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ch0llies · 4 months ago

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EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO. PT.4

read pt. 1 & pt. 2 & pt.3 here

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You're an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt's best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can't ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don't understand the fire you're playing with- but Matt does. And he's burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: oral (both receiving), corruption kink, brothers best friend, pet names (sweetheart, angel), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you... don't read!

word count: 6k

ib: @ariestrxsh’s young god

A knock.

On your door.

Matt’s voice reaches through the door.

“Sweetheart?”

You swallow hard. Matt just waits. The door creaks open, and Matt steps inside.

And the second his eyes land on you, he stops. His jaw tightens. His hands twitch at his sides. His entire body goes still.

Because fuck.

You’re sitting on your bed, legs folded beneath you, your tiny white camisole hugging your large chest in ways that shouldn’t be legal, the fabric so thin, so delicate, so small that it barely covers anything.

And your shorts?

They aren’t even shorts.

They’re practically underwear.

Matt’s throat bobs and his fingers flex.

His entire demeanor shifts, his eyes darkening, his breath deepening, his body physically pained by the way you’re looking up at him- so oblivious, so sweet, so fucking unaware of what you’re doing to him.

Your glasses slip slightly down your nose, your big, wide eyes blinking at him like you don’t realize how you look right now.

Like you don’t realize what you’re doing to him.

Matt exhales slowly, jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists as he reaches behind him and pushes the door shut.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there, staring at you, wrecked, ruined, barely holding himself together.

You just tilt your head slightly, still looking at him with that same soft, innocent confusion.

“I thought you had homework to do?” you ask softly, oblivious. Your lips part slightly, your expression sweet, genuine, trusting. “…Do you need some help?”

Matt laughs. It’s not a real laugh. It’s low, dry, amused, filled with disbelief.

He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head slightly, his jaw still tight, his muscles still tense.

He looks at you again. “You really believed that?”

Your brows furrow. You blink at him, confused, lost, unaware. “…Believe what?”

Matt just shakes his head again, smirking now, disbelieving, wrecked.

He takes a step closer. His gaze never leaves yours, dark and heavy, his expression unreadable but charged.

You watch him, still sitting on your bed, your glasses slipping down your nose again.

Without thinking, you lift a finger, pushing them back up, blinking up at him through your long lashes.

Matt swallows hard.His whole body feels like it’s straining against itself, fighting something primal, something dangerous.

He tilts his head slightly, his voice low, thick, wrecked. “You really thought I had homework?”

Your brows furrow slightly, lips parting just a little, still looking up at him like you don’t understand. “…You don’t?”

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not even enrolled in classes yet.”

You blink, genuinely confused. “Then why did you lie?”

Your voice is so soft, so sweet, so completely innocent in contrast to the absolute war raging inside him.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

His eyes flicker over your face, over your bare shoulders, your parted lips, your soft, warm thighs pressed together beneath those tiny fucking shorts.

He groans, running a hand through his hair before crouching down in front of you, leveling himself with you, face to face, his knees on the floor, his hands resting on your bed- caging you in.

You feel your breath hitch, your body going still.

Matt stares at you, dead in the eye, his voice dropping an octave as he says,

“Because I wanted to fuck you instead.”

Your breath catches, a soft, startled gasp slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

Your thighs press together instinctively, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as Matt’s words sink in.

Your body feels too hot, too tight, too restless, his presence so close, so overwhelming that you don’t even realize what you’re saying before the words slip out-

“D-does that mean I’ve earned it?”

Matt’s eyes darken immediately. His lips part, his fingers tighten against the mattress.

“I guess so, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flips.

Matt’s fingers drag up your thighs, slow and deliberate, teasing.

He drops fully to his knees, settling between your legs, looking up at you now, his broad hands trailing higher and higher, his grip firm and possessive.

His breath is heavy, his eyes hungry.

“Tonight’s my last night,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing your thighs. “And I need to feel you wrapped around me.”

Your lips part, your stomach tightening, something warm pooling deep inside you.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, your voice barely above a whisper.

“F-feel me wrapped around you?”

Matt groans, his jaw tight, tense, barely holding himself together..

He rises from the floor, slow, predatory, controlled, his hands dragging up your body, his fingers brushing over your hips, your waist, your ribs.

He crawls over you, the mattress shifting beneath his weight, his body caging you in, surrounding you, pressing you down into the sheets.

His forearms bracket your head, his chest hovering just above yours, his breath warm and uneven, his lips so close to yours you can barely think.

His voice drops into a low, strained rasp.

“Yes, angel.”

His nose brushes yours.

His lips barely touch yours, teasing, hovering, making you wait.

“I need to feel you pulsing,” he murmurs, his fingers dragging over your waist, gripping you tighter, his breath hot against your lips.

His hips press against yours, the warmth of his body suffocating, intoxicating.

“After I make you cum around me- ”

A kiss- light, fleeting, taunting.

“Again.”

Another- deeper, but still not enough.

“And again.”

His hands tighten, his fingers digging in, his body pressing closer.

“And again.”

His lips finally crash into yours, taking everything.

Matt kisses you hard, his lips claiming, his hands everywhere, fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. His mouth moves with desperation, worship, control, like he’s starving for you, like he’s trying to devour every breath you take.

He presses you further into the bed, his weight shifting, guiding you until you’re in the center of the mattress, surrounded by him.

His hands glide over your skin, slow and deliberate, trailing down your neck, your sides, your waist, his fingers dragging over your ribs like he’s memorizing every inch.

A low groan rumbles in his chest when you try to wrap your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more.

Matt shakes his head.

His lips curve into a dark, teasing smirk, his hand gripping your thigh firmly, keeping it down.

“Not yet, angel.”

His voice is low, thick, wrecked, his breath hot against your swollen lips.

He starts moving down.

His mouth leaves a slow, open-mouthed trail down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste, to tease, to claim.

Your breath shudders, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to hold onto something, anything.

Matt just chuckles against your skin, his lips brushing against your clothed torsobefore moving lower.

Your stomach tenses, your thighs pressing together, needy, desperate, overwhelmed.

Matt reaches the band of your frilly little shorts, his breath hot against your hip, his fingers toying with the lace, his teeth grazing the edge.

Your whole body locks up.

Matt bites down, just enough to tease, just enough to make you whimper.

His hands grip the delicate fabric, but instead of pulling them off with his fingers-

He uses his teeth.

Slowly.

Dragging them down and down and down.

Your head tilts back, your chest rising and falling unevenly, your fingers digging into the sheets.

Matt groans against your skin, his hands spreading your thighs apart, dragging you toward the edge of the bed.

“Let me take care of you, angel.”

His hands grip your thighs, firm but teasing, spreading them apart just enough to make you squirm.

His lips hover dangerously close to where you need him most, his breath hot, uneven, deliberate.

But he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

Instead, his fingers glide up your inner thighs, featherlight, barely touching, his thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles, teasing you, making you ache.

Your hips shift, your breath coming out in uneven little pants, but Matt just chuckles, his hands holding you still.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low, amused, dark.

His lips brush the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, kissing, biting, sucking- everywhere except where you need him most.

Your fingers grip the sheets, frustration coiling tight inside you.

“Matty-”

He hums, pleased.

“Patience, angel.”

You whimper, shifting again, trying to chase his mouth, but his grip tightens, holding you in place.

“Not yet,” he murmurs against your skin, his tongue dragging over a fresh bruise he just left.

Your stomach flutters violently.

Heat pools low, thick, overwhelming. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except feel.

“Matty, please,” you whisper, your voice barely there.

Matt smirks against your skin.

“That’s not begging, sweetheart.”

His teeth graze your thigh, biting down just enough to make you jolt, gasp, tremble.

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging slightly, desperate, needy.

Matt groans lowly, his fingers tightening around your thighs.

“Try again.”

Your chest rises and falls unevenly, frustration and desperation tangled together in one messy, overwhelming knot.

You need more.

You need him.

Your voice wobbles, your lips parting as heat floods through you, wrecking you, consuming you.

“Matty,” you whimper, your thighs trembling in his grip.

His smirk deepens.

“Yeah?”

“Please,” you whisper, breathless, desperate.

“Please, what?”

You whimper, shifting against his hold, panting, overwhelmed.

“Please, Matty, please-”

His grip tightens. His breath shudders.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Matt hums low in his throat, satisfied, pleased, soaking in the sound of you breaking for him.

He finally gives in.

His grip tightens on your thighs as he leans in, his mouth hot and hungry as he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses against your soft heat.

You gasp, twitch, whimper, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his breath hot, teasing, his lips dragging, pressing, nipping, kissing.

His hands shift, gripping your thighs tighter, spreading you wider, making sure you can’t move, can’t escape, can’t do anything except take what he’s about to give you.

His breath fans over you, the sensation sending sharp jolts of heat through your body.

His lips part against your skin.

His tongue flicks out, dragging a line up your soaking slit.

A sharp, desperate gasp rips from your throat, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, gripping, helpless.

Matt groans, the sound low, deep, wrecked.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his mouth moves, teasing, tasting, devouring.

Your head tilts back, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, your body trembling beneath his hands, beneath his tongue, beneath him.

He hums again, the vibration sending another wave of warmth rolling through you.

His grip tightens, his lips move slower, deeper, hungrier.

His mouth moves with purpose, slow and taunting, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses against your clit, his tongue flicking out to taste, to tease, to ruin.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath coming out in short, sharp gasps, your thighs trembling beneath his grip.

Matt chuckles against your clit, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against you, sending a new wave of warmth rolling through your body.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets bolder, firmer, rougher, his movements controlled but relentless, his tongue flicking, stroking, pressing.

Your head tilts back, your eyes squeezing shut as the sensation overwhelms you, consumes you, drowns you.

“Matty-” you gasp, your fingers pulling, tugging, desperate.

He groans at that, the sound rough, deep, wrecked, like he’s just as affected as you are.

His hands shift, gripping tighter, pulling you closer, refusing to let you pull away, refusing to let you escape what he’s doing to you.

“Take it,” he mutters against your skin, his breath hot, uneven, teasing.

His lips curl into a smirk, his tongue moving in slow but hard circles against your puffy clit, his grip tightening when he feels your thighs start to shake.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?”

Your breath stutters, your body trembling, your stomach tightening, coiling, burning.

Matt chuckles darkly, his fingers pressing soothing circles into your thighs as his tongue flicks against you just right.

The warmth builds, sharp, overwhelming, consuming.

Matt groans again, his grip never loosening, his mouth never stopping.

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

His mouth moves with precision, slow and unrelenting, his tongue flicking, teasing, stroking exactly where you need it.

He can feel it, the way your thighs shake, the way your stomach tightens, the way your breath catches on every movement of his mouth.

“Matty-” Your voice breaks, high and desperate, breathless, overwhelmed.

He hums against you, pleased, amused, possessive.

“You gonna cum for me, angel?” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot, teasing.

Your body tenses, your stomach coiling, twisting, burning. Matt doesn’t let up.

His tongue moves faster, his hands gripping you tighter, his breath uneven as he feels your thighs start to shake.

His jaw clenches, his movements sharper, more deliberate, his mouth relentless.

Before you could even warn him, your body locks up.

The pressure snaps, sharp and blinding, crashing over you in waves, overwhelming, consuming, impossible to fight.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs trembling, your hips arching off the bed as you grind into his face, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as the sensation washes through you.

Matt groans, his grip firm in pushing you back against the mattress, grounding you, dragging it out, letting you feel every second.

He only pulls away when you go limp beneath him. His lips press against your inner thigh, slow, soothing, teasing.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, grinning against your skin

Matt sits up slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the evidence of what he just did.

His grin is smug, satisfied, his blue eyes practically glowing through the dim light of your bedroom, dark with amusement, with hunger, with possession.

He watches you closely, taking in the way your cheeks are flushed, your glasses slightly fogged, your chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

Your thighs twitch, still weak, still trembling from the overwhelming sensation he just left you drowning in.

Matt just smirks.

His hands grip your legs, pushing them gently to the side as he stands up.

You blink up at him, still dazed, still trying to process everything, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you for stability.

Matt just crosses the room, his presence still dominating the space, even from a distance.

He settles onto the couch near your bookshelf, his legs spread wide, his arms draping over the back, his gaze never leaving yours.

You roll over onto your stomach, your breath still uneven, your lashes fluttering, your glasses slightly askew.

You sit up, still blinking, still confused, your expression soft, innocent, lost.

Matt sees it. He relishes it.

The way you look at him, unsure, desperate for direction, for permission, for more.

His lips curve into a slow, lazy smirk. He lifts two fingers, curling them toward himself in a silent command.

You slowly sit up, your body still weak, trembling, your breath uneven, your mind dazed from everything Matt just did to you.

Your wide eyes flicker to him, innocence and hesitation swirling in them as you push yourself to your feet, your knees still wobbly, shaky.

Matt sees it all.

The hesitation.

The way your fingers twitch at your sides.

The way your body reacts to him even now.

And he just smirks.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low, slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

You take a small step forward, then another, walking toward him shyly, your fingers lightly brushing the hem of your camisole like you need something to ground you.

Matt watches you closely, his blue eyes filled with lust.

And then, when you’re almost there, when you’re standing just inches away, he chuckles under his breath.

“Don’t get shy on me now, angel,” he teases, his voice gravelly, thick with amusement.

His hands shift, gripping your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your bare skin.

“I can still taste you on my tongue.”

Your face burns instantly. A sharp, hot flush crawls up your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your breath catching so hard in your throat you think you might choke on it.

Matt just smirks wider, darker. He tilts his chin up slightly, his gaze dragging over you, slow and lazy, before he gestures with his chin.

“Take it off.”

Your fingers instinctively grip the hem of your camisole, suddenly hyper-aware of how thin, delicate, and barely-there it is.

Your lips part, but no words come out. The moment feels too intimate, too vulnerable, too raw.

Matt sees the way you freeze up, the way your breathing stutters, the way your fingers tighten around the fabric.

His hands slide slowly up your thighs, his touch warm, grounding, teasing, reassuring.

“C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, his voice soft, coaxing, slow. His thumbs press small, soothing circles into your skin, his breath steady, patient, waiting. “It’s me.”

Your stomach flips. Your heart pounds. And something in the way he says it- so certain, so steady, so familiar- makes your fingers loosen their grip on your shirt.

You take a slow, shaky breath and pull it over your head. The fabric slips from your fingers, pooling on the floor beside you.

Matt just stares.

His lips part slightly.

His light eyes drag over you, slow, deliberate, in absolute awe. His jaw tightens. His hands flex against your thighs, his breath coming in slow, controlled pulls.

His voice lowers into something reverent, something wrecked, something so raw it makes your stomach turn inside out. “Fucking hell.”

Matt’s fingers twitch at his sides before he lifts one hand, dragging his fingertips lightly over your peaked, sensitive nipples.

The touch is barely there, barely anything, but it sends a sharp jolt of heat through you, your breath catching, your back arching just slightly.

Matt watches you closely, his blue eyes dark, burning, filled with something unreadable.

He brings his hands down, pressing them to your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle, guiding.

He presses down.

And you sink to your knees in front of him.

Your eyes widen slightly, innocence flickering in your gaze, curiosity mixed with something deeper, something unspoken.

You look up at him, hands resting lightly on your thighs, your glasses slipping down your nose again, your lips parted slightly, waiting, trusting.

Matt throws his head back.

A low, ragged groan escapes his lips, his fingers twitching at his sides, his entire body reacting to the way you look at him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

You frown slightly, tilting your head, your brows furrowing as you lift a hand and place it gently on his thigh.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice soft, concerned, completely oblivious.

Matt’s breath shudders.

He drags his head back down, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling slowly.

“Yeah, angel,” he murmurs. “I’m okay.”

He grabs your wrist, gently but firmly, guiding your hand over him, pressing your palm against the thick, hard evidence of what you do to him.

Matt groans at the contact, his head tilting back slightly, his fingers tightening around your wrist.

Then, his voice drops into something slow, deliberate, patient, guiding.

“You know how I make you warm and needy, right?” he murmurs, his blue eyes locking onto yours, searching, waiting.

You nod slowly. His thumb strokes your wrist.

“How I build up that pressure for you,” he continues, his voice low, steady, coaxing.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively. You nod again.

Matt smirks slightly, tilting his head, watching you absorb his words, letting you process.

“Would you want to try to do that to me?”

Your lips part slightly, your fingers twitching against his thigh.

Your cheeks heat up, something warm and unfamiliar curling low in your stomach.

“I-” You blink, wide-eyed, innocent. “I can?”

Matts fingers flex against your cheek, cupping your face, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your jaw.

“Of course you can, angel,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, coaxing, patient.

His eyes darken slightly, his thumb dragging along your cheekbone as he leans in just a little.

“Remember the video I sent you?” he asks, his voice low, thick, teasing.

Your face burns instantly. Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering, your lips pressing together as the memory crashes over you.

You nod slowly, your cheeks flushing deep red.

Matt smirks. His fingers tilt your chin up, his voice dipping lower, darker, heavier.

“You’ll be doing that,” he murmurs.

His lips graze just below your ear, teasing you, tempting you.

“But instead of my hands….”

He guides your hand over him again, pressing your palm firmly against him, letting you feel him throb beneath your touch.

“…it’ll be yours.”

Your cheeks burn, heat creeping up your neck and ears, your breath shaky, hands still resting on his thighs, fingers twitching slightly as your mind processes what he just said.

Your lips part, innocent curiosity mixing with something deeper, something warmer.

“Would that… would that make you feel good?” you whisper, blinking up at him.

Matt’s eyes darken, his pupils blown, heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling unevenly just from the sound of your voice, from the way you genuinely want to know.

You hesitate, then slowly- with so much hesitation it nearly kills him- you reach for him again, your fingers wrapping around him shyly.

A low, wrecked groan rumbles from his chest, his thighs tensing under your touch, his breath shuddering as his head tilts back slightly.

“Yes, angel,” he rasps, his jaw tight, strained, completely lost in the moment.

He lifts a hand, fingers brushing down your cheek, tracing the soft line of your jaw, before tilting your chin up.

“It would make me feel like I’m on fucking fire.”

Your stomach flips violently. You nod once, determined.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I want to do it.”

Matt’s breath catches. Then his lips curve into a slow, lazy smirk, but his eyes are completely serious.

“Okay, angel,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes your cheek, his gaze locking onto yours, guiding you through every second. “You need to take my pants off first.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and your fingers hesitate. Matt chuckles softly, tilting his head, watching you with pure amusement, pure desire.

“Do you know how to undo a man’s belt and jeans?”

You shake your head, your voice small. “I’ve… I’ve never done that before.”

Matt’s jaw tenses instantly. His breath shudders, his fingers flexing against your jaw, his entire body reacting to those words more than he thought possible.

His blue eyes darken, his voice raspy, rough, wrecked.

“Fuck.”

His fingers squeeze against your cheek, his lips parting slightly before he tilts your chin up higher, making sure you see the way he’s looking at you.

“I love that,” he breathes, his voice low, strained.

You swallow hard, your stomach twisting at the way he’s watching you, like you’re something he wants to devour, something he’s been waiting for.

Matt reaches down, undoing his belt slowly, before sliding it free.

He places it on the couch beside him, his smirk growing.

“We’ll use that another time.”

Your brows furrow, your lips parting in confusion. “Another time?” you ask, blinking up at him. “For what?”

Matt just chuckles darkly, tilting his head slightly, watching you with so much amusement and desire that it makes your thighs press together.

“Don’t worry about it, angel,” he murmurs “You’ll see.”

Your stomach flips, heat curling low, but you nod, trusting. He guides your hands to his jeans.

“Now,” he says, his voice low, patient, steady “I’ll show you how to take them off.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as you follow his movements, undoing the button, tugging at the zipper, watching as he lifts his hips slightly to help you slide them down.

Your breath hitches as the fabric drags down his thighs, your knuckles grazing over his boxers-

Over the thick, heated arousal straining beneath them. Matt groans lowly, his head tilting back, his jaw clenching, his fingers twitching where they rest on his thighs.

You freeze, your heart pounding, nervous, anxious, excited.

Matt just smirks, tilting his head down, watching you with so much heat, so much hunger it makes your stomach twist.

“That’s it, angel.”

Your hands shake slightly as you work the denim further down his legs, your fingers grazing the firm muscles of his thighs, dragging the fabric past his knees, until they’re completely off.

Matt sits back, his legs spread wide, leaving him in just his boxers.

Your eyes flicker down, your breath catching in your throat.

There’s a noticeable wet spot on the tip of his boxers, a darkened patch of fabric, revealing just how affected he is.

Matt sees exactly where you’re looking.

“See that?” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing.

You nod slowly, wide-eyed, your lips parting slightly.

“Yeah… what is that?”

Matt’s smirk deepens, pleased, amused, wrecked.

“It’s pre-cum, angel.”

Your brows furrow slightly, your head tilting, your innocence making his chest tighten with something primal.

“What’s that?” you whisper.

Matt groans, his hands flexing against his thighs, his jaw tightening, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“It’s what happens when a man is really, really turned on,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, thick, full of restraint.

Your cheeks flush deep red, heat rushing down your spine, pooling low in your stomach.

And then, without thinking, you blink up at him and whisper;

“Did… I do that?”

His eyes darken so much they look nearly black in the dim light of your room.

He reaches out, cupping your face in both hands, tilting your chin up until your eyes meet his.

“Yes, my love,” he murmurs, his voice low, reverent, wrecked. “You did that.”

A sharp, hot pulse of heat rushes through you, something about the way he says “my love” making your stomach flip, twist, tighten.

His lips twitch, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his breath heavier now, controlled but uneven.

“You’re gonna need to take it out to touch me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, patient, teasing.

Your hands twitch in your lap, your breath shaky.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you whisper.

Matt lets out a low, warm chuckle, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.

“Trust me,”

His fingers tilt your chin up higher, forcing you to hold his gaze, making sure you see the raw, burning desire in his eyes.

“You won’t.”

Your stomach flutters, your hands shaking slightly as you hesitantly reach for the waistband of his boxers-

Your fingers tremble as you slowly pull him out, your breath hitching, your eyes widening the second you see him- thick, long, heavy, flushed, and so much bigger than you expected.

Your small hands barely wrap around him, your fingers not even closing fully around his girth.

Matt groans sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, his head tilting back slightly as he watches you, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“God, yeah- ” he rasps, his voice rough, strained, wrecked.

His blue eyes darken, flickering down to where your delicate fingers and perfectly manicured nails are wrapped around him, barely able to hold him.

“Keep gripping it like that, angel.”

You squeeze at his words, instinctively following his instruction.

Matt’s breath shudders, a low, wrecked groan slipping past his lips, his thighs tensing beneath you.

“Theres my Good girl.”

A sharp heat floods through you at the praise, your stomach twisting, flipping, warming.

Your fingers tighten slightly, testing, uncertain, eager to do well.

“What do I do now?” you ask softly, your eyes wide and innocent.

Matt’s jaw tightens, his chest heaving, his body visibly straining to control himself.

“Okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice low, controlled, guiding. “Just… start going up and down.”

You nod quickly, determined, adjusting your grip, slowly dragging your hand down, then back up.

Matt’s head falls back slightly, his breath catching, his thighs flexing.

“Fuck…. Yeah that’s good sweetheart,”

Your movements are light and tentative and unsure, your fingers barely gripping him, barely stroking him properly.

Matt groans again, his hands twitching, his head tilting back further, his body tensing beneath your touch.

But it’s not enough.

He’s on edge, desperate, wrecked, but the way you’re touching him- soft, teasing, too light, too gentle- is driving him insane.

His hands fly to your wrists, gently guiding, his voice low, strained, desperate.

“You can go a little harder, love. Or a little faster.”

You flush, nodding, your hands tightening slightly, your movements picking up pace.

Matt groans deep, low, wrecked, his thighs flexing, his stomach tightening, his head falling back against the couch.

“Yeah…. there you go, angel.”

Your fingers tighten around him, your strokes growing steadier, following the quiet, strained groans that slip from Matt’s lips.

His thighs tense, his stomach tightens, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he watches you, his breathing wrecked, his jaw clenching.

“Just like that, angel,” he murmurs, his voice rough, low, guiding.

You watch him closely, absorbing every shift in his expressions, every flicker of pleasure in his face, every low, deep groan that rumbles from his chest.

It makes you curious.

Makes you want to see more.

You slowly lean forward.

Your gaze stays on his face, your body drawing closer, your breath ghosting over him as your lips part slightly.

Matt’s eyes flicker down sharply.

His breath hitches. Then his hand shoots out, gently gripping your wrist, stopping you.

“Whoa, sweetheart.”

His voice is low, strained, almost wrecked. Your eyes widen, confused. Matt swallows hard, his blue eyes dark, heavy-lidded.

“Are you trying to suck it?”

Your brows furrow slightly, your lips parting in innocent confusion. “Huh?”

Matt lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly, his grip tightening on your wrist.

“You just got really close, angel.”

Your cheeks burn. Your fingers twitch slightly against him, and when you stroke him again, slow and curious, his head tilts back, a low, wrecked groan slipping from his lips.

“Fuck.”

You hesitate for a second, watching him, before tilting your head slightly.

“Do you want me to?”

Matt’s chest rises and falls unevenly, his grip tightening slightly, his jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle tick.

He throws his head back again, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Shit.”

His hands flex at his sides, his thighs tense beneath you.

“Only if you want to, angel.”

You swallow, heat curling deep in your stomach at the way he looks wrecked, desperate, undone.

You blink up at him.

“Tell me what to do.”

Matt’s breath catches, his hands twitching at his sides as he watches you, his blue eyes dark, heavy, barely in control.

He swallows hard, his voice low, rough, guiding.

“Okay, angel,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna want to pucker your lips- yeah just like that… and start off by just kissing the tip.”

You nod, eager to please, leaning forward slowly, hesitantly, your breath ghosting over him.

You press a soft, shy kiss to his tip, looking up at him through your long lashes.

Matt’s entire body tenses. His hands grip the couch, his jaw clenching, his stomach tightening. A low, wrecked groan slips past his lips.

“Jesus Christ.”

You pause, waiting for direction, and he exhales slowly, shakily, gathering himself before tilting your chin slightly, guiding you.

“Good, angel,” he murmurs. “Now, hollow your cheeks- and go down a little more.”

You do as he says, taking him a little deeper, your tongue swirling experimentally.

Matt’s thighs flex, his hands gripping his knees as he lets out a low, sharp groan.

But then your teeth scrape lightly against him.

Matt’s hips jerk forward instinctively, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

You gag softly, your throat constricting in surprise as you pull back slightly.

Matt’s hand shoots out, gently cupping your jaw and pulling you off him. His eyes flicker down, scanning your face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly, cheeks burning, and try to go back down, eager to keep going.

But Matt stops you again, his grip gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. “Just… be careful with your teeth, angel.”

You nod again, determined, and he lets out a low chuckle, his thumb tracing your lower lip before letting you continue.

This time, you take him deeper, your tongue swirling, your hands resting on his thighs for balance.

Matt groans, low and deep, his fingers flexing at his sides, trying not to touch your head or make you feel pressured. But god is it hard for him.

After a few more sharp breaths, soft moans, deep groans, his hand finds your cheek again, his thumb stroking softly, guiding.

“Okay, angel,” he murmurs. “Now use your hands and your mouth at the same time.”

You nod against him, following his lead, doing exactly what he asks as you wrap both your hands around the base and length that doesn’t fit in your mouth, pumping up and down as your mouth follows.

Matt groans louder, his head falling back, completely at your mercy.

His breath shudders, his hands clenching into fists against the couch, his thighs tensing beneath your touch as you follow his guidance.

Your movements grow bolder, your hands working in tandem with your mouth, following every small noise, every slight shift of his hips.

A deep groan slips from his lips, his head tilting back against the couch, his fingers twitching like he’s desperate to grab onto something, anything.

“Fuck, angel,” he mutters, his voice wrecked, strained, barely holding on.

The sound of his pleasure sends a rush of heat through you, sharp and overwhelming, pooling low in your stomach.

Without realizing it, your hips start to move, grinding softly, rocking against your own foot, searching for relief, for something to soothe the ache building inside you.

Matt notices.

A low, wrecked groan rumbles from his chest, his blue eyes flickering down, watching the way your body moves- needy, desperate, completely lost in the moment.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained and dripping with desire.

His hands finally move, sliding into your hair, his fingers tangling at the roots, not pulling or pushing, just holding, grounding himself in you.

However, his hips jerk forward instinctively, chasing the warmth of your mouth, and the way you whimper at his reaction makes his head fall back again, another low groan escaping his lips.

The sound sends another pulse of heat through you, making your thighs clench, your body aching for more.

You pull off slightly, just enough to lift your gaze, wide, innocent, trusting, offering him control.

Your hands slide from him, moving to his thighs instead, steadying yourself, showing him that he can take what he needs and use you how he pleases.

Matt’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair, his jaw clenching as his darkened eyes meet yours.

“Fuckk, angel- ”

His lips part, his fingers stroking your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, watching the way you wait for him, letting him have control.

A low, gravelly whisper, so full of possession and reverence it makes your stomach flip-

“You were made for me.”

His head tilts down, jaw dropping, his blue eyes burning into yours.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his breath ragged, uneven, his body completely wrecked as he starts to move.

Slow at first.

Testing.

Letting you adjust, guiding you.

But the moment you moan on him- a soft, broken sound that vibrates against him- he loses it.

His hips roll forward, his grip in your hair firm but gentle, keeping you right where he wants you.

A deep, strangled groan slips past his lips as he watches you, the way you take everything he gives you, the way you trust him, the way you look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice wrecked, strained, on the edge.

His hands shake, his thighs tense, his stomach tightens.

His breath shudders, his jaw clenching.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart- take your mouth off me.”

But you don’t.

Instead you push your head down further as he fucks into you, taking more of him, your throat tightening around him as your small hands grip his thighs.

Matt curses under his breath, his head falling back against the couch, his entire body tightening.

“F-fuck, angel-”

His fingers flex in your hair, his voice breaking.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum… unless you wanna swallow, you gotta take your head off me.”

You don’t fully understand what he means. Not really. But you want to.

So instead of pulling away you push down even further against his rutting hips.

Matt’s entire body tenses, a deep, strangled moan ripping from his throat as his hips jerk forward uncontrollably.

Your throat tightens around him, a soft gag slipping past your lips, and that- that’s what finally ruins him.

Matt groans, deep and wrecked, his head tilting back, his grip tightening as his body shudders beneath you. You continue gagging uncontrollably against him as your nose hits his pelvis.

Matt’s chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, his jaw clenching so tightly it looks like he’s struggling to hold himself back. His thighs flex harder than ever, his hands tighten in your hair, and his head tilts back against the couch, exposing the strong line of his throat and jawline as a low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest.

“Fuck-” he rasps, his voice thick, wrecked, completely undone.

His fingers twitch against your scalp, his entire body tensing, his stomach tightening, his breath coming in sharp, shuddering exhales.

You don’t pull away. You don’t stop.

You stay right there, letting him have control, letting him fall apart completely.

Matt moans, deep and broken, his grip tightening, his hips stuttering slightly, as if his body is fighting against the overwhelming sensation. Like he doesn’t want it to end.

His head snaps forward, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes locking onto yours, and the way you’re still looking up at him, still so willing, so trusting, so eager to please-

His breath hitches, his stomach tensing one last time, and then he lets out a low, ragged groan, his fingers flexing one last time before his entire body shudders beneath you and white hot spurts of cum pump down your throat.

You gag hard and pull off him, swallowing what you can while the rest dribbles down your mouth and chin.

You stay still, letting him ride it out, his voice strained, hoarse, his thighs trembling slightly from the intensity of it all.

And when he finally relaxes, his body slumping back into the couch, his breath still uneven, his fingers gently loosen in your hair.

His blue eyes flicker down, dark and hazy, taking in the sight of you, still kneeling, still looking up at him with that wide-eyed innocence that makes his stomach tighten and dick get hard all over again.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, his breathing still heavy, his gaze unreadable.

A slow, lazy smirk.

“You’ve earned it now for sure, sweetheart. You ready?”

PART 5 OUT NOW

MASTERLIST

a/n: only one more part after this…. who’s hype

for @mattsobvimyfav 💙

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