Kitty Cat

Praise me ♡

Fuck me ♡

A continuation of this post.

“Why didn’t I end up with a knife in my gut too?”

The beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of Bri’s mouth as she slips one of her arms free to lift a hand to his hair, fingers idly twirling the already curled strands of Matt’s hair.

“You weren’t always like that. In fact, I seem to recall you didn’t want to bother with me at all at first…”

She’s not sure what’s worse: the fact that she’s feeling so needy, so jealous so early on in their relationship, or that she’s about to admit it to him with the words that tumble from her lips.

“I don’t want you stalking anyone else,” she says abruptly.

A huff of warm air puffs against the side of her face before Matt pulls back just enough to look down at her with a curious gaze. She knows how this sounds; the very woman who prided herself on her independence and fought for so long to avoid his advances now sounding so destitute and pathetic.

“I mean it,” she says, unable to stop the way that her bottom lip juts out in a pout. She watches the movement of her hand as it slips away from his shoulder, a finger now delicately tracing his clavicle. “I know you didn’t like the thought of me with someone else.” She pauses briefly, still avoiding his gaze as she watches her finger slip down to trace one of Matt’s many tattoos.

“Do you fuck them?” The question is spoken so flippantly that she can hardly believe that it has come straight from her own mouth. But this is not the most troublesome thing about tonight, no. The silence that stretches on following her question along with the way that Matt tenses above her speaks volumes. Bri lifts her gaze, looking up at him for the first time in a long while. “Do you fuck them, Matt?”

The silence stretches on and on and on, and for a brief moment, she thinks that if she attempts to get up he may actually allow it this time. She is on the verge of doing so when he speaks, his voice low and softer than she thinks she’s ever heard it before. “I—yes... Sometimes. When I'm having a particularly bad night and the memories won't...stop. I don't know... It helps clear my head so I can finish the job.”

There is a moment, so fleeting and so finite, where she sees nothing but red. But then he elaborates and as quickly as the anger makes itself known, it dissipates as if it had never really been there at all. This time, it is Matt who avoids her gaze entirely, casting his own to a fixed point in the room.

“Matty...” She whispers, hoping to capture his attention, but to no avail.

Bri reaches up with both hands and gingerly rests them against the sides of his face. Only then does he look back down at her. “Matty, what memories?”

She resigns herself to the fact that should he choose not to divulge such private information she won’t push him, not tonight, and...perhaps not ever. Whatever is on his mind, she can see by the way that he looks down at her alone that such memories are anything but pleasant. Matt inhales a breath, his lips parting when he does so, and he begins to speak.

He tells her everything, from the day it all started right up until the very end. By the time Matt finishes his story, Bri finds that her vision has blurred considerably with unshed tears. The hands at his face have since slid to claps behind his neck, tugging him down to where she lies. They lie like this, embracing one another in the silence before she breaks it with a whisper.

“I’m so sorry,” she says before pressing a kiss into his hair. Matt’s arms tighten around her briefly, the only sign of acknowledgement that he’s heard her. “You can still kill them if you want. Just...” Bri pauses, taking a moment to run her fingers through his curls. “...don’t fuck them,” she says, the statement sounding more like a question rather than a demand. “You have me now and I know you wouldn’t like it if I was in your position, so just imagine how I feel, and—”

“Bri,” he says, lifting up enough to finally look down at her.

Matt needed this.

What do I want?

The way that Matt touches her is softer. The way that he moves inside of her is slower. Everything about this interaction is gentle and sweet. It is nothing that she has ever been used to, but she finds that she likes this, being treated with such care. It’s a stark contrast to everyone who’s come before him—it is a stark contrast to how he was with her before as well.

The fingers tangled in the damp curls at the nape of his neck tighten their hold just as his pace turns possessive in response to the words that she’s just uttered.

I’ll fucking kill anyone who puts their hands on you.

His own words sit prominently at the forefront of her mind, eliciting a myriad of emotion within her. Never before Matt has she experienced the need to feel safe with someone. Never before him has she longed for the feeling of being wanted, cared for, loved. But here, now, their bodies joined and lips melded together, she cannot help but feel that maybe she does want that...and of everyone, she wants it only with him.

Between the breathy moans that only increase in intensity, Matt’s name falls freely from Bri’s lips, her warm breath cascading across his face. The hands that had once tangled in his hair have since relocated to his back, nails digging into the soft flesh to anchor herself to him as the pair hurtle closer and closer to their respective releases.

The noises of the outside world have long since faded away—not even the shouts of late night drunkards can disrupt this moment. At this moment nothing else exists but the two of them.

“Matty,” Bri gasps, the sound followed by a stuttered breath when she flutters around him once again.

“I know, baby. Mmfuck,” Matt groans, his head dipping down to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. “I got you.”

Matt’s sporadic and increasingly harsh thrusts suddenly slow to the very grinding he’d begun with. In immediate response, the pointed nails that dig into his back skitter downward to draw fiery red lines in their wake; a series of violent shudders rack Bri’s body, her toes curling and back arching as her jaw falls momentarily slack before the sound of his name once again fills the space. She isn’t certain when his movements pick back up, so lost is she in her own ecstasy—it isn’t until her name co-mingles with a series of groans against her ear that she’s pulled back to reality once more.

The silence that follows their shared crescendo provides a clarity that Bri had never expected to gain for as long as she still had the breath within her. Matt pulls back slightly, just enough to peer down at her, and she cannot help but admire his features in the low light of the street lamp just outside of the window.

It’s strange, feeling like this—being seen, truly seen, for the first time in her life.

Her whole life, Bri has spent dealing with people who have only ever wanted her for one thing. She has never, or so she has been brought up to believe, been good for anything else but this one thing, that is, until Matt came along. He is, she realizes, the first person who has ever wanted her for more than her body—and he happens to share a rather niche hobby of hers. It almost feels too good to be true. It should be too good to be true. There is, after all, always another shoe to drop, she’s learned in her lifetime.

She should run.

She should leave and never look back.

But as she stares up at the man who looks back at her from above, she finds that she can’t. No. She won’t.

Matt makes a move to sit up, and it is then that Bri makes her move. The hands at his back shift to clasp behind his neck, pulling her up along with him when he sits up. In the darkness of the room, the pair elicit soft laughter briefly, the sounds quickly silenced when her mouth meets his.

“I need to get you cleaned up,” he murmurs against her mouth, the remark earning him a fierce shake of her head.

“Mm mm,” she mumbles in reply, her lips leaving a trail of soft kisses along his jaw now.

Matt needed this.

What do I want?

Slender fingers wrap around a portion of his vest to pull Matt back down to her one final time, their lips colliding again for one last kiss. When she pulls away the corners of her lips curl into that of a smirk and she reaches up to snatch the hat from him, revealing more of his blonde curls as she settles the cap backwards onto her own head. Just as it’d been the first time she’d worn the hat, still now it sits far too big on her, but she smiles nonetheless, exposing her teeth when she does so.

“C’mon, Mattykins. The sooner we get rid of this loser, the sooner we can get back home.”

------------------------

Hours later, the door to Matt’s apartment swings open, the stopper that sits just above the baseboard halting its swift trajectory before the knob has a chance to meet with the plaster of the apartment’s entryway. The pair stumble together into the space and Bri’s laughter filters through the hall as Matt collides into the weathered cabinet, uttering a “Fuck” before turning to pin her against the nearby wall.

The abrupt move pushes the cap that Bri wears up and off of her head, and she makes no attempt to grab it as it falls to the floor beside her. It’s clumsy, how they reach for one another in the inkiness of the apartment; teeth clash and hands fumble, shoes are kicked off haphazardly and the sounds of Bri’s laughter has since died out by the feeling of Matt’s lips on hers.

In the darkness, Matt reaches back with his foot, hooking it around the edge of the door and slamming it closed without any regard for the neighbors who will undoubtedly be awoken by the sound.

Strong hands lift Bri until her legs instinctively wrap around Matt’s waist and her arms drape over his shoulders to delve her fingers into his unruly blonde curls. He spins her away from the wall, and as her lips begin to trail along his jaw and down to his neck, he begins to carry her further into his apartment, heading in the direction of his room.

They should talk, she knows this—knows that there are things she’s discovered tonight that have changed the course of everything and yet, with his hands on her and her lips on him, she finds that she can’t bring herself to care. Not now. Not here. Not when she’s sucking new spots onto already purpling skin and pulling groan after contented groan from her boyfriend as he carries her to his room. They’ll talk, she’s sure of it, just…

Not now.

Not yet.