I said, because lying would have been a waste of time.
His fingers flexed against my waist like he’d been waiting for the confirmation. He kissed me deeper, but not rough. My shoulder blades hit the books behind me again, making the shelf creak slightly, as I shuddered against him.
He smiled into the kiss like a thief pleased with his own audacity.
“Words.” he said, softer. “Use them.”
“You’re kidding.” I huffed, exasperated. It wasn’t the right answer. But it made him grin anyway.
“Try again.” he breathed, and his hand traveled lower. Not fast. The slow kind that unspools patience. The kind that makes your thighs press together because your body is already answering the question he hasn’t asked.
“Please.” I said, and hated how fast it came.
“Better.” he said, satisfied.
He shifted his weight so that my heel caught on the rubber edge of the bottom shelf and my toes lifted. It changed the angle. It made me suddenly aware of the line of him against me, how hot his hoodie had gotten against my palms, and how he smelled like clean cotton and something that only belonged to him.
The next second his mouth was on mine, and everything else dissipated. All I could feel was him.
I didn’t know when we started to sway. It was small enough to make me wonder if I imagined it. The sort of sway that happens when two people are pressed too close with too much wanting and their bodies do the math on their own. My breath synced to his. Or his to mine. Or both surrendered to the same rhythm because it was easier than pretending we were separate.
His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging in like he wanted to memorize the shape of me through my jeans. Every kiss felt rougher. Messier. Hungrier.
He broke the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to mine, his breath hot and uneven. “Say stop.” he whispered. “Right now. If you want me to.”
But I didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, I reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it upward. He got the message fast and peeled it off in one smooth motion, lips crashing back to mine before the fabric even hit the floor.
“Matt—” I gasped.
“Quiet.” he breathed, mouth trailing down my jaw. “Unless you want someone to hear.”
His hand slid beneath my t-shirt, fingertips skating over bare skin, up my ribs and back down. Teasing. Testing. I was already trembling when his other hand slid between my thighs, over my jeans, and pressed.
“So warm already.” he groaned. His fingers rubbed slow circles over the fabric, coaxing me open and teasing the pulsating ache between my legs. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t answer. My breath was caught somewhere in my throat. Instead, I clutched his shoulders, my nails biting into them as my hips arched into his greedy hand.
His fingers found the button of my jeans, and tugged the material down just enough to slip his hand where it shouldn’t be. Where no one had ever touched me outside a bedroom. Where he had touched me a dozen times before, but never like this.
“Fuck…” I breathed, barely managing to keep the sound in my throat.
His hand cupped me possessively, before he slid past the last layer of fabric, his fingers sliding directly against my slick folds. The shock of the touch tore a gasp from me. Sharp and involuntary, echoing in the stillness.
It’s all too much.
“Ahh—”
“Shhh.” he murmured, kissing the space just behind my ear. “Not too loud now.
The first stroke was slow and purposeful. Two fingers dragged from the very top of me down to the very bottom, gliding through the wetness he’d already drawn from me. The sensation made my knees weaken instantly, my thighs trembling as a shocked gasp tumbled from my mouth.
“So wet already, hm?” he whispered in my ear, the smug heat in his voice making my skin prickle.
I couldn’t respond. Not when he was circling my entrance with just the pad of one finger, teasing, pressing, retreating, and pressing again, until I was writhing against the shelf, trying to force him inside.
“Please.” I choked out, clinging to his shoulders. “Matt, please—”
He groaned low, and finally, finally, one finger pushed inside. The stretch was small, but the pressure caused my body to instinctively clutch around him.
Matt didn’t move right away. He waited, buried deep, letting me feel the intrusion and flutter helplessly around his finger.
“God, you’re so tight.” he rasped, kissing down my throat.
When he moved, it was slow at first. Dragging his finger out until just the tip remained, then sliding it back in deeply. The friction made my breath catch, a pulse of pleasure blooming low in my belly.
Then he added a second.
The stretch made me gasp, and had my back arch off the shelf. It felt fuller and deeper. The burn quickly gave way to a dizzying rush of heat as both fingers sank into me. My walls squeezed around them, and he groaned again as his lips closed over my pulse.
He began to thrust. Not fast. Not rough. Just a steady rhythm, two fingers plunging deep and pulling out. The slick sounds of it were so obscene in the silence of the library.
Every time he pressed back in and curled his fingers upwards, he grazed a spot inside me that made me whimper.
“There it is.” he muttered satisfied, curling again relentlessly until my whole body jerked.
His thumb joined the torment, pressing firmly against my clit. It circled in tight, controlled strokes that matched the thrust of his fingers. The dual sensation made my vision blur, as heat flooded me from every angle.
I bit down hard on my lip as his hand worked me slowly and expertly, like he knew my body better than I did. Teasing me just enough to keep me on the edge, but then pulling back like it was a game.
I was clinging to Matt now. My nails bit through his shirt, as my body grinded helplessly against his hand. Each curl of his fingers felt like he was stroking lightning against my very core, every drag sending sparks radiating out through my thighs, spine, and chest.
“Matt—oh God—” My voice was wrecked, high and desperate.
His pace quickened. His fingers plunged harder, faster, and his thumb circled tighter. My body clenched around him, soaking him, and making every thrust now louder, wetter, and filthier.
The shelf creaked softly behind me, the sound jolting me, a reminder of where we were and what we were doing. But Matt swallowed my gasp in a kiss, bruising and filthy. His tongue claimed me while his fingers fucked me harder pushing me closer to the brink.
The room narrowed: the pressure of his body, the scrape of metal against my spine, his mouth hot and merciless, and his fingers relentless inside me.
I couldn’t stop moving. My hips bucked helplessly against his hand, chasing each stroke. My moans growing higher, desperate, and ragged.
“Look at you.” he rasped, as he nipped at my jaw. “Ruining yourself by just my hand. So needy for me.”
Shame burned hot across my cheeks, but I couldn’t deny the truth. “Yes—please—God, yes—”
The confession was my undoing.
His other hand slid beneath my shirt, dragging up the center of my stomach until he could palm my chest over my bra. It was firm, possessive and so, so dirty.
“You feel so good like this.” he groaned.
“Matt, I can’t—” My legs trembled.
He pressed a kiss just below my ear. “I know. Just hold on.”
His fingers curled wickedly inside me, stroking that devastating spot over and over while his thumb pressed harder against my clit. The pressure built unbearably, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, and I shattered.
The climax ripped through me, violent and overwhelming. I convulsed around his fingers, my soft cry breaking into the silence. My hips bucked helplessly, grinding against his hand while he fucked me through it, unrelentingly.
“Good girl.” he praised me, kissing the corner of my mouth as I writhed within his grasp.
I could feel everything. His fingers still buried inside me, stroking me as my walls fluttered and squeezed. The wet mess of my release coating his hand. And the sharp ache of the shelf at my back grounding me through the storm.
And when I sagged against him at last absolutely limp and ruined, he didn't pull away. He slowly curled his fingers one last time, making me whimper from the oversensitivity.
Then he slid them out of my jeans, wet and glistening, and lifted them to his lips. His moan as he tasted me was low and guttural, which vibrated through my bones.
I looked up and blankly blinked. His face came back into view. His glasses were now resting on top of his head. Pupils wrecked. And lips dark and swollen.
“Hey.” he said softly.
“Hmm…” was all I could manage without shaking.
“You okay?”
I nodded. The motion felt bigger than it was. “Yeah.”
His mouth found my cheek. Not possessive. Not performative. Just the gentlest press, the kind people do when they cannot stand to keep their affection inside their body for a moment longer. His hand smoothed my shirt down where he had rucked it up, and tugged the waistband of my jeans back to where it belonged.
“Now you’re gonna go try and focus again?” he asked with a smirk, already knowing my answer.
“Absolutely not.” I said, as I rolled my eyes.
Matt grinned at me as he dusted off his hoodie and grabbed his bag. Then he turned and nonchalantly walked back down the aisle towards the staircase like he hadn’t just fucked me until I saw stars.
Like nothing happened.
Like I wasn’t left standing in the shadows of the back section of the library flushed, wrecked, and trying to pull my breath into line. I waited long enough for my pulse to stop kicking at my throat before I made my way back to our table.
On the walk back, I tried to come off as neutral as one can be. By the time I reached our belongings that were left behind, I had recovered the expression of a person who had done nothing but review a chapter on sampling methods or had drunk a lukewarm coffee.
Matt was already seated. Pen in hand and his notes laid open in front of him. The picture of virtue, except for the small foolish curve at the corner of his mouth that would have given him away to anyone who knew him as well as I did.
I sat down and opened my laptop. I did not process a single word on the screen.
We wrote a few lines in our notebooks to make it look like progress. We made it five minutes without glancing at each other. Then I caught him looking, and his eyes did that thing where he wants to devour me and behave at the same time.
I pretended to sigh. He pretended to study. The desk gathered our elbows like it had been waiting for us to remember what students are actually supposed to do in the library.
nerdy!matt wants to take a quick study break in a secluded corner of the library and college student!reader can’t refuse his offer (2.8K words)
Contains: smut and public fingering
We were supposed to be studying. Laptops out. Coffee cups in hand. Pretending we weren’t actively hooking up in secret. Pretending I hadn’t let him sneak into my bed three nights ago and leave just before sunrise, kissing my shoulder before whispering, “This never gets old.”
Then it started with a look.
Matt sat across from me, his hoodie’s sleeves pushed up and his chain just visible beneath the collar. He spun a pen in his hand, fake-focused on his laptop, but his eyes kept drifting.
I shot him a glare. He raised an eyebrow. I mouthed, stop. He smirked.
I tried. Genuinely tried, to focus on the notes in front of me. But he was looking at me like he was already undressing me in his head. And the worst part? He knew I knew.
“You’re annoying.” I whispered across the table.
He leaned in. “And you’re doing a terrible job trying to fool me.”
“Matt.” My face flushed instantly.
He reached over slowly, and gently dragged two fingers along the top of my open notebook. My breath hitched.
“Come with me.” he murmured.
“What?”
“Upstairs. In the far back. No one goes there after 10.”
“That’s not—” I glanced around. No one was looking. “Matt, we are not—”
He stood up grabbing his bag, and looked down at me with that maddening calmness he always wore when he knew he’d already won. “You can either follow me,” he said. “Or keep thinking about what I’d do to you if you did.”
Then he walked away.
I sat there for a full ten seconds trying to convince myself to stay seated. I didn’t.
The third floor always felt abandoned at this time. Too far up. Too quiet. The bulbs hummed like they were tired of trying, the air sat a little too warm, and the shelves breathed dust when you slipped between them. Everyone else learned to avoid it. We learned to claim it.
He was waiting for me when I stepped off the stairwell. His glasses were low like he’d been reading something he didn’t care about just to look busy. He held a textbook in his hand, open to the middle, as if it could ever hold his attention when I was the one walking towards him. It couldn’t. It never did.
He looked up, mouth tipping into that slow, unhurried smile that made my chest tighten.
“Knew you’d follow.” he murmured.
“Whatever.” I whispered as I rolled my eyes smilingly, moving into the aisle.
His smile sharpened, not bothering to hide it. “You’re getting predictable.”
“No,” I said, stepping close enough for the shelf to press into my shoulder blade. “You’re just that hard to stay away from.”
The book closed with a quiet thud. He slid it back on the shelf without breaking eye contact. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans and tugged me closer, pulling me against him until I could feel how hard he already was.
I gasped.
The sound came out small, humiliating and perfect, and his eyes darkened like he might swallow me whole. His breath nudged my cheek. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Don’t start.” I warned, but it had no weight. My voice was already thinner than I wanted it to be.
But of course he didn’t care and leaned in. The first kiss landed slow, then grew greedy real fast. Heat skated up my spine and loosened everything that made me careful. He tasted like spearmint and coffee. The shelf behind me caught my balance when my knees forgot how to behave, and books clicked together in a soft domino along the row.
“Quiet.” he whispered against my lip.
“You’re the one making noise.” I tried, but it sounded like I wanted him to.
He chuckled and let the laugh melt into my throat. He nosed under my jaw and kissed there, small open-mouthed presses that were more breath than lips. My fingers fisted in his hoodie like I could keep him exactly where I wanted him if I just held on hard enough.
He took his time. He always did when he wanted to be cruel in that devoted way that only he could pull off. His palms mapped over my t-shirt without even attempting to ask for my permission. A slow sweep up my ribs. A warmer slide back down. No rush. No questions. Just the kind of pacing that makes you realize your heartbeat is not steady at all.
“M—Matt.” I said, hating how my voice shook.
“Mm?” His mouth hovered by my ear. The hum vibrated into my neck.
“This is— we’re in public—”
“Exactly,” he murmured, and his lips brushed the place that made my stomach dip. “Which means you’ve gotta be real quiet. Think you can do that for me?”
The words settled like heat under my skin. He kissed me again and I tried to remember how to breathe through my nose.
He didn’t strip me. He didn’t have to. The shape of his hands through the fabric was enough. The pressure. The suspense. The gentle cruelty of Matt pretending he had all night when both of us knew any footfall on the stairs could send us flying apart. He kept close enough for warmth to pass between us. He let the moment stretch until the air felt thick, until the hush turned into permission.
“Say it.” he whispered suddenly, forehead bumping mine.
“What?”
“That you want me.” he said, as if I hadn’t already given myself away ten times in the last minute. “I wanna hear it.”
“I want you.” I said, because lying would have been a waste of time.
His fingers flexed against my waist like he’d been waiting for the confirmation. He kissed me deeper, but not rough. My shoulder blades hit the books behind me again, making the shelf creak slightly, as I shuddered against him.
He smiled into the kiss like a thief pleased with his own audacity.
“Words.” he said, softer. “Use them.”
“You’re kidding.” I huffed, exasperated. It wasn’t the right answer. But it made him grin anyway.
“Try again.” he breathed, and his hand traveled lower. Not fast. The slow kind that unspools patience. The kind that makes your thighs press together because your body is already answering the question he hasn’t asked.
“Please.” I said, and hated how fast it came.
“Better.” he said, satisfied.
He shifted his weight so that my heel caught on the rubber edge of the bottom shelf and my toes lifted. It changed the angle. It made me suddenly aware of the line of him against me, how hot his hoodie had gotten against my palms, and how he smelled like clean cotton and something that only belonged to him.
The next second his mouth was on mine, and everything else dissipated. All I could feel was him.
I didn’t know when we started to sway. It was small enough to make me wonder if I imagined it. The sort of sway that happens when two people are pressed too close with too much wanting and their bodies do the math on their own. My breath synced to his. Or his to mine. Or both surrendered to the same rhythm because it was easier than pretending we were separate.
His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging in like he wanted to memorize the shape of me through my jeans. Every kiss felt rougher. Messier. Hungrier.
He broke the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to mine, his breath hot and uneven. “Say stop.” he whispered. “Right now. If you want me to.”
But I didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, I reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it upward. He got the message fast and peeled it off in one smooth motion, lips crashing back to mine before the fabric even hit the floor.
“Matt—” I gasped.
“Quiet.” he breathed, mouth trailing down my jaw. “Unless you want someone to hear.”
His hand slid beneath my t-shirt, fingertips skating over bare skin, up my ribs and back down. Teasing. Testing. I was already trembling when his other hand slid between my thighs, over my jeans, and pressed.
“So warm already.” he groaned. His fingers rubbed slow circles over the fabric, coaxing me open and teasing the pulsating ache between my legs. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t answer. My breath was caught somewhere in my throat. Instead, I clutched his shoulders, my nails biting into them as my hips arched into his greedy hand.
His fingers found the button of my jeans, and tugged the material down just enough to slip his hand where it shouldn’t be. Where no one had ever touched me outside a bedroom. Where he had touched me a dozen times before, but never like this.
“Fuck…” I breathed, barely managing to keep the sound in my throat.
His hand cupped me possessively, before he slid past the last layer of fabric, his fingers sliding directly against my slick folds. The shock of the touch tore a gasp from me. Sharp and involuntary, echoing in the stillness.
It’s all too much.
“Ahh—”
“Shhh.” he murmured, kissing the space just behind my ear. “Not too loud now.
The first stroke was slow and purposeful. Two fingers dragged from the very top of me down to the very bottom, gliding through the wetness he’d already drawn from me. The sensation made my knees weaken instantly, my thighs trembling as a shocked gasp tumbled from my mouth.
“So wet already, hm?” he whispered in my ear, the smug heat in his voice making my skin prickle.
I couldn’t respond. Not when he was circling my entrance with just the pad of one finger, teasing, pressing, retreating, and pressing again, until I was writhing against the shelf, trying to force him inside.
“Please.” I choked out, clinging to his shoulders. “Matt, please—”
He groaned low, and finally, finally, one finger pushed inside. The stretch was small, but the pressure caused my body to instinctively clutch around him.
Matt didn’t move right away. He waited, buried deep, letting me feel the intrusion and flutter helplessly around his finger.
“God, you’re so tight.” he rasped, kissing down my throat.
When he moved, it was slow at first. Dragging his finger out until just the tip remained, then sliding it back in deeply. The friction made my breath catch, a pulse of pleasure blooming low in my belly.
Then he added a second.
The stretch made me gasp, and had my back arch off the shelf. It felt fuller and deeper. The burn quickly gave way to a dizzying rush of heat as both fingers sank into me. My walls squeezed around them, and he groaned again as his lips closed over my pulse.
He began to thrust. Not fast. Not rough. Just a steady rhythm, two fingers plunging deep and pulling out. The slick sounds of it were so obscene in the silence of the library.
Every time he pressed back in and curled his fingers upwards, he grazed a spot inside me that made me whimper.
“There it is.” he muttered satisfied, curling again relentlessly until my whole body jerked.
His thumb joined the torment, pressing firmly against my clit. It circled in tight, controlled strokes that matched the thrust of his fingers. The dual sensation made my vision blur, as heat flooded me from every angle.
I bit down hard on my lip as his hand worked me slowly and expertly, like he knew my body better than I did. Teasing me just enough to keep me on the edge, but then pulling back like it was a game.
I was clinging to Matt now. My nails bit through his shirt, as my body grinded helplessly against his hand. Each curl of his fingers felt like he was stroking lightning against my very core, every drag sending sparks radiating out through my thighs, spine, and chest.
“Matt—oh God—” My voice was wrecked, high and desperate.
His pace quickened. His fingers plunged harder, faster, and his thumb circled tighter. My body clenched around him, soaking him, and making every thrust now louder, wetter, and filthier.
The shelf creaked softly behind me, the sound jolting me, a reminder of where we were and what we were doing. But Matt swallowed my gasp in a kiss, bruising and filthy. His tongue claimed me while his fingers fucked me harder pushing me closer to the brink.
The room narrowed: the pressure of his body, the scrape of metal against my spine, his mouth hot and merciless, and his fingers relentless inside me.
I couldn’t stop moving. My hips bucked helplessly against his hand, chasing each stroke. My moans growing higher, desperate, and ragged.
“Look at you.” he rasped, as he nipped at my jaw. “Ruining yourself by just my hand. So needy for me.”
Shame burned hot across my cheeks, but I couldn’t deny the truth. “Yes—please—God, yes—”
The confession was my undoing.
His other hand slid beneath my shirt, dragging up the center of my stomach until he could palm my chest over my bra. It was firm, possessive and so, so dirty.
“You feel so good like this.” he groaned.
“Matt, I can’t—” My legs trembled.
He pressed a kiss just below my ear. “I know. Just hold on.”
His fingers curled wickedly inside me, stroking that devastating spot over and over while his thumb pressed harder against my clit. The pressure built unbearably, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, and I shattered.
The climax ripped through me, violent and overwhelming. I convulsed around his fingers, my soft cry breaking into the silence. My hips bucked helplessly, grinding against his hand while he fucked me through it, unrelentingly.
“Good girl.” he praised me, kissing the corner of my mouth as I writhed within his grasp.
I could feel everything. His fingers still buried inside me, stroking me as my walls fluttered and squeezed. The wet mess of my release coating his hand. And the sharp ache of the shelf at my back grounding me through the storm.
And when I sagged against him at last absolutely limp and ruined, he didn't pull away. He slowly curled his fingers one last time, making me whimper from the oversensitivity.
Then he slid them out of my jeans, wet and glistening, and lifted them to his lips. His moan as he tasted me was low and guttural, which vibrated through my bones.
I looked up and blankly blinked. His face came back into view. His glasses were now resting on top of his head. Pupils wrecked. And lips dark and swollen.
“Hey.” he said softly.
“Hmm…” was all I could manage without shaking.
“You okay?”
I nodded. The motion felt bigger than it was. “Yeah.”
His mouth found my cheek. Not possessive. Not performative. Just the gentlest press, the kind people do when they cannot stand to keep their affection inside their body for a moment longer. His hand smoothed my shirt down where he had rucked it up, and tugged the waistband of my jeans back to where it belonged.
“Now you’re gonna go try and focus again?” he asked with a smirk, already knowing my answer.
“Absolutely not.” I said, as I rolled my eyes.
Matt grinned at me as he dusted off his hoodie and grabbed his bag. Then he turned and nonchalantly walked back down the aisle towards the staircase like he hadn’t just fucked me until I saw stars.
Like nothing happened.
Like I wasn’t left standing in the shadows of the back section of the library flushed, wrecked, and trying to pull my breath into line. I waited long enough for my pulse to stop kicking at my throat before I made my way back to our table.
On the walk back, I tried to come off as neutral as one can be. By the time I reached our belongings that were left behind, I had recovered the expression of a person who had done nothing but review a chapter on sampling methods or had drunk a lukewarm coffee.
Matt was already seated. Pen in hand and his notes laid open in front of him. The picture of virtue, except for the small foolish curve at the corner of his mouth that would have given him away to anyone who knew him as well as I did.
I sat down and opened my laptop. I did not process a single word on the screen.
We wrote a few lines in our notebooks to make it look like progress. We made it five minutes without glancing at each other. Then I caught him looking, and his eyes did that thing where he wants to devour me and behave at the same time.
I pretended to sigh. He pretended to study. The desk gathered our elbows like it had been waiting for us to remember what students are actually supposed to do in the library.
the one where matt, society’s most notorious rake, brings the words from your favourite book to life (7K words)
Contains: smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), dom!fuckboy matt x sub!virgin fem reader
Note: use of matthew instead of matt just because it makes more sense for the time period imo
Rake (n.) In polite society: A man of charm and good breeding who has long since abandoned the trappings of respectability, preferring instead a life of indulgence and scandal.
Pearl (n.) In polite society: A symbol of purity and refinement. Rare, luminous, and untouchable. A jewel to be displayed, admired, and prized above all else.
The carriage rattled to a halt before the grand estate, its lanterns casting a golden glow across the gravel drive. Beyond the tall iron gates, the manor blazed with candlelight, every window gleaming like a beacon to high society. The annual Spring Ball, an evening both dreaded and long anticipated by the ton, was already in full swing.
Inside the carriage, I sat stiffly beside my mother with my gloved hands folded neatly above my lap. My gown, the palest shade of blue satin, shimmered in the flickering light. Its empire waistline was adorned with a delicate trim of silver thread. Pearls graced my neck, a family heirloom my mother insisted I wear each season, as if their luster alone might secure me a husband.
“Do sit up straight, dearest.” my mother whispered, tugging lightly at my sleeve as the door was opened by a waiting footman. “It is imperative tonight that you do not squander opportunity. The Sturniolo gentlemen shall be in attendance, and you must not waste the chance.”
I forced a polite smile, though inside I felt a familiar heaviness settle in my chest. Opportunity. The word my mother loved, but to me it felt more like obligation. With a careful breath, I stepped down from the carriage. The chill of the night air brushed my bare shoulders before I was quickly ushered into the warmth of the grand hall.
The ballroom unfolded in splendor before me. A thousand candles glittered in tall chandeliers overhead, their light dancing against gilt-framed mirrors and silk-draped walls. The scent of roses and sweet beverages mingled in the air, carried by the rustle of skirts and the hush of whispered gossip. Couples glided across the polished floor, as violins soared above the hum of polite conversation.
I longed for the quiet of my own room, but duty propelled me forward.
“Now,” my mother murmured, her eyes sweeping the room with intent. “Christopher Sturniolo is ever the gentleman. A most suitable choice. And of course, his brother Matthew—”
I bit back a sigh. Of course. Matthew.
My gaze swept across the ballroom, and there they were: the Sturniolo triplet brothers. One could hardly attend a single gathering of the ton without hearing their names, whispered with equal parts admiration and gossip.
Christopher was on the dance floor, already leading a blushing young debutante through the steps with practiced ease. Ever the gentleman, kind, attentive, and unfailingly proper. It was no wonder mothers adored him. His manners were impeccable, his devotion to family unquestionable, and he smiled as though he were born to make others feel at ease. It is said he longs for a wife and children, a household of warmth and constancy. A safe choice, a sweet choice… perhaps too sweet for me.
Matthew, naturally, was not dancing. He leaned against a marble column, champagne glass dangling carelessly in his hand, his smirk cutting through the candlelight like a blade. Women lingered far too close, vying for just a glance, but he barely seemed to notice… or perhaps he simply enjoyed watching them squirm. He, on the other hand, was no safe choice. He’s reckless, daring, and insufferably charming. Society’s rake who delights in never lingering too long with any one lady, yet leaves them all burning in his wake. He is as irresistible as he is intolerable. The rake every lady dreamed of taming, and the one man I had sworn never to chase.
Nicolas was harder to read. The eldest, standing somewhat apart. His expression was calm, but his presence was commanding without a word spoken. He had never been known to court anyone, which had only given rise to whispers. Some claimed he had once been seen in the company of a gentleman, gossip the Sturniolo family had neither confirmed nor denied. Thus the rumors persist, growing wilder with every retelling.
It took only a glance to find Matthew, for he drew attention as effortlessly as breathing. His dark hair curled rebelliously against his forehead, and his cravat tied with an elegance that seemed too effortless. His gaze, bold and unashamed, sent a ripple through the crowd as he surveyed the ladies like a predator at ease in his own territory. Women lingered near him, their laughter rising too sweetly and too eagerly.
My stomach twisted. Handsome, yes. But there was something in the tilt of his mouth, and in the knowing arrogance of his stare, that set my teeth on edge.
“I would much prefer Christopher.” I murmured, careful that only my mother should hear. “At least he knows kindness. With that one…” I glanced again, only to find Matthew’s eyes sweeping towards me.“I would rather throw myself into the fire.”
For the briefest moment, his gaze caught mine. Bold, direct, and far too sure of itself. My breath got caught, though I immediately scolded myself for it. No. I would not be like the others, simpering under his charm. I knew better. I knew what he was.
My mother tutted gently. “My darling, you think too harshly. He is the most sought-after gentleman of the season. To reject him so openly would be unwise.”
But I had no intention of rejecting him so blatantly. In truth, I had no intention of engaging at all. To chase a man already adored by half the town would be the very definition of folly. And yet… when Matthew’s gaze briefly collided with mine, and let that small, infuriating smirk play across his lips, I felt the spark of something treacherous ignite in my chest.
The first gentleman came almost immediately, bowing low with his hand extended. His smile was kind enough, and his words practiced, asking if he might have the honour of the opening dance. I agreed, because to refuse would have been cruel, and because my mother’s sharp gaze burned at the back of my head.
And so I danced. And then I danced again, and again. One partner after another, each with the same courteous words, the same eager questions, and the same hopeful glances. They blurred together in a whirl of polite chatter and carefully measured steps.
Still, I smiled when expected, and laughed softly when prompted. That was what was required of me.
But between each turn of the floor, my eyes betrayed me. More often than not, I found them seeking him.
Matthew Sturniolo did not dance. He leaned against his chosen pillar like it was his throne, watching the room with that insufferable smirk tugging at his lips. Every so often, his gaze met mine, unmistakable and deliberate. A challenge.
Heat crept up my neck. I told myself it was irritation. That I loathed the way he looked at me as though he knew some secret I had not told. That I would never give him the satisfaction of a dance, not when half the women in the room were practically swooning at his boots.
And yet, the longer I stayed, the more certain I became: he would ask me. Of course he would. Men like him always did, eventually.
The thought exhausted me.
By the fourth dance, my smile felt brittle, my cheeks ached, and my patience was nearly spent. I begged my partner’s pardon at the end of the set, curtsied, and slipped away towards the tall doors at the edge of the hall. The violins swelled behind me, voices and laughter carrying like a tide, but I pushed through it, heart pounding with relief.
I needed air. I needed quiet. Anything but the endless parade of smiles and the shadow of Matthew’s stare burning across the ballroom.
I escaped into the corridor with a steady stride, but the moment I turned the corner, my shoulders sagged. I tucked myself into a small alcove, half-hidden by the shadow of a tall drapery. I pressed my back against the cool paneling and let out a sigh so deep it felt as though I had been holding my breath all evening.
At last. Quiet.
The hush of the hallway wrapped around me like a cloak. Only the faint strains of violins drifted from the ballroom, muffled by thick draperies and doors. A soft grin tugged at my lips, unbidden. Relief, pure and rare.
From the folds of my gown, I slipped free my most dangerous secret. The book had been carefully hidden in a small reticule, a dainty silk purse meant for handkerchiefs and fans, not the dog-eared literature now resting in my lap. Its spine was worn, its pages softened from countless rereads. I opened it gently, my fingertips brushing the ink as though it were a lover’s skin.
Not that anyone could ever know.
No one would suspect that society’s darling, who seemed polished, poised, and admired, harbored such sinful appetites. That while I smiled demurely through polite conversation, my nights were often filled with pages of scandalous embraces, forbidden trysts, and words that made my heart pound and my body ache with longing.
A blush coloured my cheeks as I read, even in solitude. Every line seemed a wicked rebellion, a small act of freedom no one could take from me. Here, in these hidden corners and shadowed passages, I could indulge without judgment.
I turned the page, my breath quickening and my lips parting, as the lovers on the paper tangled in ways I would never dare confess aloud.
If anyone knew, if my mother ever discovered the truth, well, I would be ruined. A lady of good breeding does not occupy herself with such filth, she would say. And yet… this was mine. My secret. My indulgence.
I curled closer into the shadows, lips parting as I let myself sink into the story. My fingers gripped the page a little tighter at every scandalous turn, every illicit embrace, and a quiet, treacherous thrill coursed through me.
For once, I was not society’s darling, nor the dutiful daughter paraded about for inspection. I was simply… myself. And for now, that was enough.
I leaned back against the wall, turning the page with a careful flick of my gloved finger. My breath caught as the heroine was pressed into the shadows by her suitor, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her throat, and his hand curling around her waist with scandalous certainty.
My cheeks grew warm, though I was alone. Alone, and still I flushed like a girl caught in a crime.
Each sentence unraveled me. Each description of a kiss stolen in darkness, and of whispered confessions forbidden by rank or duty, sent a shiver straight through me.
I read on, greedily.
“He tugged at the laces of her gown, his mouth at her ear as she trembled. ‘Say it.’ he murmured. ‘Say you want me.’ Her reply came as a gasp, too breathless to deny.”
I swallowed hard, pressing the book closer to my lap, shielding it from imaginary eyes. The heroine’s pulse seemed to echo my own, fast and traitorous. My lips parted as though I could almost feel the heat of it, the daring and the hunger.
The violins played faintly down the hall, but here in my corner, there was only the hush of pages and the thrum in my chest. I turned another page, helpless to resist, as my fingers trembled slightly as the scene deepened.
What would it be like, I wondered… not in ink and paper, but in truth? To be desired so recklessly and so wholly, by a man who did not care for propriety or consequence.
A wicked thought. Dangerous. And yet I read on, unable to stop myself.
My pulse drummed faster with every line, the words on the page igniting something I dared not to name.
“He pressed her back against the wall, one gloved hand pinning her wrist above her head. ‘Do you not see?’ he growled softly, lips brushing her ear. ‘You are mine, no matter the eyes that watch, and no matter the rules they cling to.’ She gasped as his mouth found hers, hungry, desperate, and stealing the very breath from her chest.”
I drew in a sharp breath, my chest rising and falling as though the words were meant for me. My free hand curled into the folds of my gown, gripping the satin as though I, too, needed anchoring.
How utterly indecent, yet I could not stop. I turned the page with trembling fingers.
“Her gown slipped from her shoulder, silk falling in a careless cascade. He groaned at the sight, his thumb grazing bare skin as though it were the holiest of relics. ‘You tempt me past all reason.’ he whispered. ‘And still, I cannot let you go.’”
I pressed the book tighter to me, the pearls at my throat suddenly heavy and suffocating. My breath came shallow and my cheeks aflamed. I should have stopped. I knew I should have. But instead I clung to every word that was etched in ink.
A shiver danced down my spine. If anyone knew… if anyone saw…
I dared another page.
“His hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of her waist and claiming every inch as though she belonged to him. She tried to speak, to protest, but her words broke into a moan as his lips trailed down her throat. ‘Hush.’ he murmured, pressing himself closer, the heat of him undeniable. ‘The walls may hear, but I would have them know you are mine.’”
My breath hitched, the sound far too loud in the stillness of the corridor. My pulse thundered, my skin hot beneath the confines of silk and lace. I pressed my knees together instinctively, biting my lip as if that might contain the wayward flutter low in my stomach.
God, it was sinful. It was reckless. If anyone saw or even suspected, I would be ruined.
And yet I could not stop. My eyes devoured the words, and my body alive with a shameful awareness.
For a blissful heartbeat, there was only me, the hush of candlelit shadows, and the scandal burning across the page.
Until the silence shifted. A faint step. A presence.
I froze, the book clutched tight in my lap, and every inch of me going cold.
I snapped the book shut so quickly the sound cracked through the silence. My heart leapt to my throat, panic clawing its way up my chest. I clutched the book to my dress as though the silk might somehow swallow it whole.
“Forgive me.” came a voice, smooth as velvet and far too close… his.
I whipped my head towards him, and there he was. Matthew Sturniolo, framed by the candlelight at the end of the corridor. The very devil himself, in a perfectly cut black coat and starched cravat. His expression was one of feigned surprise, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him.
He had been looking for me.
“I did not mean to startle you.” he went on, voice low and unhurried, as though he was entirely at ease while my world tilted on its axis. His gaze flicked downwards towards the book still clutched against my lap. Then, slowly, back up to my face. His lips curved.
“Ah,” he said softly, smug amusement dripping from every syllable. “I know that one.”
My breath caught, my cheeks burning hotter still.
He took a measured step closer, bowing his head just so, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes,” he murmured, his smirk deepening, “I’ve read it before.”
The air between us seemed to spark, my shame colliding with something else entirely… something far more dangerous.
“It is a good story.” Matthew drawled, his eyes flicking once more to the book before settling on me again. “Full of passion. Full of… dare.”
My grip tightened on the novel, my throat dry. I ought to have said something, anything, but the words tangled and died before I could summon them. I, who was always so composed and so measured, sat struck dumb beneath the weight of his gaze.
He tilted his head, studying me as if my silence amused him. “Tell me, then…” he said, voice dropping lower. “Which part is your favorite?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came. My cheeks burned and my tongue betrayed me. For the first time in memory, I had no answer and no polite evasion to hide behind.
His smirk widened, slow and knowing. He took a step closer, enough that I could catch the faint scent of musk clinging to his coat. “No?” he pressed softly, almost mockingly. “Nothing?”
When I only stared at him, mortified, he let out a quiet chuckle. Then, with shameless ease, he leaned nearer, his words meant for me alone. “My favorite,” he confessed, eyes dark. “Is when he presses her against the wall and makes her beg for more.”
My breath hitched, scandal bursting like thunder through my chest.
He straightened again, utterly unbothered, as though he had merely commented on the weather. But the heat in his gaze told another story, one that left my heart racing far faster than the violins playing from the ballroom.
My lips parted, but only a strangled sound emerged. At last, I managed, “Y–you are… you are being most inappropriate, sir.” The words tumbled out in a rush, thin and breathless, hardly the scolding I had intended. My voice lacked the steel I so often wielded with ease. But right now, it wavered as heat continued to pulsate in my cheeks.
Matthew’s brows arched, his grin deepening into something positively wicked. “Inappropriate?” he repeated. “Ah, but that is rather the point of such stories, is it not?”
“I–I should not have to explain myself.” I stammered, clutching the book tighter against me as if it might shield me from his gaze. “I was merely… reading.”
He leaned a fraction closer, his voice lowering to a murmur. “Indeed. Merely reading.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, though there was a heat beneath it, bold and unashamed. “But tell me, darling… was it not thrilling, just now, when you thought no one might find you?”
My breath caught. I turned my face away, but it did little good. My composure had already been unraveled, thread by thread.
Matthew chuckled softly, as though he had already won a battle I hadn’t meant to fight.
His gaze flicked briefly to the book which was still pressed protectively against me, then back to my face. He let the silence stretch, purposeful, until my skin prickled beneath his stare.
“At first,” he said softly. “I thought it was merely curiosity. A harmless indulgence for a well-bred lady.” His lips curved, slow and devilish. “But no. Reading such things is never harmless, is it?”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “You presume too much—”
“On the contrary,” he interrupted smoothly, stepping nearer. “I presume exactly enough. A darling of society, polished and perfect… and untouched, I would wager.” His eyes glittered with dangerous amusement. “And yet you hide away with words meant to scorch. Tell me, do they leave you aching? Do you close the book flushed, as you are now, wondering how ink and paper could stir such longing?”
Heat rushed through me, feeling so exposed and mortified. I turned my face away, though that only made his smile grow.
“You see,” he murmured, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. “A woman does not return to stories like these unless she craves what they promise. Unless she lies awake imagining how it might feel for herself.”
I gripped the book tighter, my knuckles white against the binding. My heart thundered so violently I feared he might hear it.
“You are crude.” I whispered, but even to my own ears the words sounded weak.
He chuckled softly, rich and knowing, as though he had plucked the truth from me without effort. “Perhaps. But I am not wrong.”
Before I could gather my wits, Matthew’s hand moved with swift ease. He plucked the book from my lap as though it already belonged to him. My fingers twitched, but there was no strength behind them, they laid uselessly in my lap.
Mortification rooted me to the spot. My breath stuttered as he turned the slim book over in his hands, brushing a thumb along its worn spine. He opened it with infuriating care, flipping directly to the page I had left marked with a slight bend.
“Ah,” he murmured, scanning the lines. A low hum escaped him, pleased and amused. His lips curved. “Yes. This part is good.”
I wanted to vanish into the paneling, to melt into the floor, and to cease existing altogether. My cheeks burned and my palms grew damp within their gloves. Still, I could not move, could not stop him.
His eyes lifted briefly from the page to mine, catching me in my humiliation. “Shall I remind you?” he asked, his tone a tease, a taunt. Then, without waiting for my reply, he read aloud, his voice rich and deliberate.
“He pressed her tighter, his breath hot against her ear. ‘Say it.’ he demanded, his hand sliding lower. ‘Say you ache for me.’”
His voice wrapped around the words, deeper and darker than they had sounded in my head. A shiver coursed through my body. When he closed the book with a soft snap, the silence seemed deafening.
“Well,” he said, holding it easily in one hand. His smirk was positively sinful. “No wonder you are flushed.”
“Give that back!” The words tumbled from me, sharp in intent but feeble in execution. I reached out as if to snatch it from him, but my hands hesitated halfway, betraying my own mortification.
Matthew raised a brow, clearly delighted. He held the book just out of reach, the corner of his mouth curling into that insufferable grin. “Now, now…” he drawled, turning the novel over in his gloved hand as though it were a prize. “Is this how you greet a gentleman who merely wishes to discuss literature?”
“You are no gentleman.” I blurted before I could stop myself. Heat rushed to my cheeks, as my heart hammered. “And that is hardly literature. It is—it is—”
“Enjoyable?” he supplied smoothly, his eyes lighting up. “Stimulating? Perhaps even… enlightening?”
I sputtered, utterly undone. “It is improper!”
“Mm.” He tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he looked me over… my cheeks flushed, lips parted, and hands trembling. “And yet you could not put it down.”
His words struck like a blade, leaving me with nothing but the thundering of my pulse and the unbearable weight of his knowing gaze.
At last, Matthew lowered the book, holding it by its spine with maddening leisure. He stepped closer, closing the sliver of space between us until the candlelight caught on the sharp line of his jaw. “You want it back?” he murmured, offering it out as his hand extended towards me.
I forced myself to reach for it, every nerve screaming for composure. But the moment my fingers brushed the leather, his hand did not release.
Our gloves met, his grip firm and unyielding. My heart jolted painfully against my ribs. I should have pulled away, demanded he let go, but instead I lingered, caught in his gaze.
“So desperate to deny yourself.” he whispered, leaning just enough that his voice was for me alone. His thumb shifted slightly against the spine, grazing the side of my finger. “And yet…” His eyes flicked down to where our hands touched before rising back to mine. “You cannot quite let it go, can you?”
Heat surged up my neck. My lips parted, but no words came. Only the sound of my own ragged breath.
With excruciating slowness, he loosened his hold, allowing the book to slide fully into my grasp. But the ghost of his touch lingered, searing even through the gloves.
The book was back in my hands, but my pulse still raced. My fingers still tingled where he had touched mine. I should have turned, should have fled back to the ballroom and pretended none of this had happened.
Instead, I looked up.
Matthew was watching me, his eyes sharp and impossibly blue. His smirk softened into something more dangerous. His gaze dipped… towards my lips.
I drew in a breath, ready to protest again and to tell him just how improper this all was. But the words tangled on my tongue uselessly. He leaned closer, and for one heated moment, I did not move.
And that was all it took.
His mouth brushed mine, brief but searing, a spark that left me trembling. I gasped, clutching the book tighter, but made no move to push him away. My silence was all the permission he needed.
The second kiss came harder and hungrier, pulling a quiet sound from my throat I could not suppress. The book slipped from my grip, tumbling forgotten to the floor. His hand came to my waist, firm and possessive, drawing me flush against him.
“Careful.” he murmured against my lips, though the mischief in his tone betrayed him. “The hallway is no place for such… enthusiasm.”
Before I could recover, his arm slid around me, guiding me with effortless command down the corridor. My heart thundered with every step, and my senses were overwhelmed by his scent. He moved with practiced ease, as though he had led countless women through shadows before. Yet, when his hand tightened at my back, I felt as though I was the only one he had ever bothered with.
He pushed open a door to an unused sitting room, and drew me inside. The door had scarcely clicked shut before my back was against it, his mouth finding mine again, completely devouring me. My gasp was swallowed, and my hands clutched at his coat for balance as his body pressed firmly against mine.
This was madness. Absolute madness. And yet my lips parted willingly and helplessly, inviting the slide of his tongue, the taste of champagne and sin.
His gloved hand trailed from my waist to my hip, fingers squeezing with unashamed certainty. The other came up to cradle my face, tilting it to deepen the kiss until my knees weakened.
“Matthew…” I whispered, breathless against his lips. My voice trembled, not with protest but with hunger.
He chuckled low and mischievously, before pressing his mouth to the hollow of my throat. “Say my name again, darling.” he murmured, hot against my skin. His lips marked a path down to my collarbone, each press of his mouth tugging a ragged breath from me.
My fingers moved to their own accord, fumbling with the folds of his cravat as I tugged at the perfect knot until it came loose. I wanted to feel him. His skin and his warmth, not layers of starch and linen. He groaned approvingly when my hands slid to his shirt, clutching at the fabric as though it might tether me to reality.
His hands were less patient. They skimmed over my dress, gathering them higher until cool air licked at my stocking-clad thighs. I gasped, my head falling back against the door, shock and desire warring within me.
“If anyone finds us—” I tried, though the words broke on a sigh as his hand slipped beneath the hem.
“They won’t.” he cut in smoothly, lips brushing mine once more. “Not when I know every hidden corner these walls keep.”
And then his fingers found the edge of my garters, teasing and circling, making my breath shatter into pieces.
“Reading about it will never compare.” he whispered, his voice dark silk in my ear. “But I can show you, if you’ll let me.”
I should have stopped him. I should have ran. Instead, I clutched him closer, my lips finding his once more. My body betrayed every shred of reason I had left.
Clothing was tugged, loosened, and discarded with frantic urgency. The satin of my gown slipped low from one shoulder and his coat fell carelessly to the floor. His mouth found every inch of my bared skin, worshipping and claiming it, until I was trembling in his arms.
“God, you’re perfect." he growled, lifting me easily. My dress gathered around his hips as he carried me to the velvet settee set against the wall. He set me down, his body pressing mine into the cushions as his hand guided my legs apart. My gown had slipped scandalously low, one shoulder bare, and the bodice loosened beneath his eager hands. The cool air against my skin only sharpened the heat of his mouth as he trailed kisses along my collarbone, down the curve of my chest.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve imagined this for?” he whispered against me, his voice a ragged growl. “To peel away your polish, to find you flushed and trembling beneath me?”
A shiver coursed through me, my hands clinging desperately to his shirt as he pushed it open, the fine linen gaping to reveal warm skin and lean muscle beneath. My fingers skimmed over him, reverent, curious, and delighted in the way he shuddered at my touch.
His lips found mine again, hungrier now, devouring every gasp, and every broken syllable that escaped me. I felt him gather my dress higher, the satin pooling at my hips, and leaving me utterly exposed. I whimpered, torn between shame and need, and he answered with a low groan, his hand gently stroking along my thigh.
“So aroused from just a few pages.” he teased against my lips. “Tell me, my pearl, did you ever imagine it would feel like this?”
“I—Matt—Ohh!” My protest dissolved into a moan as his fingers found the slick ache at my center, claiming, coaxing, and setting my body aflame. His relentless strokes above the damp satin material made me tremble, every movement sending sharp waves through me until I could no longer think of anything but his touch.
He smiled against my skin, wicked and triumphant. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”
The violins from the ballroom floated faint and far away, but here, in this hidden room, the world was narrowed to his hands tormenting my slick center, his mouth marking me, and his breath hot against my ear as he whispered things no book had dared put into words.
The urgency between us was palpable, each stolen moment heavy with the risk of discovery, and each kiss more desperate than the last.
He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath ragged. “One taste,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint. “That is all I’ll take tonight. Or I swear, I won’t stop.”
My answer was not words, but the way I arched into him, desperate for so much more… for how else he would take me tonight. In that dim, shuttered room, I let him have me. Not as society’s darling, not as my mother’s perfect daughter, but as a woman starved, desperate, and finally claimed.
Matthew’s words coiled around me like a spell: one taste. The weight of them sent my heart leaping, and my body trembling beneath his.
His lips trailed lower, slow and with purpose, mapping the delicate slope of my chest with open-mouthed kisses. His hand made swift work of the loosened bodice, tugging the satin lower until cool air met my heated skin. I gasped, mortified and utterly undone, as his mouth claimed what no gentleman had ever dared to touch.
“Ravishing,” he murmured against me, his voice now husky with need. His tongue flicked against my stiffened nipple, drawing a sound from me I could never have imagined making. My back arched to its own accord, pressing myself into him, and surrendering to his hunger that he seemed determined to fulfill.
He groaned, low and sinful. “So desperate for my mouth.”
His hand pressed at my waist, holding me firm as his mouth moved from one breast to the other, lavishing, devouring, and leaving my body thrumming with every stroke of his tongue. All the while, his fingers never ceased their onslaught on my aching bud, circling and pressing until I writhed beneath him, torn between the sharp peaks of pleasure.
My fingers threaded helplessly into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him to take more, and to give more, though I could barely form the words. He groaned against me at the rough pull, the vibration sending another shiver through me. Each time his lips closed around me, he drew a whimper from my throat which was shameful, needy, and utterly beyond my control.
“Fuck…” he muttered between kisses, his voice hot against my flushed skin. “The sweetest sound I have ever heard.” His teeth grazed lightly over my nipple, teasing, and I gasped, arching up into his mouth with a cry that betrayed me fully.
His free hand slid higher, capturing my other breast, squeezing possessively as though one was not enough. The contrast of his hand and mouth together made me moan, ragged and broken, my back bowing as I pressed myself shamelessly into his touch.
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sinful and triumphant. “So eager.” he murmured, before closing his mouth over me again, sucking harder, and drawing another helpless cry from my lips.
The book lay forgotten on the floor in the corridor, but the words within it came alive through him. Every scandalous passage, every forbidden kiss, and every daring touch.
He lifted his head at last, his lips swollen, and his eyes dark with heat. “I must know how you taste, darling.” he said, though his lazy grin betrayed just how much more he desired. His thumb stroked over the damp satin where my dress had gathered indecently high.
My breath shook as I looked at him, utterly ruined and utterly his. My fingers clutched at his shoulders, my voice breaking on a whisper I could no longer hold back. “Please….”
His thumb lingered just above the lace edge of the scant material, circling slowly and maddeningly. The pressure was feather-light, enough to make me writhe against the cushions, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
“You tremble.” he whispered. “Tell me… is it fear, or want?”
I could not answer. My lips parted, but only a broken gasp escaped as his fingers pressed harder, brushing the silk too thin to hide the warmth beneath.
His smirk deepened, his eyes never leaving mine. “Ah. Want, then.”
With scandalous ease, he pushed the fabric aside and truly touched me, where no hand ever had. “Ahh—!” I cried out softly, muffling the sound against his shoulder, as my body jerked at the shock of it. Heat surged through me, my pulse wild and ungovernable.
“So wet.” he murmured into my hair, his voice dark and reverent. “And all for me.”
His fingers moved with practiced skill, circling, stroking, and coaxing my body into betraying every secret I had tried to keep hidden. My hips lifted without command, chasing the sensation, and he chuckled low, sinful, and in control.
“Oh, sweet girl.” he whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth before dragging his lips down my jaw. “Reading about it could never compare, could it?”
“Matt—” My plea dissolved into another moan as he pressed deeper, my body clenching around his touch.
His mouth found my throat again, sucking gently, and leaving marks that would shame me if ever seen. The pace of his fingers quickened, and his breath ragged against my skin. “I could have you like this for hours.” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.
His fingers then stilled, leaving me shaking and restless beneath him. He drew back slightly, eyes locked on mine, and his lips curved into a devastating smile. Before I could question, he shifted, pushing me gently back against the velvet cushions. His hands firm on my thighs, he spread them further beneath my bunched dress. The act alone stole the breath from my lungs. My gown was pushed indecently high, baring my most secret place to him, to Matthew Sturniolo, of all men.
I should have covered myself. I should have protested. Instead, my hands clutched helplessly at the settee as he settled between my legs, looking up at me with eyes dark as sin.
“God help me.” he whispered a pray. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
Before I could react, his mouth was on me.
The first stroke of his tongue wrenched a cry from my lips, shock and pleasure crashing through me in equal measure. My hips jolted, my fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, and still he held me steady, devouring me with shameless and hungry precision.
“Matt—!” My voice cracked on his name, high and desperate. But he only hummed against me, the vibration sending another wave of fire through my body.
He licked, sucked, and teased. His pace was unhurried but merciless, each movement drawing me tighter, higher. My thighs trembled, my chest heaved, and my pearls slipped askew at my throat as I writhed beneath his mouth.
“You taste like sin.” he groaned between strokes, his voice ragged. “Sweet, corrupting sin.”
His tongue pressed deeper, swirling, tasting, and devouring as though my ruin was his favorite meal. Each flick, each suck drew another helpless cry from my throat until I was thrashing in shameless desperation. Every swipe of his tongue had me gasping and arching into him, shame and ecstasy intertwined until I could no longer tell the difference. The room spun, the violins in the distance nothing but a faint hum beneath the roaring in my ears.
When release took me, it was like fire, scorching and consuming. I cried out, muffling the sound with my hand. My body quaked as his tongue licked every last droplet from me, and I clung to him desperately.
At last when the waves ebbed, he drew back, with his lips glistening. The sight alone had my eyes roll back from pleasure and I collapsed against him, trembling. Matthew held me close, one hand still between my legs, and the other cradling my cheek as though I were precious.
He leaned up, his mouth hovering just above mine, his breath warm and ragged. “My sweet pearl,” he whispered, his smirk curling once more. “My favorite part is when the lady stops pretending she does not want it.”
Before he could even finish his wicked little smirk, I seized him by the collar and dragged him down to me. Our mouths crashed together, hot and desperate, tasting of champagne and sin and me. His surprised groan vibrated against my lips before he returned the kiss with equal fervor, his body pressing me deeper into the cushions.
I clung to him, greedy and unwilling to let even a breath of space remain between us. His hair caught in my fingers, his chest heaved against mine, and his hands roamed as though he could not decide which part of me to worship first.
In that heated, breathless kiss, the truth struck me with startling clarity. Now I understand.
Now I knew why Matthew Sturniolo was so insatiable. Why he wore that smug grin that infuriated and thrilled me in equal measure. It was not arrogance alone. It was this. This hunger he stirred, this fire he fed, and this wildness that no polite suitor’s hand on mine could ever ignite.
He had kissed me. He had touched me. He had knelt between my thighs and worshipped as though I were the only woman in the world.
And I, society’s darling, the perfectly polished daughter every family longed to claim… I wanted it all. I wanted him.
The realization set something fierce alight in my chest. Let the ton chase after him. Let them whisper, sigh and flutter their fans. I would not shrink before them.
No, I would claim him.
Matthew Sturniolo, the most desired bachelor of the season, he would be mine.
And if the whole ton stood in my way, then God help them, for I would fight every last one to keep him.
When I finally broke the kiss, breathless and flushed, his smile was there as always. But something else flickered beneath it. His thumb brushed along my cheek, lingering, almost tender, as though he was searching me for an answer I hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You look at me as though you mean to keep me.”
I held his gaze, unflinching for once, even as my pulse thundered. “Perhaps I do.”
His brows lifted, that insufferable grin tugging wider, but his eyes betrayed him. Amusement, yes, but also curiosity. Wariness. As if he were trying to decide whether I teased him… or dared to speak the truth.
Matthew Sturniolo was used to being wanted. Desired. Chased. But never claimed.
And in the silence between us, as my hand slid down his chest steady and sure, I saw the moment he understood. I was not like the others.
His smile widened. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Then, God help you.” he whispered, a dark promise threading his tone. “For I am not the sort of man a lady can keep.”
Yet even as he said it, his hand closed possessively at my waist, as though daring me to prove him wrong.
For a moment, silence pressed between us, thick with the pounding of my heart. Then I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on, my lips curving into the faintest of smiles for the first time tonight.
“Perhaps.” I whispered, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I have a feeling you’ve not had nearly enough of me either.”
The air between us seemed to crackle. His smirk faltered, just slightly and enough for me to see the shift in his eyes. Surprise. Amusement. And beneath it, a spark of hunger even he could not disguise.
He let out a low chuckle, rough and dangerous. His thumb brushed idly over the curve of my hip. “God help us both.” he murmured.
And though the violins still played faintly beyond the door, though the entire ton swirled in glitter and gossip just a hallway away, I knew in that moment that Matthew Sturniolo, the reckless, insatiable, and untouchable, was mine to claim.
the one where matt, society’s most notorious rake, brings the words from your favourite book to life (7K words)
Contains: smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), dom!fuckboy matt x sub!virgin fem reader
Note: use of matthew instead of matt just because it makes more sense for the time period imo
Rake (n.) In polite society: A man of charm and good breeding who has long since abandoned the trappings of respectability, preferring instead a life of indulgence and scandal.
Pearl (n.) In polite society: A symbol of purity and refinement. Rare, luminous, and untouchable. A jewel to be displayed, admired, and prized above all else.
The carriage rattled to a halt before the grand estate, its lanterns casting a golden glow across the gravel drive. Beyond the tall iron gates, the manor blazed with candlelight, every window gleaming like a beacon to high society. The annual Spring Ball, an evening both dreaded and long anticipated by the ton, was already in full swing.
Inside the carriage, I sat stiffly beside my mother with my gloved hands folded neatly above my lap. My gown, the palest shade of blue satin, shimmered in the flickering light. Its empire waistline was adorned with a delicate trim of silver thread. Pearls graced my neck, a family heirloom my mother insisted I wear each season, as if their luster alone might secure me a husband.
“Do sit up straight, dearest.” my mother whispered, tugging lightly at my sleeve as the door was opened by a waiting footman. “It is imperative tonight that you do not squander opportunity. The Sturniolo gentlemen shall be in attendance, and you must not waste the chance.”
I forced a polite smile, though inside I felt a familiar heaviness settle in my chest. Opportunity. The word my mother loved, but to me it felt more like obligation. With a careful breath, I stepped down from the carriage. The chill of the night air brushed my bare shoulders before I was quickly ushered into the warmth of the grand hall.
The ballroom unfolded in splendor before me. A thousand candles glittered in tall chandeliers overhead, their light dancing against gilt-framed mirrors and silk-draped walls. The scent of roses and sweet beverages mingled in the air, carried by the rustle of skirts and the hush of whispered gossip. Couples glided across the polished floor, as violins soared above the hum of polite conversation.
I longed for the quiet of my own room, but duty propelled me forward.
“Now,” my mother murmured, her eyes sweeping the room with intent. “Christopher Sturniolo is ever the gentleman. A most suitable choice. And of course, his brother Matthew—”
I bit back a sigh. Of course. Matthew.
My gaze swept across the ballroom, and there they were: the Sturniolo triplet brothers. One could hardly attend a single gathering of the ton without hearing their names, whispered with equal parts admiration and gossip.
Christopher was on the dance floor, already leading a blushing young debutante through the steps with practiced ease. Ever the gentleman, kind, attentive, and unfailingly proper. It was no wonder mothers adored him. His manners were impeccable, his devotion to family unquestionable, and he smiled as though he were born to make others feel at ease. It is said he longs for a wife and children, a household of warmth and constancy. A safe choice, a sweet choice… perhaps too sweet for me.
Matthew, naturally, was not dancing. He leaned against a marble column, champagne glass dangling carelessly in his hand, his smirk cutting through the candlelight like a blade. Women lingered far too close, vying for just a glance, but he barely seemed to notice… or perhaps he simply enjoyed watching them squirm. He, on the other hand, was no safe choice. He’s reckless, daring, and insufferably charming. Society’s rake who delights in never lingering too long with any one lady, yet leaves them all burning in his wake. He is as irresistible as he is intolerable. The rake every lady dreamed of taming, and the one man I had sworn never to chase.
Nicolas was harder to read. The eldest, standing somewhat apart. His expression was calm, but his presence was commanding without a word spoken. He had never been known to court anyone, which had only given rise to whispers. Some claimed he had once been seen in the company of a gentleman, gossip the Sturniolo family had neither confirmed nor denied. Thus the rumors persist, growing wilder with every retelling.
It took only a glance to find Matthew, for he drew attention as effortlessly as breathing. His dark hair curled rebelliously against his forehead, and his cravat tied with an elegance that seemed too effortless. His gaze, bold and unashamed, sent a ripple through the crowd as he surveyed the ladies like a predator at ease in his own territory. Women lingered near him, their laughter rising too sweetly and too eagerly.
My stomach twisted. Handsome, yes. But there was something in the tilt of his mouth, and in the knowing arrogance of his stare, that set my teeth on edge.
“I would much prefer Christopher.” I murmured, careful that only my mother should hear. “At least he knows kindness. With that one…” I glanced again, only to find Matthew’s eyes sweeping towards me.“I would rather throw myself into the fire.”
For the briefest moment, his gaze caught mine. Bold, direct, and far too sure of itself. My breath got caught, though I immediately scolded myself for it. No. I would not be like the others, simpering under his charm. I knew better. I knew what he was.
My mother tutted gently. “My darling, you think too harshly. He is the most sought-after gentleman of the season. To reject him so openly would be unwise.”
But I had no intention of rejecting him so blatantly. In truth, I had no intention of engaging at all. To chase a man already adored by half the town would be the very definition of folly. And yet… when Matthew’s gaze briefly collided with mine, and let that small, infuriating smirk play across his lips, I felt the spark of something treacherous ignite in my chest.
The first gentleman came almost immediately, bowing low with his hand extended. His smile was kind enough, and his words practiced, asking if he might have the honour of the opening dance. I agreed, because to refuse would have been cruel, and because my mother’s sharp gaze burned at the back of my head.
And so I danced. And then I danced again, and again. One partner after another, each with the same courteous words, the same eager questions, and the same hopeful glances. They blurred together in a whirl of polite chatter and carefully measured steps.
Still, I smiled when expected, and laughed softly when prompted. That was what was required of me.
But between each turn of the floor, my eyes betrayed me. More often than not, I found them seeking him.
Matthew Sturniolo did not dance. He leaned against his chosen pillar like it was his throne, watching the room with that insufferable smirk tugging at his lips. Every so often, his gaze met mine, unmistakable and deliberate. A challenge.
Heat crept up my neck. I told myself it was irritation. That I loathed the way he looked at me as though he knew some secret I had not told. That I would never give him the satisfaction of a dance, not when half the women in the room were practically swooning at his boots.
And yet, the longer I stayed, the more certain I became: he would ask me. Of course he would. Men like him always did, eventually.
The thought exhausted me.
By the fourth dance, my smile felt brittle, my cheeks ached, and my patience was nearly spent. I begged my partner’s pardon at the end of the set, curtsied, and slipped away towards the tall doors at the edge of the hall. The violins swelled behind me, voices and laughter carrying like a tide, but I pushed through it, heart pounding with relief.
I needed air. I needed quiet. Anything but the endless parade of smiles and the shadow of Matthew’s stare burning across the ballroom.
I escaped into the corridor with a steady stride, but the moment I turned the corner, my shoulders sagged. I tucked myself into a small alcove, half-hidden by the shadow of a tall drapery. I pressed my back against the cool paneling and let out a sigh so deep it felt as though I had been holding my breath all evening.
At last. Quiet.
The hush of the hallway wrapped around me like a cloak. Only the faint strains of violins drifted from the ballroom, muffled by thick draperies and doors. A soft grin tugged at my lips, unbidden. Relief, pure and rare.
From the folds of my gown, I slipped free my most dangerous secret. The book had been carefully hidden in a small reticule, a dainty silk purse meant for handkerchiefs and fans, not the dog-eared literature now resting in my lap. Its spine was worn, its pages softened from countless rereads. I opened it gently, my fingertips brushing the ink as though it were a lover’s skin.
Not that anyone could ever know.
No one would suspect that society’s darling, who seemed polished, poised, and admired, harbored such sinful appetites. That while I smiled demurely through polite conversation, my nights were often filled with pages of scandalous embraces, forbidden trysts, and words that made my heart pound and my body ache with longing.
A blush coloured my cheeks as I read, even in solitude. Every line seemed a wicked rebellion, a small act of freedom no one could take from me. Here, in these hidden corners and shadowed passages, I could indulge without judgment.
I turned the page, my breath quickening and my lips parting, as the lovers on the paper tangled in ways I would never dare confess aloud.
If anyone knew, if my mother ever discovered the truth, well, I would be ruined. A lady of good breeding does not occupy herself with such filth, she would say. And yet… this was mine. My secret. My indulgence.
I curled closer into the shadows, lips parting as I let myself sink into the story. My fingers gripped the page a little tighter at every scandalous turn, every illicit embrace, and a quiet, treacherous thrill coursed through me.
For once, I was not society’s darling, nor the dutiful daughter paraded about for inspection. I was simply… myself. And for now, that was enough.
I leaned back against the wall, turning the page with a careful flick of my gloved finger. My breath caught as the heroine was pressed into the shadows by her suitor, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her throat, and his hand curling around her waist with scandalous certainty.
My cheeks grew warm, though I was alone. Alone, and still I flushed like a girl caught in a crime.
Each sentence unraveled me. Each description of a kiss stolen in darkness, and of whispered confessions forbidden by rank or duty, sent a shiver straight through me.
I read on, greedily.
“He tugged at the laces of her gown, his mouth at her ear as she trembled. ‘Say it.’ he murmured. ‘Say you want me.’ Her reply came as a gasp, too breathless to deny.”
I swallowed hard, pressing the book closer to my lap, shielding it from imaginary eyes. The heroine’s pulse seemed to echo my own, fast and traitorous. My lips parted as though I could almost feel the heat of it, the daring and the hunger.
The violins played faintly down the hall, but here in my corner, there was only the hush of pages and the thrum in my chest. I turned another page, helpless to resist, as my fingers trembled slightly as the scene deepened.
What would it be like, I wondered… not in ink and paper, but in truth? To be desired so recklessly and so wholly, by a man who did not care for propriety or consequence.
A wicked thought. Dangerous. And yet I read on, unable to stop myself.
My pulse drummed faster with every line, the words on the page igniting something I dared not to name.
“He pressed her back against the wall, one gloved hand pinning her wrist above her head. ‘Do you not see?’ he growled softly, lips brushing her ear. ‘You are mine, no matter the eyes that watch, and no matter the rules they cling to.’ She gasped as his mouth found hers, hungry, desperate, and stealing the very breath from her chest.”
I drew in a sharp breath, my chest rising and falling as though the words were meant for me. My free hand curled into the folds of my gown, gripping the satin as though I, too, needed anchoring.
How utterly indecent, yet I could not stop. I turned the page with trembling fingers.
“Her gown slipped from her shoulder, silk falling in a careless cascade. He groaned at the sight, his thumb grazing bare skin as though it were the holiest of relics. ‘You tempt me past all reason.’ he whispered. ‘And still, I cannot let you go.’”
I pressed the book tighter to me, the pearls at my throat suddenly heavy and suffocating. My breath came shallow and my cheeks aflamed. I should have stopped. I knew I should have. But instead I clung to every word that was etched in ink.
A shiver danced down my spine. If anyone knew… if anyone saw…
I dared another page.
“His hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of her waist and claiming every inch as though she belonged to him. She tried to speak, to protest, but her words broke into a moan as his lips trailed down her throat. ‘Hush.’ he murmured, pressing himself closer, the heat of him undeniable. ‘The walls may hear, but I would have them know you are mine.’”
My breath hitched, the sound far too loud in the stillness of the corridor. My pulse thundered, my skin hot beneath the confines of silk and lace. I pressed my knees together instinctively, biting my lip as if that might contain the wayward flutter low in my stomach.
God, it was sinful. It was reckless. If anyone saw or even suspected, I would be ruined.
And yet I could not stop. My eyes devoured the words, and my body alive with a shameful awareness.
For a blissful heartbeat, there was only me, the hush of candlelit shadows, and the scandal burning across the page.
Until the silence shifted. A faint step. A presence.
I froze, the book clutched tight in my lap, and every inch of me going cold.
I snapped the book shut so quickly the sound cracked through the silence. My heart leapt to my throat, panic clawing its way up my chest. I clutched the book to my dress as though the silk might somehow swallow it whole.
“Forgive me.” came a voice, smooth as velvet and far too close… his.
I whipped my head towards him, and there he was. Matthew Sturniolo, framed by the candlelight at the end of the corridor. The very devil himself, in a perfectly cut black coat and starched cravat. His expression was one of feigned surprise, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him.
He had been looking for me.
“I did not mean to startle you.” he went on, voice low and unhurried, as though he was entirely at ease while my world tilted on its axis. His gaze flicked downwards towards the book still clutched against my lap. Then, slowly, back up to my face. His lips curved.
“Ah,” he said softly, smug amusement dripping from every syllable. “I know that one.”
My breath caught, my cheeks burning hotter still.
He took a measured step closer, bowing his head just so, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes,” he murmured, his smirk deepening, “I’ve read it before.”
The air between us seemed to spark, my shame colliding with something else entirely… something far more dangerous.
“It is a good story.” Matthew drawled, his eyes flicking once more to the book before settling on me again. “Full of passion. Full of… dare.”
My grip tightened on the novel, my throat dry. I ought to have said something, anything, but the words tangled and died before I could summon them. I, who was always so composed and so measured, sat struck dumb beneath the weight of his gaze.
He tilted his head, studying me as if my silence amused him. “Tell me, then…” he said, voice dropping lower. “Which part is your favorite?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came. My cheeks burned and my tongue betrayed me. For the first time in memory, I had no answer and no polite evasion to hide behind.
His smirk widened, slow and knowing. He took a step closer, enough that I could catch the faint scent of musk clinging to his coat. “No?” he pressed softly, almost mockingly. “Nothing?”
When I only stared at him, mortified, he let out a quiet chuckle. Then, with shameless ease, he leaned nearer, his words meant for me alone. “My favorite,” he confessed, eyes dark. “Is when he presses her against the wall and makes her beg for more.”
My breath hitched, scandal bursting like thunder through my chest.
He straightened again, utterly unbothered, as though he had merely commented on the weather. But the heat in his gaze told another story, one that left my heart racing far faster than the violins playing from the ballroom.
My lips parted, but only a strangled sound emerged. At last, I managed, “Y–you are… you are being most inappropriate, sir.” The words tumbled out in a rush, thin and breathless, hardly the scolding I had intended. My voice lacked the steel I so often wielded with ease. But right now, it wavered as heat continued to pulsate in my cheeks.
Matthew’s brows arched, his grin deepening into something positively wicked. “Inappropriate?” he repeated. “Ah, but that is rather the point of such stories, is it not?”
“I–I should not have to explain myself.” I stammered, clutching the book tighter against me as if it might shield me from his gaze. “I was merely… reading.”
He leaned a fraction closer, his voice lowering to a murmur. “Indeed. Merely reading.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, though there was a heat beneath it, bold and unashamed. “But tell me, darling… was it not thrilling, just now, when you thought no one might find you?”
My breath caught. I turned my face away, but it did little good. My composure had already been unraveled, thread by thread.
Matthew chuckled softly, as though he had already won a battle I hadn’t meant to fight.
His gaze flicked briefly to the book which was still pressed protectively against me, then back to my face. He let the silence stretch, purposeful, until my skin prickled beneath his stare.
“At first,” he said softly. “I thought it was merely curiosity. A harmless indulgence for a well-bred lady.” His lips curved, slow and devilish. “But no. Reading such things is never harmless, is it?”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “You presume too much—”
“On the contrary,” he interrupted smoothly, stepping nearer. “I presume exactly enough. A darling of society, polished and perfect… and untouched, I would wager.” His eyes glittered with dangerous amusement. “And yet you hide away with words meant to scorch. Tell me, do they leave you aching? Do you close the book flushed, as you are now, wondering how ink and paper could stir such longing?”
Heat rushed through me, feeling so exposed and mortified. I turned my face away, though that only made his smile grow.
“You see,” he murmured, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. “A woman does not return to stories like these unless she craves what they promise. Unless she lies awake imagining how it might feel for herself.”
I gripped the book tighter, my knuckles white against the binding. My heart thundered so violently I feared he might hear it.
“You are crude.” I whispered, but even to my own ears the words sounded weak.
He chuckled softly, rich and knowing, as though he had plucked the truth from me without effort. “Perhaps. But I am not wrong.”
Before I could gather my wits, Matthew’s hand moved with swift ease. He plucked the book from my lap as though it already belonged to him. My fingers twitched, but there was no strength behind them, they laid uselessly in my lap.
Mortification rooted me to the spot. My breath stuttered as he turned the slim book over in his hands, brushing a thumb along its worn spine. He opened it with infuriating care, flipping directly to the page I had left marked with a slight bend.
“Ah,” he murmured, scanning the lines. A low hum escaped him, pleased and amused. His lips curved. “Yes. This part is good.”
I wanted to vanish into the paneling, to melt into the floor, and to cease existing altogether. My cheeks burned and my palms grew damp within their gloves. Still, I could not move, could not stop him.
His eyes lifted briefly from the page to mine, catching me in my humiliation. “Shall I remind you?” he asked, his tone a tease, a taunt. Then, without waiting for my reply, he read aloud, his voice rich and deliberate.
“He pressed her tighter, his breath hot against her ear. ‘Say it.’ he demanded, his hand sliding lower. ‘Say you ache for me.’”
His voice wrapped around the words, deeper and darker than they had sounded in my head. A shiver coursed through my body. When he closed the book with a soft snap, the silence seemed deafening.
“Well,” he said, holding it easily in one hand. His smirk was positively sinful. “No wonder you are flushed.”
“Give that back!” The words tumbled from me, sharp in intent but feeble in execution. I reached out as if to snatch it from him, but my hands hesitated halfway, betraying my own mortification.
Matthew raised a brow, clearly delighted. He held the book just out of reach, the corner of his mouth curling into that insufferable grin. “Now, now…” he drawled, turning the novel over in his gloved hand as though it were a prize. “Is this how you greet a gentleman who merely wishes to discuss literature?”
“You are no gentleman.” I blurted before I could stop myself. Heat rushed to my cheeks, as my heart hammered. “And that is hardly literature. It is—it is—”
“Enjoyable?” he supplied smoothly, his eyes lighting up. “Stimulating? Perhaps even… enlightening?”
I sputtered, utterly undone. “It is improper!”
“Mm.” He tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he looked me over… my cheeks flushed, lips parted, and hands trembling. “And yet you could not put it down.”
His words struck like a blade, leaving me with nothing but the thundering of my pulse and the unbearable weight of his knowing gaze.
At last, Matthew lowered the book, holding it by its spine with maddening leisure. He stepped closer, closing the sliver of space between us until the candlelight caught on the sharp line of his jaw. “You want it back?” he murmured, offering it out as his hand extended towards me.
I forced myself to reach for it, every nerve screaming for composure. But the moment my fingers brushed the leather, his hand did not release.
Our gloves met, his grip firm and unyielding. My heart jolted painfully against my ribs. I should have pulled away, demanded he let go, but instead I lingered, caught in his gaze.
“So desperate to deny yourself.” he whispered, leaning just enough that his voice was for me alone. His thumb shifted slightly against the spine, grazing the side of my finger. “And yet…” His eyes flicked down to where our hands touched before rising back to mine. “You cannot quite let it go, can you?”
Heat surged up my neck. My lips parted, but no words came. Only the sound of my own ragged breath.
With excruciating slowness, he loosened his hold, allowing the book to slide fully into my grasp. But the ghost of his touch lingered, searing even through the gloves.
The book was back in my hands, but my pulse still raced. My fingers still tingled where he had touched mine. I should have turned, should have fled back to the ballroom and pretended none of this had happened.
Instead, I looked up.
Matthew was watching me, his eyes sharp and impossibly blue. His smirk softened into something more dangerous. His gaze dipped… towards my lips.
I drew in a breath, ready to protest again and to tell him just how improper this all was. But the words tangled on my tongue uselessly. He leaned closer, and for one heated moment, I did not move.
And that was all it took.
His mouth brushed mine, brief but searing, a spark that left me trembling. I gasped, clutching the book tighter, but made no move to push him away. My silence was all the permission he needed.
The second kiss came harder and hungrier, pulling a quiet sound from my throat I could not suppress. The book slipped from my grip, tumbling forgotten to the floor. His hand came to my waist, firm and possessive, drawing me flush against him.
“Careful.” he murmured against my lips, though the mischief in his tone betrayed him. “The hallway is no place for such… enthusiasm.”
Before I could recover, his arm slid around me, guiding me with effortless command down the corridor. My heart thundered with every step, and my senses were overwhelmed by his scent. He moved with practiced ease, as though he had led countless women through shadows before. Yet, when his hand tightened at my back, I felt as though I was the only one he had ever bothered with.
He pushed open a door to an unused sitting room, and drew me inside. The door had scarcely clicked shut before my back was against it, his mouth finding mine again, completely devouring me. My gasp was swallowed, and my hands clutched at his coat for balance as his body pressed firmly against mine.
This was madness. Absolute madness. And yet my lips parted willingly and helplessly, inviting the slide of his tongue, the taste of champagne and sin.
His gloved hand trailed from my waist to my hip, fingers squeezing with unashamed certainty. The other came up to cradle my face, tilting it to deepen the kiss until my knees weakened.
“Matthew…” I whispered, breathless against his lips. My voice trembled, not with protest but with hunger.
He chuckled low and mischievously, before pressing his mouth to the hollow of my throat. “Say my name again, darling.” he murmured, hot against my skin. His lips marked a path down to my collarbone, each press of his mouth tugging a ragged breath from me.
My fingers moved to their own accord, fumbling with the folds of his cravat as I tugged at the perfect knot until it came loose. I wanted to feel him. His skin and his warmth, not layers of starch and linen. He groaned approvingly when my hands slid to his shirt, clutching at the fabric as though it might tether me to reality.
His hands were less patient. They skimmed over my dress, gathering them higher until cool air licked at my stocking-clad thighs. I gasped, my head falling back against the door, shock and desire warring within me.
“If anyone finds us—” I tried, though the words broke on a sigh as his hand slipped beneath the hem.
“They won’t.” he cut in smoothly, lips brushing mine once more. “Not when I know every hidden corner these walls keep.”
And then his fingers found the edge of my garters, teasing and circling, making my breath shatter into pieces.
“Reading about it will never compare.” he whispered, his voice dark silk in my ear. “But I can show you, if you’ll let me.”
I should have stopped him. I should have ran. Instead, I clutched him closer, my lips finding his once more. My body betrayed every shred of reason I had left.
Clothing was tugged, loosened, and discarded with frantic urgency. The satin of my gown slipped low from one shoulder and his coat fell carelessly to the floor. His mouth found every inch of my bared skin, worshipping and claiming it, until I was trembling in his arms.
“God, you’re perfect." he growled, lifting me easily. My dress gathered around his hips as he carried me to the velvet settee set against the wall. He set me down, his body pressing mine into the cushions as his hand guided my legs apart. My gown had slipped scandalously low, one shoulder bare, and the bodice loosened beneath his eager hands. The cool air against my skin only sharpened the heat of his mouth as he trailed kisses along my collarbone, down the curve of my chest.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve imagined this for?” he whispered against me, his voice a ragged growl. “To peel away your polish, to find you flushed and trembling beneath me?”
A shiver coursed through me, my hands clinging desperately to his shirt as he pushed it open, the fine linen gaping to reveal warm skin and lean muscle beneath. My fingers skimmed over him, reverent, curious, and delighted in the way he shuddered at my touch.
His lips found mine again, hungrier now, devouring every gasp, and every broken syllable that escaped me. I felt him gather my dress higher, the satin pooling at my hips, and leaving me utterly exposed. I whimpered, torn between shame and need, and he answered with a low groan, his hand gently stroking along my thigh.
“So aroused from just a few pages.” he teased against my lips. “Tell me, my pearl, did you ever imagine it would feel like this?”
“I—Matt—Ohh!” My protest dissolved into a moan as his fingers found the slick ache at my center, claiming, coaxing, and setting my body aflame. His relentless strokes above the damp satin material made me tremble, every movement sending sharp waves through me until I could no longer think of anything but his touch.
He smiled against my skin, wicked and triumphant. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”
The violins from the ballroom floated faint and far away, but here, in this hidden room, the world was narrowed to his hands tormenting my slick center, his mouth marking me, and his breath hot against my ear as he whispered things no book had dared put into words.
The urgency between us was palpable, each stolen moment heavy with the risk of discovery, and each kiss more desperate than the last.
He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath ragged. “One taste,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint. “That is all I’ll take tonight. Or I swear, I won’t stop.”
My answer was not words, but the way I arched into him, desperate for so much more… for how else he would take me tonight. In that dim, shuttered room, I let him have me. Not as society’s darling, not as my mother’s perfect daughter, but as a woman starved, desperate, and finally claimed.
Matthew’s words coiled around me like a spell: one taste. The weight of them sent my heart leaping, and my body trembling beneath his.
His lips trailed lower, slow and with purpose, mapping the delicate slope of my chest with open-mouthed kisses. His hand made swift work of the loosened bodice, tugging the satin lower until cool air met my heated skin. I gasped, mortified and utterly undone, as his mouth claimed what no gentleman had ever dared to touch.
“Ravishing,” he murmured against me, his voice now husky with need. His tongue flicked against my stiffened nipple, drawing a sound from me I could never have imagined making. My back arched to its own accord, pressing myself into him, and surrendering to his hunger that he seemed determined to fulfill.
He groaned, low and sinful. “So desperate for my mouth.”
His hand pressed at my waist, holding me firm as his mouth moved from one breast to the other, lavishing, devouring, and leaving my body thrumming with every stroke of his tongue. All the while, his fingers never ceased their onslaught on my aching bud, circling and pressing until I writhed beneath him, torn between the sharp peaks of pleasure.
My fingers threaded helplessly into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him to take more, and to give more, though I could barely form the words. He groaned against me at the rough pull, the vibration sending another shiver through me. Each time his lips closed around me, he drew a whimper from my throat which was shameful, needy, and utterly beyond my control.
“Fuck…” he muttered between kisses, his voice hot against my flushed skin. “The sweetest sound I have ever heard.” His teeth grazed lightly over my nipple, teasing, and I gasped, arching up into his mouth with a cry that betrayed me fully.
His free hand slid higher, capturing my other breast, squeezing possessively as though one was not enough. The contrast of his hand and mouth together made me moan, ragged and broken, my back bowing as I pressed myself shamelessly into his touch.
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sinful and triumphant. “So eager.” he murmured, before closing his mouth over me again, sucking harder, and drawing another helpless cry from my lips.
The book lay forgotten on the floor in the corridor, but the words within it came alive through him. Every scandalous passage, every forbidden kiss, and every daring touch.
He lifted his head at last, his lips swollen, and his eyes dark with heat. “I must know how you taste, darling.” he said, though his lazy grin betrayed just how much more he desired. His thumb stroked over the damp satin where my dress had gathered indecently high.
My breath shook as I looked at him, utterly ruined and utterly his. My fingers clutched at his shoulders, my voice breaking on a whisper I could no longer hold back. “Please….”
His thumb lingered just above the lace edge of the scant material, circling slowly and maddeningly. The pressure was feather-light, enough to make me writhe against the cushions, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
“You tremble.” he whispered. “Tell me… is it fear, or want?”
I could not answer. My lips parted, but only a broken gasp escaped as his fingers pressed harder, brushing the silk too thin to hide the warmth beneath.
His smirk deepened, his eyes never leaving mine. “Ah. Want, then.”
With scandalous ease, he pushed the fabric aside and truly touched me, where no hand ever had. “Ahh—!” I cried out softly, muffling the sound against his shoulder, as my body jerked at the shock of it. Heat surged through me, my pulse wild and ungovernable.
“So wet.” he murmured into my hair, his voice dark and reverent. “And all for me.”
His fingers moved with practiced skill, circling, stroking, and coaxing my body into betraying every secret I had tried to keep hidden. My hips lifted without command, chasing the sensation, and he chuckled low, sinful, and in control.
“Oh, sweet girl.” he whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth before dragging his lips down my jaw. “Reading about it could never compare, could it?”
“Matt—” My plea dissolved into another moan as he pressed deeper, my body clenching around his touch.
His mouth found my throat again, sucking gently, and leaving marks that would shame me if ever seen. The pace of his fingers quickened, and his breath ragged against my skin. “I could have you like this for hours.” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.
His fingers then stilled, leaving me shaking and restless beneath him. He drew back slightly, eyes locked on mine, and his lips curved into a devastating smile. Before I could question, he shifted, pushing me gently back against the velvet cushions. His hands firm on my thighs, he spread them further beneath my bunched dress. The act alone stole the breath from my lungs. My gown was pushed indecently high, baring my most secret place to him, to Matthew Sturniolo, of all men.
I should have covered myself. I should have protested. Instead, my hands clutched helplessly at the settee as he settled between my legs, looking up at me with eyes dark as sin.
“God help me.” he whispered a pray. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
Before I could react, his mouth was on me.
The first stroke of his tongue wrenched a cry from my lips, shock and pleasure crashing through me in equal measure. My hips jolted, my fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, and still he held me steady, devouring me with shameless and hungry precision.
“Matt—!” My voice cracked on his name, high and desperate. But he only hummed against me, the vibration sending another wave of fire through my body.
He licked, sucked, and teased. His pace was unhurried but merciless, each movement drawing me tighter, higher. My thighs trembled, my chest heaved, and my pearls slipped askew at my throat as I writhed beneath his mouth.
“You taste like sin.” he groaned between strokes, his voice ragged. “Sweet, corrupting sin.”
His tongue pressed deeper, swirling, tasting, and devouring as though my ruin was his favorite meal. Each flick, each suck drew another helpless cry from my throat until I was thrashing in shameless desperation. Every swipe of his tongue had me gasping and arching into him, shame and ecstasy intertwined until I could no longer tell the difference. The room spun, the violins in the distance nothing but a faint hum beneath the roaring in my ears.
When release took me, it was like fire, scorching and consuming. I cried out, muffling the sound with my hand. My body quaked as his tongue licked every last droplet from me, and I clung to him desperately.
At last when the waves ebbed, he drew back, with his lips glistening. The sight alone had my eyes roll back from pleasure and I collapsed against him, trembling. Matthew held me close, one hand still between my legs, and the other cradling my cheek as though I were precious.
He leaned up, his mouth hovering just above mine, his breath warm and ragged. “My sweet pearl,” he whispered, his smirk curling once more. “My favorite part is when the lady stops pretending she does not want it.”
Before he could even finish his wicked little smirk, I seized him by the collar and dragged him down to me. Our mouths crashed together, hot and desperate, tasting of champagne and sin and me. His surprised groan vibrated against my lips before he returned the kiss with equal fervor, his body pressing me deeper into the cushions.
I clung to him, greedy and unwilling to let even a breath of space remain between us. His hair caught in my fingers, his chest heaved against mine, and his hands roamed as though he could not decide which part of me to worship first.
In that heated, breathless kiss, the truth struck me with startling clarity. Now I understand.
Now I knew why Matthew Sturniolo was so insatiable. Why he wore that smug grin that infuriated and thrilled me in equal measure. It was not arrogance alone. It was this. This hunger he stirred, this fire he fed, and this wildness that no polite suitor’s hand on mine could ever ignite.
He had kissed me. He had touched me. He had knelt between my thighs and worshipped as though I were the only woman in the world.
And I, society’s darling, the perfectly polished daughter every family longed to claim… I wanted it all. I wanted him.
The realization set something fierce alight in my chest. Let the ton chase after him. Let them whisper, sigh and flutter their fans. I would not shrink before them.
No, I would claim him.
Matthew Sturniolo, the most desired bachelor of the season, he would be mine.
And if the whole ton stood in my way, then God help them, for I would fight every last one to keep him.
When I finally broke the kiss, breathless and flushed, his smile was there as always. But something else flickered beneath it. His thumb brushed along my cheek, lingering, almost tender, as though he was searching me for an answer I hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You look at me as though you mean to keep me.”
I held his gaze, unflinching for once, even as my pulse thundered. “Perhaps I do.”
His brows lifted, that insufferable grin tugging wider, but his eyes betrayed him. Amusement, yes, but also curiosity. Wariness. As if he were trying to decide whether I teased him… or dared to speak the truth.
Matthew Sturniolo was used to being wanted. Desired. Chased. But never claimed.
And in the silence between us, as my hand slid down his chest steady and sure, I saw the moment he understood. I was not like the others.
His smile widened. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Then, God help you.” he whispered, a dark promise threading his tone. “For I am not the sort of man a lady can keep.”
Yet even as he said it, his hand closed possessively at my waist, as though daring me to prove him wrong.
For a moment, silence pressed between us, thick with the pounding of my heart. Then I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on, my lips curving into the faintest of smiles for the first time tonight.
“Perhaps.” I whispered, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I have a feeling you’ve not had nearly enough of me either.”
The air between us seemed to crackle. His smirk faltered, just slightly and enough for me to see the shift in his eyes. Surprise. Amusement. And beneath it, a spark of hunger even he could not disguise.
He let out a low chuckle, rough and dangerous. His thumb brushed idly over the curve of my hip. “God help us both.” he murmured.
And though the violins still played faintly beyond the door, though the entire ton swirled in glitter and gossip just a hallway away, I knew in that moment that Matthew Sturniolo, the reckless, insatiable, and untouchable, was mine to claim.
nerdy!matt suggests a creative way to quiz college student!reader on the study material for their upcoming exam (3.6K words)
It was way too quiet in my dorm room for how chaotic my brain felt. The only sounds were the dull buzz of the overhead light and the occasional flip of a flashcard from across the room. I was on my bed, legs criss-crossed, a textbook balanced on my lap and a pen loosely dangling from my fingers like I’d given up halfway through a sentence. Because I had.
Across from me, at my tiny desk, Matt looked irritatingly unbothered. He sat back in the chair, completely zoned in, flipping through a stack of cue cards like he was speed-running a game only he was good at. The sleeves of his striped button-up shirt were rolled just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of his tattoo sleeve that I always pretended not to stare at. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, a silver chain catching the light just barely where it dipped below his collarbone. His glasses rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, and he hadn’t said a word since he arrived.
He looked like someone who didn’t know what academic panic even felt like.
Meanwhile, I was on my bed in the middle of what could only be described as academic chaos. Notes spread everywhere, highlighters uncapped and drying out, tabs open on my laptop that were supposed to help but were honestly just stressing me out even more. My hair was doing its own thing, and I’d changed positions at least fifteen times in the last hour.
“I can’t do this.” I groaned, dragging my hands down my face as I stared hopelessly at the wall of notes I’d taped up like some kind of desperate murder board. “My brain is full. Nothing else fits.”
Matt was sitting at my desk, looking exactly like the calm before a storm. I hated how relaxed he looked. No stress. No breakdowns. Just Matt being… Matt.
“You say that every time we study.” he said without looking up.
“Because it’s true every time.” I huffed. “Seriously, how are you not losing your mind?”
He set the cards down and turned towards me, eyebrow raised.
“You want me to lie and say I’m struggling too?”
“Ughh! Nevermind.” I sighed dramatically and flopped backwards onto my bed, staring at the ceiling like it might start raining answers. “You sure you don’t want to trade brains for like... a day?”
Matt let out a snort. “I think I’d like mine to stay intact, thanks.”
I narrowed my eyes and grabbed a pillow, launching it half-heartedly in his direction. He caught it without missing a beat, still reading, and still completely composed.
Unbothered. Untouchable.
I sat back up, trying to refocus, but my brain felt like it had been dipped in cement. I blinked at my notes. Nothing was going in.
Meanwhile Matt was still... doing his thing. Calm. Focused. Definitely judging me with those perfectly curated flash cards and smooth page flipping.
“They should give out degrees just for effort.” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. “Or at least for showing up. That counts for something, right?”
“Depends.” Matt said without looking up. “Are you counting the times you showed up but forgot your laptop?”
I stared at him. “That was one time.”
He finally looked over at me, that small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again. Not smug exactly. Just... knowing.
That was the thing about Matt. To most people, he came off as the straight-laced type. The guy who sat front row in class and submitted assignments two days early. But I’d seen the edges.
I’d seen how he doodled tiny comics in the margins of his notes. I’d seen the random indie playlists on his phone that were way too dramatic for someone who acted like nothing ever got to him. And I’d seen how that button-up shirt was part of the costume because underneath it, he was layered in ink and wit and maybe a little bit of mischief, if you looked closely enough.
“You’re being quiet tonight.” I said after a pause, narrowing my eyes a little. “Too quiet.”
“I’m studying.”
“You study and talk.”
“Not when you’re on the verge of a meltdown. I figured I’d let you spiral in peace.”
I let out a short laugh and chucked a highlighter at him. It bounced off the desk and landed on the floor with a soft thud.
Matt didn’t react immediately. He just set his cards down slowly, adjusted his glasses, and turned towards me with an expression way too serious to be real.
“Would you prefer I distract you?” he asked.
I blinked. “What kind of question is that?”
He leaned back a little in the chair, arms crossed now, one tattooed forearm resting on the edge of the desk. “A dangerous one.” he said lightly, eyes on mine.
And there it was. That shift. That flicker in Matt’s eyes that only I knew about. The one who played it cool in public but had a sharp tongue when no one was around to hear it. The one who’d accidentally brush my hand when we passed notes and then act like nothing happened, while I was left trying to remember how to breathe.
I felt my pulse jump just slightly and tried to play it off. “You're supposed to be helping me, not tempting me.”
“Tempting you?” he echoed, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Interesting choice of words.”
I rolled my eyes, turning back to my notes with a little too much energy. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” he said, standing up from the chair and walking over to the bed. “You keep asking me to come over.”
He stopped beside the mattress, his knee brushing the edge of it. Close. Too close.
I didn’t look up, but I could feel him smiling.
“Question five,” I said quickly, flipping through my notebook like it was a shield. “Explain it. Now.”
Matt sat down beside me, pulling my notebook gently from my hands. His fingers grazed mine, lingering for half a second longer than necessary.
“Only because you asked so nicely.” he murmured. Matt skimmed over my notes like he was trying to solve a puzzle, which honestly, was kind of what my handwriting looked like. He made a small noise in his throat, not quite a laugh or a sigh, and looked over at me.
“Is this... a diagram of the circulatory system, or a jellyfish?”
I snatched the notebook back. “I was multitasking. I needed a creative break.”
He raised his eyebrows, not buying it for a second. “Sure. You’re a regular Picasso of biology.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. Very mature. “Just teach me question five before I actually lose it.”
Matt scooted a little closer, our knees nearly touching now. He angled the notebook between us and started explaining. His voice was calm and smooth like always, but there was a subtle edge to it tonight. Something quieter and warmer. It was as if he wasn’t just going through the material, but he was letting me in.
His fingers tapped a rhythm along the page as he spoke, tracing words without touching them. And then, almost absently, his hand drifted and he tapped my knee instead. Not hard. Just a little nudge.
“You’re not even listening.” he said.
I blinked. “Yes I am.”
“You’re staring at me.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but… okay, maybe I had been. Just a little.
“You have something on your face.” I said, recovering quickly.
He paused. “I do?”
“Yeah. Arrogance.”
He let out a soft laugh, then nudged my knee again, this time leaving his hand there for a beat longer.
“Fine,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “How about we make it interesting?”
I gave him a look. “Define interesting.”
He gave a small knowing smile, which usually meant something stupid was coming and I knew that look in his eye way too well.
“I think I have a great way to help you retain this better.”
“Unless it involves magically uploading the content into my brain, I’m not interested.”
His eyes glinted with something that made me sit up a little straighter. That look always meant trouble.
“I quiz you. You answer. And for every question you get right…” He paused, just long enough to make me suspicious. “I take something off.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“Clothing.” he clarified, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”
My lips parted in disbelief, and then slowly curled into a grin. “You’re gonna strip? That’s insane.”
He shrugged one shoulder, clearly enjoying this too much. “It’ll keep you motivated.”
This wasn’t entirely out of character. After all, this wasn’t our first time playing a little fast and loose with boundaries. Our first “study session” last year had ended with him kissing me against my dorm wall, my notes forgotten on the floor, and ever since then, things between us had blurred in that very specific, dangerous way. Not quite dating. Definitely more than friends. A casual arrangement. Physical. Easy.
I tried to scoff. I really did. “Are you being serious?”
He leaned back, cool and unbothered. “Dead serious. You get the satisfaction of watching me fall apart, and I get to see if you’ve actually been listening to me all semester.”
I gulped, my heart kicking up just a notch.
“And if I get something wrong?”
“No clothes come off.” he said, lips twitching. “You lose the visual reward. Pure punishment.”
I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or throw my textbook at his face. This was classic Matt, looks like a clean-cut model student, but secretly the most unhinged person I knew.
And the worst part? It was working. I was definitely paying attention now.
I should’ve said no. I should’ve. But the way he was sitting there, smug and unreadable, like he knew I was going to cave, made it impossible.
“Fine.” I said. “Let’s go, show pony.”
He grinned like I’d just made his night.
“Alright,” he said, holding up the first card. “Let’s keep it simple. What part of the brain controls coordination and balance?”
I paused, thinking. “Cerebellum.”
“Correct.” He stood up, slipped off his watch, and placed it gently on my desk.
“Your watch?” I said. “That barely counts.”
“It’s clothing-adjacent.” he replied smoothly. “Don’t worry. There’s more where that came from.”
I hated how calm he sounded. Like this wasn’t a completely ridiculous game. Like he wasn’t unbothered at all about stripping in the middle of my dorm room.
Next card.
“What’s the primary function of the occipital lobe?”
I didn’t even blink. “Visual processing.”
He gave a slow nod, as his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undid them, his movements deliberate and unhurried. As the fabric parted, I caught the first glimpse of a thin chain resting against his collarbone, the metal catching the light for just a second before disappearing beneath a fitted white tank underneath.
I swallowed.
Matt shrugged the shirt off and draped it neatly over the chair, his chain now fully visible. Which, unfortunately for me, was far more distracting than it had any right to be.
“Next.” I said quickly, pretending I wasn’t already losing focus.
The next few minutes passed in a blur of answers and… layers. He quizzed, I answered. Sometimes faster than I probably should’ve, just to watch him stand again and pull the next item off like this was a casual Tuesday ritual.
Tank top gone.
I wasn’t ready for that part. He peeled it off slowly, revealing more of that lean, defined body I tried very hard not to stare at. His chest was toned, not in an obvious, gym-obsessed way, but in a way that made it impossible not to notice. His chain rested perfectly against his skin, catching the light when he moved. The tattoo sleeve continued across his shoulder and bicep, dark ink against pale skin.
I tried to act unaffected, but he caught the way my eyes lingered. Of course he did.
“Focus, sweetheart.” he teased, already pulling another card.
“I am.”
He looked over the next card, completely relaxed, like this wasn’t the most distracting way anyone has ever helped someone study. His bare chest rose and fell in that slow, calm rhythm he always seemed to carry, even when he was pushing every single one of my buttons.
Then the glasses came off, folded neatly and set on the desk. And I think that might’ve been the moment I stopped registering the questions.
Then his shoes.
Then his socks.
And now? He was sitting back down in just black jeans, barefoot, shirtless, and looking every bit as relaxed as he had when he walked in fully dressed.
“How’s that focus of yours now?” he asked, voice low, lips twitching like he already knew.
“Gone.” I admitted, because there was no point in lying.
“Want to keep going?”
I stared at him. “You still have your pants on.”
He smiled like I’d just handed him my last shred of self control. “Then keep getting answers right.”
Matt’s eyes didn’t leave mine as he slowly slid the next flash card out of the pile. We were fully in it now. Past pretending this was just for motivation, past pretending we weren’t both holding our breaths.
I sat cross-legged on the bed, heart hammering in my chest, pretending to still care about academic retention.
He read the next question.
“Name the four lobes of the cerebral cortex.”
“Frontal, temporal, parietal, occipital.” I recited, barely blinking.
His smile curved wider. “Sharp.” Then he stood and, without a word, reached for his belt.
My breath caught in my throat.
He unfastened it with one smooth pull, then slid it from the loops and dropped it with a soft clink on top of his shirt.
I blinked. “You’re really doing this.”
“You’re getting the answers right.” he said with a shrug, as if that was reason enough to keep going. “You want me to stop?”
No. Absolutely not.
But I kept my tone neutral. “This is wildly inappropriate behavior for a study partner.”
He smirked as he sat down again, leaning forward just slightly. “Good thing we’re not really study partners.”
Right. We were something else.
Something undefined. Something that had started in a blur of late night coffees and stress-fueled tension, and ended up with us pressed against each other in the dim glow of my desk lamp in junior year. We were breathless and reckless, and said nothing about it afterwards. Since then, things had stayed comfortably undefined. No rules. No expectations. Just quiet tension and moments like this, where one wrong move could unravel it all.
Another question was read out and another answer effortlessly rolled off my tongue.
I watched silently, as he rose again, steady and sure. He let his thumbs slip beneath the waistband of his jeans. He popped the button and dragged the zipper down. And then, with the same maddening composure he’d had all night, he stepped out of them.
There he was. Barefoot, stripped down to nothing but those fitted black briefs, his silver chain, and the tattoos on his arm fully visible. My mouth was dry.
“Fuck.” I muttered.
Matt just grinned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cards dangling from one hand.
“Consider it a reward for actually paying attention for once.”
“Oh please. I’m always focused.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Then you’ll have no problem with the last question.”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “Hit me.”
He pulled the final card, but when he read it aloud, it wasn’t from the set.
“Do you think about me when I’m not around?”
My breath caught. That wasn’t psychology. That wasn’t anatomy. That was Matt.
I stared at him.
“That’s not on the test.” I said quietly.
“No,” he said, voice lower now. “This one’s for extra credit.”
He didn’t push. Didn’t smirk. Just waited…for once, serious. Like the game was fun, but this was the real question he’d been holding in his back pocket all night. And it hit different. Harder.
I swallowed, the air between us suddenly heavier than it had been all night.
“Yes.” I said, because there was no way around it. “I do.”
He tilted his head, that familiar heat flickering behind his eyes.
“Good.” he said. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.”
He let the cards drop to the floor, forgotten.
Then he stood, and with just a few steps, he was standing at the edge of my bed looking down at me.
“So,” he murmured. “You still want to study?”
I looked up at him, pulse thudding in my neck.
“I think that’s enough for tonight.” I whispered.
He leaned in slightly, just enough for his chain to brush my collarbone as he dipped his head.
“But I don’t think you want me to leave.” he said quietly, lips ghosting near my jaw.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I hated that he was right. I hated even more that this always happened. The closeness, the heat, the way we slipped into each other like it was the most natural thing. Every time I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That we weren’t serious. That we were just... us.
But then he’d look at me like this. Touch me like this. And it didn’t feel casual anymore.
His smile was not cocky or smug, just... sure. Like he already knew how this would play out, because maybe he’d been waiting for me to stop pretending I didn’t want it just as badly.
Matt crawled onto the bed without a word, slow and smooth. He stopped when he reached me, hovering close but not touching, like he was giving me room to call it off.
I didn’t.
He reached out and plucked the pillow from my lap, tossed it carelessly to the floor. His knee brushed against mine as he settled in front of me, close enough that I could see the slight crease between his brows that only appeared when he was actually nervous.
“I know we don’t do this,” he said quietly, voice low and rough around the edges. “Talk about it. Whatever this is.”
My heart stuttered. “We said no strings.”
“I know.” he said, leaning in just slightly, “But if I don’t kiss you right now, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”
That confession hit harder than anything he’d quizzed me on tonight.
So I didn’t make him wait.
I leaned in first, grabbing the edge of his chain and pulling him into me. The second our lips touched, everything else fell away. The game, the cards… none of it mattered anymore.
He kissed me like he’d been holding back for weeks. Hands sliding up my sides, touch warm and purposeful. His mouth moved over mine with slow, aching precision, the kind that made my head spin and my whole body buzz.
And I kissed him back like I didn’t care what tomorrow looked like.
Because maybe I didn’t.
He shifted, guiding me back gently until I was lying against the pillows, his body pressed lightly against mine, just enough weight to feel him, not enough to overwhelm. His hands were careful and familiar.
When we finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against mine.
I let out a shaky laugh. “You are the most dangerous kind of chaos.”
“Only for you.”
We lay there in the quiet, heat still humming between us. Bodies tangled in a way that felt impossible to undo, even if we tried.
No one said anything about what this meant, or where we’d go from here. We didn’t have to. Not yet.
Matt’s arm slid beneath my shoulders as I settled against him, the soft rhythm of his breathing calming the rush in my chest. His chain pressed cool against my skin, a stark contrast to how warm he always ran.
I traced the edge of a tattoo on his arm without thinking, my fingertip following the sharp lines and curves. He didn’t stop me.
“You always distract me.” I mumbled into his shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out.”
“You wouldn’t have.”
And he was right. I wouldn’t have. I never did.
That was the thing about Matt. He showed up when he wanted, stayed as long as he pleased, and I always let him. It was easy to pretend it didn’t matter. To keep it casual. No strings. Just stolen nights, soft touches, and shared looks that always lasted too long.
Lying there with him half-asleep next to me, his hand rested lazily on my thigh like he had every right to be there.
Comfortable.
I tried to ignore the way that made something pull tight in my chest.
“I should be quizzing you.” I said.
“You should be sleeping.”
“Hard to sleep when you’ve basically derailed my entire night.”
He looked at me, eyelids heavy. “You didn’t complain.”
I didn’t. And I wasn’t about to start.
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers slow and soft like he had nowhere to be. I hated how natural it felt. How much I wanted him to stay, even if I knew he never promised to.
“Should I go?” he asked, voice quieter now. Like he didn’t want to, but would if I said the word.
I looked at him for a long second. At the way his mouth curled slightly even in stillness. At the chain still catching in the hollow of his collarbone. At him, this confusing, frustrating, and magnetic boy who could unravel me with just a look.
I shook my head. “No. Stay.”
His gaze lingered on mine for a beat longer than it should’ve. “Okay.” he said, like it was that simple. Like he hadn’t been staying all along.
the one where dad!matt gets his toddler daughter her first ever jellycat (1.1K words)
Matt adjusted the straps of the soft gray infant carrier across his chest, glancing down with a smile at the tiny face tucked gently against him. His daughter, only a year and a half old, had her pacifier in her mouth and her big curious blue eyes blinked slowly, as the rhythm of his walk lulled her into quiet contentment. The city around them buzzed with morning life, but inside their little bubble, everything felt still and peaceful.
Today was special. It was not just any walk. Matt was taking his daughter to the Jellycat store.
He had been thinking about this for weeks. He had a small collection of Jellycats himself, kept on a shelf in his bedroom that his daughter often reached for when they sat on the floor to read. They were more than plush toys to him. They were reminders of soft moments, of comfort, of calm. And now, he wanted to start that same tradition with his daughter.
As they approached the store, its windows filled with a rainbow of stuffed animals, Matt could feel her stir slightly. Her head turned towards the colours and shapes behind the glass. He chuckled softly.
"You see them, peanut?" he whispered, touching her tiny sock-covered foot as he kissed the top of her head. "One of them will be yours soon."
Matt pushed open the glass door to the store, a soft jingle sounding overhead, and immediately felt a wave of cozy, childlike magic wash over him. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with soft pastel plushies such as bunnies with long ears, strawberries with smiles, cupcakes, kittens, and even a friendly cloud with fuzzy cheeks. The air smelled faintly of cotton and vanilla, and gentle lullaby music played in the background.
But the best part was his daughter.
The moment they stepped inside, everything about her came alive. Her eyes lit up with unfiltered wonder, and she gasped so hard her pacifier popped right out of her mouth. A sharp excited squeal followed, bursting from her tiny frame as she bounced in the infant carrier strapped to Matt’s chest. Her little fists clapped wildly, and her feet kicked happily against Matt. Her cheeks flushed pink, as her face split into the biggest grin he had ever seen. Then came the grabby hands, frantic, joyful, and reaching in every direction, desperate to touch anything soft and squishy within view.
Matt let out a laugh, tightening his arms around her for stability. “Okay, okay…” he chuckled, eyes full of warmth. “Let’s find the one for you, sweetheart.”
She responded with a giddy shriek and immediately began making grabby hands in every direction, towards the plush pineapple near the door, the soft octopus hanging from the ceiling, and even a sleepy brown bear nestled on a high shelf. Matt grinned, rocking slightly from heel to toe to keep her steady. A few nearby shoppers turned to look, smiling at the sight of the bright-eyed baby practically vibrating with excitement.
They began a slow stroll through the aisles, Matt swaying gently to soothe her while she made soft sounds of awe. It was the kind of pure, unfiltered baby joy that made his heart ache in the best way. He moved slowly, narrating in a gentle voice as if he were guiding her through a museum tour. “Now here we have a puppy, so squishy. This guy is a croissant, not for eating though! And look at that, the bashful lamb, it’s so soft. Oh, and that is a cupcake. Probably the only one you will ever meet that cannot be eaten.” he chuckled, making the baby giggle along with him.
He looked down at her, still wide eyed and wiggling, and said in a mock serious voice, “Okay, peanut. We need to find the one.”
She let out a proud little squeal, ready for the mission.
But his daughter was not ready to commit. Every plush friend brought a fresh burst of excitement, but none quite earned her full attention. She reached, pointed, and clapped, but nothing seemed to hold her attention longer than a few seconds. Matt crouched now and then to let her get a closer look or brush her hand along the soft fur of a kitten or a unicorn, but she would just giggle and twist around for the next thing. They passed dozens of contenders. A green frog made her giggle, but she quickly turned away. A blue dragon with rainbow spikes made her reach but then she immediately changed her mind. Matt did not mind at all. Honestly, watching her was the whole adventure.
Then, as they turned a quiet corner near the back of the store, his daughter froze. Her whole body tensed, then leaned forward in her seat as far as the carrier straps would allow. She stretched out both hands and let out a tiny breathless “Oooh.”
There it was.
Perched in the center of a display surrounded by daisies and sparkles, was a bunny like no other. She wore a fairy outfit, with a pink tulle dress and had shimmer soft tulle wings. She had long floppy ears that were adorned with pink ribbons and her stitched smile gave her the gentlest expression in the world.
“You like this one?” Matt asked, holding the bunny close. His daughter leaned her forehead against it as if that was enough to answer. Matt felt a soft warmth press into his chest at the same time. Then, completely sure, she reached one tiny hand out pointing and let out a soft “ahh da-da buh-nee” that melted Matt’s heart into actual goo.
“Good choice, peanut.” he smiled, absolutely endeared as he handed the bunny to his daughter.
She wrapped her arms around it instantly, burying her face into the bunny’s pink dress. She sighed a quiet, satisfied hum and began patting it softly, as if it had already been hers forever.
After making his purchase, Matt didn’t bother getting a bag. He tucked it into the carrier right beside his daughter, where she immediately wrapped her little arms around it, clinging to the toy like she had always known it.
Walking home, Matt felt something shift. Not in a big, dramatic way, but in the kind of way you remember years later. Once at home, his daughter drifted off to sleep in her crib, the bunny snug at her side. He looked down at her, her tiny mouth relaxed and peaceful, and he realized this was one of those moments you never get back, but always carry with you.
He would tell her about it one day. About how she picked her first Jellycat. About how small she was and how serious she looked choosing it. And maybe, one day, she would have a little shelf in her room too, lined with soft animals full of memories.
But today, it was just them and a bunny plushie that already felt like home.
"mm, fucking... holy shit─" matt cursed as his hands started to sweat from stress. your mouth felt so good around him, he could feel the warmth of it enveloping him, it drove him insane.
your knees hurt a little to suck him while balancing yourself on the passenger seat, but you couldn't care less.
he had to keep his eyes on the road, it was too fast, too many cars in the way, he couldn't pull over, and it took all of his strength not to just throw his head back and enjoy you.
it pissed him off, you knew this was dangerous and still chose to take that risk, you realized how much it pissed him off when you could feel his hand oh the back of your head pushing you down his shaft, trying to hide how your noises and your glossy eyes made him whimper.
"dont give me those eyes...you wanted it so you're going to fucking take it" he grumbled, stopping the car at a red light so now both his hands were free. he took one leg off the breaks, trusting his hips up until he could feel himself hitting the back of your throat.
he thought it was his own way for punishing you, little did he knew you just loved it. feeling him reaching his high as he tried to muffle his whines with biting the collar of his shirt, fuck, that was hot.
you lifted youself up, sitting back on your sit as you saw the light turned green. he could focus more on the road now, but he hated how you left him like that, a needy mess.
masterlist
a/n: ugh a girl can only dream, but anyway should I make a longer part two for this??
