summary : Mattheo catches you reading his journal and makes you keep reading while he does exactly what's written.
warnings!: MDNI, a bit if snooping, oral f! receiving, praise, dirty talk, fingering
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You shouldnât have opened it.
But the worn leather cover of Mattheoâs journal had been calling to you for daysâhalf-tucked beneath his pillow, its edge just visible, like it wanted to be found. You told yourself it wasnât really snooping. Heâd given you a key to his dorm, let you into his space like it meant something. A glance. Just a few pages. Thatâs all you meant to take.
You didnât expect the first sentence to have your name in itâscrawled in that sharp, deliberate handwriting, like a spell heâd been casting over and over. As if the whole journal existed for you and you alone.
You definitely didnât expect it to describe, in vivid detail, what your thighs looked like wrapped around his waist while you begged for moreâwords soaked in hunger, in memory, like heâd replayed it a thousand times in his head and needed the page to hold it for him.
And now youâre on his bed, the sheets still smelling like himâcigarettes and cedar and something darker. The journal trembles between your fingers, worn leather slick against your palms. Heat crawls up the back of your neck and coils low in your belly, spreading down your spine with every filthy, obsessive sentence. Your name is everywhere. Inked like a prayer, a curse, a need. Heâs written about you with the kind of hunger that makes your breath stutter and your thighs press together, helpless against the wave of heat that builds with every possessive line you read.
âTightest fucking cunt Iâll ever have.â
âIf she doesnât quit that burning stare across the table, I swear Iâll drag her over it and fuck her hard enough to leave marksâright where everyone can see.â
âDoes she bury her face in her pillow, desperate and wet, imagining my hands on her?â
You donât hear the door until it clicks shut behind youâquiet, deliberate, a subtle seal that turns the room from a secret into a trap.
Mattheoâs voice, low and dark, snakes its way down your spine, curling around every nerve like a slow-burning flame.
âEnjoying the read, sweetheart?â His tone is low, teasingâlike heâs savoring every second of your reaction. "My nosy girl."
Your whole body jerks as you whip around, the journal still splayed open in your trembling hands. Heâs standing in the doorway, eyes dark and wide, hair tousled like he stormed here the moment he knew you were alone in his room. That slow, dangerous smirk curls at the corner of his lips the second he takes in your flushed cheeksâlike heâs already imagining exactly how you got that way.
âThat part youâre onâŚâ he murmurs, stepping closer, voice low and thick with promise. ââŚwhere I said Iâd keep you gagged with my cock until you cry? Read it. Out loud.â
You freeze, eyes wide and heart pounding, legs trembling beneath you. But before you can pull away, his hand closes over yoursâwarm, rough, impossibly commandingâand he gently but firmly presses the journal back into your lap, rooting you in place.
âDonât get shy now,â he murmurs, voice low and coaxing. âYou wanted to know what I think about when I look at youâso go on. Read it. Let me hear every filthy word.â
Most people would be embarrassedâor maybe even angryâif they caught their deepest, darkest thoughts laid bare like this. Flushed faces, sharp words, awkward silences. But not Mattheo. He wears his desire like armor, owning every filthy confession with a smug, almost predatory pride. This isnât a moment of shame for him; itâs a celebrationâa challengeâand heâs thrilled youâre reading the proof of just how much you consume his mind.
You try to speak, but your throat tightens, catching on the first words. Still, your eyes drop to the page, and you begin to readâvoice small, trembling, barely more than a breath.
âShe doesnât need to say a wordâI can tell when sheâs wet just by the way she moves. The scent of her, sweet and desperate, clings to me long after. I want her dripping the moment I slide inside, want to take her so slow, so deep, that sheâs trembling and sobbing beneath me.â
Mattheoâs breath thickens, darkening with every inhale, eyes locked with a hunger that burns between your thighs. His fingers slide beneath your skirt with effortless confidenceâslow, deliberate, tracing your skin like a claim, both cruel and intimate, as if heâs already mapped every inch.
âAre you soaked for me now, sweetheart?â he growls, voice low and rough, thick with possession and hunger.
And fuckâyeah, you are. Youâve been dripping wet since the very first page.
His fingers brush against you through the thin fabric of your panties, dragging onceâthen again, more insistent, harder. Your hips jerk forward involuntarily, betraying you as heat flares low and sharp.
âOf course you are,â he grins, smug and wicked, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. âNowâread me the next one.â
You do, voice trembling as the words spill outâfragile, breathless, and utterly exposed.
âSheâd take meâanywhere. The desk, the hallway, even the broom cupboard. Always starting with that pretty mouthâshe looks like sheâs starving to taste every inch of me.â
Mattheoâs laugh rumbles low and brokenâdark, rough, and filled with a hunger that makes your skin crawl. âFuck.â He shoves the journal aside for the moment, his fingers tightening around your jaw with possessive force, pulling you into a fierce, demanding kiss that steals your breath.
His tongue teases yours, sharp and insistent, while his other hand moves with purposeâsliding your panties aside in one fluid motion. Two fingers press deep and fast inside you, curling just right, sending heat flooding through your body and a shudder racing down your spine. You gasp against his mouth, caught between the sting of pleasure and the thrill of being utterly claimed.
âBeen jerking off to this for weeks,â he pants against your mouth, breath hot and ragged. âYouâjust like this. Desperate, trembling, dripping all over my fingers.â
You moan, hips pressing harder against his fingers as a delicious heat coils tight inside you. Your hands clutch fistfuls of his shirt, gripping like youâll shatter if you let go, every nerve screaming for more.
âYou like reading how Iâd ruin you?â he sneers, voice low and dangerous. âWant me to write down how you begged and moaned when I made you come all over my cock?â
You nod frantically, breath hitching with need. That only deepens his smirkâdarker, more dangerousâlike heâs already savoring the next moment, the next secret heâll make you live.
âThen give me something to write about,â he murmurs, voice low and demanding, eyes blazing with wicked intent.
Within moments, heâs guiding you back onto his bed, his hands steady and sure as they slide over your hips, pulling you closer with a possessive urgency. The journal is pushed back into your grasp, wishing to be forgotten for now, as your breath quickens and your pulse hammers in your ears.
He moves with an almost predatory grace, lowering himself between your legs like heâs starvingâeyes dark with hunger and promise, every slow, deliberate touch igniting sparks beneath your skin. The world narrows until itâs just the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment and the charged silence between heavy breaths.
His grip is bruising on your thighs, fingers digging in like heâs staking a claim, holding you open with no room to hide. He lowers his mouth with maddening slowness, tongue dragging a deliberate, wet stripe up your centerâso slow, so deep, that your entire body arches. He groans low in his chest, the sound rough and reverent, like heâs just tasted something both sacred and sinful. And gods, no matter how many times heâs had you like thisâspread, shaking, wrecked under his tongueâhe swears itâs better every single time.
âStart reading,â he says, voice low and wrecked, thick with heat and command. He doesnât even look upâjust drags his tongue through your slick again, lips glistening, eyes half-lidded like heâs drunk on the taste of you. His hair is a mess from your hands already, jaw sharp and glistening, shoulders tense with restraint heâs barely clinging to.
You stare down at him, heart pounding, journal trembling in your grip like it might catch fire from your pulse alone. Thereâs no way heâs serious. Not while heâs buried between your thighs, mouth sinful and relentless. But then his fingers press harder into your hips, grounding you in place like a warning.
"Be good, princess. Let's hear what you were so desperate to find."
Your eyes skim the trembling page, mouth parting around the first syllableâbut then his tongue circles your clit, slow and devastating, and the words die in your throat. A choked sound escapes you instead, fingers tightening around the journal like it might anchor you.
But the second your voice stutters out the first line, his tongue flicksâsharp, focused, devastatingâright against your clit, and your hips jolt like theyâre not even yours to command. The journal nearly slips from your fingers as a strangled moan tears from your throat, body arching helplessly into his mouth. Itâs like heâs punishing you for daring to speakârewarding you, ruining you, all at once.
âDonât stop,â he growls, voice rough and reverent against your skin. âKeep reading.â His grip tightens on your thighs, holding you wide, exposed, trembling. âIâll stop when you do.â
Itâs not a promiseâitâs a threat, low and wicked, soaked in lust and control. The kind that dares you to disobey just so he can make you regret it.
You swallow hard, lips trembling as you try to readâeyes blurring, voice paper-thin. The words are right there, black ink scrawled across the page in his messy handwriting, each one filthier than the last.
âShe tastes so sweetâlike sin,â you read, voice trembling, almost broken. âI could eat her for hours. Iâd eat her until her legs shake, until her voice cracks from begging.â
Your breath catches on the last word, hips bucking as his tongue dips in deep, like heâs answering every filthy sentence with proof. Like heâs been waiting for you to find that exact line.
Mattheo groans against you, his hands flexing hard into your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer.
âGood girl,â he growls. âNow say the next one.â
The vibration against your clit is your undoing. You cry out, voice raw and unrestrained, spine arching off the bed as the first orgasm crashes over youâtoo fast, too sharp, too perfect. It tears through you like a wave, relentless and hot, your thighs straining against his bruising grip. He doesnât let upânot for a secondâtongue still working you through every trembling aftershock like heâs starving for it, like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him breathing.
Your hands fly to the sheets, clawing for something solid, but thereâs nothingâjust him, just this, and the molten heat flooding your veins.
He doesnât even pause. Just groansâdeep and ruinedâlike he lives for it, like the taste of your orgasm is the only thing heâs ever wanted. His mouth is relentless, messy, dragging open-mouthed kisses over your soaked folds, licking through every tremble and twitch like heâs trying to pull another one out of you without giving you time to breathe.
Youâre already shaking, thighs trembling violently around his head, but heâs locked in placeâdevoted, feral, insatiable.
âNext line.â His voice is muffled, lips still pressed to your cunt, tongue flicking back to your clit with maddening, surgical precision. The vibration of his words sends another jolt through youâcruel, electric.
âRead,â he orders again, darker this time, as if your voice is the only thing that might earn you mercy.
But thereâs none coming. Not from the way his mouth moves. Not from the way your bodyâs already coiled tight again, desperate and unraveling all over his tongue.
You can barely make out the words through the haze of tears, heat, and overstimulation, but somehow you find them, voice barely more than a breathy whisper.
âIâd keep her open for hours,â you whisper, voice trembling but fierce. âUse my mouth. My fingers. Make her come until sheâs cryingâmake her thank me for ruining her.â
The words hang heavy between you, raw and electric, and Mattheoâs breath hitchesâhis mouth on your skin falters for the briefest second before he buries himself deeper, like heâs claiming every syllable as his owning.
He fucking growls at that. The sound rips through himâlow, feral, possessiveâand it hits you like a shockwave.
One arm hooks under your thigh, dragging you down hard against his face like he needs you closer, deeper, messier. His tongue moves with punishing precision nowâcircling your clit in a rhythm so cruel and perfect it borders on obscene.
And then his fingersâtwo of themâsink into you without warning, thick and slick and curling with expert intent.
One arm loops under your thigh to pull you tighter against his face. His tongue is relentless nowâcircling your clit in cruel, perfect rhythmâand he slips two fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right.
Your mouth falls open in a silent cryâno sound, no words, just pure feeling as your body seizes around him. The pressure is blinding, brutal, blissful. Your hips buck helplessly, and still he doesnât stopâhis fingers relentless, tongue merciless, like heâs chasing every last ounce of control left in you.
Tears streak down your cheeks, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, but he groans like youâre the best thing heâs ever tastedâlike breaking you apart is the only thing he was ever meant to do.
âDonât you dare stop reading,â he hisses, voice ragged, eyes wild with lust. He licks his lipsâslow and filthyâtasting you like heâs starving. âIâll make you live it word for word.â
And then heâs back on you, mouth devouring, tongue ruthless, like every line you read is a promise he intends to keep with your body.
You sobâchoked and tremblingâbut you try again, voice catching on every word.
âHer thighs would shake⌠her voice would break. Sheâd beg me to stopâthen beg me not to.â
Your voice splinters on the last syllable, wrecked and soaked in need. And Mattheo groans like itâs a reward, fingers thrusting deeper, tongue dragging slow and cruel across your clit like heâs tasting your obedience.
Mattheo moans into your cunt again like that line alone nearly made him come. The sound vibrates against you, hot and raw, and it sends another tremor ripping through your spine. His fingers work faster nowâharder, deeperâeach thrust wetter than the last, curling just right like he knows your body better than you do.
And his mouthâMerlin, his mouthâis locked on your clit, tongue dragging and flicking with obsessive focus, like youâre the only thing thatâs ever tasted right. Every gasp, every whimperâhe devours them like proof. Proof that youâre his. That youâll always been his.
âRead the part,â Mattheo growls against your cunt, voice slick with need, âwhere I said what your face would look like when you came for the third time.â
His breath is hot, mouth hovering just enough to tease as his fingers curl againâdeep, merciless. Your vision blurs, tears spilling freely now, the journal trembling in your hands as you fumble for the line. But he doesnât wait. His tongue flicks cruel and fast, like heâs daring you not to fall apart before you can even speak.
âGo on, sweetheart,â he rasps. âTell me how wrecked I said youâd be.â
You shake your head, tears slipping hot down your cheeksânot from pain, not even close. Itâs pleasure, raw and relentless, the kind that scrapes through your nerves until it burns. Until it overwhelms. Youâre unraveling in his hands, splintering with every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers.
âMattheoâpleaseâI canâtââ you gasp, voice wrecked, throat tight with the force of it. Your legs are trembling around his shoulders, hands fisting the sheets like theyâll anchor you to reality, but he doesnât stop. Doesnât even slow.
He looks up at you, eyes dark and ravenous, lips slick with you. âYes, you can,â he growls, mouth dropping back to your clit. âYou fucking will.â
And then his mouth is back on youâthis time with purpose. No teasing. No mercy. His tongue drags slow and deep, savoring every twitch, every broken sound you make, while his fingers thrust up into you hard and fastârelentless, cruel, perfectly devastating. Itâs not just touch anymore. Itâs possession. Like heâs trying to carve his name into every inch of you from the inside out.
You come againâloud, shuddering, completely undone. Your eyes roll back, chest arching off the bed as every nerve fires in overwhelming waves. Your thighs tremble violently around his head, muscles clenching and releasing like they have a mind of their own, making it impossible to hold the journal steady. Pages flutter, forgotten in your grip, as the world narrows down to nothing but the slick heat and the fierce, unrelenting pleasure coursing through you.
âOne more,â he rasps against your slick skin, breath hot and ragged. âOne moreâthen Iâll read to you. Tell you every filthy thing Iâve imagined while making you come.â
His fingers twitch inside you, the promise of more driving you wild.
You whimper, nodding, your cheeks glistening with the tracks of your emotions.
He slows his paceânot out of mercy, but to savor every momentâpressing slow, deliberate kisses to your clit, his tongue flicking with lazy, tantalizing strokes while his fingers remain buried deep inside you. A low, guttural groan rumbles from his throat, thick with hunger and need.
âSo fucking perfect like this. Shaking. Dumb. Wet.â His voice is reverent filth. âThis is what I wanted when I wrote it. You. Falling apart on my tongue.â
And when that third orgasm crashes through youâviolent, shatteringâhe presses his mouth against you with fierce tenderness, like a curse and a prayer all at once. His voice is low, almost gentle as he murmurs, âThatâs my good girl⌠so fucking perfect for me.â
Youâre a trembling, broken messâutterly ruinedâand when he pulls back, his lips glisten with your taste, eyes dark and blown wide with raw hunger that makes your skin crawl.
Still catching his breath, Mattheo leans back slightly, a crooked, satisfied grin playing on his lips. His fingersâstill slick with evidence of what just transpiredâglide lazily across his own mouth. One by one, he licks them clean, slow and unbothered, like heâs tasting something rare and exquisite. His eyes never leave yours.
Then, with the same ease, he reaches down and lifts the journal from your lap. He flips through the pages like heâs done it a hundred times, the crackle of paper oddly grounding. His thumb brushes your inner thigh, light but possessive, drawing slow circles against your skin as he murmurs to himself, low and distracted, as though he isnât completely aware of the effect heâs still having on you.
âLet me show you my favorite part, sweetheartâŚâ he murmurs, voice low and edged with something wicked. His eyes flick up, burning with memory. âThe one where you cry for me again.â
