i hate myself for this one.
"don't give me that look," matt drawls, tilting his head with a smirk as he steps closer, invading your personal space, positioning himself between your parted legs on the bathroom counter. his ringed hands glide over your skin. "obviously called me in here for a reason — you.. you want somethin' from me, yeah?"
"i don't know what i'm doing," you whisper truthfully, shaking your head as you try to push back the confusion clouding your thoughts, pressing your palms against his chest in a futile attempt to create distance. "i don't know what i want. my head is just... all over the place."
"c'mon, don't be like that. you always do this — act like s'all complicated, but you know exactly what you want, baby..." his words wrap around you like thick fog, blurring the lines between desire and doubt. "you need me... gotta start admittin' that to yourself."
"i... i don't.." you stammer, struggling to get the words out, having an inner battle with yourself.
no, you don't need him. you don't want him at all. he's toxic. he's bad — bad for you. but even as you continuously tell yourself this, a familiar ache lingers in your chest — a part of you that does want him, that craves him.
you hate it. you hate how weak he makes you feel, how he can slip through the cracks of your resolve with just a few carefully chosen words. it's infuriating, knowing he holds so much power over you. you wish you could silence that part of yourself, the one that still craves him.
"even if you say you don't wanna be with me anymore, you need me," he repeats to you again, and you close your eyes, desperately trying to block out his words, but it's no use — especially as his hands resume their slow, deliberate massages along your thighs. "m'the only one that can give you your fix, right? that.. that's why you keep runnin' back to me."
you swallow thickly, grappling with your thoughts. "matt.."
"i know, sweetheart," matt coos, a mocking pout stretching across his lips, his expression exaggerated for effect. "let me give you want you need, 'kay? i'm helpin' you get your fix — nothin' more. just a friend helpin' out a friend."
"matt," you warn, speaking his name with an edge of desperation, fully aware that this is going to be nothing like he claims as his fingers graze beneath your dress.
"just the tip." he promises, his voice low and smooth. you know better than to trust him; every instinct screams at you to pull away and not fall back into his trap. yet, as his touch lingers, a part of you melts, betraying your better judgement.
you hate the smug look on matt's face when his fingers brush against the damp patch on the front of your panties, avoiding looking at him as his fingers hook around the flimsy garment, pulling it down your legs and baring your glistening folds to the cool air.
the sound of his metal belt being popped open has a shiver running down your spine, biting down on your cheek as matt settles himself between your thighs again, his lips curled into a smirk as he wets them.
"just.. just the tip." you remind him, and matt lets out a dismissive hum, nodding his head as he lines himself up before sinking the tip inside your warmth, breaching your entrance.
your mouth drops slightly, gripping the counter beneath you for support, savouring the initial stretch — but a gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening as you feel matt push in deeper.
"you promised." you whine despite spreading your legs apart further, your head falling back against the mirror as matt moves, withdrawing slowly only to thrust back into you, keeping his grip firm on your hips.
"i know," matt drawls as your walls flutter around his cock, making him crane his neck back with a guttural moan.
your own moans grow louder, more desperate as each snap of matt's hips drives him deeper within you, your body jolting with the force of his thrusts. tears build at the corners of your eyes as you raise your hips to meet his movements, feeling so wrong and disgusted with yourself for being weak.
you should stop.
you should tell him to stop and get out of here, save yourself, your dignity.
you should stop him from slipping back into your life — into your pants.
"harder," but you find yourself muttering instead, barely recognising your own voice as your trembling hands come up to touch his cheeks, feeling his stubble beneath your skin. "please, matt."
a smirk curls on his lips as he nods his head, his forehead resting against yours as his hips grip your waist. "told you... y'need me."
