allie

his lips press together, thoughtful rather than cruel, as he walks toward his dresser.

“sweetheart, you’ve had more than enough,” he says, voice rich with quiet authority, pulling on his briefs. “your body’s been through a lot tonight.”

he ambles toward the bathroom, rolling his shoulders, and you sob, voice breaking into a high-pitched whimper, legs twitching as you try to crawl after him. “matt, please—”

he sighs, returning to crouch beside you again, cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the trembling curve of your lips.

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, but firm. “i know it hurts. but this is what happens when you forget who takes care of you.”

his kisses you on the lips, softly. his grip tightens slightly, just enough to still you. “and that’s on me, isn’t it?”

your lips part, stunned and breathless, unsure how to answer.

he hums, as if deciding for you. “it is. and that means it’s my responsibility to fix it.”

his touch lingers for a moment, almost reverent, before he finally stands, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “we’ll make sure you learn, won’t we?”

“you can wait. and you will wait. won’t you?”

his tone leaves no room for argument. you whimper, nodding, even as your body betrays you, hips shifting toward him, seeking friction.

he grips your jaw a little tighter. “words, sweetheart.”

“yes, matt,” you sniffle.

he hums in approval, presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “good.”

but before he leaves, he murmurs one last thing against your mouth, low and warm.

“oh, and don’t even think about touching yourself while i’m gone.”

—

he should know better. he does know better.

but still, when he gets home that evening, he smells it.

stale sweat and need. the unmistakable scent of you, dripping and desperate, tangled in the sheets, shame thick in the air.

but you’re trying. you’re standing there, waiting for him, hands clasped in front of you like the perfect little thing you think you can convince him you are. your nightgown is fresh, barely covering the marks he left on you the night before, hair brushed, mouth soft and ready, bouncing lightly on your toes. your voice is small, careful despite your excitement.

“matt! did... did you have a good day at work?”

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t even acknowledge the words.

just sets down his briefcase with a slow, measured movement.

his fingers move to his tie, loosening it with an easy tug, sliding the silk through his collar in a way that makes your stomach flip. his watch comes off next, placed on the dresser with deliberate precision, the clink of metal on wood like a gavel, a sentence being passed.

“you must be tired,” you try again, shifting on your feet, a forced little smile tugging at your lips. “can i—can i do anything for you?”

then he moves.

before you can even react, before you can scramble away, he’s on you, pinning you flat to the mattress with a single hand on your chest. your breath stutters, body melting under the sheer weight of him.

his stubble scrapes against your cheek as he leans down, voice heavy with disappointment.

“thought i wouldn’t know, sweetheart?” his voice is low, steady, filled with something deeper than just frustration. “thought i wouldn’t notice?"

you whimper, beginning to protest, but he clicks his tongue, silencing you.

his fingers slip between your legs, pressing against your swollen, oversensitive clit, making you wail.

but this time, it’s not just edging. it’s a lesson.

he keeps you spread out, keeps you helpless, keeps you pinned beneath him, grinding against your soaked, overstimulated core as he works you back up. his voice stays soft, measured, lips ghosting over your temple, your ear.

“look at you,” he murmurs with a lilt of enthusiasm, a dry chuckle sounding when you sob, when your hips buck uselessly against his touch. "whatever are we going to do about you now."

his other hand strokes over your cheek, but his grip never softens. “this isn’t just about tonight,” he murmurs, voice dipping low, thoughtful. “this is about what you need. you need to understand patience.”

he stretches it out even longer than before. makes you really suffer. his fingers drag over your swollen, abused clit, just enough to tease, just enough to hurt, until you’re whimpering, sobbing, begging him—

but he just shakes his head, sighing deeply, rubbing his thumb over your trembling lips.

“this isn’t about what you want,” he murmurs. “it’s about what’s best for you.”

and you crumble under it, under the quiet authority in his voice, the absolute control in his touch.

he doesn’t stop this time. doesn’t let up until your body is too exhausted to fight back, until you’ve gone quiet, limp beneath him, nothing left but the soft, broken gasps of someone who’s been completely undone.

he lets go of you then, and for a moment, you think he’s going to leave you like this. but then, his arms wrap around you, hauling you effortlessly against his chest.

you shiver violently, body wracked with hiccups, barely coherent as he walks you to the bathroom. the world tilts, soft steam curling in the air, the sound of water lapping gently against porcelain.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lowering you into the warmth. his hands are steady, holding you upright as your head lolls against his chest, your body weak, shuddering. “i have you, i have you.”

his fingers smooth over your damp forehead, over the tear-streaked mess of your face, brushing away the remnants of everything he put you through. his grip remains firm, keeping you anchored, keeping you here.

he presses a final kiss to your temple, his voice steady, unwavering.

he decides then he'll make you stay up to see another sunrise.

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