“get the fuck out,” you repeat, louder this time, though the sound still feels muffled, like you’re scared. of being caught, of tom’s reaction to his own brother’s disloyalty, but especially of what it would mean if you admitted that you didn’t really want mattheo to leave.

he ignores you entirely, stepping into the shower like it’s his fucking birth given right. you don’t protest his entrance because you know it’s useless, because it’s moments like this that make you realize you want him just as much as he wants you. plus, the sight of his naked form does nothing to help your self control.

“relax,” he murmurs, crowding the small space until your back brushes the slick tile. “didn’t think you’d mind a little company. besides, look at you. already washing off my brother? that’s cold.”

“shut up.” you turn away from him, letting the water run over your hair, rinsing away the shampoo in foamy rivulets.

“he fuck you good?” the question is tossed out lazily, like he’s making small talk. he doesn’t even wait for your answer before answering it himself, “no? figured,” he tsks. “guess i’ll have to take care of you myself.”

his hand slides low, fingers pressing between your thighs through the hot stream of water, and you can’t stop the small hitch of breath that escapes you when he finds your clit. you head leans back further, falling to his chest as you let out a soft sigh. there also seems to be no control over the moan you let out when his other hand finds its way up your chest, groping and rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers, or when you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass. you push back against it, practically lodging it between your cheeks— just an instinctual response, of course.

fuck. you’re still a good girlfriend, right?

boyfriend’s brother!mattheo // all content // m.list

his fingers twitch at his sides. tom’s grip on your waist is all wrong. it’s tight, but not tight enough—like he doesn’t even fucking realize what he has in his hands. your hips don’t lift high enough, your legs aren’t spread the way they should be. you need to be tilted forward just a little more—just enough to hit that one spot that makes your breath hitch and your fingers claw at the sheets. tom won’t do it. tom doesn’t know. mattheo wants to fucking kill him for it.

pathetic.

he drags his tongue across his teeth, biting down on his cheek so hard he swears he tastes blood. he could do it better. he would do it better. he’d ruin you. have you trembling, crying his fucking name instead. make you feel it in your bones, make you crave him like sin.

his nails dig into his palms. tom’s voice is steady, collected, not even a goddamn growl in his throat. not desperate. mattheo hates him for it. he hates him for touching you without the kind of obsession that would drive a man mad.

he exhales sharply, his hand dragging down his face, trying to fight off the sick, burning jealousy twisting in his gut. it’s embarrassing, really, standing here, watching, but he can’t help himself. because the thought won’t leave his head—how much better he could make you feel.  

he wonders what you’d sound like if it was him instead. if you’d gasp the same way, if you’d arch the same way. if you’d look back at him with that dazed, hazy expression, lips parted, cheeks flushed, body trembling. he bets you would. he bets you’d look even prettier falling apart for him. bets he could make you shake, make you cry, make you forget every single fucking thing about his brother.

his cock throbs at the thought, and he lets out a sharp exhale, pressing his forehead against the wall, trying to will the heat away. he should leave. he should fucking leave.

but then he hears you whimper, soft and broken, and he sees the way tom barely reacts, the way he doesn’t even acknowledge what a fucking gift he’s been given, and something inside him snaps.

fucking tom. doesn’t deserve you.  

he licks his lips, dragging his teeth over the lower one, and exhales slowly. 

one day, he tells himself, he’s going to ruin you. one day, he’s going to show you exactly what you’ve been missing. and when that day comes, you’ll forget tom riddle ever fucking existed.

“mattheo—” your voice is a strangled whisper, your fingers pulling at his curls, like you’re not sure whether you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer.

“oh, now you remember my name?” he taunts, pulling back just enough to look up at you through dark lashes. his chin is glistening with your arousal, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “that’s funny. thought it was ‘tom, tom, tom’ with you.”

“you’re a dick.”

“mm. but i’m the one with my tongue on your pussy, not him.” he punctuates his words with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, swirling it over your clit just to hear your breath hitch. “what does that say about you, sweetheart? you know my brother’s right there.”

panic flares in your chest, your head snapping toward the bathroom door. tom’s still in the shower, the sound of running water muffling everything, but not enough. not if you keep making noise like this. “mattheo, we—we can’t—”

“we already are.” his voice is thick with amusement, fingers digging into your thighs as he tilts his head, dragging his tongue in slow circles around your clit. “fuckin’ soaked, princess. all that talk about how much you love my brother, yet look at you.” he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, all mockery, all smug satisfaction. “letting me eat you out on his bed.”

your stomach tightens, shame curling through you, but not enough to stop you from rocking your hips against his mouth when he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them just right. your back arches off the mattress, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

mattheo tsks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his lips are shining with you, his chin dripping, and the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. like he owns you. like he’s already won. “so fuckin’ easy,” he mutters, pumping his fingers slow, deep. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing light, teasing circles that have your thighs shaking. “thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

“fuck you,” you hiss, but it comes out breathy, wrecked, and he grins.

“yeah, we’ll do that too.” he buries his face between your legs again, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, and your hands fly to your mouth, desperate to muffle the moans spilling from your lips. but he’s not having it. he yanks one of your hands away, pinning it to your stomach, his other hand still gripping your thigh open. “don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls. “i wanna hear you. wanna hear every little sound you make.”

your head tips back against the pillows, your free hand twisting in the sheets. “mattheo—oh my god—”

“c’mon, princess. cum on my tongue,” he urges, voice thick with hunger, with something darker, something possessive. he sucks your clit between his lips, and the coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure slamming into you so hard you forget everything—where you are, who you’re supposed to be loyal to. the only thing that exists is mattheo’s mouth, his hands, the low, satisfied chuckle he lets out as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

he doesn’t stop until you’re squirming away, too sensitive, your breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming.

he leans over you, caging you in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “go clean yourself up, princess. wouldn’t want tom to see you like this, yeah?”

and just like that, he’s gone, slipping out the door like he was never there, leaving you wrecked, panting, and stained with the taste of betrayal.

"shut up," you hiss, even as your thighs shake from how deep he is, even as your body betrays you and clenches around him like it’s starved for it. mattheo chuckles, low and taunting. 

and then it happens. a sharp knock at the door.

“love?” tom’s voice is right there, on the other side of the wood. “why is the door locked?”

your heart slams into your ribs, your body going rigid as mattheo smirks up at you, completely unbothered. he’s still inside you, still hard, and now his hands are sliding up your waist, like he’s daring you to move, daring you to react.

tom knocks again. “are you in there?”

mattheo fucking smiles.  

you barely register your own voice when you respond, breathless and high-pitched. “y-yeah! just—just changing, tom, one second!”

mattheo’s amusement is damn near palpable. you can feel the low laugh rumbling in his chest, the way he’s seconds away from ruining you, from saying something that will have your entire life crumbling at your feet. without thinking, you slap a hand over his mouth, the other wrapping around his throat in a desperate attempt to shut him up.

“don’t,” you whisper with wide eyes, your voice just loud enough for him to hear, just soft enough that tom won’t.  

his lashes flutter. he fucking moans. it’s quiet, muffled against your palm, but you hear it. you feel the vibration of it against your skin, the way his adam’s apple bobs under your fingers as his smirk deepens, those dark eyes gleaming with something downright depraved.

and then his lips part, his tongue flicking out to drag wet heat against your palm.  

your stomach twists.  

"you don’t want him to hear, huh?" he mumbles when you pull your hand away, smug and cruel, eyes dark with something lethal.  

"obviously," you snap, but you already know you’ve fucked up, because mattheo's grin stretches wide like a predator who’s caught its prey, head tilting against the pillows as he watches you, eats up the way your chest rises and falls, the way you’re still fucking seated on his cock while your boyfriend stands just outside the door.  

"gag me then," he taunts, his voice nothing but pure sin. "if you’re so desperate to keep quiet."  

it’s the way he says it. so easy. so casual. like he isn’t already pushing every single fucking limit. like he isn’t already unraveling you piece by piece. you snap before you can think twice, shoving your fingers into his mouth, pressing down against his tongue in warning.

his reaction is immediate. his lips wrap around them, a hot, wet heat as his tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, teasing like he has all the fucking time in the world, making a show of it just to watch your face twist in something you refuse to name. your thighs involuntarily twitch where they’re straddling him.  

his lashes flutter, gaze hazy as he watches you, eyes so fucking smug it makes you want to slap him.

so you do.

your palm collides with his cheek, the sharp sound of it echoing through the room. mattheo groans, half-lidded eyes darkening as his hips jolt up into yours, dragging a choked noise from your throat. his hands tighten on your waist, his nails biting into your skin as his smirk deepens.

“oh, you little minx,” he murmurs around your fingers, voice rough, wrecked.

“you’re fucking sick,” you hiss, but your thighs are trembling and he fucking knows it.

“oh, i know.” his hands slide lower, squeezing your ass, dragging you forward until you can feel every inch of him pressing into you. his breath fans against your skin, words thick with satisfaction. your saliva covered fingers draw out of his mouth. “but i also know that you fucking love it.”

your breath stutters. your chest tightens. because he’s right. you do. and when his grip tightens and he pulls your hips down again, forcing you to move, forcing you to keep going, your resolve shatters completely.

“tell me, baby,” mattheo purrs, rocking into you slow, teasing, dragging the pleasure out until your fingers are curling against his jaw. his smirk is still there, lazy, smug, victorious. “are you sick too?”