written by cassie. @v6quewrlds - Tumblr Blog

bliss⠀⋆⠀mat barzal.

⋆⠀pairing: mat barzal x darling!reader. ⋆⠀word count: 8k.

summary: things are growing increasingly hot and cold between the two of you. just when mat think you're cold, suddenly things are red hot (smut, 18+ mdni).

⋆⠀author's note & warnings: an anon sent me the most delicious concept so i had to break out the pen. more plot than porn, oral (m. & f. receiving), includes language, teasing. read more for #13⠀⋆⠀series masterlist.

There was a satisfaction Mat carried in realizing he knew the best route to get to your apartment and a back-up route if traffic was bad—not to mention he was on a first name basis with your doorman. He had a key fob, too, for access to the garage, the entrance, the elevators, and your front door, though he never entered without you opening the door for him first.

Tonight was supposed to be easy. You were going out with a group of his friends, plus their girlfriends, to a nightclub your publicist chose specifically for the paparazzi known to be lingering in the area and the nosy unknowns eager to post a video of spotted celebrities for 15 minutes of fame or the rush of being an anonymous insider for DeuxMoi.

It didn’t take you very long to open the door after he rang the doorbell. By the time he glanced down at his watch and back up at the dark, glossed wood, the hinges were already sighing open. The first thing Mat noticed was the glint of jewelry draped over your collarbones in the form of delicate chains catching the dim hallway light. He knew your lips curled at the edges when you watched his eyes drop to your chest, always smug at how effortlessly you seemed to make him drool.

Your voice reached his ears, evidently mid-conversation with who he was sure was Ameera or Imani, when you turned away from him, barely sparing him a glance, and padded back barefoot to your bedroom. The apartment smelled like florals and citrus, just shy of nauseating, and was impeccably clean except for the tornado that seemingly always tore through your bedroom and walk-in closet when you had to get ready on your own without your stylist’s supervision.

Mat followed you inside, shutting the door with his elbow because his hands were full with his phone in one, a bottle of your choice tequila in the other. He slipped out of his shoes the instant the door was shut, something he learned to do the hard way after you’d blown up at him for what was potentially the smallest speck of dirt tracked onto your cream-colored rug. He set the bottle on your marble countertop—another hard lesson learned—and wandered toward the living room, falling back onto one of the couches that he was learning was more firm than the other options in the area.

You’d been fighting, then you weren’t, then you were fucking, then you weren’t. More recently it seemed like you were doing both at the same time, which made your moods all the more difficult to predict. Despite how confusing it all was, Mat couldn’t help but admire the way you moved, even when you were blatantly ignoring him.

You fluttered in and out of the doorway to your bedroom, bouncing between thoughts and tasks: adjusting the clasp of a bracelet with your teeth, sending Imani a picture of your shoes, ordering Mat to take a shot of tequila with you, then pausing mid-stride to frown at your phone screen. Mat watched from the couch, recklessly letting his eyes trace the curve of your waist where your little black dress dress clung and your exposed brown skin shimmered slightly under the apartment’s soft lighting.

“You know that jacket we got you in London? The one with the pockets on the chest?” you quizzed, finally acknowledging him properly, black heels hanging off your fingers as you reappeared in the doorway. Your dark eyes flickered over him, scrutinizing his chosen outfit of a cream-colored henley tucked into dark wash jeans before landing somewhere on his face. “I have it here somewhere. It would probably go great with what you’re wearing.”

Mat blinked, still distracted the “we” that rolled off your tongue so sweetly just a few seconds prior.

“Uh. Yeah, sure,” he managed, swallowing when you tossed your heels down and padded toward the hall closet, resuming your conversation with Imani on the other end of the line about something Mat wasn’t sure he quite followed. The sound of hangers sliding against the rod made him glance up from his lap, where his fingers had started tapping restlessly against his thighs.

You emerged with the jacket draped over your arm, holding it out toward him with a tilt of your head that sent your hair tumbling over your shoulder.

“Here. Try it.”

It was cliche, the way his heart skipped a beat at the command in your voice. So, without thinking twice, he stood, fingers brushing against yours as he took the jacket, sharing each other's warmth for half a second. The fabric smelled of your perfume, a bright scent that always clung to your belongings from the frequency at which you spritzed yourself throughout the apartment.

“Turn around,” you instructed, already stepping closer before he could comply. Your hands settled on his shoulders, spinning him with an efficient impatience. He caught a glimpse of your reflection in the large hallway mirror, lips pursed in concentration, the tip of your tongue just visible between your teeth, as you adjusted the collar, your fingertips skimming the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, smoothing your palms down his arms before stepping back. “You should wear it tonight.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close you stood when he turned to face you. “Guess I’m wearing it then,” he said, his voice low.

The jacket was firm, a little heavy on his shoulders, but he liked the way you looked at him when he shrugged into it, like you were pleased with yourself for putting him in it. Your fingers ghosted over his chest, adjusting the lapels while he held his breath. “I wasn’t giving you a choice anyway,” you said, lips twitching with a smile as you picked lint off his shoulder.

You vanished back into your bedroom, and Mat exhaled, rolling his shoulders to settle into the weight of the jacket and shake off the heat at his collar. He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and reached up to tousle his hair, just to have something to do with his hands.

“How far are we going tonight?” You called out from the bedroom, voice floating to his ears from what sounded like your bathroom now. “PDA-wise.”

Mat trailed over to your bathroom door and leaned against the doorframe, watching as you reappeared, smoothing gloss over your lips before blotting them together. The soft pop of your lips that followed made his mouth dry. “Kisses are fine,” he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hands, whatever. Not like we haven’t done worse in public before.”

You hummed. “True,” you murmured, twisting the cap back onto your lip gloss.

The rustling that followed told him you would be assembling your things to toss in your clutch, but Mat didn’t move from his spot in the doorway, content to watch your fingers pluck makeup wipes, your various makeup products, and your phone from your vanity before you straightened to glance at him. He half-expected a jab or a coy remark, but instead you reached for the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down to meet your lips.

The kiss was brief, just long enough for him to register the warmth of your mouth, the slick glide of your gloss against his lips, and the soft exhale you let out through your nose before you pulled away. “Just wanted to test the transfer,” you murmured, half-smiling when his eyebrows drew together in confusion.

He didn’t process the words, not with the way his pulse thrummed under his skin and hammered in his ear. “The… the what?”

You rolled your eyes, thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth where your gloss had smudged. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, voice lilting with amusement as you turned back to the vanity.

The dim, golden lighting of your bathroom caught the high points of your cheekbones, the curve of your throat, the dip of your collarbones where those delicate chains still rested. Mat nodded absently, flexing his fingers at his sides before shoving them into the pockets of the jacket you’d insisted he wear.

“Where are we meeting your friends?”

Mat blinked, still tasting your gloss on his lips, and pulled his phone from his pocket with fingers that felt oddly weak. “Uh—at some place in Chelsea,” he said, scrolling past missed notifications to double-check the reservation. “Said they’d be there by 11.”

“I can call a car if you don’t want to deal with an Uber,” you said, strutting past Mat and out to the hallway where you bent over to do up the straps of your heels that twined up the length of your calves. The movement made the hem of your dress ride up the backs of your thighs, revealing the black lace of your underwear to his view before you straightened.

When you made no move to adjust the hem of your dress but made sure to catch Mat’s eye in challenge, he laughed hoarsely. “This is what we’re doing?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, eyes shifting repeatedly between yours and the strip of skin still exposed.

You straightened your shoulders, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, typing rapidly into your phone to call the town car while Mat watched, jaw tight.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing in thought. With a huff he finally stepped forward, crowding behind you to adjust the hem of your mini dress with a rough tug of the fabric. A suggestive hum of approval slipped from your lips as you leaned back against him, tilting your head back just enough to fall against his shoulder.

“Aggressive…” you murmured. “Is this better?”

He grumbled, rolling his eyes with a, “You’re a pain in the ass,” but didn’t step away. The heat of your back pressed against his chest made his breath hitch, fingers tense where they still held the fabric of your dress.

You laughed, twisting slightly to glance up at him through your lashes before slipping out of his hold, casually remarking, “Car’s here.”

“You’re being weird,” you announced, though your focus didn’t waver from the phone in your hand.

The ride in the town car had been nearly silent so far. Mat was busy updating his friends, tapping away at his phone, leaving you to your own devices which mostly consisted of scrolling through Instagram and trying to pretend you weren’t eager to get your hands on him. It didn’t help that the jacket you’d returned to him still carried your scent, courtesy of the spritz of perfume you snuck in your closet before handing it off to him.

Mat cleared his throat, finishing his text before he turned his head in your direction. “I’m being weird?”

You glanced up at him then continued swiping through your phone. “You haven’t said a word to me since we left.”

“After that fucking stunt you pulled at your place?” Mat muttered under his breath, returning his attention to his phone.

When he felt you look up again he lifted his eyes towards the window, developing a sudden interest in the blur of passing streetlights. “Are you gonna pout all night?” you asked, voice light for the moment.

Mat exhaled through his nose, thumb tapping against his phone screen harder than necessary. “I’m not pouting,” he denied. “Just feels like fucking whiplash sometimes. Kissing me unprompted, pulling stuff like that when we’re trying—”

“We literally had sex three days ago,” you cut in, voice dry as you sat back in your seat. “Pouting over a fucking kiss is dramatic even for you.” You rolled your wrist dismissively, the motion catching light from passing billboards and casting fractured gold across your skin.

Mat scoffed. “You know that’s not—”

“Then what?” you growled, twisting in your seat to face him fully. “Are you upset because you got blue balled or some other stupid—”

His voice was low and strained when he cut you off with the harsh hiss of your name, fingers tightening around his phone until the screen dimmed from inactivity. “It’s this,” he gestured between the two of them, “interrogating me every time you don’t get the attention you want. I’m not being weird at all. You’re bored, leave me out of it.”

The car slowed at a red light, casting them in the neon glow of a nearby sign. “You think I’m bored?” Your eyes narrowed.

Mat didn’t flinch. “I think you like starting shit with me because it’s fun for you. Now we’re arguing and I have no clue why.” He turned his head finally, meeting your gaze head-on. His hazel eyes seemed much darker in the neon flicker of the city, the sarcasm that often defined his tone replaced by a heavy, simmering tension. “I don’t get it.”

You held his stare even as the car began to roll forward again, your silence becoming a weapon. You didn’t snap back, just let him attempt to beat you at this game of attrition, this test of who would blink first. Your eyes took on a predatory curiosity, tracing the tight line of his jaw and his chest rising and falling in a shallow, agitated rhythm. The silence continued until the town car slid to a halt across the street from the entrance of the club.

“I’ll suck your dick when we get back to my place if that’s the issue,” you hummed, the words barely a ghost of a sound against the sudden silence of the car. You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on your front facing camera to check your makeup one last time.

The door on Mat’s side of the car clicked open as he cursed under his breath with a shallow roll of his eyes. It was like foreplay to you, he thought to himself, the forced arguments meant to rile him up only gave you a rush. He still wasn’t sure why you loved the arguing so much, and he was starting to question if the payoff of the (admittedly) best sex of his life was worth the psychological warfare that preceded it. Yet, as he stepped out into the warm city night, rounded the front of the town car, opened your door, and offered you a hand, the sight of you stepping out of the car, all sleek, poised, and radiating an effortless kind of power, made the annoyance evaporate.

You drew close to his side after he shut the door behind you, wrapping your hand around his bicep with a squeeze that felt more like a marking of property than a gesture of affection. As you crossed the street toward the club’s entrance, he could see the long line that wrapped around the building and two men wearing all black, leaning against their motorcycles with professional cameras hanging from their necks. Mat felt the sudden, instinctive shift in your posture; your shoulders squared and your chin lifted, naturally falling into step with him.

“Are they inside already?” you asked Mat, your voice shifting into that smooth, melodic register you reserved for the public. You leaned your head against his shoulder, the movement seamless, as if you were leaning on him for support rather than calculating the exact angle for any cameras catching your approach.

“Yeah, they’re probably already halfway through the first round of drinks,” Mat replied. He shifted his arm, sliding his hand down to lock his fingers with yours.

The bass from inside the club bled through the walls, a rhythmic thrum that Mat felt in the soles of his shoes. He pulled you through the crowd, ensuring you were still close to him every so often with the quick turn of his head as you ventured to up to the rooftop of the club where Mat was told his friends were already drinking.

The rooftop air was a welcome contrast to the stifling humidity of the dance floor below, though the atmosphere remained thick with the scent of overpriced cologne, cigarettes, and booze. As you stepped out from the elevator, the bass hit them in waves, vibrating through the glass railings that overlooked the glittering sprawl of Manhattan’s West Side. Mat’s friends were clustered around a large circular booth, a sea of laughter and clinking glasses that dimmed the moment the couple arrived.

“Finally!” one of the guys, Kyle, shouted, raising a bottle of vodka. “We thought the paparazzi had actually managed to kidnap you both at the curb.”

Mat grinned, the tension from the car ride dissolving as he leaned into the familiarity of the group. He didn’t let go of your hand, and you didn’t let him, allowing him to continue leading you toward the booth. As you approached, you separated to be absorbed by the group.

You had met all of Mat’s friends and a majority of their girlfriends by now, though this was your first night out with them. You played the part of the supportive, glowing girlfriend to perfection, your voice honeyed as you greeted them, dishing and accepting compliments before being pulled away for shots. Mat watched you out of the corner of his eye, failing to fight the urge to let his gaze run over your exposed skin and the way you commanded the space without even trying.

The first kiss of the night was completely inorganic.

Kyle was still swinging the now quarter empty bottle of vodka around, pouring distilled alcohol directly into the open mouths of every member of your group. Mat made a face at the burn, accepting the bottle while gesturing wildly to Sammy, Blake, and Ellie mid-story. He passed the bottle off to Sammy when in the periphery of his vision, he saw a phone angled towards him and you just a handful of steps away. A few months ago he would’ve brushed it off—if he had noticed it at all—but now, it was hard not to realize when people were failing to film him discreetly.

Neither of them missed a beat.

His eyes met yours. Mat didn't hesitate, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him, the movement instinctive and firm. He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a short kiss, settling his hand around your hip, and pulling back when you wrapped both arms around his waist.

“You saw?” you spoke, just loud enough over the music that he heard it, though the glow of the phone had already vanished back into a clutch.

“I saw,” he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead as he spoke.

You stepped back and mouthed, ‘Check me out,’ before spinning away to rejoin the girls, tugging Ellie along with you. Mat didn’t need to be told twice, he appreciated the excuses to let his eyes wander. He turned back to Sammy and Blake, only to be met with three different looks of amused disbelief.

The second kiss of the night wasn’t for the benefit of the cameras.

You had drifted away from the section, following your group out to where a mass of bodies danced in the center of the rooftop. Mat had his arms looped loosely around your waist, his chest acting as a shield against the jostling bodies, while you leaned back against him, controlling the pace of your dancing.

It started as a whisper, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he snarkily commented on the absurdity of the DJ’s transitions. The comment prompted a turn of your head accompanied by the sound of your laughter followed by the turn of your body to face him fully.

“Your hair looks nice like this,” you commented. As one hand fell over his shoulder, your other dipped into his dark hair, fingers massaging the scalp and making the noise of the club fade into a dull hum beyond the focus of his immediate attention. “The jacket was a good call, too. I love how it looks on you.”

Mat felt the last remnants of your argument dissolve, replaced by a magnetic pull that always seemed to override his common sense. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you in until you were sealed tightly against him.

“You love how it looks because you told me to wear it,” Mat countered, though the bite was gone from his voice, replaced by a low, gravelly, private warmth. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, breathing a soft exhale against your lips.

“I do,” you admitted, your voice a velvet murmur that vibrated against his chest. “But you still look good in it. I mean it.”

Mat’s eyes drifted shut, his senses narrowing down to the feeling of your hands sliding up his chest and over his shoulders, and the overwhelming scent of that bright, floral perfume. He was the one to lean in first this time, teasing you with a slow, deliberate descent until his lips brushed yours. The kiss was deep, tasting of salted vodka and the expensive gloss that had long since smeared, and for a long moment, the energy of the rooftop vanished.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze was heavy, anchored by a level of adoration he knew would make your ego swell. Undoubtably, that swollen ego prompted you to tug him into another kiss, one sloppier and more hurried. He couldn’t help the wandering of his hands, nor could he bring himself to be concerned with the mussing of his hair at your touch. Chasing your lips felt like the only priority in his mind, a reward for surviving the tests of the evening’s beginning.

Your hands cupped his jaw with just enough pressure to make his head swim. Just as he began to lean back in for more, you broke the connection with a soft, teasing pop of your lips, glancing over your shoulder to ensure a few nearby onlookers were indeed cognizant of the moment. You laughed at his flushed cheeks, muttering something he didn’t quite catch over the crescendo of the music, before sliding your arms back around his neck.

As the night progressed, the group migrated toward the lounge area, the high of the vodka shifting into a lazy, content hum. Mat felt his brain become overrun with static when you slid into his lap and pulled his hands onto your thighs. Feeling the tension in his hands, you slid your hands over his, guiding your fingers to lace through his, grounding him in the heat of your skin. He caught Kyle’s eye, a slow, knowing smirk crossing his friend’s face, and Mat just shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. He was completely gone, orbiting your center of gravity, oblivious to the open teasing from his friends.

He tucked his chin over your shoulder, leaving kisses along the curve of your jaw and down the side of your neck as the conversation around them dissolved into a blur of background noise. He squeezed at your thighs, happy to hear your contended sighs in between your laughter and the vibration of your voice when you spoke lowly into his ear. By the time you finally decided to call it a night, the group was practically stumbling, the high of the evening settling into a heavy, dizzy lethargy.

The walk to the pizza place Geneva, Kyle’s fiancée, recommended was a chaotic procession of laughter and leaning on one another for support. The girls, you, Ellie, and Geneva, led the way, your heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the pavement, while the guys trailed behind, recounting the night’s highlights in loud, exaggerated tones. Mat, however, was still barely listening. He was drifting, focus anchored to the woman walking just a few paces ahead of him, wrapped up in the jacket you demanded he wear earlier in the night. The way your hips swayed under the hem of that dress, the effortless grace of your stride, the way you would periodically glance back at him with a smile and an excited ‘babe’ rolling off your tongue naturally. It left him struck.

The pizza shop was busier than Mat expected it to be at this hour—nearly 3 in the morning—which he found to be quite the lucky break for the lack of space. The narrow interior forced the group to huddle close, shoulders rubbing, as you waited for your pizzas to slide out of the brick oven. You didn’t seem to mind the proximity. In fact, you leaned further into him, your back pressed against his chest as you chatted with Geneva.

Mat felt the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your dress, his arms instinctively circling your waist to keep you from being bumped by other patrons. Eventually, Geneva slid into a conversation with a pair of strangers also waiting for your food. So, you shifted, turning your head to look up at him. The fluorescent lighting of the shop was harsh, but it only seemed to highlight the clarity of your almond eyes.

“Was it too much tonight?” you asked quietly, in what was a pretty rare display of genuine concern.

“What, the PDA?” Mat murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. When you nodded, he replied, “No, no, it wasn’t too much. I actually think we could’ve pushed the envelope more.”

You let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound vibrating against his chest. “I have to draw a line somewhere.”

“Where’s the line?” Mat pushed back.

You shrugged, allowing your hands to rub over his exposed forearms, your touch light. “Wherever I decide it is for the night.”

“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say,” Mat said snickering when you shoved him weakly in the ribs.

You spent the next twenty minutes eating your slices and walking the rest of the group home, the night air finally beginning to bite through your clothes. By the time you reached the final door, Blake gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder through a hug goodnight. “You’re absolutely fucked, man,” Blake whispered with a knowing, pitying grin. “She’s got you fuckin’ barking, bro. Good luck.”

The two men fell into each other with loud, lingering laughter, the alcohol having worn off enough for the clarity of a joke to hit. Mat waved him off, his eyes already drifting back to you, busy tapping at your phone from a small distance.

Just as soon as you were alone, you demeanor shifted. The warmth you had projected for the group didn’t vanish, but it hardened into something more controlled.

“The car will be here in three minutes,” you announced, your voice returning to that cool, poised register. You didn’t look at him, your thumb dancing across the screen as you let your friends know that the two of were on your way back to your place after a long night out.

Mat blinked, attempting to predict what version of you he was getting for the final leg of the journey. The switch was often so sudden it almost made him dizzy; one moment you were a warm presence against his side, and the next, you were a sculpture of marble, distant and unfeeling. He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the curb as the black town car slid into view up the street, its headlights cutting through the midnight haze of the city and shifting between parked cars on either side of the street.

“The girls said they hope you’ll come out with us more often,” Mat said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets, hoping it would keep him from reaching for you.

You hummed, though you kept typing. “That’s sweet. Tonight was fun.”

The interior of the town car felt smaller than it had on the way there. It was almost as if Mat couldn’t avoid you, the leather seats trapping them thigh to thigh as the driver navigated the late-night traffic. The silence wasn’t cold, but it was heavy, charged with the residue of the night’s performance and the sudden absence of an audience. You were focused on your phone, the blue light reflecting in your eyes as you scrolled through the photos you’d taken at the club.

You shifted, angling your phone to take a few more shots in the dim light of the car. You didn’t look at him, but your free hand reached over, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck and pulling him toward you. You didn’t kiss him, you simply held him there for a second, your eyes shifting to the camera to capture a suggestive shot of your lips peppering his jaw, your manicured nails digging slightly into his skin. The flash went off, a brief burst of white that left spots in Mat’s vision.

You repeated the motion twice more, capturing a series of blurry, high-tension frames that highlighted the slope of his shoulder pressed against yours, the expanse of his hand on your thigh, and the curve of his lips against your cheek, carefully cropping out the rest of his face to maintain that elusive allure of access for your followers. Each time the flash died, you retreated back into your screen, your thumb flying across the glass as you shared the photos with Ameera and Imani. Mat sat frozen, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, feeling like a toy being played with by a master strategist. He wanted to reach out, to pull your phone away and demand your full attention, but the thrill of being wanted—even if it was in such a calculated, performative way—kept him hooked.

“Do you want to see them before I post?” You asked, casting your gaze his direction for the first time in ten minutes. You tilted the screen toward him, showing a shot of his jawline and a smear of your makeup on his collar.

Mat didn’t look at the screen. He looked at you. The blue light of the phone cast a ghostly color over your features, making the gold of your jewelry shimmer. He felt a sudden, sharp surge of irritation that you were still fabricating the moment rather than simply allowing it to happen, but that irritation was swiftly eclipsed by the way you shifted in closer, your thigh brushing against his.

The drive ended with a soft exhale of the brakes as you pulled up to the curb of your building. The transition from the car to the elevator was a blur of hurried footsteps and grazing touches, a frantic race toward the privacy of your front door. The moment the lock clicked shut behind them, the curated poise of the evening collapsed. You didn’t wait for him to speak or for the tension to present itself through another petty argument.

Instead of the cold shoulder he had braced himself for in the car, he got the sunnier version of you. You were chatty as you slipped out of your heels, disappearing into your bedroom to cast them aside in some corner of your closet. Mat stood in the entryway, his hands still hovering awkwardly by his sides, wondering if the switch was a trap.

He watched you wander into the hallway, brushing past him, and into your kitchen, the dim lighting casting a warm, amber glow over the marble countertops. You moved with a feline fluidity, your hips swaying in that dress as you leaned back against the cool stone of the island.

“I had fun tonight,” you murmured, your voice dropping into that low, honeyed register that usually preceded a shift in power. You didn’t move from your position against the island, but your eyes traced the line of his throat, lingering on the spot where your makeup had stained his collar.

Mat audibly breathed out, his shoulders dropping an inch. He stepped into your space, his large frame blotting out the amber light of the kitchen. “Are we gonna talk about what you started in the car earlier?”

You tilted your head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. You reached out, your fingers grazing the lapel of the jacket you’d insisted he wear. “What did I start in the car, Mathew?”

Mat let out a sharp, ragged laugh, the sound vibrating in the small gap between them. “Don’t do that.” He reached out, his hands finding the curve of your waist and hoisting you up onto the marble island. The movement was sudden and commanding, a rare moment where he reclaimed the tempo of the evening. You gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips to steady yourself, your dress bunching up around your thighs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered again, though your eyes were dark, dancing with a mixture of mischief and hunger. You arched your back, pressing your chest more firmly against his. Your fingers slid from his lapel to the back of his neck, your nails grazing the short hairs there, smiling to yourself when you saw his eyes flicker down to your lips and his throat bob as he swallowed.

He sighed through his nose, letting his nostrils flare as he stared at you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the lingering notes of your floral perfume, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. His hands settled on your thighs, the grip firm and possessive, grounding them both in the sudden, heavy silence of the apartment. For a few seconds, the script, the calculated posts, and the performative kisses were stripped away, leaving only the raw, humming electricity of two people who spent far too much time pretending you didn't genuinely want each other.

You let out a soft, shaky breath, your fingers tightening in the hair at the nape of his neck with a physical reaction you couldn’t curate or control. You liked this version of him, the one who let himself be this longing, this desperate for your touch.

Mat didn’t give you time to retreat into your guarded shell. He shifted his weight, pressing his body flush against yours, the friction of his trousers against your thighs sending a jolt of heat through them both. He broke the silence with a low, guttural sound, his lips finding the hollow of your throat and leaving a slow, deliberate trail of kisses upward toward your jaw.

“You’re so stubborn,” he murmured, guiding your head back with one hand, his voice a gravelly vibration against your skin. Your eyes fluttered closed, your guard finally crumbling as you leaned into him. “Always have to have the last word.”

Your response was a soft, breathless laugh that died in your throat as he captured your lips. The kiss was a desperate, hungry thing that tasted of equal parts late-night adrenaline and stubbornness. Your hands slid from the nape of his neck to his chest pressing into the tense muscle of his pectorals, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air left between them. The marble island was cold against your legs, but the heat radiating from Mat was a searing contrast that made your head swim.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding from your thighs to the small of your back, hoisting you higher against him. The friction of the movement caused a sharp intake of breath from you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You felt the rhythmic thrum of his heart against your chest both fast and frantic, and entirely too honest.

Mat shifted his focus, his lips leaving yours to trace a jagged path down the column of your neck. He knew exactly where the skin was most sensitive, the spot just below your jaw that always made your breath hitch. When he found it, he lingered, his tongue and teeth taking turns in grazing the surface.

Your hands abandoned his shoulders, sliding down to the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were steady, though your breathing was anything but, as you popped the first two buttons in a rush. You pulled the fabric open, your palms flattening against the warm, toned expanse of his chest. You could feel the vibration of his low, needy sounds against your skin, a sound that fed the large part of you that loved knowing exactly how much power you held over him.

Mat’s hands traveled upward, his palms sliding over the smooth fabric of your dress until he found the zipper at the back. He didn't hesitate, the metallic slide echoing in the quiet kitchen as he lowered the zip just enough to let the cool air hit your skin, though the heat radiating between them made the draft negligible.

His mind always seemed to blank in moments like these, when you were so firmly placed within his reach, giving him permission to stop thinking and start feeling. Mat’s hands slid under the loosened fabric of your dress, his palms cupping the curve of your waist. He nosed along the line of your shoulder, giving you space to finish pushing his shirt open. When your nails finally grazed the skin of his chest, he let out a shuddering breath, his forehead resting against your neck for a fleeting second.

The marble island felt like an altar to your mutual stubbornness, a place where the bickering of the day was finally traded for something more honest. Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your thighs. You tilted your head back, your eyes drifting shut as he found the sweet spot on your neck again, his kisses becoming more demanding.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your head lolling back as a soft moan escaped you. The sound was a victory for Mat, a raw confirmation that the poised, untouchable version of you had officially left the building. He shifted his weight, his hips pressing deeper into yours, establishing friction between them.

Your dress fell to the floor, leaving you exposed to both his hands and his eyes, though Mat barely had time to admire the silhouette of your body before you were pushing him back. You slinked down from your spot on the counter and found your way to your knees, hands working the button on his pants. The sudden change in height sent a surge of heat through him, his back hitting the edge of the island as he looked down at you, his expression full of dazed adoration.

When you finally freed him from the constraint of his trousers, you paused, tilting your head back to look up at him. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, the almond shape softened by a haze of desire. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” you murmured.

He let out a strangled sound when you wrapped a hand around his cock, your palm warm and firm. You built him up with the slow twist of your wrist, your gaze locked on his, challenging him to stay composed even as his breath left him in ragged bursts. Your tongue met his tip first, a wet, swirling heat that made him chest heave and his fingers grip onto the edge of the island behind him. Mat groaned, eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the sensation of your mouth enveloping him.

You worked with a focused intensity. You knew exactly how to tilt your head, how to use the suction of your lips to draw a low, guttural moan from deep in his throat. Every time he tried to reach down to pull you closer or guide you, you would lean back just enough to tease him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction of the effect you held over him.

The contrast of the cold stone against his back and the searing, wet heat of your mouth was almost too much to process. He felt the vibration of your humming against him. He was unraveling, stripped bare by the focused rhythm of your tongue.

You paused for a heartbeat, your lips sliding off him with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the silence of the kitchen. You let your gaze trace over the tension in his abs and how his chest heaved. Your lips pressed together, delivering soft pecks to his angry red tip, smiling to yourself at the breathy whimpers and whines slipping past his lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Mat choked out. His skin was flushed from head to toe, his fingers white-knuckled where they gripped the edge of the marble. The vulnerability of the moment, of him completely at your mercy, of his pride discarded on the kitchen floor alongside his pants, made the build-up that much more intense until he finally did spill over the edge with a moan peppered with the crack of his voice.

You didn’t move for several seconds, staying poised between his thighs, your chest heaving in a mirrored rhythm to his. You looked up at him, a small, triumphant smile playing on your lips as you watched him drift back to earth.

He felt the cool air of the kitchen settle over his skin as he came down. His hands found his face, palms sliding over his cheeks as he let out a long, shaky exhale as if deflating his lungs. He looked down at you, who was still kneeling between his legs, licking the sticky residue of his cum from your fingertips.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice returning to that soft, honeyed register.

He nodded, swallowing against a parched throat. Before he could conjure up the right words to say, you shifted. You stood, reaching behind your back to unclip your bra in one fluid motion. The garment pooled on the floor beside your dress, leaving the soft curves of your breasts exposed to the amber light of the kitchen. Your fingers dipped into the waistband of your underwear, dragging the silk down your hips with a grace that made Mat’s pulse spike all over again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you whispered, holding his gaze as you turned over your shoulder to slink away from the kitchen and towards your bedroom.

Mat swallowed again, watching the sway of your hips as you retreated, the sight acting like a second wind that surged through his veins. He didn't bother with his trousers, leaving them in a crumpled heap of fabric by the island. He followed you into the bedroom as if under a spell he wanted no part in breaking, the door clicking shut behind him, severing your connection with the rest of the world.

He followed you to the edge of your bed, kneeling before you, bringing his face between your thighs. Your legs fell over his shoulders as you held yourself up on your elbows, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making a sound. Mat didn’t rush it, he wanted to savor the way your composure finally frayed. He worked his way up the inside of your thighs, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, helping your hips threaten to lift from the mattress.

Your fingers tangled in the sheets, twisting the fabric into tight knots. You felt the raw, honest hunger in his touch. When he finally found your pussy, his tongue pressing against your center with a rhythmic, insistent pressure, you let out a sharp, broken cry that echoed through the quiet room. You moved against him with a desperate urgency, your body reacting to the heat of his mouth, the friction pulling the sweetest sounds from your throat.

As the peak climbed, you reached down, your fingers dragging through the sweat-damp strands of dark hair, tugging to pull him closer. You couldn’t handle the distance anymore. You wanted the weight of him, the friction of skin on skin that no camera could capture in this privacy.

“God, you look so pretty eating me out. So good for me,” you whispered.

His eyes closed as he continued working you over, submitting to the command in your voice. Mat’s tongue focused on your clit alternating between circling and sucking. The curated distance you spent all day maintaining was gone, replaced by a raw, shivering need that only he could satisfy.

“Wish I could take a picture of this,” Mat murmured, his voice a low, ruined rasp against your inner thigh. He paused for a second, his eyes shifting up to yours, mirroring the way you had toyed with him in the car.

Your answer was a sharp whine that sounded like a plea. You arched your back, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him back toward your center with a desperate, uncalculated force. “Stop talking,” you gritted, your voice devoid of its usual poise. “Just… finish it.”

He chuckled but relented, his tongue returning to your center. He focused every ounce of his attention on you, swirling and pulsing against you until your world narrowed down to the point where he made contact with your body. “You’re so mean to me,” he breathed against your skin, a playful contrast to the intensity of his actions.

The tension finally snapped. Your breath hitched, then broke into a series of gasps and sobs as a violent wave of pleasure coursed through you. Your hips bucked, your heels dug into his back as you clung to him, your voice dissolving into a high, incoherent sound that almost shook the quiet room.

From his view between your legs, Mat watched carefully to ensure you came down peacefully. He sprinkled the lightest kisses along your thighs, rubbing over your sweat-slicked skin with his palms to ground you as the aftershocks of the orgasm slowly faded. The silence that followed it was a soft, shared exhaustion that prompted both of them to bask in the glow, even for a little while.

You let out a long sigh, your limbs turning to lead as you sank deeper into the mattress. Your fingers, which had been clutching his hair with such desperation, now rested lightly on his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, the wall you kept between you seemed to have dissolved entirely. You looked at him, your eyes hazy and vulnerable, bringing that familiar, dizzying pull in his chest.

He shifted upward, sliding his body over yours with a careful slowness, mindful of the way your frame seemed to fit perfectly beneath his. He leaned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at you.

Your hand reached up to pull him down, cupping his jaw so he could meet your lips in a kiss that was slow and sweet. There was no camera here, no PR advantages directing your angles, and no audience to convince. For a few minutes, you simply existed in the quiet orbit of each other, listening to your synchronized breathing and the distant, muffled hum of the city filtering through the glass of the high-rise. Mat let his hand slide down the curve of your side, his thumb tracing the dip of your waist with a tenderness that often got lost in your bickering. He felt you relax beneath him, your guard dropping just enough to let out a soft, contented hum.

It was in these moments, that fragile, post-coital silence, that Mat felt the most terrified. It was much easier to deal with you when you were standoffish, vague, angry. It was much harder to handle the woman who looked at him like this, with such unfiltered softness. He was sure his eyes told you that you were worshipped, just as you longed to be. And for right now, if that’s what it took to get you to look at him like this, then he would accept the fear.

#&. mat x darling!reader: fics.#&. cassie writes.#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal x you #mat barzal x black reader #mat barzal x black!reader #black reader #black!reader #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #mat barzal smut #nhl x reader

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

written by cassie.