Megan

⤷ 𝙘𝙬: 18+, 𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥, 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩/𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩-𝙩𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙮𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙨, 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 (𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙠), 𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩.

“Oh my God, enough,” Matt says through his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks red from the sun.

You were on one today. Pennsylvania was going through a heat wave, and it was 102 degrees. You were used to the heat; you grew up in Los Angeles. But this was bum fuck Pennsylvania, where you couldn’t exactly just go to the beach without taking a two-hour drive.

“Matt, it’s fucking hot,” you whine, your feet dragging along the sidewalk.

You begged him to go to the Farmer’s Market. You wanted fresh flowers for the kitchen and good matcha because—

“Pennsylvania’s matcha fucking sucks, Matt.”

And this was the only place that made it the way you liked.

“Baby.” You can tell he’s trying to calm himself down. “I warned you it was going to be hot today. I told you it wasn’t worth coming out here, and I offered to run to the store and grab flowers for you.”

He wipes the sweat from his forehead, squinting against the sun.

“I didn’t want store-bought flowers.” The words leave your mouth sharper than you mean them to.

You know you’re being ridiculous. You know he’s trying to fix the problem instead of arguing. But it’s one hundred and two degrees, your shirt is sticking to your back, your matcha is already melting, and every ounce of patience you woke up with has evaporated into the Pennsylvania humidity.

You finally make it to the flower stand, only to find the bouquets wilted from sitting in the relentless heat all morning.

You stand there with your arms crossed, staring at them with complete disappointment.

Matt takes a slow breath.

“How about these, baby?” He reaches toward a bundle of white daisies. “You like these?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug.

His eyebrows lift.

“…Okay.”

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he walks around to the other side of the stand. He studies a few more bouquets before pulling one out.

“What about these? They don’t look as wilted.”

“I guess.” You let out a long, dramatic sigh.

Matt pauses.

“‘You guess?’” His eyes meet yours. “We drove thirty minutes because you wanted flowers, and all you’ve got is ‘I guess?’”

“I don’t care.” You wave him off. “Just get them. Whatever.”

Even you cringe at your own tone. You don’t mean to sound like a brat. You’re just so hot, and you’re even more annoyed that you’re acting like this but can’t find it in you to stop.

“Got me driving thirty damn minutes for flowers,” he mutters under his breath.

His stride is so long that you practically have to jog to keep up.

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.

“Then you spend the whole time acting like a brat.”

He glances over at you.

“Had a million other things I needed to get done today, and instead I’ve been chasing you around this damn market.”

“Oh my God, Matt, it’s thirty fucking minutes. You’ll survive.”

You double down.

Matt doesn’t answer.

He unlocks the truck, carefully setting the bouquet on the driver’s seat before shutting the door again.

His eyes scan the nearly empty parking lot. A few cars pull out near the front of the market, but the row he’d parked in is quiet, tucked beneath a line of trees.

Only then does he open the back door.

“Get in the back.”

“Why?”

“Get. In. The. Back.”

You barely have time to settle into the seat before Matt reaches for your wrist, pulling you forward. The sudden tug catches you off guard, your balance giving out as he guides you across him. One arm wraps securely around your waist to keep you from colliding with the door, leaving you draped sideways over his lap before your brain can catch up.

“Matt—”

He tugs your shorts and thong down to your mid-thighs.

“Acting fucking ridiculous today, hm?”

His free hand comes up to your face, his fingers closing around your jaw until your cheeks puff slightly beneath his grip.

“Matt—”

“Can you take this?”

“I—”

“Yes or no.”

You swallow hard.

“Yes.”

His hand comes down hard. No warm-up. No warning.

The impact jolts through you, your body jerking on instinct as a startled whimper slips past your lips.

His grip never leaves your jaw, keeping your gaze fixed on him. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip before he delivers another sharp smack.

“There you are,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smug smile. “C’mon. I wanna hear you talk.”

Another pause. Another smack.

“Go on.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Bitch at me now.”

You go to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes sting with tears.

“Quiet now, huh?” he whispers.

Smack.

“God, you must be so embarrassed, baby.”

He licks his lips, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

“In the backseat of my truck with your panties down, in public.” A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Fucking ridiculous.”

His hand comes down again. Your ass jiggles from the impact, another broken whimper slipping past your lips.

“The only way to get you to shut up is by spanking you, huh? That’s the only way?”

Smack.

You gasp.

His gaze finally leaves yours, drifting lower as he spreads your cheeks apart. You’re soaked—your slick clings to your inner thighs.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, grinding into you.

“Wet for me?”

You whimper, giving him a small nod.

Smack.

“You’re unbelievable.” He lets out an exasperated laugh. “Might have to fuck you right here. Let those flowers really die.”