CallumTurnerCrush

Breakfast in Bed 

The morning light filters through the heavy damask curtains of the New York manor, casting a golden glow across the sprawling four-poster bed where Callum lays, his broad frame dominating the space. 

The room is a study in opulent history: white paneling, a cavernous fireplace still warm from last night’s fire, and a chandelier dripping with crystals that reflect the morning light. 

The bed and breakfast is a restored 18th-century mansion in the heart of Millionaire Row, a perfect retreat for Callum’s downtime between filming scenes for his latest movie. 

You’ve  joined him for the week, relishing in a chance to steal moments of intimacy during his chaotic work schedule.

You stand at the foot of the bed, your silk maroon robe slipping slightly off one shoulder, the fabric sliding against your skin 

The faint scent of lavender lingers from your morning bath, and you adjust the tie at your waist, watching Callum with a soft smile. 

He’s propped against a mountain of pillows, his raven hair tousled from sleep, his piercing blue eyes half-focused as he speaks into the gray corded phone tethered to the nightstand. 

His voice, rich with that London lilt, carry’s a mix of authority and exhaustion as he discusses logistics with his manager.

“Yeah, mate, tell ‘em I’ll be on set by 3. No, no, don’t let them push the call time later.” His large hand gestures vaguely in the air, the other cradling the receiver. 

He’s wearing a beige Luis Vuitton sweater that has an orange collar and design, the kind that accentuates his broad shoulders, unzipped just enough to reveal his chest, sparse with dark hair against his fair skin. 

Below, his baby blue pajama pants peek out from the edge of the thick ivory blanket draped over his waist, his long legs stretching beneath.

A sharp knock at the door pulls your attention away, and you walk across the cool hardwood floors, the hem of your robe brushing your thighs.

You open the heavy oak door to find the manor’s butler, a wiry man in a crisp black suit, holding a silver tray. 

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee rises up, mingling with the scent of warm croissants beside the polished silver pot.

“Good morning, madam,” the butler says, his voice clipped and proper. “Breakfast for Mr. Turner, as requested.”

“Thank you so much,” you reply, offering a warm smile as you reach for the tray.

He hesitates, his gloved hands tightening briefly. “Are you certain, madam? It’s no trouble.”

“Positive,” you say firmly, your tone teasing but kind, and he relents with a small bow, stepping back as you balance the tray and nudge the door shut with your hip.

Back in the room, Callum’s eyes flick to you, a grin forming on his lips despite the serious tone of his conversation. “Oi, hold on a sec,” he says into the phone, covering the receiver with one massive hand. “Look at you, playing the dutiful little house wife in that robe. Christ, you’re killing me.”

“Shush,” you scold  playfully, crossing the room with the tray. “Stay still, I’m bringing you breakfast in bed, so behave.”

His grin widens, all mischief, those blue eyes sparkling with something naughty. 

“Behave? Not in my vocabulary when you’re prancing about looking like that.” He says shifting slightly, the blanket slipping lower to reveal the sharp cut of his hip bones above the waistband of his pajamas.

You set the tray carefully across his lap, the coffee pot glinting in the light. “Don’t move,” you say, leaning over him to settle it, and your robe parts slightly at the chest, giving him a full view. His eyes darken, tracking your movements, but he stays put, continuing his conversation on the phone.

“Right, yeah, I’ll look at the script changes tonight,” he says, his voice distracted as he watches you. “Just email ‘em over. Cheers.” 

He hangs up the phone with a click, placing it back on the nightstand, his full attention now on you. “Well, aren’t you a sight, darling? Bringing me breakfast in bed like some bloody goddess. What’s next, you gonna feed me grapes?”

You grin, retrieving your phone from the nightstand. “Maybe if you’re lucky. Hold still, I want a picture of this. You look too good all cozy just waking up.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard, the tray steady on his lap. 

“Just waking up? I’m practically a ray of sunshine.” He teases all mischief, and when you lift your phone to take his photo, he tilts his head, giving you a look that’s equal parts boyish charm and pure filth. 

His lips form into a smirk, eyes heavy, like he’s already planning what he’ll do to you the second that tray is off his lap.

You snap the photo, your heart skipping at the way he looks, handsome, yes, but with that edge of need that makes your thighs press together instinctively. 

“You’re trouble Callum,” you grin, setting the phone down on the bed.

“Trouble?” he echoes, his voice dropping lower as he lifts the tray and sets it on the nightstand with a clatter. 

“C’mere, love. You’re the one causing a scene in that robe.” His large hands reach for you, fingers grasping around your wrist and pulling you closer. You fall forward, laughing, as he pulls you onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress as you straddle his thighs, the blanket and his pajamas a flimsy barrier between you.

“Callum, the coffee—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss, his lips firm and warm, tasting faintly of mint. His hands slide up your thighs, bunching the silk until it rides up your hips, his palms rough against your skin.

“Bugger the coffee,” he says against your mouth, his accent thick, all rough edges and London swagger. “You’re the only thing I want.” His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his pajamas, a promise of what was to come. 

Callum is big in every sense, tall and broad, with a cock that makes your breath hitch every time you think about it. And he knows it, smirking as he pulls your hips to feel you press against it.

“Callum,” you gasp, trying to sound stern but failing as his lips move to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You’re supposed to be eating.”

“Eating?” he whispers, one hand sliding up to cup your breast through the silk, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens. “Rather have you riding on my cock.” He whispers in your ear. 

You swat his chest lightly, but your body betrays you, arching into his touch. “Callum you’re shameless.”

“And you love it,” he responds, his voice dipping with that cocky confidence that always makes your knees weak. 

He flips you suddenly, his strength effortless as he pins you beneath him, the blanket tightening around his waist. His sweater falls open, revealing more of his broad chest and you can’t resist running your fingers over it, nails grazing lightly until he groans.

“Careful, darling,” he warns, his blue eyes glinting as he leans down, his lips hovering over yours. “Keep that up, and I’ll have you screaming my name before the coffee’s cold.”

You shiver pulling the zipper down, and he shrugs the sweater off his shoulders, letting your hands wander to the waistband of his pajama pants, teasing the edge. 

“Promises, promises….” you whisper, and that is all it takes to unleash him.

He kisses you hard, his mouth moving against yours all heat and tongue, his hands, yanking the robe open, palming your breasts. He is relentless, his size and strength overwhelming you in the best way, manhandling you with a tenderness that makes your heart race. 

He lowers down your body, his lips trailing kisses, until his head is between your thighs. 

“Callum, you don’t have to—” you start, but he looks up at you all playful menace as he places kisses along your inner thighs. 

“Don’t have to, love.” he says his lips pressing against your skin. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I woke up.” 

His large hands spread your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. 

“Gonna tease you till you’re begging…” he says his warm breath fanning your skin, “…then eat you till you’re a mess.” He whispers close to your center, and then his mouth is on you, slow and soft, his tongue circling your clit with maddening precision.

You moan, hands fisting the sheets as he works you open, his blue eyes closed already knowing exactly what makes you fall apart. He loves this, loves feeling you unravel, loves the way you try to hide your face when the pleasure gets too intense. 

The pressure builds, your body trembling as he pushes you closer to the brink, his fingers joining his mouth, thick and long, pushing inside of you, stretching you just right. 

“Callum,” you gasp, your voice breaking, your hands flying to cover your face.

“None of that, love,” he chastises, nipping at your thigh as his fingers keep plunging in. “Look at me. I want to see you come.”

Your hands lower, and he returns his mouth to your clit, his tongue flicking against you, faster now, relentless.

“Oh, god,” you moan, your voice shaking. “Callum, I’m gonna—”

His thumb presses to your clit, circling hard. “Come for me, love. I want to taste you.” He says,  fingers thrusting in faster slick and deep, and you orgasm, your back arching as you cry out, his name a broken chant on your lips.

He doesn’t  stop until you’re trembling, oversensitive, your hands pushing at his shoulders as your hips grind helplessly to his fingers. 

He pulls them out sucking them clean with a groan as he climbs up over your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re So beautiful when you come.” he says his voice, soft and reverent. 

You’re still catching your breath as he lowers his pajamas pants revealing the thick, heavy length of his cock. 

Your mouth parts at the sight of it, and he grins, catching your stare teasing you as his hand strokes along the shaft before guiding himself to your entrance. 

He doesn’t rush, he eases in you slowly, his size stretching you until you gasp, feeling that delicious ache deep inside that makes your toes curl. “God, Callum you’re so big.”you gasp.

“And you’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice hushed as he settles in fully, his hips pressing flush between your legs. 

“Fuck, love, you’re tight.” He grits, letting you adjust, his eyes locked on yours, searching for any sign of discomfort. “You alright?”

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist. “More,” you whisper, and he moves, slow and deep, each thrust, hitting that spot inside that makes you see stars.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice rougher, his hand cupping your face as he picks up the pace, his hips thrusting harder between your legs. “Want to see how much you love my cock.”

You moan, your nails digging into his back as he thrusts into you, his thumb finding your clit again, strumming it in time with his pace. 

“Callum, I can’t—” you gasp.

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice a low steady. “Gonna make you come again, love. Wanna feel you lose it for me.” He angles his hips, driving deeper, hitting that spot with every thrust, sending your pleasures soaring.

You turn your face away, overwhelmed, but he won’t let you, placing his hand on your jaw. 

“No hiding,” he says, his voice firmer now, almost pleading. “Let me see you, darling. Let me see you fall apart for me.”

The intensity in his eyes, the way he worships you even as he fucks you senseless, pushes you over the edge. 

You come with a cry, your body shaking, moaning his name as he watches you, his own release following closely after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills inside of you, his full weight pressing you down.

“Fuck, I love you,” he pants still buried deep, gathering you close in his arms as he cradles you against him. His hands are gentler now, stroking your hair as you both catch your breath.

“Love you too Callum,” you whisper, nuzzling your face into his chest feeling the steady beat of his heart.

The tray of coffee and croissants sits  forgotten on the nightstand, the room filling with early morning light.

He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering. “Tomorrow, you’re  getting breakfast in bed,” he says, his voice teasing again. “But don’t think I’ll let you off this easy, got plans for you all day, love.”

You grin, swatting him lightly. “You’re insatiable.”

“For you?” He grins, his blue eyes sparkling. “Always.”

Thigh Fetish

The apartment is quiet and warm as Callum steps into the bedroom after changing for the evening.

He’s wearing nothing but a pair of tiny blue boxers that cling to his hips, leaving those thighs… those goddamn beautiful thighs, on full display.

His body is a masterpiece of strength as he crosses the room, all thick muscle and effortless confidence running a hand through his raven hair.

He’s oblivious to your hungry gaze as he sinks into the armchair by the window, reaching for his phone to check emails from his latest project.

As he relaxes, his legs spread wide apart, boxers riding up to expose more of those  thick muscular thighs practically begging to be touched.

You’ve always admired how Callum is much bigger than the average man, solid, commanding… but tonight, something about his thighs hits differently.

Lying on the bed, a restless desire sparks at the sight of them, a new fetish forming… needy and persistent.

Your eyes lock on the way he’s manspreading, his thighs shifting as he absently scrolls his phone until the ache between your legs becomes unbearable, a throbbing need drowning out everything else.

You climb off of the bed, softly crossing the hardwood floor in your nightie, your movements slow and methodical. 

He doesn’t even notice until you kneel down between his legs, hands resting lightly on his knees.

His blue eyes flick from the phone, meeting yours, and a slow, knowing grin spreads across his face.

“What’s gotten into you, love?” he asks, his voice low and affectionate, the teasing edge maddening as he sets the phone down, leaning back as his massive thighs frame you.

You press your cheek against his inner thigh, nuzzling into the heat, lips brushing softly. “Your thighs, Callum,” you confess, your voice filled with uncontrolled lust.

You kiss along the curve, open-mouthed and reverent, tasting the cleanliness of his skin. Your teeth graze him lightly, then nip as his thigh flexes under your bite.

“Fuck, kitten,” he rasps, “all this for my thighs?”

You hum as you nod, too lost in your indulgence to speak. Your kisses trail higher, tongue flicking out, tasting the sensitive skin where his thigh meets his groin.

He groans softly, eyes watching you through a haze of lust. “You’ve found a new part of me to fetishize now have you?” he asks, his hand sliding into your hair.

You nuzzle into his thigh like a starved thing as you nod, your lips parting as you drag hot, open-mouthed kisses up the thick swell of his thigh.

“Keep going then,” he urges, his blue eyes darkening with desire as he sits back watching you. “Show me what you’re after.”

His hips shift, cock straining against his tight blue boxers, and your hand roams greedily, squeezing the thickness of his shaft through the fabric, marveling at how big he feels as you rub him with your palm.

The friction makes him groan low in his chest, and you feel yourself grow wetter, the ache between your legs pulsing with every sound he makes.

You look up at Callum, your eyes filled with adoration, as he watches you worship him.

“Fuck, you’re a mess, kitten,” he rasps, his large hand cupping your jaw to pause you, and his other slides his cock out from his boxers in one smooth motion.

He’s thick and heavy, the veins throbbing faintly, and your mouth waters at the sight. You lean forward, desperate to please him, to take him deeper, to make him feel just as undone as you are. 

Your lips wrap around the tip, your tongue swirling over the sensitive head, and he hisses, his hand tightening in your hair.

 “Fuck, you’re absolutely starving for it,” he rasps, and his hips twitch as you take him deeper, your mouth stretching around his girth.

“…Sucking me off so …eagerly after tasting my thighs,” he groans and you moan around him, the vibration making his thighs tense beneath your palms as you become even wetter.

Your tongue flattens along the underside of his shaft, your throat relaxing to take more of him and his voice breaks off in pleasure as he groans. His firm grip in your hair guides the pace as you bob your head on his cock, working him with sloppy, eager sucks, your hand stroking where your mouth can’t reach.

Your moans only make him twitch harder in your mouth, the tension in his thighs spurring you on. He fights to keep gentle, whispering praise through clenched teeth. “That’s it,… my sweet girl…doing so fucking well for me, aren’t you? My perfect, messy kitten.”

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, lips swollen and slick, and the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing he needs in this word —sends heat rushing through your entire body.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he pants, his voice hoarse. “So fucking eager… so fucking gorgeous.”

You moan again, cheeks hollowing, spit and precum smearing your lips as you take him faster, deeper, and he groans, hips jerking as you undo him.

“Fuck, kitten,” he gasps, hand tightening in your hair. “You’re gonna make come, you know that?”

He starts lightly thrusting in your mouth, his control slipping as he pants heavily, then bucking wildly as his entire body tenses and his cock gives a hard twitch.

“Fuck I’m gonna come,” he rasps, his voice strained as his head tips back.

He comes with a guttural groan, his release hitting the back of your throat, and you struggle to swallow, some spilling past your lips, but you keep going, sucking him clean, moaning softly

You pull back, gasping for air, lips swollen, your chin wet. His cock glistens, softening as you lean forward again kissing along his inner thighs, lips dragging over the them like you’re still starving.

He chuckles, low and dark. “Still not done with them yet,” he teases, his voice rough. His eyes sharpen as he takes in your state, your flushed face, your body trembling with need, the slickness along your thighs. 

He knows.

“C’mere, kitten,” he says, his voice a soft command, and he pulls you effortlessly into his lap, guiding you to straddle one of his thick thighs.

The moment your slickness meets his skin, you gasp, hips rocking instinctively against him. The friction is perfect, your clit dragging over firm muscle, every roll of your hips sending shudders through you.

“Callum” you moan, hands grasping his shoulders and his eyes darken seeing the way you gain pleasure from it. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, his eyes watching how you slick his thigh. “You’re making a mess all over me. You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? Getting off on my thighs like they’re your personal toy.”

You can only moan in response, too overwhelmed with pleasure, and his large hands grasp your hips guiding you faster.

“That’s it, kitten,” he encourages, his voice rough with lust. “Fuck yourself on my leg. You’re so goddamn pretty like this, so desperate for me.”

Your hips roll harder, need spiraling as he begins to bounce his thigh beneath you, sending shockwaves through your core. You cry out, breathless, gripping his arms for balance.

He moves your hands to his shoulders and pulls you into a kiss, deep and claiming, his fingers sliding between your thighs to circle your clit.

You moan into his mouth, the sounds broken and desperate.

“Fuck, you’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you?” he rasps, locking eyes with you. 

“Callum… yes,” you gasp, barely audible, your eyes pleading as your body starts to lose control, hips grinding frantically.

“Go on, then. Make a mess on my thigh, love. Let me feel how much you want it.”

That’s all it takes. You shatter, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. Your moans are loud, unrestrained, your body trembling as you grind through the climax, soaking his skin.

Callum groans, rubbing your clit faster, savoring your collapse. “That’s my girl,” he praises, voice wrecked. “So fucking perfect, coming for me.”

You whimper as your hips stutter and slow, your lips finding his again, clinging to him before you fall against his chest, breathless.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing your temple, hands stroking your back as you catch your breath.

“I love you too,” you whisper panting heavily against his shoulder.

“Did we satisfy your new obsession?” he says against your hair, holding you to him.

You nod against him, utterly dazed, and he chuckles, warm and smug.

“You’re forgetting something, then?” he teases, kissing your shoulder, and as you meet his eyes, he grins.

“The other one’s getting jealous,” he says, patting his thigh and you smile, biting your lip, because Callum already knows what you want… he always does.

Rise & Shine

The morning sun spills through the open blinds, casting golden streaks across you in bed tangled in the sheets. You groggily awaken hearing the shower as Callum hums. 

You groan, you hate it when Callum gets up early, and on top of that how he’s all chipper about it. You take the pillow and pull it over your head to muffle the noise too lazy too get up and close the blinds. 

The water shuts off, and a moment later the bathroom door creaks open as Callum enters the bedroom and you lift the pillow to peek.

Callum is standing tall, all clean fair skin, and damp raven hair, his blue eyes glinting with that infuriating morning energy. 

His broad shoulders taper to his large hand clutched on the towel low around his hips.

Your gaze dips lower and you can see the outline of his erection straining beneath the towel, as usual Callum’s woken up hard.

You bite your lip, torn between annoyance and the heat stirring low in your core.

“Oi, sleepyhead,” he teases, his voice warm as he steps closer. “You gonna stay buried naked in that bed all day, or you gonna join the living?”

You groan louder, pulling the pillow down harder and keeping your eyes closed. “Why are you so awake? It’s unnatural, Callum. Let me sleep.”

He chuckles, that deep, infuriatingly sexy sound, and before you can protest, his hand wraps around your ankle. With one smooth pull, he drags you down the bed, your stomach sliding against the sheets. 

You yelp, scrambling to crawl back up, clawing at the mattress. “Callum, please, five more minutes,” you whine, kicking weakly.

“Oh, no you don’t, love,” he says, laughing as he easily pulls you back into place, your hips now teetering at the bed’s edge. “I’ve got just the thing to wake you up.”

You feel the soft brush of his towel against the backs of your thighs as it slips to the floor, and your breath hitches as you squirm, knowing exactly what’s coming, your temper melting into anticipation. “You’re the worst,” you taunt, but there’s no heat in it.

“Am I now?” He says, his voice low, almost teasing, and he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. His other hand trails down your side, fingers grazing the curve of your hip, before slipping between your legs. 

You gasp as his fingers find you slick and wet gliding easily through your soft folds. “Doesn’t feel like you think I’m the worst.” he teases.

“Shut up, Callum,” you huff, but your hips betray you, tilting up.

“Is my little bunny grumpy?” he coos, sliding two thick fingers inside you, all the way to the knuckle.

You gasp, your walls clenching as a jolt of heat shoots through you.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, curling them against a ridge that has you whimpering into the sheets. “My grumpy girl hasn’t been satisfied yet,” he confirms focusing his efforts.

His fingers glide in and out, slick and rhythmic, the wet sound filling the air as you squeeze around them, and he teases a soft ridge. “Yes, Callum, please, right there,” you gasp, your voice soft and desperate.

“Is this what’ll make my precious girl happy?” he soothes, releasing your wrists, and his large hand squeezes your ass instead, lifting you slightly to finger you even deeper.

You moan loudly as his fingers hit that spot again and again as you feel the pleasure coiling tight. “Come on, sweetheart, let go for me,” he urges, his voice low and coaxing, stroking faster. 

Your body trembles, and you tip over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you until you moan, breathless and sated, your body melting obediently into the bed.

“Mmm, now you’re waking up for me,” he says, his voice thick with want as he slides his fingers out. Before you can catch your breath, he pushes his cock inside you, the broad tip and thick shaft overwhelming your sensitive walls.

You moan against the sheets, the stretch intense. Callum is massive, and every thrust settles him deeper, pressing you into the mattress. You’re trapped, moaning, whimpering, his size pinning you as he holds back just enough not to overwhelm you completely.

He grunts, thighs smacking the backs of yours, the rhythm steady as he breaks you in. “My poor little bunny,” he coos, his voice a mix of teasing and adoration. “You’re clenching me so tight. You want me to make it better?”

You nod, sobbing out a weak “yes Callum,” and his hand slips around to your clit, fingers circling to distract you as he lays in even deeper thrusts.

Chills spread across your skin, pleasure and pain blending as you choke back sounds feeling your body surrender. You start to orgasm again, hands fisting the sheets, and he feels it, leaning into his thrusts, making you see stars. 

“That’s it, sweetheart… take it deep for me,” he groans, his voice breaking as he pounds into you. You moan, the pleasure overwhelming you as he fucks you hard, using your body to satisfy his own needs.

“Mmmn,” he breathes as you feel his cock twitch. “Fuck, love, you’re milking me,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

He starts to come, his release filling you deep as his thrusts become harder, faster. You exhale into the sheets as he finally slows, the sensation overwhelming as his cock slips out, leaving your walls fluttering, the pleasure dizzying.

Your mind races, as he flips you over gently. He’s panting and breathless as his hands trail down your body, warm and possessive and you look up at him, your eyes softened in sated bliss. 

“There she is, my little sunshine,” he teases, leaning in to kiss your lips, soft and lingering.

You grin, feigning annoyance. “Hell of a way to wake me up, Callum,” you complain, your voice filled with playfulness.

“It’s the best way,” he assures, nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing you in. “You love it, don’t lie.”he grins.

“We’ll see how you like it tomorrow,” you tease, your voice filled with a challenge.

He pulls back, smirking. “Can you even get up that early, love?” he taunts, eyes sparkling.

You grab a pillow, aiming to swat him, but he’s faster, pinning your wrists above your head. “Careful sweetheart, or I’ll have to tame that temper again,” he warns, his voice laced with a playful edge.

You look up at him, your defiance softening into something mildly obedient. “You could try,” you whisper, seductively, and your heart races as his lips hover close, promising more.

Settle the Score

Callums living room is dim lit only by the flickering glow of the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Chelsea’s blue jerseys clash against Arsenal’s red and white, the roar of the crowd spilling through the speakers. 

It’s a crucial match, Champions League semi-final, ‘do or die’ for Callum’s beloved Blues. He’s sprawled on the plush gray couch, his broad frame sinking into the cushions, those wonderful thick thighs spread wide in his tailored black trousers. 

His tie is loosened, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone, and a glass of whisky sits within reach on the coffee table, the amber liquid catching the light.

His dark hair is slightly rustled from running his hands through it during a tense moment in the game, and his sharp jaw is set, blue eyes locked on the screen with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

You’re curled up beside him, legs tucked under you, wearing one of his old Chelsea jerseys that’s too big for you, the hem grazing your thighs. 

You’re bored out of your mind. Football’s never been your thing, and Callum’s obsession with it is the one thing about him that drives you up the wall. He’s been ignoring you for the past forty minutes, only humming in response to your attempts at conversation. 

You get it, he’s had a brutal day at work, some nightmare on the set of his latest film, and all he wanted was to come home, pour a drink, and lose himself in this game. 

But those thighs, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and the way his large hands rest on his knees, fingers twitching with every near-miss on the pitch, it’s doing things to you. Things you can’t ignore.

You shift closer, pressing your side against his, and trail your fingers lightly over his forearm. “Callum,” you murmur, your voice soft and teasing, “you sure you don’t want to take a break? Just for a minute?”

His eyes don’t leave the screen. “Love, it’s 1-1, and we’re in the 70th minute. Not a chance.” His deep British accent is clipped, distracted, but the way he leans into you, just a fraction, tells you he’s not completely immune.

You pout, resting your chin on his shoulder, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “But I’m so bored,” you whisper, letting your breath fan over his skin. You feel him tense, just for a second, before he exhales sharply through his nose.

“Behave,” he says, low and firm, but there’s a warmth in it, a warning that sends a shiver down your spine. He reaches for his whisky, taking a slow sip, and you watch the way his throat works, the bob of his Adam’s apple. 

Callum is gorgeous, even when he’s being infuriating and you can’t help yourself, sliding your hand onto his thigh, fingers tracing the hard muscle beneath the fabric. 

His thighs are a work of art, thick and powerful, and you squeeze gently, biting your lip as you imagine them flexing under you in an entirely different manner. 

“Callum,” you say again, voice dropping to a sultry purr, “I could make this so much more fun than the game.”

He finally glances at you, one brow arched, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re trouble, you know that?” But his hand covers yours, stopping your wandering fingers, and he gives them  a don’t test me squeeze. “I’m watching this. You’ll survive another hour without my undivided attention.”

You huff, pulling your hand back, but the heat pooling low in your core isn’t going anywhere. You nuzzle into his neck, lips grazing the sensitive spot just below his ear, and you feel him shift slightly, his breath hitching. “What if I don’t want to survive?” you whisper, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin.

“Christ,” he mutters, gripping the armrest of the couch. “You’re not making this easy, are you?” His voice is rougher now, and you know you’re getting to him, chipping away at his focus.

You smile against his neck, emboldened, and slide your hand back to his thigh, higher this time, dangerously close to where you know he’s sensitive. “Just trying to help you relax, Daddy,” you whisper, the word slipping out as your secret weapon. He loves when you call him Daddy it always gets his attention, and sure enough, his head turns toward you, eyes darkening.

“Careful love,” he warns, voice low and gravelly, the kind of tone that makes your thighs clench. “You keep that up, and you’re not gonna like the consequences.”

But you’re past caring about consequences. You’re aching, restless, and the sight of him so composed, so in control only makes you want to unravel him. 

You climb onto his lap, straddling one of those glorious thighs, the jersey riding up to expose more of your skin. “Please, Daddy,” you say, pouting, your hands sliding up his chest to tug at his tie. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His hands settle on your hips, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, and he pulls you closer, his eyes flicking back to the screen for a split second before locking onto yours. 

“You’re pushing it,” he says, but there’s a heat in his gaze now, a hunger that wasn’t there before. “If you can’t behave, I’m going to have to find a way to keep you occupied, aren’t I?”

Your heart races, and you nod, biting your lip. “Yes, please.”

He smirks, slow and dangerous, and leans back, patting his lap. “Alright, love. Come here. You’re gonna sit on Daddy’s cock and keep it warm while I watch the game. But you’re gonna be quiet, yeah? Don’t want to hear a peep.”

Your breath catches, arousal spiking at his words, and you scramble to obey, fumbling with his belt and zipper. He helps you, lifting his hips just enough to free cock, and you nearly whimper at the sight of him—thick, hard, and already flushed a deep pink. 

You position yourself over him, sliding your panties aside to sink down on it slowly, and the stretch is exquisite, making your eyes flutter shut as you take him inch by inch.

“Fuck,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself, and his hand comes down on your ass with a sharp crack, the sting blooming across your skin.

“I said quiet,” he orders, his voice vibrating through you. “You gonna be a good girl for Daddy, or do I need to remind you again?”

“I’ll be good,” you whisper, cheeks flushing as you settle fully onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders. He feels so satisfying, filling you completely, but he’s still, not moving, his attention already drifting back to the game. 

His large hand rests on the back of your head, pulling you against his chest so your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, his other hand steadying your hip.

“Now be still,” he murmurs, “and let me watch the game. Make Daddy proud.”

You try, you really do, but the pressure of him inside you, the heat of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, it’s overwhelming. You start to move, just a subtle rock of your hips, chasing the friction, and a soft moan slips out before you can stop it.

Another crack against your ass, harder this time, and you yelp, the sound muffled against his skin. “I said be quiet,” he snaps, his hand tightening in your hair. “You’re testing my patience, love.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, biting your lip hard to keep silent. You force yourself to still, but it’s torture, the ache between your legs growing with every second. You can feel him twitching inside you, and you know he’s not as unaffected as he’s pretending to be.

Minutes pass, agonizingly slow, and you’re trembling with the effort of staying still. The game’s getting intense Chelsea’s pressing for a goal, the crowd’s roaring and Callum’s grip on you tightens, his thigh muscles flexing under you. 

You can’t take it anymore and you lift your head, eyes meeting his, and the desperate need in your expression must hit him hard, because his jaw clenches.

“Alright,” he says, voice rough. “You want to move? Fine. Kneel over Daddy’s thighs and ride me. But you do all the work, and you keep your eyes on me. I’m still watching the game.”

You nod eagerly, scrambling to reposition yourself, straddling him properly now, your knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. 

You start to move, slow at first, savoring the drag of his cock inside you, and his hand returns to the back of your head, holding you close your foreheads are almost touching, his eyes flicking between you and the screen.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, “just like that. Keep it steady, love.”

You bite your lip, fighting to stay silent as you pick up the pace, your hips rolling in a rhythm that has you teetering on the edge. 

It feels so good, too good, and despite your best efforts, a soft moan escapes.

His hand cracks against your ass again, and you gasp, tears pricking your eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure. 

“What did I say?” he demands, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m so sorry…” you whisper, your voice shaking. “It’s just… it feels so good.”

He grins darkly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “I know it does, baby. But you’re here for Daddy’s pleasure, not your own. You gonna behave, or do I need to stop you?”

“No, please,” you beg, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Then keep going,” he says, his hand guiding your hips now, controlling the pace. “But don’t you dare come until I say so.”

You nod, swallowing hard, and focus on moving, your muscles burning with the effort of pleasing him while holding back your own release. You’re so close, every grind pushing you closer to the edge, and you can feel him watching you, his breath hot against your skin.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, almost to himself, his eyes flicking back to the screen as Chelsea’s striker lines up for a shot. 

“Keep going, love. Don’t stop.”

But it’s too much. Your rhythm falters, your body trembling as you teeter on the brink. You stop at the top of his cock, gasping, your hands clutching his shoulders. “I’m sorry,,” you whimper, “but if I keep going, I can’t—”

He cuts you off, his hands guiding you back down on his cock, rough and unrelenting. “I wasn’t asking,” he rasps, his hips bucking up to meet you, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your core. “You don’t stop until I tell you to.”

“Yes, Sir,” you choke out, tears spilling down your cheeks as you force yourself to move again, your body screaming for release. You bite your lip until you taste copper, determined to stay silent, to make him proud.

He senses how close you are, his eyes narrowing as he watches you struggle. 

“Don’t even try it,” he warns, his voice a low command. “Not until the games finished,”

You nod, a broken whimper escaping as you fight to obey. The game’s reaching its climax Chelsea scores, the crowd erupts, and Callum’s grip on you tightens, his own control fraying. “Fuck, that’s it,” he mutters, whether to you or the team, you’re not sure. 

“Keep going, baby. Almost there.”

You’re a mess, shaking, gasping, but you don’t stop, your body moving on instinct now, driven by the need to please him. 

His hand slides between you, his thumb finding your clit, and you nearly scream, the sensation pushing you right to the edge.

“Callum Daddy, please,” you beg, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t hold it—”

“Not yet,” he snaps, his thumb circling faster, deliberate, cruel in its precision. “You wait for me.”

The game ends and Chelsea wins, 2-1—and the second the final whistle blows Callum’s attention is fully on you. 

His eyes are piercing , his breath ragged, and he thrusts up into you, hard and deep, his thumb still working you. “Now,” he groans, “come for Daddy.”

You shatter, your vision whiting out as your orgasm crashes through you, wave after wave of pleasure that leaves you sobbing your head tilting back. He follows a moment later, his grip bruising as he spills inside you, a low groan rising from his throat.

For a moment, you’re both still, your bodies pressed together, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the TV.

He strokes your hair, gentle now, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice soft, warm. “You did so well for me.”

You smile, exhausted but sated, and nuzzle into his neck. “Worth it?” you ask, breathless. 

He laughs, low and rich, and pulls you closer. “Absolutely worth it.” He grins.

The London night is bitter and damp, sinking into your bones with a relentless cold. You’re at some posh event Callum dragged you to, all clinking glasses and fake laughs.

He’s thriving, all charm and ease in a fitted grey top and matching tailored slacks, his raven hair perfectly curled, his deep blue eyes warm with excitement as he works the crowd. 

Holding your small hand in his, you’re a sulky shadow in a mini dress and thigh-high boots, your black coat styled to match with him, useless against the frigid, gloomy, London weather.

You press against him as he speaks to some guy in a sleek suit, your arms wrapping around his waist to steal some of his warmth.

“Callum, I’m cold,” you pout, your voice trembling as you shiver. His hand gives you a light squeeze, a brief gesture of comfort, but his attention stays on the conversation, his warm laugh infuriatingly distant. 

You huff in frustration, louder than intended, and Callum turns, one eyebrow arching, his eyes glinting with amusement.  The guy he’s speaking to immediately senses the energy shift, and mutters an excuse to drift away.

“What’s got you in such a mood, love?” Callum asks, his British accent smooth and laced with care as his hand slides down your arms with affection.

“I told you I’m cold!” you snap, sharper than you intended, your voice carrying over the chatter of the event as your breath fogs in the chilly air and your nose stings from the cold.

His head tilts, lips curving into a knowing cheerful smile, trying to coax you out of your mood. “You want me to take you back inside and get you warmed up? Maybe a nice plate of black pudding?” he teases, the absurdity of the dish almost pulling a mocked laugh, but you’re far too annoyed to endure this any longer.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “I want to go home, Callum” you say, loudly, your voice slicing through the event’s refined hum. “Take me home right now,” you double down, defiance ringing clear as heads turn and judgmental eyes land on you both.

Your cheeks burn as you glare up at him, and Callum’s smile fades quickly, his jaw ticking faintly, a sign he’s clearly displeased.

He takes your hand, and you leave immediately without another word. In the car, he stays silent, the only sound the patter of rain against the windows until you reach his flat.

The door slams shut, and he’s fuming, ripping his coat off and tossing it onto a chair. All 6 ft 2 of him storms into the living room, pacing like a caged beast, trying to maintain his usual calm.

You’re just as furious, unzipping your boots with quick, angry tugs and shrugging out of your jacket, letting it fall to the floor.

Your bare feet slap against the hardwood as you walk up to him, bold and insistent, your defiance making him stop in his tracks.

“What the bloody hell is the matter with you?” he snaps, his blue eyes dark and stormy, brows furrowed in frustration. “You were a right nightmare out there.”he says with dissatisfaction.

You step closer and rise on your toes, chin up, voice sharp. “I didn’t want to be at your fancy party, Callum! I hate the food, soggy, tasteless. I hate this miserable, freezing weather, and I hate how you ignored me all night!” you shout furiously.

His face hardens, lips pressing together in a line as his eyes narrow in contempt.

“You think you can just throw a fit in front of my peers and get what you want?” He steps toward you, towering over you, his voice low and dangerous. “You need to learn a proper lesson on how to behave in public, love,” he snaps.

Before you can fire back, he’s got your wrist, pulling you to the couch. Your heart races as he sits, yanking you over his lap in one fluid motion. You shriek as he pulls your dress up, exposing your ass.

“Callum—” you start, but the first spank lands so sharp your throat constricts the sting silencing you.

He spanks you again and again, his large hands paddling your ass as your body jerks, feet kicking out, but his other hand presses your thighs together, holding you firmly in place.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grits, his voice laced with authority. Another spank, harder, and your ass burns under his calloused palm. You bite your lip, whimpers escaping as tears prick your eyes.

“Naughty girl,” he spanks. “So bloody disrespectful,” he spanks. He spanks you again and again, quick and relentless, each smack sending a jolt through you.

Your ass is red, going numb, your pussy clenching with each one, betraying how much of a punishment this should be. Your breaths turn soft and aroused, squirming now for a different reason.

“You think you had a choice in the matter?” he chastises, each word paired with a sharp spank. “You don’t get to act like a spoiled brat and expect me to let it slide.”

You’re a mess, panting, body trembling as he completely resets your brain by punishing your sweet little ass. “Yes, Callum,” you gasp, “I was bad, Callum. I’m sorry, Callum,” you plead, the fight draining out of you.

“That’s much better,” he clarifies, his voice lowering just enough to make your heart stutter. He rubs your reddened skin, soothing it as your breaths heave, ass throbbing, pussy aching so badly you can’t think.

You shift on his lap, your thighs pressing together as his fingers graze your panties, and he sees how desperately you need him. Your hips lift up, offering yourself, and he notices, catching the way you’re practically begging without words.

“Use your words you spoiled little princess,” he says sharply, his precise tone on each one sending a shiver up your spine.

You falter, your earlier fire lost somewhere between that first spank and the way his eyes burn into you now. “I—I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it right Callum,” you whisper, barely audible, cheeks flushing.

He cups your chin, tilting your face up as you struggle to follow the pull on his hand and sit on his lap. “You look at me when you speak to me,” he commands, his gaze locking onto yours.

His deep blue eyes are intense, a storm you can’t escape, and you’re drowning in them. You hold his stare, lips parting slightly. “I’m sorry, Callum,” you plead.

“That’s a start,” he says, his thumb brushing your lower lip, and his other hand squeezes your sore ass, rubbing slow circles that draw soft moans from you, your body grinding against him, arching into his touch.

“Make it better properly,” he demands, eyes never leaving yours. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Callum,” you plead, voice trembling, “please, I need you. I’ll do anything—I’ll do anything you want, I’m so sorry.” You’re babbling, desperation spilling out, and a slow, wicked grin curls his lips, his eyes glinting with triumph.

“I love when you beg,” he says, voice husky, his thighs shifting beneath you. “Your soft little voice gets me so hard.” and you feel his cock, thick and straining against his slacks, pressing against your soaked pussy.

A moan spills from your lips, raw and desperate, your mind too overwhelmed to form words. He brings his hand from your jaw to his belt, unbuckling it with a slow, deliberate clink, the sound sending a shiver through you as his gaze holds you captive.

His hand moves to his slacks pulling them down just enough to free his cock, and it springs out thick and heavy. It sways in his lap, the shaft veined, and pulsing with need the tip flushed a deep pink. He wraps his hand around the base, stroking it, his grip firm, and the sight makes you almost beg for it.

“Go on then, love,” he says, his British accent rough with desire, “Make it better.” His smirk is wicked, eyes glinting with the challenge to please him.

Your hands shake as you lift to pull your panties aside, the fabric clinging to how soaked you are. He pulls you forward with his free hand, your thighs trembling as he positions you above him.

His handsomeness hits you hard when he’s this dominant, those sharp blue eyes, the sly grin on his lips. You can’t resist as you lean in kissing him, your tongue brushing his, apologizing in ways words never could.

His large hand guides you down, and you feel the head of his cock nudge against your entrance as you moan, the stretch intense as you start to take him, your breaths hitching frantically. “You can take it,” he whispers, his voice low and encouraging, his lips brushing yours.

He brings his other hand to steady your back pulling you down until you settle on the base, your core throbbing, with your clit stretched so tight around him.

“Ride me properly, princess, earn my forgiveness,” he says, his voice firm, and you nod quickly as you obey, starting to move.

You rock your hips, riding him slowly, savoring every inch, and his hand cracks against your already-sore ass. The sting is sharp, making you tense and moan, the sudden clench of your pussy pulling a low groan from his throat.

“You’re not ever going to make a fuss at me again in public are you,” he says, eyes locked on yours, his voice laced with authority.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“No what?” his large hand spanks your ass again and you clench the anticipation making you wetter as your body trembles.

“N-no, Callum,” you correct, your voice small but clear.

He grins, satisfied. “You’ll be a good girl for me next time in public won’t you ?” he asks, his tone daring you to defy him.

“Yes, Callum,” you breathe, desperate to please.

“Good girl,” he says, rewarding you as his fingers brush your clit, making you shudder.

“Show me you mean it,” he says, and you nod frantically.

“Yes, Callum,” you gasp, rocking harder on his lap, feeling him deep inside, stretching you, claiming you.

His eyes never leave yours, intense and unyielding, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face as you lose your self on his cock, and his jaw clenches with desire.

His large hands grip your waist, and he thrusts up into you, meeting your movements with a force that makes you moan. “Let me feel how sorry you are,” he says, his voice straining as he nears the edge, his control slipping.

“Yes, Callum,” you moan, your orgasm building, coiling tight. He absolutely rails you in his lap, his thick cock driving into you with every thrust as he grips your waist, pulling you down harder, faster. Your hips slam against him, the wet, rhythmic slap of skin filling the room as you ride him with desperate abandon.

His breaths grow ragged, a low groan rising from his chest, as his control frays at the edges. The pleasure crashes over you both, a tidal wave of heat and release as you come together. Your pussy clenches tight around him as sharp cry tears from your throat, and his thrusts turn erratic as he spills inside of you, hot and thick, his fingers digging into your hips as he groans your name.

You ride it out, your pussy pulsing around him, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until the room falls silent, save for your heavy breaths.

You collapse against his chest, cheek resting on his shoulder and his hands smooth down your back, soothing now, no trace of the storm from before.

You feel his lips curve into a sly grin against your jaw as you lay limp against him. “Made me forget all your naughtiness with that, princess.” He praises, his voice warm and sated, the words wrapping around you like a spell.

You stay there, tangled together, the London night quietening as your body remains sore with the aftershocks of him. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your spine, and you know, despite his lesson, you’re already planning the next time you’ll need his proper punishment again.

END

The heavy door of Callum’s office creaks as you push it open, the scent of aged leather and polished wood overtaking your senses. His office is a sanctuary of books, their spines lining the walls, showcasing his deep love of reading.

Callum sits in a low-backed chair at his desk, bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. His soft curly raven hair catches the light as he pores over a worn novel, his long fingers tracing the page. He’s resting one elbow on his desk, leaned back parallel to it, his legs spread wide in a relaxed, effortless pose.

He’s stunningly handsome in a way that makes even a quiet moment like this mesmerizing and you linger in the doorway, watching him. You’re captivated by the way his broad shoulders fill out his crisp white shirt, the way his thighs…God, those thighs, strain against the fabric of his tailored trousers.

You’ve always loved how solid he feels, how his large presence makes you feel so small, and as if hearing your thoughts he glances up, his blue eyes catching yours, a slow, knowing smile on his lips. “What is it, love,” he says, his British accent teasing and warm.

You grin, crossing the room with a playful sway. “I hate it when you lock yourself away reading in here,” you protest, nudging his book aside. He looks up at you, one brow arching, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as you step between his legs and climb onto his lap.

His thighs are firm and expansive, a perfect seat that makes you feel small and safe, and as you settle down, you rest your hands on his broad chest.

Callum chuckles, the sound low and rich. “You’ve got my full attention now,” he says, his voice playful, as his gaze locks on yours.

His large hands find your hips, and he gives you a playful bounce, jostling you just enough to make you pleasurably sigh.

“So needy for me,” he teases, his voice all mischief, but the glint in his eyes says he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

Another bounce, and this time it hits you differently, a flutter in your stomach, a spark that travels lower. “Callum,” you breathe, already at your limit with his teasing.

Your hips shift, instinctively grinding against him and his eyes lock on where your bodies meet, filled with unspoken desire. You push against him, seeking more and his hands tighten on your hips.

“Go on then, love. Show me what you’re after,” he rasps, his pupils dilating with a hunger that matches your own, his words a dare you eagerly take, leaning in until your lips are inches from his.

He doesn’t wait as his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in, his grip firm as his lips meet yours, kissing with a need that’s all heat and promise.

You crave him, your body pressed tight against his as he deepens the kiss, his other hand guiding your hips to rut against him. The friction is exhilarating, building a pressure that makes you whimper into his mouth.

“Callum, please,” you gasp, breaking the kiss, your voice trembling with need feeling him harden beneath you, the ridge of his erection making your core throb.

“Up, love,” he says, tone laced with authority and he rises, moving with a fluid grace that defies his towering size. His hands find your arms, guiding you to your feet before turning you to face his desk.

With a firm push, he bends you over the polished surface, your cheek resting against the cool wood as your heart races. You hear the faint clink of his belt, and the rasp of his zipper as your knees go weak.

He tugs your panties down, the air kissing your bare skin, and you squirm, insatiable and frantic as he chuckles darkly.

“Proper eager, aren’t you?” he chides, his hand smoothing over your backside, then -smack -a sharp spank lands, the sting blooming into heat.

You moan, back arching, and he soothes the spot with a gentle rub. “Use your manners, tell me what you want,” he says, voice thick with desire.

“Please, Callum, I want you,” you beg, your voice raw, your body aching for him.

“You beg so beautifully,” he praises, and you feel the hot tip of his cock nudging against your entrance, teasing but not yet giving in.

You wiggle, insatiable, your breaths frantic, and he groans. “Alright, kitten,” he says, low and rough. “I’ll give it to you.” He pushes forward, slow at first, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet room.

You moan his name, your body straining to take him deeper, and he presses in until you yelp, feeling him hit a spot that makes your vision blur.

“Stuffed …full , aren’t you, kitten?” he groans , pulling back several inches, his hands steadying your hips. “Let’s see how much more you can take,” he says, and then he’s pushing in again, creating a steady rhythm that has you moaning hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

Each thrust divides you, building a pressure that coils tighter with every stroke. You’re gasping, panting, lost in the feel of him, his heavy cock thrusting deep, each plunge causing a slick, squelching sound that blends with the clap of his thick thighs against the backs of yours.

“Callum, it’s so good,” you praise , your voice breaking as you teeter on the edge, pushing back to meet his thrusts.

“Almost there, love,” he says, his voice strained, his grip tightening. He drives into you, relentless now, and the world narrows to the slick glide of his cock, the heat of his hands, the way he fucks you into oblivion.

Your desperate moans grow louder and whinier, and he knows you’re close. One hand fists your hair, guiding your head back with a firm pull that sparks a thrill through you. His other hand slides around your hip, fingers pressing your clit, circling with quick, steady strokes.

The combination of his fierce thrusts, as he holds you in place and teases your clit, pushes you to the limit, your body arching against him.

“Come on, kitten, give it to me,” he urges, his voice rough with need, and you come hard, crying out as the tension snaps, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching tight around his cock as you writhe under the weight of release.

He follows, his thrusts jagged, lifting you on your toes. “Fuck, take it all,” he groans, deep and guttural, pushing himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he floods you with his come.

Your moans are high and shaky, your body limp as his hips clap against your ass, his groans of satisfaction filling the air.

He squeezes your clit with thumb and forefinger, drawing out your climax, your walls pulsing, milking the last of his come as he finishes.

His grip on your hair loosens, his large hands rolling down your back, warm and steady, as he slowly slides out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty.

He laughs softly, now breathless with euphoria. “My needy little thing, are you satisfied now?” he pants, still catching his breath, the high of release surging through him.

He gently pulls you to face him, lifting you with care to set you on the edge of the desk. His large hands rest on your hips, warm and steady, as he stands between your legs, his blue eyes soft but searching.

You melt into him, spreading your legs wider, addicted to the feel of him, his solid warmth driving you wild as you kiss him, your lips brushing his with a desperate reply, “I’m satisfied..for now” you whisper, your words sparking a glint of mischief in his blue eyes, and he kisses you back, deeper, a playful smile on his lips as he presses himself closer.