⤷ 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
⤷ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩(𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭), 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠, 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚/𝙙𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣
Your messages aren’t going through now. He must be on the plane. Your stomach churns with excitement and hope. Matt’s coming to Paris. For you. At least, that’s what you want to believe. What else could it be? He didn’t answer your thirty-plus phone calls last night.
Is he coming to end this? Whatever this was.
Or did something happen to Leila?
What could make him come all the way to Paris?
Maybe your dad embarrassed you, called Matt, told him how depressed you’ve been.
You want to let it slip, enter a space where anything could be possible. A space where Matt wants you. A space where things don’t have to be messy. A space where you don’t end up like your mother.
Your stomach bubbles with possibilities. You can’t drink your coffee now.
You should get ready now. Look pretty. It’s been thirty days since you’ve seen him.
Does he have stubble now?
Does he still run his tongue along his teeth when he’s anxious?
You have to quiet the thoughts.
Empty bottles of wine are shoved into the recycling. Dirty dishes scrubbed until your fingers are pruned and raw. Like you can erase thirty days in thirty minutes.
His knock isn’t steady this time.
You didn’t change out of the dress from the night before.
It’s not the Matt you know–it’s the shell of him, raw and restless, eyes rimmed with red and wild.
“Who the fuck was that?” he rasps, shoving past you into the apartment. He doesn’t even wait for an answer. He moves through each room with precision, opening doors, scanning corners.
Like he’s looking for something. Someone.
And you can only trail after him in disbelief, heart in your throat.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Matt?” You grab his arms, and he pauses.
His eyes meet yours. Lip in a tight line.
“What are you looking for?”
“Don’t play stupid with me.” His voice shakes like he’s holding something back.
He’s always holding something back.
His hand trembles as he yanks his phone from his back pocket. The screen lights up, three percent battery left, and there it is: the paparazzi shot from last night—the date your father forced you to go on. Blurry, pixelated. You’re not even sure how he could tell it was you.
“That’s why you didn’t answer,” you whisper. It’s not a question.
Matt’s mouth twists. “Looked like you were busy.”
“Busy?” Your voice cracks. “Busy? I called you thirty fucking times.”
“Spin what, Matt? Like, what are you even talking about?”
Silence. His chest rises, falls. His eyes burn into you.
“Why are you even here?” You laugh, sharp and ugly. “You’re telling me you flew all the way to fucking Paris because you saw a blurry paparazzi photo?”
“You shouldn’t be out with random men,” he bites, low.
You bark out another laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. I think you lost the privilege of telling me what to do.”
His jaw works. “Y-you never take care of yourself. You just—you fucking—” He cuts off, voice breaking. “Who was that?”
“No,” you step closer, eyes narrowing. “Actually, I’d love for you to tell me why you want to know. You always do this shit—you’re so confusing. You don’t come to Paris because you can’t ‘pick up your life,’ right? But then you fly thousands of miles to tell me not to fuck random men? For my safety? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His voice drops, wrecked. “It’s not— it wasn’t about your safety.”
“It’s not about your safety,” he says again, softer this time, like the words scrape his throat raw.
Your pulse pounds. “Then fucking please, for once in your life, say what you mean, Matt.”
His face mimics the same one you saw in that dark Pennsylvania childhood bedroom. The same lips that mumbled, half asleep, you left her, start to move.
You want to live here. In this impossible moment. Before he takes it back.
You let your brain slip into it—love. He loves you. Someone loves you.
He scoffs, shaky. “Okay, well… you didn’t say it back.”
Your throat burns. “God, can you just listen for once?”
His eyes close, jaw trembling. When they open again, it rips out of him:
“You love me?” Your voice is small, almost taunting.
His jaw locks. His voice is a rasp, low and wrecked. “I’m going to fuck you up.”
His lips on yours. It’s teeth, it’s clumsy, breath harsh. His hands cage your face like if he lets go, you’ll vanish. You stumble back into your bedroom door, the wood rattling as his body crushes against yours.
It’s not soft. It’s brutal. It’s charged. It’s years of wanting, of denying, of needing.
“You are so fucking unbelievable.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes wild. “Have me breaking every single rule I’ve made for myself.” His palms slide to your ribs, squeezing until you’re gasping, dizzy.
“And now you can’t even tell me you love me back, huh?” His breath sears your skin as he drags his mouth down to your ear. “You love me?”
His hand knots in your hair, tugging your head to the side, exposing your throat. “This okay?”
You can only nod, frantic.
“Say it,” he grumbles. “Tell me you love me. Tell me I didn’t make all of this up. That I didn’t make a mistake coming here. Tell me—please—” His voice breaks against your ear. “Tell me.”
“I love you.” It’s a whisper. A weight off your chest. It’s real. It’s been painted on your tongue for months, maybe years.
He swallows thickly—you can hear it, can almost feel it in your own throat.
You want to touch. To feel. To have the real Matt in your hands—unguarded, messy, ready for you. Finally ready for you. Your palms slide down his chest, desperate for more, while his grip stays tangled in your hair, holding you in place. His eyes are heavy, dark, watching you.
“Still in this stupid fucking dress from the picture.” He smirks, rolling his eyes.
“Hey.” You frown, breathless. “Someone didn’t answer their phone, so I so sadly fell asleep in it.”
That pulls a laugh out of him. A real one. His eyes crease, his shoulders shaking, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like you’re fighting the past. You’re here. You’re present.
Matt’s fingers are careful. Trailing up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, sucking in a harsh breath when the lace of your pink panties are revealed.
“This isn’t a mistake.” His voice is gravel, but it’s asking. It’s convincing himself. His eyes flicker up to yours.
“I wanted this for so long, you know.” His thumb hooks under the edge of the lace, knuckle brushing your skin. “Even when you wanted to act like a fucking brat, I wanted this. It wasn’t only ever about lust, either.” His throat works. “I wanted all of you. I wanted to save you. I always want to save everyone, but—fuck—I think you saved me.”
Your chest tightens. The words burn through you, but so does the panic. You grab his wrist. “Wait.”
His brows knit, instant concern. “What? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” You shake your head, cheeks burning. “I’m… I’m on my period.”
For a second, silence. He stills completely, searching your face.
And then he exhales through his nose, like it’s nothing. His lips twitch with something close to a smile. “You think I care about that?” His thumb strokes your thigh, steady, grounding. “We’ve always been messy.” His voice dips lower. “I don’t give a fuck. I still want you. All of you.”
“It’s… you’re not, like, grossed out?” you whisper.
Matt raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know who you’ve been fucking, but a little blood isn’t a big deal.” His lip curls. “That fucking loser you were with last night might have minded, but I don’t.”
You roll your eyes. “He was actually very nice.”
“Shut up,” Matt grunts, shoving your panties to the side. His gaze drops lower, and his breath stutters. “Shit.” His voice breaks on a whisper. “So pretty.”
Two fingers slide through your slick folds, slow, deliberate, and your mouth drops open with a gasp.
He leans in closer, breath hot against your cheek as his thumb circles your clit. “You know, I’ve always wondered…” His voice is rough, low. “What kind of noises you make. How you fuck. If someone fucking you would finally get you to listen, hm?”
Your hips jerk into his hand, helpless, and he swallows the sound you make with a kiss—slow, sloppy, biting at your bottom lip like he’s starving. You pull back and try to catch your breath.
“I saved you?” You can hardly form the words. His fingers are relentless, thrusting into you.
“Mhm.” He kisses your cheek, lips soft against your tears. “You showed me I can love again. That I wasn’t broken. That I can let people in.” His mouth curves, the ghost of a smirk. “Really insufferable people.”
You bite down on your lip, staring into his eyes as his hand works between your thighs. It’s so dirty, so messy. But it’s intimate in a way that makes your chest ache. It’s like he read your mind.
“You’re a good girl,” he coos, voice low and sure. “You deserve love. You’re not the problem. You’re a good girl.”
Your breath shatters. Tears spill hot down your cheeks as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot with every flick. It’s overwhelming — your pussy fluttering around him as he tells you the one thing you’ve never believed:
That you’re finally good.
“I wanna make you feel good, too.” Your voice trembles, hot tears stuck in your throat.
“You’re gonna cum first.” His tone leaves no other option. “I haven’t had any in a while, and I can tell by the way your pussy is squeezing around my fingers I’m not gonna last. You gonna be good, yeah? Cum for me?”
You nod your head, your chest heaving.
“Open.” Your mouth opens as he lets go of your hair, shoving his fingers in your mouth. “Suck.”
Your tongue swirls around his fingers, his silver ring metallic and cold on your tongue.
“Juust like that,” He nods as he watches you suck on his fingers. “Fuck–” Matt looks behind him, his head nodding towards your bed. “Bed. Now.”
You waste no time walking on shaky legs to your bed, lying down on your back. Matt pulls your underwear down, tossing it aside, and your heart pumps, waiting to see him completely vulnerable. But he doesn’t reach for his belt; he pulls you to the edge of the bed.
“Matt, you can’t—I’m on my period.” Your voice cracks, half shame, half warning. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his palms press them wide, holding you down.
His eyes flash as he hovers over you. “And I told you I don’t give a fuck.”
“Crazy?” He cuts you off with a sharp laugh, leaning down, his breath hot against your skin. “Not crazy. Obsessed, maybe. You think I’ve waited all this time just to stop now?”
His tongue drags through your folds, deliberate, slow, and you gasp so loud your hand flies to your mouth.
You feel Matt take a deep breath before sucking hard on your clit. His groan vibrates through you. “I’m gonna fucking cum just from this. Jesus Christ, baby.”
His fingers slide inside, curling, his nose buried in your messy folds. Embarrassment doesn’t even touch you — not when he wants you like this. Messy. Open. Vulnerable.
Your hips rut against his face. You’re soaked. He’s soaked, devouring you like he’s been starved. Obscene sounds fill the room as he laps at you, not letting a single drop go to waste.
“Messy girl,” he mumbles into you. “Gonna cum on my tongue?” His fingers thrust harder, curling up, and you cry out, your legs shaking. “Give it to me, baby. I need it. Want all of it.”
You’ve cum before — with your own hand in the dark, a porn film muffled on your phone, with some random sweaty man who never even looked you in the eye. But this—this is nothing like that. This is white fire burning in your chest, noises you don’t even recognize ripping from your throat.
Not by someone who wants you.
Not by someone who uses you.
But by someone who loves you.
Matt watches you in awe as you come down from your high. Silent, reverent. He sinks to his knees, unbuckling his belt with shaky fingers, pushing his pants down. His cock is heavy and straining in his boxers, the dark fabric soaked at the tip. He palms himself once, groaning low in his chest, waiting for you to come back down to earth.
“Please.” Your voice is broken, wrecked. Your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers before dipping inside, pulling him free. His cock stands tall, flushed pink, wet at the tip. You give it one slow stroke and his hips jerk, a sharp gasp ripping out of him.
You don’t get another chance—he’s already pushing you back onto the bed, lips crashing to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, metallic-sweet, as he licks into your mouth. His tip drags over your clit, slick and messy, and he groans, rutting against you.
“Fuck,” he gasps, kissing the corners of your mouth like he can’t get enough. He lets his cock slide against your clit again, again, smearing precum across you. Then he pulls back just enough to spit into your mouth, watching you swallow before kissing you deep.
You’re clawing at his t-shirt, a moaning mess beneath him, while he keeps teasing your entrance with the thick head of his cock, just barely slipping inside before pulling out.
He smirks down at you, hips grinding slow and cruel. “Yeah? You like when I fuck you just a little bit?” His voice is gravel, taunting. “Dirty girl.”
You tilt your hips up, desperate, and feel his thick cock slide deeper into you. You revel in it — the burn, the stretch, the whimper that vibrates out of his throat as your pussy clamps around him. Tight. Hot. Perfect.
When he finally bottoms out, you squirm, gasping as his pulsing cock fills you to the hilt. Your legs shake, and his forehead drops to yours, breath ragged.
“You can take it,” he grunts, fucking into your sloppy cunt slow and steady, making sure you feel every vein, every twitch, every throb. “I know you can.”
His hand yanks at your dress, pulling one strap down until your tit spills free, your nipple instantly hard. He groans, latching onto it — sucking, nipping, his teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out.
His hips get more urgent, faster, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing like sin through the Paris night. You’re babbling, moaning, incoherent as he switches from your breast to your mouth, swallowing every sound you make. Your pussy squelches around him, obscene, messy.
“She’s fucking talking to me, huh?” he grunts into your mouth, chest vibrating as he fucks you deeper. “My messy girl.”
“Tell me you love me. Again,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Tell me.”
“I love you, baby. I love you.” His gasp shudders through your chest as he fucks you deeper, losing himself. “Gonna fucking cum.”
“In me.” The words tear out of you, desperate, intoxicating.
He falters, hips stuttering.
“It’s okay,” you promise, clutching him tighter.
His eyes roll back, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as he spills into you, hot and thick. His release mixes with yours, messy and unrestrained — your cycle, your ache, your need — all of it pooling together, staining the sheets, leaving its mark.
His breath is soft in bed next to you. Tangled, sweaty limbs molded together. You curl into him, wanting to take refuge in his rib cage. Dry your clothes on his bones and make a bed right next to his pumping heart.
The bottle of wine is opened in the stumbling of your steps. He sloshes half of it onto the counter trying to pour, cursing under his breath while you giggle. Two glasses of Château Angélus, poured to the brim. Red-stained mouths and soft kisses, some staining your teeth.
“I’ve never seen you tipsy,” you giggle as Matt traces clumsy love letters onto your arm.
“I couldn’t drink on the job.” His face is pink, movements loose, hands warm. He grins, leaning too heavily into your shoulder. “Kiss?” he whispers.
Your lips meet his again. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve tasted him tonight. He keeps going back for more like he’s starving.
“You’re really touchy,” you mumble when he kisses your fingers.
“You didn’t expect that?” He moves your hair aside, his mouth finding your neck.
You shake your head, and he laughs — too loud, covering his mouth like he’s embarrassed, then immediately pressing another sloppy kiss to your cheek.
“I guess I didn’t either,” he admits, tugging at the back of your neck, fingers brushing the tattoo he can’t quite see. “This tattoo…” he mumbles.
“Because it’s true.” His lips graze your shoulder, eyes glassy.
“Divine feminine, right?” He licks his lips. “It’s true. It’s what you are.”
Your cheeks burn, though you blame the wine. That and the soreness between your thighs.
It’s quiet after that, comfortable. The only sound is the clink of your glasses and the tiny sips of bitter wine burning both your throats.
Matt tips his head back against the bed, eyes half-lidded, smiling like a kid. “You know that I jerked off after we slept in bed together in Pennsylvania,” he slurs slightly. “Like, we didn’t even do anything we just slept. That’s why I acted sooo weird in the morning.”
Your jaw drops, a laugh bubbling out of your throat before you can stop it. “Matt!”
His face crumples a second later, groaning as he hides against your neck. “Forget I said that. Wine’s talking.”
“It can be like this forever, you know?”
Matt’s hand stills on your waist. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it.
His eyes drift to the window, to the stretch of Paris beyond it — temporary, fragile. He thinks of his mom. How she would be proud of him putting himself for once.
And still there’s a gnawing ache in his chest whispering that he’s being selfish.
You grab his face, pulling him back to you. “Don’t think about it,” you whisper. “Just stay.”
He doesn’t answer with words. He kisses you instead, slow and deep, like he can pour his promises into your mouth.
When you finally pull back, you search his eyes. “Promise me.”
There’s a beat. A pause heavy enough to crush.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. Another text from your dad: "You need to clean up your image. That date was supposed to help."
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts.
"Wait," Matt clears his throat. "Your dad set that up?"
[a/n: now everyone can stop threatening my life! they did it y'all!! also this isn't the end, i think one more part and then the series will be over!]
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