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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

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Priorities: part 6 (Kendall Roy x reader / Lukas Mattson x Reader)

Summary: your night takes a turn for the worse, Lukas provides to be a helpful distraction.

TW: collar / flogging / pussy spanking / pain kink / BDSM / overstimulation / punishment / Lukas Mattson shameless smut / oral sex(f!receiving) / restraints / chains / Dom Lukas Mattson / everything is consensual/ multiple orgasms / orgasm denial / edging/ teasing

A/N: 11k+ words. So conflicted over this chapter 😭😭 Kendall my Shayla 💔💔 also do you guys want more Kendall plot or more Lukas plot?

🦄☔️💜👾🍇🌂🪻💟👩‍🎤😈🧞‍♀️🍆🔮🚺🍇☔️💜👿🙆🏽‍♀️

After taking some time to yourself, you settled into a relaxing evening. You put on some Netflix, caught up on a few emails, and simply allowed yourself to unwind.

Soon you began getting ready for dinner, realizing you needed to put in some serious effort. It felt almost foreign to dress up for a date, a habit you’d fallen out of. You found yourself experimenting with your makeup, applying eyeshadow and even blush— something you rarely did. You opted for a brown smoky eye, aiming for a sexy, sultry vibe. You chose a dress that was just revealing enough to be considered “slutty,” but also undeniably alluring. The deep red fabric clung to your curves, and the low-cut, sleeveless design exposed a significant amount of skin. You weren’t concerned about the cold; you simply wanted to look your absolute best.

You rushed down to the hotel lobby, checking your watch as you went. You were five minutes late— 8:05 —and, as expected, Lukas was already waiting, tapping his foot impatiently as he checked his own wristwatch. He looked up as you strutted towards him, the deep red of your dress catching his eye. His eyes widened, a look of undisguised appreciation spreading across his face. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction; you’d chosen the color specifically, thinking he might appreciate the connection to his apartment’s décor.

“I know, I know, I’m late,” you apologized, quickly throwing on your coat and adjusting the scarf around your neck.

“Do you not own a watch?” He asked, irritated, but still leaned in and gave you a hug. “But I’m not mad anymore,” he murmured in your ear, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Because you look sexy.” He pulled back slightly, his eyes sweeping over you as he licked his bottom lip. “I love my scarf on you.”

“Well I wouldn’t need a scarf if you didn’t use my neck as a chew toy,” you replied, a blush rising to your cheeks as you pulled away, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

Lukas ignored your playful taunt. “After you,” he said, gesturing towards his car outside. He led you to the passenger side and opened the door for you. He then walked around to the driver’s side and slid into the driver's seat. It was a refreshing change from being relegated to the backseat, as you often were with Kendall’s chauffeur. You liked a man who took charge, who preferred to be behind the wheel himself, it was attractive.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he insisted, pressing a button on the console. You felt the gentle warmth of the seat warmer begin to spread through your seat. With another press, the armrest between the front seats popped open, revealing two elegant champagne glasses, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a beautiful bouquet of roses. He reached over and presented the flowers to you.

“Oh, this is all so nice,” you were shocked by how much thought he put into this date. You brought the roses to your nose, inhaling their delicate fragrance.

“I didn’t know what flowers you liked, so I just got you my favorite,” he admitted, his facade of nonchalance slipping slightly, as he gave you a nervous glance.

“No, they’re lovely. Thank you.” You leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank you, but at the last moment, he turned his head, intercepting your gesture and pressing his lips against yours. You could feel him smiling into the kiss.

“Woah, don’t get too excited now,” he teased, pulling away with a confident smirk. “We still got all night.”

“Are you planning on drinking and driving? That’s a bold move even for you.” you eyed the champagne glasses.

“You love it when I’m bold.” He smirked. “The champagne is for you. Mine is sparkling cider.” He then handed you a filled glass and clinked it gently against his before taking a sip.

As you drove through the city streets, you peered out the window, taking in the sights of the impressive buildings. Lukas made a few attempts to guess their names and purposes, but he clearly wasn’t very familiar with Stockholm’s landmarks. He quickly blamed his lack of local knowledge on the fact that he only ever came to the city for business meetings, spending the rest of his time split between Abisko, California, and New York.

“What’s so special about Abisko?”

“Only the most breathtaking scenery in the entire country,” he declared dramatically. “Think snow-capped mountains, crystal-clear lakes, and if we’re lucky, the aurora borealis dancing across the sky. The real manly stuff.”

“Sounds… cold,” you commented, trying to play it cool. Not wanting to sound too eager at his offer, even though your heart flipped at the thought.

“It can be,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’d keep you warm.” He winked, trying to be convincing.

“Right,” you said dryly. “So, you’re saying you know more about the wilderness than the actual cities of your own country?”

“Precisely,” he confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “Priorities, darling. Priorities. Besides, cities are all the same. Concrete jungles, traffic jams, overpriced coffee, annoying people. I’d choose the peace and quiet of the mountains and my phone any day. It’s safe that way.”

“Overpriced coffee does sound awful,” you conceded, pretending to shudder. “But seriously, you can’t even name one famous building in Stockholm?”

He paused, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought. “Well, there’s… uh…” He trailed off again, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay, fine, you win,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “I’m a terrible Swede. But I make up for it in other ways.” He winked again, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You shook your head, taking another sip of your champagne. He had a way of making you blush with his directness, his lack of care for being appropriate. He could turn any normal conversation into sexual.

Lukas turned the conversation to you. “How was your day today? Did you have fun at the magical spa?”

“It was nice, yeah, I had a great time. Can’t say the same for the masseuse.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, there was a whole misunderstanding, and security was called in,” you explained, still chuckling at the memory.

“Yeah, if I saw you lying on a table like that, I’d call security too,” he glanced over at you with a cheeky smile. “Because that ass is a weapon. It’s dangerous. You don’t want to take your eyes off it.”

You burst out laughing, a genuine, hearty laugh that came from deep within your belly. “No,” you managed to say between giggles, “they saw all the bruises and marks and thought I was getting abused.”

“Oh,” the smirk instantly vanished from his face, replaced by a look of concern. He placed a gentle hand on your thigh, “Was I too rough? You need to tell me if I am.”

“No,” you assured him quickly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “No, it was just funny how concerned they were. I’m fine, seriously.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, then rested it gently on his thigh. “Good, because showing up late for dinner. That’s strike 1.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” You knew exactly what you wanted him to do to you. But not knowing what he was planning in his twisted mind filled you with a burning desire to find out.

“You’ll see,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, confident murmur. “I won’t be gentle tonight. Last night was just a test run, darling.” The way he said the word darling made you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together tighter.

“Yeah?” you replied, a flutter of anticipation stirring within you.

“I promise you.”

The restaurant was definitely fancy, just like you’d figured. But it wasn’t just fancy; it was seriously swanky, like old-school rich people swanky. The entrance was huge, with super high ceilings and this massive, sparkly chandelier that made the whole place glow. This really slick maître d’ greeted you and Lukas, took your coat and scarf. She then led you to the main dining room, which was all soft lighting and hushed conversations.

The whole place was done up in rich reds and golds, which made it feel warm and luxurious. Priceless paintings from bygone eras adorned the walls, their ornate gold frames. Portraits of stern-faced nobles and elegant ladies in elaborate gowns gazed down from the walls, offering silent witness to the diners below. The tables had crisp white tablecloths that looked amazing against the plush red velvet chairs. Instead of bright overhead lights, there were these ornate chandeliers, all intricate metalwork and sparkly crystals, giving off a warm, intimate glow. Everything, from the detailed carvings in the dark wood paneling to the flower arrangements in huge, sparkling vases.

As you settled into the plush velvet, a wave of paranoia washed over you. You felt every eye in the restaurant on you, scrutinizing your every move. You instinctively covered your face with your hands, a surge of anxiety tightening your chest.

“Everything okay?” Lukas asked, his voice laced with concern as he gently pulled your hands away from your face.

“I feel like everyone’s watching me,” you whispered, in a hushed tone. The thought of this outing ending up in the tabloids sent a shiver of dread down your spine. If you and Lukas were photographed together, it would be a media frenzy, and your name would be dragged through the mud once again.

You’d lived under the constant glare of the media spotlight before, during your relationship with Kendall. You’d been dissected under a microscope, every little thing you did scrutinized and magnified. Every mistake, every dinner out, every time you’d left a bar a little too tipsy, was documented and dissected.

You vividly remembered one particularly embarrassing incident— a drunken argument with Kendall outside a bar that had, of course, made headlines: “Kendall Roy and girlfriend seen having a drunken brawl,” “Trouble in paradise, as Waystar Royco heir and girlfriend spotted in a heated argument,” “The heir and self-proclaimed heiress calling it quits?” The headlines had been brutal, the public scrutiny relentless.

You’d naively thought that coming to Sweden would provide a much-needed escape from the breakup rumors swirling in the tabloids back home. But now, as you sat across from Lukas in this opulent restaurant, you could already envision the headlines: “Kendall Roy’s ex spotted with Lukas Mattson, multibillionaire,” “Next up on the gold digger chronicles…,” “From one billionaire onto the next.” The thought made your stomach churn.

“Hey, look at me,” Lukas said firmly, his voice drawing you out of your anxious thoughts. You lifted your gaze from the tablecloth and met his eyes. “Everyone has their eyes on you because you’re the most beautiful woman in this restaurant. Did you ever consider that?”

“No, I think everyone’s watching because I’m here with you.”

“No,” he insisted. “Everyone’s watching us because I’m here with you . They’re all wondering how this washed-up human Shrek ended up with a fucking princess.” He said it with such earnestness that it almost made you believe him.

“You’re just saying that,” you mumbled, pulling your hands away from his and resting them nervously on your lap.

“You don’t like compliments,” he observed, his gaze fixed on you. “Why?”

“I do,” you protested, not wanting to come across as insecure. “I do like compliments.”

“But you can’t seem to accept one,” he persisted. “You either look away, or you make a joke to deflect it.” His tone wasn’t judgmental; it was more inquisitive, he was genuinely trying to understand your thought process.

You thought back over the past few times he had complimented you, and realized he was right. “You think you’ve got me all figured out,” you scoffed, your defensive mechanisms were in full swing now, trying to deflect. “I only met you 24 hours ago.”

“I wasn’t trying to offend you,” he said, his intense gaze holding yours. “And if I did offend you,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly, “then there’s clearly some underlying issue.”

“There is no underlying issue,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “I just don’t like people psychoanalyzing me.”

“Darling,” he began, his voice softening, “Youre the hottest, no, sexiest, no— you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” You immediately broke eye contact, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was right. You couldn’t even hold his gaze when he complimented you.

You looked back up at him, and he wore a clear ‘I told you so’ expression on his face.

“Okay, I guess… sometimes when you compliment me, I… I just wonder if you’re lying.” You finally admitted.

“What reason would I have to lie to you?” Lukas asked, furrowing his brows, “I have better things to do than sit here and lie to you.”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, a sad smile twisting your lips. It was meant to be a smile, but it came out as more of a pout.

“I think it’s sad that you think that of yourself. That you think you’re not worthy of my compliments.” His expression was grave, unlike anything you’d seen from him before.

“Okay, this isn’t a therapy session, pack it up, Oprah,” you said, quickly changing the subject and fanning your face with your hand. The conversation had become far too serious, far too quickly.

You weren’t insecure, you kept repeating to yourself like a mantra. You and your therapist had dedicated countless sessions to dissecting this very issue. You’d explored the roots of your self-doubt, worked on building self-esteem, and practiced affirmations. You’d told yourself, over and over, that you loved yourself, your body, your face. Yet, despite all the work you’d done, you still couldn’t fully shake the feeling that you weren’t desirable, that you weren’t worthy of attention.

Because, you reasoned, if you truly were as beautiful, as sexy, as desirable as Lukas claimed, then Kendall wouldn’t have neglected you the way he had. He wouldn’t have stopped showering you with attention, wouldn’t have stopped worshipping your body with his touch. He wouldn’t have stopped getting frisky with you in the middle of the day, wouldn’t have stopped ripping your clothes off the second he walked in the door after a business trip. The absence of those things, those once-constant affirmations of his desire, had created a void, a nagging doubt that whispered you weren't enough.

“Okay,” Lukas said, holding back a torrent of words. He desperately wanted to tell you that whoever had made you feel so unworthy was a complete fool, an absolute imbecile. He wanted to reassure you that you deserved so much better. But he had a strong suspicion it was your ex who was responsible for these deeply ingrained insecurities, and he didn’t want to dredge up any more painful memories. He decided to tread carefully.

“Are you sure there’s no secret undercover paparazzi here?” you asked, still a little anxious, wanting to be completely certain so you wouldn’t spend the entire evening on edge.

“I can assure you, there aren’t.”

“How can you be one hundred percent sure?”

“Because it’s my restaurant,” he replied casually, as if he were commenting on the weather or stating an obvious fact like the sky being blue or the grass being green.

“You own this place?” you asked, your jaw dropping in surprise.

“Yeah, it was my friend’s restaurant. He’s the chef here, actually. Anyway, he was in a bit of debt, so I offered to buy it from him. I’ll sell it back to him when he’s back on his feet.”

“That was really nice of you to do that,” you said, genuinely touched by his generosity. Someone as wealthy and influential as Lukas using his resources to support a friend in need spoke volumes about his character.

“My friends are like family to me,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “I will always take care of them.”

Lukas gently diverted the conversation back to you. “Tell me about yourself. Your job, where you grew up… everything.”

You began to open up, sharing stories about your childhood, your family dynamics, your career path, your passions, and your dreams. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on yours, his expression reflecting genuine interest. He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

“I like listening to you talk,” he commented, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. You felt a blush creep up your neck and quickly looked away, suddenly feeling a little shy under his intense gaze.

Dinner itself was a delightful experience. Lukas ordered an expensive bottle of wine for you, politely declining a glass for himself, citing his need to drive you back to the hotel. You savored the rich flavors of the wine, letting it warm you from the inside out. Even though you were already feeling quite full from the delicious meal, Lukas insisted on seeing the dessert menu.

Lukas insisted on dessert, ordered two tiramisus, and the waiter promptly brought them to the table, the aroma of coffee and cocoa filling the air.

“You know, my mom makes the best tiramisu,” he said, taking a bite. “But Albert’s is a close second.” He reminisced, the corners of his mouth crinkling into a warm smile.

“Are you close with your mom?”

“I was, I was very close with her.” He took another bite of his tiramisu, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. “She passed away when I was young.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear,” you said, placing your hand over his, offering a comforting touch.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, a look of confusion on his face. He didn’t quite grasp the concept of empathy, the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. “You didn’t know her.”

“I know,” you clarified gently. “But I know you , and I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, so I’m sorry for you .”

“Oh, okay. Thanks?” he said, his voice softer now. Lukas didn’t have many people in his life with whom he could speak openly, people with whom he felt comfortable expressing his emotions.

As a young boy, his father had consistently dismissed his feelings, making him feel weak for showing any vulnerability. He’d often scolded Lukas for playing video games, telling him to go outside and play sports “like a man.” The message—that a man needed to be strong, stoic, and dominant to be considered a “real man”—had been deeply ingrained in his mind. He’d even been scolded for crying at his mother’s funeral, his father telling him that “men don’t show weakness.”

So now, sitting across from you, he was genuinely surprised that you weren’t laughing at him for showing a moment of vulnerability. Instead, you were offering him comfort, caring, and understanding—more than he’d received from anyone else in a long time.

By the time you arrived back at the hotel, aided by the extra champagne consumed in the car, you were a giddy, tipsy mess. Lukas handed his keys to the valet and wrapped a steadying arm around you as you swayed slightly in your heels.

“I think that entire bottle of wine was a bad idea,” you mumbled, giggling softly as you both stepped into the elevator.

“I told you it was good wine,” he smirked, backing you up against the elevator wall. Your back pressed against the cool metal, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours.

“You just wanted me to be nice and drunk so you could take advantage of me,” you joked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hmm,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I don’t need to get you drunk to get my way. I already had you crying over my dick last night. And I’m gonna have you screaming my name over and over and over again tonight.” He whispered the last words against your lips before finally pressing them to yours, biting gently on your bottom lip as your tongues met, engaging in a playful battle for dominance. He tugged at your coat, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap.

The elevator doors dinged open, announcing your arrival at his floor. But you were both so lost in the moment, so consumed by the heat of the kiss, that you barely registered the sound. It wasn’t until you heard someone clear their throat loudly that you both snapped back to reality.

You looked up, over Lukas’s shoulder, and saw Kendall standing frozen in the elevator doorway. The sight of him sent a jolt of panic through you. You immediately broke away from Lukas, pushing him away as you instinctively wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

Kendall stood eerily still. His eyes, hard and cold, burning with an intensity that made you shrink back. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles white. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut again, struggling to find the words to express the turmoil raging inside him.

“Kendall,” you said hesitantly, taking a small step towards him, holding your hands out in a placating gesture, as if trying to calm a wild animal.

He recoiled, taking a step back away from you, his expression a mix of fury, confusion, and a profound sense of betrayal.

“Uh, what—what, I’m sorry, what the fuck?” he sputtered out, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Lukas, who stood behind you with a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“Kendall, it’s not what it looks like,” you stammered, offering the weakest excuse you could muster.

That was the spark that ignited his fury. “Oh, really ?” he roared, his voice echoing in the hallway. His eyes burned into you, like daggers piercing your soul. “I just saw you making out with him! Do you think I’m some kind of fucking idiot?” The hurt that laced his anger was palpable, a raw, exposed wound that he was desperately trying to conceal with rage.

“Kendall, please just calm down,” you pleaded in a hushed tone.

“Yeah, man, calm down,” Lukas echoed, stepping forward to stand beside you.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kendall snarled, his eyes locking onto Lukas. He lunged forward, charging at him. You reacted instinctively, quickly stepping between the two men.

“Oh please, are you gonna cry now?” Lukas taunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. The words were like gasoline poured onto Kendall’s already raging fire. He strained against your hold, desperate to get to Lukas, “You gonna cry because I’m fucking your girlfriend now? Oh, sorry, I meant your ex -girlfriend,” Lukas corrected, emphasizing the word “ex” with deliberate malice.

“Lukas, stop it!” you screamed, your voice cracking with the strain. You could feel Kendall’s muscles tensing, his strength increasing as he fought against your hold. You knew you couldn’t keep him back much longer.

“You think you’re big shit?” Kendall snarled, his voice thick with venom. “You lost , the deal didn’t stick. You’re a fucking nobody back in Sweden, a washed-up has-been. You’re a nobody in an expensive suit, running a failing tech company that nobody wants because you’re a fucking sociopath.” He spat the words out.

“I lost?” Lukas scoffed, completely unfazed by Kendall’s insults, which only served to enrage him further. “No, I won something even better. I found something you lost,” he said, his smirk widening. “I’m the nobody who saved this poor woman from a life of misery with you . So, who really came out on top?” He gestured dismissively towards Kendall, his eyes filled with contempt.

“STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!” you finally screamed, your voice echoing down the hallway, finally managing to cut through their vicious exchange. “Lukas, go to your room. Now .” Lukas remained stubbornly rooted to the spot behind you, a defiant look on his face. “ GO! ” you yelled again, putting all your force into the word. Finally, with a final, lingering glare at Kendall, Lukas turned and walked away, disappearing into his hotel room.

You were left standing in the hallway, the echoes of your shouts fading into the quiet. Kendall's anger seemed to have abruptly evaporated, leaving behind only a raw, aching heartbreak. He stood with his head bowed, staring at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.

“Kendall,” you whispered, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his jaw, hoping to lift his face and make eye contact. But he flinched away from your touch, turning sharply and walking back towards his hotel room. “Kendall, please,” you called after him, your voice breaking with emotion. But you remained rooted to the spot, unsure of what else to do.

He left his door slightly ajar, a silent invitation, or perhaps a careless oversight. After a moment of hesitation, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping into his sitting room. He was standing in the center of the room, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his posture rigid.

“How long?” he asked, his voice low and dangerously quiet.

“What?” you replied, your own voice barely a whisper.

“How long have you been fucking him?” he yelled this time, the sudden outburst making you flinch. “Since Stewy’s birthday? Huh? How long have you been screwing me over?” The words were sharp and accusatory, each one hitting you like a physical blow. You instinctively took a step back with each word, until your back was pressed against the closed door. “Did I not give you everything you asked for? Was it not enough for you? I can’t believe—I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done for you—you—you—” He sputtered, his face contorted with rage and hurt, his voice trailing off into a choked whisper.

“How can you even accuse me of that?” you cried out in frustration.

Kendall stalked closer, his eyes fixed on you, watching you with the intensity of a predator. He reached out and roughly pulled the scarf from around your neck, the sudden movement making you gasp. He saw the makeup beginning to fade, revealing the telltale marks on your neck. He dropped the scarf to the floor, the silk pooling at your feet like spilled blood. Then, in a sudden burst of anger, he slammed his fist against the door right beside your head, the impact making you jump and squeeze your eyes shut in fear.

“Kendall!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You lied to me,” he seethed, his voice now dangerously calm, his hand shaking slightly as he looked at his red and swollen knuckles. “You fucking lied.”

“We’re broken up!” you retorted, jabbing a finger into his chest, emphasizing each word. “ WE. BROKE. UP. ”

“How could you do this to me?” he whispered, his voice laced with pain as he clutched a hand over his chest. “How?”

You were frozen, unable to get a word out. “I should have never come here,” you finally managed to choke out, your voice barely audible. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad I know—I’m fucking ecstatic right now,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm. He let out a pitiful laugh that scraped against your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“I never cheated on you,” you insisted, trying to clear up the central accusation, the one that felt like a knife twisting in your gut. “I only met Lukas last night.”

The information seemed to finally click into place in Kendall’s mind. He had been too consumed by rage to connect the dots before, but now he understood. He understood why you were on his floor that morning—you were leaving Lukas’s room, the marks on your body, which had been mentioned during your massage, now taking on a horrifying new context. That realization was his breaking point.

“You’re a fucking slut,” he snarled, his mood shifting abruptly back to anger. The word hung in the air, heavy with venom. He was cycling through a maelstrom of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—unable to process the situation rationally. “I can’t believe you,” he repeated, his eyes wide and accusing. “You were practically begging for me on the jet like a whore. How could you do this to me? Use me like that, lead me on, all while you’re fucking him too? Did you enjoy comparing us? Was he better? More exciting? More… satisfying ?”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, recoiling as if he had physically struck you. You couldn’t believe your ears, couldn’t comprehend the sheer filth that was spewing from his mouth.

“It’s unforgivable,” he said, his eyes filled with pure disgust as he looked you up and down.

“I don’t remember asking for your forgiveness,” you retorted, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the wave of nausea that washed over you.

“You really are making your way around, aren’t you?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “Who’s next? Stewy? Greg? Maybe even Tom, because I hear they have an open marriage?” The suggestion was so vile, so far beyond anything you could have imagined him saying, that it left you speechless.

“You don’t get to call me a whore,” you spat, your words trembling with barely contained rage. “When I met you, I thought I’d finally found the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I was done with all the bars, the boys, all my commitment issues—because who cared? Because I was done. I was ready. But you chose your work. You chose the company. You chose everything over me. You made me feel worthless, like I was some dusty old broom in the closet, something you only pulled out, when it suited you. Well, I’m not that broom anymore. I’m all glued back together now, stronger than before. And now you’re mad that someone else is fucking me like you never could? I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don’t get to call me a whore.” You shook your head, hot tears stinging your eyes.

“This thing with us is finished,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief and disgust. “Fuck this. Fuck you . I don’t want to be your friend, I don’t want to see your face again. Get out.” He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re nothing but a user. You used me, you used my family, you used my money. You’re just like all the rest. You’re a parasite, sucking the life out of everything you touch. You’re a cold, calculating bitch, and I was a fool to ever think you were anything more.”

But you didn’t leave. You couldn’t. Your legs felt like jelly, your entire body trembling from the force of his words, each one a calculated blow aimed at your deepest insecurities. You stood there, frozen, the weight of his venomous accusations pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“I SAID FUCK OFF! LEAVE! ” Kendall roared, his face inches from yours, his eyes bulging, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed.

You turned to leave, desperate to escape the volatile situation, but Kendall’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back

“Please… just anyone but him,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desperation, his grip tightening painfully.

Kendall was manic, his thoughts jumbled and chaotic, running around his head like panicked rats. He was consumed by a blinding rage after learning about you and Lukas, but beneath the anger was a raw, desperate need. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being with anyone but him. The idea of another man touching you, holding you, possessing you, was unbearable, and the thought of it being Lukas was like a knife twisting in his heart.

You shook your head again, a bitter smile twisting your lips. “I truly hope I never see you again.”

You shoved him off you with a final, forceful push, breaking free from his grasp. You turned and strode out of his hotel room, slamming the door shut behind you, the sound echoing down the hallway like a final, decisive break.

As you stormed down the hallway, fuming, you passed Lukas’s room. The door swung open, revealing him standing in the doorway. Before he could utter a single word, you held up your hand, palm outward, a clear signal to stop.

“No,” you said firmly, your voice cold and resolute. You turned sharply and headed for the stairs.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Ignoring the biting cold, you stormed out of the hotel. You didn't want to return to your room, the scene with Kendall replaying in your mind, the echoes of his harsh words still ringing in your ears. You walked aimlessly, the freezing air nipping at your exposed skin, your teeth chattering.

You fought back tears, though the cutting wind burning your eyes made it all the harder. All you had wanted was a relaxing vacation, a chance to escape the pressures of your life back home. But now, that simple desire seemed utterly impossible.

You were only a few meters from the hotel now, the warm glow of the lobby visible in the distance. You slid down the rough brick wall of a nearby building, sinking onto the cold ground, your body shivering uncontrollably in your thin dress. How had things gotten so complicated, so completely out of control?

You weren’t just angry; you were absolutely livid. A white-hot rage burned within you. You couldn’t decide who you were angrier at: Kendall, for his baseless accusations of cheating and his subsequent slut-shaming, or Lukas, for using you as a pawn in his petty rivalry with Kendall. Both men had managed to wound you deeply, albeit in different ways.

You sat there, your hands trembling in the freezing cold, when you felt a warm coat being draped around your shoulders. You looked up to see Lukas crouching in front of you, his face etched with concern.

“Darling, the temperature is -1 (degrees Celsius),” he said, his voice laced with worry. “You’re going to get sick out here like this.” He muttered, gently pulling the coat tighter around you.

“I just want to be alone right now, please,” you begged, trying to hold onto what was left of your tethered sanity.

“Okay, you can be alone inside, where it’s warm,” he countered gently, reaching out to take your hands. He tried to pull you to your feet, but you remained stubbornly rooted to the spot.

“You’re the last person I want to see right now,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to stay calm.

“I understand,” he replied softly. “You’re mad at Kendall right now, and you have every right to be…”

“And what about you ?” you snapped, your voice laced with accusation.

“Me?” he asked, pointing a finger at himself, oblivious.

“Yes, you !” you emphasized, your anger flaring up again.

“I don’t follow,” he said, his brow furrowed.

“You used me to hurt Kendall,” you accused, your voice trembling with anger. “You think I’m just an object to be won in some game you’re playing against him. That’s what all this has been about, right? Getting the upper hand?

“What? No—” he began, attempting to explain.

“I was there ,” you interrupted him sharply. “And I have two ears and a perfectly functioning brain. So don’t tell me I misunderstood. You used me as ammunition. Cheap move, but I hope it was worth it.”

“Can we please go inside and discuss this?” Lukas pleaded, shivering slightly. “Because my balls are starting to shrink up inside me.” He muttered, pulling you gently to your feet.

“I’m going inside,” you said firmly, pulling your arm away from his grasp. “But this discussion is over.”

You started power-walking back towards the hotel, your anger fueling your brisk pace. You jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, as if trying to force it to arrive faster. At this point, you were convinced the elevator was cursed; every bad thing that had happened that night seemed to involve that confined space.

“Can I just say one thing?” Lukas asked, catching up to you and gently grabbing your elbow, turning you to face him. “I didn’t mean to come off that way,” he said, his voice sincere. “I was trying to say that he had no right to be angry. He lost you, so he doesn’t get a say in who you choose to see now.”

“That’s not your battle to fight for me. It doesn’t even matter,” you said coldly, your gaze fixed on the elevator doors as they finally slid open. “It’s done now.”

You stepped into the elevator for the second time that night, the doors closing behind you and Lukas, an uncomfortable silence filling the small space.

“You know, I could be mad at you too, if I wanted to be,” Lukas said, breaking the silence, his tone laced with a hint of challenge.

“Excuse me?” you snapped, turning your head sharply towards him, your eyes narrowing.

“You never told me you came here with Kendall,” he said, relaying what he had overheard from your argument in Kendall’s room. Damn the hotel’s thin walls, you thought grimly.

“I didn’t choose to come here with Kendall,” you exclaimed, your voice laced with exasperation. “It just… happened. And why do you even care? Are you jealous? Seriously?”

“I’m not jealous,” he responded calmly, his gaze unwavering. “I just don’t like being lied to.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“But you didn’t tell me the full truth.” he pointed out.

“Why does it even matter?” you sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

“It matters because… it just matters,” he said, his expression becoming more intense. “Half-truths are worse than lies.”

“Are you seriously trying to gaslight me right now?”

“No,” Lukas said, rubbing the back of his ear, a nervous tic you now recognized as a sign of his own frustration. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say—just—”

He cut himself off, then leaned in and kissed you fiercely, the kiss charged with frustration, frustration over the night he’d meticulously planned for you that had now gone awry. He wanted to strangle Kendall for ruining it, for making you so upset.

You pulled away from him, backing away slightly, shaking your head. “No,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, you can’t just—”

“Just what?” he challenged, taking a step closer, his eyes burning into yours. “Can’t just turn you on like that?” he breathed, his hand reaching up to brush your hair back from your neck, his lips following the path he’d cleared, pressing soft kisses against your skin. “Can’t make you wet? I don’t have to try,” he whispered against your neck. “You do that all on your own.”

“Stop it,” you said weakly, your voice losing its conviction as you felt him nibble gently on your neck. Your neck was a known weakness, a sensitive spot that sent shivers down your spine. He knew it, and he knew he could weaken your resolve once he had you relaxed, purring like a cat in his arms.

“You don’t want that,” he whispered, pulling back slightly to look you directly in the eyes. He held your gaze for a painfully long moment, searching for a flicker of desire, a hint of surrender. He was leaving Stockholm in the morning, and he desperately wanted to salvage whatever time he had left with you.

“Say you want this,” he whispered, his fingers gently cradling your jaw, a note of desperation evident in his tone.

And you did. You wanted it, desperately. In that moment, you allowed yourself to momentarily forget the chaotic fight with Kendall.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “I do.”

The moment the words left your lips, Lukas’s demeanor shifted. He swiftly scooped you up into his arms, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Before you could even register what was happening, he was striding out of the elevator and down the hallway towards his hotel suite.

He threw you onto his bed, the soft mattress cushioning your fall. He climbed on top of you, his weight pressing you down, and began kissing you with a desperate intensity, as if he needed it to survive.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. He slid a hand up your dress, his fingers gliding between your thighs, finding you already slick and wet. “No panties?” he groaned to himself, “You’re so bad, so fucking wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Shut up, I hate you,” you breathed, keeping your hands positioned by your head, even though you desperately wanted to reach out and tear his clothes off. But you liked this, you liked the anticipation, the game he was playing. You enjoyed how he dragged it out, making you writhe and pant beneath him like a dog begging for attention. You loved the way your dynamic shifted between sweet talk and raw, vulgar language. You didn’t want him to be gentle or nice right now; you wanted him to be a little mean, a little rough.

“Do you want to play?” he muttered, his voice low and husky as he teased your entrance with his fingertips, making you wince.

“I do,” you nodded, your breath catching in your throat. “But I’m a little sore.”

He took your words into consideration, his touch immediately becoming more gentle. He moved his fingers up to your clit rubbing soothing circles, easing the tension.

“Where are you sore?” he asked, his voice softening as he pulled your dress down slightly, pressing rough sloppy kisses to your breasts.

“Just… between my legs,” you moaned, instinctively grinding your hips against his fingers. You remembered the previous night, the rough encounter against the wall, the lingering ache, a feeling of rawness. Maybe it was because you had been so touch-starved that your body wasn’t accustomed to such intense activity two nights in a row. But the rest of you felt fine. Your ass had been smacked raw as well, but that wasn’t painful; in fact, every time you sat down and felt the slight sting, it only made you crave his touch.

“Nowhere else?” he murmured, placing a lingering kiss on your sternum, subtly confirming what he could and couldn’t do with you tonight.

“No,” you said sharply, the word coming out with more snappier than you intended.

“I’m gonna fix this attitude problem of yours,” he snarled playfully, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Fuck,” you moaned, the word escaping involuntarily as he applied more pressure to your aching clit. Your legs clenched around his hand, instinctively locking it in place, pulling him closer.

He took his time, savoring the moment. There was no rush with him; he could spend hours toying with you, teasing you to the brink, and you would willingly let him.

“Close?” He kissed your jawline, and you nodded, your eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the building pleasure. But just as you were about to reach your peak, he stopped moving his fingers, gently prying them from between your thighs. “Not yet.”

You whined in protest, opening your eyes to see him getting off the bed and shuffling around, gathering some items.

“No whining,” he said sharply.

“Sorry,” you pouted, playing along with the shift in dynamic as you sat up and moved to the edge of the bed.

He then picked up a black leather collar, holding it up for you to see. It had the word “bitch” written across it in sparkling, bedazzled gems. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “And you don’t have to keep asking me,” you added, wanting to reassure him. “I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable with something.”

He fastened the collar around your neck, the cool leather a stark contrast to the heat rising within you.

He stood back up, his eyes raking over your body. You reached out, running your hands down his torso, tracing the contours of his muscles before trailing your fingers lower, over his crotch through his trousers. You gave a playful, teasing squeeze, a gesture he clearly didn’t appreciate, you were breaking his rule.

“No touching,” his jaw clenched with restraint. He gripped your hands tightly, pulling them away from him. “You can’t seem to keep your hands yourself.”

“I just wanted a taste,” you purred, licking your lips and then boldly running your tongue over the bulge in his trousers.

He hooked a finger around your collar, tugging you to your feet. “That’s it,” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “You think you’re cute?” He pulled you towards the center of the room, where two metal chains dangled from the ceiling. He swiftly hooked your wrists into the restraints, hoisting your arms above your head. “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” he said, his voice now a low growl, “you get tied up.”

He then proceeded to undress you, though there wasn’t much to remove. You were only wearing the dress, having forgone any undergarments in a moment of impulsive boldness.

Lukas walked over to a nearby shelf and picked up an object. It resembled a brush, but with long, wispy strands extending from the handle. “This is a flogger,” he explained. “It’ll even out the strokes and won’t traumatize any more masseuses.”

He started at your shoulders, the soft leather strands whispering across your skin, sending goosebumps erupting across your body. He moved down your chest, teasing your nipples with the very tips of the flogger, making you gasp. Then he trailed it down your stomach, lower and lower, until the wisps brushed against your most sensitive area. You arched your back, your body responding too eagerly.

“Are you enjoying this?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

“Mmm, yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Doritos.”

“You can’t seem to learn your lesson, no matter how much I punish you,” He walked around behind you, dragging the flogger lightly across your backside, testing the feel of the material against your skin.

“But—” you started to protest.

“Not another word.” he interrupted, grabbing a fistful of your hair and gently but firmly craning your head back until your eyes met his. “Unless you want me to gag you.”

You shook your head quickly.

“I think thirty is a good number,” he mused, running the flogger between your legs, purposefully brushing against your swollen nub.

“No—” you began to protest again.

“You’re at thirty-five now. Keep talking,” he said calmly, his eyes watching you as your head hung low in defeat. “Lying, whining, and complaining, touching and speaking when you’re told not to. You’ve been very disobedient,” he continued, his voice taking on a more dominant edge. “I need to train you better.”

He pulled the flogger away, the leather strands rustling against each other. Then you heard the distinct whoosh as it sliced through the air before making contact with your ass. You gripped the chains above you, wincing as the sting radiated through your backside. You finally exhaled the breath you’d been holding, realizing the sting wasn’t as bad as you’d anticipated. It was more of a dull, widespread ache across your cheeks.

He brought the flogger down in the same area two more times in quick succession. This time, you gasped, the burning sensation intensifying in the previously struck area. You swayed slightly, gripping the chains above you for dear life, your knuckles turning white. You focused on your breathing, trying to regulate the rapid rise and fall of your chest. You desperately didn’t want to make a sound, acutely aware that Kendall was in the adjacent room and might hear everything. Why were you still protecting him?

Lukas moved back up your body, bringing the flogger down with increased force. He noticed your determined silence and a desire, almost a need, surged through him to hear your sounds— your moans, your gasps, your cries— to fill his senses. One particularly painful slash landed on the back of your thighs, the sting so intense that you bit your tongue hard, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

“Let me hear you,” Lukas demanded. He followed his words with another strike, this one with double the force, landing on the same already-tender spot. The agonizing pain shot through you, making your back arch involuntarily. But you remained stubbornly silent, biting down on your bloodied tongue, only silent tears streaming down your face, tracing paths through the sweat that slicked your skin.

You had lost count after fifteen strokes; it was all becoming a blur of pain. It was too much. You could only focus on breathing through it, desperately trying to suppress every sound that threatened to escape your chest. It took serious self-control, a fierce internal battle to force the sounds to die in your gut before they could reach your lips. You clenched your jaw, your muscles trembling with the effort of holding back the cries that clawed at your throat.

His hits had been interchanging, a pattern only identifiable by the movements of his body. He was in no mood to warn you about which type of sting would come from his swats, nor did he feel pity enough to keep his strikes the same harshness. Some were soft, pleasant, welcoming, others were crippling swats of blinding pain that left a powerful, slightly unpleasant sting behind that you would feel for days.

“Let him hear you,” Lukas said, his voice laced with a possessive anger. He ran a hand over your back, his touch lingering on the reddened skin, a twisted admiration in his eyes. It enraged him that Kendall was still occupying your thoughts, that he wasn’t the sole focus of your attention. “He doesn’t deserve you,” his tone is inflated with that sickly cold condescending tone that dampened your cunt even against your best attempts to remain unaffected.

He moved around to face you, trailing the flogger lightly down your shoulder, a chilling prelude to what was to come. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned in a low, menacing tone, his eyes darker than the night sea. “What are you so afraid of?” he then asked, his voice dripping with a cruel curiosity. Before you could even process the question, he struck you harder, two consecutive slashes across your breasts, the sting making you gasp sharply.

You threw your head back, your eyes scrunching shut as more tears escaped. The following slashes across your abdomen were even more brutal, making you almost lose your balance. But the chains held you firmly in place, denying you any relief. Lukas made the slashes sharp and unforgiving. He didn’t like you like this—silent, stoic. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to hear you. He wanted Kendall to hear you.

Your entire body was on fire, a searing, all-consuming pain that you couldn’t extinguish no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. The pain wouldn’t subside; Lukas wasn’t giving you any time to recover between each brutal stroke. He was determined to make you break, to force a cry, a moan, or his name from your lips. You bit down hard on your trembling bottom lip, your eyes meeting his in a silent plea, but he showed no mercy.

He trailed the flogger lower, the official marker of where her next destination will be. When it fell between your legs, catching on your clit, pulsating and erect despite the pain that warped your senses. The sharp, unexpected sting made you howl out in pain, a raw, primal sound that tore from your throat.

“There you go,” Lukas muttered, his voice softening slightly. He momentarily stopped the assault, gently brushing a strand of hair that was plastered to your sweaty forehead. “Was that so hard?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, thinking the ordeal was finally over.

But you were wrong. “Ten extra lashes for disobeying another order,” he said, his voice cold and unforgiving. He stepped back and struck you between your legs three more times. You felt your clit swelling with pain, throbbing between your legs.

You cried out, thrashing against the restraints, the only sounds in the room were the clanking of the chains and your ragged, desperate breaths.

“Use your safe word,” Lukas reminded you that you could opt out at any time. You raised your weak head, to look him in the eyes and shook your head no. In the back of your brain there was a dull ringing that wouldn’t let you stop.

“Youre such a good girl.” He stepped closer again, grabbing your jaw gently, momentarily releasing his grip on the flogger. He forced his hand between your legs, offering a brief respite, a chance for you to catch your breath. “Good girl, you like that?” His touch was rough, further inflaming your body, teasing you, not giving you the release you desperately craved. “Yeah? You like it when I punish you? You disobey me on purpose, don’t you? You like it when I spank you, bite you, just makes you so wet doesn’t it?” There’s a subtle undertone to his taunting, a gentle easiness in his words. He was asking if you could take more, promising that he wouldnt overdo it, bringing you back down to that pit of pleasure despite the stinging pain that was still shooting through you.

He felt your legs trembling and stopped, he gave your clit a few light taps making your entire body jolt, overstimulated. he wiped his slick fingers on your hip and resumed the punishment, the next few slashes landing on the front of your thighs before he returned to your backside.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes,” you were a hysterical, babbling mess of pleas and whines, bracing yourself for the next strike.

“What are you sorry for?” he pressed, not satisfied with your simple affirmation. He wanted to hear the words.

“For… for lying,” you managed to get out between sobs, the words catching in your throat.

“And?” he pressed again, his voice firm.

“And for whining, and… and not following orders,” you sobbed.

“Good girl,” he murmured, a hint of approval in his voice.

You were barely holding on, your body trembling, your sobs wracking your frame as he delivered the final two blows to your ass. He then rubbed his hands gently over your hot, burning skin, attempting to soothe the raw, inflamed areas. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist to support you, realizing you were barely able to hold your own weight. He reached up and undid the restraints, and your body crumpled in his arms. He caught you, holding you close.

Lukas immediately transitioned into aftercare, his demeanor softening completely. He gently scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the bed. But you clung to him tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck, refusing to let go. Sensing your need for closeness, he sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping you cradled in his lap. He undid you collar and began to murmur words of praise, his voice low and soothing. “Good girl,” he whispered, stroking your hair. “You did so good. You’re so good for me.” He continued these gentle reassurances as you cried into his shoulder.

Lukas ran his hands soothingly over your body, his touch gentle and reassuring. He stroked your thighs, your back, your breasts, his touch careful to avoid the most sensitive areas. He pressed soft kisses into your hair, whispering comforting words, trying to soothe you.

But you weren’t crying solely from the physical pain, or at least, not entirely. The sting of the flogger was certainly a catalyst, but the tears that streamed down your face were fueled by something much deeper. They were the release of all the pent-up tension, the raw emotions that had been churning inside you since your explosive confrontation with Kendall. You had been holding the floodgates back, desperately trying to distract yourself from the hurt, the anger, the confusion, by focusing on the physical sensations, the pain. But now, in Lukas’s arms, the dam had finally burst, and all the suppressed emotions were pouring out in a torrent of tears.

“Darling,” Lukas said, his voice laced with growing concern. He gently shook you, his worry escalating as he realized the depth of your sobs. You were crying so deeply that he worried if you were even able to breathe properly. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?” His concern grew with every passing second, his eyes searching your face for any sign of physical distress.

You shook your head no, the movement jerky and uncoordinated. But the motion did little to reassure him. A deep ache settled in your chest, a dull, throbbing pain that wouldn’t dissipate. Kendall’s cruel words replayed in your mind: slut, whore, liar . After two years, after he had once been your everything, how could he so easily break you down with such venom? How could professed love morph into such hateful insults?

His accusations cut deep, reopening old wounds of insecurity. They tapped into your deepest fear: being judged, being seen as unworthy. His possessive outburst felt like a violation. Kendall knew you too well; he knew your vulnerabilities, your insecurities. You never imagined he would weaponize them against you. In that moment, all the trust you’d placed in him dissolved. You had been at peace with the breakup, even open to maintaining a friendship. But now, you felt only contempt. That realization brought its own sharp sting of pain, the bitter knowledge that all this consuming anger had once been love.

“Baby? ” he pleaded, his eyes wide with worry. The pet name, so familiar, so intimate, sent you spiraling. It was Kendall’s word, his touchstone, the endearment he had always used. It was a cruel echo of the man you were desperately trying to forget, the man who had wounded you so deeply.

“No!” you screamed, the sound echoing through the room, loud enough to make Lukas flinch. “Enough about him. Please—I—I can’t. I just can’t.” You covered your face with your hands, your body shaking with renewed sobs. “I don’t want to talk about him, please,” you repeated, your voice muffled by your hands. You backed yourself up against the headboard of the bed, drawing your knees up to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Lukas held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He balanced on his knees as he cautiously crept closer to you, as if any sudden movement would send you spiraling into another wave of tears.

“Is that what this is about?” he sighed, a hint of relief in his tone. He had been genuinely worried that he had gone too far with the flogging. “Him?” Lukas wasn’t even remotely jealous; he was more concerned about you.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Okay, you don’t have to,” he whispered, his voice soothing. He carefully positioned himself beside you on the bed, not wanting to crowd you. “Just come here,” he murmured, opening his arms in a silent offer of comfort. You hesitated for a moment, then finally accepted his offer, moving closer and curling up at his side, seeking the warmth and security of his embrace. He held you close, his arms wrapped gently around you.

“Some water might help you,” Lukas suggested gently, noticing how your entire body was still shaking with hiccups.

“Then give me some,” you mumbled, your bratty attitude resurfacing. It was a defense mechanism, a way to regain some control after feeling so vulnerable. Lukas, sensing your fragility, let it go for the time being.

He shuffled out of bed and went to the small kitchenette in the suite. As he moved away, you felt a pang of guilt for taking your anger out on him. You wrapped the blanket more tightly around yourself and padded softly into the kitchen.

“I was gonna bring it to you,” he said, taking a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and handing it to you. He offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m not that much of a sociopath.”

“I never said you were,” you mumbled, taking a sip of the cool water. It was Kendall who had hurled that insult, not you.

You leaned back against the cool marble countertop, your body completely drained. Lukas noticed your exhaustion and effortlessly lifted you, placing you gently on the countertop.

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Do you think I’m broken?” you asked, the question barely a whisper. You hadn’t been able to attend your bi-weekly therapy sessions since arriving in Sweden. The carefully constructed walls you’d built to keep your dark thoughts at bay had crumbled, and now they were running wild, unchecked. Without the guidance of your therapist, you felt adrift, a lost cause.

“What?” Lukas asked, taken aback by the raw vulnerability in your eyes. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head.

“Then what’s wrong with me?” you pressed, a single tear escaping your eye. Lukas caught it with his thumb, wiping it away.

You hated this kind of crying, the weeping born of a broken heart. You preferred the physical pain, the release of the flogging. You preferred to cry out your sadness through physical sensation, so the pain wouldn’t stay trapped inside you, festering and building up over time. This emotional pain, this hollow ache in your chest, was far more difficult to bear. You hated feeling so helpless, so exposed.

“You know, my mother used to tell me,” Lukas began softly, cradling your jaw gently in his hands, “‘When you don’t heal the scar, you bleed on people who didn’t hurt you.’”

“I don’t have a scar.”

“You talk like you’ve had an amputation. And I think you have. I think someone has tried to cut out your heart.”

Kendall. His name was a curse, a trigger that sent a fresh wave of pain through you. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your head fall back against the cool surface of the kitchen cabinets.

“Come with me in the morning,” Lukas said, his voice low and persuasive as he pressed his forehead gently against yours.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I barely know you.”

“You know my body,” he teased, a playful glint returning to his eyes, undercutting the seriousness of the conversation. “You know me. I’m Lukas.”

“It’s not enough.”

“I’m Lukas, and I promise you I will make your trip worthwhile,” he said, his voice firm and reassuring. “You won’t spend another second crying. We’ll spend the days skiing, making snow angels and snowmen, and every night,” he paused, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper, “I’ll make sure you sleep soundly after I tire your body out. You will have no complaints.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, I take my promises very seriously. You won’t ever make a liar out of me. You will be thoroughly satisfied.”

“Wanna show me a preview?” You challenged him.

Lukas wasted no time in responding to your invitation. He effortlessly lifted you from the countertop and carried you over to the sofa, gently splaying you out on the cushions. It wasn’t the most spacious piece of furniture, but he wanted you to be comfortable, and he was acutely aware that Kendall overhearing you was a significant concern for you. Lukas, on the other hand, wanted to hear you. He didn’t want to deny himself the pleasure of hearing your moans, your gasps, your cries of pleasure.

“Tell me what you want,” Lukas whispered, his thumb making long, languid drags up and down your swollen folds.

“I need you,” you mewled, the words catching in your breath, your thighs quivering just as he slid two large palms beneath you, spreading you wide open. “I need you.”

Something about his enthusiasm was half the show, how adamant he was about keeping his lips glued to your pussy.

Over and over again you came—your weeping cunt crying out against his relentless fingers, his smug grin widening as you begged him for a break—only to be met with the sound of his tongue flicking against your clitoris. Your hands tugged at his hair, a desperate plea for him to stop, you tried your damndest to wiggle free from his iron grip, but he didn’t budge in the slightest. If anything, your movements only annoyed him further, and in turn, made him take out his anger on your already throbbing, sensitive flesh.

He ruined you for what felt like hours, the same question escaping his lips in cloudy little pants, a smug mantra. You tried to pry his face from where he was nestled inbetween your legs, but he was glued to you. Your drooling cunt was so greedy for him— your bloated pussy lips struggling and hungry, pulled oh-so-widely agape.

And he kept his promise. He didn’t stop, relentlessly fucking his fingers into you, teasing, tormenting you until you were crying and begging for him to stop. He brought you to the edge time and time again, pushing you over and over until you lost count of the orgasms that ripped through your body, each one more intense than the last. You were a mess of tangled limbs, ragged breaths, and raw sensation, completely consumed by him. He didn't stop until the first rays of dawn crept through the hotel window, painting the room in a soft, pale light.

#kendall roy x reader #Kendall Roy x you #lukas mattson x reader #lukas mattson x you #kendall roy smut #lukas mattson smut #lukas mattson imagine #kendall roy fan fiction #Kendall Roy imagine #succession writing #kendall roy succession #Lukas Mattson fanfiction

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

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give it up for roman roy, TIME homo of the year‼️

#oh my #Roman Roy the man that you are #he’s so cunty

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

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Priorities: part 5 (Kendall Roy x Reader / Lukas Mattson x Reader)

Summary: A day spent with Kendall makes you realise just how many sweet memories you both shared.

Warnings: no smut in this chapter just fluff and mentions of sex

A/N: enjoy!! My ADHD brain is hooked onto this plot line right now!! But I promise once I get it out of my system I will start writing my other fics too! Once I get an idea in my head I just have to write it down immediately.

🧡🍑🍊🦁🥕🎃🈚️🏵️🥭🧶🦧🩳✴️🔥🍅🏀🚚⛺️🧡

You woke up in the dark room, completely disoriented. The few hours of sleep you’d managed, combined with the lingering effects of jet lag, left you feeling confused and groggy. You stretched your arms out, only to bump into a warm, solid mass beside you. A man groaned in response.

You screamed, a sharp, involuntary sound that pierced the silence of the room, and scrambled backward, clutching the silk sheet to your chest like a shield.

Your sudden outburst startled the man beside you. He shot upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and alarm. “What? What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

You could barely make out his features in the darkness. The heavy crimson drapes were drawn, blocking out any outside light. But you recognized the voice and a wave of relief washed over you. “Oh, it’s just you,” you sighed, the tension leaving your body.

“Not so brave now?” he teased, a hint of amusement in his voice as he shuffled closer. But you were already out of the bed, wrapping the silky sheet securely around yourself, creating a makeshift toga.

“What time is it?” you asked, your voice still raspy as you began searching for your scattered clothes in the dim light.

“Darling, it’s 8am,” he replied, a sleepy smile in his voice. “The birds are still sleeping. Come back to bed,” he invited, leaning his head against the headboard and patting the empty space beside him.

“I have to get back to my hotel room,” you said, shaking your head. “I need a shower, and I have my spa day booked for nine.” You picked up the tattered remains of your panties, holding them up with a wry expression. “Seriously?”

“Oopsie,” he said, attempting a poker face, but the guilty look on his face gave him away.

“That was expensive,” you huffed, tossing the shredded fabric in his general direction.

“I’ll buy you a million more red lace panties,” he offered, a playful smirk spreading across his lips. “Better quality ones that don’t rip so easily.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You tugged your tights on, trying to maintain some semblance of modesty while simultaneously keeping the sheet wrapped around you. The awkward maneuvering proved too much, and you ended up falling over ungracefully, landing squarely on your already sore bottom. “I’m fine,” you grumbled, attempting to push yourself up. A strong pair of hands hooked under your arms and effortlessly lifted you to your feet, the silk sheet pooling on the floor. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

You quickly adjusted your tights around your waist, your cheeks burning a deep red. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, you turned away from him, using one hand to shield your breasts and the other clutching your heels. You hurried out of his bedroom, eager to find the rest of your scattered garments

You found your bra and dress exactly where Lukas had left them, strewn carelessly on and around the sofa. Of course, Lukas was following you, trailing behind you like a lost puppy.

“You know, I’ve never been a lingerie man,” he commented, his voice laced with amusement. “Never really cared what a woman wore because ultimately it was going to be ripped off and thrown on the floor.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“But,” he continued, his tone shifting, becoming softer, more intimate, “I realize just how much I enjoy watching you look for it.” He could see the enticing curve of your ass through your sheer tights, and a part of him wished he’d ripped them too, so your legs would be completely bare. As you bent over the sofa to retrieve your bra, he let out a low, appreciative whistle, catching a glimpse of even more.

“You know,” you snapped, “you could actually help me instead of just standing there like a pervert with your hand down your boxers.” The blush on your cheeks was feeling permanent at this point.

“Hmm, but what would be the fun in that?” He pouted, a playful glint in his eyes. “I don’t understand why you girls get so shy in the morning. Like, you weren’t being a slut all over my cock last night, but when the sun comes up, you become a Mormon.”

You still had your back to him as you fumbled with the clasp of your bra. Just as you were about to slide it over your chest, Lukas’ large hands stopped you.

“I think it’s rude not to let an artist see their work. Don’t you think?” he murmured, gently turning you towards the large mirror on the wall. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of your reflection.

Your entire neck and chest were covered in a constellation of deep purple bite marks, some fading into shades of reddish-purple. One of your nipples was visibly swollen and bruised, a dark, angry purple against your skin. Your chest looked, as you thought, like you had some sort of strange skin disease.

“So beautiful,” Lukas murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration as he observed his handiwork from behind you. Your eyes met his in the mirror, your jaw still slack with shock. He ran his hands down your neck, then cupped your breasts, giving them a firm, possessive squeeze. “So, so beautiful… and all mine.”

“Not yours,” you retorted, finally finding your voice. “Not anyone’s.” You pushed him away, pulling your bra straps over your shoulders and quickly tugging your dress over your head. “I’m single, darling,” you said, turning to face him, placing your hands firmly on your hips. “I can’t walk through the hotel like this.”

Lukas, seemingly unfazed by your irritation, retrieved a dark, silk scarf from a nearby chair and offered it to you. He then gently wrapped it around your neck, effectively concealing the most visible marks.

“Okay, so is this single lady free for dinner tonight?” he pressed, gently brushing his fingers through your hair to smooth out some of the tangles.

“I thought your offer expired at midnight?” you teased, slipping into your heels. The added height gave you a small boost of confidence.

“My fairy godmother extended it for you,” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. “She only makes exceptions for super hot, kinky girls. She’s my wingwoman.” He gave you an exaggeratedly innocent, pleading look.

“I’ll see what my schedule looks like later and let you know,” you said, waving a dismissive hand as you inched toward the door.

“No kiss goodbye?” he called out, reaching for you. “At least give me your number?” He placed his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the door.

“Okay, fine,” you relented, handing him your phone. He quickly added his number, a wide, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Okay, now goodbye,” you said, blowing him a playful kiss as you stepped one foot out the door. But before you could fully escape, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back in for a fleeting kiss—a quick, sharp press of his lips against yours that left you feeling strangely refreshed and awake.

“Okay, now goodbye,” Lukas said, finally pulling away and closing his door. But just as the door clicked shut, the neighboring door opened, revealing none other than Kendall himself. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Uh, hello?” he said, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Hi,” you managed to squeak out, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You nervously adjusted the scarf around your neck, pulling it higher.

“Hi?” He looked you up and down, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance. “Wha— uh, I mean…?” He seemed at a loss for words, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I was just waiting for you, actually!” you blurted out, the words tumbling out a little too enthusiastically.

“For me?” He pointed a finger at himself, his expression still bewildered. He clearly didn’t understand what was happening. You looked like you were returning from a one-night stand, but the thought was too painful for him to even entertain, so he refrained from jumping to conclusions.

“Yeah, yeah! I was gonna head down to get breakfast,” you continued, your mouth moving faster than your brain could conjure up believable lies.

You internally questioned why you even felt the need to lie in the first place. The truth was, dealing with the reality of the situation felt too complicated, too emotionally taxing. Yes, you had moved on from Kendall. Yes, you were single. Yes, you had just hooked up with his arch-nemesis, his rival. But to so brazenly reveal that information, knowing Kendall was still clearly not over you, felt almost cruel, disrespectful. You didn’t want to hurt him, so you decided a little white lie was the easier path.

He glanced down at his gym attire— a simple t-shirt and athletic shorts. “Uh, sure,” he replied. “I was just heading to the gym, but I can go later—”

“Oh no! No problem!” you interrupted quickly, backpedaling slightly. “You go get a good pump in. Don’t let me stop you. I’m just a little devil on your left shoulder. Ignore me!” You forced a laugh, even making little devil horns with your fingers behind your head.

As you both walked toward the elevator, Kendall couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “That’s, uh, a pretty interesting outfit for breakfast,” he commented, keeping his eyes fixed on the elevator doors as if they held the secrets of the universe.

“Oh, this? Pfftt. This old thing?” you replied, feigning nonchalance and pretending to pull at a few imaginary loose threads on your dress. “Yeah, I just threw this on because I— uh… I had to.”

“Why?” he asked, turning his head slightly to look at you, his brow furrowed.

“Because,” you dragged the word out, stalling for time as your mind raced to concoct a plausible excuse, “because I had a… work meeting? Yes! Because I had a video call, and I just couldn’t miss it.”

“Oh, well that sucks,” he said, nodding in understanding. He seemed to buy your hastily constructed lie, much to your relief.

“Yeah, no, I told them, ‘No more meetings. Leave me alone, I’m on vacation.’ Can’t catch a break these days,” you said, shaking your head for emphasis. You could feel yourself sweating profusely under the scarf, the heat rising from your neck and chest as a result of all the on-the-spot lying.

“Yeah, as you should,” Kendall agreed. He then took in your disheveled appearance, your tangled hair sticking out at odd angles. “Did you even get much sleep last night? You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, I caught a wink, eventually,” you mumbled, self-consciously patting your hair down, attempting to smooth it into some semblance of order. “What about you? I’m sure you slept like a brick. You never get jet-lagged.” You remembered how meticulous he was about adjusting to different time zones, either sleeping or staying awake on planes to immediately sync with the destination’s local time.

“Surprisingly, no,” he replied. “I had some loud neighbors that kept waking me up.” A wave of heat rushed up your neck as you realized he was talking about you and Lukas.

“What can you do, huh?” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant.

The elevator arrived, and you stepped inside, quickly pressing the button for your floor—one below Lukas and Kendall’s.

“Uh, I think breakfast is on the ground floor?” Kendall reminded you, looking slightly confused.

“You know what? I just lost my appetite,” you said with a shrug. “Yeah, that plane ride… I don’t know, gave me some kind of motion sickness.” You rubbed your abdomen with a pained expression, a final touch to your hastily constructed excuse. As the elevator doors began to close, you called out, “But look, I’ll catch you later!” The doors slid shut, cutting off his view of you.

Kendall was left in the elevator, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts swirling in his head. He replayed the interaction in his mind. He’d never had such a bizarre encounter with you, it was stilted and awkward. Perhaps the breakup had created an uncomfortable distance, a lingering tension that manifested in your odd demeanor.

Then, his thoughts drifted to the intimate moment you’d shared on the plane. A wave of warmth spread through him at the memory. That had felt real, electric. He theorized that the intimacy of it had stirred up dormant feelings within you, feelings you were now trying to suppress with your strange behavior. The idea sent a jolt of excitement through him. The fact that you’d even suggested getting breakfast, seemed like undeniable proof. It was a clear sign, he thought. The stars were aligning; it was meant to be. You clearly still harbored feelings for him.

He entered the gym with a newfound energy, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was determined to channel this energy into his workout, to push himself further than he had in months. He gave it 110 percent, adding ten extra minutes to his cardio routine, pushing through two extra sets of every exercise. Every rep, every stride on the treadmill, was fueled by the hope of winning you back. He had never felt so alive, so invigorated. He had a chance with you. He had a fucking chance to get you back.

He imagined telling his friends, his family, everyone that you were back together. The thought made him smile from ear to ear, he couldn't wait to hold you in his arms again, to kiss you and tell you he loved you. He was going to pull out all the stops to make that happen. He was going to show you how much he had changed, how much he had grown, and how much he still loved you. He was going to win you back.

The moment you stepped back into your hotel room, you finally exhaled the breath you’d been holding since your awkward encounter with Kendall. A wave of relief washed over you, followed quickly by a distinct awareness of your physical state. You indulged in a long, hot shower, letting the scalding water cascade over your body, attempting to soothe your aching muscles. The previous night with Lukas had definitely left its mark. The lingering soreness between your legs was a constant reminder, as were the bruises scattered across your backside, your chest, and your neck. Even your hips ached from where he’d held you so tightly against him. It was all there, a reminder of him.

After your shower, you ordered room service and quickly ate a small meal, trying to replenish your energy. Then, you turned your attention to the most pressing issue: the visible evidence of your night with Lukas. You carefully assessed the damage on your neck and chest, the deep purple love bites standing out starkly against your skin. With a sigh, you set to work, layering on color corrector, concealer, and foundation until the marks were sufficiently camouflaged, restoring your appearance to a semblance of normalcy.

As you waited in the hotel spa reception area for your treatment room to be ready, Kendall strolled in, holding an identical voucher to yours. You internally cursed Roman, silently blaming him for this latest unwanted complication. He was truly the bane of your existence.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Roy, your room will be ready shortly for the couples massage,” the receptionist announced, gesturing towards you. “You can take a seat next to your partner.”

Kendall’s confused gaze met yours, and a soft, almost apologetic smile spread across his face. “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he said, his voice sincere. “I swear.” He sounded genuinely surprised and a little distressed.

“It’s fine,” you said, dismissing it with a wave of your hand. You didn’t want to dwell on it or make it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

“The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable around me,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Kendall, it’s fine,” you assured him again, placing a reassuring hand on his knee. “We’re still friends, aren’t we? We can just think of it as a friends’ massage, rather than a couples massage.”

“Yeah,” Kendall replied, his face lighting up with relief. “Yeah, we can.” The awkward tension from your earlier encounter seemed to dissipate, replaced by a more comfortable, familiar dynamic.

The masseurs ushered Kendall into the room first and then, moments later, called you in. Kendall was already lying face down under his towel when you entered. The masseurs gave you a moment of privacy to undress and get under your own towel. Your massage tables were placed side by side, only a meter apart.

You turned your head to the side, pressing your cheek against the headrest of the table to face Kendall. “How weird is this on a scale of one to ten?” you asked, laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“It’s definitely up there,” he chuckled, lifting his head slightly to look at you. “A solid seven.” Internally, however, Kendall was secretly thrilled to be sharing this experience with you, even under such strange circumstances. “And you hate massages too,” he added, a playful jab.

“I don’t hate massages,” you corrected, rolling your eyes. “I hated you giving me massages.”

“Hey, I gave you some of my best work,” he said defensively, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You could barely massage me for two minutes before you ended up… fucking me.”

“Yeah, but you never complained.” He countered, his goofy smile widening.

Before you could come up with a witty retort, the masseuses returned, asking if you were both ready to begin. You and Kendall both settled into the face cradles of the massage tables, your faces now pointing downwards.

Your masseuse asked if the pressure was okay as she massaged your scalp, and you made a sound of contentment. As she worked her way down your body, her gentle hands lulled your tired muscles into a near-sleep state. She expertly worked out knots in your back, then lowered the towel past your hips, pausing for a moment before covering you back up.

She leaned in close to speak to you in a hushed tone. “Madam, is this man your partner?” she asked, her voice carrying a note of concern and urgency that you, in your drowsy state, completely missed.

“He’s my ex-boyfriend,” you responded sleepily, too relaxed to register the underlying tension in her question.

Your masseuse then exchanged a few hushed words in Swedish with Kendall’s masseur, but you were too far gone to pay any attention.

It wasn’t until you heard the door opening again and two male voices speaking that you sat up, quickly and securely wrapping the towel around yourself.

“Excuse me?” You turned to see a security guard and what appeared to be the hotel manager standing in the doorway.

Both masseurs spoke to them rapidly in Swedish, their faces etched with worry as they pointed towards Kendall. You had no idea what was unfolding before you.

After a brief but heated discussion, the hotel manager approached you, his expression grave. “Madam, the masseurs have reason to believe that you are not safe here with this man,” he said softly.

“What?” you and Kendall said simultaneously, both of you completely taken aback.

“I can assure you I’m fine,” you said, clutching the towel tighter around your chest.

Your masseuse stepped closer to you, taking your hand in hers. “We can talk in private, away from him, if you would feel more comfortable,” she offered, casting a disgusted look at Kendall, who was sitting on his massage table, a look of utter confusion plastered on his face.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here,” Kendall said, rubbing his temples, clearly bewildered by the accusations. “Is this some kind of prank? Or a social experiment?”

“Madam, we saw the marks, the bruises,” the masseuse insisted, her voice firm. “And if you would like, we can have security remove this man.” She gestured to the security guard, as if ready to have him forcibly escort Kendall from the room.

“No, no, sorry, this is all a terrible misunderstanding!” you exclaimed, holding your hands up in a gesture of peace, halting the security guard’s advance. “I can assure you everything is fine! This man is not a threat, nor did he do anything to me.”

“Madam—” the masseuse began, her voice still laced with concern.

“Believe me,” you stressed, meeting her gaze directly, hoping to convey the sincerity of your words. “I am fine. The bruises are from… an accidental injury,” you quickly lied, your mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. This was definitely not the time or place to come clean about your passionate night with Lukas, especially not with Kendall present. The thought of his reaction sent a shiver of dread through you.

Finally, after a tense moment of hesitation and some further hushed conversation between the masseuses, the security guard and the manager left the room. The masseuses, after being convinced you were indeed safe and comfortable with Kendall, cautiously resumed their work.

After the massage, you and Kendall both got dressed in separate changing rooms. When you stepped back into the main area, Kendall was already waiting for you, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

“What was all that about?” he asked, the worry evident in his tone.

“It was the bruise on my hip,” you replied, quickly fabricating another lie. “Remember when I hit it off the table on the jet?” you reminded him, hoping that this flimsy excuse would be enough to deter any further questions.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Right,” he said, nodding slowly, though a flicker of doubt still lingered in his eyes. “Let me see,” he offered, a small, playful smirk appearing on his lips as his hands rested lightly on your hips. He took a step closer, the gesture clearly suggestive. “Maybe I can give you another special massage…”

You reached out, placing your hands firmly on his chest to maintain a safe distance. “It’s okay,” you said, offering a weak smile. “I’ll live.”

“Okay,” he said, his shoulders slumping slightly as he dropped his hands from your hips, clearly disappointed by your rejection. “Well, uh, I’m heading to the sauna and jacuzzi for my next treatment… Care to, uh, join?”

You also had the same treatment booked, but the thought of the water and steam dissolving the carefully applied makeup covering the marks on your chest filled you with dread. “Probably not,” you replied, offering a polite but firm refusal. “I think I need a nap before lunch.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he said, nodding in understanding. “Maybe we can get lunch together?” he offered, wanting to salvage at least some of the time he’d missed having breakfast with you.

“Yeah, we can,” you agreed, offering a small, noncommittal smile. With that, you parted ways, each heading in opposite directions. You breathed a sigh of relief as you finally reached the sanctuary of your hotel room, the tension of the past hour finally easing. This new dynamic with Kendall, this precarious friendship built on half-truths and carefully constructed lies, was proving to be far more difficult than you could have ever imagined. The constant need to be vigilant, to censor yourself, to invent plausible excuses to protect his feelings, was utterly exhausting.

You collapsed onto your bed, a wave of frustration washing over you. You were slightly annoyed, even angry, that your relaxing spa day had been effectively ruined, all because Kendall couldn’t see the evidence of your passionate encounter with Lukas. You had been looking forward to the sauna, the jacuzzi, the mud mask—the full pampering experience—but now it was out of the question. The thought was infuriating. You tossed and turned on the bed, feeling trapped by your own deception.

—------------------------------------------------------------

As Kendall spent the rest of the morning at the spa, his confusion only deepened. Your behavior was a perplexing puzzle, a series of mixed signals that left him reeling. One moment you were practically begging for him on his private jet, and the next you were practically recoiling from his touch. He wrestled with the contradictory signals, trying to make sense of them. He settled on a comforting, albeit self-serving, interpretation: you were fighting your feelings for him. You were clearly still attracted to him, but perhaps you were scared, hesitant to jump back into a relationship after the breakup. He concluded that you simply needed some gentle persuasion, to make you realize the connection you both once had. With this conviction fueling him, he decided to take matters into his own hands and organized a day out for the two of you, starting with lunch.

When he called and woke you from your nap, you hurriedly got dressed, throwing on a casual sweater and jeans. You instinctively reached for Lukas’s scarf, wrapping it around your neck for warmth—and for concealment. You met Kendall in the hotel reception area.

“Hey,” he greeted you with a warm smile. “The car’s waiting outside. Let’s go.” He gestured towards the entrance, ushering you forward. You both walked outside, where the doorman held the back door of a large SUV open. Kendall stepped aside, allowing you to enter first, a true gentleman, placing a light hand on your back as you climbed into the vehicle. He then slid in beside you.

“Feeling well-rested now?” he asked, turning to you with a warm smile.

“A bit,” you nodded, offering a small smile in return. “This is the one thing I hate about traveling. I’m always so jet-lagged, I end up spending half the day sleeping instead of exploring.”

“I always tell you, you need to sleep at night. But noooo, you never listen. Taking naps never helps,” he said matter-of-factly, a playful scolding in his tone.

“I do not,” you retorted, crossing your arms defensively.

“Oh really? Remember Greece?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in a knowing way.

You instantly remembered the trip he’d planned to Greece. You’d only been together for a few months at that point, and he’d surprised you with a birthday trip to Santorini. You’d been so jet-lagged that you’d spent the entire first day sleeping, only waking up at night just as he was starting his business calls to New York. It had been a nice trip, but it was also the first time you’d truly grasped the extent of his work commitments. He’d spent every night glued to his laptop until 5 a.m., then slept for a mere five hours before waking up at 10 a.m., just as you were starting to yawn and prepare for sleep. By the end of the trip, you’d finally adjusted to the Greek time zone and started waking up at the same time as him. The last few days had been amazing— spent in the crystal-clear ocean, taking a yacht out to sea, swimming, eating incredible food, and making love in the pool. It was a stark reminder of better times, a time when he used to put in real effort for your relationship.

“Oh yes, I remember you being glued to your laptop all night,” you retorted, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice.

“Sleep is for the weak,” he pointed out, a familiar mantra of his.

“I don’t know how you function like that,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s not healthy.”

“Okay, but this trip there’s no laptop,” he insisted, a reassuring smile on his face. “And I’m gonna make sure you’re not jet-lagged.”

“No promises,” you replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Lunch was surprisingly pleasant. Kendall had chosen a small, unassuming restaurant in the old town, tucked away on a quiet side street. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, but the interior was a completely different story. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, with textured, upholstered chairs clustered around sturdy wooden tables. Richly patterned Persian rugs adorned the hardwood floors, and the walls were decorated with framed photographs from all over Sweden, showcasing the country’s diverse landscapes and culture. The overall effect was cozy and comforting, evoking the same warm feeling you got when visiting your grandmother’s house. A crackling fireplace added to the ambiance, a waiter periodically adding fresh logs to keep the flames burning brightly.

You ordered Köttbullar, a traditional Swedish meatball dish served in a rich, creamy sauce. The meatballs were tender and flavorful, a far cry from the mass-produced versions you’d tried at IKEA. After finishing your lunch, you naturally assumed you’d be heading back to the hotel, but Kendall clearly had other plans.

“Where are we going?” you asked as the car pulled away from the restaurant and headed to a new destination.

“Okay fine,” he replied in a sing-song voice, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Next stop is the Royal Palace.” He had clearly planned a full day of activities, carefully curating experiences he knew you would enjoy. He remembered your fascination with museums, especially palaces. You loved exploring the intricate architecture and gaining a glimpse into the lives of royal families from different countries and eras.

Kendall became a whirlwind of enthusiastic photography at the Royal Palace, snapping countless photos of you as you explored the opulent surroundings. He captured you tracing the ornate, gold-plated frames of portraits that hung on the walls, your fingers delicately following the intricate designs. He photographed you gazing intently at the detailed patterns of the wallpaper, your head tilted slightly as you absorbed the artistry. He even took pictures of you reading the informational plaques beside each exhibit, your brow furrowed in concentration as you absorbed the historical details. He loved it all. He loved your insatiable curiosity, your eagerness to learn, your deep appreciation for museums and historical artifacts. He loved the way your face lit up when you discovered something new or interesting.

Kendall’s camera roll was practically a shrine dedicated to you. It was a digital graveyard of your captured moments, the only subject he ever photographed. It had been this way since the very beginning of your relationship. Photos of you sleeping peacefully, your hair tousled on the pillow. Photos of you in the kitchen, cooking dinner for him, a splash of sauce adorning the front of your shirt. Photos of you relaxing in a bubble bath after a long day, your eyes closed in contentment. So many memories, so many captured moments of your life together. He had them all, carefully preserved in his phone. He looked at them every night before he fell asleep, a bittersweet ritual. Because if he couldn’t physically hold you in his arms at night, looking at those photos was the closest he could get. It was a small comfort, a way to keep you close even in your absence. But it also amplified the ache in his heart, the gnawing realization that he would likely never find someone as perfect, as captivating, as you in this lifetime.

Kendall then announced that the next stop was a boat ride. He’d booked a private boat tour for the two of you, wanting to show you the city from a different perspective. However, as soon as you stepped onto the boat, you realized the wind was fierce, whipping your hair around your face in wild tangles. You quickly tightened the knot of Lukas’s scarf around your neck, securing it to prevent it from being carried away by the strong gusts.

“It’s so cold,” you shivered, your teeth beginning to chatter. In your haste to get ready, you hadn’t thought to grab a hat or gloves. Now, your fingers felt numb, practically like icicles. Your thin winter coat, which had seemed adequate earlier, was clearly no match for the biting wind on the open water.

Kendall took your hands in his, his brow furrowing as he felt their icy temperature. “Jesus. You’re freezing,” he said, a genuine note of concern lacing his tone. He immediately spoke to the boat operator, requesting a quick stop. He hopped off the boat and returned a few minutes later, carrying a pair of sleek black cashmere gloves and a matching beanie.

“Thank you,” you said, slipping the gloves onto your gratefully thawing hands. A strange, unfamiliar feeling stirred in your chest. The day had been surprisingly enjoyable. Kendall had taken the initiative to plan a series of activities centered around things he knew you loved. It was a thoughtful gesture, a reminder of the times when he used to put in this kind of effort. It created a confusing mix of emotions within you, a tug-of-war between the past and the present.

You couldn’t deny it. After spending two years together and then living together, he knew you intimately. He knew your favorite dessert—Crumbl cookies, warmed for precisely 15 seconds in the microwave. He knew how you liked your eggs in the morning—scrambled, with a dash of hot sauce, but only the green Tabasco. He knew what snacks you craved during your period—dark chocolate, salty chips, and specifically, the dill pickle flavored ones. He even knew which brand of pads to stock the bathroom with, the ultra-thin ones with wings, because the others “felt like diapers,” as you’d once dramatically declared. He knew you preferred baths to showers, but only if you had a bath bomb and a good book. He knew you always stole the blankets in the middle of the night, leaving him shivering. He knew you hated the sound of chewing, especially with an open mouth, a detail he subtly demonstrated by always closing his mouth when he ate around you. He knew you were a terrible morning person, needing at least two cups of coffee before you could hold a coherent conversation, a fact he acknowledged by never speaking to you before you’d had your first sip. He knew you always left a trail of bobby pins wherever you went, a habit he’d playfully teased you about. He knew you were a sucker for rom-coms, even the cheesy ones, and that you always cried during the happy endings. He knew everything about you. And it was almost scary, the thought of opening yourself up to someone else, of them learning all your quirks and vulnerabilities. It seemed so much easier, so much less daunting, to simply go back to Kendall, someone who already knew you inside and out. The comfort of familiarity was a powerful pull.

But you couldn’t forget everything else that came with him, the parts of your relationship that had ultimately led to its demise. The countless hours he spent locked away in his study, the monthly business trips that took him away for days at a time, the consistent carelessness when it came to prioritizing your time together. Yes, the day you’d just spent with him had been undeniably nice, a pleasant reminder of the good times. But a bitter thought lingered: if only he had done things like this when you were together, when you begged him to put in more effort. The memory of your pleas falling on deaf ears was a sharp pang in your heart. You knew, deep down, that you couldn’t go back to him. In your heart, the accumulation of the bad times far outweighed the fleeting moments of good. You were convinced that if you were to take him back, he would likely only put on a show for a month, maybe two at most, before inevitably reverting to his old habits of neglect. The thought made you resolute. You wouldn't settle for crumbs of attention anymore.

Upon returning to your hotel room, you discovered a string of text messages from Lukas. You quickly realized he’d cleverly texted himself from your phone while adding his contact information.

You: can't wait for tonight

Lukas: Of course beautiful

I will pick you up at 8, sharp

Wear something sexy

You: I haven't even agreed to dinner yet

Lukas: I’ll see you tonight

You: No promises

Lukas: I can be very convincing

You: I’m yet to be convinced

Lukas: Maybe I'll reward you tonight ;)

You: Enticing

Lukas: You will be missing out on a night of fun

And my mouth

And my tongue

And my fingers

You: I’ll see you tonight

Lukas: Well, that didn't take much convincing

You: Do you want me to change my mind?

Lukas: of course not

Apologies

I cant wait to fuck you tonight

Stupid autocorrect

I can't wait to see you tonight ;)*

#lukas mattson x you #lukas mattson x reader #lukas mattson imagine #lukas mattson smut #kendall roy fanfiction #kendall roy succession #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy smut #Kendall Roy x you #Kendall Roy priorities #succession writing #succession fanfic #lukas mattson fanfiction

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

Text

Priorities (Kendall Roy x reader / Lukas Mattson x reader) Masterlist

Summary : Your boyfriend is a busy man, work has and will always be his number one priority. You just wished he could balance his time between you and everything else.

Can you get him to change his ways, and love you like you need him to? Or will you have to make the painful decision of walking away? Deep down, you know you deserve better than empty promises and lingering touches. You don't know how much more you can take until you reach your breaking point.

TW: BDSM / consensual spanking / consensual punishment / angry sex / rough sex / dom & sub dynamics / biting / paddle / blindfold / belt / pain and pleasure / Dom Kendall Roy / Dom Lukas Mattson / flogging / collar / consensual sex / jealousy/ possessiveness/ restraints / pain kink / BDSM/ masochist / orgasm denial / edging/ overstimulation/ multiple orgasms / pussy spanking

A/N: this was originally supposed to be a one shot but after so many people asked for a part 2, I couldn't resist!! Here it is!!!! more to come soon!!

AO3 link!

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

(coming soon)

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

Text

Priorities: part 4 (Lukas Mattson x reader)

Summary: you run into a familiar Swede in the hotel bar and quickly get charmed by him.

TW: too many!! / biting / spanking / punishment / paddle / vaginal fingering / dom & sub dynamic / dom Lukas Mattson / sex up against the wall / rough sex / blindfolds / restraints / aftercare

A/N: a very spicy update!! Enjoy & read at your own risk ?? Also guys this story is not following the exactly plot line or time line of succession. In this fic let’s just say that Gojo tried to buy Waystar, but in the end the deal didn’t go through. And as for Logan Roy he’s just chilling too, maybe he’s dead or maybe he’ll make a surprise appearance. I havn't decided yet!

👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄

The time in Stockholm was nearing 10 pm, but thanks to your five-hour nap on the plane, you were wide awake. You showered and got dressed, deciding to grab a quiet drink in the hotel bar. You’d packed a variety of dresses, all designed to be alluring. Let the sexcapade begin , you thought. For your first outing, you chose one of the less flashy options: a fitted, knitted black dress paired with black tights and red bottom heels.

You made your way to the bar and took a seat on one of the high stools. Ordering a martini, you idly played with the olive while scanning the room. The bar was bustling; people were mingling, chatting, and a few hushed business meetings were taking place in quieter corners. But then, a pair of striking ocean-blue eyes caught your attention. They were already fixed on you. You quickly looked away, not quite getting a clear view of the face, but you could tell he was seated across from two other men, deep in conversation. Even though you’d broken eye contact, you could still feel his gaze burning into the back of your head.

“Is this seat taken?” a voice with a thick Swedish accent asked.

Without looking up from your drink, but with a strong hunch about who it was, you replied, “Not yet.”

He sat down beside you. “I don’t see your boyfriend here tonight?” The question made you snap your head in his direction, and you gasped softly as you recognized him. “See? I knew I recognized you. The gentlemen over there both owe me 10,000 krona,” he smirked, gesturing with a subtle nod towards the table he’d just left.

“Lukas Mattson,” you said aloud, not out of fandom, but out of sheer surprise. What were the odds of running into him again ?

“Yes, me,” he said, a hint of gloating in his voice. “So, are you just here to make your boyfriend jealous again? Because I don’t mind helping out.” His eyes held a playful challenge, and his lips curved into a confident, almost arrogant smile.

You barked out a laugh; he was so full of himself. You vividly remembered your last encounter with him. “Yeah, no. That won’t be necessary this time. We broke up,” you informed him, watching as the smirk on his face widen. “But if you really want to help me,” you continued, a playful glint in your eyes, “you could find me a fine gentleman for the evening to keep me company.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me just go get him,” he said, hopping down from his barstool. He did a dramatic spin, then turned back to face you, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Hej! Lukas Mattson,” he announced, extending his hand for you to shake, then, with a flourish, he bent down and kissed the back of it.

“Hmm, charming,” you said dryly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Another drink perhaps?” he offered, already signaling to the bartender.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll have another martini,” you replied. Lukas relayed your order to the bartender and ordered a beer for himself.

“So, please help me understand,” Lukas began, leaning slightly closer, “what an uncut gem like you is doing in Stockholm of all places?”

“Where do you suggest I go then?” you countered, running your finger around the rim of your glass.

“Don’t mistake me, Stockholm is nice. I come here for meetings. But it is a city for tourists,” he explained. “If I could make a suggestion, I would say you visit up north. That is where the true beauty of the Swedish countryside lies—in the mountains, under the Northern Lights.”

You found yourself drawn to Lukas. There was something captivating about the way he spoke, the slight accent that colored certain words, the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light of the bar. You knew Kendall had some history with him, but that wasn’t your concern anymore. Kendall wasn’t your boyfriend; it simply didn’t matter.

“Well, I’ll take that into consideration,” you said with a nod.

“I promise you will enjoy the north far more than the city,” he insisted. “I have a home in Abisko, I invite you to come with me. I insist.”

“I don’t know about that. I have a lot planned for Stockholm,” He raised his eyebrows, silently waiting for you to elaborate. “I have a spa day booked for me,” you said, referring to the itinerary Roman had created— an itinerary that you were now increasingly certain was intricately intertwined with Kendall’s plans. The more you considered it, the more appealing a trip up north sounded.

Lukas doubled over with laughter. “That’s it? Oh, älskling, please don’t tell me you came all the way here just for a spa day? You can get a massage in America, yes?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held a genuine amusement.

“I know that!” you hissed defensively. “I just wanted a relaxing vacation, sue me! God, why does everyone pick apart my every move?”

“Who is picking on you?” Lukas asked, genuine concern etching lines on his forehead.

“No, nobody’s picking on me,” you giggled, realizing he’d taken your outburst a bit too literally.

“I don’t understand,” he said, his brow still furrowed.

“People in my life always pick apart my decisions, my actions, what I feel, what I say,” you explained, elaborating to help him understand. “They judge me.”

“Ahh, okay I see. So what?” he shrugged, a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Who cares what people think? Let them think what they want to. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

“Why are you talking like that?” you asked, a note of curiosity in your voice. You didn’t remember his accent being this pronounced when you’d met him at Stewy’s birthday party. You’d been quite drunk that night, but you were sure you would have noticed such a distinct accent.

“Like what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“You sound so Swedish. Last time we spoke, you had a full American accent.”

“It comes and goes, depending on where I am,” he explained with a shrug. “You should hear me when I visit London. I sound like a proper Brit.” You laughed at the mental image of him adopting a British accent.

“So, how long are you in town for business?” you asked, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

“Eager to get rid of me?” he feigned offense, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” you shrugged nonchalantly, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“I’m leaving in two days. I have another meeting tomorrow over lunch. But I can be free for dinner?” He winked, a confident glint in his blue eyes.

“I’ll see if I can fit you into my busy schedule,” you teased.

“My offer expires at midnight,” he countered, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Well,” you replied, leaning slightly closer, “we’ll see how much you can charm me in two hours.”

Lukas surprised you by gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there for a moment, his other hand rested on your knee, the light touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“I could have charmed you off your feet the first time we met,” his voice dropped to a lower register, “if your buffoon of a boyfriend wasn’t there.”

“He’s not here right now,” you whispered, impulsively inching closer to him. The air between you crackled with a sudden intensity.

“Lucky me,” Lukas murmured, his face now much closer to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. “Can’t say the same for him.”

“I think you have a crush on him,” you said, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. “You seem to enjoy talking about him more than me.”

When would people stop associating you with your ex, treating you like a mere extension of his past? You just wanted to be seen as your own person.

“Sorry,” Lukas said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just having a hard time understanding how he let someone as captivating as you go.”

“Well, it’s simple really,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “He stopped appreciating what he had.”

“I appreciate you, I mean, I would appreciate the fuck out of you.” Lukas said, his eyes slowly tracing a path from your head to your toes. The outwardly blunt attention was something you weren’t used to; it made you feel seen, like you were worth something.

“How do you appreciate me?” you asked, wanting more than just a fleeting compliment, craving the specifics, the details. You wanted words of affirmation, a clear articulation of what he found attractive.

“I appreciate your eyes,” Lukas began, his voice softening slightly. “They seem so full of life, wisdom, and… pain.” He paused, his gaze lingering on your face. “I appreciate your skin, how it still holds remnants of the summer sun. I appreciate your ears and the single eloquent diamonds you are wearing.” He ran his finger over your earring. His eyes then traveled down your body, stopping at your legs encased in sheer tights. “I appreciate your…” He stopped himself, once again raking his eyes over your legs, a hint of playful mischief in his expression. “That’s all I can say for now. The rest I can appreciate when I see it.”

Lukas was genuinely intrigued. From the moment he’d first met you, you’d stood out from the women he usually encountered— the ones he either slept with casually or, in some cases, paid for companionship. There was rarely any conversation with them, just a swift move to the bedroom, a purely physical encounter. But he enjoyed talking to you. He liked the challenge, the back-and-forth, the spark of intelligence in your eyes. After catching your gaze tonight, he’d immediately excused himself from his business meeting, postponing it until lunch the following day. He had originally planned to return to Abisko, where he usually spent this time of year, but seeing you had instantly changed his plans. Especially now that he knew you were single, he definitely wasn’t going to let this chance slip away.

“When you see it?” you repeated, biting your lip. Lukas was so direct, so unapologetically forward, and you found it strangely refreshing. “You seem pretty confident.”

“Confident, always,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “Hopeful… only with you.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, taking a calculated sip of your drink, draining the last of it to give yourself a little liquid courage. “And what do you hope for?” you asked, meeting his gaze directly.

Lukas’s hand slid up your thigh, slowly, deliberately, disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. “To undress you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, “to kiss every crevice of your body, from top to bottom. To admire it, to… mark my work.” His eyes, previously playful, were now intensely focused, fixated on your neck as he imagined sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. The subtle scent of your rose and almond body wash drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You inhaled sharply, momentarily speechless. Lust, raw and undeniable, washed over you, momentarily silencing any witty retort you might have conjured. The boldness of his words, the possessive tone, sent a thrill through you.

Instead of a verbal response, you held out your hand for him to take. A silent invitation. A surrender to the moment. He readily enclosed your hand in his, his touch warm and firm, and led the way. The elevator ride was silent, the only sound was the faint hum of the machinery and the steady thump of your heart against your ribs.

He unlocked his hotel room and ushered you inside. His suite, located on the floor above yours, was strikingly different. It was much larger, boasting a separate sitting room and a fully stocked bar station. The sitting room walls were a dark charcoal color, creating an almost cavernous atmosphere. A massive red velvet sofa dominated the space, adding a splash of vibrant color against the dark backdrop. The overall effect was eerie and dark, with a distinctly gothic touch. A vase of wilting red roses sat on the coffee table, multiple candles were lit on the walls.

“Nice place,” you commented, running your fingers over the smooth fabric of the sofa. As you turned, you found him standing directly behind you, towering over you. His height and imposing presence was undeniably dominant as he peered down at you.

“It’s my personal suite. I had them tweak the design,” he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. Of course he had .

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. The rich, intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloped you, pulling you under his spell. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. He trailed his fingers along your jawline, his touch light yet firm, studying your face intently. He felt your breath quicken as his fingers traced the curve of your bottom lip, gently tugging it down slightly. “Such a pretty mouth,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on your lips.

“Uh-huh,” you managed to squeak out, your voice barely a whisper. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his. You were utterly hypnotized by his touch, his eyes, the sheer intensity of his body melting into yours. His other hand trailed down your back, then curved around to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your dress, eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

Lukas was carefully gauging your reactions, testing the waters, trying to decipher what elicited a response, what you liked, what you didn’t. He had a strong suspicion that you were open to what he had planned; otherwise, he figured, you would have bolted the moment you stepped into his gothic sitting room. He couldn’t wait for you to see his bedroom, a space he’d meticulously designed to cater to his specific BDSM activities.

“You seem nervous,” he commented, his eyes watching your pupils dilate as your gaze drifted from his eyes to his lips. His fingers continued their delicate play with your bottom lip, while his other hand maintained its firm grip on your ass, the roughness of his touch making you instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

“I’m not,” you retorted, attempting to shake off the last vestiges of nervousness. In a sudden surge of confidence, you licked his finger with the tip of your tongue, then took it fully into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight seal, and slowly drew his finger down the back of your throat.

A low groan rumbled in Lukas’s chest. You were willingly submitting, offering yourself without any prompting or command. The display was both unexpected and incredibly arousing. He added a second finger to your mouth, pressing them further back, testing your limits. You didn’t gag or choke; instead, you accommodated him, your eyes locking with his.

“You’re not as vanilla as I thought you would be,” he breathed, his voice a low, shaky exhale. He could feel the vibrations of your hum against his fingers, the intimate pressure of your mouth a potent cocktail of sensations.

He pushed you back with surprising force, your back colliding with the cool sofa cushions. The suddenness of the movement took your breath away. He climbed on top of you, his movements almost predatory in their swiftness and purpose. His knee lodged itself between your legs, forcing them open in a blatant display of dominance.

“Lukas,” you exhaled a shaky breath, a mixture of excitement and apprehension fluttering in your chest. You felt his cold hands slip beneath your dress, tracing a path up your body, sending shivers of anticipation rippling through you. You loved this feeling, this complete surrender of control. For once, you weren’t the one initiating anything. He was in charge, dictating the pace and intensity, and all you had to do was lie there and look pretty.

“What do you want, älskling?” He gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from your forehead, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your skin. His hands, still beneath your dress, moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm up and down your waist, creating friction and building heat. “Tell me.”

“Tell me you like what you see,” you whispered back, you were in desperate need of his approval. You lifted your arms above your head in a silent offering, and he complied, his gaze never leaving yours as he gently tugged your dress off, leaving you clad only in your lacy red bra and tights. The sheer fabric of your bra was embroidered with intricate floral details, the material thin enough that Lukas could clearly see your nipples, two swollen peaks pressing against the delicate lace.

He licked his lips, a raw hunger igniting within him. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He began kissing his way down your neck, his lips pressing soft, insistent kisses against your skin. He then tugged your bra straps down, exposing your shoulders and collarbones, which he proceeded to suck and nibble on, sending shivers of pleasure through you. Your hands instinctively went to his hair, clutching and tugging at the blonde strands as you fought to contain the moans that threatened to erupt from your chest. His knee remained firmly lodged between your legs, creating a delicious, agonizing friction with every slight movement you made. Each squirm of your body only intensified the heat building inside you, a fire spreading through your core.

“No touching,” Lukas commanded, his voice firm and authoritative. “Hands by your head.” You complied instantly, submitting to him. He reached behind you and skillfully unclasped your bra, tossing it away. He then sat back on his knees, his gaze sweeping over your exposed breasts with undisguised admiration. He held his hands just above them for a moment, as if savoring the view, before finally placing his palms firmly over them.

“You were hiding these delicious treats from me,” he praised, his voice laced with playful accusation. He began kneading your breasts gently, as if they were fine dough.

“So pretty, could eat you,” he grunted, before leaning back down and pressing kisses along your torso. He then took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, his lips and tongue engulfing it completely. The sounds of his slurping and the wetness of his tongue against your sensitive skin sent a wave of intense pleasure through you. You couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips when he gently bit down on your nipple, the sensation so sharp and exquisite that it made you arch your back against the leather of the sofa.

In the heat of the moment, your hand instinctively reached out and gripped his shoulders. You needed him closer, pressed against you, every part of him touching every part of you. The sensations he was eliciting were overwhelming— both too much and not nearly enough.

“What did I say about your hands?” he reminded you, his voice a low growl against your skin. He punctuated his words with a sharp nip on your nipple, rolling it between his teeth.

You whimpered, the bite, though slightly painful, only serving to heighten your arousal. You instinctively squeezed your thighs around his knee, a silent plea for more.

In one swift, fluid motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach, straddling your knees. He began kneading and squeezing the ample flesh of your ass through the fabric of your tights, his touch both firm and tantalizing. “You can’t obey a simple instruction,” he scolded, though his voice was laced with a hint of amusement. He then ran his hand down between your legs, teasingly rubbing against your folds, applying just enough pressure to make you ache, but not enough to bring you release. “I can’t have that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, making a deliberate show of wiggling your hips, trying to entice him further. The truth was, you were thoroughly enjoying this. Perhaps a part of you had even intentionally disobeyed his command, craving the edge of pain that accompanied his dominance. You were a masochist at heart, and he had clearly picked up on it.

“I think you need a good spanking,” Lukas lips were pressed at your ear as he leaned over your back. “You need to learn how to follow orders.” His hand smacked down on your right ass cheek, making your entire body jolt.

“No please, don’t punish me,” you purred, playing along, arching your back and lifting your hips slightly, offering yourself to him.

“Not here,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, he soothed his hand over the bright red hand print he made. He climbed off the sofa and then reached down to help you to your feet.

He led you through a connecting door, and when you stepped into his bedroom, the sight that greeted you was breathtaking, if a little intimidating. The entire room was swathed in red— from the plush carpet to the textured ceiling. A grand bed frame upholstered in red velvet dominated the space, covered in matching red silk sheets that shimmered under the dim lighting. Heavy, deep red curtains draped over the windows, adding to the room’s opulent, almost theatrical feel. Even the walls were painted a rich, crimson red.

But it was the various contraptions and implements scattered around the room that truly caught your attention. You saw a bench with a padded surface and leather restraints, an X-shaped cross mounted on the wall, also equipped with restraints. The walls were lined with shelves and hooks displaying a vast array of implements: whips of varying lengths and thicknesses, crops, paddles, more restraints of different kinds, and a collection of sex toys, some of which you’d never seen or even heard of before. His bedroom wasn’t just a bedroom; it was a carefully curated sex dungeon, albeit one with a distinctly luxurious, even artistic, twist.

You had never experienced anything like this before. Your previous sexual encounters, particularly with Kendall, had been relatively tame. The most he’d ever done in terms of “punishment” was a playful spank with his hand or, on rare occasions, with his belt. You’d never fully explored your attraction to pain, your deeper, darker fantasies. You hadn’t known how to broach the subject with Kendall, how to ask him to indulge your desires without feeling embarrassed or ashamed. You’d always held back, keeping that part of yourself hidden.

“Scared?” Lukas asked, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His hands moved soothingly over your stomach and hips, as if trying to reassure you. “We can stop, if you want?”

“No,” you answered, the word coming out quickly, surprising even yourself. It also seemed to surprise Lukas. Not many women made it this far into his bedroom without needing some form of encouragement or convincing. Your immediate, unwavering response seemed to ignite a spark of excitement in his eyes.

“Good,” he said, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Because you’re still getting that punishment.”

He then knelt down and tugged your tights off, helping you step out of them. You kicked off your heels, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance as you removed the last of your clothing, left only in your red lacy panties. Now you felt more exposed before him, a wave of self-consciousness washed over you. You shifted awkwardly on your feet, suddenly aware of your nakedness under his intense gaze. Lukas stood and slowly circled you, his eyes moving over your body, taking in every curve and contour. He seemed to drink you in, the bulge in his trousers grew.

A low whistle escaped his lips, followed by a light, playful smack on your ass that made you jump slightly, “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Seeing your hesitant smile, Lukas sat down on the edge of the bed, “Come, let's get you comfortable,” he patted his thigh ushering you to sit down, you back pressed against his chest, you legs hooked over his thighs, he had you spread open wider than ever.

You watched his hands cruise easily across your body, knowing just where to linger, where to touch. The sight of his pale skin against yours was beautiful. You felt his lips against the side of your neck, his hands traced the curve of your waist and the soft skin of your thighs. You let out a soft whine, dropping your head back against his shoulder, giving him free reign of your body, opening yourself up to him. You gave him full control here, surrendering yourself up for his use.

"Are you having fun" He whispers against your ear.

His touch became more possessive, more demanding, and you were more than happy to give it to him. Rough, weathered hands smoothed along your thighs and over your hips before his fingertips circle your nipples. Your breath caught in your throat and he could feel your heart racing under his palm. His lips curled into a playful smile against your ear.

"Just relax..." he murmured, as you shifted in his lap, unable to stop the small noises he was drawing from you with his teasing touches and hungry kisses. He bit and sucked a bruise into the tender flesh of your neck while his fingers continued to circle and pinch your nipples, bringing them back to stiff peaks. You could feel the press of his clothed erection against you now, unyielding and hard.

Then, his hands trailed down your stomach, over your mound. He moved your panties to the side, taking his time to brush his digits over your folds. You squirmed on his lap, eager for him to move further. That didn’t stop him from teasing you, prolonging your wait. Until finally he slipped his middle finger between your lips, gliding slowly along the slickness, not quite pushing inside yet.

"Lukas..." His name was a mere breath from your lips and he groaned, the sound making his cock twitch.

“I haven't even touched you and you’re already whining and begging. Be a good girl and be patient." He moved his fingers, tracing them around your cunt, avoiding contact with your throbbing clit. But the devious smirk on his face wanted to torment you. "Only good girls get my fingers. Can you be good for me?”

“I’ll be good,” you whined, nodding slowly, giving him your approval.

He dragged his fingertips along your seam, coating them in slick, before slowly pushing them inside. "Look at that..." He murmured, lips parted slightly. "So ready for me…”

"Lukas..." You whined out and he tucked his face against your neck, his fingers slowly moving in and out of you.

"Yeah, feel good?" His teeth nipped at your earlobe, teasing the soft flesh with his tongue.

You Reached down to grip his arm that was wrapped around your waist, watching as his fingers thrust slowly, into you spreading you apart.

“No touching,” he warned you again, and you let go of him instantly, dropping your hands by your side. It was pure agony not being able to touch him.

He curled his fingers slightly, dragging his fingertips along that one spot, his thumb working on your clit. His movements were slow; deliberate and controlled but completely mesmerising to watch, and all the more arousing.

He picked up the pace, your juices splashing out and down onto his trousers. You were almost there, so close.

But just as you were on the verge of climaxing, he abruptly pulled his fingers away. You craned your neck to glare at him, a frustrated groan escaping your lips. “You will come when I tell you to,” he said, his voice firm and commanding, punctuating his words with a final, teasing bite on your neck.

“You’re such a tease,” you groaned, your breath still coming in ragged gasps as the tension that had been building inside you now had nowhere to go.

“That’s ten extra spanks,” he retorted, a hint of amusement in his voice. “So please, continue complaining. Be my guest.” He quickly silenced any further protests. “Now,” he commanded, his tone shifting back to one of authority, “get me something I can truly make you sorry with.”

You hated that he made you choose, that he placed the power of your punishment in your hands. But a thrill also shot through you. You loved this dynamic, this delicate balance of control and submission. You ran your fingers lightly over the various instruments displayed on the shelves, each one a mystery, their names unknown to you.

“Have you ever used these before?” you asked him, your voice laced with curiosity as you imagined all the other women who had been in this room with him.

“I have,” he replied, his voice a low murmur as he positioned himself directly behind you. “Have you?”

“No,” you mumbled meekly, suddenly feeling a little shy and inexperienced.

“Have you ever been spanked before?” he asked, his hands sliding down your arms. You were acutely aware of his touch, every point of contact sending a jolt of anticipation through you. You burned for him.

“Yes, but just with a hand,” you replied.

Your eyes scanned the array of instruments again, and you settled on one that you thought would inflict the least amount of pain: a long, slender stick with a small, flat surface at the end. You reasoned that the smaller the surface area, the less it would hurt.

“This one,” you said, pointing to it.

He raised his eyebrows, “Darling, that’s a riding crop,” he corrected you gently. “It’s one of the most painful.”

“But it’s so small?” you wondered aloud, your logic clearly flawed.

“The smaller the surface area, the more concentrated the force of the blow,” he explained patiently. He then reached up and selected a different instrument: a rectangular paddle, similar in shape to a table tennis racket but significantly thicker and heavier. “This is a paddle,” he said, holding it out for you to see. “I would suggest something with a wider surface area for your first time. It won’t hurt as much.”

Lukas didn’t want to inflict more pain than you could handle, though he had yet to discover the full extent of your tolerance. He wanted to ease you into this experience, to guide you through it. You agreed to the paddle, and he gently guided you over to the padded bench-like structure.

“Lie down,” he ordered. You cast a mistrustful glance at the padded bench, its purpose now chillingly clear. Sensing your hesitation, Lukas placed a firm hand on your back, gently but firmly bending you forward until you were lying face down on your stomach. Your legs dangled off the sides of the bench, and your arms hung loosely. He then secured your wrists and ankles in the restraints, effectively immobilizing you. He reached for a red silk blindfold from one of the shelves and wrapped it around your eyes, plunging you into complete darkness.

“What’s your safe word?” he asked, his voice now softer, almost intimate. He ran a soothing hand over your bare backside, causing you to jolt slightly. The sudden absence of sight intensified your other senses. In the darkness of the blindfold, your skin felt incredibly sensitive, as if every nerve ending was exposed. His touch felt like gasoline being poured over an open flame, igniting a fire within you.

“Uhm… Doritos,” you blurted out, the first word that popped into your head.

“Okay,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “If you feel like it’s too much, or you can’t take any more, use your safe word.” He then brushed the cold, padded surface of the paddle against your bare ass cheeks, a deliberate tease

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared— terrified, even. The blindfold made you feel incredibly vulnerable, your legs spread wide, your backside raised and exposed, ready for the impact. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not yet, at least. The brunt of your punishment was still to come.

“Are you ready?” he asked from behind you, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart pounded in your throat. You nodded, unable to speak. He raised the paddle and placed it gently on the curve of your ass, giving it a light tap. “Use your words,” he prompted.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady and firm.

“You disobeyed a direct order, twice. I don’t tolerate whining and complaining either,” he said, his tone hardening. He pulled the paddle back and brought it down with a sharp flick of his wrist, the impact making you hiss. “I think twenty-five is a good number, yes?”

“Yes,” you managed to say through clenched teeth.

“Yes, you will be very sorry,” he mused. He pulled the paddle back again and delivered two more swift, sharp swats in quick succession.

He started with a few light strokes, increasing the force only when he saw that they weren’t making you flinch or pull away. He hit harder, then really hard, until you could no longer bear the impact without involuntarily bucking against the bench, flinching with each new red mark he painted across your skin.

He set a pace he knew you could follow, or at least endure. He raised the paddle, paused— a heartbeat for him, an eternity for you— then brought it down again. He watched your cheeks clench and your hips thrust forward with each strike, then waited for you to relax and push back, offering yourself for the next blow. Even as it became increasingly difficult, you continued to push back, to present yourself to him.

“Six more,” he said in a low voice, once you reached the point where it took you a few moments to regain control and prepare for the next strike. He didn’t need to tell you these would be the hardest yet.

You needed to hear that. You’d lost count after the first eight blows, your focus narrowed to the searing pain. You ground your teeth, desperately trying to stifle any sounds of weakness. You were growing tired, your skin burning, but his words spurred you on. You managed to lift your head, arch your back, and grip the bench tightly with your thighs.

“One,” he said, tapping the paddle lightly against the lower curve of your ass before raising it high and bringing it down with a force that made you cry out. But you didn’t move. Your teeth clamped down on your lower lip, your hands trembled, and your toes curled, but you remained still.

You endured the second stroke, and the third as well. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t suppress the involuntary jerk of your body when he delivered the fourth. You pushed yourself back almost instantly, but you knew the damage was done as soon as you heard him take a deep breath and release it with a sigh.

“I’m afraid that didn’t count,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

You hung your head in defeat, then lifted it again with a sniffle. Three more. You only needed to take three more. You could do that. It helped that he aimed a little higher this time, delivering a sting that was more sharp than deeply painful. But his mercy ended there.

Even though it wasn’t the most painful, the fifth stroke brought tears to your eyes, and by the sixth, you were on the verge of weeping.

“There,” he said, his voice softening. He stepped closer and began rubbing your back gently, and when that wasn’t enough to soothe you, he undid your restraints and slipped your blindfold off, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you against his chest.

Lukas has expected resistance from you, perhaps even a safe word invoked early on. He’d prepared himself for the usual performance, the feigned bravado that often crumbled under the first few real strikes. But you were different. He was pleasantly surprised, even impressed. You were perfect. The deep red welts blooming across your backside were precisely the shades he’d envisioned— a tapestry of dark pinks and reds against your pale skin. He’d watched as your cheeks flushed an enticing beet red, a clear indication of your arousal, a sign that the pain was intertwined with pleasure.

He’d heard your cries during the final blows, but you hadn’t moved, hadn’t uttered the safe word. You’d endured the punishment with a quiet strength that both intrigued and excited him. He’d known from the moment he’d met you that you were different, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of resilience, this willingness to embrace the edge of pain. You were a fascinating contradiction— delicate yet strong, submissive yet fiercely independent. You were, in a word, perfect.

He kneeled down by your side, leaning in, as if to kiss you. “Please,” you exhaled deeply, desperation evident in your shaky voice. You weren’t exactly sure what you were asking for, but you just needed him.

“Not yet,” he murmured, caressing your side. He then tilted your head back, looking you directly in the eyes, before his hand traveled further down, settling on your backside.

He started gently, it helped ease the pain, and it felt even better now as he kissed your hair, wrapping his free arm around your chest and holding you close. You relaxed into his touch, finally able to enjoy his soothing rubs and caresses.

“Are you sorry?” he asked in a low voice. You tightened your grip on his arm as he touched a particularly sore spot.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“And can you say that without a smile?” he teased.

“Yes,” you chuckled softly.

“I thought so,” he murmured, dipping his fingers between your legs.

You were so incredibly wet that you knew you’d leave a mark on the bench once he released you. You also knew you could be even wetter. So when he kissed your hair again and began to guide you, you leaned into his arm, allowing him to lower your upper body slightly while arching your back, offering your backside to him for better access. Biting down on your lip to stifle a louder sound, you moaned softly into his shoulder as he slipped two fingers inside you. The intrusion, even amidst the throbbing ache of your spanked skin, was overwhelmingly pleasurable. No matter how sore you were, the sensation was too exquisite, too intensely gratifying, to suppress.

Lukas felt the heat radiating from you, the way your body arched into his touch. It was a clear invitation, and he wasn't about to refuse. He deepened the kiss on your hair, his fingers moving inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He watched your reaction, the way your breath hitched and your hips moved in time with his movements. He knew he was close to pushing you over the edge.

He increased the pressure of his fingers, pressing against your sensitive spots. He could feel you clenching around his fingers, your muscles contracting and releasing in waves of pleasure. The soft moans escaping your lips grew louder, more insistent.

“Almost there, älskling. Just let go.”

His words were the final trigger. A wave of intense pleasure washed over you, starting deep in your core and radiating outwards. You cried out, your body arching further into the bench as you reached the peak of your orgasm. You felt Lukas’s fingers still moving inside you, prolonging the sensation, drawing out every last shuddering wave of pleasure.

When the waves finally subsided, you were left breathless and weak, your body trembling slightly. Lukas gently withdrew his fingers and pulled you up into a sitting position.

“You did so good.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction and genuine care. “And what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He lifted you from the bench, to help you stand. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Are you ready for more, älskling?"

Before you could even form a response, he was backing you up against the wall. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as his mouth found yours, finally. The kiss deepened quickly, tongues sliding against each other as his lips molded to yours. You lost track of everything else, consumed by him and only him. He deepened the kiss further, pulling you closer, his hand gently stroking up and down your back. You moaned quietly against his lips, feeling his erection pressing against your thigh through his dress pants. You didn't mind; it only made you want him more.

He lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Your arms hovered over his shoulders for a moment, a silent plea in your eyes. “Can I touch you, please?” you begged, your voice a breathy whisper.

“Yes, you can,” he mumbled against your lips before capturing them again in a deep, passionate kiss. You finally wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your fingertips tangling in the hair at the base of his neck.

“Lukas,” you breathed, his name prayer escaping your lips. “Please just fuck me already. Just fuck me.”

“So demanding,” he smirked, a playful glint in his eyes, though his voice held a low growl. His hands fumbled with his belt buckle, quickly shimming his trousers and boxers down his legs. “Your begging and whining,” he continued, his tone turning rougher, “I fucking hate it.” He punctuated his words with a sharp bite on your neck, leaving harsh love bites blossoming under his teeth. But deep down, he secretly relished your neediness. It fueled him, making his erection throb even harder.

He practically ripped your panties in half in his haste, tossing the ragged fabric carelessly aside. He balanced you against the wall through it all, his grip firm and secure. You felt the hard length of him rubbing against your wet folds, teasing your entrance, driving you crazy.

“Please… Doritos! Please stop teasing,” you begged, your voice thick with desperation. You looked down and saw his seven-inch member poised between your parted lips, slick with your own arousal. You just wanted him to fuck you raw, to use you, to break you down until there was nothing in you to give.

“I need to teach you some patience,” he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

With a painstakingly slow thrust, he slid inside you, burying himself to the hilt. His eyes shut and his teeth clenched, gripping your hips to hold himself steady, savoring the tightness. You cried out in relief and for the sheer pleasure of having him fill inside you finally. Your fingernails dug into his back, feeling the sting of him stretching you out.

“So tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “How long has it been since you’ve had dick this good?” Slowly, his hips moved back before rocking forward, beginning to thrust in and out with slow, deep strokes. He slid his hand down from your jaw to your neck, applying firm pressure, though not quite choking you.

“So good,” you moaned incoherently. “So good.” You felt yourself floating away, surrendering all control as he consumed you, each thrust stealing your willpower more and more until you were mindless, complete at his mercy.

“Fuck, look at you. So pretty, taking my cock like this. You love it,” Lukas’ voice dipped into a possessive snarl as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours as he pounded into you with increasing urgency.

“Oh fuck… Luke… I can’t……” Your back arched off the wall, your body not quite accustomed to the intense pace. Your inner muscles still struggled to accommodate him as he slammed his entire length into you with each thrust. The mix of pleasure and the faintest tinge of pain sent you spiraling towards another climax. All you could do was take it, gasps and moans of his name escaping your parted lips.

“You can take it, good girl.” He was claiming you as his. Your heart raced from more than just the lack of oxygen.

“Such a sweet pussy, all mine.” Sweat dripped from his brow, and his strokes became even more desperate, pounding erratically, his jaw taut. His mouth was all over you, kissing the sweat from your temples, tracing his tongue along the line of your collarbone, plundering your lips, and dipping his tongue into your mouth with little gasps and growls. The room filled with the obscene slapping of skin on skin, the wet squelch of his body moving inside you.

Your body tightened around him, hot, wet, and tight. You shuddered and whimpered, your mind turning to mush. He had broken you, through and through, leaving you a dribbling, hot, panting mess of sizzling nerve endings and sticky arousal. You could barely even remember your own name; all that existed was him.

“You're so close, can feel you,” He growled low in his throat, his hair sticking to his forehead as his control began to fray at the edges. He pulled his hand away from your neck completely, and you gulped down air. You felt him reach down to run his fingers over the hood of your clit. “Cum for me, cum for me, good girl.”

“Fuckk, please, I can’t… I can’t,” you whimpered and then instantly fell to pieces.

Your pussy clenched around him as he came undone inside you. Your body completely slack with exhaustion, your eyes barely able to stay open. Your head fell back, resting against the wall as he held you close, trying to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against yours.

He carried your limp body to the bed, “Good girl. You're my number 1 girl,” he praised, laying you down gracefully on the silk sheets. He returned with a towel to clean you up. “You are brave,” Lukas said proudly. “The bravest, even.”

“Please,” you winced as he dabbed the towel over your sensitive clit. “I can handle a lot. That was nothing. Next time, give me a real challenge.”

“Next time?” he chuckled. You truly were a force of nature.

He tossed the towel aside and lay down beside you, gathering you close, cradling you against him. You hummed happily, too exhausted to do much more than breathe. You were covered in marks and bruises, and every movement ached just a little, but you felt perfectly appreciated, utterly fulfilled. You felt wanted for the first time, in a long time.

His lips pressed slowly to your forehead, lingering for a moment. “Trust me,” he assured you, “Next time, you will beg and scream for me to stop.”

#Lukas Mattson x reader #Kendall Roy x you #Kendall Roy x reader #Lukas Mattson x you #Dom Lukas Mattson #Lukas Mattson smut #succession #succession writing #succession hbo #kendall roy fanfiction #Kendall Roy smut #Kendall Roy imagine #BDSM #roman roy

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

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Priorties: part 3 (Kendall Roy x Reader)

Summary: against your better judgment, and Roman’s meddling you’re stuck on a 9 hour jet ride with Kendall.

TW: low self esteem / smut / oral sex (f! receiving) / getting eaten out on a plane / joining the mile high club?

A/N: I was giggling and biting my lip writing this!! Kendall is a munch!!!

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

Life had been good lately. You’d taken a month’s leave from work— officially for mental health, and your company, with its strong emphasis on employee well-being, had readily granted it. But the truth was, your mental health wasn’t in crisis; it was more of a preemptive strike, a chance to recalibrate. This trip was exactly what you needed: a clean break, a fresh start, a chance to rediscover the “you” that had been buried beneath two years of insecurity and self-doubt. You'd spent so long contorting yourself to fit the perceived mold of what Kendall wanted that you'd lost sight of your own shape. Now, you were finally reclaiming that lost territory.

The insecurity had crept in slowly. You’d found yourself wondering if you were prettier, would Kendall have paid more attention? If you were curvier, or thinner? You’d spun countless theories in your head, each one chipping away at your self-worth. But a few sessions with your therapist had finally brought clarity: you were never the problem. It had all been internal. After two weeks of this self-reflection, a newfound sense of readiness emerged— a desire to move on, to explore new connections.

A flicker of doubt lingered. Was it too soon? The thought of Kendall barely registered a blip on your emotional radar. The initial sting of the breakup had faded quickly, replaced by a sense of liberation you hadn’t anticipated. It was like shedding a heavy coat on a warm day. You were eager to dive headfirst into the open ocean, explore the possibilities that lay beyond. You weren’t looking for anything serious, just a connection, a reminder that you were desirable, that your body was worthy of appreciation and praise— something Kendall had failed to provide.

And that’s precisely what you intended to find in Sweden. The idea of a “sexcapade” had started as a joke with your friends, but it had quickly taken root in your mind. A deliberate escape from the intertwined social circles of New York, where any indiscretion would inevitably land you on the gossip pages. Given your very public relationship with Kendall and the recent breakup rumors, you were determined to keep your first post-breakup encounter far from the prying eyes of the tabloids.

You settled into the plush leather seat, having brought along a book and multiple face masks to keep yourself occupied. Kicking off your Uggs, you nestled into the luxurious upholstery. The air hostess informed you that takeoff would be soon; they were just waiting for Mr. Roy to arrive.

You assumed Roman had invited himself along, a slightly annoying but ultimately tolerable addition to your solo trip. But when you caught a glimpse of a familiar baseball cap through the window, your blood ran cold. It wasn’t Roman. It was Kendall. Kendall was boarding your jet.

Fury, hot and instantaneous, surged through you. Your fingers flew across your phone, furiously texting Roman, your thumbs hammering the screen.

You: Why in the fuck is Kendall boarding the jet

Explain yourself. NOW.

Roman: Whaatt?

Well this is the first I’m hearing about this

You: You’re a fucking idiot

Roman: Stop being a diva

It’s the family jet

I can’t control if Kendall uses it or not

You: Why would Kendall be going to Sweden at the exact same time as me?

Roman: Sounds like a question you should be asking Kendall himself?🤔

Just as you were composing a scathing response filled with profanities, Kendall appeared in the doorway of the cabin. "Oh," he said, stopping short. He stood there, seemingly dumbfounded, slowly removing his sunglasses as if to double-check he wasn't hallucinating.

“Hi,” you offered a small, tight wave.

“Hello?” He furrowed his brow, a crease forming between his eyes. “The jet was free on the schedule… what are you…”

“Roman offered me a ride,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than intended. “He also said the jet was free.” You knew you were projecting your anger at Roman onto Kendall, and a pang of guilt pricked you. Kendall hadn’t orchestrated this awkward encounter.

“Uh-huh,” Kendall stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do with his hands, which now rested on his hips. He desperately wanted to talk to you, but he was acutely aware of the boundaries you’d set. You’d made it unequivocally clear that you wanted no contact. “Well, listen,” he said, a hint of resignation in his voice, “I can go tomorrow. It’s not an issue.” He turned to leave, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Seeing his retreating back, a wave of guilt washed over you. It was his family’s jet, after all. “Kendall, wait,” you called out, the words escaping before you could fully consider them. “It’s fine,” you amended, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s only a nine-hour flight. I’m sure we’ll survive each other.”

Kendall visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over him. Nine hours. Nine hours to try and win you back. He made a mental note to thank Roman later, profusely, for orchestrating this unlikely reunion— without even being asked.

“So, how’ve you been?” Kendall asked, settling into the seat across from you. The small table between you felt like a significant barrier.

“Please, let’s not do this,” you said with a light laugh, closing your book and placing it on the table.

“Do what?” he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“Do small talk like we’re strangers.”

“I was trying to be polite. Jeez, throw me a bone here,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I’ve been doing well, thank you for asking,” you replied, rolling your eyes but deciding to humor him.

“That’s good. So, Sweden, huh?”

“Yeah, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Roman convinced me to go. Surprise, surprise, he was mastermind,” you said, a touch of sarcasm lacing your tone.

“Yeah, he convinced me to take a week off work and go too,” Kendall admitted. You nearly choked on your mimosa.

“Excuse me?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief. “You took a week off from work?” You were shocked, yes, but more than that, you were hurt. He’d never taken a day off when you’d asked him to. Yet, at Roman’s suggestion, he’d apparently dropped everything and was now heading to Sweden.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Roman didn’t really ask me; he told me I was taking a week off. It’s not like I had a choice.” He hurried to explain, noticing the deep scowl that had settled on your face.

“Mhmm,” you muttered, far from appeased by his explanation. The hurt lingered, a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Listen,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and reaching for your hands. He gently took them in his, squeezing them lightly for emphasis. “I just… I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. For everything.” He paused, his gaze intense. “I know I fumbled the bag. I know I was probably the worst boyfriend on the planet. I know all that.”

“Okay…” you responded, not wanting to encourage him, but also not wanting to be completely dismissive.

“But I can’t— I can’t just not have you in my life,” he continued, his voice laced with desperation. “I just miss you so fucking much.”

“Kendall,” you said softly, trying to choose your words carefully. “I don’t want to give you any false hope. I’m just not in that place anymore. I just… you can’t give me what I need. I honestly don’t think a relationship between us is ever going to work, no matter how many times we try.” You were trying to offer him closure, a gentle but firm ending to the cycle you’d been in.

“But can we at least be friends?” he asked, his voice laced with a vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings. His honey-crisp hazel eyes held a plea that made it difficult to refuse.

“Yeah, sure, I’d like that,” you nodded. It didn’t feel like a big deal anymore. The initial period of no contact had been crucial for you— a time to process the breakup, understand why you weren’t right for each other, and avoid the temptation of getting tangled under the sheets with him. You’d needed that space to heal.

Now, looking at him, you felt no lingering attachment, no deep yearning. You’d found your closure. You had healed. But Kendall was on a completely different path. His mission for this trip was: to win you back, no matter the cost.

“Thank you,” he breathed, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. “Thank you so much. You have no fucking idea how awful these past few weeks have been.” He looked up at you, his eyes filled with genuine emotion. “Not being able to talk to you… it was killing me.”

“Yeah, it felt that way in the beginning for me too,” you admitted, a slight cringe accompanying the memory. “I thought I was gonna die.” You offered a small, reassuring smile. “But it’s okay, Kendall. You’ll get through this.”

For Kendall, your words were like a knife twisting in his ribs. You seemed so at peace with the separation, so unaffected by the pain he was still experiencing. The disparity between your emotional states was stark and unsettling.

Before he could stop himself, the question burst out of him in a surge of frustration and barely contained rage. “Have you met someone else?”

“What? No. Why would you think that?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

“Oh, okay. It’s just you seem to be… I don’t know… you just seem…” he trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Happy?” you supplied, the word hanging in the air between you. “Because I am.”

“Oh.” His face fell, his gaze shifting to the clouds drifting past the window. The simple confirmation of your happiness seemed to deflate him completely.

“Is it such a bad thing if I’m happy?” you asked, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. Why was everyone making you feel like some sort of villain? First Roman, now Kendall. Was it really so difficult for them to accept that you could be happy without him?

“It’s not,” he mumbled, shaking his head with a sad, almost wistful smile. “I just wish I was where you are.”

“You’ll get there,” you said softly.

Kendall cleared his throat, shifting the conversation. “So, uh, have you found a place yet?”

“Nah, still camping out at the Hilton,” you chuckled at the absurdity of it. You’d always been frugal, but living with Kendall had been a different world. You never had to open your wallet. He’d taken care of everything—the apartment he owned, the bills, groceries, dry cleaning, your shopping sprees, the chef, Ubers, his driver… anything you’d wanted, he’d paid for. Consequently, you’d amassed a considerable amount of savings over the past two years, enough to indulge a little now.

“What the fuck? You’re probably racking up a huge bill,” he said, his brow furrowing with concern. “How are you going to manage that?”

“Even with this sabbatical from work, I still have my savings to fall back on. Stop worrying,” you assured him, but it clearly didn’t ease his mind.

“I can set you up with my agent. He can get you a good deal. Or you can stay at one of my other places.” Even though you were no longer together, his protective instincts hadn’t vanished. He still wanted to ensure you had a roof over your head.

“Thank you,” you said, touched by his offer. “But it’s okay. When something good comes up, I’ll put in an offer.” You paused, then added gently, “I’m not your burden. So don’t worry about it.” You hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but it was the truth.

But your words hit Kendall like a physical blow. He visibly recoiled, the impact of your statement evident in his expression. “Do you really think that? That you were a burden on me?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, meeting his gaze. “That’s what you made me feel like.”

Kendall felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. He almost wished he could open the emergency exit and freefall, anything to escape the crushing weight of the pain he’d caused you. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze fixed on his hands clasped in his lap.

“It’s okay,” you offered a small, forgiving smile. “I don’t hold grudges, so just forget about it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I need a fucking drink,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the plush seat. As if on cue, the air hostess walked by, and Kendall flagged her down, ordering a whiskey neat. You signaled for a top-up of your mimosa.

“So, what do you have planned for your trip?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I have no clue,” he chuckled, a self-deprecating edge to his voice. “Stewy’s the one who actually told me to go to Sweden or all places.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. I’m sure he recommended all the best strip clubs and hookers— probably had them on speed dial.” Stewy was always a questionable influence in Kendall’s life. He was the one person Kendall consistently made time for, and their get-togethers usually devolved into three-day, drug-fueled benders. While you didn’t actively dislike Stewy, you certainly didn’t love him. A part of you had always felt like the other woman in their chaotic friendship.

“Of course not,” Kendall gasped mockingly. “Stewy… and hookers? In the same sentence? That’s just absurd.”

“Mhmm,” you were unconvinced.

Kendall gestured to the air hostess, requesting the entire bottle of whiskey so he could refill his glass at his leisure. You, deciding to save everyone some time, asked for the bottle of champagne as well.

As the flight progressed, you both continued drinking and catching up. The conversation flowed easily, like talking to a childhood best friend you only saw once a year. There was a sense of nostalgia, a comfortable familiarity. It was… nice. You realized you’d missed talking to Kendall, even when you were still together. You hadn’t talked half as openly or comfortably as you were now.

“I’m gonna go on a full world tour,” you mused aloud, refilling your glass until the champagne bottle was empty. “Might as well hit up all of Europe while I’m here.” You pouted, noticing the empty bottle. “Hey, where’d all my drink go?” You then gestured to the air hostess for another.

“I think you drank it all,” Kendall said, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

You excused yourself to use the restroom, but when you tried to leave, the door wouldn’t budge. You were stuck. For a good five minutes, you struggled with the lock, banging on the door, but the roar of the jet engines swallowed any sound you made. Eventually, you gave up and slumped onto the toilet lid, defeated.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before Kendall finally knocked on the door. “Hey, uh, you alright in there?”

“Oh my god! Kendall! Thank god you found me!” you called out, relief flooding through you. “I’m stuck! The lock won’t open!”

“What?”

“THE LOCK WON’T OPEN!” you yelled, louder this time.

“No, I heard you the first time,” Kendall replied, his voice laced with a hint of confusion, “but the lock is green. It’s open.”

“NO IT’S NOT! I’M LOCKED IN HERE!” Just as you finished your sentence, Kendall opened the door and looked at you skeptically.

You trailed after him, and mumbled, “I swear, the lock wouldn’t open.” You crossed your arms defensively, the gesture more childish than convincing.

Kendall chuckled, settling back into his seat. The plane lurched violently, throwing you off balance. You slammed your hip against the edge of the table and tumbled backwards, landing squarely in his lap.

“Whoa, careful!” Kendall winced, more from the accidental elbow you’d connected with his ribs rather than the unexpected weight of you. His eyes flicked down to your hand clutching your hip. “Shit, are you okay?”

“This is just what I needed,” you winced, squirming uncomfortably in his lap. “A fucking fractured hip. How am I supposed to ski now?” you rambled, the words slurring slightly.

“Let me see,” Kendall murmured, carefully shifting you so your legs draped over his thighs. He supported your back with a steady arm, then gently tugged your sweatpants down a fraction over the affected hip to get a better look. The skin was already reddening, a sure sign of a nasty bruise to come. He cupped his hand around the area, lightly probing with his fingers and applying gentle pressure. A sharp hiss escaped your lips, he apologised quickly but didnt stop.

“Ow, that hurts,” you groaned, the pain spiking as he massaged the tissue around the bone. His thumb pressed against your front side, his other fingers supporting the back of your hip. As his thumb inched lower, closer to your pubic area, the sharp pain began to recede, replaced by a dull ache soothed by his gentle touch. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulder, a wave of unexpected sensation rippling down to your core. His touch was doing more than just easing the physical pain; it was stirring something else entirely. He was in dangerous territory. A small, involuntary moan escaped your lips.

“Woah, uh.” Kendall’s movements stilled, his hand hovering just above your skin.

A brief moment of clarity flashed through your mind, a fleeting attempt to rationalize the situation. But the thought was quickly dismissed. You didn’t care about the consequences. You were over Kendall. This was just… comfort. Nothing more. There was nothing wrong with ex’s fooling around, right?

“It hurts, Kendall,” you whined. “Make it go away.” You took his hand, guiding it further down inside your pants until his fingers rested precisely where you wanted them. Kendall didn’t hesitate, in fact he was more than willing to oblige. You spread your legs wider, granting him better access as his finger traced a slow, tantalizing circle around your clit.

And then he lifted you off his lap and placed you on the table in front of him, tugging your sweats and panties down, destroying the barrier between you two.

“That’s more like it.” He groaned at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth watered, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation. Oh god how much he had missed you.

He licked a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you was enough to satisfy him completely. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy.

He alternated between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his stubble scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that was almost too much. You could barely hold your weight on your elbows as you watched his face buried between your thighs.

He circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that left you gasping for air. You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair as he repeated the motions, your thighs started to tremble on either side of his head.

“I know, you're just so fucking needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Letting me take care of you?”

You could only nod, words failing you as his fingers replaced his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so fucking pretty down here.” Kendall muttered, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide.

He teased your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whined, embarrassing loud as your hips twitched with need.

Kendall watched your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sunk one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head lolling back as he added a second finger, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling. He pumped them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

His mouth returned to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he dragged you closer to the edge.

He moved his mouth back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buried his tongue as deep in your cunt as it would go. You couldn't hold yourself up any longer, you fell back onto the table, your head dangling off. You cried out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you came on his tongue. Your body shook so violently you knocked a few things off the table, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registered in your head.

When you finally came back to yourself, panting and trembling, kendall was holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, voice rough and gravelly as he pressed a final kiss to your oversensitive clit.

You helped you sit up on the table, before pulling you back down into his lap, your bare legs straddling his thighs.

His lips were even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His chin was damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk that plastered his face.

The distinct sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to reality. The flight attendant was making her rounds. Panic flared as you frantically pulled up your sweatpants, fumbling with the drawstring. Your panties were nowhere to be found. You scrambled back to your own seat, your breath catching in your throat, your body still humming from Kendall’s touch.

The flight attendant arrived, her smile polite as she assessed the broken glass and inquired, “Everything alright here?”

“Yeah, sorry, I knocked it over by accident,” Kendall apologized smoothly, while you shrank back in your seat, your cheeks burning a fiery red.

“Feel better now? No more pain?” Kendall asked, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice. When he’d first boarded the flight, he’d thought he’d blown any chance of ever getting back with you. But now, he knew the effect his touch still had. And the fact that you weren’t seeing anyone else yet… well, that opened up a world of possibilities. A surge of optimism coursed through him. He could definitely win you back.

“So much better, thank you.” you sighed, a genuine feeling of contentment washing over you. You couldn’t deny it, Kendall knew your body too well. He knew just how to make you cum in under 5 minutes. Late at night, you hated to admit that you missed his skilled mouth, his tongue, his lips.

While Kendall was in the restroom, you shifted from the armchair to the longer sofa, curling up into a ball. Your head felt heavy, and sleep tugged at your eyelids. By the time Kendall returned, you were fast asleep. He quietly retrieved a blanket and gently draped it over you.

—————————————————————————

Kendall gently shook you awake, telling you they’d be landing soon. You sat up groggily, stretching your arms above your head. Watching you, a wave of longing washed over him. He missed waking up next to you—your slightly raspy morning voice, your tousled hair. He missed every little thing.

“Morning,” Kendall teased, a soft smile playing on his lips. You glanced out the window and saw the city lights spread out below, a stark contrast against the deep blue night sky. You realized it was nighttime in Sweden, and your sleep schedule was officially wrecked.

“You should’ve woken me up,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “Now I’m gonna be completely jet-lagged.”

“My bad,” Kendall said, but the smirk on his face was anything but apologetic.

Upon landing, it was no surprise that Kendall was staying at the same hotel—another one of Roman’s “surprises.” You both climbed into the waiting car and made your way there.

After checking into your separate rooms, you found yourselves in the elevator. You didn’t think much about what unfolded on the jet, nor did you regret it. It was just something that happened in the spur of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.

“So, uh, what are you gonna do now?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Probably just shower and watch some Netflix until I can fall asleep.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to pass out,” he chuckled. “But, uh, listen, I’ll catch you tomorrow, maybe, if you’re around.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Bye.”

“Bye.” You got off on the floor below his and headed to your room.

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

Text

Priorties : part 2 (Kendall Roy x reader)

Summary: You finally reach your breaking point with Kendall neglect, enough is enough. You make the painful decision to end things, leaving a distraught Kendall, and a concerned Roman left to play mediator in the aftermath.

Warnings: rough sex / vaginal fingering / spanking / suicidal thoughts

A/N: this was originally supposed to be a one shot but after so many people asked for a part 2, I couldnt resist!! Here it is!!!! more to come soon!!

Part 1 is linked in my Masterlist!

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

"Don't go, please," Kendall pleaded, his voice thick with desperation as he stood in the doorway of your shared walk-in closet.

"It's too late," you sighed, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders. You shoved another armful of clothes into your suitcase, the zipper groaning in protest.

But you'd heard this song before. The familiar refrain of promises whispered in the aftermath of neglect, the fleeting intensity that always fizzled out. You remembered the countless times you'd articulated your needs, the careful explanations of your emotional desert, the yearning for a connection that went deeper than fleeting moments of passion. And for a while, it worked. He'd shower you with attention, his touch alive with a renewed fervor, his words laced with genuine affection. But the glow always faded, replaced by the familiar emptiness.

It felt like a chore, a duty he grudgingly performed. His touch had lost its spark, becoming mechanical, devoid of the passion that once ignited your soul. You felt like a car that needed regular servicing, a necessary inconvenience rather than a cherished companion.

You'd decided to test the boundaries, to see if he'd come to you, if he'd miss the warmth of your presence, the gentle rhythm of your laughter. Three agonizing months had passed, a period punctuated by the cruel absence of your birthday, a day he'd missed while on some business trip. You'd tried to rationalize it, to accept the sacrifices that came with his ambition. But a birthday spent alone, no physical or emotional intimacy , was a wound that refused to heal.

You'd given him another chance, clinging to the fragile hope that he would follow through on his promise: ‘I'll make up for your birthday when I'm back baby’. But the days that followed were a mirror image of the past. So two days ago you finally decided to throw in the towel, the weight of your unhappiness finally tipping the scales.

" Kendall?" you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the otherwise silent apartment. A wave of dread washed over you. Was he still at the office?

"In here," he replied from the study. Of course. He practically lived in that room. You half-expected to find a cot tucked away in the corner. Two days since he'd returned from his trip, and two days of simmering resentment. Each evening, you'd arrive home, a flicker of hope igniting within you – maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he'd surprise you with a belated birthday dinner, a small gift, or even just a genuine apology. But each evening, the hope dwindled, replaced by a familiar disappointment.

"Hun," you said, leaning against the doorway, your hands unconsciously clenching into fists.

He slammed his laptop shut, a practiced move, as if he'd been waiting for your arrival. "How was your day, baby?" he asked, giving you his undivided attention, a fleeting moment of genuine warmth that quickly faded. He'd learned to perform these small courtesies, to give you the illusion of being heard.

You walked over to his desk, the polished wood cold beneath your palms. "Fine," you managed, the word tasting like ash in your mouth.

Before you could even begin to broach the subject of your birthday, he preempted you. "Before I forget, what are you doing tomorrow night?"

A flicker of hope, a traitorous spark, ignited in your chest. Maybe, just maybe...

"I think I can make some time for you," you replied, a playful lilt to your voice that felt utterly foreign.

"Good, good," he said, a hint of eagerness in his tone. "Because I want you to come to dinner with me and Rome. We're meeting with a small publishing company, and I need you there with me. We gotta look like a unit, you know? You always make me look so good."

The hope within you shattered, the pieces scattering like broken glass. "Huh?" you asked, confusion masking the hurt that clawed at your throat.

"You know, I always choke up, get all clammy," he explained, waving a dismissive hand. "But you're so good with people. You can charm them, tell them what a wonderful boyfriend I am."

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice rising slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, it'll be fun," he continued, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. "You can work your magic."

You laughed, a humorless, strangled sound. "Are you serious right now, Kendall?" You clutched your chest, the laughter quickly giving way to a sob. "Please tell me you're joking."

He looked at you with genuine confusion. "What— what's so funny?"

"Oh god, you're actually serious?" You doubled over, the laughter turning into a torrent of tears.

He reached out, his touch clumsy and unfamiliar. "Baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?" you choked out, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. You stood up, towering over him. "You missed my birthday..."

The realization dawned on him, a slow, agonizing crawl across his features. He ran a hand through his hair, his face a mask of guilt. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you—"

"No!" you screamed, the pent-up anger erupting. "No more fucking promises, Kendall! Don't make promises you can't keep. Please, for my sake, don't promise me anything anymore."

He reached for you again, but you stepped back, the distance between you widening. "You want us to 'look like a unit,'" you spat, your voice trembling with rage. "You want me to make people fall in love with you. How can I do that, Kendall? How can I do that when I'm miserable with you?"

"Look, I'm sorry I forgot your birthday—"

"This isn't just about my birthday!" you yelled, your voice echoing through the study. "This is about so much more. How can you not see that?" Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. "You missed my work Christmas party. You missed my sister's graduation. And you have no idea how many weddings I've had to attend alone."

He stood up, mirroring your stance, his face hardening. "You knew who I was when you met me," he said, his voice cold and defensive.

"You missed my award ceremony, Kendall," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "The one time I begged you to come. I needed you there, and I told you that!"

"You know I have commitments," he yelled, his voice rising, a finger jabbing into the air. "I try, I try so fucking hard to make you a priority. I give you what you want, everything you ask of me. I do it for you."

He wasn't the man you fell in love with. This stranger, with his angry eyes and trembling hands, was an alien imposter.

"Why do you do it then, if you hate it so much?" you cried, your voice raw with despair. "Why bother?"

He took a ragged breath, trying to regain control. "Because I fucking love you," he growled, the words a bitter echo in the tense silence.

"You don't treat someone you love how you treat me," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "You're... you're selfish." The word hung heavy in the air, unspoken.

He roared, "Enough!" His grip tightened on your arms, bruisingly so.

But you couldn't stop. "You only keep me around to make yourself look good," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You get off on the fact that someone as pathetic as you could have someone like me." The words tasted like bile in your mouth, but you had to say them.

His face contorted, a mixture of rage and something else – fear? Shame? You couldn't quite decipher it. "I said that's enough!" he repeated, his voice a low growl.

In a swift movement he cleared the contents of his desk letting them fall to the floor, you heard the unmistakable sound of his laptop screen getting crushed. He bent you over the table, keeping a firm hand on the back of your neck, pressing your cheek against the wood.

“I’m selfish?” He grunted, pulling your skirt up with his free hand, hoisting it up over your hips, “you have no idea how much I’ve sacrificed for you, for us? But I don’t throw that in your face.”

“Oh save me your sob story please,” you angled your neck back to see his face.

“Do you know how many meetings I missed this month, let alone?” He asked, smoothing his hand over your ass, “Count.” He demanded before his hand smacked down on your right cheek, with a searing sound.

You counted to 5 harsh smacks, feeling the pain and the growing wetness between your legs. He briskly moved your panties to the side, quickly burying 2 fingers deep inside of you, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. He finger fucked you for a good moment, listening to your cries of pleasure.

"So fucking wet, basically dripping," he cooed.

You heard him unzip his trousers behind you and he wasted no time, thrusting inside of you from behind with a force that made you see stars. He fucked you mercilessly, each thrust harder than the last. He was too lost in his own lust, his own need for power and control. His hips slapped against your ass, the sound echoing in the room.

You could feel his cock swelling inside of you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. "Kendall, please," you begged, your orgasm building.

"You like it, don't you?" Kendall growled, his breath hot against your ear as he increased his pace. "You love it when I fuck you like this."

He fucked you with wild abandon, his hips pistoning in and out of you with a force that made the table shake.

You could feel his cock swelling even more, the head hitting that spot inside of you that made you whimper and clench around him.

"I… I'm close…" you moaned, your fingers gripping the edge of the table, hanging on for dear life.

"Cum for me," Kendall spat, spanking your ass again. "I'm going to cum inside of you."

You screamed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tsunami wave, indicated by the thought of his cum filling you to the brim.

He continued to fuck you, drawing out your pleasure until you were left trembling and breathless. His cock twitched inside of you, his warm cum filling you up shortly after.

You could feel some of it trickling down your legs, the sensation making you clench around him even more.

Kendall didn't stop, continuing to pound into you as you came down from your high, your legs trembling. He reached around, rubbing your clit again, sending you over the edge once more.

Finally, he pulled out, spreading your ass cheeks to watch his cum trickling down your thighs. He sneered down at you, still pinning you to the table. "Remember, nobody else can fuck you like this, nobody." He whispered in a low tone right into your ear, before zipping up his pants, slapping your ass again.

He pulled you upright and sat you on the table, slotting himself between your thighs, holding you close. "I'll be better, baby. I promise."

You lifted your head from his chest, a wave of nausea washing over you. His touch, once a source of comfort, now felt suffocating. "No," you shook your head, the word a low growl. "I'm done. I'm done with you and your empty promises."

"Listen baby, I gotta prep for this meeting tomorrow, okay? But we'll talk after, yeah? Just not right now, you understand right?" A strange detachment washed over you. You saw him, truly saw him – the man who had broken your heart piece by piece.

You didn't respond. The scent of his cologne, usually so intoxicating, now filled you with a sickening sweetness. You slipped out from between his legs, and he didn’t try to stop you.

That night, sleep eluded you. Instead, you began packing. The familiar scent of his aftershave clung to his clothes, each item a painful reminder of the life you were leaving behind. You knew it wouldn't be easy. You were all too familiar with the seductive pull of his hazel eyes, the intoxicating sweetness of his apologies. But this time, you wouldn't succumb. You had to do this, for yourself. You had to end this cycle of pain, this slow, agonizing descent into despair.

When you first met, Kendall had swept you off your feet. He'd surprise you with flowers on your desk, plan elaborate picnics in the park, and spend hours listening to you talk about your day, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. Now, everything felt different. His schedule, once so flexible, was now a rigid, impenetrable wall. No matter how gently you voiced your concerns, your needs were always secondary to his work, his ambition.

You deserved more than late birthday celebrations and half-assed apologies. The time for forgiveness, for those fleeting moments of genuine connection, had long passed. He had made a choice . He had chosen his meeting, his career, over you. And now, he would have to face the consequences of his actions.

The truth was, you had both grown apart, the distance between you widening like a chasm. You lived together, yet you felt like strangers inhabiting the same space. His life, his world, revolved around his work, his ambitions, while yours revolved around him. You were a satellite orbiting his planet, your existence defined by your relationship with him.

The divide between you, subtle at first, had grown like the San Andreas Fault line, a slow, insidious creep beneath the surface. You'd felt the tremors, the subtle shifts, the growing unease. But you'd ignored them, clinging to the hope that things would go back to the way they were. Now, the fault line had ruptured, the earth shattering beneath your feet. And you were both standing on opposite sides of the chasm, the chasm of your shattered love.

"I'm sorry," he tossed the clothes back into the drawer, his voice rough with unshed tears. "I'm so fucking sorry. How many times do I have to say it?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. "I don't want your apologies anymore," you said, your voice steady despite the tremor running through you. "You don't even feel bad about it. I know you, and I know you'll do it again. The time for talking is over, Kendall. I've made my decision. I can't do this anymore. I can't beg you to touch me. I shouldn't have to."

He sank to his knees, his shoulders slumping. "Please, please don't do this," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I'll quit my job, I'll step down, just whatever it takes."

"Here we go again," you groaned, the familiar pattern repeating itself like a broken record. "I don't want you to quit your job, Kendall. I want you to balance your time properly, something you're clearly incapable of doing."

"Please, just tell me what I need to do to fix this." His eyes, usually so confident, were now pleading, filled with a desperate hope that mirrored your own earlier pleas.

"It's done, Kendall," you sighed, kneeling down beside him. "I came to you two days ago, I wanted to talk, but you had to prep for your meeting. Your work will always come before me, so I'm done now. We're done."

He watched the movers load up the truck, his gaze fixed on the departing vehicle, his shoulders slumped, his hands clenched into fists. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic thud of their footsteps.

You handed him your key, a small, insignificant object that now held the weight of a lifetime. He hesitated, his fingers trembling.

"Take it," you urged gently, placing it in his palm. He finally closed his fingers around it, the metal cold against his skin.

"Where will you go?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don't know," you shrugged, "probably a hotel or something." You hadn't planned that far ahead. You were just going to place your things in storage and find a new place to live, a place where the ghost of their relationship wouldn't haunt every corner.

"Please, just stay here until you find a place," he begged, his voice raw with desperation.

"You know I can't do that," you said, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek. He was your person. He was the first person you thought of when you woke up, the last person you wanted to see at the end of the day. He was your safe harbor, your confidante, your love. But now, the harbor was a storm, and you had to sail away.

You gave him one last hug, burying your face in his shoulder. The scent of his cologne, once so comforting, now brought a wave of fresh grief. You pulled away, his eyes pleading, his lips trembling.

He leaned in, his breath catching in his throat. The kiss was a whirlwind of emotions – regret, longing, and a lingering warmth that quickly turned to ashes. It was an "I love you," a desperate "I'm sorry," and a heartbreaking "I'll miss you," all woven into a single, bittersweet moment.

—————————————————————————

The first few days were a blur of misery for you. The hotel room became your world – a dark, confined space defined by the crumpled sheets of the unmade bed. The "Do Not Disturb" sign hung on the door like a shield against the outside world, a world you no longer wanted to be a part of. Sunlight was an unwelcome intrusion, so the curtains remained tightly drawn, plunging the room into a perpetual twilight.

It felt like a piece of you had been ripped away, leaving a gaping hole. Every breath was a reminder of the absence, a dull ache that throbbed in time with the silence. You’d taken a week off work, a desperate attempt to find some solace in solitude, but the silence only amplified the hollowness inside. You lay there, lost in the darkness, adrift in a sea of grief.

For Kendall, the first few days were a blur of frantic activity, he was on autopilot. He dove headfirst into work, a relentless pursuit of distraction. His days began at 6 AM with a brutal workout at the gym, an attempt to channel his rage and despair into physical exertion. From there, he'd sprint to the office, disappearing into a whirlwind of meetings, emails, and deadlines. He stayed late, long after everyone else had gone home, the office a sterile refuge from the gaping hole in his chest. Evenings were spent drowning his sorrows in a haze of overpriced whiskey at the nearest bar, the noise and chatter a desperate attempt to drown out the deafening silence that echoed in his apartment.

He did everything in his power to keep busy, to fill every waking moment with activity, to avoid the inevitable crash, the inevitable flood of memories that threatened to engulf him. He couldn't afford to think about you.

He brought home random girls, in a desperate attempt to fill the void that yawned open in his chest. But the fleeting encounters offered little solace. He'd find himself rambling on about you, about your laugh, your passion for vintage movies, about the way your eyes would crinkle at the corners when you smiled. He sought connection, craved a listening ear, but found himself drawn back to the ghosts of your shared past.

These encounters, meant to distract him, instead served as a constant, painful reminder of what he had lost. Each woman, with her own unique personality and stories, only served to highlight the absence of your vibrant spirit, your sharp wit, your unwavering love. He yearned for the ease of your company, the effortless banter that had always flowed between you. He found himself comparing every fleeting smile, every fleeting touch, to the warmth of your embrace, the depth of your connection.

But then, something shifted. On the seventh day, a flicker of something ignited within you. You finally pulled yourself out of bed, the sheets clinging to your skin like a second skin. You stepped into the shower, the scalding water a stark contrast to the icy numbness that had gripped you for days. As the water cascaded down your body, washing away the grime and the remnants of your despair, you felt a strange sense of release.

You had to let him go. You knew it deep down, even when you were clinging to the fragile hope of reconciliation. You had to let him go to find your happiness again, to rediscover the spark that his neglect had dimmed. You weren't sad anymore, not exactly. Anger, a fierce, burning anger, had replaced the suffocating grief. You were angry at yourself, at your own self-destructive tendencies, at your cursed heart that had endured so much, that had clung to a love that was slowly suffocating the life out of you. Any self-respecting woman would have walked away much sooner, would have demanded more from her partner. But you, you had stayed, clinging to the hope of a love that no longer existed.

Meanwhile, after a week of going through the motions, a week of cold, professional detachment, Kendall finally crumbled. The facade he'd carefully constructed began to crack during a particularly tense meeting, and by the time it adjourned, it had shattered completely. He retreated to the sanctuary of the men's restroom, it was there, alone amidst the echoing silence, that the dam finally broke.

He leaned heavily against the cool porcelain sink, his reflection a distorted image of distress in the mirror. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and a choked sob escaped his lips. This wasn't just about the failed meeting; it was about everything. It was about the gaping void left by your absence.

Usually, in moments like these—when the pressure of work became too much, when a deal fell through, or a presentation bombed—he had a lifeline. He would instinctively reach for his phone, his thumb already hovering over your contact. He knew you'd answer on the first ring, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. You’d listen patiently as he vented, offering words of encouragement, a touch of gentle teasing, or simply the comforting presence of your unwavering support.

But now, that lifeline had been severed. The memory of your blocked number flashed through his mind, a stark reminder of the chasm he had created between you. The realization hit him with full force: he couldn't call you. He was now facing the full force of your wrath, the silent, cutting consequence of his actions. The weight of his loss crashed down on him. He truly had lost the one good thing in his life.

The bathroom door swung open, and Roman walked in. He stopped dead, his eyes widening slightly as they landed on Kendall. Kendall was leaning heavily against the sink, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands. It was a sight Roman had never witnessed before, and it clearly threw him off balance.

Roman’s usual ill-timed childish remarks vanished. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. He cleared his throat awkwardly, the sound echoing in the tiled space. He took a hesitant step closer, then stopped again, unsure of how to proceed. His body language screamed discomfort; his shoulders were hunched, his head slightly tilted, as if he were trying to observe Kendall from a safe distance.

“Uh… Ken?” he mumbled, his voice a little too loud in the quiet room. He winced slightly at the sound of his own voice. He shuffled his feet again, his gaze darting around the bathroom, avoiding direct eye contact with his brother. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic.

He finally took another tentative step forward, his voice dropping to a more subdued tone. “Hey buddy… you okay?” He knew it was a stupid question. Clearly, Kendall was not okay. But he didn’t know what else to say.

He gestured vaguely towards Kendall with a jerky movement of his hand, then quickly pulled it back, shoving it back into his pocket. He then pulled it out again and began picking at a loose thread on his jacket. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the soap dispenser, the hand dryer, the floor, anything but Kendall’s face.

“Listen man, I know the meeting was a bust, but we’ll still close the deal,” Roman blurted out, his voice a little too loud, as if trying to overcompensate for the heavy silence. “These fuckers don’t know how convincing we can be. We’ll get them.” He shifted his weight again, his hands still fidgeting. “Don’t uh… don’t stress, man.” It was a pathetic attempt at comfort, delivered with all the grace of a newborn giraffe trying to walk.

“Fuck the deal,” Kendall sniffled, his voice muffled by his hands initially before he pulled them away from his face. He slid his back against the cool tile wall, sinking down until he was sitting on the cold, unforgiving floor. He stared blankly at the ceiling, letting the harsh fluorescent LED lights above him sting his eyes.

Roman, faced with this unexpected turn, awkwardly crouched down in front of him. He balanced precariously on the balls of his feet, his knees bent at an uncomfortable angle, clearly unwilling to commit to actually sitting on the presumably disgusting bathroom tiles. He looked like a heron about to take flight, his posture tense and unstable. He winced internally at the thought of his expensive suit pants coming into contact with the grimy floor. He kept his hands hovering just above his knees, as if ready to spring back up at any moment.

“Come on man, what’s going on?” Roman struggled to get the words out. His eyes still darted nervously between Kendall’s face and the floor, unsure where to settle. “Do you want me to call–” He was about to suggest calling you, completely oblivious to the fact that the two of you were no longer together.

“She left me,” Kendall choked out a sob, the words raw and painful, as if his heart was literally bleeding out in his chest. “I– I pushed her too far, and she packed up her shit and left.” He buried his face in his knees, his words barely coherent, muffled by the fabric of his expensive suit trousers.

Roman furrowed his brows, a look of bewildered concern spreading across his face as he watched his usually composed older brother so utterly broken down. With a timid, almost hesitant hand, he reached out and patted Kendall’s head in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “Awh man….. there there. Come on now,” he mumbled, his voice laced with awkward sympathy. He desperately tried to conjure up some encouraging words, but his mind drew a complete blank. He internally cursed himself. Why did he choose this exact moment to come into the bathroom? He could have held it in until lunchtime.

“I fucked it—I fucked it all,” Kendall shook his head, his voice thick with despair. “I can’t live without her… I just can’t… I don’t want to.”

Just then, another employee walked into the bathroom and froze in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight before him. He looked flustered, unsure whether to stay or flee. “Never seen a grown man having a breakdown?” Roman snapped, his annoyance palpable. He glared at the interloper, his voice sharp and dismissive. “Get out of here, fuckhead.”

The employee mumbled an apology and quickly retreated, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Roman turned back to Kendall, shifting his weight again, his precarious crouch becoming even more uncomfortable. He was starting to feel a cramp in his calves.

“Look, man, it sounds like you guys are on a break right now,” Roman began, trying to sound reassuring, though his voice still held a note of uncertainty. “She’ll come around, I know she will.”

“No, she won’t, man. She said she’s done with me,” Kendall mumbled, his face still buried in his knees, his shoulders continuing to shake with silent sobs. Roman sighed, running a hand through his hair. He desperately wanted to be anywhere else. He considered just leaving, telling himself that Kendall needed space, but something held him back. A flicker of genuine concern, perhaps, or maybe just the ingrained sibling obligation to at least pretend to care.

He awkwardly patted Kendall’s shoulder again, a gesture that felt both inadequate and intrusive. “Maybe… maybe you should take some time off,” he suggested lamely. “Go somewhere. Clear your head. You know… find yourself.” He cringed at the utter banality of his advice. He sounded like a bad self-help guru.

He paused, then added in a lower voice, almost to himself, “God, I’m terrible at this.” He glanced around the bathroom again, his eyes landing on a small, almost comical, sign above the sink that read, “Please wash your hands.” He almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Here his brother was having a full-blown emotional meltdown, and he was focusing on hand hygiene.

He then abruptly changed tactics, forcing Kendall to lift his head. “Okay, lighten up, glum glum. Enough is enough,” he said, his tone firm. “You’re gonna pick yourself up now, build yourself back up. Either you’re gonna get over her, or fucking get her back. But what you’re not gonna do is sit here weeping for another second.” Roman had resorted to the tough-love approach, a tactic he’d learned from their father, a method that prioritized action over sentiment. And surprisingly, it seemed to get through to Kendall. He blinked, his eyes red and swollen, but a flicker of something resembling resolve appeared in them. He took Roman’s outstretched hands and slowly, with some effort, pulled himself up.

“There you go. One step at a time,” Roman said, dusting off Kendall’s pants with brisk, efficient movements. “Now, you’re gonna take a week off–” He held up a hand to silence Kendall before he could protest. “You are going to take a week off, and you’re gonna come back with your head screwed back on. Okay?”

“Okay, man,” Kendall nodded, a small, almost hesitant nod. Maybe he did need some time off. The idea, which had previously seemed impossible, now held a sliver of appeal. Perhaps a week away from everything would give him the space he needed to either process his grief or formulate a plan.

As Roman left the bathroom, his urge to pee was long forgotten, he had to salvage his brother's relationship somehow. He shot you a quick text to request to meet for coffee.

—————————————————————————

You walked into the relatively packed café, the air thick with the aroma of roasted coffee and the low hum of conversation. You spotted Roman in a corner booth, already seated and with two cups of coffee steaming on the small table. You slid into the seat across from him, shedding your coat and scarf, draping them over the back of the booth. “Sorry I’m late, I was at Pilates,” you explained, offering a small apologetic smile.

You weren’t particularly surprised by Roman’s text to meet up. When you first met him, you’d openly admit you’d despised him. He’d been an annoying, almost constant presence in your life, a presence you’d tolerated solely because he was your boyfriend’s brother. But over time, something had shifted. You’d gradually learned to appreciate, even enjoy, his particular brand of annoying personality. You’d both developed a connection, a relationship that existed independently of Kendall. He was… a friend, of sorts. You wouldn’t exactly use that label, not officially, but you did find yourselves catching up occasionally, sharing snippets of your lives, offering each other a strange kind of support. It was a comfortable, if somewhat unconventional, dynamic.

“Yeah, I can see that Ozempic body flourishing,” Roman remarked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Hmm, new cologne? What is that? ‘Date Rape by Calvin Klein’?” You scrunched your nose in mock distaste at the overpowering scent. “Did you roofie my coffee too?”

“Yeah, you wish,” he snorted, taking another sip of his coffee.

“So, what was so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” you asked, a hint of genuine annoyance creeping into your voice. You had other things to do today.

“Can’t friends just catch up for coffee?” he offered innocently, widening his eyes and taking another sip of his drink.

“Yeah, they can, but we’re not friends,” you retorted, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Ouch,” Roman pouted, the exaggeration obvious. He had to admit, he hadn’t expected to find you in such good spirits. You were smiling, chatting, radiating a sense of ease that was the complete opposite of the state he’d left Kendall in. He’d secretly harbored a hope that you were equally heartbroken, that he could somehow play mediator and reconcile you and Kendall. But seeing you like this, so unaffected, made that prospect seem significantly more challenging than he’d anticipated. It was almost… disconcerting.

“Listen, if this is gonna be one of your therapy sessions where you cry about mommy and daddy being mean to you, let me just save my time and give you my therapist’s number,” you said, sliding a business card across the table towards him.

“I don’t need therapy. I’m fucking perfect,” he rolled his eyes, picking up the card and glancing at it dismissively. “Look at this face. I mean, come on, it’s pure perfection.”

“A sociopath’s wet dream,” you agreed dryly.

“So, how’ve you been? How’s work?” he asked, attempting to steer the conversation towards a more personal topic, hoping to get you to open up.

“Yeah, it’s been good. I’m just taking a couple of weeks off.”

“Oh?” Roman feigned shock, widening his eyes dramatically. “But where will they find someone to replace your skill set? I don’t think the New York Zoo can give up any of their monkeys. They have far more important things to do, like throwing feces at tourists.”

“Wow, that is some gentle comedy, dude,” you said, giving him a sarcastic pat on his forearm, which he pulled away from in disgust.

“So, what are you doing in this sabbatical from work, other than Kendall, of course? I’m sure you have the sex swing and dildos set up already,” Roman snickered, once again feigning innocence. But he didn’t get the reaction he expected. You didn’t so much as flinch at Kendall’s name. You were long past the grieving and anger stages; you were firmly in your acceptance phase. You had moved on. It had only taken a week.

You casually shrugged. “Nah, we ended things. I’m just taking some time off from work to enjoy life, something I haven’t been doing much of lately. Just touching base with reality.”

“Mhm, okay, yeah, no, that’s good,” Roman nodded quizzically, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You seem to be doing great. I mean, I know Kendall is an ass, but you don’t have to be so happy about the breakup. You could shed a single fucking tear, you know.”

“Roman,” you rolled your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips, “I’m not going to sit here and bitch about Kendall to you. And plus, we ended on good terms. I have nothing against him. Things just didn’t work out, and that’s fine.”

“I blame your therapist for this. You used to be so much pettier than this. Who even are you anymore?” Roman cringed, genuinely disturbed by your mature and adult approach to the breakup. “Come on, we used to talk shit about Kendall when you were with him. But the second you break up, it’s all vibes and fucking ashwagandha?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Roman. I’m just over it,” you said, your voice laced with a quiet sense of resolve. If Roman had met you on the first day of your breakup, he would have witnessed just how distraught you were, deep in your mourning period. But now, just a week later, you were glowing. You had your spark back. He couldn't deny it.

Roman knew it would be a tough sell to convince you to meet with Kendall. He didn’t know the specifics of what had transpired between the two of you, but he knew he needed to do this for his brother’s sake. “Why don’t you make the most of this time off and travel a bit?” he suggested, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” you agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “But I just don’t know where.”

“You know, I hear Sweden is really nice this time of year,” Roman offered, a little too brightly.

“Really?” you looked at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “I thought it was freezing cold there, covered in piles of snow.”

Of course, Roman knew that. That was precisely where Kendall was going for his week off. He just needed to be more convincing. “Are you kidding me? Who doesn’t love a hike in the snow? And skiing? And they’ve got these crazy spas. I heard the massages literally transform your body.” He painted a picture of a winter wonderland, hoping to spark your interest.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” you conceded, still sounding unconvinced.

“Nonsense,” Roman said, waving his hand dismissively. “You can take my jet.”

At first, you were still hesitant. The idea of Sweden in the dead of winter wasn’t exactly appealing. But the thought of saving on flight costs with Roman’s generous offer began to tip the scales in Sweden’s favor. The convenience and the prospect of a free trip were hard to ignore.

#Kendall Roy x reader #Kendall Roy smut #Kendall Roy one shot #kendall roy succession #Kendall Roy sexy #spanking #bdsm #rough sex #Kendall Roy fanfiction #angst #hurt/comfort #Kendall Roy break up #break up #heart break #sucession hbo #kendall roy

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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

Text

Tell me sweet little lies: part 6

Summary: During a tense weekend in the Hamptons, Diane's pursuit of a story involving Kendall Roy takes a turn. Diane's journalistic detachment wavers, replaced by growing empathy. The escalating emotions of the weekend threaten to overwhelm her.

TW: smut on the beach, face sitting, vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation

A/N: oooohh Kendall is so baby girl, I just want to give him a big hug

🦋🐟🐬🐠🧢🐳🩵👕🖌️🛋️🫂🎽🐋💦🌊💧🧊🪼🫐

Kendall watched Diane shift restlessly beside him, the moonlight from the window painting her face in stark contrasts of light and shadow. "Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

"Nope," she yawned, her eyes wide and dark. "You?"

He turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Same here. Just… a lot on my mind."

Diane turned to face him, her brow furrowed slightly. "What is it?"

He sighed, a sound heavy with the weight of years. "Oh, you know. Just ever shitty thing that's happened since I can remember."

Diane's lips curved into a small, sympathetic smile. "Yeah, like what?"

"Like the time when I was 7, I got a dog for my birthday. A little golden retriever puppy I named Scout. I was obsessed with him. He was my best friend, the only thing in my life that felt genuinely mine, unconditionally loving. One afternoon, I was walking him in the park, and I let him off the leash for just a second. He ran off, chasing a squirrel. I searched for hours, called his name until my voice was hoarse. I never found him. My parents didn't care. They just said, 'It's just a dog,' and got me a new one a few weeks later— but it wasn’t the same. Nothing could ever replace Scout; he was precious."

"Or sparring with my dad… he used to make me box with him, at the ripe age of, what, 10? 11? He’d put on these old, worn-out gloves, and tell me to ‘toughen up.’ He wouldn’t hold back. Not really. He’d hit me hard enough to bruise, sometimes. One time, he knocked me down, and I remember just lying there on the floor, staring up at him. He just stood over me, saying ‘You're not hurt. Get up.’ It wasn’t about teaching me to defend myself. It was about… proving something. To himself, I guess. That he was strong. That I was weak. That I was his to break." He ran a hand through his hair, a flicker of pain crossing his features.

Diane's eyes widened, a genuine sympathy in their depths. "Oh Kendall, that's… awful."

A bitter chuckle escaped Kendall's lips. "Oh, and how could I ever forget the custody battle… they lined us up, me, Shiv, and Rome, and picked us, one by one, like we were being auctioned off. I was the last one left. The 'leftover.' My mom was so mortified—more by the optics, I think, than by my actual feelings—that she renegotiated the whole thing just to avoid taking me." He shook his head, the memory still sharp after all these years.

“I’m sorry, Kendall.” Diane whispered.

"That's just the tip of the iceberg," he said, his voice flat, almost devoid of emotion. "When I was thirteen, my first girlfriend admitted she only dated me to climb the social ladder. Dumped me the second she realized I wasn't going to get her into the 'in' crowd. It wasn't even personal, really. I was just a means to an end." He shrugged, but the gesture didn't quite mask the lingering hurt.

"And then, a few years later, my grandfather, who was like a father to me—the only father I ever truly knew—got sick. I spent months visiting him in the hospital, watching him fade away. The day he died, I was supposed to give a presentation in class. I went anyway, thinking I could compartmentalize. I got halfway through, broke down in front of everyone, and ran out of the room. I never finished the presentation. I never even went back to that class."

"But you learned from it, right?" Diane said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. Her fingers were cool against his skin. “You wouldn’t be who you are today if you didn’t get such tough skin from all of that, right?”

Kendall gave a wry, humorless smile. "I learned that some people are users. I learned that even hard work can lead to disaster. I learned that grief can hit you at the most inconvenient times. I learned that my own father saw me as something to conquer, not to nurture. And that sometimes, even your own mother can’t bear to look at you. I don't think a kid needs to learn all that. I should have been worried about algebra, not social manipulation and the casual cruelty of the people who were supposed to protect me." He looked at Diane, his eyes searching, pleading for understanding. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"No," she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I like listening to you." She pulled her hand back, tucking it under the covers. In the dim light, Kendall couldn't see the way her fingers were twisting the fabric of the sheet.

"What about you?" he asked gently. "What's keeping you up?"

Diane hesitated, her heart pounding against her ribs. The image of the box, the tape, the crimson stain on the rough cloth, the file , flashed through her mind. I killed him. It was an accident. The words echoed in her head, a chilling mantra. She swallowed hard, forcing them back down. She glanced at Kendall, at the genuine concern in his eyes, and a wave of guilt washed over her.

"Just… a light sleeper." she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. She pulled the covers up to her chin, as if trying to shield herself from his questions. It wasn't a lie, not entirely, but the truth was buried beneath layers of fear and desperation.

"Oh, shit my bad. I’m sorry for waking you, I uh, I sometimes get night terrors.” He muttered an apology, feeling guilty.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “I was just worried about you.”

“Don't let me keep you up. You need your precious beauty sleep.” He gently brushed her hair away from her forehead, his touch lingering.

When Kendall looked at Diane, a feeling bloomed in his chest, unfamiliar and potent. Was it love? A terrifying, exhilarating possibility. He’d never known it, not from Logan Roy, a man whose billions couldn’t buy him an ounce of paternal warmth. Logan’s affection was transactional, reserved for business deals and power plays, never for his children.

And his mother, Caroline… Caroline was a ghost in his life, a beautiful, brittle creature more concerned with her social standing than her offspring. She’d never breastfed her children, couldn't be bothered with the messy, intimate act of nurturing. From the moment they were born, they were handed off to a rotating cast of nannies and maids, their cries and needs a mere inconvenience to her perfectly manicured existence.

He’d spent his life chasing his parents’ approval, believing achievement would unlock their love. He’d excelled in school, captained the lacrosse team, pursued every venture his father suggested, hoping to finally earn a flicker of recognition, a word of praise. But their indifference had become a constant hum in the background of his life, a confirmation of his inherent unworthiness. Their eyes, when they did fall on him, held a chilling emptiness, as if they were looking through him, not at him. After the divorce, Caroline had all but vanished, choosing to settle for sprawling estates and lucrative investments rather than fight for custody. Land and property held more value to her than her own children. It was a stark, brutal message: they were disposable.

Even his marriage to Rava, a logical, expected step, had lacked a spark. It was a union born of societal pressure and a desperate attempt to create a semblance of normalcy, not love. Fatherhood, too, had failed to fill the void, overshadowed by Logan’s dismissive attitude towards his grandchildren, treating them as pawns in his ongoing power games.

Then there was Diane. At first, a welcome distraction, a brief respite from the crushing weight of his family’s legacy. Now… something more. She didn’t demand perfection or offer conditional acceptance like his family. Their shared experiences of childhood pain, though different in their specifics, resonated deeply. They understood the unspoken language of neglect, the constant ache of feeling unseen. Unlike Rava, who tried to mold him into a version of himself she found acceptable, Diane simply listened . She saw him, the real him, with all his flaws and insecurities. With Rava, he’d always worn a mask, playing the role of the successful husband and father, a performance he could never quite perfect, especially with his father’s critical gaze always in his mind.

Diane had found him in the depths of despair. The night they met, he was a wreck, a monument to self-destruction, lost in a haze of expensive whiskey, crushed pills, and a self-loathing that gnawed at him from the inside out. He’d been on the verge of oblivion, teetering on the precipice of something dark and irreversible. But instead of recoiling like everyone else—the concerned glances that quickly turned to averted eyes, the hushed whispers of “poor Kendall,” the thinly veiled disgust—she’d offered a brief respite from his agony.

And it wasn't just that one night. It was the weeks that followed, the slow, agonizing unraveling of Vaulter, the public humiliation, the feeling of utter failure that threatened to consume him. He’d expected her to disappear, to join the chorus of disappointed voices, to add her name to the long list of people who had abandoned him. But she didn't. When he was down in the dumps, curled up in the fetal position on his couch, reeking of stale liquor and despair, she stayed. She didn't try to fix him, didn't offer empty platitudes or unsolicited advice. She simply sat with him, a silent presence in his storm. She offered comfort in small gestures: a hand on his shoulder, a gentle stroke of his hair, a massage; her touch was a welcome distraction—only she could make him feel good..

He’d never known such kindness, such unwavering acceptance. His past relationships had been built on performance, on the expectation that he would always be the strong one, the successful one, the one who had it all together. With Diane, there were no expectations, no masks to maintain. He could be his broken, flawed self, and she wouldn't flinch.

Kendall was falling in love, a sensation entirely new to him, a terrifying and exhilarating freefall. He’d never known such a profound connection, such a deep and abiding affection. The love he’d witnessed had always been conditional, transactional, a tool for manipulation or a means to an end. He’d always doubted his capacity for love, his worthiness of it, convinced that he was incapable of giving or receiving such a pure and vulnerable emotion. Yet, here he was, feeling it for the first time.

And he would do anything to keep this woman in his life. The feeling he felt was aggressive and fraught— he wanted her with panic and passion.

————————————————————————-

Kendall woke up in the predawn hours, sleep eluding him. He watched Diane, her peaceful form curled away from him. A surge of affection washed over him, and he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her protectively. Soon, he was lulled back to sleep by the warmth of her body.

The first slivers of dawn pierced the curtains, painting the room in shades of grey. Diane stirred, her eyes snapping open. She was trapped, a prisoner in Kendall’s suffocating embrace. His grip was a vise. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, a low rumble against her ear.

“Let me up,” she said, a tremor in her voice as she tried to subtly pry his fingers loose.

“You’re so warm,” he protested, his hold tightening, a possessive edge creeping into his tone. “What’s the rush?”

Panic flared in Diane’s chest. Under her pillow, hidden from view, lay the box– the box containing the evidence. She had to move it, now. Before he saw. “I just… I like to start my day early,” she stammered, forcing a lightness into her voice, desperately trying to coax him out of bed, away from the pillow.

“Five more minutes,” he groaned, pulling her even closer, his breath hot on her neck.

“You’re such a diva,” she teased, a brittle laugh escaping her lips. Inside, her mind raced, calculating, strategizing. The seconds ticked by like hammer blows.

Kendall held her captive for what felt like an eternity, a suffocating closeness that made her skin crawl. Finally, with a sigh of exaggerated reluctance, he relented, but only after she promised him a “special present” and whispered promises of making him “feel good” after his shower – a promise that tasted like ash in her mouth.

The moment he was out of sight, the bathroom door clicking shut, Diane lunged for the pillow. Her fingers closed around the box, cold and hard in her trembling hand. She shoved it deep into her bag. A wave of nausea washed over her. This trip. This charade. It was all about uncovering the truth behind the cruise scandal, a truth buried deep beneath layers of lies and deceit. The stakes were higher than she’d ever imagined. This information was crucial, not just for her article, but for something much bigger. She took a shaky breath, steeling her resolve. No matter the cost.

When Kendall emerged, freshly showered and radiating an oblivious charm, Diane was already in the kitchen, forcing herself to appear calm and collected.

“I was promised a reward?” Kendall announced, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, you were,” Diane replied, a smirk playing on her lips. She slid a mug of steaming coffee towards him across the counter. “I made you coffee.” Of course, she knew he was expecting something more than coffee.

“You played me,” he pouted, his playful tone not quite masking a hint of disappointment.

“I never specified anything,” she giggled, her tone light and teasing.

“Maybe you just need some energy,” he suggested, his eyes twinkling with a playful light. He took a sip of the coffee, then set the mug down with a decisive clink. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

It was the last thing she wanted. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to flee, to return home with the file and the box, to dissect every piece of evidence, to finally break this story wide open. The need for a breakthrough was a burning obsession. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She forced a smile, a mask of compliance.

“Sure,” she agreed, her voice light and airy. She knew she had to play along, at least for now.

—————————————————————————

“Where are we going?” Diane asked, watching the blossoming trees blur past the window. She rolled it down, welcoming the spring breeze that tousled her hair, a fleeting moment of normalcy in the tense undercurrent between them.

Breakfast had been a strained affair. Kendall, clearly exhausted from a restless night, yawned incessantly, a stark contrast to his usual vibrant self. He pushed through it, though, his gaze fixed on Diane, as if her mere presence could ward off his fatigue. Spending time with her was paramount.

“It’s a surprise,” Kendall said, glancing at her, a look of almost unsettling adoration in his eyes. “But I think you’ll like it.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, a flicker of suspicion igniting within her.

“Well,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye, “your horoscope said you were going to have a day full of nostalgia and adventures. It said you’d spend it with a special someone.” He winked, the gesture feeling strangely heavy.

“Bullshit,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “You’re winding me up. Ha ha.” The laugh felt forced, brittle.

“I’m not,” he insisted earnestly. “That’s what it said on Elle, swear on my life.”

“But you don’t even believe in that stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes, trying to decipher if this was some elaborate joke, or something far more unsettling.

“Yeah, but you do, so it doesn’t matter what I think,” he replied, taking her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, resting their joined hands in her lap. The casual intimacy felt like a violation.

“You’re creeping me out now, seriously,” she rolled her eyes. “What is this secret location you’re taking me to?”

The unease wasn’t just about the mystery destination. It was about his sudden, intense focus on her, the way he seemed to be cataloging her every like and dislike. It was a dangerous game he was playing, a slippery slope that would inevitably lead to probing questions, intimate inquiries that she couldn’t afford.

Diane was always on edge around Kendall, a constant state of vigilance. She could never let her guard down, every word carefully weighed, every action meticulously planned. The risk of her cover being blown was a constant, suffocating pressure. The strain was taking its toll, a stark contrast to the easy comfort Kendall seemed to radiate in her presence. He was free, open, while she was trapped in a cage of her own making.

“Relax, you’re so tense,” he said, squeezing her hand again, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Mhmm,” Diane mumbled, offering a weak, uneasy smile.

Finally, Kendall parked the car. He climbed out, then rounded the vehicle, opening Diane’s door, offering his hand to help her out. As the building came into view, her breath caught in her throat. It was an aquarium. A genuine smile touched her lips.

“I know your Pisces quirks,” he smirked, a smug satisfaction in his voice, pulling her towards the entrance. “You love water.” The casual observation, the way he’d filed away this small detail about her, sent another wave of unease through her. This wasn’t just a date. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite define, but it felt like a trap closing around her.

The aquarium was a kaleidoscope of blues and greens, a mesmerizing underwater world teeming with life. Diane was captivated. Schools of shimmering fish darted past coral reefs, rays glided effortlessly through the water, and majestic sharks patrolled their domain. For a brief, precious moment, she forgot about the box, the lies, the constant vigilance. She was simply Diane, a woman enjoying the wonders of the ocean.

They watched playful sea otters tumble over each other, their sleek bodies twirling in the water. They stood mesmerized by the graceful ballet of jellyfish, their translucent forms pulsating with an ethereal glow. They even braved the touch tank, Diane hesitantly reaching out to stroke the rough skin of a starfish. Laughter bubbled up from her, genuine and unrestrained, a sound Kendall drank in like a man parched in a desert.

But the idyllic atmosphere began to shift as Kendall’s curiosity, previously charming, turned into something more intense. He started asking questions, probing beneath the surface, wanting to know the real Diane, the woman hidden behind the carefully constructed façade.

“What’s your favorite exhibit so far?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her, searching.

“Probably the beluga whales,” she replied, her gaze still on the massive white creatures swimming in their tank. “They’re so intelligent.”

“Like you,” he murmured, then, more pointedly, “So uh, what do you do for fun? You love the water, I know that much, but what else?”

The question hung in the air, the lightheartedness of the moment dissipating. Diane hesitated. “I… I don’t really have much time for fun,” she said, a half-truth slipping past her lips. “Work keeps me pretty busy.”

“You’re always working,” he observed, a hint of concern in his voice. “Don’t you have any friends? People you hang out with?”

“Not really,” Diane paused, considering her response. “I mean, I have friends,” she corrected herself, a slight catch in her throat. “I do. But I… I just don’t have time for them. I can’t explain it. When I’m with them, all I’m thinking about is the next project at work. I’m there, but not really there. Work alway has and will be my number one priority.”

It was the truth. Diane’s work ethic was relentless, bordering on obsessive. Late nights in the office were the norm, not the exception. She refused to leave until she was satisfied, driven by an internal engine that never seemed to run out of fuel.

This drive stemmed from her upbringing. Raised by hard working parents, she had learned the value of perseverance and dedication from a young age. Both her mother and father had worked tirelessly to provide her with the best life possible. Her mother, a dedicated nurse, often picked up extra shifts around holidays like her birthday and Christmas, sacrificing precious time to afford her the most luxurious gifts. Her father, a hardworking businessman who ran a small advertising company, had saved every penny from the day she was born to fund her college education. “You’re destined for greatness,” he would often tell her, instilling in her a deep belief in her own potential.

Driven by a potent mix of ambition and gratitude, Diane had excelled in her studies. Her near-perfect GPA had opened doors, leading her to a successful career in journalism. She poured her heart and soul into her work, striving for excellence in everything she did. This relentless drive was the reason she was so immersed in this current article, the cruise scandal. She had been promised a promotion, a reward she could almost taste. But beneath the professional ambition lay a deeper motivation: to make her parents proud. She wanted to show them that their sacrifices, their tireless efforts, hadn’t been in vain. She had to.

Kendall’s expression clouded slightly. “That’s… kind of sad,” he said softly. “Everyone needs someone.”

“My parents— my mom, she sacrificed everything for me,” she said, her voice softening. “That’s why I work so hard. I can’t let her down.”

“So that’s what drives you?” Kendall asked, his voice gentle. “The need to make them proud?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding slowly. “I guess it is.”

The conversation had taken a decidedly personal turn. Diane felt exposed, vulnerable. She had revealed more than she intended, offering glimpses into her past, half-truths woven with genuine emotion. Kendall, on the other hand, seemed satisfied, a small smile playing on his lips. He had learned something new about her, something he thought brought them closer. But for Diane, it was a dangerous game, a tightrope walk between truth and deception, and she knew she couldn’t keep it up forever.

“I… I can relate to that, Diane,” Kendall said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. “My dad… I was never good enough for him. Still amn’t.” He looked away, his gaze lost in the swirling water of a nearby tank, as if re-living a painful memory. “I spent my whole life trying to make him proud. But I always fail. Every single time.”

He recounted a harrowing memory, his voice laced with bitterness. “Even after he had the stroke… I went to see him once he woke up. He could barely speak, but he still managed to call me a ‘fucking moron.’ Even on his deathbed, he couldn’t bring himself to say he was proud.” A shudder ran through him. “I’m terrified,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “Terrified that his dying words will be that I’m a failure.”

The raw emotion in his voice was unsettling. Diane, ever the opportunist, saw a chance to delve deeper, to gather more information about Logan Roy, the man behind the monster. This wasn't about genuine empathy; it was about the story, the information she desperately needed.

“Why?” she asked, her voice soft, feigning concern. “Why did you let him treat you like that?”

Kendall hesitated, a flicker of pain crossing his face. He looked at Diane, his eyes filled with a deep, almost desperate need for understanding. “He’s holding some shit over my head, to control me,” he admitted, his voice strained.

Diane’s pulse quickened. This was it. This was the opening she’d been waiting for. His confession he murmured in his sleep last night: “I killed him. It was an accident.”

“What is it?” she pressed gently, her voice laced with feigned sympathy. She had to tread carefully; pushing too hard would raise suspicion.

Kendall looked away again, his expression a mixture of shame and fear. He remained silent for a long moment, the only sound the gentle hum of the aquarium’s filtration system. The tension in the air was palpable.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I can’t… It’s nothing… never mind,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

She softened her expression, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

Diane pressed further, her mind racing, trying to find a new angle to extract the information she craved. She remembered Kendall’s restless night, his night terror. “Was that what your nightmare was about last night?” she asked, her voice soft and concerned, tilting her head slightly. “Your dad?”

Kendall flinched, a visible ripple of discomfort passing over his face. He looked away, his gaze darting around the aquarium, landing on nothing in particular. The playful sea otters, the graceful jellyfish, the imposing sharks – none of it seemed to register. He was lost in his own private world of pain and fear.

He hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. “No,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “It wasn’t about him.”

The curt response hung in the air, a clear signal that the subject was closed. Diane could see the shutters coming down, the walls rising back up around him. He wasn’t going to offer any more information, not willingly.

She tried a different tack, softening her tone, feigning a casual interest. “Nightmares can be so strange,” she said, forcing a light chuckle. “Sometimes they’re just random images and feelings, not really about anything specific.”

Kendall remained silent, his gaze fixed on the swirling water of a nearby tank. He didn’t respond, didn’t offer any further explanation. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Kendall abruptly changed the topic, the shift in his mood almost jarring. “Let’s go play with the penguins,” he announced, a forced lightness in his voice. He reached for Diane’s hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, and began walking briskly in their direction, as if trying to outpace the heavy emotions that had just hung between them.

As they walked, Diane’s mind replayed everything Kendall had just revealed. A strange feeling stirred within her, something she hadn’t anticipated. A flicker of… empathy? It was an unwelcome sensation, a crack in the carefully constructed wall she had built around herself. Kendall, the man she had pegged as powerful, perhaps even villainous, suddenly appeared different. He seemed like a little boy trapped in a man’s body, a broken soul struggling beneath a surface of wealth and privilege.

She saw him now, not as the entitled heir she had imagined, but as a victim of circumstance. He was trapped under the oppressive weight of his father, unable to break free. The image of the spoiled rich bachelor began to crumble, replaced by a more nuanced, complex picture. Perhaps his behavior, his flaws, were a direct result of his upbringing, of the tyrannical figure that loomed over his life.

Diane was slowly peeling back his layers, uncovering the pain and hurt he carried deep within. A father who was a tyrant, wielding his power like a weapon. His mother hadn’t just left; she had abandoned them. Abandoned him and his siblings in the midst of a bitter divorce, choosing material possessions, property, over her own children. A brother who had betrayed him, a wound that cut deeper than any physical injury. It was a devastating combination, a recipe for deep-seated trauma. The image of a villain that she had expected dissolved completely, replaced by the stark reality of a deeply wounded child.

Kendall hadn’t just been through a “terrible childhood”; he had endured a series of profound betrayals, wounds that had clearly never healed. It wasn’t just about being rich and privileged; it was about the absence of love, the lack of emotional support, the deep-seated feeling of being unwanted.

The penguins, with their comical waddle and playful antics, provided a temporary distraction. Diane was genuinely delighted by their antics, she pointed out their individual quirks, laughing as they slipped and slid on the ice. Kendall found himself smiling, drawn in by her infectious enthusiasm, his earlier melancholy momentarily forgotten.

But even as Diane laughed alongside him, the feeling of empathy lingered. It was a disconcerting sensation, one she struggled to reconcile with her mission. She was supposed to be objective, focused on the story, not emotionally invested in the subject. Yet, she couldn’t deny the shift in her perception of Kendall. He was no longer just a source of information, a pawn– but he was also a victim.

The game had changed. It wasn't just about getting the story anymore; it was about something much more complicated, something she couldn't quite define.

—————————————————————————-

The afternoon was a promise of summer, a taste of the warmth to come. The Hamptons air, still carrying a hint of spring’s crispness, held the faintest whisper of salt and blooming beach roses. The sky, a brilliant, almost blinding blue, stretched endlessly overhead, the sun a benevolent presence warming their skin. From her perch on the yacht, Diane’s gaze swept across the scene: the coastline, a gentle curve of sand dunes and swaying beach grass, punctuated by the stately homes that lined the shore, their weathered shingles gleaming in the sunlight. The water, a vibrant turquoise, shimmered and danced, reflecting the sun’s rays like a thousand tiny diamonds. A few early sailboats, their white sails billowing in the gentle breeze, dotted the horizon, harbingers of the summer fleet soon to arrive.

Kendall, however, remained oblivious to the beauty surrounding him, lost in a deep, much-needed slumber. He was sprawled across a cushioned sunbed, his face turned towards the sun, absorbing its warmth like a cat basking in a sunbeam. He’d been wound tight all morning, a restless energy simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior, but the gentle rocking of the yacht and the warmth of the afternoon had finally coaxed him into a state of rare tranquility. His head rested comfortably on Diane’s bare thighs, his dark hair tousled, a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw.

Diane, seated on the edge of the sunbed, a well-worn paperback resting open in her lap, sipped her Prosecco, the tiny bubbles a pleasant tickle against her lips. The sun warmed her skin, but she was mindful of Kendall’s fair complexion. Every so often, she’d squeeze a generous dollop of high-SPF sunscreen onto her hand and gently rub it into his exposed back, her touch light and careful, avoiding the faint scars that marred his skin – she wondered how he got them, was his father so cruel?

He stirred in his sleep, a soft murmur escaping his lips. “Mmm… thanks,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He shifted slightly, nuzzling his face deeper into her thigh, a small, almost childlike gesture. For the first time in his life, someone was truly taking care of him, protecting him, not from physical harm, but from the constant, gnawing anxieties that plagued his mind. It was a small, almost insignificant act of care, but in its simplicity, it felt profoundly significant.

—————————————————————————-

After the sunset, they returned to the shore, the last vestiges of daylight painting the sky in hues of fading rose and soft lavender. Fine grains of sand clung to their skin. Diane was sprawled comfortably beside him on a beach blanket, his oversized Yale sweatshirt draped over her bikini, the sleeves swallowed by her small hands.

It was a stark contrast to her usual meticulously curated appearance— the tailored skirts that skimmed her knees, the crisp blouses buttoned just so, the subtle but perfectly applied makeup that enhanced her features. This casual, almost childlike version of Diane, with her hair tousled by the sea breeze and her face bare of makeup.

He knew it was pathetic, this almost obsessive focus on her appearance. He was a man who commanded boardrooms, negotiated billion-dollar deals, and yet, he was utterly captivated by the way the fading light caught the curve of her cheek, by the way her bare feet ruffled in the sand. He was pathetic, he knew that, and yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. Not at this moment. Not when she looked like this.

She looked so perfect, it was bordering on painful. It was a low, simmering ache in his gut, a tightening in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He swore it was driving him clinically insane. So good that it was making his genius brain, the one that could dissect complex financial models and strategize corporate takeovers, malfunction. And, if he was being brutally honest with himself, it was also making his downstairs ‘brain’ run on overdrive.

She began to trace patterns in the sky with her finger, her voice soft and hushed, as if sharing a sacred secret. “See that bright one there?” she asked, pointing towards a star just beginning to pierce the twilight. “That’s Arcturus, one of the brightest stars in the spring sky. It’s part of the constellation Boötes, the herdsman. You can find it by following the arc of the Big Dipper’s handle.”

Kendall followed her gaze, his eyes drawn to the emerging point of light. The sky was still transitioning from day to night, a gradient of deep blues and purples, making the few visible stars seem all the more precious. “It’s just starting to come out,” he murmured, a genuine sense of wonder in his voice.

Diane smiled, her eyes reflecting the nascent starlight. “Exactly,” she said. “It’s a sign of spring, a promise of warmer nights to come. And over there,” she continued, shifting her finger slightly, “that’s Leo, the lion. See how it kind of looks like a backwards question mark? Regulus is its brightest star, marking the lion’s heart.” She traced the constellation’s shape in the sky, her finger moving with a graceful precision. “It’s a powerful image, a symbol of strength and courage.”

“Strength,” Kendall repeated, the word catching in his throat. He’d spent so much of his life trying to project an image of strength, a mask that was constantly threatening to slip. The idea of genuine inner strength, the kind that Diane seemed to possess effortlessly, felt like a distant, unattainable dream.

“Yeah,” Diane said, her gaze still fixed on the heavens. “And if you look a little further down, you can see Virgo, associated with the harvest, another sign of the coming abundance of summer. Spring is all about new beginnings, right? A time for things to grow and bloom.” She paused, taking a deep breath of the cool, fragrant air. “It makes you think about possibilities, about what could be.”

Her words, her quiet enthusiasm, had a grounding effect on Kendall. The emerging stars, the ancient stories woven into the constellations, the promise of spring’s renewal, created a space outside of his own anxieties. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt present, connected to something larger than himself, anchored to the earth beneath him. The sand beneath him felt solid, the cool spring air on his skin felt refreshing, and the woman beside him, with her quiet wisdom and gentle spirit, felt like a lifeline in the encroaching darkness.

Kendall admired Diane’s side profile, she was beautiful, not in the polished, calculated way she often presented herself to the world, but in a raw, natural way that took his breath away. Spring was in the air, and it seemed to have breathed new life into her as well. The moonlight cast long shadows across the sand, illuminating the delicate curve of Diane’s cheek, the soft curve of her lips.

"You look so beautiful," Kendall murmured, his voice low and husky, the sound barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. He leaned in, gently cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly across her cheekbones. His touch was feather-light, hesitant, as if he were afraid she might shatter if he held her too tightly. And then he kissed her.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, like a question being asked rather than a statement being made. Gentle. Nothing rushed. It wasn't the kind of kiss they'd shared before. Their previous encounters had been charged with a different kind of energy, a raw, almost desperate urgency fueled by lust, by the heat of the moment during sex. Those kisses had been demanding, possessive, frantic.

This was different. This was tender, almost hesitant, a soft exploration rather than a passionate conquest. It was the first time they had kissed like this, fully clothed. The lines blurred in Diane’s mind; this felt dangerously close to real.

She pulled back slightly, a flicker of confusion, perhaps even a hint of fear, in her eyes.

Kendall, sensing her hesitation, didn't pull away. He simply stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes a silent plea, a desperate yearning for something he couldn't quite articulate. He wanted this connection, this moment, to be real, to mean something. He so desperately wanted the heavens above to answer the silent prayer in his heart, to grant him this one thing he craved above all else: genuine, unconditional love.

Diane got lost in his hazel eyes, those pools of vulnerability and longing. Against her better judgment, she leaned back in, her own hand reaching up to touch his arm. Their lips met again, this time with a greater sense of urgency, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Their lips moved in sync, it felt bizarre, wrong on so many levels. This wasn't supposed to happen. But for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to forget about her plan.

Kendall was kissing her like he was terrified. Terrified he would wake up and it would’ve all been a dream, a fleeting mirage in the desert of his loneliness. He held onto her as if she might disappear at any moment, his lips pressing against hers with a desperate, almost frantic tenderness. He rolled them over, a slow, deliberate movement that shifted their positions on the beach. Now, Diane straddled his hips, her knees sinking slightly into the cool, damp grains of sand.

“Sit on my face,” Kendall pleaded, squeezing her ass. She frowned as he laid his head down, getting cozy with his head on the sand, still smirking, patting his mouth comically—an invitation.

“What?” Diane asked not sure what to make of his unusual request. She knew it was a private beach but it still felt too exposed.

When she didn’t move he lifted his head back up, “Come on,” he urged her, tapping her hips to nudge her along, “let me taste you. Sit. On. My. Face.”

Kendall couldn't resist not eating her out whenever he had the chance. She slowly crawled up over him, hesitating once she was straddling his chest, unable to hold back a blush. His warm hands are quick to hook around her thighs, sliding his thumb over her hip bones as she hovered in front of his chin, “come closer.”

He lifted his head up when she finally scooted forward, still hovering. Kendall kissed her inner thigh, smirking as her hips bucked lower towards his touch.

“Sacred I’m gonna bite?” His lips moved against her thigh, his stubble tickling her as he spoke.

“No, I don’t want to suffocate you.” She pushed her fingers through his hair, gripping at his roots.

“I wish you would, ” he groaned, pulling her lower so he didn’t have to crane his neck to taste her. He licked the wet spot on her bikini, lapping at her juices, moaning before flattening his tongue, dragging it up to her clit to suck lightly through the fabric.

It wasn’t long before had enough of the thin material blocking his way, aggressively pulling on the strings over her hips to untie it, so he could finally lick her how he wanted. Which she quickly realized was mercilessly. He was hungry—starved for something only her pussy could satiate, drinking her in like he was dehydrated. It was intense. He ate with reverence, slurping loudly and humming in appreciation, his hot lips suctioning on her clit till she was seeing stars.

Diane’s feedback was choppy, like her brain couldn’t sync up in time to react to his movements— to the sensations. It was all broken moans and shudders, the only thing consistent is the way she pulled his hair.

She was leaning more and more of her weight onto his face and rocking , occasionally lifting a bit when she remembered her self-control. But after she lifted one too many times, Kendall’s fingers tightened around her thighs, holding her close with an ironclad grip— making her squirm.

Kendall was delighted as he peered up at her beneath drunk lashes, eyes just as dazed as his mind as he watched her sumptuous body move on top of him. She tasted like cloyingly honey on the tip of his tongue, her essence lingering in the back of his throat every time he swallowed. He chased the slick beads as they dripped down her plump thighs, greedy mouth attacking her soft insides as she moaned on top of him, her pussy drooling and clenching around nothing as the hot coil inside of her twisted tighter. He groaned against her searing skin, his hot breath tickling her sensitive flesh as every hair on the nape of her neck stood up.

"So beautiful" Kendall muttered, voice dripping with reverence. "You look so beautiful tonight."

He etched the intimate scene into his mind as a pleasant itch tingled at the base of his skull, fingers twitching around her plump hips as he squeezed the pillowy soft skin. His tongue lapped at the dripping seam of her cunt; prying open the puffy folds as indulged in more of your slick nectar flowing from her core like a river.

Diane almost choked on a hiccup of pleasure, her clit weakly kicking against the press of his nose as he sealed his mouth over her entrance. Her blood simmered in her veins, pulling and tugging on his raven locks, hips shaking as she tried to contain her sudden spike in arousal twisting low in the pit of her gut. A constellation of tears clung to the edges of her lashes as stars swirled in her vision, voice stinging her throat as she struggled to breathe.

Her legs trembled, her full weight failing upon his lips and tongue—and Kendall couldn’t have been more grateful . It didn't take long for his mouth to become sloppy, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Diane’s vision began to blur. She couldn’t tell if it was from tears welling up or the overwhelming sensation building in her core. She was dripping so, so sweetly, and Kendall beneath her hummed, hungry, ravenous, he needed more, he wanted to eat her whole. His tongue slowly circled her bud, and oh fuck, he pulled and it tugged in it, opening the floodgates. The building pressure unfurled, Diane threw her head back, whimpering. And kendall drank it all in.

But he didn’t stop there. He wasn’t done just yet.

He held her in place, still latched onto her clit as she rode out her orgasm. Because cumming once wasn’t enough for him. It didn’t matter that his chin was wet with her, that his tongue was soaked with the taste of her. Kendall wanted to wrack her body until she had nothing left to give. So he kept on sucking and swirling his tongue around her clit, until she came again and again until she was spent, until she screamed without sound, until the stars behind her eyelids faded away into black.

Her hips convulsed around him, putting him in a headlock of sorts, before she released him, her body fell back against his raised knees, he caught her, letting her body take a moment from his torturous tongue.

“Could eat you all night,” he groaned, her legs still open, inches away from his mouth, as her back rested against his thighs, her head draped over his knees. He watched her pink, puffy lips glisten with his residual spit and her own sweet juices.

Diane had gone non-verbal by that point, her body was still shaking as she looked up at the vast expanse of the sky. Kendall moved his middle finger up and down along her slit before taking his middle and index finger to spread open her sensitive lips, admiring her sex dripping for him. He loved the way it glistened. He watched as her walls clenched around nothing, practically begging him to fill her up.

“Kendall, please,” she begged him. Her voice, still raspy. He did a double take at her disheveled appearance. Her eyes bloodshot with her mascara running, smudging her under eyes.

He didn't respond as he spread her lips further apart, letting the cold breeze hit her entrance. Her face heated up while Kendall fully exposed her.

“You have the tightest little pussy,” he commented, feeling how her entrance wanted to take in his thumb, but he didn't push it in. Not yet.

He finally slipped a finger inside her. Her walls instinctively squeezed around his thick digit. She cried out in pleasure as she squirmed more. The pad of his finger slowly rubbed and pressed firmly on that spongey spot on her walls. She arched her back letting out a strangled cry.

Kendall gently pushed another finger inside her. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as he began pumping them in and out of her slowly. She felt his cock twitch under her. His fingers were knuckle deep, he continued thrusting them inside her. He curled them up and made sure to pay close attention to her g-spot, pressing on it and massaging it. Making her walls clench up, her toes curling in the sand.

“You okay, baby?” Kendall checked in, but his fingers didn’t slow.

“Y-yes… I’m okay, keep going,” she stammered out, as she tried to keep focus.

He chuckled and picked up the pace. His fingers were making her pussy create the most vulgar wet sounds she'd ever heard. Her slick soaking his hand as he fucked her. Her legs shook and he took his other hand to rub tight circles over her clit.

Kendall didn't stop. His fingers still moved in and out of her while his other hand paid attention to her throbbing clit. He milked her pussy as she rode out her release. He finally slowed down and stilled his hands. Carefully, he removed his fingers with a loud shlick . A string of her juices still connecting to them. He brought them up to his lips, sticking them in his mouth.

Kendall hummed at the taste of her. “You’re so sweet.” She wanted to hide her face, her eyes were glossy, illuminated by the moonlight.

“You're crazy,” Diane whispered, feeling like she just had an out of body experience. He pulled her back down, their chests pressed together, his tongue dancing in her mouth.

(*siri play champage coast by blood orange; 3:01*)

A rogue wave, emboldened by the rising tide, surged up the beach, engulfing their legs. The sudden rush of icy water sent a jolt through Kendall, a flash of annoyance tightening his features. He scowled at his soaked clothes, the sand now stubbornly clinging to the damp fabric.

But then he looked at Diane.

Her reaction was the complete opposite. She threw her head back and let out a burst of pure, unrestrained laughter—a sound so genuine and carefree, it was infectious. Before Kendall could process his irritation, Diane was running towards the water’s edge, jumping into the sea with a joyful cry, submerging herself completely. The cool water seemed to revitalize her, like a dried-up starfish returned to the ocean.

She resurfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water dripping from her eyelashes, but her smile was radiant. “It’s amazing!” she shouted, her voice echoing across the beach. “Come on in!”

Kendall watched her, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant amusement swirling within him. He was still annoyed about his ruined clothes, but Diane’s infectious joy was hard to resist. He couldn’t understand her carefree attitude, her ability to embrace the unexpected.

He hesitated, glancing at his expensive, now soaked shoes. But Diane’s laughter continued to beckon. He kicked off his shoes and waded into the cold water.

Suddenly, Diane splashed him, a playful wave aimed directly at his chest. Kendall gasped, feigning offense. “Oh, you’re going down!” he shouted, retaliating with a splash of his own. Playful splashes and shrieks echoed across the quiet beach, a stark contrast to Kendall’s usual heavy silence. He chased Diane through the shallows, the cold water a shocking but welcome sensation. As he lunged for her, catching her in his arms, they both tumbled into the waves with a shared cry.

For Kendall, the feeling was almost foreign. He had forgotten what it felt like to simply laugh. The last time he remembered feeling this carefree was a distant memory, a faded snapshot from a childhood that felt like it belonged to someone else. His life had become a carefully constructed performance, a constant striving for his father’s approval. There was no room for joy in the rigid structure he had built around himself. Every action was weighed against his father’s expectations, the burden of his past mistakes, the fear of his uncertain future.

But in that moment, in the cool ocean water, with Diane’s laughter ringing in his ears, the weight lifted. The years of pressure, the constant striving, the deep-seated fear – all of it seemed to wash away with the waves. He was just Kendall, a man playing in the ocean with a woman who made him feel something he couldn’t define. It was more than just attraction; it was connection, a shared moment of pure joy.

He looked at Diane, her face flushed with laughter, and a genuine smile spread across his own. He had forgotten the simple pleasure of being present, of letting go of his worries and simply enjoying another person’s company. She had somehow managed to chip away at the walls he had built around himself, revealing a part of him he thought had long since died. It was terrifying.

They continued their playful fight, splashing and chasing each other until they were both breathless and shivering. They collapsed onto the sand, their wet clothes clinging to their bodies.

“Come on,” Kendall said, extending a hand to her. “Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.” He gently pulled her to her feet, noticing she was shivering slightly. The sand squished between her toes with every step.

He then bent down, scooping her up into his arms before she could protest. Diane gasped, a surprised laugh escaping her lips. “I can walk,” she protested, though her voice lacked conviction.

“You’re freezing,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, his eyes filled with concern. “And walking in this wet sand isn’t going to help. Besides,” he added with a playful grin, a hint of teasing in his tone, “I think I’ve worn you out tonight?”

Diane met his gaze, a small smile playing on her lips. She didn’t argue, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing counterpoint to the crashing waves. Then, she drifted off.

Kendall carried Diane back to the house, her small frame surprisingly light in his arms. He climbed the porch steps and entered the warm interior, noticing her breathing had become slow and even. He carried her directly to the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. The wet fabric of her clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin, so he carefully removed his soaked sweatshirt from her, being mindful not to wake her.

He fetched a soft towel and dried her off. He didn't care about the sand that fell onto the sheets or the saltwater that clung to their hair. All that mattered was Diane, the peaceful expression on her sleeping face, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

He found a clean pair of his sweatpants and a soft t-shirt and dressed her, pulling the soft fabric over her still-damp skin. He then lay down beside her, pulling the covers over them both and tightening his hold slightly, drawing her closer. He had never felt this sense of peace, this quiet contentment. It was a feeling that defied explanation—a simple knowing that everything, in that moment, was exactly as it should be.

It was just them, in that quiet room, with the sound of the ocean as their only companion. It felt perfect—a brief escape from the complexities of their lives, a moment of respite. For Kendall, it was a glimpse of something he hadn't known he was missing: a taste of peace and connection. And for Diane, in her sleep, it was a moment of respite from her carefully constructed plan, a brief surrender to the simple comfort of being held.

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hunzzzzz · 3 months ago

Text

Tell me sweet little lies: part 5

(Kendall Roy x OFC)

Summary: Diane and Kendall go out of town for a relaxing weekend. Diane puts on her investigative hat and is on the hunt to unravel the truth.

Warnings: smut / sex in the sea

A/N: 7k+ words and the plot thickens!!!!!

🦋🐬🔷🌊🧢🪼💙🫐🥏🏙️🧿🩵🐳💦🧊🥣🛝🚙

“Get off your phone,” Kendall grumbled from the driver's seat. “The person in shotgun is supposed to be the designated entertainer.”

“I’m a passenger princess,” Diane rolled her eyes, switching her phone to do not disturb mode and put it away. “There, happy? Now what?”

“Let’s play a game?” He suggested.

Diane never imagined this would be how she was spending the weekend. She had hoped that Kendall would have forgotten about his plan, she thought it was just a spur of the moment, rash decision he had made while he was pussy drunk, but he was serious enough to follow up about it the next day over breakfast. She was forced to cancel her dads visit to fully immerse herself in her backstory.

“I spy?”

“What are we, kindergarteners?” He snorted, shooting her a mocking look.

“Fine. What amazing idea do you have, Einstein?”

“Let’s play 21 questions, I feel like I barely know anything about you.”

“Mhmm,” Diane nodded, but internally she was screaming, it was getting hard to keep up with all the lies she had told him as it was. “Let’s make it more interesting. 2 truths one lie?”

“Okay, you start.”

“Uhmmm okay let me think,” she tapped her chin, “Okay, I used to have my nipples pierced, without naming any names… I have slept with a member of one direction, and.. and.. I’ve done anal.”

“I don’t think you did it right,” Kendall furrowed his brows in confusion, “it’s supposed to be 2 truths, not 2 lies, right? Am I supposed to find the 1 truth or the 1 lie?”

“Nope, I did it right. I told you 2 truths and 1 lie. And you have to determine which one is the lie.”

Kendall swallowed hard, going over Diane’s statements, “Fuck me, and here I thought you were innocent.” Fatherless behaviour, Kendall thought to himself, but he couldn’t entirely blame Diane for that given her relationship with her dad, he felt her. “I mean you really had a wild streak huh?”

“Had? Oh baby, I'm still in my wild streak. Why else would I be going to the Hamptons with a strange man?”

“Fuck you,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Tik tok, tik tok….” Diane tapped her bare wrist like she had a watch, “Do you give up?”

“Uhhhh, fuck this is hard. Can I just say for the record I think you’re winding me up and they’re all lies BUT gun to my head…. Then maybe the one direction one?”

“Wrong.” Diane laughed.

“Wait seriously? And just to confirm we are talking about the British boy band, yeah?” Diane nodded and Kendall looked at her and then back at the road and then back at her, his mouth agape. “Which one?”

“I can’t disclose that information.” She smirked looking out the window.

“Did you uh, sign a fucking NDA or some shit?”

“No, it’s just none of your business.”

“It was Harry, wasn’t it?”

“Nope.”

“Or that other one, with the fucking cheekbones, uhhh what’s his face— Zack? NO, Zayn!” He snapped his fingers.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“You’re unbelievable, who would’ve thought. Fucking Zayn.” He said, jealousy evident in his tone, “Wait so which one was the lie? The nipple piercing one?”

“You really think I tried anal?” She looked at him incredulously, “Absolutely not!”

“You know out of the 3 you gave me, it sounded like the most normal one.” He teased, “But you know maybe we can change that to a truth.”

“Over my dead body.” Diane smacked his arm, making him wince.

“Hey! No abusing the driver.”

“Your turn.”

“Gonna be hard to top your freak level, but I’ll try.” He teased, earning another harsh smack from her. “Uhhhh, I used to play professional tennis, one time when I was a kid I stole my mom’s favourite pearl necklace and blamed it on my brother, and uhhh— oh, I’ve never been in love before.”

“Seriously it took you that long to come with that load of crap.” She raised her brows, it was almost too easy, “The last one.”

“Oohh wrong, too overconfident sweetheart.”

“What?” Diane recalled that he was married before, there was no way she had gotten that piece of information wrong, “How is that possible?”

“Yes, I was married. No, I wasn't in love.” He answered, reading her mind.

“Then, then why did you even get married?”

“Because I loved her.” He stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you weren’t in love with her? That doesn't make any sense.”

“You’ll go through it some day and then you’ll understand.”

“Okay, so you didn’t steal your moms pearl necklace?” She clarified.

“Nope, I did do that.”

“Why?”

“I was mad at my little brother for something, I can’t even remember now. But yeah I blamed the whole thing on him. He wasn’t allowed sweets for a whole month.” Kendall recalled the memory with a grin.

“You are evil.”

“Nah, he probably deserved it. He was a little shit back then, actually still is.”

“What did you even gain from that?”

“His suffering brought me joy, and I still have that pearl necklace.” He admitted.

"So you were never a professional tennis player," Diane pressed, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Yeah, right. I played a bit. I was pretty good, actually. But my dad, classic dad, didn't see the point. 'Useless sport,' he called it. 'Better off with your head up a horse's ass.' And that’s a direct quote from him." Kendall scoffed, a bitter edge to his tone.

Diane leaned in, her eyes boring into his. "Your dad seems to have a lot of control over your life."

Kendall shrugged, a practiced gesture. "It's easier to go along with it. Besides, he turns into Stalin on steroids when he doesn't get his way."

"What would it take for you to defy him? Hypothetically, of course." Diane's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Was Kendall capable of standing up to his father? Would he protect his company's reputation, or would he blindly follow his father's destructive path?

She'd seen the interview. "My dad's plan was better," he'd said, a puppet on a string. But was there a spark of rebellion beneath the surface? Could she ignite it, turning him from a pawn into a powerful ally?

"I tried," Kendall muttered, his jaw clenching. "Didn't work."

“But the vote of no confidence was premature. I mean come on, you had one foot out the door. There was no way it was gonna work.” Diane urged him. “You need to think bigger—“

“I can’t—“

Diane and all of America saw the news when Kendall backed away from the Beat hug, “You almost had it the second time, you just gave up too early. You had a solid right hand man who had your back. You had Logan backed into a corner—“

Kendall's jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "I CAN'T, OKAY? I've tried everything you're thinking and failed. I’ve exhausted every option. And I can't, okay?" His voice was a low growl, raw with frustration. “I just can’t. I don’t have any cards left to play, or a hand.”

Diane's heart pounded in her chest. She'd never seen him like this before. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to yell."

"My dad doesn't play clean," he continued, his eyes filled with a dark intensity. "If I try anything again, he'll bury me alive."

Diane knew she'd pushed too far. She'd seen the monster beneath the surface, the man trapped in his father's shadow.

"I'm sorry for being nosy," she said softly.

The car crash. The kid. His father would bury him alive with that story if he stepped out of line. It was clear that Kendall didn't have a moral compass. He wouldn't come clean about the cruise scandal - women fired, forced into sexual acts, thrown overboard. Disgusting. Diane's blood boiled. She knew she had to be the one to expose the truth, no matter the cost.

So far, she had nothing. Whispers, rumors. She needed a solid lead, a witness, something. This weekend, she had a chance. A chance to connect with Kendall, to gain his trust. To become his person.

A tense silence filled the car. Kendall stole a glance at Diane, worried he had scared her by raising his voice. He took her hand into his and kissed the back of it, a silent apology.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Diane warned, her voice sharp.

“You keep forgetting that I, unlike you, actually have a full license.” he teased, a playful note in his voice.

“That doesn’t make you immune to car crashes,” she retorted, the double meaning hanging heavy between them. Kendall’s grip on her hand tightened.

"You want to drive?" he offered, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"I haven't practiced in a while…." she hesitated.

“Come on, I'll help you.” Kendall reassured her, slowing down and pulling to the side of the road. “Climb over.”

“And sit where? In your lap?” She looked at him with wide eyes.

"No, the roof," he scoffed. "Come on, don't be a baby."

With a sigh, she unbuckled and shifted, settling awkwardly on his lap. "Okay, you take the wheel. I'll keep my foot on the brake," he instructed, his breath warm against her ear.

She gripped the steering wheel, her heart pounding. "What if the cops pull us over?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"They won't," he chuckled, his hands finding her hips. "Now, speed up."

"Are you sure?" she asked again.

"Sweetheart, you're doing 70 in a 100," he said, his voice low and seductive. "People are going to start honking. Press the gas, now."

She pressed harder on the accelerator, the wind whipping through her hair. He squeezed her hips reassuringly.

—————————————————————————-

"I like to call this place, 'The safe haven,'" Kendall welcomed Diane inside, dropping their bags in the foyer.

“It’s nice.” Diane wandered around the space, taking in the intricate details. It was a bohemian twist, with pastel blue walls, childhood photos lining the staircase, and colorful rugs adorning the hardwood floors. The cozy atmosphere felt almost lived-in, like a family had once called it home.

"Yeah, I try to bring my kids here every summer," Kendall explained, walking into the kitchen.

"If I had a place like this, I'd never leave," Diane sighed, perching herself on a barstool.

"Bar cart seems fully stocked. You want a sip of something?" Kendall rummaged through the bottles of liquor. "Before you even say it, I don't know how to make an espresso martini." He grinned at her.

"Surprise me then." Diane pulled out her phone, checking her emails. Even on vacation, work was never far from her mind. Her friends called her a workaholic, but she didn't care. Rome wasn't built in a day. Diane was ambitious, an overachiever. She was the one emailing her boss at 2 AM with new article ideas. Her colleagues might resent her, but her boss praised her in every meeting. She had tunnel vision, focused on the day she'd finally claim her throne at the top.

"You're addicted to your phone," Kendall scolded her, placing a mystery drink in front of her.

"I'm sorry I have a life," she shrugged, taking a sip. "Hmm, it's nice. Kind of like a Shirley Temple with a sour twist."

"Yeah, I had to make do with what we had," Kendall replied, sipping his whiskey.

"You know we have the whole house to ourselves for the weekend," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“Well, I should hope so.” She murmured, feeling him kiss sloppily down her neck.

“Uh-huh,” he sucked on the spot behind her ear, “Just think about all the new places I could bend you over.”

“I’m a bit tired from the drive,” she mumbled, leaning back into his touch.

“You didn’t seem tired when you were grinding your ass against me in the driver's seat?”

“I was just practicing my driving, not my fault you’re so perverted.” She bit back a moan. Kendall had a way of unwinding her with his fingertips, a single touch had her forgetting her purpose. They hadn’t even been in the house for 10 minutes and Kendall was all over her like a persistent cat waiting to be fed.

“Uh-huh. Innocent is not the word I would use. And I’m sure Zayn would agree.” He nibbled on her tender flesh, “Let's freshen up, and then we can go to the beach out back, soak up Vitamin D.”

“I already get enough of it as it is.”

“From Zayn?”

“Enough about Zayn.”

—————————————————————————

Kendall led her to their room and went to the bathroom to shower. Diane had the perfect opportunity to snoop around the house. She set a timer for 10 minutes on her phone and quickly made her way to the study, Kendall had shown her a glimpse of it when he gave her the grand house tour.

Diane tiptoed inside, the heavy wooden door creaking ominously. She prayed the shower's roar would mask the sound. She didn't know what she was looking for, but this was Logan Roy's study. Surely, there had to be something, a clue, a secret. The room was surprisingly bare. No family photos, no personal mementos. Just a sleek desk, a solitary pen, and a dusty lamp. Diane's heart pounded as she rifled through the desk drawers. The first was a bust, filled with pens and candy wrappers. The second held insurance papers, property deeds, and a stack of Forbes magazines. Useless. The third drawer was locked. She scanned the room for a key, but there was nothing.

Frustration gnawed at her. She moved to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the edges. She pulled out a few books, checking behind them, even flipping through the pages, hoping a key might magically appear.

She felt around the leather office chair, looking for a ripped seam where something could be hidden. She checked under the rug, in the flower pot, but still came up empty-handed. She wiped the dust and dirt from her hands.

Before she could search any further, her ears perked up, the water had stopped running, she didn’t even realize it. There was still 3 minutes left on her timer. She scrambled out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

"Hey, there you are," Kendall appeared in the hallway with a towel wrapped around his hips.

"Hey, I was just trying to get some signal around here," Diane said hurriedly, waving her phone in the air.

"Huh, didn't realize we had a signal problem," Kendall furrowed his brow. "My phone's working fine."

"Yeah, my phone's a piece of junk," she laughed nervously, trying to cover her tracks.

"Well, serves you right, you're addicted," Kendall teased, stepping closer, water droplets glistening on his skin. "Maybe a weekend without your precious phone will teach you to appreciate the smaller things in life."

“Oh trust me, I appreciate the smaller things in life,” she purred, trailing a hand down his chest, “even the smallest of things…” she cupped him through his towel.

"Oh, you're in for it now," Kendall's face lit up with a mischievous grin as he lunged forward, arms outstretched.

"You'll have to catch me first!" Diane squealed, ducking under his grasp and darting into their room. The bed became her fortress.

"Scared?" he teased, circling the bed.

"Just testing your cardio," she retorted, leaping onto the bed and crossing to the other side. "Too slow!"

"Oh, I was just going easy on you, sweetheart," Kendall panted, his playful facade slipping.

He charged towards her, but Diane was quicker. She darted out the bedroom door and down the stairs, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Careful, don't slip. Wouldn't want you to break your hip!" she taunted, disappearing out the back door towards the beach.

She kicked off her shoes, shedding her jeans and top, and ran into the cool water. She ventured further till she was waist deep in the water, she could hear the sound of footsteps splashing behind her. She turned, but Kendall was nowhere to be seen. Only his towel marked his spot on the beach.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed her leg, pulling her under the surface. Her scream was muffled, a silent bubble in the water. Through the distorted vision, she saw Kendall's face, his eyes filled with a dangerous intensity.

As Kendall pulled Diane under, a strange sense of peace washed over him. The fear that had haunted him for so long, the fear of drowning, seemed to dissipate. The ocean, once a terrifying abyss, now felt like a familiar embrace. The weight of the water, once a suffocating pressure, now felt invigorating. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush, the thrill of the chase. Or maybe it was the sheer joy of sharing this moment with Diane. In her presence, the trauma of the past, faded into the background.

Diane broke through the surface, gasping for air. "Gotcha," Kendall emerged, with a triumphant smirk on his face, water dripping from his hair.

Before she could swim away, “Uh-uh-uh, too slow,” He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her flush to his body in the cool Atlantic, kissing her fiercely, a mixture of saliva and salt. In that moment, age seemed to vanish, time got lost when he was with Diane, she made the wrinkles on his forehead disappear.

He loved the way her legs wrapped around his waist with a firm squeeze. “You know, I love the ocean,” she murmured, her voice as gentle as the waves, “I’m a water sign.”

“Cancer?” he mumbled a guess against her lips, kissing down her neck. He took in her soaking wet lace bra clinging to her skin, with the ease of his hand he unhooked it and disposed of it, letting it float away with the waves.

“Pisces,” Her fingers tickled lightly at the back of his neck making him shiver.

“I don't believe in that shit,” He adjusted her closer.

She repeated it into his mouth— I love water —and the words tasted sweet and ripe, like some exotic fruit plucked just for him.

“Pisces are just permeable membranes that pensively let things flow through them,” She kissed his chin, the curve of his jaw, “like cerebral sea sponges.”

“I believe you,” he groaned as she bit and teased kisses up the side of his neck. She could tell him the sky was green and the ocean was orange and he’d believe her. She made it so easy to believe, her sweet words had him dissolving in the water, gladly becoming food for the fish and corals.

“What’s your sign,” her voice was velvety smooth, as she traced his earlobe with the tip of her tongue.

“Taurus,” he grunted, slipping his hand into the back of her panties, working it lower and lower over the firm curve of her ass.

“Taurus’ are greedy,” she purred, “you indulge yourself in pleasure. Ruled by Venus, you have a lust for giving, for receiving— you want it all. It fuels you, rewards you.”

A wave crashed against them, lapping at their shoulders. Diane wriggled against him, against his hand, against the firm ridge of his cock which poked at her inner thigh.

He could feel the points of her nipples against his skin, “I’m whatever you say I am,” He slid his hand lower, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” Diane gasped when his fingertips found a new wetness, viscous and hot between her folds.

He worked two fingers into her tightness as she grinded her hips against him, her head tipping back feeling the friction of his cock against her clit, the ends of her hair disappearing into the water. He leaned over kissing the smooth column of her throat, making her moan.

“You love the water,” he said, tracing his tongue over her collarbone.

Her hand trailed down his chest, disappearing between them and he nearly lost his balance when she began to rub his swollen tip.

“Yes,” she nodded desperately. “I want to swim with the sharks.” The adrenaline was still coursing through her system, she didn’t care about being seen in broad daylight. For once she was truly living in the moment, not worrying about her next move. Flowing freely with the waves.

The hollow behind her ear tasted like vanilla and honey. Kendall sucked hard enough to leave a mark, a bruise that would purple as the rest of her skin freckled and browned in the sun.

“Your earth and I’m water,” her voice was low and tidal, “we connect on the shore.”

His cock was pulsating just from hearing her swollen raspberry lips murmur horoscopes to him in the vast expanse of the sea. He felt her fingers between her legs, brushing against his own which were still buried in her. She tugged her panties to the side. He caught her drift, retreating with his hand, and plunged his hips forward, slotting himself where he belonged. He was coming home, shipwrecked.

“Fuck—ohh—I lo—” he moaned when she clenched around him. “—fuck do you love this?”

The moment the words passed his lips, he wanted to snatch them back, the words I love you were on the tip of his tongue, the one thing he couldn’t have. But in his arms, she was unbothered, rising and falling on him with the flex of her thighs, the rhythm of the tides.

There was something different about her in the sunlight, Kendall felt like he was seeing her in HD, carefree, untamed. Outside the confines of the city she was herself, this was more than just friends with benifits— they were fucking in the ocean for Pete’s sake.

He tangled a hand in her wet hair and pulled her mouth to his, grunting as she bit hard on his bottom lip and thrust her tongue past the sting.

“Diane—”

“More,” she urged, panting against his mouth. “Please.”

His hungry eyes took in her neglected breasts, nipples strawberry plump, puckered so tight they probably ached. He took her pointed bud in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it like licorice.

“Yes,” she mewled and shuddered, “Kendall, yes.”

His body rocked against hers with Bermuda level force, the chill in the water was the only thing holding him back from the edge. He squeezed harder at her breast, feeling her flutter around him.

She felt submerged in an ocean of sin. Dancing sunlight filtering through roaring waves above her head. Deep blue surrounding them on all sides. Thick, molasses leaden desire filled her lungs up.

It usually took longer, and more force, but with one last thrust, she burst, clawing at his shoulders and crying his name. Her orgasm didn’t wash over her, it yanked. Grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her feet out from under her, sending her careening into a void of white hot ecstasy that coated her like black ink. And the hot, vice-like spasms of her cunt pulled him down under the waves with her until they were both breathless and shaking.

She squeezed him tight with her trembling legs, keeping him locked inside her even as he softened. Her swollen lips brushed his once, twice, before receding like the tide. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love the water,” she murmured.

I love you, Kendall bit his tongue. Kendall was falling too fast, headfirst in the deep end. The second someone showed him a miniscule amount of kindness or care, he was under her spell, more so a curse. When someone who had never been given love or care— finally gets a crumb of it, how can they let it go. He was hers, body and soul. He could only hold her close, hoping she wouldn't slip away. That’s all he could do.

They were a few metres from shore, but Kendall wished the tide would sweep them out into the open sea, where he was always like this. In the water, carefree. Maybe she would feel the same way about him too. She loved the water, maybe if she stayed there with him long enough, she would love him too.

They stayed in the water until a while longer, in each other's warmth. As the sun began to set, he carried her to shore, her small, limp body brined head to foot in salt and sweat and life. He laid her down on his towel, letting her body dry off in the last remnants of the sun.

“Tired?”

“Not too much.” She looked up at him with half lidded eyes, “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s freshen up first.” He brushed back a piece of her hair that clung to her forehead.

As they went back to the house Diane noticed a disruption in the soil, at the base of the house a small patch of grass had been undug, and carelessly topped with soil. It looked recent as well, something in her gut told her to investigate it later.

The shower that followed took longer than expected, it began with Kendall hovering behind her in the shower, shampooing the salt water out of her hair. But ended with Diane’s back pressed against the tiles, she gulped a steam filled air into her lungs. Water cascaded down their bodies as Kendall pounded into her. His hazel eyes remained locked with hers, fingers squeezing at the skin along her thighs which were wrapped around his waist, gasping breaths mingling together.

Kendall had the sex drive of a 14 year old boy going through puberty, he had to be inside Diane, she was like the air he breathed, he had to have her in every position, taste her in every way. And Diane— she just loved the water. It worked out in both their favor.

He released his hold on one of her legs and directed her to bear her own weight. Her other leg remained hiked up over his hip. His forearm rested on the tile by her head as he leaned over her. The change in position drove him impossibly deeper. Her eyes squeezed shut as she moaned.

“Fuck, you’re so good, so good for me.” Kendall groaned, say it, please say it.

“For you—” she whimpered, each slow pull along her walls knocked the breath from her lungs. The skin above his cock, firm with taut muscle, rubbed at her aching clit. Shockwaves of pleasure centered on her cunt ricocheted through her body, “only for you.” She mumbled incoherently.

A jagged groan stirred against her throat as Kendall came undone, cock buried deep and spilling inside her. His heavy head fell onto her shoulder. Heaving breaths gusted from his lips and blew the remaining water droplets off her heated skin. He didn’t even have to ask her to say it this time.

—————————————————————————

The low hum of music filled the dimly lit bar. Soft, muted colors washed over the room, creating a cozy atmosphere. A few people were scattered about, lost in conversation or solitary sips. The bartender, a man with a weathered face and a knowing smile, wiped down the counter with a practiced ease.

Diane's gaze was drawn to a faded photograph, its edges softened by time. It was a snapshot of a simpler era, a moment frozen in amber. There, amidst a collage of memories, she saw Kendall, younger and carefree, seated in the very booth they now occupied. Beside him was another boy, his face partially obscured, but his youthful grin unmistakable.

"Is this you?" Diane asked, pointing towards it.

Kendall nodded, his eyes following hers to the photograph. He set his beer down on the table, a contemplative look crossing his features. "Yeah," he confirmed, "that's me and my brother Roman."

“Summer, 1996," she read aloud, the date etched beneath the image. "My birth year."

"Yeah, we used to come here every summer," he explained. "The whole family." He took a long sip of his beer, his gaze drifting into the distance.

In that moment, the walls of the bar seemed to dissolve, revealing a glimpse into Kendall's past. Diane, a silent observer, was transported to a time before her own, a time of carefree summers and family bonds.

Diane laughed when her eyes landed on a particularly striking photograph. A younger Kendall, his muscles rippling beneath a faded tank top, struck a pose with his brother. A backward snapback and a gold chain completed the picture of his teenage heartthrob Era.

"Oh, hello Mr. Gunshow," she teased, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Quite a transformation."

Kendall groaned, his face flushed. "Why did I even bring you here?" he muttered, shaking his head. "This place is a time capsule of embarrassment."

"Why are there so many photos of you?" Diane asked, her curiosity piqued.

“The owner’s buddy-buddy with my dad.“ Kendall explained, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Me and Rome used to spend the day surfing, laying out by the beach and then we’d come here to lay some serious game with the ladies. It was a classic summer ritual." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Diane couldn't resist a playful snort. "And was there ever a successful night?" she asked, her skepticism evident. "I find it hard to believe that any girl would be enticed by a snapback and a tank top."

Kendall chuckled, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone. "No," he admitted, "not really."

"You and your brother seem close," Diane observed, her voice soft.

Kendall nodded, his eyes distant. "We used to be," he replied, the words hanging heavy in the air. "We used to be."

Diane sensed a shift in his demeanor, a subtle withdrawal. He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his feelings towards the past. It wasn't the nostalgia of fond memories that filled his heart, it seemed like pure hatred and regret.

Diane had spent countless hours trying to chip away at that wall, to coax him into sharing his memories. But it was like pulling teeth. Every question, every gentle probe was met with a carefully crafted response, a half-truth, or a complete deflection.

Diane knew she had to tread carefully. Kendall, a public figure, was notoriously private. His guarded nature was a shield, protecting him from the prying eyes of the media, particularly when it came to his family. It was as if he had erected an invisible wall, shielding his past from the outside world. She had to find a way to break through his defenses, to build trust, without revealing her own intentions.

It was a delicate dance, a slow and steady approach. She knew she couldn't force him to open up. Instead, she had to create a safe space, a place where he felt comfortable enough to lower his guard.

"I wish I had siblings," she confessed, offering a glimpse into her own life, hoping he would take her bait and open up. "I was an only child, always begging my mom for another baby. When you have siblings, you're never truly alone."

“Not when you have siblings like mine,” he shook his head with a dry chuckle, “Enemies would be better than Shiv and Rome. At least with enemies you expect the knife in your back. You can keep an eye on them.”

"I think you're being a bit melodramatic," Diane teased, lightly bumping his arm. Little did Kendall know, the biggest threat to him was sitting right beside him, a betrayal that was far more insidious than anything his siblings had ever done.

"It was Roman who sabotaged the entire vote of no confidence," Kendall took a sharp breath, his voice filled with raw emotion. "He gave me his word and then pussied out when it mattered."

Diane fought to suppress a smile. She was gathering information, piece by piece, each revelation a jewel in the crown of her exposé. "Oh shit," she murmured, feigning sympathy. He was opening up, revealing the cracks in his carefully constructed facade.

Every detail, every vulnerability was a potential weapon in her arsenal. The first thing she learned in journalism 101 was, not every piece of information is crucial to the story, but you need background to build a story. Diane needed to know the current affairs within the Roy family before she couldn’t expose them.

"Yeah, believe me when I say, who needs enemies when you have siblings," Kendall finished his beer, his voice laced with bitterness. He stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. "Have you ever played darts before?"

Diane shook her head, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. She had managed to pry open a small window into his private world, only for him to shut it down.

Kendall, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, took down the photo frame. He carefully extracted the photo, with a decisive motion, he tore the image in two, separating Roman from the rest of the picture.

"I'll teach you," he grinned, sticking the fragment of Roman's face onto the bullseye. "This can be our target."

He demonstrated his skill, launching three darts with precision. The first struck Roman's face, the second his arm, and the third found its mark on his crotch. A dark, almost sinister pleasure spread across Kendall's face.

"Try and top that," he challenged, handing the darts to Diane.

Diane took the darts, her grip tentative. She launched the first dart, but it fell short, clattering to the floor. The second fared no better, veering off course and hitting the wall. Frustration began to gnaw at her.

Kendall watched her attempts with a mixture of amusement and patience. "Relax," he advised, taking the darts from her. "You're gripping too tightly." He demonstrated, his movements fluid and effortless. "Loosen your grip, aim for the center, and let the dart fly."

With his guidance, Diane tried again. This time, she managed to hit the board, though the dart landed far from the target.

Kendall smiled encouragingly. “Better.” He moved behind her, his breath warm on her neck. His large hand enveloped hers, guiding her arm as she held the dart, his cheek pressed against hers. "Now focus on the target, align the dart with it," he murmured, his voice low and husky. The dart soared through the air, piercing the bullseye.

“You’re a natural,” Kendall praised, making every hair on her body stand up. The 2 espresso martinis she had just devoured, along with the bottle of wine they had shared over dinner were all catching up to her now.

“Yeah?” She whispered. Kendall's face was still pressed against hers, it was too intimate. Too close. Too sweet for her liking yet she let herself lean back into him, pressing her ass against his front. As if they hadn’t fucked twice already, they were both desperate to rip each other cloths off.

“Let’s get outta here.” He took her wrist in his hand, dragging her to the exit.

—————————————————————————

They lay tangled in the sheets, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on Kendall's brow. He hadn't pushed his body this hard in years. His muscles ached with a familiar, satisfying burn. Diane, with her strategic mind and seductive charm, had expertly maneuvered him to this point. She had him exactly where she wanted him— vulnerable, exhausted, and utterly captivated. He was pussy drunk.

As Kendall lay there, vulnerable and unsuspecting, Diane's mind raced. She had the perfect opportunity to strike. Now she could bend him to her will and milk out whatever she needed from him.

Diane snuggled closer, her breath warm against his neck. "You know we never finished our game in the car," she murmured, her voice soft and seductive.

Kendall's eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep. "Yeah, yeah, we'll finish it on the ride back," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Nooo," Diane whined, pouting her lips. "Just one more. Please?" Her puppy dog eyes were hard to resist, and Kendall knew he was already defeated.

Diane always had a way of getting what she wanted. It was a skill she had honed over years, a tool she used to manipulate and control. And now, she was using it to her advantage, to extract information, to uncover secrets.

"Okay, okay," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. "I..." His voice trailed off, his mind struggling to form coherent thoughts. "I got kicked out of boarding school for starting a fight," he managed to slur out, a half-truth. "I'm infertile," he added, a darker secret slipping out unintentionally.

As he drifted off to sleep, a few more words escaped his lips. "I killed him," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was an accident." These words, spoken in the depths of slumber, held a chilling truth, a secret that had haunted him. Something he had never said out loud before

Diane stilled in his arms, her mind racing. The first statement, the one about being kicked out of boarding school for a fight, was a lie. She had done her research, delving deep into his past. The official report from the school, along with multiple witness accounts, painted a different picture: a young Kendall, intoxicated and reckless, had been expelled for substance abuse.

The revelation about his infertility was less surprising. While he had never explicitly confirmed or denied the rumors, his public statements about his children's births had hinted at underlying fertility issues. His adopted daughter and IVF-conceived son were clear indicators.

However, it was the final confession, uttered in the depths of sleep, that truly shocked Diane. "I killed him. It was an accident." The words echoed in her mind, confirming her darkest suspicions. She had always harbored a theory, a darker version of events, but she had hoped it was merely a figment of her imagination. She never thought he would admit to it, to confirm her worst fears.

Diane lay there, her body tense, her mind racing. Minutes turned into hours as she grappled with the weight of Kendall's confession. She had an unconscious Kendall admit to murder. But she couldn't let it distract her from her primary mission: the Cruises scandal. That was the reason she had come to the Hamptons, the reason she had infiltrated Kendall's life.

She peeled back the covers, a sense of determination fueling her. She crept out of the room, calling out Kendall's name a few times, but he was lost in a deep sleep. She threw on Kendall's oversized shirt and raced to the backyard.

Using the dim light of her phone, she used her hands to dig at the disturbed patch of soil. The earth yielded easily, and soon she hit something hard. With trembling hands, she brushed away the dirt to reveal a metal box. Inside, she found a key, a cassette tape, and a blood-stained cloth. A wave of horror washed over her. She quickly tucked the box under her shirt

Diane sat on the grass, the rhythmic crash of waves providing a soothing backdrop to her racing thoughts. Who did the blood belong to? Was it connected to the Cruises scandal or Kendall's manslaughter plotline? A shiver ran down her spine as she pondered the possibilities.

She glanced at her phone, the low battery warning flashing ominously. Time was of the essence. She needed answers, and she believed they were hidden within Logan's study. With renewed determination, she made her way to the study, the key to the bottom drawer clutched tightly in her hand.

Inside the drawer, she found a file labeled "KENDALL" in bold, block letters. She couldn't simply take the entire file; its disappearance would be too obvious, indicating an inside job. However, the metal box she had found on the beach could easily be dismissed as lost or stolen.

She glanced at her phone, the battery dwindling to a mere 1%. Time was running out. She wasn't sure if she'd have another chance to return to the study and photograph the contents of the file. Just as then, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the bedroom. Fear gripped her heart as she shut the drawer, locking away the file, leaving it undisturbed.

Kendall's body seemed to sense Diane's absence, triggering a cascade of nightmarish visions. He hadn't ventured into the water since the car accident, the night he'd survived while the kid drowned. Yet, today, with Diane by his side, he'd felt a rare sense of peace. A fragile peace, quickly shattered by his subconscious. His mind, a cruel puppeteer, seized upon his fleeting happiness, twisting it into a weapon of self-torment. He wasn't entitled to happiness, his guilt wouldn't let him. The dream was a twisted reflection of reality, a grotesque caricature of the peace he'd found with Diane.

The once familiar car was distorted, the shapes warped and menacing. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air.

As he glanced at the passenger seat, a horrifying sight met his eyes. Diane was there, but not the Diane he knew. Her face was contorted into a grotesque grin, her eyes, once pools of warmth, were now hollow, black orbs. A chilling whisper escaped her lips, "Hold your breath, baby," her voice dripping with malice.

With a sudden, violent jerk of the steering wheel, she plunged the car into the dark, ominous waters. The Diane he knew, the one who brought him comfort, was gone, replaced by a monstrous figure intent on his destruction.

The water was a murky, inky black, swirling with unseen currents. Each breath was a desperate gasp, his lungs burning with the need for air. Panic clawed at him as he thrashed, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. Through the murky water, he could barely make out Diane's distorted figure. Her eyes, black and lifeless, gleamed with malicious joy.

"Help me," he pleaded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Please, Diane."

Instead of reaching out, she laughed, a high, chilling sound that echoed in the confined space of the car. "You're drowning, Kendall," she taunted. "And you can't escape."

“Please,” he gasped, inhaling water.

"Drown, Kendall," she hissed. "Drown and be still."

With each passing moment, the water closed in, suffocating him. The cold, heavy liquid filled his lungs, stealing his breath. He thrashed wildly, his strength waning. In his final moments, he saw Diane's face, her eyes filled with a cold, sadistic pleasure. As the car filled with water, she slipped out, her sinister grin widening.

Diane hurried into the room, hiding the box under her pillow and rushed to Kendall's side. She shook his shoulder gently, her voice filled with worry. "Kendall, wake up," she urged.

He jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. His eyes full of terror, darted around the room. "What the fuck?" he gasped, his voice hoarse.

He scrambled off the bed, his movements jerky and panicked. "Was that real?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Diane, alarmed by his reaction, knelt down beside him. "Kendall, it's me, Diane," she said softly, her voice soothing. She gently pried his hands away from his face.

His eyes, wide and fearful, met hers. "Are you real?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He studied her face, searching for any sign of the sinister figure from his dream. But all he saw was the warmth and concern in her eyes. A wave of relief washed over him.

"Kendall, are you okay?" Diane asked, running a hand through his damp hair. "Did you take something before bed? Xanax or something else?"

"No, no. I'm fine," he replied, his voice shaky. "I just had a weird dream, that's all."

Diane helped him back into bed, her concern evident. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently, cuddling up beside him.

"No," he murmured, his eyes closed.

“Okay.” She didn’t press any further, knowing she could hear about it in his next therapy session.

The room was silent, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock. Kendall and Diane lay side by side, their bodies tense, their minds racing.

Kendall's heart pounded in his chest as the chilling images of the nightmare replayed in his mind. The distorted figure of Diane, her eyes devoid of life, sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him. His twisted nightmare had shattered the image he had of her. Was she capable of such a horrifying act, leaving him to drown in the depths of his own fear?

Meanwhile, Diane was still replaying Kendall's confession over and over in her head. "I killed him. It was an accident." And then there was the box, the tape and the bloodied cloth. She couldn't confront him about it without revealing who she truly was, her ulterior motive. But she also couldn't hold it in much longer.

As the night wore on, the silence between them grew heavier. They were both trapped in their own thoughts, unable to escape the darkness that had crept into their lives.

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