run for the hills - mat barzal
part of the think later fic series
"The way you touch me,
Straight to the heart, yeah,
It cuts me,
'Cause I know deep down that it's,
Never gonna ever be us, oh,
Never gonna ever be more than just something that's fucking me up."
***
request: "can you do Mat Barzal for run for the hills? him and a childhood best friend that have denied their feelings for each other until it all boils over when she tries to go out on a date with one of his teammates which from angst leads to smut. thanks."
summary: a date with mat's teammate get's ambushed
word count: 7.4k
warnings: 18+ NSFW! alcohol, toxic-ish possessive friendship, blink and you'll miss it choking, protected sex.
notes:
- this request is so old I hope u are still around anon
- writing this and the other smut at the same time was PAINFUL but today I bring you this!
- lowkey picked a random guy off the nyi roster as the date LMAO I'm sure you're a wonderful person hudson fasching
- not really proof read it's 2:30am leave me alone
- first barzal fic
***
Being a hopeless romantic meant one of two things: You’re either in love with one person for your entire life, or you hop from date to date, trying to find “the one.”
Why not both?
When you got accepted to NYU, and he got drafted to the Islanders, it felt perfect. You felt like your heart was going to burst, thinking “This is it. This is when we stop ignoring everything we’ve felt since we were thirteen and just do it.”
But it never did. And you feel weird, really weird, knowing that someday, you’ll have to find somebody else. Settle down with a nice guy, have kids, and adopt a golden retriever without thinking of Mat like that ever again.
Because, here’s the thing: Mathew Barzal isn’t someone you pine or long for. He isn’t going to take time out of his day to talk about his feelings, nonetheless yours. He isn’t the guy you’re going to marry, and he certainly isn’t the one you love. Not the one you’re supposed to love, anyway.
He wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. You weren’t supposed to care, not in that way. But you did. God, you did. And it was getting harder to ignore. Harder still when you were in New York, practically living in his shadow. The NHL wasn’t just some dream for Mat anymore; it was his reality, his entire life now. Meanwhile, you were just trying to make sense of yours, weaving through crowded streets and busy subways, wondering if you’d ever get the courage to stop pretending. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You’d always been too good at pretending.
Now, you’re staring at your phone, heart racing, fingers hovering over the text thread you had with one of Mat’s teammates–Hudson. Plans for tonight to get a drink at a popular bar that you had made a couple of days ago–something that would have seemed perfectly harmless if it weren’t for the fact that Mat was Mat, and this was his teammate. It felt like a line you shouldn’t cross, but why not? Mat was never going to step over it. You’d been waiting for years, for something—anything—to change, and it never did.
Maybe that’s why you said yes. You didn’t owe Mat anything. He’d never shown up with flowers or grand declarations, never pulled you aside to confess what you secretly hoped he felt. So, why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you move on?
You told yourself it was fine—just drinks, just casual. Hudson was a good-looking guy, funny, kind. The kind of guy you feel safe with and enjoy the nonchalant normalcy from. But that knot in your stomach wouldn’t go away, and it only got worse when you saw Mat’s name flash on your phone screen later that night. You hesitated, thumb swiping at the notification, and you opened the message:
Three words, but they packed more of a punch than you anticipated. You blinked, unsure of how to respond. How did he even know? The news must’ve spread quickly, and now you were caught in the fallout. You tried to steady your breathing, but the wave of panic had already set in.
Mat wasn’t the type to just let things slide. You knew that. Still, you weren’t prepared for the flood of texts that followed:
"You’re going out with him?" "Did you even think this through?" "Seriously? Out of all the people, it had to be him?"
Each message felt like an accusation, and before you could respond, your phone rang. Mat’s name flashed across the screen, and for a moment, you considered answering. Maybe it was better to just talk to him, maybe this time he’ll finally open up and tell you how he feels. But the longer you stared at his name, the more you realized that trying to have this conversation for the 10th time and failing wouldn’t fix anything.
Why did he have to care now? After all this time of skirting around the topic, of him pretending like your friendship was all there was, like there couldn’t possibly be anything more between you two. Years. You had wasted years waiting for Mat to just say something, to even hint that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way you did. But instead, he just stayed Mat—your friend, your crush, your unfinished story.
You ran your hands over your face, trying to push away the anxious energy simmering beneath your skin. This was ridiculous. You weren’t even on the date yet, and somehow, it felt like you were betraying him. But what was the alternative? Continue sitting on the sidelines, hoping one day he’d look at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered? No. You couldn’t do that anymore. You wouldn’t.
Still, the guilt gnawed at you, even as you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your jacket. Hudson. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He was kind, laid-back, and probably wouldn’t even care if Mat found out. But you cared. You cared way too much about Mat’s opinion—about how his words, sharp and accusatory, cut deeper than you’d like to admit.
But why? What right did he have to be upset? He’s never made a move, never said anything to stop me before. He didn’t choose me.
You tugged on your jacket with more force than necessary, trying to shake off the irritation clinging to you like a second skin. Mat always had this way of getting under your skin without even trying, making your mind run in circles, questioning every interaction, every glance, every word that went unsaid.
And then there was Hudson. He wasn’t complicated, didn’t make your heart feel like it was sprinting in opposite directions. Maybe that was part of the problem. There wasn’t a lifetime of history behind your conversations with Hudson—no buried feelings or unresolved tension. Just… normal. He was safe. Comforting. Predictable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what you needed.
But even as you tried to convince yourself of that, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart stuttered when Mat’s name appeared on your phone again. Another text. What now?
Two simple words, but they hit harder than the others. Your breath caught in your throat, your feet pausing mid-step. Don’t go? Why? Was this finally it? Was Mat finally going to stop pretending like the two of you didn’t have years of unspoken feelings swirling around every conversation? Or was this just another one of his territorial moments, where he felt the need to control what you did because that’s what friends do?
You didn’t know anymore. And it was driving you insane.
Your phone buzzed again in your hand, and this time you opened it, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words lit up the screen:
A chill ran down your spine as you tried to make sense of it. Meet you there? Where? You hadn’t told Mat where you were going. Panic started to creep up your chest, your mind racing through possibilities.
Did he already know where Hudson was taking you?
The thought sent your stomach lurching. Mat wasn’t going to let this go. You could see it now—him showing up, crashing your night with that stormy expression he always wore when something didn’t sit right with him. This wasn’t like the casual, indifferent Mat you were used to dealing with. This felt different—like the beginning of something you weren’t entirely sure you were ready for.
But before you had a chance to stop and rethink everything, you were already out the door, your mind swirling in a thousand directions. Maybe Hudson would help calm the noise in your head tonight. Or maybe Mat would ruin everything. Again.
You just weren’t sure which outcome scared you more.
***
You sat across from Hudson in a booth, trying to focus on the easy rhythm of his voice. He was telling you a story—something funny, probably, judging by the way he laughed—but you weren’t really listening. Your mind kept drifting, eyes flickering over the crowd, half expecting to see a familiar face weaving through the tables. Mat’s texts lingered in the back of your head, twisting your thoughts in knots. Every time the door opened, your stomach lurched, expecting him to walk in, disheveled and brooding, just like he said he would.
Hudson’s voice faded into the background, and guilt gnawed at you. He didn’t deserve this. You were here, on a date, and the least you could do was pay attention. But Mat… why did it have to be him? Why did he have to throw everything into chaos the second you tried to move on? You’d waited years—years—for him to say something, to act on whatever it was that simmered between you two. But he never did, and now, when you finally made a move to break free of the limbo, he swoops in with a few cryptic texts and throws you right back into it.
You nodded at something Hudson said, forcing a smile that felt more strained than natural. He was sweet, really. The kind of guy you could talk to for hours without feeling exhausted, the kind of guy who made you feel seen. But as he spoke, all you could see was Mat—Mat with his stupid dark eyes, his ridiculous smirk, the way he always acted like he was above it all. Except now, apparently. Now he cared.
"Hey, are you okay?" Hudson’s voice pulled you back to reality, his brows furrowed as he looked at you with concern.
You blinked, trying to shake off the tension gripping your chest. "Yeah, sorry. Just… long day, I guess."
He smiled, but there was something off in his eyes, like he could tell you were miles away. And maybe you were. Because even though Hudson was right there, saying all the right things, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Not tonight. Not when Mat was barreling his way into your mind like a freight train, unstoppable and impossible to ignore.
You reached for your drink, taking a slow sip, trying to calm the storm brewing inside you. Maybe this was just nerves, the weight of trying to move on after years of pretending. But as you put the glass down, the door opened, and there he was—Mat.
Disheveled. Casual. Like he hadn’t just sent you spiraling into a pit of confusion hours earlier. He walked in like he owned the place, scanning the room before his eyes landed on you. And when they did, there was that smirk, the one that sent your heart racing and made you want to strangle him in the same breath.
You felt Hudson tense beside you as Mat made his way over. He probably had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t stupid. The air had shifted, and you could feel the tension between the two of them before Mat even opened his mouth.
"Hey," Mat said, sliding into the booth with a nonchalance that made you want to scream. "Didn’t know you were coming here tonight."
His tone was casual, almost friendly, but there was an edge to it—something territorial, something that made you bristle. Hudson glanced between the two of you, clearly sensing the shift but not saying anything.
You swallowed, trying to find your voice, but Mat beat you to it. "What’s going on here?" Mat said, leaning back in the booth like this was all perfectly normal. "I mean, I would know if I introduced you two. How do you guys know each other again?”
There it was. The hint, the not-so-subtle reminder to Hudson that whatever history he thought he was starting with you, Mat had already written the first few chapters. You could see the way Hudson’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Mat had already made his point.
"Yeah, we go way back," Mat continued, his tone light but laced with something more. "She’s always been around, you know? One of my closest friends." The words felt like a slap, a casual dismissal of everything that had built up over the years—the silent tension, the unspoken feelings. Just friends. You hated how much that stung.
Hudson’s brow furrowed, but he stayed polite. "Yeah, she mentioned you a couple times," he said, though there was a clear undertone of discomfort. "Didn’t realize you were coming by tonight."
Mat shrugged, his gaze flickering over to you for a second before returning to Hudson. "Yeah, well… figured I’d stop by. See what’s up."
And just like that, the atmosphere became unbearable. You could barely look at Hudson, the guilt gnawing at you for letting Mat bulldoze his way into this. But what could you say? Every time Mat was around, it felt like the ground shifted beneath your feet, like no matter what, you couldn’t move on because he wouldn’t let you. And the worst part was, you let him.
Mat didn’t even seem to acknowledge the fact that this was a date. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care. That smirk never left his face, like he was enjoying this, like it was some kind of game. But you weren’t playing anymore. Not after everything.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Mat, can I talk to you outside?" Your voice came out softer than you intended, but the look in Mat’s eyes changed for a brief moment—like he wasn’t expecting you to call him out.
Hudson looked confused, glancing between you and Mat as you stood up. "Yeah, sure," Mat said, standing up as well, still wearing that maddeningly casual expression.
You gave Hudson a small, apologetic smile, but your heart was racing. This had to stop. It had to stop tonight. You couldn’t keep pretending like Mat didn’t affect you, like his presence didn’t make your entire world tilt off its axis every time. You deserved more than this half-hearted attempt at friendship, this limbo where neither of you ever said what needed to be said.
Once you were outside, the cool night air hitting your face, you turned to Mat, your chest tight with frustration. "What are you doing?"
He leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets, and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? I’m just checking in."
"No, you’re not," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "You’re not just ‘checking in.’ You’ve never done this before. What, you show up tonight because I’m out with Hudson, and now suddenly you care?"
Mat blinked, his smirk faltering just a bit. "It’s not like that."
"Then what is it?" Your voice wavered, the rawness of your emotions spilling over. "Because you can’t keep doing this, Mat. You can’t keep showing up whenever it’s convenient for you. You don’t get to decide when it’s okay for me to move on."
His jaw clenched, and for a second, he looked like he was going to argue, but then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t want you with him."
"Why not?" you shot back. "He’s kind, he’s funny, and he actually wants to be with me."
Mat’s eyes darkened, his voice lower when he spoke. "Because you’re mine."
You hated how he could say something like that—like you belonged to him, like the years of unresolved tension between you gave him any kind of claim over your life now. It pissed you off more than anything, the way he could just slide into your world, uninvited, like it was his right. Like it was normal. The nerve of him to act as if he had some kind of power over your happiness, over who you chose to be with. But even now, there was that flicker of something inside you that responded to him. That hated how much his presence still affected you, how much you let him mess with your mind, your heart.
"You’re fucking unbelievable," you hissed, your voice shaking with barely restrained fury. Every word felt like it was dragging itself out of you, your frustration bubbling over. "You don’t get to decide that for me, Mat. You don’t get to walk in and out of my life whenever you want, like I’m some—some fucking possession you can just claim whenever it suits you."
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. Of course, he didn’t. Mat never backed down from anything, especially not from you. "I’m not walking in and out. You’ve always been there, and you know it."
That made you want to scream. It was like he couldn’t hear you—like everything you were saying just bounced right off him, never sinking in. The way he stood there, hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall with that smug, infuriating look on his face, made you want to punch something. Preferably him. You felt your hands ball into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms, trying to keep control over the storm brewing inside of you.
"That’s not the fucking point, Mat!" you nearly shouted, your voice louder than you intended, but at this point, you didn’t care. Let the whole world hear you if they had to. "You don’t get to swoop in and act like we’re something when you’ve never had the guts to say it to my face. You can’t just show up because you’re suddenly jealous and—" your voice broke for a moment, anger mixing with the ache that had been festering for too long, "And act like I owe you something. Like I owe you anything."
The words hung in the air between you like a knife, sharp and deadly, cutting through whatever unspoken shit had been lingering for years. Mat stared at you, his eyes darker now, something dangerous flickering behind them. He pushed off the wall, taking a step closer, and for a second, you could see the way his jaw clenched, his hands flexing as if he was trying to keep from reaching out and grabbing you.
"I never said you owed me," he growled, his voice low, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. "But don’t pretend like you don’t feel it too. Don’t act like I’m the only one who—"
"Who what?" you cut him off, your voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. "Who’s too fucking scared to admit what they want? Who’s too much of a coward to make a move?" You shook your head, your throat tightening with frustration. "I’m done with this. I’m done with you showing up whenever you feel like it and screwing with my head."
His eyes flashed, and before you could react, he took another step forward, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. It wasn’t hard, but the heat of his touch sent a jolt through you, and suddenly the air between you crackled with something more dangerous, something volatile. "You’re not done," he said, his voice a low rumble that made your heart race. "Don’t lie to yourself. You’re mine, and you fucking know it."
You yanked your wrist free, the anger boiling over now, mixing with the hurt, with the years of unspoken bullshit. "I’m not yours, Mat!" you shouted, your voice cracking as you took a step back. "I’ve never been yours! You never did a damn thing to make me yours!"
His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, you saw something raw, something vulnerable flash across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He stepped forward again, closing the distance between you, his voice low, but every word felt like a punch to your gut. "You are. You’ve always been. And you can pretend like Hudson means something, but we both know he doesn’t. Not the way I do."
The way he said it—so fucking sure of himself—made your chest tighten with fury. How dare he? How fucking dare he? The audacity of it, the nerve to act like he had any right to say those things to you after everything.
"You don’t get to say that," you spat, your voice trembling with anger, but you couldn’t stop now. It was like everything you’d held back for so long was finally breaking free. "You don’t get to waltz in here and claim me like I’m some fucking prize you’ve won. You never fought for me, Mat. You never—" your voice faltered, the weight of the truth crashing over you, "You never wanted me enough to actually do something about it."
There was a beat of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. Mat’s face was unreadable now, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually say something that mattered. Something real.
But he didn’t say anything. Instead, his hands, large and rough and calloused from years of holding a hockey stick came down, cupping your face, and before you could process what was about to happen, his mouth was on yours. Hard.
Mat’s lips crashed into yours with a force that knocked the breath out of you, your body responding before your mind even had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was urgent, raw, like he was claiming you, staking some kind of territorial claim over your mouth. And the worst part? You kissed him back. Your fingers tangled in his jacket, pulling him closer, as if somehow closing the space between your bodies would make all the confusing emotions disappear.
Your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, to remember the fact that Hudson was sitting inside, probably wondering where you were. But your body? Your body betrayed you. Every touch of Mat’s hands as they slid down your waist, gripping you like he needed to remind you of just how much power he thought he had over you, sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. You hated him for this—for making you feel this way, for making you want him even when you shouldn’t. But, god, you wanted him. You couldn’t deny that.
The kiss deepened, and you let out a soft moan against his mouth, your back pressing against the cold brick wall as Mat’s body pushed into yours. You could feel his hands everywhere—on your hips, your waist, sliding up your back—and each touch made your mind blur with desire. It was like the years of pent-up tension between the two of you had finally snapped, and now there was no going back.
His hand slid up to your throat, gently squeezing, his thumb brushing against your jaw as he pulled away just enough to look down at you, his breath hot against your lips. "You still think you’re not mine?" he growled, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.
The possessiveness in his voice should have made you angry. It should have made you push him away, tell him that he didn’t get to decide that. But instead, it made your knees weak. It made you want him more, even though you knew you shouldn’t. God, why did he have this effect on you? Why couldn’t you just walk away from him?
"Mat…" you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to catch your breath. But before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, and you couldn’t think anymore. You couldn’t focus on anything but him, the way his body pressed into yours, the heat between you almost unbearable.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this wasn’t right. You knew you should stop. But when Mat’s hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing the skin of your stomach, all coherent thoughts disappeared. All that was left was the way his touch set your skin on fire, the way his breath was ragged against your lips as he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.
Without a word, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the wall and leading you around the corner to where his car was parked behind the restaurant. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body buzzing with anticipation, even as your mind screamed at you to stop. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
He unlocked the car, and before you could even process what was happening, you were in the backseat, Mat’s hands all over you again. The air in the car was thick, the windows fogging up almost immediately as his mouth found yours again, rough and demanding. He wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful, and you didn’t want him to be. You wanted him like this—possessive, raw, like he couldn’t get enough of you.
God, why did this feel so right? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to stop? It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about this before—hell, the tension between the two of you had been building for what felt like forever. But you’d never let yourself really think about it, not in a way that felt real. Not in a way that made your body ache with the need to have him closer, deeper, harder. Now, though? Now it felt like every fantasy you’d tried to shove down was crashing into reality, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.
His hands moved with a confidence that made you weak, like he already knew exactly how to make you fall apart. His fingers grazed the skin under your shirt again, sliding up your stomach with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, but not enough to satisfy the desperate need that had taken over your body. Every inch of you felt like it was on fire, and the way his hands gripped you like you were some kind of prize only made it worse. It made you want him in a way that felt dangerous, like if you gave in to this, there’d be no going back.
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice was rough, thick with the kind of desire that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was a fog of conflicting thoughts, the logical part of you screaming to stop while your body betrayed you, pressing closer, arching into his touch. “All those times you’d ignore my calls like you didn’t care, like you weren’t thinking about this too? It drove me fucking insane.” His lips brushed against your ear, his breath sending a pulse of heat straight through you. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you for so long.”
His mouth was on yours again before you could even process what he’d said, rough and demanding, like he couldn’t stand to be apart from you for even a second longer. His hands slid down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you onto his lap, the air in the car thick with tension. Every inch of your body was pressed against his, and you could feel him—every hard, aching part of him—through his pants, making your head spin with need.
“You drive me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with frustration and desire. “The way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to smile. The way you act all tough like you don’t give a shit about anything when I know you’re just as fucked up over this as I am.” His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, full of something that made your stomach flip. “I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long. To touch you. To make you beg for it.”
You swallowed hard, your throat tight as you tried to process the words. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying hanging in the air between you. There was no room for denial anymore. No room to pretend that this was just some passing thing. He’d wanted this—wanted you—for as long as you could remember, and the way he was looking at you now? Like he was on the verge of losing control? It made your heart race, made your body ache with the need to feel him everywhere.
He pressed his lips to your neck, his breath hot and ragged as his hands tightened on your hips, and your mind swirled with a mix of anger and desire. Why did he have this hold over you? Every time you tried to walk away, to forget about the mess of emotions between the two of you, he pulled you back in like this. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to push your buttons, how to make you want him even when you hated him. It was toxic, messy, and all kinds of wrong, but god, you wanted him right now.
You gripped the fabric of his shirt, yanking him closer, a growl of frustration slipping from your lips. “You drive me insane, Mat,” you muttered, your voice field with anger and want. “Every time I tried to talk to you about this, about us, you brushed me off like it didn’t mean a damn thing. You never let me in, never gave me anything real. And now, what? You think this makes up for it?”
Your words hit him like a slap, but he didn’t stop. Instead, his hands slid up your shirt once again, his fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to remind you of how much he wanted you, how much he’d been holding back. “I’m sorry, alright? I know I fucked up,” he growled, his tone low and frustrated, the apology coming out rough, as if he hated admitting it. “But you—” His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you harder against him as his mouth grazed your collarbone. “You make me crazy, too. I told you. You know that, right? Every time you act like I don’t affect you, like you’re not thinking about me… it drives me fucking insane.”
A bitter laugh escaped your throat, your hands sliding up to grip the back of his neck, pulling his head back so you could look him in the eyes. “You think this is all in my head? All the times you brushed me off, made me feel like some fucking afterthought, and now you’re telling me I’m the one who acts like I don’t care?” The words came out harsher than you intended, but they were laced with all the pent-up anger you’d been holding inside for too long.
His eyes darkened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap, but instead, he let out a low, guttural growl that made your stomach twist in the worst way. “I do care,” he muttered, his breath heavy against your skin, each word soaked in frustration and desire. “Fuck, I love you, alright? I just—” His hands slid down your back, gripping you with a rough possessiveness that made your heart race. “I don’t know how to handle it. You think I don’t feel this? That I don’t feel you every damn second I’m not with you?”
The words hit you harder than you expected, the admission sinking deep into your chest. He loves you? After all the times he’d left you hanging, left you wondering if you even mattered to him beyond the physical? You wanted to believe him, but part of you still held onto the anger, the resentment that had been building for so long. “Then why the hell didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you let me in?”
Mat’s grip tightened, his jaw clenched as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Because you scare the shit out of me,” he confessed, his voice low and rough, every word dripping with frustration. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Never fucking needed someone the way I need you, and it drives me insane.”
The heat between you felt like it was about to combust, your body responding to every word, every touch, even though your mind was still tangled in the mess of emotions swirling between you. You hated him for being able to make you feel like this—so weak, so desperate for him even when he’d hurt you. But in this moment, all you could think about was how much you wanted him, how much you needed to get all this frustration out of your system, and how much you didn’t care about the consequences.
"Fuck, Mat," you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper as his lips trailed down your neck, biting and kissing his way across your skin. Your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts—anger, frustration, desire—all tangled together in a knot that you couldn’t untangle no matter how hard you tried. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that this wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t just sweep everything under the rug with sex and expect it to be okay. But god, when he touched you like this? When he looked at you with that raw, unfiltered need in his eyes? You couldn’t bring yourself to care.
His hands slid down your back, gripping your ass and pulling you down against him, the friction between your bodies sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel him—hard, aching against you—and it made your mind go blank, every coherent thought slipping away as your body responded to his every touch. You didn’t want to think anymore. Didn’t want to feel the anger or the hurt or any of the emotions that had been building between the two of you for so long. You just wanted this. Wanted him.
"Tell me you want this," he growled, his voice low and rough against your skin, his breath hot as his hands slid under your waistband, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear. "Tell me you need this as much as I do."
The way his voice rasped against your ear sent another wave of heat through you, your knees weak under the weight of his words. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you admit how much you wanted him. Because as much as you craved his touch, you hated the power he had over you. Hated how he could make you feel so weak, so desperate for him even when you knew he didn’t deserve it.
Instead, you bit your lip, your fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled him closer, grinding your hips against him in a silent answer. A low, frustrated growl rumbled in his chest, and before you could even process it, his hands were moving with an urgency that made your heart race. He yanked your pants down just enough to give him access, his lips crashing into yours again with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.
Every inch of you felt like it was on fire, your body reacting to every rough, demanding touch as he reached into the glovebox for a condom, barely giving you time to breathe before he was back, his hands all over you again. He didn’t ask if you were ready—he didn’t need to. The way your body pressed against his, the way you clung to him like you couldn’t get close enough, told him everything he needed to know.
The moment he was inside you, a low moan escaped your lips, the feeling of him filling you overwhelming every sense, every thought. He wasn’t gentle—he didn’t have it in him to be gentle right now—and god, you didn’t want him to be. You wanted him like this. Hard, fast, rough. You needed him to take out all the pent-up frustration and anger on you, to make you forget everything else but the way he felt inside you.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath ragged as he thrust into you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “You feel so fucking good. I always knew you would.” His voice was thick with desire, every word dripping with the kind of possessiveness that made your body ache for more.
His lips were everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your mouth—biting, sucking, claiming you like he couldn’t get enough. His breath was ragged against your skin, every low, possessive growl sending a new wave of heat pooling in your stomach. And the way he spoke, rough and dirty, like each word was dripping with frustration and desire, only fueled the fire burning inside you.
“Look at you,” he muttered against your lips, his voice full with lust as his fingers dug into your skin. “All those times you acted like you didn’t care, like I didn’t get under your skin… Now, look at you. All fucking mine.” His words were rough, but there was something almost desperate in his tone, like he needed to remind himself of the hold he had over you. Like he couldn’t handle the idea of you slipping away from him again.
The control in his voice made your heart race, made you clench around him, drawing a low, guttural moan from his lips that only made you want him more. It wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way he fucked you—it was the way he got in your head, the way he knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you feel so completely under his control. And god, you hated that you liked it. That you craved it.
This shouldn’t feel this good.
That was the one coherent thought struggling to break through the haze, but every time you tried to latch onto it, his hands would slide up your body, his fingers grazing over your skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight through you, and it was gone. Everything was gone, except for the feeling of him inside you, the way he filled you so perfectly, like you were made for this. For him.
You arched against him, your nails digging into his back as you tried to pull him even closer, needing more of him, needing to feel every inch of him. His hands slid down your back, gripping your ass as he pulled you harder down on him, his pace unrelenting, his breath ragged as he thrust into you again and again. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered against your neck, his voice thick with frustration, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your whole body shudder. “I should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve fucking taken you when I had the chance.”
His words sent a pulse of heat straight to your core, your body tightening around him as you gasped, your mind spinning from the sheer intensity of it all. You hated that he could talk to you like this and make you fall apart at the seams. Hated that he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make your body respond even when your mind was screaming that this wasn’t enough. That this wouldn’t fix everything. But fuck, you needed him. You needed this.
Your nails raked down his back as his thrusts grew harder, rougher, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress the moans spilling from your throat. But it was impossible. The way he fucked you, the way he held you like he owned you, was too much. Every inch of your body was on fire, every nerve ending lighting up as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you down onto him harder to get deeper, to make you feel every inch of him.
“Fuck, Mat,” you gasped, your voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies moving together, the sound of his breath, rough and ragged against your ear as he buried himself inside you again and again. “I can’t—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, your mind too fogged by the pleasure coursing through you.
His lips curled into a smirk against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark and wild with lust. “Can’t what?” he growled, his pace slowing just enough to drive you insane, his hands sliding up your body, teasing, taunting, like he knew exactly what you needed and was holding it just out of reach. “Can’t handle how good I make you feel?”
The arrogance in his voice should’ve pissed you off, should’ve made you want to push him away, but instead, it made you ache for more. It made you crave the way he had complete control over you, the way he could make your body feel things you hadn’t even realized you wanted.
The way his hands moved over your body, the way he touched you like he was memorizing every inch of you, made it impossible to care. His fingers slid between your legs, teasing, taunting, his touch sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you couldn’t hold back the moan that tore from your throat.
“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingers moved faster, rougher, making you arch against him. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for. You falling apart for me.”
The way he said it, the way his voice rasped against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine, your whole body trembling as you felt yourself getting closer, every touch, every word pushing you closer to the edge. You were losing control, completely at his mercy, and you couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t want to stop yourself.
“Mat,” you gasped, your voice breathless, desperate as his fingers worked you over, as his hips moved faster, harder, driving into you with a roughness that made your whole body shake. “I’m—”
He cut you off with a rough kiss, his lips crashing against yours as his hand tightened in your hair, pulling you harder against him, like he couldn’t stand to be apart from you for even a second longer. “Come for me,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough, demanding. “I want to feel you fall apart for me.”
His words sent a shockwave through your body, the coil in your stomach tightening until you couldn’t hold it back any longer. You came undone around him, your body trembling, your breath catching in your throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless, dizzy, completely lost in the feeling of him inside you, of his hands on your body.
He wasn’t far behind, his breath rough and ragged against your skin as he thrust into you one last time, hard and deep, his whole body tensing as he came, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You could feel every part of him, the way his hands tightened on your hips, the way his body pressed against yours, and it made your head spin, made your heart race as you both came down from the high, still tangled up in each other, still breathing heavily.
“God, I love you,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with frustration and desire as he thrust into you again, his grip on your hips tightening. “You fucking drive me insane, but I love you. I always have.”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the breath out of you as your body trembled in his arms, your mind spinning with the weight of it all. You wanted to say something, wanted to tell him how much those words meant to you, but you couldn’t. Not right now. Not when every inch of your body was still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure, still reeling from the intensity of it all.
You didn’t know what this meant, didn’t know where the two of you went from here, but for now, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the way he held you, the way his body pressed against yours, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed in his world.
Because Mathew Barzal might not be the guy you marry, but fuck, you love him too.
