You weren’t supposed to marry him. And you definitely weren’t supposed to need him. But when Carlos finds your hidden toy, the brat in you meets the mean streak in him — and he decides to make sure you never reach for anything else again.
Warnings : Rough Sex, Brat Tamer Carlos, Mean Dom!Carlos Sainz x Sub!Reader, Hair Pulling, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Verbal Degradation, Name Calling, Consent Established
18+ MDNI
Wordcount : 6K words
A/N : This is not proofread.English is not my first language so I apologise in advance for any typos or grammatical errors.
The shower still fogs the mirror when Carlos opens the drawer looking for a razor. Water clings to his chest, dripping off sharp collarbones, his towel slung dangerously low on his hips. He doesn’t bother drying off fully, he never does, not when he’s alone. Except now, he’s not.
You’re here too. Living in his space. A wife he didn’t ask for. A contract sealed with signatures and tense family dinners and a mutual understanding: don’t expect love, or sweetness. Just coexist.
He tugs the drawer open and pauses. Not because the razor’s missing but because there’s something else.
Pink. Silicone. Small. Nestled under skincare bottles and brushes like a secret.
His brow twitches.
Carlos picks it up slowly, turning it over in his palm like a mechanic inspecting faulty parts. The shape tells him everything. So does the faint leftover warmth.
“Qué coño…” he mutters.
The offense is quiet. Cold. Not loud or petty. He isn't jealous, not in the way that would make sense. He's insulted. Not enough for you?
He rolls his jaw and smirks bitterly as he keeps the toy to himself. You’d rather fuck yourself with silicone than ask him? Maybe you’re more pathetic than he thought.
*******
Your heartbeat slightly increases as you make note of the change. The drawer’s wrong. Things are out of place. You try not to panic, but your fingers move faster the longer it stays missing. You dig under everything, thrice.
Gone.
You step out into the bedroom with a strained casualness that doesn’t fool him for a second. Carlos is on his side of the bed, shirtless, still damp from earlier. Phone in one hand, half-watching you.
“You look tensed” he asks, not even glancing up.
You don’t exactly think before replying “No.”
“Hmm.”
The smirk is in his voice.
You move to the vanity like it might’ve teleported. He watches you in the mirror now, eyes dragging lazily over your towel-wrapped body. You bend forward slightly, reaching down—and his gaze sharpens.
“You look anxious,” he says, tone flat. “That drawer’s been open three times now.”
You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “Do you mind?”
He sets the phone down, stands slowly. His towel’s gone. He’s in grey sweats now, low on his hips, dangerous. His voice lowers as he closes the space between you.
“I’ll ask again.” He leans in close. “What happened?”
You roll your eyes, turning away. “Nothing.”
But he grabs your wrist, not hard, just enough. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not—”
“Mm.” He tilts his head. “Then tell me.”
You stiffen. “Tell you what?”
“Whatever you’re looking for.”
You stare at him. His expression is unreadable—but there’s something mean glittering under the surface. Something dangerous.
He leans down, nose brushing your jaw. “Say it, cariño.”
You try to pull away. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes your body lightly against the vanity.
"Let me go."
“Not until you tell me.”
You clench your jaw as embarrassment washes over you. He clearly knows what you’re looking for.
He doesn’t look away as he waits for you to admit it.
“…My toy,” you finally whisper.
He hums like it’s a joke. “Louder.”
You say nothing.
Carlos grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. A gasp leaves your mouth.
“I said louder.”
“My toy,” you grit out. “I was looking for my toy.”
The smile that curls on his lips isn’t kind.
“Good girl.”
He pulls you from the vanity without warning. One hand still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your wrist, dragging you backward as you stumble in your towel.
“You think I’m going to let this slide?” Carlos says, voice low, dark with heat. “You think I’m just going to laugh it off while you play with yourself in my house like I’m not even here?”
“Seems like my little toy hurt your ego.” You mock.
“Keep mouthing off and see what happens.”
He pushes you onto the bed hard enough to bounce. You catch yourself on your hands, towel slipping halfway off your chest. Your pulse skitters. He’s already above you, pressing a knee to the mattress, eyes burning.
“You really thought I wouldn’t notice that drawer?” he asks, voice sharp. “Thought you’d hide it like a desperate little slut and I wouldn’t find it?”
Your stomach clenches. Your thighs, tighter.
“You don’t think, do you? You just get wet and whiny and start acting like a needy fucking cunt.”
Your thigh suddenly sting and then the realisation hits. He slapped you. Then your ass. Then another, harder, right where the towel’s slipped aside. You yelp. He grins.
“Sensitive,” he says mockingly, tracing the red spot with his fingers. “But not enough to come to me for it, huh?”
He grabs the towel and yanks it away. Gone in a flash. You try to twist, cover yourself.
Carlos clicks his tongue. “Still trying to act shy? After all that?”
You glare. “You’re being a dick.”
“Keep talking back like a brat and see where it takes you.”
He pushes you flat against the mattress and climbs over you, one hand grabbing both wrists and pinning them above your head.
“Keep your hands right there,” he says. “You move, I stop. You understand me?”
You bite your lip.
Another slap and this time it is to your cunt, sharp enough to jolt you.
“Di que sí, mocosa.”
“Fuck, yeahhhh, Carlos.”
His mouth crashes into yours.
It’s rough. No buildup, no soft kiss to test your mood. Just pure heat, his teeth dragging your lower lip, tongue pushing deep, swallowing your whimper. He grinds against you, letting you feel every thick inch through his sweats.
“You don’t need a toy,” he growls into your mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe. “You need me.”
He kisses you again. Hot. Bruising. Dominant. His hand twists in your hair, yanking your head back as his mouth moves down your throat, then to your chest, then lower.
You’re squirming by the time he strips the last barrier off himself. His body is all muscle and heat and tension. His cock thick and flushed, already hard, already aimed between your thighs.
You suck in a breath as he drags the head through your folds.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “You’re dripping all over the bed, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
“Carlos—”
“Beg.”
“What?”
“Beg me to fuck you.”
Your jaw clenches. He thrusts in a little—just the tip. Your back arches.
“Try again,” he says.
“Please,” you whisper. “Please fuck me.”
His eyes darken.
“Not good enough.”
He slams into you.
You cry out, breath caught in your throat, wrists still pinned tight. He starts slow and deep, each thrust making your tits bounce, your body shake under his. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
“Look at you,” he snarls, pace building. “Fucking like you were made for this. Is this what you wanted, slut?”
You nod, eyes shut tight.
“Say it.”
“Yes—yes, fuck, I wanted this—”
His hand grips your throat, not squeezing, just holding. Just enough to remind you how completely he owns you right now.
“Wanted my cock instead of your little toy?” he spits. “Tell me.”
“I wanted you,” you gasp.
Carlos leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Eso,” he growls. “Eso es lo que quería oír.”
His pace turns brutal.
You’re moaning now, uncontrolled, messy, head turned to the side as your body takes everything he gives. Your hair’s a tangled mess in his grip, your thighs shaking around his waist, and still, he doesn’t stop.
He fucks you like he’s making a point.
Like he’s making sure you never think about a toy again.
******
You’re barely holding on when he pulls out suddenly.
A whimper escapes your lips, pathetic and needy. You hate how empty you feel without him, even for a second.
Carlos grabs your waist, flips you onto your stomach, and pulls your hips up like you weigh nothing.
“Still think you needed that toy?” he mutters, dragging you back by the hips until your ass is flush with his stomach. “Still think you could take care of this yourself?”
He slaps you hard. You yelp.
“Answer me.”
“No—no,” you gasp.
Another slap, this time his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head up as he leans over your back.
“No lo necesitas,” he growls. “Solo me necesitas a mí.”
Then he thrusts in again, deep, hard, filling you in one merciless stroke.
You cry out into the sheets, gripping the bedding like it might keep you from falling apart. He’s relentless. His hands bruising your hips, dragging you back into him over and over, pace rough and possessive.
He yanks your hair back harder, making you arch. Your spine curves, chest lifting off the mattress, your throat exposed.
“I knew you were a desperate little thing,” he growls, voice right in your ear. “But I didn’t know you’d be this pathetic.”
Each word is timed with a thrust, deep and punishing. Your body’s a mess—moaning, trembling, trying to take it all and still mouth off through the haze.
“Look at you.” Thrust. “Dripping.” Thrust. “Crying.” Thrust. “Moaning into the sheets like a ruined little cunt.” Thrust.
Your orgasm hits you fast.
No warning. No buildup. Just a rush of heat and sensation that rips through your core like lightning. Your legs shake. Your mouth opens in a silent scream.
Carlos grunts behind you, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. His hand grips your throat again, anchoring you. Owning you.
“Say it,” he demands.
“Say whose you are.”
“Yours,” you gasp. “Yours—Carlos, please—”
And that sets him off.
He thrusts deep, hips slamming against your ass as he groans into your shoulder, pulsing inside you.
Then, still holding your hair, he drags you back one final time and fucks you slow—deep and rough until you’re shaking, twitching, begging him to stop because you can’t take it anymore.
Only then does he let go.
You collapse face-first into the sheets, limp, heart pounding.
Carlos pulls out with a rough sound, stands beside the bed. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you. Wrecked. Messy. Silent now.
Then, he walks to the nightstand, reaches into the drawer, and tosses something onto the bed beside you.
The toy.
“Still want this?” he asks, voice dry.
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
“That’s what I thought.”
He kisses your neck once, hard, like a mark and lays down beside you.
You don’t move.
You couldn’t even if you tried.
And you know one thing for sure now.
You’ll never look at that toy again without thinking of him.
The way his pants hang off his slutty little hips?? I’m falling to my knees 🥵
I needed to share that with someone, and you were the first person I thought of T. I knew you would get it 😮💨
Yeah well. Lucky for him, he’s got a whole bakery in the back. Everybody say thanks to #that ass for keeping his jeans from sliding to his knees. Istg he’s one hip sway away from a lawsuit.
*cough* Calvin campaign when *cough* PHEWWW. I must have caught something, guys be careful :,)
