you giggle to yourself as you walk over to chris, a smirk on your face and your hands hidden behind your back “innocently”. chris had stopped by the kitchen sink, rinsing out the cup he had used, and he could feel you creeping up on him.

“what’re you giggling’ about over there?” your boyfriend calls over his shoulder, the muscles in his back flexing beneath the white shirt as he dries the cup.

“nothing.” you hum as you stand beside him, your chin resting on his shoulder as he looks at you with an unimpressed expression, his eyebrow cocked.

“yeah ‘cause i totally believe ya’ kid.” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, smirking against your skin as your hand wraps around his bicep, fingers digging into the thick flesh. you feel the muscle tense and bulge beneath your palm and your smirk only deepens, you squeeze his arm just the tiniest bit before moving to jokingly bite the flesh.

“you’re insane.” chris laughs, moving his arm out of your grasp and wrapping it around your shoulders and the front of your neck, pulling you in front of him, your back flush against his chest. the movement and placement of his arm nearly around your throat has your core throbbing with desire and you can’t stop the whimper that spills from your mouth.

“oh you dirty thing, you like being choked like this, huh?” chris chuckles, the sound dark and menacing but so enticing, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. he moves his arms so that it’s pressed perfectly against the front of your throat, just barely squeezing.

“harder.” you whisper, one of your hands wrapping around his wrist and the other grabbing his bicep, squeezing tightly as you beg for him to choke you.

“like this?” he teases, slowly flexing his arm and tightening his grip around your throat, the pressure is dizzying and intoxicating. you can’t help but whine, craving more. craving the feeling of chris’ arm around your throat while burying himself deep inside you.

“need more.”

“yeah? how much more?” chris hums, grinding his hips against your ass, you can feel his cock, painfully stiff and heavy behind his jeans, the warmth radiating off the both of you is almost suffocating.

“if you don’t bend me over this counter soon, i’m gonna make you absolutely regret it.”

“you seem to forget that you don’t call the shots, sweetheart. i do and i think i’m gonna take my time until you remember your manners.” he murmurs, his voice demanding with easy control as he continues to hold you in place against while his free hand begins to wander in a downward motion from where it rested against your side. you let out a crude whine as the tips of his fingers brush beneath the waistband of your shorts, just above the top seam of your underwear and chris chuckles again.

“is that how we ask for what we want? where are your words sweet girl?” chris chastises, pushing his hand further beneath the front of your shorts, his fingers ghosting along your cunt, fingers barely touching you but leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. he can feel the heat pouring from you and he can feel your arousal seeping through the sheer material of your underwear, and god is it driving him crazy.

he smirks against the back of your head as he feels your hips buck and chase after his hand as he pulls away, knowing that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

“c’mon baby, tell me what you want.” chris demands, his finger tracing back and forth along the hem line of your underwear, waiting for you to speak.

“chris, touch me. please.” you beg, voice broken and way beyond desperate, your body feigning for chris to touch you. you let out a sharp gasp when you feel the rough pad of your boyfriend’s calloused fingers begin to rub tight circles against your clit over the damp fabric of your thong. your throw your head back against your boyfriend, a high pitched moan falling from your lips as he keeps rubbing your bundle of nerves before pausing making you whine in detest. he uses his free hand to awkwardly yank your shorts and thong down to about mid-thigh before returning to his previous ministrations. this time using his middle and ring fingers to replace his thumb.

your hips move against his hand as if they’ve got a mind of their own and your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms and chris is preening before his reflection in the window above the sink. he’s mentally praising himself for working out consistently after seeing the way you’re all but drooling on and over his arms. he’s quick to push his fingers past the entrance of your sopping heat, quickly pistoning them in and out of you, the loud squelching and shlick shlick shlick that reverberates of the walls with each movement is music to chris’ ears. he tightens his bicep around your throat momentarily, the added sensation and restriction bringing you over the edge.

“fuck chris, i’m gonna-“ you cry out, cutting yourself off with a squeal as your walls clamp down around his fingers, your warm release coating the digits as he slows his pace, working you through your first orgasm.

“that’s it baby, let go for me.” chris murmurs against your cheek, panting softly as he drops his arm from around your throat, giving you room to breathe as he undoes his belt, quickly letting his pants and boxers pool around his ankles. his left palm wraps around his cock, fisting his length and using your cum that coated his fingers as lube as his other hand slides up your back, pressing between your shoulders and guiding you to bend over the edge of the sink.

“gotta be quick, they’ll be back soon.” chris grunts, lining himself up with your entrance, slowly sheathing himself in your cunt, your walls pulsing as they accommodate the sheer girth of your boyfriend while still relaxing from your last orgasm.

he wastes no time pulling out and thrusting back into you roughly and repeatedly, the tip of his cock rubbing against that one spot inside you that has you white-knuckling the edge of the counter, your jaw slack, and your head tipped forward, quiet and strained moans falling from your lips. chris grins from ear to ear at the sight of you falling apart so easily as you’re split open on his cock. he pulls out and leans forward, wrapping his arm around your throat yet again, and pulling you back up against, before using his other hand to guide himself back into the warmth of your cunt.

“god i love the way you feel wrapped around me like this, baby.” he pants, his cheek smushed against yours as he ruts in and out of you, you’re gasping and whining against the meaty flesh of his arm as your second orgasm begins to wash over you. chris feels your walls tighten around him and he picks up the pace.

“c’mon baby, touch yourself for me.” he guides, humming in approval as you begin languidly rubbing your clit, pushing yourself over the edge again, quickly triggering chris’ own release as you feel the warmth of his cum begin to flood inside you. chris’ body goes limp against yours for a moment as he catches his breath. the two of you are slow to pull yourselves together, silently basking in the afterglow of lust.

peace. quiet. a small break from seeing...

you flinched when a wave rolled across the water, smacking you straight in the face, a loud splash shattering your moment alone. you sputter, wiping water from your eyes, cursing under your breath. you shake your head, treading water, looking around for whoever just ruined your peaceful soak. the moon reflects on the surface, the music from the main party still pounding in the distance.

but now he's here, surfacing a few feet away, pushing his soaked hair back with his hand.

"...seriously?!"

"what?" chris asks innocently, grinning.

"are you sick in the head?! you couldn't have used the other pool?!"

"i totally could've," he replies, eyes flicking over your frustrated face. "but you can't have a whole pool to y'self, can ya?"

you give him a flat look, pushing yourself forward, swimming toward the opposite side of the pool. he follows, swimming smoothly across the water like a predator tracking prey. the alcohol had loosened his usual controlled edges, a reckless energy in his strokes now. "gonna pretend m'not here?" he calls after you.

"been doing a good job all night."

true— your mutual friend threw a pool party, inviting literally everyone from campus, unfortunately including the frat, so you were forced to see chris the whole time. you two have been ignoring each other as much as possible, considering the fact your friends were here, but you'd lie, if you said you weren't watching him from time to time, just like he was watching you.

"ouch," he puts a dramatic hand on his chest. "you wound me."

"that would’ve required me caring whether your feelings got hurt.”

he scoffs and smirks, watching how you swim away. "you swim like an old lady."

you stopped long enough to glance over your shoulder. "huh?"

"heard me."

"you've seen old ladies swim?"

"a couple."

"i'm concerned."

you hear him snort and you swim farther away, stopping on the other side of fhe pool. "really, though, you gonna explain yourself?" you ask, but you get complete silence in response. you frown, turning around, the surface of the water settled almost completely and chris nowhere to be found. "...chris?"

he stays completely submerged, watching you from below like a shark, his feet digging into the bottom of the pool as he glides slightly across, making no sound. you hear the distant music, feel the chill of the water, wondering if he actually left you alone. though you didn't hear him getting out of the pool.

you frowned, treading water as you looked around again, the pool lights barely reaching the deep end, everything beneath the surface faded in dark blue.

"seriously?" you scoffed and scanned the water again, trying to spot him anywhere. "you're so annoying, i swear—"

just as you start to turn your head to scan the other side, two hands suddenly grip your ankles underwater. you yelp, balance slipping immediately as you get yanked downward beneath the surface.

cold water swallows you whole, eyes snapping shut on instinct as bubbles rush past your face, the world dissolving into muffled sound. the pressure around your ankles disappears and you kick upward, breaking through the surface with a sharp gasp, immediately pushing the soaked hair out of your face.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?!" you coughed, blinking water from your eyes. mascara left faint dark smudges beneath your lashes. "are you sick in the head?!"

chris surfaced right in front of your face, laughing, eyes dark with amusement and alcohol. "got scared?" he grins, looking entirely unbothered. he pushes his hair back, water dripping down his nose, eyes locking onto your smeared mascara. "you looked too peaceful, it was annoying," he shrugs, treading water effortlessly. "plus, you deserved that."

you glare at him, scrubbing at the smudged mascara beneath your eyes, only succeeding in making it worse. "stop laughing," you say when he doesn't even hide his amusement. "i'm serious. you're insane."

"and you still talkin' t'me," he shoots back.

"no, you're talking to me," you correct him. "this isn't funny. i got alcohol in my veins, i could've drown. what'd you do then?"

he looks at your serious expression and bursts out laughing again. your eyes narrow and you splash a handful of water straight into his face. he barely reacts, if anything his grin grows wider. "you're a fucking idiot."

"i've been called worse," he remarks. "you've usually got a bunch of insults ready within the first five minutes of seein' me."

"and somehow you still haven't taken a hint," you give him a fake smile, then glaring at him again.

"mm," he wipes the water from his eyes. "i know it's your weird way of flirtin'."

you stare at him in disbelief. "are you actually concussed?"

he swims closer, tilting his head. "c'mon, quit actin' like you can't stand me, when you enjoy my presence."

you blink, waiting for him to say he's joking, but he doesn't. that's when you let out an incredulous laugh. "you really are delusional, oh my god," you shake your head, pressing a hand to your forehead.

chris watches you for a second, that smug grin never leaving his face. "delusional?” he repeats. “that's a strong word from someone who keeps endin' up wherever i am.”

you let out a dry laugh, "please. you're the one being wherever i am. it's been like that before and it hasn't changed at all."

"interesting observation," he replies sarcastically, lazily swimming another stroke closer, invading your space. he watches your attempts to fix your ruined makeup, eyes trailing over the wet mascara smudges and water dripping down your face. "y'look like a raccoon," he says. "leave 'em eyes alone."

"don't tell me what to do," you shoot back.

"just sayin'," he shrugs, completely unbothered by your glare. "ya missed a spot," he points at your cheek. you slap his hand away, "can you shut up?"

"make me."

"i'm considering drowning you."

"good luck with that," he scoffs with a smirk. he doesn't look threatened in the slightest, just entertained. "i'd drag you down with me before you even got a hand on my neck." he moves his hands, creating another little splash.

"fuck, stop," you snap, turning your head around and closing your eyes to avoid getting water in them again.

"aw, can't you be fun for once?" he asks sarcastically, splashing again. his voice is smooth, dripping with that arrogant edge that used to make your blood boil.

still does.

you inhale deeply, staring at him with narrowed eyes. the silence stretches between you, muddled by alcohol, by the distant party music, by the fact that you haven't spoken all night until now. his eyes drop to your lips, then back up.

"i'm trying to figure out what's the easiest way to murder you and not get caught," you speak up.

"mmm, violent fantasies tonight. i like that," he mutters, completely unbothered, moving even closer in the water, until he's right in front of you and you have to look up. "you'd fail miserably," he adds.

"don't underestimate me, sturniolo."

his grin widens, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek. he backs you into a corner, watching your eyes flickering to his face, then to the water surrounding you two.

"trapped," he slurrs slightly.

"i'm not scared of you, dumbass," you hold his gaze.

"should be," his voice drops an octave. he leans in closer, bracketing you against the pool edge. there's nowhere left to go, the wall is at your back and he's blocking the water in front of you. "i just dragged ya under," he reminds you. "could do it again."

you wet your bottom lip and his eyes drop again, jaw tightening for a split second before he forces his gaze back up to meet yours. the air between you feels heavy.

"i'll drag you with me this time," you finally reply.

he lets out something between a low groan and an annoyed scoff, moving in an instant to close the remaining distance. his lips crashed against yours, your fingers instinctively finding his shoulder to steady yourself as the water shifted beneath you. your lips respond and the kiss turns messy immediately. you taste the faint bitterness of beer, his hand slides into your wet hair to angle your head, kissing like he wants to swallow you whole. teeth clicking, tongues tangling, zero restraint.

your arms wrap around his shoulders as the kiss deepens. you're giving him every ounce of that resentment, every insult you never said, your fingers digging into the back of his neck. he kisses you like he wants to devour and destroy you at the same time, hands sliding down your body, gripping your thighs and picking you up effortlessly, water sloshing violently around you as your legs lock around his waist. the friction is immediate, hard and undeniable through his wet swim trunks. his cock presses right against you and you moan into his mouth, when he rolls his hips forward just to make sure you feel it— and you do. that hard ridge pressing through fabric, and you grind against him automatically, nails scraping his scalp as you pull his mouth harder against yours. he meets your grind with a sharp roll of his hips, rutting up into you, his erection dragging directly over your clit through the wet fabric.

"don't know if you this soaked from me or the water," he mutters against your lips, breaking the kiss to get some air.

your eyes flutter open, "doesn't make a difference."

"mhm, right," he hums, hand moving between your bodies, his fingers clumsy and urgent, hooking into the waistband of his trunks. "i'll make ya moan my name either way. here, in this pool, where everyone could see us."

you look around, hearing the distant music, people talking and laughing inside the house. anyone could leave any moment, and if they turn on the lights outside, you're fucked. especially that his brothers are here as well, and nick would give you shit for this, if he knew you're fucking around with chris again. he only ever wanted you two to be good, but not this good, when chris has done you dirty last year.

"gotta be careful then, no?" you ask, deciding to take the risk. he smirks, the alcohol making his movements slower than he wants, the wet fabric fighting him, but he manages to yank down his shorts, freeing himself, the water instantly cooling overhead skin.

"you're really bad at resistin' me," he replies.

"you talk too much."

he snorts, pushing your bikini to the side and guiding himself to your entrance, rubbing against your slit. you bite down on your lower lip. "so are you gonna ask me nicely to fuck your pretty pussy?"

your eyes narrow at him, his pulpils blown wide. "i gotta ask?"

you were absolutely soaked, dripping, slick and ready. the water hasn't diluted it, if anything, it's made you wetter. the tip of him slides against your opening, teasing for a second. "could just admit you missed this," he mutters, pushing in just enough for you to feel it and then pulling out. "missed my dick, 'cus no one else can do it like i do. we both know it."

"you're really full of yourself, chris."

"and you full of shit," he remarks. "you act all annoyed and then lemme do this," he pushes in again, rougher this time, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. the water resists, slowing the movement, but not enough, getting a moan out of you.

you clamp around him immediately, tight grip pulling him deeper, eyebrows drawing together and you inhale sharply through your teeth. he doesn't give you time, pulling back and sliming into you again, his grip on your thighs tightens to bruising levels.

"fuckk— oh god, chris—" you moan despite yourself, head tilting back, exposing your throat.

"yeaaaah, louder," he mumbles, starting to fuck you properly now, deep strokes that make the water ripple violently around you. "let 'em hear how good i'm makin' ya feel. how bad you love when i fuck you."

"mmhh— fuck.... you're so...annoying...—"

"is that so?" he places kisses down your throat, marking your skin. each thrust pulls a noise out of you, each retreat leaves you aching for more.

he catches your lip between his teeth mid thrust, getting a gasp from you, the water sloshing around you, splashing over the edges. your walls clench around him everytime he bottoms out. "fuck, you're always so tight, i love this shit," he groans, lifting you higher to change the angle, so he can hit deeper. the thought of someone walking out and seeing him fucking you senseless, makes him rougher than usual and you're loving it.

"nothin' smart to say this time?" he mutters against your ear, when your head drops forward against his shoulder. "shut up— oh— shittt...." you whimper, completely losing it, when his hand wraps around your throat, urging you to lift your head, your pulse thudding beneath his fingers.

"eyes on me," he demands, his own watching your face, jaw tight. the alcohol turns everything into a blur. his own pleasure, your pleasure, the distance from the house, the noise— everything except the way you clamp around his cock. it was ridiculous how intensely your body reacted to something so simple. you felt almost dizzy, heat spreading through you way too quickly, heartbeat kicking hard against your ribs.

"c-chris—" you stutter, when his thrusts turn sharper, more precise, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. one of his hands move from your thigh to grab your ass, fingers digging into wet skin.

"that's it, c'mon," his other hand presses harder against your throat, measuring your reaction. your eyes roll back, mouth falls open in that completely broken expression and it almost destroys him. the water adds resistance, making every thrust heavier.

his voice drops to a low, rough whisper against your ear, punctuated by harsh thrusts. "y'like that? being fucked like this in the middle of the pool? anyone could walk out and see me chokin' you, while i ruin this little pussy."

"fuck— stop... talking...." you moan, but the way your walls clench, taking him deeper, tells him everything he needs to know.

his lips curve into a smirk. "wanna try to talk back? you're too busy gettin' fucked to breathe right now." he moves his hips hard, hitting that spot again and again, knowing that makes you see stars. his hips move with a brutal rhythm, taking advantage of the water's buoyancy to lift you and slam back down on his cock.

"holy fuckkk— ah—!"

the hand on your throat slides up to wrap around your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, pushing it down. the other one leaves your ass to wrap around your waist, holding you in place for his brutal thrusts. the water churns around you, sending small waves over the side of the pool. "so fuckin' tight," he groans. "and loud. it's like you want 'em to hear us."

that pushes you over the edge, completely.

your mouth wraps around his thumb to muffle the loud noises that were escaping you now. the sudden tightness of your pussy milking his dick, makes him come almost immediately as well. he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his own groan, fingers digging into your skin harshly as he fucks you through your orgasm, drawing it out, making it last longer. his thrusts turn sloppy, less controlled, as he empties himself into you. when he finally stills, he's buried deep, the water around you slowly settles. "fuck," *he mumbles against your skin.

he had barely stopped moving when the sound of the terrace doors opening made you freeze.

a burst of laughter followed and your eyes went wide.

oh my god.

chris, on the other hand, only lazily glanced over your shoulder, seemingly far less concerned.

"yo, chris!" you heard.

nate.

you didn’t even think.

you immediately pushed yourself and chris lower into the water, practically ducking you both beneath the surface. he let out what sounded suspiciously like a laugh underwater, completely unbothered by the situation.

you quickly untangled your legs from around him and swam a few feet away, turning your back to him as you fixed your bikini and tried to get your breathing under control.

a few seconds later, you two surfaced from opposite sides of the pool. you wiped the water from your face, climbing out of the water as nonchalant as possible.

nate stopped by the edge, looking between you and grinning, but his eyes then narrowed. chris stood next to you now, nate's eyes moving between you both back and forth.

there was a small pause.

"deadass?" nate finally speaks, giving you two a look.

you closed your eyes.

"in the pool?!"

"quiet," you shush him, glaring at him. nate snorts, shaking his head. "you two really couldn't wait to get inside?"

"that's not—"

"i get it now," he says, looking at chris with a bigger grin. "why he's been so stubborn 'bout ya," he looks back at you. "you're just like him. freak matched. oh god, you weirdos, people swim in there."

now your eyes narrow. "you don't seem exactly surprised...." then you glance at chris who was standing there with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. your jaw nearly drops. "oh god you know? he knows—? you told him?!"

"did he tell me you're hookin' up again?" nate raises his eyebrows. "wasn't that pretty obvious?"

"it happened," chris shrugs. you slap his arm, "i told you not to tell anyone!"

"c'mon, s'just me," nate says. "it's none of my business, really. i won't tell anyone."

"you better not."

"m'not," he promises, still grinning. he tilts his head and looks at the pool. "so as a good future uncle, i may resign from swimmin' in here. y'know, your kids are somewhere in that water, floating 'round—"

chris rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"oh god," you give them one last murderous look, before walking back toward the house, grabbing a towel from the chair on your way there.

"what? i don't wanna hurt chris junior by accident. or little chrissy."

one last thing you heard was how chris told nate to shut the fuck up. then you were already inside, rubbing your temples.

you wanted to erase those last words from your memory.

Contains: smut, porn with plot, threesome (no incest), voyeurism, m masturbation, dirty talk, praise kink, slight degradation, dry humping, hickeys, multiple orgasms, body cumshot, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), breast/nipple play, unprotected piv, creampie, soft!dom! bf!chris x sub!fem gf!reader x dom! bfb!matt

The drive to Chris' house was spent quietly, my hand in his, as I watched the city blur past the passenger window.

He'd been talking about this weekend for weeks. “You'll finally meet my brothers. Nick's gonna love you. Matt's an asshole but he grows on you.” I'd smiled and nodded, letting the excitement build in my chest because meeting the family was a step, a real step. These last few months with Chris felt more serious than anything I'd had done before, which meant I was ready to take the necessary steps to show him I was committed to him and this relationship.

I just wished my stomach would stop flipping.

"You okay?" Chris asked, squeezing my fingers.

"Yeah." I turned to look at him, seeing the sharp line of his jaw, and the way a strand of brown hair fell across his forehead. He was beautiful in that effortless way that still caught me off guard sometimes. "Just nervous, I think."

"Don't be." He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "They're gonna love you. I promise."

The house was bigger than I had expected. Modern, all clean lines and warm wood, settled in a quiet neighborhood with trees that arched over the street. Chris pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, and I took a breath, steadying myself.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded, giving him a tight, nervous smile. “Yes.”

The front door opened into a spacious living room with high ceilings, a massive sectional, and natural light spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows. It smelled like home. Like laundry detergent and whatever candle was burning on the coffee table.

"Nick? Matt?" Chris called out, dropping his keys into a bowl by the door. "We're here!"

A voice drifted from somewhere deeper in the house. "Over here in the living room."

Chris grinned at me and tugged me forward.

I heard him before I saw him. That voice, low and lazy, calling out to Chris from the depths of the couch where he was sprawled like he owned the place. I rounded the corner with a practiced smile on my face, ready to meet my boyfriend's brother for the first time.

And then I saw him.

He looked up from his phone.

Time didn't stop. It didn't slow down or fracture or do any of the dramatic things they write about in books. It just kept moving, one second into the next, while my brain scrambled to catch up with what my eyes were seeing.

Matt.

Matt?!

The same Matt who'd spent two years of college pinning me against dorm room walls, who'd learned the exact spot behind my ear that made me shiver, who'd fucked me on my bed more times than I could count, and then disappeared after graduation without so much as a goodbye text.

The one with the same sharp jaw, the same heavy-lidded eyes, and the same mouth that had traced a path down my body numerous times. Same build, same hands, and same infuriating half-smile that was already spreading across his face as recognition flickered in his gaze.

"Wait." He sat up, phone forgotten. "No fucking way."

I couldn't move or speak. The air had turned thick and useless in my lungs.

"You two know each other?" Chris asked, looking between us with a curious smile.

I opened my mouth up to speak, but closed it immediately. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Matt stood, slow and easy, like a cat stretching after a long nap. He was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, and grey sweatpants that sat low on his hips. Five years had done nothing but sharpen him, the angles of his face, and the confidence in his posture. He looked the same and different all at once, and I hated that my stomach flipped at the sight of him.

"Yeah." Matt said, and his voice was exactly how I remembered it. Warm and rough around the edges, carrying a hint of something teasing. "We know each other."

It hit me then, like a physical blow. Triplet brothers.

Chris had told me. He'd said it a dozen times, in passing, the way people mention obvious details. “My brothers and I. Me and the twins.” I'd heard the words but never connected them. I never thought to dig deeper because Matt had been a casual thing, a nameless, faceless hookup from a part of my life I'd packed away and left behind.

I didn't know his last name. And I never bothered to ask. Because it never mattered to know.

"What are the odds?" Matt continued, and the laugh in his voice was unmistakable. He was enjoying this. I could already see it in the way his eyes glittered. "Small world, huh?"

Chris' brow furrowed. "How do you guys know each other? Like, from where?"

"College." I managed, and my voice came out strange, a little too high. "We had some classes together." The lie felt flimsy, but Chris didn't question it. 

"We had a few classes together. Ran in the same circles."

Ran in the same circles. That was one way to put it.

Chris’ face lit up with that easy grin of his. "Oh shit. That's awesome. Hang on, let me grab us some drinks while you guys catch up." He squeezed my shoulder as he passed, already heading towards the kitchen. "I'll be right back."

Don't leave me alone with him! The words were lodged in my throat, left unspoken.

The silence that settled between Matt and I was heavy and charged, thick with everything we weren't saying.

He simply watched me. With that slow, knowing gaze, that traveled from my eyes down to my lips and back up again, and I felt heat creep up my neck despite every effort to remain cool and unbothered.

"So…" he said, and the single syllable was coated in amusement. "You’re Chris' girlfriend?"

"I am."

"Damn." He tilted his head, the smile on his face sharpening. "You really couldn't get over me, huh? Had to go find and settle with my clone instead."

My face went hot. "Excuse me?"

"Come on." He took a step closer, and I held my ground even though every instinct screamed at me to back up. "Same face, same voice, and even the same way he runs his hand through his hair when he's thinking. You’re telling me that's a coincidence?"

"Chris is nothing like you."

"No?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "Then why does he have the same hands? The same mouth?" His voice dropped, just a fraction. "The same everything?"

My face went hot. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and the way my pulse tripped over itself. Matt noticed. Of course he noticed and his grin widened.

"Still gets to you." he murmured, almost to himself. "That's cute."

"No, it doesn't get to me. And it's not like that."

"Then what's it like?" He was close now, close enough that I could smell him. The same familiar scent that I had buried somewhere deep, musky, warm and achingly recognizable. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you never got over our little arrangement. Had to find someone who reminded you of me."

"That's not true." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "I didn't even know he had a brother when we first started talking. You and I, we never talked about anything real. We just had sex, Matt. That's all it was."

The words hung between us, raw and honest.

Something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe, or curiosity? It was gone before I could name it, replaced by that infuriating smirk of his.

"Damn." he said softly. "That was cold."

"You asked."

"I did." He reached out, and before I could pull away, his fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was featherlight, barely there, and it sent a shiver down my spine that I hated myself for. "You've changed."

"Five years will do that."

"True." His hand dropped. "But you're still pretty when you're flustered."

"I'm not flustered."

"You're blushing."

Shit, I was. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, and the way my skin burned under his gaze. It was actually humiliating. Matt had always been able to do this to me, get under my skin, and unravel me with a look, a word, or a touch. And apparently, five years hadn't dulled that particular talent.

"Look," I said, forcing my voice steady. "That was a long time ago. I'm with Chris now, and I care about him. So whatever game you're trying to play—"

"Who said I'm playing a game?"

"You're always playing a game."

He chuckled, a low, delightful sound that caught me off guard. "Okay, fair. But I'm serious. I'm not trying to mess with you." He paused. "Much."

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my shoulders eased, just a fraction.

"So..." He let the word hang. "Who's better in bed?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Matt was enjoying this. I could see it in the way his eyes gleamed, and the way his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Me or him? And don't say you don't think about it. We both know you do."

"That's—" I sputtered. "You can't just ask that!"

"Why not? We're all adults here." He gestured vaguely between us. "I've had you. He's had you. Seems fair to compare notes."

"We're not comparing notes, Matt. This isn't a fucking survey."

"Touchy." He smiled. "That means I'm winning."

"Ugh, you're disgusting."

Chris returned, walking back, holding three cans of soda. He handed one to me, one to Matt, and kept the last for himself. "Everything good out here?"

"Yeah," I said, before Matt could answer. "Everything's fine."

Matt raised his can in a mock toast. "Just catching up. Reminiscing about old times."

Chris settled onto the couch, pulling me down beside him. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, warm and familiar, and I leaned into him, letting his presence ground me. "That's good. I figured you two would get along."

I felt Matt's gaze on me from across the room.

"Oh," he said, taking a long pull from his beverage. "We get along just fine."

I rolled my eyes and sunk deeper into Chris’ embrace, using him as a shield against Matt’s intense gaze on me.

The movie was Chris' choice. Something action-heavy, loud enough to fill the space between us. I tried to focus on the explosions and gunfire, to lose myself in the chaos on the screen, but I could still feel Matt's presence like a weight in the room.

He'd settled into the armchair to my left, legs spread, one ankle crossed over his knee, watching the movie with a lazy half-smile that I recognized all too well. Every time I glanced his way, he was already looking at me.

Stop it. I begged him silently. Just stop.

But he didn't. Of course he didn't.

Halfway through the movie, Chris got up to grab more snacks, and Matt shifted in his seat.

"So," he said, low enough that only I could hear. "How serious is this thing with my brother?"

I kept my eyes on the screen. "Serious."

"Like, serious serious? Or I'm-just-saying-that-because-he's-in-the-other-room serious?"

"Serious serious."

He hummed, a noncommittal sound. "Hmm."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He took another sip of his soda. "Just interesting, that’s all."

I turned to look at him, narrowing my eyes. "What's interesting, Matt?"

"You." He met my gaze, unflinching. "The girl who swore she'd never settle down, dating my brother. And wanting something serious out of it. Not like you at all."

"People change."

"Do they?" He tilted his head, studying me. "Or do they just find new ways to lie to themselves?"

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Chris returned before I could, arms full of chips and popcorn. "Movie still good? Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing important." Matt said, and his eyes never left mine, but I looked away first.

When the credits finally rolled and the living room dimmed into something quieter, I let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for hours. Matt stretched, his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his stomach, and I pointedly looked away.

"Alright." he said, standing. "I'm gonna head to my room. See you guys tomorrow."

"Nick will be back Sunday night." Chris said. "You'll meet him then."

I nodded, barely processing the words. My skin felt tight, and my thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Matt paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. "Nice seeing you again." he said, and the words were innocent enough, but the smile that accompanied them was anything but. "Really."

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall before I let my head fall back against the couch. "Your brother is insufferable."

Chris laughed, pulling me closer. "Told you he grows on you."

"Like a fungus."

"Exactly." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Come on. Let's go to my room."

I followed Chris down the hall, past framed photos and closed doors, until we reached his room at the end. It was warm and lived-in, clothes draped over a chair, a gaming set up propped up on his desk in the corner, and the bed unmade. It felt cozy and welcoming.

After I settled in for the night and changed into my sleepwear, I crawled into bed first. I buried my face into Chris' pillow, inhaling the scent of him. It smelled clean, familiar, and most importantly, safe.

Chris slid in beside me, his arm wrapping around my waist, and his chest pressing against my back. For a long moment, we just laid there, the silence being soft and comfortable.

"Hey," he murmured against my hair. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I closed my eyes. "Just tired."

He was quiet for a moment. Then said, "So, where do you actually know Matt from?"

My eyes shot open. "College." I replied, careful to keep my voice even. "I told you."

"Baby." His hand traced a slow line down my arm. "I'm not stupid."

My heart stuttered. Fuck.

Chris waited, patient and unhurried.

I swallowed. "We used to hook up in college. Like a lot." The words fell into the silence like stones.

Chris didn't move or grow tense. After a moment, he simply exhaled softly. "Oh."

"Yeah."

He was quiet for another long beat. Then his chest shook with a chuckle. "Shit. That's actually… wild."

I turned to look at him, searching his face for any signs of anger or jealousy. But there was only surprise, and something that looked almost like amusement. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad? It was before us." He shrugged casually, the motion bumping me against him. "And it's not like you knew he was my brother. How could you have?"

I let out a relieved breath. "I don't know. I just— I didn't want you to think—"

"Hey." He cupped my face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "It was in the past. It's fine."

I nodded, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.

"Although," he added, his grin turning mischievous. "I gotta ask. Who's better in bed?"

I groaned, dropping my head onto his chest. "Not you too."

"What?"

"Matt asked me the same thing."

Chris' eyebrows shot up in amusement. "No way."

"Right after you left to get drinks. Asked me who was better between you both."

"And what'd you say?"

"I told him he was disgusting, Chris."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer he's getting."

Chris hummed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip. "I mean, for the record, I'm just curious too. You've seen both our dicks at this point. Seems unfair that I don't get to compare."

I lifted my head to stare at him, incredulous. "You can’t be serious."

"I'm just curious.” he shrugged.

"Ugh, I'm going to bed."

I said it like a final verdict, like slamming a book shut. I was already turning away from him, reaching for the pillow to burrow my face into. I was done with this conversation and this day, and the way my skin prickled from the memory of Matt's eyes on me.

"Wait, no." Chris' hand landed on my waist, fingers curling against the fabric of my tank top. "I'll be bored."

"Not my problem."

"But—"

"Goodnight, Chris."

I yanked the duvet up to my chin, and closed my eyes. I felt the mattress shift as he adjusted behind me, and I heard him let out a dramatic sigh, followed by the soft click of his phone screen lighting up.

I thought he was just doom scrolling. Mindlessly killing time the way he always did before sleep. I was already halfway to drifting off, my breathing starting to slow down, as the tension of the day released from my muscles.

Then I heard it. The outgoing ringing tone for a video call.

"Hey, Matt. What're you up to?"

My eyes flew open and my body went still.

I stayed perfectly still, face half-buried in the pillow, as my heart slammed against my ribs. The dim glow of Chris' phone screen reflected off the wall ahead of me. I could hear Matt's voice, tinny through the speaker, rough and a little amused even through the distortion.

"Nothing much. Why, what's up?"

Chris' voice was way too casual for my liking. "Come to my room. I wanna settle something."

Settle something?

The words hit me like a splash of cold water. I went rigid under the blanket, every nerve in my body snapping to attention, as I turned back over towards Chris. I knew that tone. I knew exactly what he was doing.

Matt was quiet for a beat. “Yeah? What's your girl up to?"

I heard the smile in Chris' voice before I saw the phone. “Apparently going to sleep.”

He tilted the screen towards me. I was frozen in place, caught in the frame of his camera, lying on my side with my hair fanned across the pillow and the thin strap of my tank top slipping down my shoulder. The sleepset I'd packed was soft and light, a pale pink that barely covered anything, with a low neckline. Underneath the duvet, a pair of matching shorts rode high up on my thighs, from all the tossing. I had packed this particular set because it was comfortable, and I wasn't planning on anyone seeing me in it except Chris.

And I most definitely did not anticipate Matt to see me in it.

Matt’s face appeared on the screen, and I watched the shift in his expression in real time. The lazy amusement flickering into something sharper and darker. His eyes traveled down, deliberately, tracing the curve of my collarbone and the shadow between my breasts. And when his gaze lifted back to mine, there was heat there. Familiar, dangerous, and hungry in a way that made my stomach flip.

The same way he used to look at me before he'd pin me against a dorm room wall and fuck me senseless.

"On my way." Matt said, and the call dropped.

I sat up so fast the duvet pooled around my waist. "What the hell, Chris?"

He was already grinning at me, that infuriating boyish grin that I usually found endearing but right now made me want to throw a pillow at his face. "What?"

"You know what." My voice was high, incredulous. "You just—you invited him over here. To settle something. Are you fucking serious right now?"

Chris shrugged, completely unbothered. He set his phone down on the nightstand and leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head like he didn't have a care in the world. "What? You heard him. He was free."

"Chris."

"He said he wasn't doing anything."

"Chris."

He looked at me then. That knowing, easy look on his face made me realize he planned this. He'd been turning the idea over in his head ever since I told him the truth.

"You know, I just realized something." he spoke up, and I stared at him with my heart pounding in my chest. "This whole time you didn't exactly say no either."

My mouth opened and then closed again, dumbly.

"You didn't stop me or tell me to hang up. You just laid there and let it happen."

"I was shocked." I managed to say, as my throat dried up.

"Were you?"

The question hung between us.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to grab my pillow and storm out and say this was insane, that he was insane. I wanted to scream that we were not doing this, but the words never come. Because some small, traitorous part of me, the same part that remembered Matt's hands and mouth and the way he used to whisper filthy things in my ear while he fucked me, was silent… waiting.

Chris saw it. I knew he saw it, because his smile softened into something almost tender. "He'll be here in a minute." he said. "So you've got that long to decide if you really want to kick him out."

I swallowed. The silence stretched. And somewhere down the hall, I heard a door creak open.

Before I could formulate a response, and figure out whether I wanted to scream at Chris or bury myself so deep in the mattress that I ceased to exist, the knock came. Three short, confident raps.

Chris didn't even look at the door. His eyes were on me, that same knowing smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "Come in."

The door swung open.

I did the only thing my panicked brain could think of: I grabbed the duvet and yanked it over my head, disappearing into the dark, muffled cave of Chris' bedding. I pressed my eyes shut like a child pretending that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me.

"Seriously?" Matt's voice drifted through the room, rich with amusement. "She’s hiding?"

"She’s nervous, I think." Chris said, and I could hear the grin in his voice.

"She wasn't nervous when I had her bent over the sink in my dorm room."

"Matt!"

His laugh was deep and warm, and despite myself, I peeked. Just a crack, a sliver of space between the duvet and the pillow.

Matt was standing just inside the doorway, one hand still on the doorframe, and the sight of him hit me like a physical blow.

He was wearing a white tank top. The thin fabric clung to the broad span of his shoulders, the defined curve of his chest, and the cut of his arms where his tattoo sleeve wound from his wrist up past his elbow, disappeared beneath the strap. I had traced the same tattoos with my fingers before. I remembered the feel of them under my fingertips, the way his muscles would shift as I touched him.

And below that—god—those fucking grey sweatpants of his. Hanging low on his hips, the waistband loose enough that I could see the sharp cut of his hip bones. They hung on him like they were barely staying up, like one wrong move and they'd slide right off.

I swallowed, thick and audible. And both of them heard it.

Matt's eyes found mine through the gap in the duvet, and his smile sharpened. He knew. He knew exactly what he looked like, and what that look did to me. He'd always known.

He stepped further into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. The sound was final and heavy, sealing the three of us in the dim glow of Chris' bedside lamp.

Chris shifted on the bed, making room, and Matt moved towards us with the easy confidence of someone who had never been told no in his life. His gaze traveled over the bed, to Chris, and across the lump of the duvet that was supposed to be hiding me, and that smile of his never faltered.

"So… this is cozy." Matt said, settling onto the edge of the mattress. The frame groaned under his weight, and I felt the dip of the bed through the layers of fabric. "What a shame, she’s hiding."

"I'm not hiding." I snapped, my voice muffled through the duvet. "I'm trying to sleep. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Matt's voice was closer now. He must have shifted. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're hiding."

I ripped the duvet down, sitting up so fast that the fabric tangled around my waist. "I'm not—" The words died in my throat.

Matt was right there. Close enough that I could see the individual lines of his tattoo, and the faint scar near his eyebrow that I had kissed once, a long time ago. His eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach drop.

Chris was on my other side, equally close, his hand finding my bare thigh under the duvet. His touch was warm and grounding, a stark contrast to the heat rolling off Matt's body.

They exchanged a look between me, wordless and knowing. Then the both of them turned to me, with identical smiles curling at the corners of their mouths.

I was trapped between them. Literally and figuratively, in every way that mattered. And I had no idea what I was supposed to do next.

Matt's voice cut through the thick silence, smooth and casual. "So, Chris. What exactly did you wanna settle?"

He said it with a wicked smile. His eyes flicked to me briefly, then back to Chris, and I could tell he already knew. He'd walked in here knowing exactly what his brother had planned, and he'd come anyway. Willingly and eagerly.

Chris shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, his hand still warm on my thigh. "Just a little debate, that's all. She won't tell me who's better in bed." He said it like he was discussing the weather, like he hadn't just thrown me into the middle of the most uncomfortable conversation of my life. "Figured we could settle it once and for all."

I stared at him, mouth slightly open, absolutely certain I had misheard him.

"Funny thing." Matt's voice dragged my attention back to him. He was leaning back on his palms, the thin fabric of his tank top pulling taut across his chest. His eyes glinted. "I wanted to know too."

"Oh my god." The words escaped me before I could stop them. I looked between them, the both of them wearing the same infuriating smirk. "Is this some kind of weird twin shit I don't know about? Do you guys not have any concept of privacy or TMI?"

They exchanged a glance, and something passed between them… almost like a silent communication that made my stomach churn.

"Not really." Chris said, and his voice was lighter now, more honest. "We grew up sharing a room, sharing food, and almost everything else. There's not much that's off-limits between us."

Matt nodded, his smile turning thoughtful. "Especially not when it comes to girls." He paused, letting the words hang. "We've shared one before. At the same time."

My heart stopped. Literally. I felt it stutter in my chest, skip a beat, then slam back to life so hard I could feel it in my throat. I stared at Matt, searching his face for any sign that he was joking, that this was some elaborate prank.

But he wasn't smiling anymore. Not even teasingly. He was watching me with a steady, serious gaze that told me everything I needed to know.

I turned to Chris. He met my eyes, and there was no denial there. Only a quiet confirmation.

"You've..." I swallowed. My mouth was dry. "You've both... shared a girl. At the same time?"

"Yeah." Chris said softly. "Once. A while back."

The silence that followed was deafening. My brain was scrambling, trying to process and keep up with the implication that was slowly, steadily unfurling in the space between the three of us. They'd done this before. With someone else. And now—

No. They couldn't possibly be implying...

I looked at Matt. Then at Chris. Then back at Matt.

They were both watching me with the same expression. It was calm and expectant. Like they were giving me time to catch up to what they were already thinking.

"Wait." My voice came out higher than I intended. "You're not suggesting—" I gestured vaguely between the three of us. "Right now? That we—" I couldn't even finish the sentence.

Chris' hand squeezed my thigh, gentle and reassuring. "I'm not suggesting anything you don't want."

"But you're thinking it."

He didn't deny it.

Matt let out a low chuckle, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine. "Relax. Nobody's gonna push you into anything." He leaned closer, and I caught the scent of his skin. "But I gotta say, the thought has crossed my mind a few times tonight."

"Same." Chris added, and his voice was softer now, more vulnerable. "But only if you want it. Only if you're okay with it."

I looked between them, my heart hammering, my skin flushed, and my thoughts a tangled mess of this is insane and why isn't my mouth saying no.

Because I hadn't said no. Not once. And they both were very much aware of it.

The air between us thickened until I could taste it, something electric and something that hummed in the space between my skin and theirs. I was frozen, caught in the crossfire of their gazes, my breath shallow and quick in my chest.

I couldn't move. But I also couldn't look away.

My heart was a war drum in my ears, pounding out a rhythm that I felt in my throat, my fingertips, and the space between my thighs. Every nerve in my body was alive, attuned to the two pairs of eyes fixed on me like I was something precious… and wanted.

I should have been terrified. I should have been scrambling for an exit, for a laugh to break the tension, or for any excuse to retreat back under the duvet and pretend this conversation never happened.

But I wasn't.

Because lying to myself had never been my strong suit, and right now, with Chris' hand warm and steady on my thigh and Matt's gaze burning a path across my skin, I couldn't pretend I wasn't intrigued.

Matt still got to me. Five years later, in a serious relationship with his brother, and a whole life lived between then and now, but none of it mattered. The pull was still there, magnetic and undeniable, humming just beneath the surface of my skin.

And Chris... he was right beside me. Trusting me. Urging me. His hand was a gentle anchor, keeping me tethered even though I felt as if I was floating away into uncharted waters.

I was surrounded by two of the most attractive men I'd ever laid eyes on. And somewhere between the shock, the confusion, and the sheer absurdity of the situation, I realized I trusted them both completely.

Matt moved first, slowly.

His fingers found the edge of the duvet where it was bunched around my waist, and he tugged gently. His gesture, a question more than a demand. His eyes never left mine as the fabric slid away, inch by inch, until the cool air of the room hit my bare skin.

I sucked in a sharp breath. My tank top had ridden up, baring a strip of my stomach. The shorts I was wearing had hiked high on my thighs, leaving little to the imagination. I felt exposed, laid bare under the dim light, and the way Matt's gaze traveled down my body made my skin flush.

Matt looked at me like he was starving. His eyes traced the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, and then the length of my legs. He lingered on the thin fabric of my tank top, on the outline of my nipples hardening against the thin cotton. His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip, and when his eyes met mine again, there was something predatory in them.

But he held himself back.

I could see it in the tension of his jaw, and the way his hands were fisted at his sides. He was waiting, restraining himself. For Chris to grant him permission.

Chris' hand never stopped moving. Slow circles on my thigh, grounding me, and reminding me that he was here. And that he was okay with this.

"Hey." His voice was soft, pulling my attention to him. His gaze was warm. "Do you want to kiss him?"

The question hit me like a tidal wave.

I stared at him, breathless. "What?"

"Do you want to kiss him?" he repeated, and there was no jealousy or hesitation in his voice. "You can, if you want to."

"But—you—" I stammered, my brain short-circuiting. "You're my boyfriend."

"I know that, baby." he smiled reassuringly. "And I trust you. I know it sounds crazy, given the circumstances, but I do." His hand squeezed my thigh. "If you want to kiss him, kiss him. I'm not going anywhere."

I looked at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of doubt. There was none. Just trust.

I turned back to Matt. He was watching me, waiting, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. The tension in his body was palpable, coiled tight, and ready to spring at the slightest invitation.

I finally made a decision. Slowly and deliberately, I shifted my legs apart. Just a few inches, enough to create space. An invitation. A silent come here.

Matt didn't wait. He moved forward immediately, one knee sliding onto the bed, then the other, and slotted his body into the space I had created between my thighs. The mattress dipped under his weight, bringing him closer, until I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face towards his. The touch was featherlight, and it sent a shiver down my spine that I couldn't suppress.

Then he leaned in, and his lips met mine.

And god, it was like being struck by lightning.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, tasting, and reacquainting. Matt’s lips were warm and familiar in a way that made my chest ache, and I felt the years between us collapse into nothing. The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat, before I melted into him completely.

My hands found his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tank top, pulling him closer. His tongue traced my lower lip, asking for entry, and I granted it without thinking or hesitating. The kiss deepened, and I felt a moan building in my throat as his hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back.

Every memory came flooding back.

Late nights in cramped dorm rooms. The press of his body against mine in the dark. The way he used to whisper my name against my skin. The way he'd look at me afterwards, elated and satisfied, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Chris' hand was still on my thigh, a warm and steady pressure that kept me grounded as I floated somewhere between past and present. I felt him shift closer, as his lips pressed against my shoulder, a gentle reminder that he was still there. That this was okay.

I broke the kiss, pulling away, gasping for air. Matt’s breath was just as ragged, his eyes now darker and blown wide.

"Fuck." he whispered. “I missed that.”

And I didn't disagree.

Beside me, Chris' lips traced a slow line up my neck, and I shivered, caught between two bodies, and two sets of hands that were slowly and carefully exploring my body.

This was happening. This was really happening.

Matt's fingers curled around the hem of my tank top, the barest brush of knuckles against my stomach. He didn't pull or tug. Just held the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, waiting, his eyes locked on mine. "Can I?"

His voice was rough, stripped of the teasing edge he'd carried all evening. This was real. This was him asking, not assuming. And I noticed he didn't look at Chris this time to seek his permission. His focus was entirely on me, unwavering, like I was the only person in the room.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I should have said no and laughed this off, and crawl out from between them and flee out the room. But my body wasn't listening to the rational part of my brain anymore.

I turned my head, hesitating, searching for Chris.

He was watching us with soft eyes, a small, reassuring smile curving up his lips. He nodded once, it was subtle. Then his voice dropped, low and husky, meant only for my ears. "Whatever you want, baby." His hand squeezed my thigh again. "I know you missed him."

Something in me cracked open. The words hit me square in the chest, loosening the last threads of resistance I'd been clinging to. He knew and understood. And he was giving me this, giving me permission to want, to take, and to fall back into something I had buried away years ago.

I turned back to Matt. "Yes." I said, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. “Please."

Matt didn't waste time. But he didn't rush, either. He reached behind his head, grabbing the back of his tank top, and pulled it off in one fluid motion. The fabric slid over his shoulders, baring his chest, and I forgot how to breathe.

He was broader and more defined than I remembered. His chest was bare, shoulders wide, and stomach tight with muscle that flexed as he moved. A thin line of hair trailed from his navel down into the waistband of his sweatpants, and I followed it with my eyes before I could stop myself.

Then his hands were on me again, and my tank top was sliding up and over my head. The air felt cooler against my heated skin, making me gasp softly. I was bare from the waist up now, completely exposed and vulnerable.

Matt's breath caught. He sat back, his eyes roaming over me like he was memorizing every curve and shadow. His tongue wet his lower lip, and when he spoke, his voice was rough.

"Fuck," he husked. "I missed these pretty tits."

Before I could respond, he tapped his thigh. A silent command saying, come here.

I moved without thinking, swinging one leg over his lap, settling onto his thighs. The heat of him seeped through the thin fabric of my shorts, and I felt it immediately: the hard line of his cock pressed against the apex of my thighs, thick and heavy even through the layers between us. A pulse of heat radiated from him, and I bit my lip to stifle the sound that threatened to escape.

Matt’s hands found my waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, guiding me closer. Then he leaned in, and his mouth was on me.

He started slow and languid. His lips pressed against the swell of my breast, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses across my skin. His tongue traced the curve, tasting and savouring, making my eyes flutter closed.

"Matt…" I exhaled, and the sound of his name on my lips after all these years sent a shiver through both of us.

He hummed against my skin, and the vibration made my back arch, pushing my breast closer to his mouth. He took the invitation, closing his lips around my nipple, and I moaned brokenly, a sound that escaped before I could stop it.

His tongue circled the sensitive peak, before he sucked gently, drawing it into the warmth of his mouth. My hands found his hair, and my fingers threaded through the soft strands, holding him there as waves of pleasure rolled through me.

Fuck. He always knew how to use that tongue.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. His hand came up to cup the one he'd just abandoned, his thumb brushing over the wet, hardened nipple. My hips shifted restlessly against his lap, and I felt his cock twitch beneath me, a reminder of how hard he was and how much he wanted this.

In the haze of my pleasure, I remembered I wasn't alone. I opened my eyes, turning my head, searching for Chris through the thick fog of want.

He was leaning against the headboard, shirtless, with his pajama pants bunched around his thighs. His hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly and lazily, just enough to take the edge off and soothe the ache. His eyes were fixed on us, sharp and hungry, but there was no jealousy there. Only lust and patience.

He was waiting and watching. Letting Matt and I have this moment. When our eyes met, he gave me a small, crooked smile, and his hand never slowed its rhythm.

I bit my lip, as heat flooded through me at the sight of both of them, one beneath me and one behind me, both wanting me and waiting for me to lead.

Matt's mouth left my breast with a wet pop, and he looked up at me, his lips swollen and his eyes dilated. "You okay?"

I nodded, breathless. "Yeah."

His hands slid down my waist, settling on my hips. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

Chris' voice came from behind me. "What do you want him to do to you?"

The question landed heavy in the space between us. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The options were endless, spinning through my mind in a haze of heat and want. I thought about what I really wanted and what I'd been too afraid to admit even to myself.

I wanted to be used. Tonight, I wanted to be Matt’s fuck toy, and his to take apart piece by piece. I wanted to surrender to the feeling of two bodies surrounding me, consuming me, and leaving no part of me untouched.

I looked down at Matt, meeting his icy blue eyes, and I let the honesty bleed into my voice. "Touch me."

The words were simple, but they carried everything. I swiveled my hips, giving him an intentional grind against his clothed cock, and the friction dragged a hiss from between his teeth.

"Shit." he groaned, his fingers tightening on my hips. "Yeah, okay."

Matt’s hands found the waistband of my shorts, and he peeled them down my thighs, lifting me just enough to slide the fabric away. The cool air caused goosebumps on my newly exposed skin, and I was suddenly, completely naked, straddling his lap with nothing between us but his sweatpants. He looked down, and his breath caught.

I was already soaked and glistening. The evidence of my arousal was impossible to miss, coating my thighs, catching in the dim light. Matt let out a low hum of satisfaction, the sound vibrating through his chest.

"Goddamn." he murmured. "You're already so wet for me, sweetheart."

His hand moved between us, his fingers grazing my cunt with barely any pressure. I whimpered at the touch, my hips bucking involuntarily, chasing more of his touch. Matt took his time, spreading me open with expert fingers, parting the slick petals so his middle finger could drag through my slit from entrance to clit.

I shook in his lap, my nails digging into his shoulders as a sharp gasp tore from my throat.

"That's it." he coaxed, watching my face. His finger circled my clit slowly and torturously, and I felt my whole body tremble. "You remember this, don't you? You remember how I used to make you feel."

I couldn't answer. My mouth was slack open, as my breath came in short, ragged bursts.

He slid one finger inside me, then two, curling them upwards, pressing against that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. His thumb kept working my clit in tight, wet circles, and he watched my face contort from the pleasure, his own expression mirroring mine. He was feeding off my pleasure like it was his own.

"Look at you." he said, his voice rough with unadulterated lust. "Taking my fingers so fucking good. You always did. You always took everything I gave you."

All I could do was moan in response, broken and breathless, as my hips rocked against his hand.

"Tell me how it feels." he demanded.

"Good." I gasped. "So fucking good, Matt."

"Yeah?" His fingers pumped faster and deeper, the wet sounds of my cunt filling the room. "You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?"

Behind me, I could hear Chris. The rapid pumping of his fist around his cock, the broken moans slipping past his lips, and the rushed, ragged breaths that told me he was just as lost in this as I was.

"You're doing so good, baby." Chris panted, his voice coming out strained. "Keep going."

I was overwhelmed. The praise, the filth, the feeling of Matt's fingers inside me, and Chris' voice in my ear, it was too much and not enough all at once. My body was wound tight, trembling on the edge, and Matt could feel it.

"That's it." he grinned, his thumb pressing harder against my clit. "Come on now. I've got you. Let go for me."

And I surrendered completely. The orgasm crashed through me, violent and all-consuming. My back arched, my nails dug into Matt's shoulders, and a cry tore from my throat as I came undone on his lap and hand, slick, hot, and shuddering.

He worked me through it, fingers slowing, more gentler now, drawing out every last wave until I was slumped against him, gasping, with my forehead pressed to his.

Matt pulled his hand away, and I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he brought his soaked fingers up to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied smile.

Chris' voice came from behind me, low and gruff, cutting through the haze of my spent orgasm. "Come here. Let me clean up that mess."

I peeled myself off Matt's lap, my legs shaky, and my skin still humming from the aftershocks. Chris reached for me, his hands finding my waist, guiding me down onto the bed beside him. He moved over me, settling between my trembling thighs, and I felt the cool air hit the slick evidence of what Matt had done to me.

He looked down at where I was still dripping and splayed open, and let out a hum of approval. "Fuck," he murmured, licking his lips. "You made such a mess for my brother, huh? Such a slut for him, and you couldn't help yourself."

I whimpered at his dirty words as he lowered his head, his breath warm against my oversensitive skin. His tongue traced a slow line through my folds, collecting every drop of what Matt had caused. The sensitivity sent a jolt through my body, and I bucked against his mouth, a broken cry escaping my lips.

"Chris—"

"Shh." he soothed, his voice vibrating against my clit. "I've got you."

His mouth was different from Matt's. Slower and more tender in a way that made my chest ache. He licked into me like he was savouring something precious, his tongue circling my clit with gentle precision that built a new pressure low in my belly. My hand found his hair, tangling in the soft strands, keeping him close as I rolled my hips against his face.

I looked down, to watch Chris work, and that's when I saw Matt.

He had moved, kneeling beside me on the bed, his hand wrapped around his cock. It was just as I remembered, thick, pink, and heavy. The tip was already glistening with precum, and my mouth watered at the sight.

Fuck, I missed his cock.

Matt caught me staring and grinned, that familiar, wicked grin that had always undone me. "You wanna taste it, don't you?" His voice was rough, but strained. "I can see it in your eyes."

I nodded, already reaching for him, my hand wrapping around his shaft. He was hot and silky in my grip, and I pumped him slowly, watching the way his stomach tightened with each stroke.

"Let me feel that pretty mouth of yours on me." he ordered. "I know you suck dick good. You always did."

I leaned forward, my tongue darting out to catch the bead of precum at his tip. The taste of him flooded my senses, it was salty, familiar, and him. I simultaneously moaned at the sensation of Chris' tongue still working through me between my legs.

I wrapped my lips around the mushroom head, taking Matt in slowly, my eyes locked on his. His breath hitched as I hollowed my cheeks, sucking gently before pulling back to trace the length of his shaft with my tongue.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hand finding my hair. "Just like that."

I took him deeper, letting him slide past my lips until he hit the back of my throat. The vibration of my moan, pulled from me by Chris' relentless mouth, rippled through Matt's cock, and he bucked his hips with a sharp groan.

"Shit." he gasped. "You're gonna make me lose it."

His grip tightened in my hair, and he started to move, fucking my mouth with slow, deep thrusts. Each one pushed him further down my throat, and I took it, my eyes watering, and my hands gripping his thighs for balance.

"Look at you." he praised, his voice sounding ragged. "Taking me so fucking well. Good girl."

Below me, I felt Chris humping the mattress, his hips rutting against the sheets as he ate me out with increasing urgency. His moans were muffled against my cunt, but I could feel them vibrating through me, adding another layer to the overwhelming pleasure.

I was floating. Caught between two bodies that knew exactly how to take me apart.

Matt's thrusts grew faster and more desperate. "I'm close." he warned, his voice strained. "You want it? You want me to cum in that pretty mouth?"

I moaned my answer around him, the sound muffled and broken.

My own orgasm crested suddenly, crashing through me as Chris' tongue pressed hard against my clit. My back arched, a scream caught in my throat as I came undone around nothing, my hips grinding against Chris' face as he worked me through it.

The vibration of my climax sent Matt over the edge. With a guttural groan, he spilled into my mouth, hot and thick, flooding my tongue. I swallowed around him, taking every drop as he pulsed against my lips.

"That's it." he groaned. "Take it. Take all of it."

When Matt finally pulled out, his chest was heaving, and his eyes were blown wide with satisfaction.

He looked down at me, a gratified smile spreading across his face. "Open."

I parted my lips open, showing him the empty cavern of my mouth.

"Good girl." he said, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "You took all of it."

Pride bloomed warmly across my chest, hearing Matt praise me like that.

My attention strayed from Matt as Chris crawled up my body, and his lips found mine in a kiss. He tasted like me, and I moaned into his mouth as he rolled us both onto our sides, facing each other. His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face to deepen the kiss, and I melted into him instantly. His mouth was tender, and every movement felt like he was saying I love you without actually saying the words. His thumb traced the line of my cheekbone as he kissed me, slow and thorough.

I turned fully towards Chris, my hand finding his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. His tongue swept across my lower lip, coaxing, and I opened for him, letting him in. The kiss deepened, and I felt his smile against my mouth, that sweet, familiar smile that had made me fall for him in the first place.

Then I felt Matt. He settled on my other side, the mattress dipping under his weight, the heat of his body seeping into my skin before he even touched me. His fingers found my thigh, trailing upwards with a slowness that made my skin prickle. They danced across my mound, featherlight and teasing, before skimming up my stomach and over my ribs.

His hand then found my breast again, and he cupped it, squeezing gently, as his thumb circled my nipple until it hardened under his touch. The sensation made me gasp into Chris' mouth.

Soon after, Matt's lips found my neck, and he wasn't gentle about it. He bit down, just enough to sting, before his tongue soothed the spot, definitely leaving a mark of him on me. His mouth traveled down my jaw, open, wet, and filthy, and I felt the scrape of his teeth against my skin.

"Missed the way you taste." he murmured against my throat. "Missed the sounds you make when I touch you."

Matt’s fingers rolled my nipple, pinching lightly, and I whimpered, breaking the kiss with Chris to arch into Matt's touch. My head fell back, and Matt took full advantage, his mouth latching onto the column of my throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark I'd find tomorrow.

Chris didn't stop. His lips found my shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the slope. His hand slid down my back, fingers tracing the ridge of my spine, before settling on my ass. He squeezed, kneading the flesh, his touch firm and possessive in a completely different way.

The contrast was driving me insane.

Chris was romance, slow kisses and gentle caresses, the kind of touch that made me feel cherished and safe. His hand massaged my ass with a tenderness that bordered on worship, as his lips trailed soft patterns across my skin.

Whereas Matt was filth, bites, bruises, and hungry hands that took what they wanted. His mouth worked my jaw, my throat, and my collarbone, leaving a trail of wet, open kisses that made my breath come in short, sharp gasps. His hand never left my breast, rolling, pinching, and teasing until I was writhing between them.

I turned towards Matt, my body seeking his, arching into his touch like a plant reaching for sunlight. He caught my face in his hand and kissed me hard, and it was nothing like Chris' kiss. It was all tongue, teeth, and desperation, as his mouth claimed mine like he was trying to devour me from the inside out. I moaned into him, and he swallowed the sound, his grip tightening in my hair.

Chris shifted behind me, his hand moving my hair out of the way, exposing the back of my neck. His lips pressed there, soft and warm, a stark contrast to the brutal kiss Matt was giving me. His fingers continued their exploration of my ass, squeezing and massaging, his touch lingering in a way that made me feel cherished.

It was two entirely different kinds of worship. And both of them were undoing me in their own ways.

Matt broke the kiss first, panting. "God, I forgot how good you feel." he heaved, as his thumb traced my lower lip. "Every fucking thing about you is perfect."

Behind me, Chris' hand left my ass, and I heard the slick sound of him stroking himself. Then I felt the blunt pressure of his cock nudging against my opening from behind, sliding through the wetness that still coated my folds.

I softly gasped against Matt's mouth, my back arching, and Matt’s tongue swept in, swallowing every sound I made, sealing it with a kiss.

Chris' voice came low and rough against my ear. "This okay?"

I managed a broken sound that might have been yes, and he took it as permission.

Chris pushed in slowly. So slowly I felt every inch of him stretching me open, filling me inch by inch. I was still wet from everything that had happened, from Matt's fingers, Chris' mouth, and my own cumulative orgasms, making him slide in almost effortlessly, the wet sound of it loud and obscene in the otherwise quiet room.

"Fuck." Chris gasped, his forehead pressing against my shoulder. "You feel—fuck, baby." He then bottomed out, his hips flush against my ass, and I felt so full I couldn't breathe.

He started to move. Slow, deep thrusts that reached places I didn't know existed, each one pushing me further into Matt's mouth. My hands scrambled for purchase, one finding Matt's shoulder, and the other twisting in the sheets, as Chris set a rhythm that was steady and relentless.

Matt broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips were wet and swollen. His hand slid down my stomach, fingers finding my clit, and began to circle it in time with Chris' thrusts.

"You like that?" Matt's voice was rough, teasing. "Getting fucked by my brother while I watch? Look at you, can't even keep your eyes open."

I tried to respond, but Chris thrusted deeper, hitting something that made my words dissolve into a moan.

"She loves it." Chris grunted, answering for me. "Can feel her clenching around me."

Matt's grin was filthy. "Yeah? She always did love attention."

Chris' hand gripped my thigh, fingers digging into the soft muscle, holding me open for him as he fucked into me. His pace was persistent, each thrust pushing me harder against Matt's hand.

And then Matt's voice cut through the haze, as his eyes locked on mine. "Wait, Chris." His hand came up, cupping my jaw, turning my face towards his. His thumb traced across my lower lip, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. "I need to feel that pussy squeeze my cock and cum on it. Might never get the chance again."

The crude words stole the air from my lungs.

Behind me, Chris let out a sound, something between a laugh and a groan. "Fair enough." He pulled out slowly, and the absence of him left me aching and feeling empty. But before I could adjust, Matt was already moving.

He shifted me, guiding me so my leg wrapped around his hip, as he positioned himself at my needy, quivering hole. Matt’s chest was pressed up against mine, and from behind, I felt Chris' warmth at my back, his knees bracketing my shoulders as he knelt above us.

Matt pushed into me in one smooth motion, with no hesitation or gentle easing. His thickness stretched me in a way that made my eyes roll back, making my head fall against Chris' thigh.

"Oh—fuck—"

There was no mercy in Matt’s pace. He set a rhythm that was hard and fast, his hips slapping against mine as he drove into me again and again. My body remembered him, the weight of him, and the fullness of him, as it opened up for him like it had been waiting five years for this exact moment.

The difference between them was staggering.

Chris was longer and slender, hitting places deep inside me with a precision that made me see stars. Matt was thicker and fuller, stretching me open with every thrust, filling me in a way that made me feel like I was being split apart in the best possible way.

Neither was better. They were just... different. Both good in their own way and undoing me in ways I couldn't articulate.

My back arched off the mattress, my body twisting as Matt fucked into me. From this angle, I could see Chris above me. He was kneeling behind my head, his knees planted on either side of my shoulders. He was stroking himself slowly, his cock slick and straining, as his eyes were fixed on the spot where Matt's thick length plunged into me over and over.

I could see everything. The way his jaw was tight, and the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. His gaze met mine through the haze of pleasure, and there was something soft in his eyes… something fond.

"You're doing so good, baby." His voice was rough and strained, but warm. "Taking him so well. Look at you—fuck. That's my girl."

I tried to respond, but all that came out was a broken moan as Matt drove into me deeper.

"You like that, huh?" Chris continued, his hand speeding up on his cock. "You like getting fucked by both of us?"

I managed a keening sound, something that might have been yes or please or don't stop. It didn't matter. The noise was enough.

Matt's mouth was on my neck, sucking, biting, and marking me with a desperation that bordered on feral. His teeth scraped against my pulse point, and he soothed the sting with his tongue before moving lower, leaving a trail of bruises down my throat. I felt each one bloom against my skin, and the thought of waking up tomorrow with his marks on me while I was dating Chris, sent a thrill straight through me.

He was on a mission. Licking, sucking, and claiming every inch of exposed skin he could reach while his cock kept driving into me with that relentless rhythm.

Chris was still talking from above, his voice filled with pride. "You're so pretty like this. I knew you'd look perfect between us." And all I could do was let out a pathetic, broken whimper.

Matt's hand found my clit, pressing hard, circling in time with his thrusts. His face was pressed against the crook of my neck, as his breaths came out hot and ragged. "I'm close." he gritted out. "Cum with me. I need to feel you."

With one more deep stroke, and his thumb pressing hard against my clit, I shattered.

My orgasm crashed through me, violent and consuming, as my walls clenched around Matt's cock so hard that he groaned, making his hips stutter. He followed me over the edge, burying himself deep and spilling his load inside me with a guttural sound.

Above me, Chris' breath caught. I watched his head tip back, his hand moving faster, and then he groaned, long and low. He burst, and I felt hot stripes of cum paint across my stomach and ribs.

For a long moment, there was nothing but heavy breathing.

Matt collapsed first, his forehead dropping to my chest, his body feeling heavy and warm. Chris followed, lowering himself down, curling around my other side, his face burying in the curve of my neck. I laid between them, completely spent, my limbs feeling too heavy to move.

But I felt everything. Chris' release cooled across my stomach, trickling slowly down my sides, and Matt's was leaking out of me, warm and wet, spreading against my thighs. And my own arousal amidst it all, clung to my skin, sticky.

The three of us, laid in bed in a heap of tangled limbs, completely undone. I stared at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling from my slow, deep breaths, and let myself exist in the aftermath of what had just happened.

The brothers were still pressed against me, as Matt's lips were brushing lazily against my sternum, and Chris' nose was nuzzling into my hair. Neither of them moved to pull away from me.

The silence stretched, it was thick but comfortable, and was filled only with the sound of us remembering how to breathe again.

Then Matt's voice rumbled against my skin, rough and wrecked, but thoroughly satisfied. "So," A chuckle vibrated through his chest. "Have we reached a settlement?"

I felt Chris huff a laugh behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. "Yeah, baby. I think we deserve a verdict after that performance."

I groaned, the sound pathetic and strained, barely more than a whimper. My voice came out hoarse, scraped raw from all the moaning, gasping, and crying. "I don't— I can't..."

They both waited. They looked patient, but very much amused at my speechlessness.

"I don't know." I finally managed, and the words slurred together like I was drunk. Because I was drunk on them, on the way they'd taken me apart and put me back together, and on the feeling of being completely, utterly spent between two bodies that had worshiped me into oblivion.

Matt lifted his head, looking down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. His lips were swollen, and his hair a mess. He looked absolutely debauched. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting." I mumbled, my eyes fluttering closed.

Chris pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "That's okay. We've got the whole house to ourselves for the weekend."

My eyes flew open.

Matt's grin spread slow and wicked, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Plenty of time to reach a unanimous decision."

I stared at them both, at Matt's filthy smile and at Chris' warm, knowing gaze over my shoulder, and let out a breath that was half laugh and half groan. “Ah, fuck.” I muttered.

They both softly laughed, the sound mingling in the dark, and I felt Chris' arm tighten around me while Matt's hand slid down my hip, squeezing once before settling.

I was trapped between them, but I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.

A/N: this wasnt supposed to be this long but I got carried away oops 🫣🤫

taglist 1: @sturncoast @ariestrxsh @n3vers4tisfied @chrisssiren @sturniolo-szn2 @xo-gabs @spookysturnz @lyingonchris @privatelyowned-t @matt0bsessed @httpssturns @courta13 @hannahsturns @cuntiolotriplets @sabprincess @mamaagirlbehindu123 @grace-sturnz @whore4chris @mwahmatt @chickenundercover-09 @snowprincessleopard @eeyore-of-100-acre-wood @angel-sturn1 @sturniloxwz @sturnskiss @viviansturns @hannahsturniolo @salemsturniolo @challengers4ev @izzysturn @brosexy4life @gracedbysturns @mattsleftball @norahsturns @ilovematthewsturniolo1 @devotedlyteenagemusic @abiiialt @madisberry @iknowyouhave20dolllars @bernwentonio @lycheeolo @sturni-olii @sturntiolo @sleepinourtears @nbhdmatt @dearxcherry @chriss-slutt @may-bee-lovers @obx-hp-fan @rollingintheglitter @sturnsbunny

Contains: smut, porn with slight plot, infidelity/secret affair, brat taming, power imbalance, rough handling, possessiveness, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, slight breath play, tearing of clothes, breast/nipple play, fingering, clit play, oral (m receiving), face fucking, tit-fucking, rough sex, overstim, unprotected piv, creampie, aftercare(?), dom!duke brat tamer!chris x sub!fem mistress(brat)!reader

based on this request

The afternoon sun bled gold across the terrace, catching on the rim of porcelain cups and the silver thread embroidered into the duchess's sleeves. She sat at the center of the picnic spread like a painting come to life, back straight and her smile soft, with one hand resting on her husband's arm as she leaned into him on the cushion-lined bench.

I stood a few paces back near the tea cart, and I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

The duke, Christopher, or Chris for short, as his wife called him, looked comfortable in a way he rarely did in court. His doublet was unlaced at the throat, his boots kicked out before him, and he was watching his wife with an expression that made the ladies-in-waiting exchange knowing glances amongst each other. He watched her with such soft devotion, it could’ve fooled anyone… but not me.

As for myself, I poured myself more tea and didn’t bother to look at them. I didn't need to. I could feel the warmth of their domestic tableau at the edge of my vision, such as the way his thumb traced circles on his wife’s wrist, and the way she leaned into him like a flower turning towards the sun. It was sickening to look at.

Chris lifted a grape from the bowl between them to feed her, and she took it between her teeth and laughed softly. "Five years, darling." she said, her voice carrying that particular lilt she used when she was being earnest. "Five years since I married you, and I would wed you again if I could in a single heartbeat."

I lifted my teacup, taking a slow sip, and let the moment sit on my tongue like something sour.

Five years. And unbeknownst to her, I had been in his bed for three of them.

It started the summer the duchess went to visit her family. I remembered the heat of that day still, the way the air hung thick with hay dust, and the way Chris’ hands shook when he backed me into the stable loft. He had been looking at me for months by then. With the kind of look that made my skin prickle every time we made eye contact. And the kind that made me start wearing my bodice just a little looser, just to see if he would break.

That afternoon in the hay loft, he did not ask. He just pushed up my skirts, yanked down my stays, and fucked me into the straw until I couldn’t walk straight. His hand was clamped over my mouth so the stable boys wouldn’t hear, while his teeth sank into my shoulder, biting down to keep himself quiet when he came.

I remembered the way I had smiled in the dark afterwards, half-buried in hay, knowing he had chosen me over the empty bed waiting for him in the manor.

There had been other times too. The night of the autumn ball, when the duchess had retired early with a headache and Chris found me in the library. He had me bent over the desk, and took me while the music from the great hall drifted through the windows. I remembered staring at the spines of his books as he moved behind me, counting the gold lettering, and feeling nothing but triumph. I had been the one he came to find. Not her. But me.

There was another occurrence during a hunting trip last spring, when his party had ridden out at dawn. Chris returned earlier than expected while the others were still chasing stag through the eastern woods. He found me in my bedchamber, still in my nightdress, with the sheets tangled from a restless morning. He didn’t bother asking why I wasn’t dressed. He simply crossed the room, pushed me back onto the mattress, and fucked me into the pillows with the curtains half-drawn and the afternoon light slicing through the cracks.

I remembered the way he breathed my name when he finished, ragged and undone, and the way I smirked against his shoulder because I knew exactly what I had done. I had pulled him away from his hunt, from his duty, and from the life he was supposed to be living. And I relished every moment of it.

Now, in the garden, he sat beside her with that attentive expression. I watched the way his thumb traced the inside of her wrist, and the way he leaned towards her when she spoke. I knew that hand. I knew the weight of it on my throat in the dark, and the bite of his fingers in my hip when he forgot himself. The duchess saw a devoted husband. I saw the man who marked my skin at night and then sat across from his wife at breakfast as if I didn’t exist.

He lifted another grape. The duchess took it from his fingers with a soft laugh.

She didn’t know the things I had done with that hand, or the things I had done for him while on my knees. She was unaware of the sounds he made when his wife was asleep and he slipped through my door instead. And that knowledge sat in my chest like a held breath.

But today, the air between us felt wrong. I felt it in the way Chris wouldn’t look at me, not once, or even spare a glance my way. His eyes stayed fixed on his wife as if I didn’t exist. But his jaw was tighter than it should’ve been and his shoulders squared.

It was definitely because I was standing a few feet away. And he was simply refusing to acknowledge it.

I stepped forward to refresh the duchess’s tea. The pot was hot in my hands, and my grip was steady.

"Allow me, Your Grace."

The stream was smooth and amber, perfect, until I let my wrist tilt just a fraction too far. A thin ribbon of tea spilled over the rim and ran across the tablecloth, soaking the edge of a linen napkin.

"Oh! Forgive me." My voice came out silk, shot through with just enough dismay to pass. "How clumsy of me."

The duchess waved it off with a patient smile. "It’s nothing. Only tea."

She didn’t flinch or suspect anything ill. She simply dabbed at the spot with her napkin and turned back to Chris, reaching for his hand again.

I should’ve stopped there. I knew I should’ve.

But she was looking at Chris with those wide, trusting eyes, and he was looking at her like she was the only woman who had ever mattered. And all while I had been warming his bed for three years, pouring her tea and lacing up her gowns, and standing in plain sight while she smiled at me, having no idea what I had done with her husband the night before.

"Five years." I spoke up, my voice cutting through her reverie like a blade through silk. "Truly remarkable. Most husbands lose interest by year two."

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

The footman at the edge of the terrace froze midstep, and a lady seated on a chair nearby with her embroidery went perfectly still. The duchess's hand stopped halfway to her mouth, and she blinked at me as if I had spoken in a language she didn’t understand.

But Chris, he set down his teacup with a soft clink that somehow commanded the entire table.

His sharp blue eyes met mine for the first time all afternoon, and they didn’t seem warm anymore. They were winter and stone, which made my stomach clench even as my chin lifted. He held my gaze for a long moment, long enough for the heat to creep up my neck, and definitely long enough for me to realize I may have pushed too far.

"That will be all." he said, his voice commanding and perfectly even. A tone he used when there were witnesses, and when he was too controlled to show a crack.

But I knew him. I knew the flatness in his eyes was a storm waiting to break.

The duchess looked between us, something flickering across her face. Confusion, perhaps. Or the first whisper of suspicion. She smoothed her skirts and offered me a small, uncertain smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether to scold me or comfort me.

"She’s only teasing, dear. She didn’t mean anything by it."

Of course, she was defending her lady-in-waiting. The wife was defending me to her husband, and the irony was so sharp I almost laughed.

But Chris didn’t look away from me. "I said, that will be all." His words were final, like a door slamming shut.

I dipped the shallowest curtsy the duchess would accept, gathered my skirts, and turned around. The walk across the terrace felt longer than it should’ve. But throughout, I felt the duke’s gaze on my back like a hand, like a brand, and most definitely like a promise.

The sun would soon set in a few hours, and I knew he would come find me then.

Later at nightfall, in my bedchamber, candlelight pooled on the vanity glass as I watched my own hands move through my hair. The hairbrush was silver, heavy and cool against my palm, as I drew it through the damp strands in long, measured strokes.

I hummed as I worked, a melodic tune that I had heard the musicians play at dinner. It curled through the quiet room, wrapping itself around the scent of lavender soap and the candle's slow burn. I liked the sound of my own voice in the stillness, and the way the melody filled the space, making the room feel less empty.

The afternoon was still sharp behind my ribs. I recalled the way Chris had looked at me from across the tea table. How his jaw had tightened when I spoke out of turn, and the way he had dismissed me in that clipped tone.

But I had seen the cracks in his demeanour, such as the flicker in his eyes before he looked away. He had been holding himself still, holding himself back, and I had known it even as I turned and walked away.

Chris surely watched me leave. I had felt his gaze on my back like a hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades.

I set the hairbrush down and leaned closer towards the mirror. The woman looking back at me had sharp edges. Her jaw cut clean, and her lips pink and full. Her eyes were dark and steady, holding the kind of heat that made men forget where they were. I tilted my chin, and watched the hollow at the base of my throat catch the light. The nightgown's neckline was cut low, the silk barely grazing my nipples, where I could see the shape of them through the fabric, round and taut.

On the contrary, the duchess had a softness to her. A gentleness that suited the role of a duke's wife. But she didn’t have this. She didn’t have cheekbones that caught candlelight like blades, or a mouth that promised trouble. She didn’t have the kind of body that made men forget their vows.

However, I did.

My humming resumed, softer now, almost a whisper against my lips. I picked up the hairbrush again and drew it through my hair, letting the rhythm carry me. A certain kind of warmth started to settle in my belly.

I knew he would come.

And as expected, the series of knocks came, in three short raps.

My hand stopped mid-stroke. My eyes shifted towards the reflection of the door in the mirror, and I watched the slow bloom of my own smile. I set the hairbrush down, rose from the stool, and crossed the room in silence. The silk whispered against my skin, across my stomach, and over the curve of my hips. My bare feet padded across the floorboards, until I stopped in front of the door.

I pressed my palm flat against the old wood. I could almost feel Chris’ presence on the other side. But I didn’t open it just yet. 

Instead, I let the silence stretch. I wanted him to wait, and let him wonder if tonight would be the night I finally refused him. I wanted him to feel the edge of that possibility.

Another knock came, and this time it was harder and louder.

A low voice came through the wood. "Open the door." It was Chris’ voice, roughened at the edges. The same tone he used when he had stopped pretending.

I finally turned the latch to unlock the door. The door swung open, and there he stood in the candlelight with his face half in shadow. His collar was unlaced, leaving his throat bare, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows.

His cold blue eyes found mine, then dropped to my mouth, and then descended lower. The air between us suddenly went still and thick.

"Your Grace." I greeted, my lips curving into a knowing smile. "I was wondering when you would come."

Chris stepped forward without a word, and I stepped back to let him in. The door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud, making my body thrum in anticipation.

At first, I didn’t move. I let the triumphed smile spread slowly across my lips, letting him see it in the candlelight. The satisfaction and the knowledge that I had been right, once again.

He stood with his back to the door, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he was trying very hard to control. His arms hung at his sides, with his fists clenched, his jaw set, and his eyes dark and unreadable in the low light. The shadows carved hollows beneath his cheekbones, and I could see the pulse in his throat, ticking fast.

"You know," I spoke up, breaking the silence. "I knew you would come."

"You embarrassed me today." he said.

"I embarrassed you?" I let the words sit on my tongue, tasting them. "I made a comment at a tea party. You have had me bent over tables and taken me in the dark while your wife slept three rooms away, and I embarrassed you."

His expression flickered. Cracked, just at the edges. "That is different."

"Is it?"

"You know it is."

I laughed. The sound was sharp and hollow, and it bounced off the walls, and I watched him flinch at it.

"I know nothing of the sort, Your Grace. You have had me for three years. In the stables, in the library, in my bed, in yours, and even against the wall of the stillroom while the servants slept overhead. You have marked me in ways I cannot wash off. And today you sat beside your wife and fed her fruit and pretended I did not exist!"

Chris crossed the room before I finished speaking.

His hands caught my arms, gripping them hard enough to bruise, and then he pushed me backwards until my shoulders hit the wall. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. His body pressed into mine, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and his mouth was a breath from my ear.

"You think I don’t know what I have done to you?" His voice was rough now, frayed at the edges, the voice he used when the duke was gone and only Chris remained. "You think I don’t carry it?"

"Then carry it louder." I said.

His hand came up to my throat. Not squeezing, just resting there. His palm was flat against my pulse that was hammering beneath my skin, as his fingers curled around the curve of my neck. He could surely feel it, every beat and betraying flutter.

"You said what you said today because you wanted a reaction." His thumb slowly traced the line of my jaw. "You wanted me to come to you tonight. You’ve been wanting it since the moment I didn’t look at you on the terrace."

"I wanted you to look at me."

"Look at you." His jaw tightened. "I have spent three years looking at you. I have spent three years wanting you, taking you, and pretending I could stop."

"Then don’t pretend." The words hung between us, heavy and naked.

His palm pressed flat against my windpipe, firm but not cutting. The candlelight carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look dangerous in a way the duchess never saw.

"You have quite the mouth on you today, hm?" he gruffed. I could tell he was holding himself back by a thread.

I swallowed against his hand, feeling the way his fingers tightened in response. "I learned from the best."

The blue in his eyes turned colder. His thumb pressed into the soft hollow beneath my jaw, as he tilted my head back until the ceiling was all I could see.

"You spoke out of turn today." he said. "In front of my wife."

"I spoke the truth."

"The truth." he scoffed, letting out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it. "You think I give a fuck what the truth is? And do you truly believe your word against mine would ever be considered?"

I smiled up at him, even with his hand on my throat, and the wall digging into my shoulder blades. "You seemed to give a fuck when you pulled me into the library after the spring ball while your wife was playing cards in the next room."

Chris’ grip tightened, by just a fraction. Just enough to make my pulse flutter. "Careful." he warned.

"Or what, Chris? You'll banish me?" I let the words drip. "Send me away? Find some other girl to warm your bed when the duchess is asleep?"

He was quiet for a long moment. His eyes moved over my face, searching for something I wasn’t sure he would find. "You think I need you." he said slowly.

"I know you do."

"You need to be taught a lesson." he said, his voice dropping to something that made my stomach tighten. "You need to be punished."

Before I could answer, his hand left my throat and found my wrist instead. He roughly tugged me away from the wall, turning me, and pushed. I stumbled forward until my knees hit the edge of the bed frame, my palms catching against the plush quilt.

"On your hands and knees." he commanded. “Now.”

I obeyed, but slowly, as a wicked grin spread across my lips. I let him watch me settle onto all fours, as the silk of my nightgown slid against my thighs, and my hair fell forward in a dark curtain. I could feel his eyes on me, and the heat of his gaze tracing the curve of my spine and the swell of my hips. I arched my back just enough to give him a better view.

Chris’ hand found the hem of my nightgown and urgently hiked it up, bunching the silk around my waist until the air hit my bare skin. I was completely exposed. My ass bared to him, and the soft shadow between my thighs visible in the candlelight. I pressed my forehead into the mattress and let him take a good look.

"This is what your mouth earns you." he rasped. "This is what happens when you forget your place in front of her."

His hand came down flat against my ass. The crack of it split the quiet room, sharp and loud, and I gasped into the mattress. The sting bloomed across my skin, bright and spreading, and I felt my fingers curl into the bedding.

"Count." he said.

"One."

His hand landed again, this one a little harder. The sound echoed off the walls, and I bit my lip against the moan that wanted to follow.

"Two."

Chris spanked me again, and again, each strike landing on a different spot, spreading the heat until my entire body was burning. I lost count somewhere after six. All I could feel was the weight of his palm, the crack of each blow, and the way my skin sang under every impact.

When he finally stopped, his hand rested on the curve of my ass, warm and heavy. The shape of his palm printed on my skin felt like a brand.

"Look at you…" he said, his voice had changed to something darker… and mesmerized. "Look at what I have done to you."

His fingers traced the curve of my ass, dipping lower, until he was sliding along the wet heat between my thighs. I heard him draw a sharp breath.

"Fuck, you’re dripping." he said. "You’re soaked from your punishment."

I turned my head, trying to see him from over my shoulder. Chris was staring at my thigh, and I followed his gaze. My own arousal was running down my inner thigh, a glistening trail that caught the candlelight.

He gathered some of it on his fingers and brought them to his lips. He tasted me slow, his eyes never leaving mine, and the sight of it made my breath catch.

"You’re a whore." he said, the word rolling off his tongue like honey. It sounded almost affectionate. "A greedy little slut. But mine… my whore."

I said nothing, but gasped softly. Him claiming ownership of me had my hole clench in need.

So Chris’ fingers found my cunt again, sliding through the wetness, and circling my clit before pushing inside me in a single, smooth thrust. I cried out, my arms buckling, catching myself on my elbows as his fingers worked inside me. Two of them, long, thick, and insistent, curling against that spot that made my vision go white around the edges.

His other hand fisted in my hair and yanked, pulling my head back until my spine arched. The pain was sharp and perfect, making me moan against the pull of it.

"You think you can say whatever you want?" he asked, his voice deep in my ear as his fingers drove into me. "You think because I want this cunt that you have power over me?"

"I know I do." I gasped.

My defiance made his fingers curl harder, and I choked on the sound that escaped me.

"You forget yourself." he hissed, pulling his hand out of me. Before I could grieve the loss, his arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me up. My back hit his chest, my spine pressed against the heat of him, and his hand found my throat again. His fingers pressed into the soft skin beneath my jaw as he held me against him.

His mouth found my ear, his breath hot against the shell of it. "You’re my wife's lady-in-waiting, and you spread your legs like a strumpet in a coaching inn." Chris’ lewd words landed hard, and I felt them spark in the pit of my stomach.

His other hand, still slick with my wetness, slid down between my thighs and found my clit. He circled it with his thumb, firm and relentless, and I bucked against him, my hand flying up to grip the back of his neck.

“Chris—- please—“

"That’s it." he said against my ear, and I could tell he was smirking, watching me melt.

My fingers dug into the nape of his neck, into the soft hair at his collar, as I held on while his thumb worked me in maddening circles. My legs trembled and my breath came in ragged gasps. The liquid heat was building, coiling low and tight in my belly, and I could feel myself clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

His grip on my throat tightened. Not enough to stop my breath, but just enough to remind me who was holding me up. "You’re going to cum for me." he demanded. "And then I’m going to use you however I please."

His words made the pressure within me burst. I came undone in his arms, my body convulsing against him, as a weak cry tore from somewhere deep in my chest. I felt everything: the heat, the release, and the way his thumb kept circling me through it, drawing it out until I was shaking. I moaned in protest from the oversentivity, until he finally let go.

I fell forward onto the bed, my arms too weak to catch me, as my body sank into the mattress. In the quiet room, I could hear my own breathing, ragged and loud and the whisper of the candle’s flame dancing.

I twisted around, rolling onto my back, and the movement pulled my nightgown taut across my body. The silk strained against my breasts and across my stomach, making my hard nipples visible through the thin fabric. My chest rose and fell with each panting breath, and I watched him watch me.

Chris stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to the buttons of his trousers. He worked them open with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with a pearly bead at the end .

After removing his waistcoat and shirt, he climbed onto the bed and settled between my thighs, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. His hands found the neckline of my nightgown, the silk which was stretched thin over my breasts.

"You’re spilling out of this." Chris said, his voice roughened by lust. "Like a common whore showing off what she has to offer."

He grabbed the fabric at the neckline, where my breasts threatened to spill over, and tore it open. The rip was loud and sharp, the silk giving way to his strong hands, and left me completely bare before him. The air hit my heated skin. His eyes moved over me, from my breasts, to my stomach, and then between my thighs. Chris looked at me like I was something he wanted to devour.

His hands found my breasts, cupping them, and squeezed fistfuls of my flesh. He kneaded them roughly, his thumbs circling my nipples until they were aching from the friction, and I arched into his touch.

"You have the most perfect breasts." he praised. "Does my wife have hers like these? Does she make me hard just by looking over my way?"

I shook my head, my voice lost.

"No." he agreed. "Only you. Only my ravishing whore."

He then lowered his head and took a nipple into his warm mouth, sucking hard, and biting down until I gasped. The pain mixed with pleasure, sharp and bright, had me threading my fingers through his hair as he moved to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. He sucked and bit until my nipples were swollen and aching, until I was writhing beneath him.

When Chris pulled back, I watched him wrap his hand around his thick cock. He then pressed it between my breasts, sliding the head along the valley of them, and I felt the heat of him against my skin.

"Squeeze them together." he said.

I obliged, and pressed my breasts around his cock. Chris thrusted into the tight channel of them, the head barely brushing against my chin with every movement, as he elicited the prettiest groans. The sensation was strange and hot, but the friction of his skin against mine, and the way he used my body like a toy thrilled me. I gasped at every thrust, the head of his cock sliding wet and thick between my breasts.

My hand drifted down, reaching to soothe my aching clit, but Chris’ hand caught my wrist before I could touch myself.

"No." he said. "You don’t get to touch yourself. Tonight you are mine to use. You’re my slut, and I will do with you as I please."

"Please, Chris." I heard myself plead. "Please fuck me."

"You will be fucked when I decide you will be fucked." He pulled his cock from between my breasts and looked down at me, that hard line still carved into his jaw. "But first, since that mouth of yours gets you into so much trouble, I want it around my cock."

He shifted forward, his knees bracketing my ribs, and the head of his cock pressed against my lips. I parted them without hesitation, letting him push past the wet heat of my mouth, and instantly the taste of him flooded my tongue. Salt, skin, and the faint trace of my fragrance from where he had pressed between my breasts.

"Take it." he ordered, his hand fisting in my hair. "Take all of it."

I opened my throat wider for him. He thrusted deep, making the head slide past my tongue, and press against the back of my throat until my eyes watered. I gasped around him, my hands finding his thighs, and he held me there for a long moment, letting me feel the stretch and the fullness of it.

"That’s it." he groaned. "Look at you. Look at my whore on her back with my cock down her throat."

Chris pulled back and thrusted again, setting a rhythm that had me gripping his thighs, as my fingernails dug into his skin. His hand stayed twisted in my hair, guiding each thrust, and his other hand found my breast. He squeezed, kneaded, and rolled my nipple between his fingers until I moaned around his cock, the vibration making him hiss through his teeth.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice ragged. "You like being used like this?"

I couldn’t answer. I could only take him, as my throat worked around each thrust, and my hands stroked the solid muscle of his thighs as he fucked my mouth. He played with my nipples the whole time, pinching and rolling until they were swollen and aching, and I was wet and dripping onto the sheets beneath me.

He then pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with my saliva, and crawled down my body. The head of his cock pressed against my stomach, leaving a wet trail across my skin as he positioned himself between my thighs.

"Look at this pretty cunt." he husked. "So wet and ready for me."

He took his cock in his hand and dragged the head across my slippery slit. Once, then twice. The sensation was maddening, the head catching on my clit with every pass, spreading my wetness across my folds. I could feel his precum mixing with my arousal, turning into a slick, sticky mess that coated my entrance.

"Please…" I begged, as I tried to catch my breath. "Please, Chris."

"Please what?" He dragged the head through our arousal again, slower this time, pressing just at my entrance without pushing in.

"Please fuck me. I need to feel you."

"You need to be filled?" He slid the head of his cock over my clit, and I bucked beneath him, as a sob caught in my throat. "You need your cunt stuffed full of my cock?"

"Yes! Yes, please!"

He kept teasing, sliding through the wetness, and the head of his cock kept catching on my entrance then slipping away. The tension built until I was trembling, and clawing at the sheets. I was becoming desperate and would have said anything, promised him anything, to feel him inside me.

"Please," I whimpered again. "Please, Chris. I need it. I need you."

He leaned over me, his hands bracing on either side of my head, and I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance. He held there, just at the threshold, with his face inches from mine.

"Whose are you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yours."

Then he pushed in.

The stretch was everything. I cried out, my head pressing back into the mattress, as my hands flew up to find his shoulders. Chris filled me completely, inch by inch, until his hips were pressed flush against mine and I could feel him everywhere. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust to the size of him.

"Look at me." he said.

And I did. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and there was something in them that made my chest ache.

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were deep and punishing, each one driving the breath from my lungs. His hands were braced on either side of my head, his forearms corded with tension, and the angle had his cock rubbing against a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. Chris was everywhere, all around me, inside me, his breath hot against my neck, and his body pressed me into the mattress.

"More." I gasped. "More."

So he gave me more. He drove harder and faster, each thrust hitting that spot with devastating precision. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he lowered his head to my neck, his breath coming in ragged pants against my skin.

My nails raked down his back, leaving red lines in their wake, and he groaned against my throat. The sound was low and animal, a sound the duchess probably never heard from her husband. It was a sound he saved only for me.

"Whose are you?" he asked again, his voice rough and raw.

"Yours, Your Grace. I’m only yours."

"That’s right." He drove deeper and harder, his hips slapping against mine. "You are mine in ways she will never be. She is my wife, my duchess, but you… you are my whore, my harlot. You are the one I come to when I need to feel something real. When I need to let go."

Chris’ hand found my throat, pressing gently, and he lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were dark, his mouth parted, and he was beautiful like this, completely undone and raw.

"Cum for me." he said.

The pressure within me snapped. I shattered beneath him, my body clenching around his cock, as my cry got swallowed by the dark. Chris followed a moment later, a low groan tore from his throat, as his hips pressed hard against mine while he spilled into me, hot and thick.

We stayed like that, tangled and breathing, in the flickering candlelight. The air smelled of sex, sweat, and the duke.

I laid there, with my skin flushed and my thighs sticky with the evidence of us. I was sore and satisfied, still feeling the marks of his hands on my skin, and his seed dripping from between my thighs. I could feel every place he had touched me, struck me, and claimed me.

Chris raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me. For a moment his face was soft, unlike his usual stern face. There was something raw and unguarded visible upon it, that made my chest tighten.

He then leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn’t like the other times he kissed me. This kiss was slow, deep, and thorough. His hand cupped my jaw, as his thumb traced the line of my cheek, and he kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he was drinking me in. His tongue slid against mine, and I kissed him back with everything I had, while my hand found the back of his head, and my fingers threaded through his hair.

The kiss went on and on, stealing my breath, leaving me dizzy. Chris took and took until there was nothing left, until I was gasping against his lips, and until he had pulled the last of my air into himself.

And that’s when he pulled away.

Chris looked different. The softness had vanished, and it was replaced by the smooth, unreadable mask of the duke. He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for his trousers.

I watched him dress in silence, and he didn’t even spare a glance at me. His movements were efficient and practiced, the same way he always dressed himself after he had spent some time with me. When he was done, he straightened his collar and walked towards the door.

Chris paused with his hand on the latch. His back was straight, and his shoulders set. Almost like he wanted to change his mind. 

But he didn’t turn around. The door opened, closed, and then he was gone.

I laid there in the rumpled sheets, with my body aching in all the right places. The candle had burned low, casting long shadows across the ceiling. I was red, sore, and dripping with the evidence of him.

I smiled in the dark.

Let him walk out with that stoic face and lie straight to his wife’s face. I would still be here in the morning, by the duchess’s side, and so would every mark he had left on me.

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taglist 1: @sturncoast @ariestrxsh @n3vers4tisfied @chrisssiren @starrsturns @sturniolo-szn2 @xo-gabs @spookysturnz @lyingonchris @privatelyowned-t @matt0bsessed @httpssturns @courta13 @hannahsturns @pip4444chris @sabprincess @mamaagirlbehindu123 @grace-sturnz @whore4chris @mwahmatt @chickenundercover-09 @snowprincessleopard @eeyore-of-100-acre-wood @angel-sturn1 @sturniloxwz @sturnskiss @viviansturns @hannahsturnssxo @salemsturniolo @challengers4ev @brosexy4life @gracedbysturns @mattsleftball @norahsturns @ilovematthewsturniolo1 @devotedlyteenagemusic @abiiialt @madisberry @iknowyouhave20dolllars @bernwentonio @lycheeolo @sturni-olii @sturntiolo @sleepinourtears @nbhdmatt @dearxcherry @chriss-slutt @may-bee-lovers @obx-hp-fan @rollingintheglitter @sturnsbunny

Contains: smut, porn with slight plot, infidelity/secret affair, brat taming, power imbalance, rough handling, possessiveness, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, slight breath play, tearing of clothes, breast/nipple play, fingering, clit play, oral (m receiving), face fucking, tit-fucking, rough sex, overstim, unprotected piv, creampie, aftercare(?), dom!duke brat tamer!chris x sub!fem mistress(brat)!reader

based on this request

The afternoon sun bled gold across the terrace, catching on the rim of porcelain cups and the silver thread embroidered into the duchess's sleeves. She sat at the center of the picnic spread like a painting come to life, back straight and her smile soft, with one hand resting on her husband's arm as she leaned into him on the cushion-lined bench.

I stood a few paces back near the tea cart, and I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

The duke, Christopher, or Chris for short, as his wife called him, looked comfortable in a way he rarely did in court. His doublet was unlaced at the throat, his boots kicked out before him, and he was watching his wife with an expression that made the ladies-in-waiting exchange knowing glances amongst each other. He watched her with such soft devotion, it could’ve fooled anyone… but not me.

As for myself, I poured myself more tea and didn’t bother to look at them. I didn't need to. I could feel the warmth of their domestic tableau at the edge of my vision, such as the way his thumb traced circles on his wife’s wrist, and the way she leaned into him like a flower turning towards the sun. It was sickening to look at.

Chris lifted a grape from the bowl between them to feed her, and she took it between her teeth and laughed softly. "Five years, darling." she said, her voice carrying that particular lilt she used when she was being earnest. "Five years since I married you, and I would wed you again if I could in a single heartbeat."

I lifted my teacup, taking a slow sip, and let the moment sit on my tongue like something sour.

Five years. And unbeknownst to her, I had been in his bed for three of them.

It started the summer the duchess went to visit her family. I remembered the heat of that day still, the way the air hung thick with hay dust, and the way Chris’ hands shook when he backed me into the stable loft. He had been looking at me for months by then. With the kind of look that made my skin prickle every time we made eye contact. And the kind that made me start wearing my bodice just a little looser, just to see if he would break.

That afternoon in the hay loft, he did not ask. He just pushed up my skirts, yanked down my stays, and fucked me into the straw until I couldn’t walk straight. His hand was clamped over my mouth so the stable boys wouldn’t hear, while his teeth sank into my shoulder, biting down to keep himself quiet when he came.

I remembered the way I had smiled in the dark afterwards, half-buried in hay, knowing he had chosen me over the empty bed waiting for him in the manor.

There had been other times too. The night of the autumn ball, when the duchess had retired early with a headache and Chris found me in the library. He had me bent over the desk, and took me while the music from the great hall drifted through the windows. I remembered staring at the spines of his books as he moved behind me, counting the gold lettering, and feeling nothing but triumph. I had been the one he came to find. Not her. But me.

There was another occurrence during a hunting trip last spring, when his party had ridden out at dawn. Chris returned earlier than expected while the others were still chasing stag through the eastern woods. He found me in my bedchamber, still in my nightdress, with the sheets tangled from a restless morning. He didn’t bother asking why I wasn’t dressed. He simply crossed the room, pushed me back onto the mattress, and fucked me into the pillows with the curtains half-drawn and the afternoon light slicing through the cracks.

I remembered the way he breathed my name when he finished, ragged and undone, and the way I smirked against his shoulder because I knew exactly what I had done. I had pulled him away from his hunt, from his duty, and from the life he was supposed to be living. And I relished every moment of it.

Now, in the garden, he sat beside her with that attentive expression. I watched the way his thumb traced the inside of her wrist, and the way he leaned towards her when she spoke. I knew that hand. I knew the weight of it on my throat in the dark, and the bite of his fingers in my hip when he forgot himself. The duchess saw a devoted husband. I saw the man who marked my skin at night and then sat across from his wife at breakfast as if I didn’t exist.

He lifted another grape. The duchess took it from his fingers with a soft laugh.

She didn’t know the things I had done with that hand, or the things I had done for him while on my knees. She was unaware of the sounds he made when his wife was asleep and he slipped through my door instead. And that knowledge sat in my chest like a held breath.

But today, the air between us felt wrong. I felt it in the way Chris wouldn’t look at me, not once, or even spare a glance my way. His eyes stayed fixed on his wife as if I didn’t exist. But his jaw was tighter than it should’ve been and his shoulders squared.

It was definitely because I was standing a few feet away. And he was simply refusing to acknowledge it.

I stepped forward to refresh the duchess’s tea. The pot was hot in my hands, and my grip was steady.

"Allow me, Your Grace."

The stream was smooth and amber, perfect, until I let my wrist tilt just a fraction too far. A thin ribbon of tea spilled over the rim and ran across the tablecloth, soaking the edge of a linen napkin.

"Oh! Forgive me." My voice came out silk, shot through with just enough dismay to pass. "How clumsy of me."

The duchess waved it off with a patient smile. "It’s nothing. Only tea."

She didn’t flinch or suspect anything ill. She simply dabbed at the spot with her napkin and turned back to Chris, reaching for his hand again.

I should’ve stopped there. I knew I should’ve.

But she was looking at Chris with those wide, trusting eyes, and he was looking at her like she was the only woman who had ever mattered. And all while I had been warming his bed for three years, pouring her tea and lacing up her gowns, and standing in plain sight while she smiled at me, having no idea what I had done with her husband the night before.

"Five years." I spoke up, my voice cutting through her reverie like a blade through silk. "Truly remarkable. Most husbands lose interest by year two."

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

The footman at the edge of the terrace froze midstep, and a lady seated on a chair nearby with her embroidery went perfectly still. The duchess's hand stopped halfway to her mouth, and she blinked at me as if I had spoken in a language she didn’t understand.

But Chris, he set down his teacup with a soft clink that somehow commanded the entire table.

His sharp blue eyes met mine for the first time all afternoon, and they didn’t seem warm anymore. They were winter and stone, which made my stomach clench even as my chin lifted. He held my gaze for a long moment, long enough for the heat to creep up my neck, and definitely long enough for me to realize I may have pushed too far.

"That will be all." he said, his voice commanding and perfectly even. A tone he used when there were witnesses, and when he was too controlled to show a crack.

But I knew him. I knew the flatness in his eyes was a storm waiting to break.

The duchess looked between us, something flickering across her face. Confusion, perhaps. Or the first whisper of suspicion. She smoothed her skirts and offered me a small, uncertain smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether to scold me or comfort me.

"She’s only teasing, dear. She didn’t mean anything by it."

Of course, she was defending her lady-in-waiting. The wife was defending me to her husband, and the irony was so sharp I almost laughed.

But Chris didn’t look away from me. "I said, that will be all." His words were final, like a door slamming shut.

I dipped the shallowest curtsy the duchess would accept, gathered my skirts, and turned around. The walk across the terrace felt longer than it should’ve. But throughout, I felt the duke’s gaze on my back like a hand, like a brand, and most definitely like a promise.

The sun would soon set in a few hours, and I knew he would come find me then.

Later at nightfall, in my bedchamber, candlelight pooled on the vanity glass as I watched my own hands move through my hair. The hairbrush was silver, heavy and cool against my palm, as I drew it through the damp strands in long, measured strokes.

I hummed as I worked, a melodic tune that I had heard the musicians play at dinner. It curled through the quiet room, wrapping itself around the scent of lavender soap and the candle's slow burn. I liked the sound of my own voice in the stillness, and the way the melody filled the space, making the room feel less empty.

The afternoon was still sharp behind my ribs. I recalled the way Chris had looked at me from across the tea table. How his jaw had tightened when I spoke out of turn, and the way he had dismissed me in that clipped tone.

But I had seen the cracks in his demeanour, such as the flicker in his eyes before he looked away. He had been holding himself still, holding himself back, and I had known it even as I turned and walked away.

Chris surely watched me leave. I had felt his gaze on my back like a hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades.

I set the hairbrush down and leaned closer towards the mirror. The woman looking back at me had sharp edges. Her jaw cut clean, and her lips pink and full. Her eyes were dark and steady, holding the kind of heat that made men forget where they were. I tilted my chin, and watched the hollow at the base of my throat catch the light. The nightgown's neckline was cut low, the silk barely grazing my nipples, where I could see the shape of them through the fabric, round and taut.

On the contrary, the duchess had a softness to her. A gentleness that suited the role of a duke's wife. But she didn’t have this. She didn’t have cheekbones that caught candlelight like blades, or a mouth that promised trouble. She didn’t have the kind of body that made men forget their vows.

However, I did.

My humming resumed, softer now, almost a whisper against my lips. I picked up the hairbrush again and drew it through my hair, letting the rhythm carry me. A certain kind of warmth started to settle in my belly.

I knew he would come.

And as expected, the series of knocks came, in three short raps.

My hand stopped mid-stroke. My eyes shifted towards the reflection of the door in the mirror, and I watched the slow bloom of my own smile. I set the hairbrush down, rose from the stool, and crossed the room in silence. The silk whispered against my skin, across my stomach, and over the curve of my hips. My bare feet padded across the floorboards, until I stopped in front of the door.

I pressed my palm flat against the old wood. I could almost feel Chris’ presence on the other side. But I didn’t open it just yet. 

Instead, I let the silence stretch. I wanted him to wait, and let him wonder if tonight would be the night I finally refused him. I wanted him to feel the edge of that possibility.

Another knock came, and this time it was harder and louder.

A low voice came through the wood. "Open the door." It was Chris’ voice, roughened at the edges. The same tone he used when he had stopped pretending.

I finally turned the latch to unlock the door. The door swung open, and there he stood in the candlelight with his face half in shadow. His collar was unlaced, leaving his throat bare, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows.

His cold blue eyes found mine, then dropped to my mouth, and then descended lower. The air between us suddenly went still and thick.

"Your Grace." I greeted, my lips curving into a knowing smile. "I was wondering when you would come."

Chris stepped forward without a word, and I stepped back to let him in. The door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud, making my body thrum in anticipation.

At first, I didn’t move. I let the triumphed smile spread slowly across my lips, letting him see it in the candlelight. The satisfaction and the knowledge that I had been right, once again.

He stood with his back to the door, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he was trying very hard to control. His arms hung at his sides, with his fists clenched, his jaw set, and his eyes dark and unreadable in the low light. The shadows carved hollows beneath his cheekbones, and I could see the pulse in his throat, ticking fast.

"You know," I spoke up, breaking the silence. "I knew you would come."

"You embarrassed me today." he said.

"I embarrassed you?" I let the words sit on my tongue, tasting them. "I made a comment at a tea party. You have had me bent over tables and taken me in the dark while your wife slept three rooms away, and I embarrassed you."

His expression flickered. Cracked, just at the edges. "That is different."

"Is it?"

"You know it is."

I laughed. The sound was sharp and hollow, and it bounced off the walls, and I watched him flinch at it.

"I know nothing of the sort, Your Grace. You have had me for three years. In the stables, in the library, in my bed, in yours, and even against the wall of the stillroom while the servants slept overhead. You have marked me in ways I cannot wash off. And today you sat beside your wife and fed her fruit and pretended I did not exist!"

Chris crossed the room before I finished speaking.

His hands caught my arms, gripping them hard enough to bruise, and then he pushed me backwards until my shoulders hit the wall. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. His body pressed into mine, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and his mouth was a breath from my ear.

"You think I don’t know what I have done to you?" His voice was rough now, frayed at the edges, the voice he used when the duke was gone and only Chris remained. "You think I don’t carry it?"

"Then carry it louder." I said.

His hand came up to my throat. Not squeezing, just resting there. His palm was flat against my pulse that was hammering beneath my skin, as his fingers curled around the curve of my neck. He could surely feel it, every beat and betraying flutter.

"You said what you said today because you wanted a reaction." His thumb slowly traced the line of my jaw. "You wanted me to come to you tonight. You’ve been wanting it since the moment I didn’t look at you on the terrace."

"I wanted you to look at me."

"Look at you." His jaw tightened. "I have spent three years looking at you. I have spent three years wanting you, taking you, and pretending I could stop."

"Then don’t pretend." The words hung between us, heavy and naked.

His palm pressed flat against my windpipe, firm but not cutting. The candlelight carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look dangerous in a way the duchess never saw.

"You have quite the mouth on you today, hm?" he gruffed. I could tell he was holding himself back by a thread.

I swallowed against his hand, feeling the way his fingers tightened in response. "I learned from the best."

The blue in his eyes turned colder. His thumb pressed into the soft hollow beneath my jaw, as he tilted my head back until the ceiling was all I could see.

"You spoke out of turn today." he said. "In front of my wife."

"I spoke the truth."

"The truth." he scoffed, letting out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it. "You think I give a fuck what the truth is? And do you truly believe your word against mine would ever be considered?"

I smiled up at him, even with his hand on my throat, and the wall digging into my shoulder blades. "You seemed to give a fuck when you pulled me into the library after the spring ball while your wife was playing cards in the next room."

Chris’ grip tightened, by just a fraction. Just enough to make my pulse flutter. "Careful." he warned.

"Or what, Chris? You'll banish me?" I let the words drip. "Send me away? Find some other girl to warm your bed when the duchess is asleep?"

He was quiet for a long moment. His eyes moved over my face, searching for something I wasn’t sure he would find. "You think I need you." he said slowly.

"I know you do."

"You need to be taught a lesson." he said, his voice dropping to something that made my stomach tighten. "You need to be punished."

Before I could answer, his hand left my throat and found my wrist instead. He roughly tugged me away from the wall, turning me, and pushed. I stumbled forward until my knees hit the edge of the bed frame, my palms catching against the plush quilt.

"On your hands and knees." he commanded. “Now.”

I obeyed, but slowly, as a wicked grin spread across my lips. I let him watch me settle onto all fours, as the silk of my nightgown slid against my thighs, and my hair fell forward in a dark curtain. I could feel his eyes on me, and the heat of his gaze tracing the curve of my spine and the swell of my hips. I arched my back just enough to give him a better view.

Chris’ hand found the hem of my nightgown and urgently hiked it up, bunching the silk around my waist until the air hit my bare skin. I was completely exposed. My ass bared to him, and the soft shadow between my thighs visible in the candlelight. I pressed my forehead into the mattress and let him take a good look.

"This is what your mouth earns you." he rasped. "This is what happens when you forget your place in front of her."

His hand came down flat against my ass. The crack of it split the quiet room, sharp and loud, and I gasped into the mattress. The sting bloomed across my skin, bright and spreading, and I felt my fingers curl into the bedding.

"Count." he said.

"One."

His hand landed again, this one a little harder. The sound echoed off the walls, and I bit my lip against the moan that wanted to follow.

"Two."

Chris spanked me again, and again, each strike landing on a different spot, spreading the heat until my entire body was burning. I lost count somewhere after six. All I could feel was the weight of his palm, the crack of each blow, and the way my skin sang under every impact.

When he finally stopped, his hand rested on the curve of my ass, warm and heavy. The shape of his palm printed on my skin felt like a brand.

"Look at you…" he said, his voice had changed to something darker… and mesmerized. "Look at what I have done to you."

His fingers traced the curve of my ass, dipping lower, until he was sliding along the wet heat between my thighs. I heard him draw a sharp breath.

"Fuck, you’re dripping." he said. "You’re soaked from your punishment."

I turned my head, trying to see him from over my shoulder. Chris was staring at my thigh, and I followed his gaze. My own arousal was running down my inner thigh, a glistening trail that caught the candlelight.

He gathered some of it on his fingers and brought them to his lips. He tasted me slow, his eyes never leaving mine, and the sight of it made my breath catch.

"You’re a whore." he said, the word rolling off his tongue like honey. It sounded almost affectionate. "A greedy little slut. But mine… my whore."

I said nothing, but gasped softly. Him claiming ownership of me had my hole clench in need.

So Chris’ fingers found my cunt again, sliding through the wetness, and circling my clit before pushing inside me in a single, smooth thrust. I cried out, my arms buckling, catching myself on my elbows as his fingers worked inside me. Two of them, long, thick, and insistent, curling against that spot that made my vision go white around the edges.

His other hand fisted in my hair and yanked, pulling my head back until my spine arched. The pain was sharp and perfect, making me moan against the pull of it.

"You think you can say whatever you want?" he asked, his voice deep in my ear as his fingers drove into me. "You think because I want this cunt that you have power over me?"

"I know I do." I gasped.

My defiance made his fingers curl harder, and I choked on the sound that escaped me.

"You forget yourself." he hissed, pulling his hand out of me. Before I could grieve the loss, his arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me up. My back hit his chest, my spine pressed against the heat of him, and his hand found my throat again. His fingers pressed into the soft skin beneath my jaw as he held me against him.

His mouth found my ear, his breath hot against the shell of it. "You’re my wife's lady-in-waiting, and you spread your legs like a strumpet in a coaching inn." Chris’ lewd words landed hard, and I felt them spark in the pit of my stomach.

His other hand, still slick with my wetness, slid down between my thighs and found my clit. He circled it with his thumb, firm and relentless, and I bucked against him, my hand flying up to grip the back of his neck.

“Chris—- please—“

"That’s it." he said against my ear, and I could tell he was smirking, watching me melt.

My fingers dug into the nape of his neck, into the soft hair at his collar, as I held on while his thumb worked me in maddening circles. My legs trembled and my breath came in ragged gasps. The liquid heat was building, coiling low and tight in my belly, and I could feel myself clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

His grip on my throat tightened. Not enough to stop my breath, but just enough to remind me who was holding me up. "You’re going to cum for me." he demanded. "And then I’m going to use you however I please."

His words made the pressure within me burst. I came undone in his arms, my body convulsing against him, as a weak cry tore from somewhere deep in my chest. I felt everything: the heat, the release, and the way his thumb kept circling me through it, drawing it out until I was shaking. I moaned in protest from the oversentivity, until he finally let go.

I fell forward onto the bed, my arms too weak to catch me, as my body sank into the mattress. In the quiet room, I could hear my own breathing, ragged and loud and the whisper of the candle’s flame dancing.

I twisted around, rolling onto my back, and the movement pulled my nightgown taut across my body. The silk strained against my breasts and across my stomach, making my hard nipples visible through the thin fabric. My chest rose and fell with each panting breath, and I watched him watch me.

Chris stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to the buttons of his trousers. He worked them open with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with a pearly bead at the end .

After removing his waistcoat and shirt, he climbed onto the bed and settled between my thighs, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. His hands found the neckline of my nightgown, the silk which was stretched thin over my breasts.

"You’re spilling out of this." Chris said, his voice roughened by lust. "Like a common whore showing off what she has to offer."

He grabbed the fabric at the neckline, where my breasts threatened to spill over, and tore it open. The rip was loud and sharp, the silk giving way to his strong hands, and left me completely bare before him. The air hit my heated skin. His eyes moved over me, from my breasts, to my stomach, and then between my thighs. Chris looked at me like I was something he wanted to devour.

His hands found my breasts, cupping them, and squeezed fistfuls of my flesh. He kneaded them roughly, his thumbs circling my nipples until they were aching from the friction, and I arched into his touch.

"You have the most perfect breasts." he praised. "Does my wife have hers like these? Does she make me hard just by looking over my way?"

I shook my head, my voice lost.

"No." he agreed. "Only you. Only my ravishing whore."

He then lowered his head and took a nipple into his warm mouth, sucking hard, and biting down until I gasped. The pain mixed with pleasure, sharp and bright, had me threading my fingers through his hair as he moved to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. He sucked and bit until my nipples were swollen and aching, until I was writhing beneath him.

When Chris pulled back, I watched him wrap his hand around his thick cock. He then pressed it between my breasts, sliding the head along the valley of them, and I felt the heat of him against my skin.

"Squeeze them together." he said.

I obliged, and pressed my breasts around his cock. Chris thrusted into the tight channel of them, the head barely brushing against my chin with every movement, as he elicited the prettiest groans. The sensation was strange and hot, but the friction of his skin against mine, and the way he used my body like a toy thrilled me. I gasped at every thrust, the head of his cock sliding wet and thick between my breasts.

My hand drifted down, reaching to soothe my aching clit, but Chris’ hand caught my wrist before I could touch myself.

"No." he said. "You don’t get to touch yourself. Tonight you are mine to use. You’re my slut, and I will do with you as I please."

"Please, Chris." I heard myself plead. "Please fuck me."

"You will be fucked when I decide you will be fucked." He pulled his cock from between my breasts and looked down at me, that hard line still carved into his jaw. "But first, since that mouth of yours gets you into so much trouble, I want it around my cock."

He shifted forward, his knees bracketing my ribs, and the head of his cock pressed against my lips. I parted them without hesitation, letting him push past the wet heat of my mouth, and instantly the taste of him flooded my tongue. Salt, skin, and the faint trace of my fragrance from where he had pressed between my breasts.

"Take it." he ordered, his hand fisting in my hair. "Take all of it."

I opened my throat wider for him. He thrusted deep, making the head slide past my tongue, and press against the back of my throat until my eyes watered. I gasped around him, my hands finding his thighs, and he held me there for a long moment, letting me feel the stretch and the fullness of it.

"That’s it." he groaned. "Look at you. Look at my whore on her back with my cock down her throat."

Chris pulled back and thrusted again, setting a rhythm that had me gripping his thighs, as my fingernails dug into his skin. His hand stayed twisted in my hair, guiding each thrust, and his other hand found my breast. He squeezed, kneaded, and rolled my nipple between his fingers until I moaned around his cock, the vibration making him hiss through his teeth.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice ragged. "You like being used like this?"

I couldn’t answer. I could only take him, as my throat worked around each thrust, and my hands stroked the solid muscle of his thighs as he fucked my mouth. He played with my nipples the whole time, pinching and rolling until they were swollen and aching, and I was wet and dripping onto the sheets beneath me.

He then pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with my saliva, and crawled down my body. The head of his cock pressed against my stomach, leaving a wet trail across my skin as he positioned himself between my thighs.

"Look at this pretty cunt." he husked. "So wet and ready for me."

He took his cock in his hand and dragged the head across my slippery slit. Once, then twice. The sensation was maddening, the head catching on my clit with every pass, spreading my wetness across my folds. I could feel his precum mixing with my arousal, turning into a slick, sticky mess that coated my entrance.

"Please…" I begged, as I tried to catch my breath. "Please, Chris."

"Please what?" He dragged the head through our arousal again, slower this time, pressing just at my entrance without pushing in.

"Please fuck me. I need to feel you."

"You need to be filled?" He slid the head of his cock over my clit, and I bucked beneath him, as a sob caught in my throat. "You need your cunt stuffed full of my cock?"

"Yes! Yes, please!"

He kept teasing, sliding through the wetness, and the head of his cock kept catching on my entrance then slipping away. The tension built until I was trembling, and clawing at the sheets. I was becoming desperate and would have said anything, promised him anything, to feel him inside me.

"Please," I whimpered again. "Please, Chris. I need it. I need you."

He leaned over me, his hands bracing on either side of my head, and I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance. He held there, just at the threshold, with his face inches from mine.

"Whose are you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yours."

Then he pushed in.

The stretch was everything. I cried out, my head pressing back into the mattress, as my hands flew up to find his shoulders. Chris filled me completely, inch by inch, until his hips were pressed flush against mine and I could feel him everywhere. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust to the size of him.

"Look at me." he said.

And I did. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and there was something in them that made my chest ache.

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were deep and punishing, each one driving the breath from my lungs. His hands were braced on either side of my head, his forearms corded with tension, and the angle had his cock rubbing against a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. Chris was everywhere, all around me, inside me, his breath hot against my neck, and his body pressed me into the mattress.

"More." I gasped. "More."

So he gave me more. He drove harder and faster, each thrust hitting that spot with devastating precision. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he lowered his head to my neck, his breath coming in ragged pants against my skin.

My nails raked down his back, leaving red lines in their wake, and he groaned against my throat. The sound was low and animal, a sound the duchess probably never heard from her husband. It was a sound he saved only for me.

"Whose are you?" he asked again, his voice rough and raw.

"Yours, Your Grace. I’m only yours."

"That’s right." He drove deeper and harder, his hips slapping against mine. "You are mine in ways she will never be. She is my wife, my duchess, but you… you are my whore, my harlot. You are the one I come to when I need to feel something real. When I need to let go."

Chris’ hand found my throat, pressing gently, and he lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were dark, his mouth parted, and he was beautiful like this, completely undone and raw.

"Cum for me." he said.

The pressure within me snapped. I shattered beneath him, my body clenching around his cock, as my cry got swallowed by the dark. Chris followed a moment later, a low groan tore from his throat, as his hips pressed hard against mine while he spilled into me, hot and thick.

We stayed like that, tangled and breathing, in the flickering candlelight. The air smelled of sex, sweat, and the duke.

I laid there, with my skin flushed and my thighs sticky with the evidence of us. I was sore and satisfied, still feeling the marks of his hands on my skin, and his seed dripping from between my thighs. I could feel every place he had touched me, struck me, and claimed me.

Chris raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me. For a moment his face was soft, unlike his usual stern face. There was something raw and unguarded visible upon it, that made my chest tighten.

He then leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn’t like the other times he kissed me. This kiss was slow, deep, and thorough. His hand cupped my jaw, as his thumb traced the line of my cheek, and he kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he was drinking me in. His tongue slid against mine, and I kissed him back with everything I had, while my hand found the back of his head, and my fingers threaded through his hair.

The kiss went on and on, stealing my breath, leaving me dizzy. Chris took and took until there was nothing left, until I was gasping against his lips, and until he had pulled the last of my air into himself.

And that’s when he pulled away.

Chris looked different. The softness had vanished, and it was replaced by the smooth, unreadable mask of the duke. He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for his trousers.

I watched him dress in silence, and he didn’t even spare a glance at me. His movements were efficient and practiced, the same way he always dressed himself after he had spent some time with me. When he was done, he straightened his collar and walked towards the door.

Chris paused with his hand on the latch. His back was straight, and his shoulders set. Almost like he wanted to change his mind. 

But he didn’t turn around. The door opened, closed, and then he was gone.

I laid there in the rumpled sheets, with my body aching in all the right places. The candle had burned low, casting long shadows across the ceiling. I was red, sore, and dripping with the evidence of him.

I smiled in the dark.

Let him walk out with that stoic face and lie straight to his wife’s face. I would still be here in the morning, by the duchess’s side, and so would every mark he had left on me.

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Contains: smut, porn with slight plot, boudoir photography, mutual masturbation, slight dirty talk, implied praise kink, tasting yourself, voyeurism, soft!dom boudoir photographer!matt x sub!fem client!reader

I almost turned around twice on the way here. Once when I parked, sitting behind the wheel with my heart pounding like I was walking into something I wasn’t ready for. And again when I stood at the door, hand hovering over the handle, nerves twisting low in my stomach like I was about to do something impulsive.

Not illegal. Just… out of character. In fact, empowering, I reminded myself. That was the whole point of this.

I’d seen the photographer’s work on Instagram a few weeks ago. Stumbled upon it through a model I followed, then fell into a black hole of back arches, soft light, lace, and lips parted in pleasure. It wasn’t raunchy or vulgar. Just honest. Women being looked at like art instead of objects. And somehow, it made me want to see myself that way too.

So I booked the shoot. Did the whole thing, signed the online waiver and curated the moodboard. I even upgraded my initial package for extra photos. I also picked out a set of lingerie that made me blush just buying it. And now… here I was.

I knocked once, then pushed the studio door open, and the soft chime of a bell overhead announced my arrival. Warm air and the faint smell of cedar greeted me first. Then the space itself: rich wood floors, sunlight pouring in through high loft windows, and fabric backdrops in deep wine and charcoal hues lining the walls. A clothing rack with robes and silk was laid out on the side. And there were velvet couches, unlit candles, and even the shadows felt curated.

And amongst the props stood him.

“Hey.” he greeted, stepping out from behind a divider with a camera slung low over his shoulder. “You must be here for the 2 PM shoot.”

I think I nodded. Maybe said yes. I wasn’t sure I even remembered how to talk.

He looked exactly like his little bio photo on his profile, except a hundred times better in real life. He had tousled brown hair, which was slightly messy in the front like he’d been running his hand through it all day. There was light stubble over his jaw, the kind that looked intentional, even though I knew it probably wasn’t. And his eyes, they were icy blue and sharp. Almost hypnotizing.

He wore a faded black t-shirt that clung to his arms and hung loose over charcoal jeans. He looked casual, easy, and so confident. And suddenly, I felt very aware of the fact that I was wearing only a trench coat with lingerie underneath and nothing else.

“Yeah.” I finally managed, blinking out of it. “That’s me.”

He smiled, warm and disarming. “Awesome. I’m Matt. I’ll be shooting you today.” He offered his hand and I shook it, trying not to melt when I felt the calluses on his palm. “Have you ever done a shoot like this before?”

“No.” I said, shaking my head. “First time.”

“That’s alright.” he said, and his grin ticked just a little crooked. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll walk you through everything. You’re gonna kill it.”

God, his voice. Low, rich, and just raspy enough to have my skin tingle.

He stepped aside to gesture towards a vanity mirror framed in gold, next to a plush chair. “You can change over there. Take your time. I’ve got some music going already but if you have a playlist, I can throw it on.”

I shook my head, settling my bag beside the chair. “This is fine.”

“Alright.” he said, backing away to give me privacy. “I’ll go get everything set up.”

I exhaled once, long and slow, and then shrugged off my coat. A little shimmy and the trench slid down my arms, leaving me in sheer black lace and silk. My skin prickled from the slight breeze in the air. I thoroughly checked myself in the mirror, fixing a strap and adjusting my hair, almost like I was trying to delay the reveal as long as possible. Eventually I took one last deep breath, and stepped out into the main area.

Matt was behind the camera now, adjusting the lens. When he looked up, he visibly paused. For a heartbeat or two, he just stared. His expression didn’t falter, but didn’t shift into anything unprofessional either. But I saw it… the slight flare of his nostrils, the flicker of appreciation in those ocean blue eyes, and the way his jaw tensed before relaxing again.

Then, like a switch, he was back in control. “Damn.” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Okay… yeah. This is gonna be beautiful. Can I show you the backdrop I was thinking?”

I nodded, thankful for the gentle pivot, and followed him to a neutral-toned wall with a soft beige throw spread out beneath a low velvet bench. It felt… safe. Natural, but still intimate, but not performative. I appreciated that.

Matt looked completely in his element now. Focused, composed, but easy. Like he’d done this a thousand times before, but also somehow, I wasn’t just another client to him.

“Okay,” he said gently, adjusting the lighting rig beside me. “Let’s start simple. Sit on the edge of that loveseat. Legs crossed at the ankles. Shoulders relaxed.”

I moved slowly, trying not to trip over my own self-consciousness. The loveseat was a deep merlot, plush and vintage-looking, the kind of thing you’d see in a Parisian parlor. I perched right where he’d asked and crossed my legs, arms awkwardly folded over my lap.

Matt tilted his head, one brow rising just a touch. “Mind if I move your arm?”

I blinked. “Uh—no. I mean, yes. I mean, go ahead.”

He stepped forward, just close enough to brush his fingers lightly against my wrist, gently unfolding it from my lap and placing it on the armrest. “There.” he murmured. “Just let them fall naturally. Trust your body.”

Trust my body. Easy for him to say.

But then he stepped back behind the camera and lifted it, looking at me through the lens. “That’s perfect. You’ve got this.” I did as he asked, but I felt so tense and awkward. Matt smirked behind the camera. “You’re not in trouble, you know.” he teased gently. “You can relax.”

“I feel like I’m in trouble.” I muttered.

He lowered the camera just slightly and looked over the edge of it. “Good kind or bad kind?”

My breath caught momentarily, but I softly laughed it off. “Ask me again in ten minutes.”

“Fair enough.” he said with a crooked grin. “Alright. Let’s just try a few warm-ups. Chin down slightly… eyes here. Beautiful. You’ve got it.”

Click.

The first flash startled me. The shutter sound felt louder than it probably was. My shoulders tensed, my breath catching in my chest. I felt ridiculous and exposed. Like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

And Matt noticed. “Hey,” he said, lowering the camera just a bit. “You’re doing great. This part always feels weird. Everyone feels stiff at first.”

I chuckled quietly. “Guess I’m not very good at fake sultry.”

He grinned. “That’s because you don’t need to fake anything. We’re not here for fake. We’re here for you.”

My pulse stuttered a little. His voice was calm but grounding. There was nothing flirty in the way he said it, well not exactly. But there was something in his tone. It was steady and warm, like he meant every word and had no idea how much it was affecting me.

“Let’s try this,” he said, circling slightly to the left. “Tilt your chin up. Let your eyes go soft, like you’re daydreaming. Think about… something that makes you feel good.”

Click.

“There it is.” he said under his breath, the camera shutter a quiet rhythm in the space between us. “Beautiful.”

Click.

“Perfect. You see that? That softness in your mouth right there? That’s what I want.”

Click.

With every photo, something loosened in me. A coil of nerves unwinding. I shifted my position without being told, one arm draping behind the back of the furniture now. My legs uncrossed slightly and I arched my back just a little.

Matt didn’t say a word. He just kept shooting. His gaze was sharp and steady behind the camera, his eyes flicking up to meet mine every now and then. And every time they did, I felt it in my stomach.

He moved slowly around me, crouching for angles and adjusting the lighting mid-shots. The camera was almost an extension of him, and I found myself responding to his energy without even thinking. I was tilting my chin for him, and arching my back when he murmured “Gorgeous. Yes. Just like that.”

“Do you want to see some?” he asked, lowering the camera slowly. 

I nodded, mentally bracing myself to see the pictures he had taken of me. He walked over to me, and I felt our arms brush lightly as he tilted the camera towards me.

And there I was. Not awkward or insecure. Just… radiant, relaxed and seductive without even trying. A version of myself I hadn’t seen before.

“I look…” I trailed off, becoming speechless seeing myself from Matt’s perspective.

“Stunning.” Matt finished for me. “You look like you.”

I looked up at him. And I swear, just for a moment, the tension between us cracked wide open.

“Okay.” Matt said, backing up again with the camera in hand. “Let’s try something a little different.”

I nodded, still catching my breath from seeing the preview. He hadn’t said much more after showing me the shots, but he didn’t need to. The heat behind his eyes had said plenty.

He gestured towards a deep red velvet chaise that was in the corner. One of the legs were slightly scuffed, and the fabric was worn in just enough to suggest a thousand other bodies had once posed there. “Lie back, one knee bent, and elbow behind you. Just… get comfortable.”

This time, I didn’t hesitate. The lace tugged as I shifted onto the chaise, stretching one arm behind me while the other draped across my ribs. I tilted my head slightly, letting my hair spill over one shoulder.

Matt adjusted the light again. And when the softbox flared back to life, painting me in gold, and I felt something settle. Something that felt suspiciously like confidence.

“Goddamn.” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” I asked, already smiling.

He raised the camera, but his grin crept in too. “That right there. That look.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“That’s why it’s perfect.”

Click.

The sound didn’t jolt me this time. It instead thrilled me.

I arched my body just slightly. I let my hand trail over my stomach, fingertips grazing along my ribcage. I felt my thighs shift and my lips part.

Click. Click.

Matt made a sound, barely audible, deep in his throat. He was still looking through the camera, but I could tell he was getting worked up, his jaw was tight. “Try this.” he said, his voice was much quieter now. “Pull one strap off your shoulder. Slowly.”

I swallowed thickly, but I did it anyway. Not as a performance, but because I wanted to see his reaction. The strap slipped down my arm, and I watched his jaw twitch.

He lifted the camera again.

Click.

“Perfect.” he murmured. “Hold that.” And I obliged.

The silence wrapped around us again, thick and pulsing. I could hear the shutter clicks, the faint hum of the playlist playing something low and sultry in the background, and the soft inhale and exhale of my own breath.

And beneath it all, I felt Matt. His presence, his stare, and that warm encouragement that was starting to feel dangerously addictive.

By the time I adjusted the next strap on my bra and slid my palm along my thigh for the next shot, I wasn’t doing it out of nervousness. I was doing it because it felt good.

“Wow.” Matt muttered under his breath as he snapped another photo. “You’re glowing.”

I bit my lip, letting a shy smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Maybe I’m just warming up.”

His chuckle was low and approving. “Told you. You’re a natural.”

I sat up straighter on the chaise, tucking one leg beneath me and stretching the other out with a bit more purpose this time. I arched my back again, but now it was more deliberate. I tilted my head like I’d seen women do in his portfolio and let my fingers trail gently along the top of my chest.

Matt didn’t tell me what to do. He didn’t have to. He just watched.

Click. Click.

He circled me slowly, the sound of the shutter a constant drumbeat now, and the occasional rasp of his breath breaking through when I shifted just right.

I glanced up at him through my lashes and let my smile curl a little more. “How am I doing now?”

He lowered the camera a fraction. His eyes met mine. “Dangerously well.” And that… did something to me.

I giggled, half from nerves and half from the thrill curling low in my belly. I leaned back against the chaise, my arms stretching above my head. My body curved with the pose, and I felt the way the lace hugged my curves. And I wanted him to capture that. I wanted to see it.

“Try this.” he said, stepping in slightly. His voice was steadier than before, but quieter. Like we were the only two people in the world. “Tilt your head back. Let your eyes close. Like you’re lost in the moment.”

I obeyed. And this time… I was.

The lights, the music, and the camera, it all faded away. I stopped thinking about how I looked, or how I should look. I just moved the way I felt. My fingers ran lazily along my thigh again, and I didn’t flinch. I arched my back more and let my lips part on a breath, and I didn’t overthink it. And I knew, Matt was watching every second.

“You’re perfect.” he murmured.

I cracked one eye open, still posed, and still stretched out beneath his gaze. “You say that to all your clients?”

“Only when it’s true.”

I let out a soft laugh, but my heart thumped a little harder.

I was having fun. I was learning what angles felt good, what made his jaw clench, and what poses made me feel something buzz low in my spine. And it almost felt like I wasn’t just doing this for the pictures anymore.

“Close your eyes for this one.” Matt said softly. “I want it to feel natural. Don’t pose. Just… feel.”

I did as he asked, inhaling slowly. The music swelled around me, warm and low, and without the camera’s gaze to anchor me, I became hyperaware of myself. My breath, the way my body sank into the cushions, and the heat of the lights against my skin.

“Good.” he murmured. “Just stay there. Let your shoulders drop. You don’t have to perform.”

Click.

I felt the heat in my belly curl tighter. Something about the way he watched me now felt different. It was hungrier. Like the lens was just an excuse.

“Let your head rest. Good. Hands in your hair—yeah, just like that.”

Click.

“Breathe in through your mouth…”

Click.

I followed every direction. And then his voice dropped lower.

“Now… forget the camera’s here. Just be in the moment. You look amazing. You don’t need to do anything.”

My fingers shifted. At first it was unconscious, a nervous habit. A light brush along my waist. Then my thigh. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until my palm lingered, the movement slower now, guided by feeling rather than thought.

Click.

The shutter clicked and my stomach flipped. A jolt of awareness surged through me. I froze, eyes flying open as my hand stilled, heat rushing up my neck. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Hey.” Matt said, not sharp or reprimanding, but just firm.

I looked at him and he hadn’t lowered the camera. But he wasn’t hiding behind it either. His eyes were on me now, open and intent, something unreadable flickering there.

“You’re okay.” he reassured. “You’re doing exactly what I asked. Being natural.” My hand twitched, instinctively pulling back. His voice dropped. “Don’t.”

The word wasn’t loud. It wasn’t commanding in a way that felt unsafe either. It was… grounding. Like he was holding the moment in place.

“For the shot.” he added gently. “It’s honest. That’s what makes it powerful.”

“For the… shot?” I echoed.

A corner of his mouth lifted, reaffirming. “For the shot.”

My pulse roared in my ears. But I stayed still. And in the silence between us, something shifted drastically.

“Close your eyes again.” Matt said.

His voice had dropped since earlier, but it was still soft and felt more intimate. Like we weren’t in a studio anymore, but just me and him, our breaths and this impalpable heat between us.

“Sink into your body. Forget the camera. Just… feel.”

I let my lids flutter shut and my breathing slowed. His words moved through me like a current.

“Let your hands move if they want to.” he went on. “There’s no right or wrong. Just sensation.”

My fingers traced their way up to my neck, and then smoothed over my chest, trailing down over the lace. I barely registered the movement, it just happened naturally. A response to the heat simmering under my skin, and to his voice painting every word like worship.

“Mmhm.” he approved under his breath, almost too low to hear. “Just like that.”

Click. Click.

“Matt…” I whispered, unsure of what I was even asking.

“Don’t stop.” he rasped, his voice tighter now. Something new crept in his tone. There was a low edge, like he was unraveling too. “Keep going.”

My palms drifted lower, gliding over my stomach. Then they hovered over my thigh, with one hand slipping in between. It was subtle, barely there. Just the softest graze. But I felt it like a spark. My breath hitched and my lashes fluttered, as my head tipped back. I could hear the camera clicking rapidly now, but it was all a blur. All I could feel was my own touch, and the weight of his gaze behind the lens.

Something about the way the velvet hugged my body, and the way the lighting kissed my skin warmly, made me feel like I was being painted rather than photographed. I briefly opened my eyes, and I saw Matt wasn’t shooting anymore.

He was watching. Barely breathing. One hand was still on the camera, while the other was clenched tightly at his side. And the look on his face said, keep going.

Matt was standing a few feet away, the camera still raised, but his mouth was parted and his stare was unreadable. “You’re not doing anything wrong.” he said, finally speaking up. “You’re just… feeling. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

I should’ve been embarrassed. Maybe I was. But more than that, I was buzzing. I felt alive. My heart thudded in my chest, and my skin felt flushed and hot. I could feel the thrum between my thighs, and the way his voice had landed there like a match on dry tinder.

“You’re safe.” he added. “With me. Don’t overthink it.”

And maybe it was his words, or the way his jaw was clenched ever so slightly. But I didn’t want to pull away. Not this time.

He was still standing there, camera in hand. But everything about him had changed. His shoulders were rigid, and his grip on the lens looked tighter than it needed to be. His mouth was parted, just slightly, like he’d forgotten he was supposed to be breathing.

And he was looking right at me. Not at the lighting or at the frame. But directly at me.

The awareness of it all was enough motivation. My hand shifted without thinking, still resting where it had drifted, my pulse suddenly pounding in my ears. I didn’t do anything. Not yet, at least. I just… stayed there. Letting the moment linger. Letting him see.

His throat bobbed and the shutter didn’t click.

“Matt?” My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

He blinked, like he’d been pulled out of a trance. “You’re…” he started, then stopped, and then exhaled deeply. “You’re doing exactly what this shoot is about.” There was nothing professional left in his eyes.

Something in me bloomed. Slowly, much more deliberately now, I shifted my weight on the chaise. I let my body curve into itself, into the feeling, and into the way he was watching. I didn’t break eye contact or rush.

His jaw clenched. “Fuck.” he breathed, more to the room than to me.

And in that moment, I understood it. This wasn’t about lingerie or about photos. It was about being seen, and choosing to let him watch.

A slow smile curved up my lips as I realized what I was doing to him. I adjusted my position slightly, laying back deeper into the plush curve of the chaise, letting my knees fall apart just a little more. My fingers trailed down my perfectly cupped breasts, grazing the sheer black lace, the same one that, twenty minutes ago, I could barely walk out in without second-guessing everything about myself.

But now, my body felt electric. It was lit ablaze by something dangerous and indulgent.

I watched him through half-lidded eyes as I shifted, letting my body spread open further to the light and to his gaze. I moved with intention now, slow, languid, and completely unapologetic. “Should I keep going?” I asked, my voice soft. I was testing the air between us, one last time.

Matt’s eyes flicked up from my chest to meet mine. And for the first time, he didn’t hide it… the want, the heat, and the way his jaw clenched like he was chewing down a groan.

“Yes.” he husked. “Keep going.” His breath was much more audible now.

The words were like fuel for my hands. My hand drifted lower, fingertips grazing over the thin lace stretched tight across the slick warmth between my thighs. I wasn’t even trying to pose anymore. This wasn’t about the camera. This was about how deliciously wet I’d become from being watched, guided, and praised by that velvet voice of his.

“You’re stunning like this.” Matt said, his voice much deeper now, almost hoarse. I glanced at him through heavy eyes and saw him slightly leaning forward. The camera was gone now, and both his hands were clenched into fists on either side of his thighs, like he was fighting the urge to cross the room and pull me apart.

And that image made my hips roll gently into my palm, as my eyes fluttered shut.

The confidence that had been brewing all shoot finally broke the surface. I tilted my head towards him, letting my lips part as I whispered, “You said to feel it.”

Matt exhaled hard through his nose. “I did.”

So I let my fingers finally dip beneath the scant material, gently dragging them over my slick folds. My body responded instantly, heat pooling low, and my spine arched just slightly. I let my head fall back, as my eyes closed shut. I bit my lip, as my other hand slowly rose to cup my breast, thumbing away the fabric, freeing the stiffened peak to graze it gently. My legs shifted again, spreading wider across the velvet. I was beyond feeling shy now. Especially with the way Matt was looking at me.

“You’re not going to stop me?” I asked breathlessly.

Matt’s voice was low and rough. “Why would I stop the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?”

God, that did something to me. I moaned, softly and involuntarily, as I began to move my fingers in slow, gentle circles. My body sank deeper into the seat, my hips rolling with instinct.

I could feel his eyes tracing every part of me. Every shift and tremble. And the way he said it? The most beautiful thing… It made me arch harder into my own hand.

I didn’t care that my cheeks were flushed or that my breathing had gone ragged. That was the point. I wanted him to see. To feel what I felt, the heat, the ache, and the liberation.

And I could tell he was feeling it too.

I could hear the subtle shift of fabric, probably Matt adjusting himself. He made a sound low in his throat that sent heat zipping straight to my core. I peeked one eye open, and saw him actually palming himself through his jeans. Hard.

“Oh.” I gasped softly.

“Don’t stop.” he said. A shiver ran down my spine.

I closed my eyes again and let myself feel everything. The way my body clenched at the sound of his voice was so thrilling and freeing. He hadn’t even touched me, not once, and yet I felt like he was everywhere, breathing with me and pulling the strings from across the room.

I was panting, thighs falling wider open as my fingers circled slow and teasing over my soaked slit. My other hand squeezed my breast, thumbing at the nipple until I was moaning unabashedly.

“Keep going.” he gruffed. “Just like that.”

“Matt—fuck.” I mewled, my voice breaking open in something breathy and desperate. I began rubbing tight circles on my clit, trying to soothe the ache that was starting to become unbearable.

Matt groaned under his breath, his hand now sliding under the waistband of his jeans, his eyes locked on mine. “Take it off.” he muttered. “Let me see.”

I pulled the lace aside, baring myself to him. My fingers spread my glistening folds apart for him to see, all slick and aching, and his breathing went ragged.

“Fucking hell.” he growled. “Look at you. You’re dripping.”

I moaned, rubbing soft circles over my clit, every nerve alight from his voice alone. He watched every movement, with his jaw clenched, as he continued to touch himself too. My breath stuttered, when I coated two of my fingers with my arousal, and dipped them in gently into my warm heat, relishing from the stretch.

“You don’t even know how fucking perfect you look right now.” Matt rasped. “With your legs spread open. Fucking yourself.”

My breath hitched hard. That did something to me. Shit, his words were setting me on fire. I didn’t even realize I was whining, grinding down into my own hand like I was truly trying to fuck myself on my fingers. The chaise had begun to softly creak beneath me.

I turned my head slowly towards him, my eyelids heavy. Matt looked wrecked, his blue eyes were storm-dark and fixed on where my hand had disappeared between my thighs. His chest rose with every ragged breath. He was drunk on arousal, as he desperately palmed the bulge in his jeans.

“Touch yourself properly.” I whispered, barely able to get it out. “I want to watch you too.”

Matt swore under his breath, but wasted no time. It was almost like he was waiting for me to ask him to bare himself to me. His hand immediately moved to his zipper. It came down, the sound slicing through the silence. He pushed his jeans low on his hips, just enough, and freed himself with a hiss of relief. He was long, thick, and hard in his hand, as he wrapped his fingers around the base and gave himself one slow stroke, without breaking eye contact.

I moaned, openly and shamelessly, as I opened myself wider on the chaise. One hand was still working between my thighs, while the other pulled my bra down to expose my breasts completely. His eyes snapped to them instantly, lips parting as he let out a groan.

“Fuck. You’re unreal.”

His voice was strained now, that quiet professional veneer had stripped away completely. His cock twitched in his fist as he pumped himself slowly, almost in time with my rhythm. His eyes were pinned on my dripping cunt, and it was intoxicating how he touched himself like he needed it.

“You’re so wet.” he groaned. “Can hear it from here.”

My breath hitched at that, and I tilted my hips, letting him see better. I pumped myself faster, as loud squelching sounds filled the room, showing him just how soaked I really was. Then I went back up to circle my clit again, trembling from the sensation.

“You like this?” he rasped. “Knowing I’m watching? That I could cum just from seeing how messy you get for me?” I nodded frantically, my hips rolling and my toes curling. “Say it.”

“I— I love it.” I gasped. “Watching you… fuck, Matt—please.”

I couldn’t help it anymore. Every wet glide of my fingers across my clit felt hotter, heavier, and needier. It was like my body wasn’t mine anymore, but to this moment and to the way Matt was looking at me like he was already picturing how he’d ruin me if I let him. And I would. God, I so fucking would.

“Tell me what you want to see.” I whimpered, wanting to please him more in any way I could.

“Taste yourself. I bet you taste so sweet, beautiful.” he exhaled hard, as a faint smirk appeared on his lips.

I bit my lip and did exactly that, watching his chest rise as I pulled my fingers out and slid them past my parted lips. I lewdly licked and sucked on them, tasting myself, as I moaned just for added flair, just for him.

“Your turn.” I said, smiling sweetly. “Show me what your thumb can do, baby.”

Matt thumbed over the head of his cock, smearing his precum, causing him to jerk. He watched me with a hunger that made me feel like I was burning.

“Now fuck yourself again. Two fingers. Nice and slow.”

On command, I pushed two fingers into myself again, making myself softly gasp. The stretch made my legs tense, and his eyes dropped towards the motion. I dragged the digits in and out me slowly, feeling my walls clench around them. “Shit—that feels so good.”

“Good girl.” he said, the praise alone was enough to make me tip over.

“Y–Your turn.” I stuttered, my eyes dropping to where his hand moved. “Slowly stroke yourself for me.”

And Matt obliged. Long, tight pulls from base to tip, as his forearm flexed from the movement with each one. His thumb swiped over the head again, still leaking with precum, and let out a low breath that I felt inside me.

“Fuck… you’re dangerous.” he muttered. “You still touching yourself?”

I couldn’t answer, because a moan ripped through me instead as I drove the heel of my hand onto my clit.

“Keep going.” he gruffed. “Rub your clit for me. Just like that.”

I obeyed, fingers slick as I moved. My body was coiling tight from within, as I felt my orgasm approaching quickly. “Fuck—Matt.” I gasped, locking eyes with him. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Touch your tits again.” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Just like before.”

I obeyed without thinking, dragging my hand up to cup my breast, as my fingertips played with the nipple. I could see the effect it had on him. His jaw was clenched and the pace on his cock was stuttering.

“Matt, I—I’m close.”

His eyes darkened, and his strokes grew faster, wrist flicking with practiced need. “Do it. Cum for me. Right here, sweetheart.”

My fingers moved faster, hips grinding up, with every word from him sending sparks through me. The way he moaned when I played with my breast, and when I arched just right, it all sent me hurtling towards the edge.

“You’re the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.” he panted. “You’re all soaked and twitching for me—fuck—”

I cried out, my back arching and thighs spasming, as my orgasm crashed through me. It ripped through me like fire, burning through everything in its wake. My fingers didn’t stop until the aftershocks left me boneless and panting, with my chest heaving.

Matt wasn’t far behind himself. He cursed and jerked his fist faster over his cock, his gaze much wilder now. “Shit—shit—”

“Cum for me.” I hushed, still spread open, watching him fall apart.

He groaned low in his throat, as his eyes were locked on my wrecked body. Then, with a shudder and a broken gasp, he spilled across his own knuckles, hot, messy, and so fucking pretty with it. His head tipped back, as he clenched his jaw while he rode it out.

Silence settled like smoke after a fire. And then, Matt’s eyes met mine again. For a long moment, we just breathed. The studio was silent except for the low hum of the music, and the faint sound of the zipper as he tucked himself away.

Then he spoke up. “You know…” he spoke up, licking his bottom lip as he thoroughly wiped his hand clean with a tissue. “I still think I haven’t gotten the shot I need.”

I blinked, dazed. “Which shot?”

“The one where you’re lying back.” he grinned, stepping forward and lifting the camera again. “Completely bare, wet, and in your truest form as the perfect woman you are.”

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