#Dom Lukas Mattson

[thinkatoryprocess]

Aaaaaahhh, the Roman/Lukas is perfect, though everytime Roro calls him Lukas, I think of their dynamic in YKW. Your Mattson in this fic makes me objectify tech bros - I blame you for everything I will get myself in withhin the be 2 and a hf months.

Thank you <3 I'm so happy that you're into it!

We're... still on the fence about whether or not Roman's required response will be adjusted to something like "sir."

Honestly, Matsson is extremely hot even without the dom stuff, so there are two wolves inside of me: one wants to stare at gifs of Alexander Skarsgard and write filthy fic imagining a Viking destroying a small man, and the other is like HE IS VERY PROBABLY THE WORST. The first wolf tends to win.

[hunzzzzz]

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.