Page 31

Margot

He can’t be serious.

I search his eyes for a joke but find none. The taunting smirk on his face reigniting my anger. The nerve of him to think he has that kind of control over me.

But he does. You want to listen to him. You want to please him.

Shut. Up.

“You can’t do that.” I snap, but my voice betrays me in how weak and breathy it sounds. Because I know he can. As much as I deny it, I already am his. The moment I let him touch me, I signed the dotted line. I just don’t know what the fine print entails.

“Are you willing to risk it?” His eyebrow arches.

Why is he so damn hot when he’s so damn infuriating?

I freeze, but he doesn’t.

He fingers continue their relentless assault, fucking me with his slow, deliberate strokes. His thumb never ceases its torment against my clit. My thoughts are scattered. My body trembles against the tile as pleasure overtakes my ability to fight.

I clutch the wall for balance, knowing if I squirm, he’ll spank my thigh again. The twisted part of me, the part that liked it, wants to disobey. But I know each slap will only be harder.

Matty brings me close to the edge effortlessly. My vision blurs, stars dancing across my periphery as my pleasure crests.

And then he stops.

His hand retracts completely.

A strangled noise escapes my throat. I barely have time to protest before he drops to his knees.

Matty kneels for me.

The man who never kneels for anyone.

He throws one of my legs over his shoulder, baring me to him. His mouth is so close to where I need him. My breath stutters.

He inhales deeply, groaning like a man savoring the scent of his next meal. “Delicious.”

He leans forward. And licks me.

Once. Then again. His tongue drags through my folds in slow, teasing strokes until I’m shuddering against the wall.

Just as my muscles relax, he bites my clit.

“Fuck.” I curse, but it comes out as a moan.

The pain only amplifies the pleasure.

Matty groans, the vibration shooting through me as he sucks my swollen flesh into his mouth. At the same time, he thrusts two fingers inside me, curling them against a spot that makes my brain white out.

I don’t even realize I’m moving, grinding against his face, chasing more, desperate for relief, until he yanks his hand away.

A sharp slap lands on my thigh, directly over the same burning spot.

I moan .

Shit .

“Stop moving.” His voice is guttural, wrecked with need.

I bite my lip and force myself still, but he knows now. Knows I like it.

His fingers return, sliding into me again. His tongue works in tandem with his hand. My nerves sing as my body coils tighter and tighter, and I know I won’t last long.

I glance down and fuck.

His white button-up clings to his chest, drenched from the shower. But that’s not what has my breath catching.

Matty is stroking himself.

His big, veined hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping in time with the way he fucks me with his mouth.

Holy fuck.

I’ve never had a man want to go down on me before, much less get off on it. He’s falling apart from my pleasure. From me.

My orgasm starts to slam into me before I can stop it.

But he stops first.

I whimper. So close, so desperate for one more second of friction, but he’s already pulling away.

“If you want to come, you’ll ask nicely.” His voice is maddeningly calm.

I shake my head, panting. “I won’t beg.”

He’s out of his fucking mind if he thinks I’m begging him for an orgasm.

“Is that so?” His smirk presses against my clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.

I can hold out. I can win this. I can.

Then he starts again. Torturing me. Pulling me back to the edge.

Then he stops.

Again.

And again .

And again.

I meet his eyes, refusing to cave.

Matthias only chuckles and doubles his efforts.

Twenty seconds later, I break.

“Please, Matthias.” My voice is ruined. Tears spill from my lashes. I’m trembling, shaking, aching. “I’m begging you. Please let me come.”

His fingers don’t stop. His tongue doesn’t stop. But he pulls back, just enough to whisper, “It’s Matty . Only ever Matty to you.”

He spanks the same fucking spot of my thigh. The sharp sting makes me gasp.

I don’t hesitate this time.

“Please, Matty.” My voice cracks. “Please, I need it.”

He groans, but instead of letting me fall, he pulls away completely.

And then he says the worst thing I’ve ever heard.

“ Only good girls get to come. ”

My stomach drops.

“What?” My breath catches as I try to understand what he’s saying.

His expression turns to cruel amusement. “Only good girls get to come.” He strokes his fingers through my soaked folds teasingly. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “I have! I begged. I called you the right name. I held back. I haven’t come–”

He tuts, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. You’ve been a bad girl. You’ve fought me. Disrespected me. Disobeyed me. You spat on me. Twice . I told you that you’d be punished.”

He flicks my clit.

“ This is for me, not you .” He goes back to his assault, and I see his hand jerkily stroking his cock.

Realization slams into me .

This is my punishment.

He made me beg to have me concede. To break down my ego. To prove me wrong.

And it turned him on.

My begging, my surrender, my obedience turned him on.

Fuck him .

I’m going to come anyways. He can’t control my orgasms for a month.

But I’m wrong.

Matty brings me to the edge over and over and over, until my body is wrecked with unsatisfied pleasure. Until I hate how badly I need him.

By the time he finally stops, I don’t know if I’m relieved or devastated.

Matty rises to his full height, his body towering over mine. His face glistens with my arousal.

He looks sinful.

I barely register the feel of his cock brushing against my belly until I glance down and see him stroking himself furiously.

I reach out, my fingers brushing his length.

He hisses.

Encouraged, I reach lower, tentatively cup his balls.

His head falls back instantly, his mouth parting in a silent curse.

“Fuck, Margot,” he rasps, his voice desperate. “Grip them tighter.”

I obey, tightening my hold. My thumb rolls over them, testing.

The noise he makes is animalistic, so raw it sends a shockwave down my spine.

I react instinctively. My fingers clenching tighter.

That completely undoes him.

His entire body shudders as he comes apart .

Thick ropes of his release coat my stomach, my chest, my breasts. Marking me, claiming me. His cock twitches in my hand before he releases himself from my grasp, stroking the last of his release onto my mound.

There’s so much of him. My formerly clean body is now covered in him.

But I don’t move. I don’t wipe it away.

Because he’s staring at me like I’m a masterpiece.

He’s the artist.

And I’m his canvas.

His gaze is almost reverent.

His eyes darken and his pupils blow wide. He drags his fingers through the mess, swirling his seed across my skin. Spreading it.

I shudder.

He pinches my nipples, hard.

A needy moan rips from my throat. Even the slightest touch lights me up. My body remains on edge, still desperate for the orgasm I now accept will never come.

His fingers sliding up my neck and curl around my jaw. He pinches my cheeks together, forcing my gaze to his.

His voice is pure command. Pure ownership.

“Taste yourself on me.”

The words are my only warning before his mouth claims mine. His tongue pushes past my lips, stroking, devouring, conquering me.

I respond immediately.

The kiss is rough and consuming. He’s not kissing me. He’s reminding me he’s in charge.

Tasting myself should be repulsive. But from his lips, I crave it. I taste sweet, like fruit.

He bites my lower lip before pulling away. It’s over too soon .

I barely have time to catch my breath before he drags two fingers though the release frosting my skin. He scoops some up, then raises his fingers to my lips.

“Open.”

I obey instinctively. Because I never want to be denied my pleasure again.

The taste is salty, musky, unmistakably him.

He watches intently as I lick his fingers clean, sucking softly before he pulls them free with a wet pop.

His breath catches as our eyes meet.

The moment stretches, electric. Charged.

We’re thinking the same thing.

The next thing I suck will be his cock.

His smirk is dark, satisfied. He drags more of his release across my lip, feeding me every last drop.

He doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left. And when I’ve swallowed it all, he nods in approval.

Something inside me thrums with pride.

He notices.

He always notices.

“How do we taste combined?” He asks, genuinely curious.

I swallow, my cheeks flaming.

“Sweet and salty,” I whisper. “Fruity but manly.”

He smiles softly. “Good girl.”

My stomach tightens. Heat rushed through me at the words, at the approval I didn’t even realize I wanted. Needed.

He chuckles knowingly.

I blush harder.

He grabs my loofah and pours a generous amount of his soap on it.

“If we’re washing my cum off of you,” he murmurs, “you’re using my soap. You’re smelling like me. One way or another.” His tone is dark, dissatisfied. Like he hates that he can’t leave his mark on me permanently.

He washes every inch of me, making sure I’m just as clean as before he broke into my shower.

I return the favor, cleaning him just as thoroughly.

And somehow, it’s more intimate than everything we just did.

When we step out of the shower, I realize my Angry Girl Revenge Anthem is still playing.

It didn’t serve its purpose. I didn’t stay angry.

But it still feels like a small victory that it was blasting while he came.

***

Dinner passes in a blur.

I’m too distracted to be good company. Matty carries the conversation easily, barely phased.

There’s no lingering anger from earlier. And yet, I can still feel the ache between my legs. I still feel his words, his control, his denial. And I can’t help but think…

Maybe I deserve it.

For what I did.

I didn’t think he’d actually follow through on punishing me. But now that he has, I can’t help but feel that I got off easily.

We get ready for bed in a comfortable silence.

When Matty joins me, he pulls me onto his side and tucks me against him. I guess he already knows I’d end up there, so why bother waiting?

His warmth envelops me. His breathing is steady. Even.

And right as sleep starts to pull me under, I hear him murmur, “Goodnight, my sweet girl.”

It’s soft and gentle.

He presses a kiss to the back of my head .

I pretend to be asleep, because I don’t know how to respond to this side of him.

We’ve crossed a line into a territory I don’t know how to navigate.

And the worst part?

The part that makes my stomach twist?

I can’t help but feel he’s been right all along.

I am his.

And worst of all…

I love it.