it made me think of you

Jobe had been your closest friend for as long as you could remember, a result of the friendship your mother and his had shared since they were teenagers. Being only a year older than him, you nearly shared everything: the same school, the same walk home, the same friends, and the same love of chasing each other through open fields.

He won most of the time.

When it came to catching you, it didn't matter how far you ran, Jobe always knew how to find you in the labyrinth of trees in Stourbridge’s parks.

When he was the one running from you, the situation was markedly different. There were only a handful of times you managed to catch him without something going wrong —very wrong for two children who couldn't see the world beyond their games.

Sometimes you ended up in Denise's arms, tearfully begging her to help you catch her son, and Jobe would get scolded for taking advantage of his long legs against your tiny ones. Other times the matter was so serious that it led you both to trespass onto private property. Mark's badge got you and Jobe out of those and many other situations. 

And lastly, there was Jude.

Asking Jude for help to catch Jobe was a low blow.

It was like a rule written into the bonds of your friendship. Never spoken, always there. With no need to say it, you both knew. 

But even so, you did it. 

Just once.

And the result was catastrophic: for an entire week, Jobe pretended you didn't exist. 

If you went to his house, he would go up to his room. If you saw each other at school, he would walk right past you. It got so extreme that you stopped talking to Jude for a month, just so your best friend would come back.

The chases and the games came to an end when Jude, like his father, started playing soccer and turned out to be exceptionally good at it.

Everything changed after that. 

Because just one year later, Jobe began training as well.

Suddenly, his routine changed completely, and the afternoons when you used to go running among trees and green fields were left behind. Then middle school came, and the days you spent together became fewer and fewer, until you only saw him on certain afternoons each month. It was then that you met María, a girl from Spain who had moved to the city because of her parents' work.

In a way, she filled that void, while for the Bellingham brothers, soccer went from being an afternoon pastime to a matter of local and national leagues, with Jude always leading the way.

If you barely ever saw Jobe, Jude was a lost cause. 

For entire months, all the things you knew about him were the things his younger brother told you. 

“He's going to play for Birmingham City, first group” 

Jude broke records from his very first match. 

Never before had a player so young taken the field for the club, and just 25 days later, he scored a goal that gave the team the victory.

Jobe and you watched all of it.

You from the stands. Jobe from the bench.

The change didn't stop there; in fact, that first season was only the beginning of what was yet to come. 

The big news arrived one afternoon like any other. It was the same crimson sky, with the same creamy clouds decorating it and the last rays of the sun caressing the same brick walls. 

You were on your way home when Jobe called you. 

“Meet me at the tree”

A place you used to go to often as children, back when Mary Stevens Park was your everyday gathering spot.

Under the same tree, with a strange U shape that united you as kids, things changed even more. 

“He's moving to Germany” he said.

You had never heard him sound so... sad. 

“Mom's going with him.” 

Your young heart, which barely understood anything about life, didn't know what else to do but hug him until the sun went down.

Everyone cried the day Jude left for Germany, but only you knew that Jobe was crying for something more than the absence of his older brother. 

It wasn't just that Jude was taking Denise with him, leaving him alone.

It wasn't just that Jude was leaving because a more prestigious team had signed him.

It wasn't just that he had to stay behind, with Dad, to keep trying to make something of himself at the same academy Jude was leaving. 

Jude's shadow was enormous—and very dark. And on that day, it grew even larger. 

You were the last person to say goodbye.

Jobe was already inside the house, locked in his room trying to deal with the situation. His father was talking with his mother in the foyer; it was the last time they would see each other face to face for several months.

That left you alone with a Jude whose smile was the same size as the sun.

Although his happiness was radiant, you couldn't match his expressions. Your heart felt far too heavy.

“Good luck” you murmured; vision blurred.

Jude hugged you before the tears wet your cheeks.

“I'm going to miss you” he whispered.

The knot inside your chest tightened a little more.

“Me too.”

After all, you had shared many moments as children with him too, the age difference did not separate you that much.

“You're going to come see me play, right?” He pulled away. The desperation in his words felt out of place, as if this wasn't the same Jude you used to know. “Like always.”

Like always.

You had never missed one of his matches, because naturally Jobe was there too. But you didn't know that he was aware of it. Of your silent presence in the stands.

“We're going to be there” you said.

Jude nodded.

And suddenly he bent down to the flower bed that was at the entrance of his house. He pulled out one of Denise's roses and… gave it to you.

“I’ll wait for you.”

The street fell silent so that your heartbeats were the loudest sound. You didn’t know what to do, until Jude stretched out the arm that held the flower and brought it closer to your hand. You took it, halfway through a breath, and he bent down to leave a chaste kiss on your cheek.

That last detail turned your face into a warm painting, right at the exact moment Denise and Mark finished their conversation.

“Let’s go, champ.”

His mother spoke to Jude so he would get into the car and then turned to you. She hugged you, only to whisper in your ear the words that would be engraved on your heart for the rest of your life.

“I know Jobe is in good hands, please take care of him.”

You nodded, carrying the heaviest flower in the world.

That night you couldn't sleep. After midnight, you called María.

“He gave you a flower and then kissed your cheek… qué hijo de puta (what a son of a bitch)”

“I don't know why he did it”

“Amiga (girl), you know it”

“No.” There was a pause “Yes. I'm going to jump off a bridge.”

“Ya, que no es para tanto (Come on, it's not that big deal)” she said. “Jobe doesn't have to know. Jude left and took his hormones with him. Don't worry.”

His hormones. Maybe María was right. It hadn't been a declaration of love either. And you were just reacting like a confused teenager. It was impossible that you saw your best friend's brother that way.

Simply no.

You thought about that the whole night.

Until a rock hit your window.

And then another.

And another.

When you looked outside, Jobe was waiting for you below, in his sports clothes. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon.

“Bet you can't catch me, shortcake.”

You were face to face with him in less time than it took you to get ready to go out.

“Fuck off, Bellingham” You hit his chest “I thought you'd spend all day in bed like the lazy ass you are”

The half-smile that emerged from his mouth eased the tension between your ribs.

“Dad talked to me all night” he confessed, at the same time that both of you set off toward wherever he was leading you. “I don't have to live in Jude's shadow. I'm going to build my own career, with my own fists.”

The morning breeze filled your lungs.

“I know.”

“What do you know?”

“That you're going to write your own story.” You touched his shoulder and then moved ahead, away from him.

You couldn't see that his half smile widened until it became an identical copy of the sunrise, toward which you both began to run, chasing each other.

Middle school ended, and so did high school. Your school life diverged from Jobe's when he focused on building his own career as a professional soccer player. Suddenly, you were no longer two annoying kids teasing each other, but two people with dreams who enjoyed making each other laugh.

Your graduation was a special day. You had completed your basic schooling, and it was time to choose a major. Jobe knew you had been looking forward to this date and he did everything possible to be with you. From the first ray of sunlight to the last, as if he didn't want to miss a single second of the happiness you radiated.

He accompanied you to the ceremony and afterward to dinner, carrying the most beautiful bouquet of flowers he could find in the entire city. María was there too, nudging you whenever she could.

“Qué majo se ha puesto este, huh (How handsome he's become, huh)”

Jude couldn't come, just like on every special occasion before this one. Jobe's birthdays, your birthdays, the matches, the competitions. With him, everything was reduced to messages and video calls.

That night, after dinner, your phone unexpectedly rang.

It was him.

“Hey.”

It had been so long since you'd heard his voice that you were surprised by how deep it sounded.

Jude was now almost nineteen years old and was a footballer renowned throughout Europe. He kept racking up records and awards you tried to ignore. 

“Hey Jude” you sang, still happy. 

His laugh tickled your ear. 

“Mom showed me the pictures” he confessed, “congratulations.”

Your lips parted. Jobe had surely sent them. Despite the distance, he was still very close to Denise; he still missed her a lot. Too much. Enough to expose Jude as a useless guy who didn't know how to drive or cook, in front of the cameras. 

“I didn't know you'd dyed your hair” he said, after your nervous laugh. 

“It's been like this for months.” 

“You didn't tell me” Jude complained.

Dramatic boy, as always. 

“You didn't ask.”

Jude clicked his tongue, knowing he wasn't going to be able to win that battle. 

“How was your day?” he asked.

You let your body fall onto the bed, your phone pressed close to you. 

“It was a …” you sighed, remembering the bouquet of flowers resting on the kitchen table. “A lovely day.” 

This Bellingham's smile was outrageous.

“I would have loved to be there” Jude admitted, with a sigh heavy with melancholy.  

“We're very happy for you, you know?”

Don't look back. You tried to tell him, and you could imagine him nodding, his gaze fixed on the ground, as he used to do every time someone comforted him after a bad game.

“I know,” he exhaled. 

“You're doing incredible things.” 

Since when had you learned to comfort people like that? Jude accepted your words with gratitude and changed the subject.

“And now what are you going to do?” he asked “Jobs told me you wanted to keep studying.”

Jobs. After all, they were still talking to each other.

Obviously, smartass, they're siblings.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “Maybe I’ll start working for a full year and then begin university. Mom still hasn’t been promoted and Oxford isn’t cheap, you know?”

“Oxford!” he exclaimed “I didn’t know you wanted to embarrass us.”

The accusation made you laugh.

“You play in Germany, Jude.”

“It suits you, you know?” he said, suddenly. “Oxford and your hair like this. I can see it.”

“Enough with my hair, please”

“You look pretty.”

Your stomach tightened. Those were the loudest ten seconds of silence in a call.

“Shouldn't you be sleeping, Bellingham?”

“Yes, I should” he muttered, “but Mom showed me the pictures and I can't stop thinking.”

You shouldn't keep talking. You shouldn't feel curious. You shouldn't ask.

“About what?”

The line filled with noise, as if Jude had moved from where he was.

“That I wish I had been there” he chose his words carefully. Your lips dried. “With you”

“You're playing dirty, Jude” you said.

“Why?”

“Because you're not here.”

You haven’t been here to make me feel this way.

 “Would you like me to be?”

Winter nights shouldn’t be this hot. It wasn’t natural. And much less a harbinger of good things.

“Good night, Bellingham.”

You hung up before it was too late.

Too late for what?

You didn’t want to answer yourself.

2023 would be a different year.

You knew it from the New Year's celebration for several reasons.

The first—and the biggest one—, Jude was there.

Denise and he flew from Germany to celebrate like in the old days, when your mother and you would walk to his house and have dinner together before welcoming the new year.

The second, Jobe behaved differently throughout the evening. He even decided to wear a suit to a casual dinner, arguing that it brought good luck. And he didn't leave you alone for a single minute of the night.

If his hand wasn't on top of yours, his arm was around your shoulders. You didn't do anything to move him away because you had always been accustomed to his closeness, but in front of Jude, for the first time in your entire life, it felt different.

Not bad. Not good. Just… different.

You caught Jude looking at you a couple of times. Each one twisted your stomach worse than the last, because it wasn’t just a passing glance.

No.

It was the first time you had seen each other since that call, and Jude’s gaze felt heavier than lead. Throughout the entire night, it was there, boring into your body, especially the places Jobe touched.

Your families welcomed the new year with excitement. Everyone toasted to more achievements and victories to share and also gave thanks for everything both boys had accomplished in so few years of their careers. Your mother hugged them as if they were her own sons. And Denise hugged you as if she were indebted to you, because Jobe's smile was as big and bright as Jude's, even though she had been absent for so long. And as if that were entirely on you.

It was too much for one night.

And it was also only the beginning.

Jude stayed to rest for a week, before a new season that promised to be decisive for his career, after other clubs had turned their attention to him.

On the fourth day of the week, Jude invited some friends over to the house. They got together to play FIFA and the two of you joined in because Jobe insisted.

The living room was small and all the seats on the couch were taken when you arrived, which led Jobe to suggest that you should sit on his lap, as if it were the most —damn— simple thing in the world.

You wanted to think that because there were so many years of friendship between you two, because you were his best friend, it couldn’t be weird. With those thoughts in mind, you accepted.

Then Jude's hazel eyes fell upon you and followed all your movements, from the entrance to his brother's lap. He looked away when you turned to look at him. His clenched jaw was enough to make you hold your breath.

Jobe's hands wrapped around your waist and intertwined in the controller just in front of your belly.

“I’m going to fuck you up, Krane” Jobe said right beside your ear.

Jobe’s voice was deep too.

Perhaps a little deeper than Jude’s. Both brothers were still growing, and all those changes keep driving you crazy. Naturally, the shivers started at the small of your back. Every time he laughed or insulted one of Jude’s friends, it was torture to keep yourself still on his lap.

When the game ended, Jobe handed the controller to his brother, but his hands never left your hips.

Jude forcefully took the device from his hands, causing a raspy laugh from his little brother that filled your right ear. You tilted your head instinctively.

“Are you okay?” Jobe whispered with his mouth pressed against your hair.

Yes, that voice was an absolute torture.

“You're tickling me” you murmured back, laughing.

“Yeah?” he teased.

His head leaned further over you and the tickling got worse.

“Woah, Jude, you're terrible at this, mate.”

That teasing came from the left. You couldn't see what his friend was referring to, or why, because Jobe was still torturing you with his breath so close to your skin.

“You're very sensitive here” Jobe mumbled, sinking further into the hollow between your shoulder and your head.

You lost your breath completely.

Jobe's lips brushed against your skin, and the startle was enough for your hands to end up on his legs, searching for some support.

“Too sensitive” he corrected himself, tormenting you again with the brush of his wet mouth.

Only then did you allow yourself to look at his older brother, who was gripping the remote control so tightly that his knuckles had changed color.

The tension was also evident in his face, jaw clenched, furrowed brows and lips completely lost between his teeth.

A small gasp escaped your lips.

It was barely a murmur, which completely froze Jobe in place. Under your palms, you felt the muscles in his legs tense and his breathing changed its rhythm.

The grip Jobe had on your hips softened. His face also moved away from your skin. As if he had changed his mind, he simply withdrew.

“I prefer to play in person” Jude declared, once the match was finished. He looked at you, immediately. One glance was enough to make one thing clear that you stubbornly tried to ignore.

You were deeply embroiled in a problem that became heavier to bear with every passing minute.

English spring was synonymous with miracles. It brought with it the longest and warmest days of the year, without gray clouds or drizzles to ruin afternoon plans. It was the perfect weather for wearing tops and eating some ice cream.

On one of those days, when the sky shone a tender blue, Jobe called you to give you another piece of big news. But this time it was different, because it was his news.

It was his achievement.

“They’re going to make it official on the eighteenth.”

Sunderland A. F. C. had made him an offer of 3 million pounds. A competing club had taken notice of him and wanted to sign him.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

The workday at the bakery had never felt so long. You counted the minutes until the shift change, when you could finally run out to meet him. He, naturally, was on the field, training, burning off the excitement through runs and passes.

As soon as he saw you enter the field, he stopped everything and focused only on you and the strength necessary to counter the stampede that was approaching.

He caught you in his arms and then lifted you into the air.

“I told you!” you shouted at him.

Jobe smiled and smiled, until his cheeks hurt. It didn't matter. No pain he had ever felt in his life could compare to the happiness he felt at that moment.

Because he was writing his own story.

And because he had you in his arms.

His arms, stronger with each passing month. His arms. They enclosed you and pressed you against his body, while he rocked you from side to side, never stopping telling you how excited he was.

The embrace lasted for minutes, amid the green grass and beneath the sky that had watched you grow up. It could not have been any other way.

He rested his forehead against yours and after a sigh that brushed your cheeks, you realized how close you were. You also realized that his hands were holding your skin, beneath the loose top you were wearing. With no clothing in between. Hot skin to hot skin.

You placed your palm against his face, not wanting to break this closeness.

Jobe responded the gesture by cradling his head in your hand. The movement brought you closer, and now all it took for your lips to find his was to rise onto your toes.

No.

You didn't just think that.

You both stopped swaying, and the stillness allowed you to take in the rest of the hug a second time. It didn't seem real. Your bodies were completely pressed together, and his forehead was resting against yours. It didn't feel real.

His arms tightened around your bare back, as if he was fighting a battle behind his dilated pupils too.

Jobe tilted his head further and his nose brushed the tip of yours, parting your lips in surprise. Your palm fell to his chest when his mouth closed over your lower lip.

It was barely a caress that cut through the surface of your friendship and changed the color of the sky.

“Jobe!” Someone shouted in the distance.

You both separated in an instant.

“When were you planning to tell me, you idiot!?”

It was one of his friends. Both men hugged each other, laughing.

While they finished their celebration, you remained silent. The flush in your cheeks led you to cross your arms over your chest, as if that way you could protect yourself from what was about to happen.

Without thinking, you touched your lip with the tip of your index finger. It was still wet from Jobe's lips' fleeting caress.

“Are you okay?” the intruder asked you.

Jobe looked at you and you at him. In the midst of so much emotion, a hint of concern showed in his eyes. Your fingers were still pressed to your mouth. It was more than obvious that you were still thinking about him and what he had dared to do.

“Where are we going to celebrate?” you asked, extending your hand toward Jobe for him to take.

The smile returned to his eyes, and you never spoke about your almost-kiss again.

That happiness lasted exactly 20 days.

Only 20 days.

20 sunrises.

On the 20th sunset, after Jobe held you in his arms and swore to himself that he would be the happiest man in the universe, Jude called home.

His younger brother could only hear two words that changed everything all over again.

Real Madrid.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” It was what you said once the news reached your ears.

Jobe shook his head.

“I wish I were fucking kidding you”

“You’re fucking kidding me, Samuel.”

The air caught in his throat and tightened his pronounced jaw.

“No” he stated firmly. “It’s serious. They’re going to make it official on Friday. Dad has already bought the flights.”

“The fucking Real Madrid.”

Jobe nodded.

This time there were no tears in his eyes, nor was there a fiery sunset surrounding you. This time the sky was gray and the only thing his hazel eyes showed you was absolute coldness.

“How much…” He didn’t let you finish the question.

“One hundred and three million”

The air caught in your throat.

“Pounds?”

Jobe shook his head.

“Euros” he sighed.

“Dear fucking lord.”

His room had never felt so small. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, and every medal felt enormous. Things piled up in a tiny, dark corner.

Very few times did you hate being Jobe’s best friend.

This was one of them. Not because he was bad. No. But because you could see the enormous weight he carried in silence. You could feel his sadness, as if it were yours too.

You hated it because you loved him so much.

Enough to make you stand up and hold his face —and his heart— with both hands. 

“Hey” you murmured, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. “That’s his story.”

Jobe was sitting on his bed; he was so tall that his face didn’t have to tilt to fit between your hands. He looked straight at you. The only light peeking into the room came from a lamp on the avenue. Although you were almost in darkness, his eyes were two stars.

“We don’t care” you stated, without realizing the weight of your words. “I don’t care.”

Two sharp stars.

“I don’t want your pity” he said, without moving.

Despite trying with all his anger to hide his sadness, you felt it.

Something broke inside your chest, but you didn’t pull away. You took a deep breath and moved closer until your foreheads touched.

“The other day in the countryside, when you told me about Sunderland…”

The interruption was imminent. So was his distance. 

“I don’t…” he began.  You didn’t let his cheeks pull away from your hands. You didn’t let him go. 

“Shhh…” you silenced him, bringing your faces together again. With no witnesses other than the intrusive yellow streetlight, you brushed your nose against his and spoke to his lips. “The only story that matters to me is yours, and I’m very proud of what you’ve achieved.” 

It was your way of telling him that it was okay. 

This closeness was okay. This light was okay. Whatever this was… it was okay.

The darkened sky thundered. The storm arrived and you touched his lower lip with the tip of your tongue. 

Her lips parted in a sigh and there was not enough strength in that tiny room to stop you. You crushed your mouth against his, changing everything. Burning everything, as it began to rain. 

“Are you?” he whispered.

You agreed, without stopping kissing him. 

“Too much.” 

Too proud. Too attached. 

The drops of water hit his window as Jobe pressed his palms to your waist and pulled you against his body, lifting you onto his lap. You kissed him again, until you both ran out of air. You weren’t chasing after each other, but it seemed like you were. 

It seemed like his mouth didn’t want to leave you alone, until it had touched every inch of you.

The constant drumming of the rain against the walls set the rhythm of this impulse. What had begun as an open kiss was now an incessant brush of damp caresses.  He kissed your cheek, then your jaw. Curses and sighs accompanied the storm as soon as he touched the skin of your collarbones. 

There he had to stop to breathe and ended up hiding in your chest, as if it were the refuge he had always been searching for. 

“I've got you here” he cried, breathing deeply. “With me.”

You hugged him closer to you. 

His fingers found the edge of your blouse and he did not hesitate to slip them inside, seeking the softness of your skin. 

“Are you sure?” he murmured. 

At the same time, the window creaked from the impact of another lightning bolt. You nodded, with the glow of the thunder and his gaze setting every part of you ablaze. 

Jobe withdrew his caresses from your skin to take off the shirt he was wearing. 

The air caught in your throat when your hands found his torso. Like a mystery to be solved, you traced the muscles of his chest, becoming more and more restless; while it rained harder and harder. You pushed him backward, until his body collapsed onto the bed.

With both legs on either side of his hips, you secured your position on top of him and bent down because deciphering it with your fingertips wasn’t enough. 

“Fuck” he muttered through gritted teeth. 

You kissed the point from which all this chaos was coming, his heart. 

And then lower. 

Lower.

And lower.

Your chin touched something hardened as your hands found the border of his shorts.

It was at that moment that his cell phone began to vibrate.

Both of you straightened abruptly, as if you had just awakened from a trance, but you didn’t separate. Your hands tangled around his neck and his around your back.

“Who’s?” you asked, still breathless.

Jobe’s chest vibrated.

“It’s mom.”

The rain stopped being a roar loud enough to hide your outburst and became a soft caress against walls and roofs. Not knowing what else to do, you rested your head against his bare chest while he spoke with his mother.

“Yes, she’s here with me…” He mentioned you at one point. His hands suddenly found your hair “She’s happy for him too… I think.”

You closed your eyes, still feeling dizzy for the touching you just shared. You fell asleep, between the gentle caress of his fingers and his voice, with the storm fading away outside and inside his room.

Mark and Jobe traveled to Spain for the club’s official announcement. It was quite a gala, broadcasted around the entire world. The pictures showed you a family overflowing with happiness. Even Jobe managed to look happy for his brother. Maybe it had something to do with that last kiss hidden in the dimness of his room.

Their happiness was outrageous.

Tender.

Contagious.

The pics seemed like reason enough for you to be the one to call Jude.

“Eres un cabrón (You’re a bastard)” you told him in Spanish.

Jude's laugh was sharp. It touched your ears and curved your lips.

“Since when do you know Spanish?” he asked, completely ignoring the subject.

“My best friend is Spanish.”

“Best friend?” he inquired. “I thought only Jobe could hold that position.”

“Stop messing with me, Bellingham. Why didn't you tell me?”

“You didn't ask.”

One of your lips ended up caught between your teeth.

“Qué cabrón eres. (You're such a bastard.)”

You had never liked his laugh so much. How could it sound so attractive? You could see him clearly in your head, smiling like the egotist he was about to become. 

“You’re going to have to teach me Spanish.”

“Why?” you asked, cynically. 

Jude tortured you again with a deep laugh. 

“Why, William?” you insisted. 

“Let’s make a deal” he said, after the teasing. Your eyebrow arched instinctively. “I’ll dedicate my first gold medal at Real Madrid to you, if and only if you come see me lift the trophy.”

Dangerous.

Inevitably, you remembered the words he told you before saying goodbye to you to travel to Germany. You’re going to see me play. You never went to one of his matches with Borussia Dortmund. Not even when he played in England.

Now the request was different. Now it was a challenge.

“Fine, but I choose which medal.”

You took the easy way out, the provocation.

“Whichever you want.” His smile could be heard through the call.

“The Champions League one.”

Jude almost moaned in response.

“You want the whole cake, greedy little thing”

That was an accusation that made your face flush. 

“I didn't start this.”

From Spain, Jude decided to complicate things a little more.

“All right, but because it's not just any cup you want to see me lift, you're going to celebrate with me once the match is over.”

Celebrate. You didn't want to imagine the context behind a single word.

“That's fair.”

“I'll show you what I'm capable of” he declared, “just to have you here.”

And that’s exactly what he did. 

He played so well in his first matches with Real Madrid that they named him Player of the Month in La Liga, and he kept up the pace until he equaled records held by Cristiano Ronaldo himself. 

Calling him became a habit for both of you. If he had a good match, he called you; if he had a bad match, he called you. Any reason was good enough for him to let the minutes slip by talking to you in the early hours of the morning. 

Madrid fascinated him from the very first day he moved there with Denise.

The team also welcomed him with more warmth than expected. Playing with them was incredible, celebrating with them was a lot—much, much—better. He told you a lot about the charm of Madrid nights, hoping you would catch a flight and experience it yourself.

Then he played his first "Clásico" and helped the team move three points ahead of their most personal rival, the F.C. Barcelona. That night, Jude was effusive and never tired of telling you how much he longed for you to be there, as if suddenly you were no longer just his brother’s best friend, but something more to him.

Something intimate enough to invite you to the last match against, no one more and no one less than the team he had played for in Germany, during the Champions League final, Borussia Dortmund.

“Go with me.”

“No.”

For an entire week, you tried to convince Jobe to come with you to London, but he refused every time you asked. 

“I’m busy. Mom and Dad will be there, that’s enough. I have to train. It’s just one more match. It’s very cold.”

Each time it was a different excuse, but always a refusal. You stopped insisting when the answer became colder. 

“I just don’t want to go.”

It no longer sounded like an excuse, but rather like a confession made from the shadows within him. He didn’t even sound angry, but you stepped back.

Maria, once again, was the person who filled that void.

“You’re not doing anything wrong” she told you, while the two of you traveled by train to the English capital. If there was anyone besides Jobe who knew how to read your expressions, it was her. Of course, she noticed the debate raging in your head.

“It’s complicated” you said, resting your head against the window, and she snorted.

“It doesn’t have to be” she reasoned. “You’re just going to watch him play. Maybe he’ll win and we’ll go out to celebrate. But that’s it. Jobe isn’t going to stop being your best friend just because his brother is a fucking champion of the most important league in Europe.”

Your eyes accused her.

“We’re going to have fun, and that’s it” she shrugged. “I know what it’s like when El Real wins, girl. That’s a party you don’t want to miss. Much less because of some asshole who doesn’t dare confess his feelings.”

“Jobe doesn't…”

Maria raised her hand, silencing you.

“Let's have some fun.”

You nodded.  

Just fun. Nothing more.

London wasn't as cool, and its landscape wasn't as green as what you were used to. It was more frigid, in its wind and its streets. The dull colors matched the cloudy sky and also the mahogany lipstick on your lips.

Maria took photographs of everything she saw, fascinated by being able to visit another city in England, so different from her native Barcelona.  

She even captured Jude when he met up with you in the hotel lobby.

It hadn’t been that long since the last time you saw him. A couple of months, at most. Even so, it was different. It felt different, because this time you finally looked at him. No longer as your best friend’s older brother, but as the passionate and successful man he was.

With a perfect smile and adidas outfits.

“You’re here” he said, before hugging you.

There it was. The husky tone that had stolen your breath over the phone. In person, it was even more devastating, because it was accompanied by a pair of shiny eyes that lit up when he recognized your silhouette in the distance. Unlike Jobe, Jude was more expressive.

“I told you I would” you replied, wrapping your arms around his waist.

One more detail, Jude was no longer the boy who had left you in England. No. His hug was no longer a careless touch, forced by the manners his mother had tried to instill in him.

This was different.

It was the first hug you had shared after so many late-night conversations.

Without thinking, you rested your head against his chest, only to be met with chaos. His heartbeat was a mess, as if he had just finished an exhausting training session.

Before you could joke about it, Maria butted into the conversation to introduce herself. You pulled away carefully, not wanting to be too abrupt.

“Jobs?” he asked, after greeting your friend.

You shook your head.

“I tried to convince him, but he couldn’t come.”

He didn't want to come.

“He stayed to train, right?” He clicked his tongue. “That brat.”

“You know him better than I do.” You raised your hands.

Jude shook his head, laughing.

“I don't think so.”

“Let her rest, please” Maria interrupted. “She's finally getting a break from Jobe and you're ruining it for her.”

“A break?” Jude asked, frowning.

“They're glued to each other all day, and if they're not together, they text each other anytime. I wish I could see her that much” your best friend huffed.

The smile you gave her was pointed, but she didn't stop.

“It's annoying, you don't know how jealous it makes me.”

Jude wet his lips.

“It was like that since we were kids” he said, cold tone. “It's always been that way.”

You tried to defend yourself. No excuse or joke seemed adequate to you to brush aside the tension in his hardened jaw.

Maria noticed it. You noticed it.

“No, it’s not the same anymore” you confessed. “A lot of things changed after football.”

It was true. You couldn’t tell what moment had transformed your friendship with Jobe. You weren’t even sure whether it had been a specific event or simply the passing of the years with such a great passion and obsession in the middle of it all.

Before Jude could inquire any further, Maria ended the tension she herself had caused.

“Is that Toni Kross!?” she almost shouted.

You rolled your eyes and at the same time thanked the football superstar for deciding to walk through the same lobby at that precise moment. It was a breath of fresh air.

“I can introduce you to him, if you want.”

“You’re kidding.”

Jude smiled.

“Only if you want.”

You rolled your eyes again. 

Maria took pictures and also asked him for an autograph. 

“I didn’t know you had a Madridista friend.” Jude touched your waist with one of his fingers. He poked you. It was a playful gesture that made you straighten your posture and feel warmth in your cheeks. 

“She doesn’t like soccer at all,” you exposed her. “Her brother is the one who’s crazy about the whole club, even about you.” 

“Then she has a good brother.” 

He teased you again with his hand, stretching his lips to one side in a smirk that made your blush even worse. You pushed him away, pressing against his chest a little. His hard chest. Your eyebrows rose instinctively. 

“We have training today,” he said, bringing you back to your senses. “Would you like to go?” 

“I don’t think…” 

Maria, once again, butted in. 

“We’d love to go.”

It was not a good idea.

From the moment you arrived, you knew it. The sky was covered by gray clouds that darkened the surroundings. Although the wind swayed your hair and cooled your cheeks, it wasn't cold enough.

Not for what was happening in front of you.

A thin layer of sweat covered Jude's skin, as he was stretching after a light training session. That was what they had said before starting. They would only move as much as necessary to stay fresh for the next day, when the big match would take place.

His chest rose and fell frantically. No matter how much oxygen entered his lungs, he still felt suffocated. He stretched his arms above his head, and the shirt lifted slightly, revealing part of his abdomen and a thin line of black curls that continued below the shorts.

“¿Por qué te tardaste tanto en venir, tía? (Why did you take so long to come, girl)” your best friend beside you complained.

“Don't say anything, please” you asked her.

Maria laughed.

“I haven't said anything!” she bellowed. “In fact, I've been pretty restrained.”

“That's better.”

The stretch changed. Now he stretched downward, wrapping his legs in his arms. That was where the real tension lay. His lower muscles were hardened enough to show every separation in detail. You were certain that, if you could touch them, they would be as hard as rock. Sitting there would be…

No.

“I need water” you got up from the bench.

Maria laughed again.

“Go get it yourself, I wouldn't miss this for anything.”

You walked slowly until you found the vending machine, and you still lingered there, letting the cold liquid pass down your throat. It did nothing to ease the burning you felt inside. Not even pressing the bottle against your face helped much to bring down the heat in your cheeks.

Jude definitely wasn't that same sixteen-year-old boy who had given you a rose from his mother's garden, never imagining that such a simple gesture would lead you to that moment, when you were trying not to think about him anymore.

Not after having make out with his brother.

Training had ended when you returned with Maria, the players were already inside the locker room. It was time to leave. You sent Jude a message, letting him know that you would spend the rest of the day with María, exploring London.

You saw him again only that night, at the hotel. Not because you happened to cross paths, but because you had politely asked him to meet you in the hallway.

Once he was standing in front of you, crossing his arms, you were direct.

“You should give your medal to Denise.”

Jude maintained his athletic stance.

“That was my original idea, but…”

You stopped him.

“Exactly. No one is going to be prouder of you than she tomorrow” you reasoned. “It can't belong to anyone but her.”

“But…” He tried to move closer.

The masculine scent of his cologne brushed your nose, and the air caught in your throat as you recognized citrus notes. Soft, but lethal after the morning image that had been etched into your mind.

His wet, glistening skin. His large silhouette, breathless.

His lips slightly parted, like now, asking for something more than oxygen.

“This is wrong, Jude.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This.” You pointed to the space between you. “You and me.”

You let it out. The words pierced the air until they struck his chest, held upright in front of you. You expected silence from him, but you got the opposite.

“He really hasn’t told you anything, has he?” he tilted his mouth.

It was your turn to furrow your brows, to plunge into the acidic waters of confusion. You didn't need the name to know who he was referring to. 

“What would he have to tell me?” you asked.

Then, his lips met silence. He used it to protect himself and at the same time to draw closer to you.

“Jude” you threatened.

Not even the edge in your tone was enough to battle against his broad figure. Before you could move away, a smooth, hard wooden wall touched your back.

“I'm going to give it all tomorrow” he whispered, looming over you. “I'm going to give everything for that medal, just as I promised you.”

You didn't like the thickness of his voice, nor did you like your body's reaction to his determination.

“You didn't promise me that” you clarified. “I only provoked you and you accepted the challenge.”

You were completely on the defensive. Willing to build an immense wall in front of you, just to stop his firmness, while you tried to ignore his bright eyes, attentive to the detail of your lips.

You savored his silence longer than you should have.

“What would he have to tell me?” you repeated the question.

That didn't stop him neither. His mouth parted slightly, not to put an end to your curiosity, but to break you down further. A glance downward, toward the deadliest place in the entire universe, set everything ablaze. His lips were glossy, asking for a kiss that could break you entirely.   

Jude leaned his face over yours, until his freshly moistened lips touched the skin of your cheek.

“See you tomorrow, shortcake.”

The atmosphere throughout the entire match was suffocating. The flags, the shouts, the cold, the tension between rivals, the beer.

Maybe you were a little dizzy when the match ended, Maria's fault for accepting every drink that other Madridistas offered her. The alcohol around you only increased when the first goal came, thanks to Dani Carvajal.

After that, the characteristic cold of the London night stopped being a concern for everyone. At most, it reached six degrees, but inside the stadium and with such a passionate fanbase, not to mention the beer, it felt like a beach day.

Jude assisted the last goal that would give Real Madrid their 15th Champions League title.

“That's your man, amiga (girl)!” Maria shouted, right after the goal. 

“Coño (fuck), María, he's not my man” you protested.

Your best friend straightened her posture.

“You're right, I'm sorry” she said, and then stretched to shout again: “That's one of your men! Arriba la poligamia y el Real Madrid, hijos de puta (Long live polygamy and Real Madrid, sons of bitches!)"

“Los jugadores no escuchan nada desde aquí ¿verdad?” (The players can't hear anything from here, right?)” you asked the man next to you.

The man laughed.

“Qué nos van a escuchar, mujer (How could they to hear us, woman)” he exclaimed “¡Vinicius, cabrón¸ cómo vas a ser tan bueno, dejaría a mi esposa por ti (Vinicius, you bastard¸ how can you be so good, I'd leave my wife for you!”

Like almost the entire game, your eyes fixed on Jude.

If the sight of the previous day was torture, the match was the cherry on top of the cake —of the enormous cake. It was impossible not to look at him when he tried so hard. Although you weren't familiar with his game as much as you were with Jobe's, you could notice his commitment to the team and to himself.

The sweat all over his body was proof of it, as was the swelling of his muscles.

You followed him all over the pitch, while he hugged the entire club and then while they lined them up to present them with their medal, just before raising the enormous trophy. The camera focused on him, showing him on the screens throughout the stadium, and Jude lifted the medal from his chest to his mouth and bit it.

“There’s your dedication,” your friend said, laughing.

You denied it, ignoring the tickling in your stomach, as you watched him move away once again. Jude leaned against one of the stands, and his athletic shorts rode up, revealing his massive thighs, with the gold medal resting peacefully on his chest.

“Well, too much testosterone for today.” Maria shook herself. “Let’s go.”

Your mouth felt dry.

“I have to look for Denise.”

She stopped you.

“No, girl, you don’t want to see the mother after that.”

The field began to empty out.

Jude was one of the last players to enter the locker room.

Suddenly he approached the stands and the camera caught him taking off his medal to hang it around his mother’s neck. The gesture was so tender that the rest of the entire stand seemed to freeze.

What paralyzed you was something very different.

“Isn’t that…?” María asked, leaning forward.

Shit.

“It is.”

Shit.

Jude hugged his younger brother and, without stopping smiling, planted a kiss on his forehead. Jobe returned the gesture with a half-smile. They both walked onto the grass, talking to each other. Then Jude pointed toward an area of the stands.

The area where you were. 

“He’s waving at you, amiga (girl)” Maria snapped her fingers in front of you.

Shit.

“Don’t you want to push me off a bridge?” you said to your friend, while raising your hand to greet both brothers.

“Those two over there would kill me if I do something like that.”

“I need water.”

You needed something more than water to soothe the dryness in your mouth.

“I’ll get you something, while you go say hello.”

Denise was the first to hug you when you arrived with them.

She was still excited about her interaction with Jose Mourinho that Jude, being the good son he was, had made happen.

“I’m glad you’re here” she told you, holding your hands. “It’s a very important moment for our family.”

“I’m so happy for you… for Jude.”

Behind her, you managed to see that Jobe clenched his jaw.

Mark greeted you, thanking you as well, and when you finally reached your best friend’s arms, he threw the champions’ towel he’d been carrying all this time at you.

“Shortcake.”

You smiled more relaxed.

When you took the fabric away from your face, his body was already on top of yours.

“Idiot” you hit his chest, laughing.

He pulled away to brush the hair from your face, and then you looked into his eyes. Those tiny sockets that held the gleam of an immense sorrow.

“I missed you” he confessed, suddenly.

It had only been a couple of days, but you wanted to understand him. You had never traveled to a place so far away, much less for so long. It wasn't the place, nor was it the length of time. It was the person you had come for.

You touched his cheek.

Before you could tell him that you had thought about him enough to miss him too, Jobe leaned down to bring his lips together with yours.

By instinct, your back arched. Jobe's palm spread across it, stopping your backward impulse. He prolonged the kiss, while your hand closed around his hoodie, clutching it into a fist.

The surprise, the shortness of breath, the worry, all had the same bitter taste.

“Finally” you heard Mark say.

“I knew it!” his mother shouted. “I always knew!”

As soon as you separated, your face swayed toward the side of the court.

There was not a single player left outside anymore, only the staff moving hurriedly to clean up the remnants of the celebration. That mess seemed like the right refuge to hide your shock.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Denise kept talking. “We need to tell the news to Jude. This is one more reason to celebrate.”

“I don’t think we’ll see him until tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“That’s better” the younger brother muttered.

You curled your lips upward, not knowing what else to do. And you let Jobe intertwine his hand with yours, but you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“I have to go back to Maria; she must be looking for me”

No one seemed to notice your desperation to run away, not even your best friend, who had just squeezed your heart between his fists. Not even him. Thanks to that, the goodbye wasn’t so rushed.

You found Maria in a hallway near the door where you had entered, she was carrying two red cups in her hands and without saying anything you snatched one from her.

“Bloody hell, amiga (girl), what the fuck is this?!”

Your throat burned as soon as the liquid slid down it. You coughed to counteract the sting.

Maria burst out laughing.

“It’s vodka” she replied. “It was much cheaper than a bottle of water.”

“I don’t fucking believe you”

“Well, and what happened to you” she asked “I didn’t leave you like this.”

She did notice the wrinkles on your forehead and the lower tone of your voice, but you only shook your head and tipped the glass back to your mouth again.

“Let’s get out of here, please.”

With a glass of vodka in your system, the night went by faster.

You filled every space in it with different thoughts, each one farther from Stourbridge and its parks.  María didn't insist on knowing what had you so out of sorts, but she helped you not think about it either.

She straightened your hair and painted your lips, without asking once what had made you change your mind so you could go to the party with Jude more excited.

“You're not planning to wear that, are you?”

You looked at your jeans and your top with a frown.

“What's wrong with it?”

María refused.

“You’re lucky I always pack two outfits.”

She ended up lending you one of her dresses.

“Hell yes…” she nodded, as soon as she saw you wearing it. “You’re ready.”

The dress was completely body-hugging with a plunging neckline in the back. Almost your entire back was exposed, while the front closed from your neck down to your arms.

Subtle.

Dangerously subtle.

You both arrived —laughing— at the place Jude had sent you by text.

“Remind me why we’re here” you asked your friend, before entering the club.

She took you by the shoulders.

“Because you promised that Bellingham boy that when he won the Champions League, you’d celebrate with him” she said. “Do I also need to remind you who he is?”

You moved your head from top to bottom, ready to hear your sentence.

The older brother of…

“Un tío muy, muy caliente (A very, very hot guy.)”

“Maria!”

Your best friend kissed your cheek while laughing.

“Have fun, hermosa (beautiful)” she shouted. “Just have fun.”

The music enveloped you from the very first heel strike inside.

The lowest notes resonated throughout your body until they rocked it. You and Maria entered a thick layer of mist that changed color every time the melody rose in pitch.

Some pop songs quickly made you and Maria dance, mingling among the crowd, while you tried to look for Jobe's older brother. It wasn't long before Maria found her first drink, as if alcohol followed her wherever she went. It was liquor mixed with peach and lots of ice. Your mouth went cold after drinking the glass, counteracting some of the heat that was beginning to stick your hair to your forehead.

The second glass was stronger and more citrusy. It was with that taste on your lips that you found Jude among the crowd. The surprise stretched his features, and it was evident that he wasn't entirely sober either.

“Congrats, champ” you shouted into his ear.

His arms wrapped around you.

“I thought you wouldn't come” he admitted, pressed against your ear, “I thought you were going to stay with Jobs at the hotel.”

Jobs. Your arms squeezed him tighter. You knew he wasn't going to be here because he was still three months short of the required age to get in.

You knew it.

If Jude felt the tension in your body, he said nothing.

“I promised you.”

“You didn’t promise me anything” he used your words from last night “I provoked you and you accepted the challenge.”

“Asshole” you insulted him, smiling.

Jude laughed, without letting you go.

“Toast with me.”

From somewhere, he found two glasses and handed you one, then clinked them together. Once again, a citrusy and fresh flavor tormented your senses.

It was only the first one.

By the fifth glass, the music was far too much to your liking, even though they weren't playing your favorite artist. Maria got lost among the crowd, living her own party, and Jude's arms never got tired of wrapping around you. Even when he was addressing someone else, even when other players hugged him and shouted incoherent things at each other, he always found a way to touch you, to feel you close.

Suddenly, S&M by Rihanna began to play, a song you enjoyed quite a lot.

Between swaying, drinks, and incoherent ramblings, Jude ended up behind you, one arm firmly in front of your belly and the other holding a beer bottle.

Feels so good being bad, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh.

Rihanna’s voice filled the space and changed the mood to make it pink and savage.

You moved your hips from side to side, following the rhythm marked by the lyrics, and Jude's arm tensed. You took advantage of the sudden pressure to push yourself backward, without stopping dancing.

“What are you doing?” you felt his breath against your ear.

The smile that formed on your lips was wicked. As wicked as the sweet taste of the blueberry hidden in the poisonous liquor you had just consumed.

You were grateful he couldn't see it and pretended you hadn't heard him.

Your lips hummed the lyrics of the song, without stopping your body. The arm holding his drink also pressed against you tightly, as if he wanted to stop you. You once again took advantage of the force he applied to press your butt completely against his front.

“Fuck” he choked out a moan.

He stretched both palms out and separated you from him. His thumb brushed the bare skin of your back. The touch was enough to make you arch backward.

Until you felt it.

And, Dear Lord, he was huge.

Alcohol can be a son of a bitch, especially when your best friend’s older brother was behind you, wanting you so badly.

You turned on your heels and tangled both arms behind his neck.

His hands, naturally, found the bare skin of your back and settled far too low.

“You're trying to kill me” Jude said.

You were trying to kill him. Not him.

Not him giving you a flower the day he left for Germany. Not him calling you to say he couldn't stop thinking about you after seeing a photograph of you. Not him inviting you to a final that he promised to win just to see you. Not him about to kiss you the night before. Not him touching your lower back, lower and lower each time. 

“You're so beautiful” he continued, moving closer to you until his words touched your mouth. “You don't know how much…”

“Kiss me, Jude.”

His lips parted slightly.

He was breathless, just as you had seen him a few hours ago, after having tortured his body for ninety minutes.

Torture.

That’s what soccer was to you.

Jude enjoyed the exhaustion, the burning in his muscles, in his legs. He enjoyed the tension that the closeness of his opponent caused him. Just as he enjoyed the pain of wanting the only woman in the whole world he could not have.

“I can’t.”

He only said it. He didn't pull away, nor did he push you away.

You closed your eyes and the dizziness took you back to the previous day, when you watched him train. The drops of sweat soaking his face enough for him to lift his shirt and dry himself, without hiding the telling smile on his lips. The thin line of curls on his stomach, going lower and lower, toward that place.

The same one where the shape of his desire lay hidden, pressed against your body.

You rubbed yourself against his bulge and a hoarse moan wet your cheeks.

“Please” you begged “kiss me.”

And you asked so well… that his breath knew no other, more vulgar way to materialize than in a swear word.

“Fuck” he gasped, “fuck.”

No, not one but two swear words. And then…

He lunged at you, slamming his mouth against yours in a kiss that knew neither calm nor sweet flavors. No. This was pure desire. Disaster and chaos contained for so many years. His tongue began a battle against yours and you found yourself just as firm in fighting back, one hand fixed at the nape of his neck, where his perfect haircut began, and the other over his chest, pulling him toward you.

He bit you, just as he bit his championship medal, and swallowed every moan your divine lips wanted to give him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this” he confessed against your mouth. “Fuck, how long I’ve imagined it.”

“Ah”

Your lips parted when one of his hands squeezed your ass, grinding you against his boner. His dick was so hard for you that painted your face red.

You ran your palm over his torso until you touched the buckle of his pants, eager to feel the shape of his desire.

Jude stopped your hand long before you could even brush against it.

“Not here” he declared “Let's go.”

“But your celebration…”

He silenced you.

“It just started.”

The trip back to the hotel made you realize how much alcohol you had both consumed because you couldn't stop laughing.

Not in the taxi, nor at the reception, nor in the room.

Only once the door was closed, Jude returned to brush his lips against yours, leaving you both in silence. There wasn't a single light on, but you could feel his immense figure in front of you.

“This is wrong” he muttered. 

“Very wrong” you said, catching his lower lip between your teeth.

His gasp tasted like lemon to you.

“Stop teasing me, baby”

The nickname made you press your legs together, rubbing them against each other to ease some of the wet tension there.

“I didn’t invite you to celebrate with me” you reproached, finding the hem of his shirt. You slipped your hands underneath, lifting it.

“I didn’t beg you to kiss me” he growled, finishing taking off the garment. You bit your lower lip, completely blinded by the definition of his torso.

“Do you also want me to beg so you'll fuck me?” you asked, using that tone.

Jude cursed.

He placed a finger beneath your chin and lifted it so you would look at him.

“Is that what you want from me?” he asked, leaning over you.

His eyes had never been so dark, nor his voice so deep.

“What about you?”

Provocation was once again your best ally and also the right answer to make Jude kiss you again. You moaned into his mouth when you felt one of his hands touch the skin of your thighs.

“Do you really want to know what I want?” he insisted. His finger traced circles along the inside of your leg. “What I've always wanted?”

The correction arched your back.

“I want to shut this mouth” he murmured, moving his fingers towards the hottest part of your body. “And do all the things my brother hasn't dared to do to you.”

You stopped breathing and your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Jude” Your moan sounded sharp, like a warning.

“I want to fuck you so hard” he said, making you sob. “Until you forget his damn insolence.”

The air caught in your throat. You felt suffocated. Between the wall and his perfectly sculpted body. Between the hurried kiss Jobe gave you in front of his parents and the intense desire his older brother had for you.

His fingers found your wet pussy and his lips knew no more words. You were so wet that it embarrassed you, clamping your legs shut.

Jude shook his head.

Then with both hands, he lifted the dress until your legs were completely exposed. It was your turn to curse out loud. His face hid in your neck, where he began to scatter kisses that drew more moans from you.

“He was right” he muttered, “you're too sensitive here.”

“Please.”

With his thumb, he pressed down on the most sensitive spot on your body, over your tiny underwear.

“Here too.” He repeated the torture on your clit. “But he doesn't know that, does he?”

You bit both lips, not wanting to answer him.

“Although I'm sure he'd love to know it.”

He applied more pressure, pressing his thumb against your clit this time with controlled circular movements. Involuntarily, your hips rubbed against his hand, increasing the pleasure.

“I'm also sure he'd love to find out what this pussy taste like” he whispered. You shook your head, closing your eyes. “As much as I want to.”

“Please.”

The plea was more of a sigh that accompanied the first orgasm of the night.

“So fucking beautiful.”

He kissed you again, claiming the gasps that emerged from within you after the tingling completely tensed your body. In his mouth, the climax was more intense. You used his shoulders for support so you wouldn't fall, and then, just when you thought it was over, he buried two fingers inside you.

“Jude, fuck.”

Your vision blurred.

The last thing you managed to see before you came was a smirk in his lips. The wave of pleasure swept you away with it, completely clouding your senses. Notes of lemon and blueberry filled your mouth, while hoarse gasps pierced your ears.

Those long finger were deep inside you, touching the exact point.

“What number did I play today?” he suddenly asked you.

The answer came out as a sigh.

“Five.”

His hand that wasn't torturing you found the edge of the dress on one of your shoulders and pulled it down.

“You are on two, baby.”

Two orgasms. One after another. Too much to remain standing. Enough to see fire on the completely dark ceiling of the room.

Jude kissed the newly exposed skin as you pressed both palms against the wall, seeking support. Something to hold you up so you wouldn't fall to your knees while the tingling in your belly grew and grew, giving no indication that the suffocation would stop.

The flame grew when he pushed one more finger inside your pussy and bit your shoulder, marking you. The pain mixed with pleasure, the acidity of the lemon mixed with the bitterness of the liquor, your moans mixed with his, until they became a sob.  

“Three” he said.

Gathering strength from somewhere, you pushed him away from you.

Jude staggered backward, smirk still in his lips.

His chest rose and fell, searching for air. His muscles seemed to flex toward you, so that you could see the agitation you were causing him. It wasn't the only thing pointing in your direction.

“This is your celebration” you exhaled, “not mine.”

You followed the path of curls along his stomach with your fingers until you touched the edge of his pants.

He caught his lower lip between his teeth.

With the tip of your index finger, you touch his dick, from bottom to top. It was so hard that you could feel the veins of his sharp through the fabric if his boxers.

“Don't you think I'm… enjoying this?” he asked, hissing between words from the teasing of your finger.

You shook your head. Jude grab your hand and guided it, so that you would take his bulge completely. He even felt harder than at the club.

“Once I'm inside you, I won't be able to control myself” he said, rubbing his hips against your palm. If it weren't for the fabric, you could feel how wet he was too, especially at the swollen tip.

His words and his completely dilated pupils, focused on your flushed face, made your pussy even wetter after the three orgasms. You needed him. You needed him as much as he needed you.

Inside. On top. Behind. Beneath.

Everywhere.

“Don't hold back.”

Your heart insisted with pleas, as if you weren’t his younger brother’s best friend, the same one whose lips knew the taste of Jobe.

This was so wrong. So why did it feel right?

Why did you arch your back more, surrendering yourself to him?

Why did you pull at your dress so that it slipped down your body to the floor?

Why did the kiss he gave you after seeing you half-naked taste like the most exquisite drink in the world?

Why did the room seem to be filled with stars and fire and medals and…

His hardened dick felt the wetness of your entrance.

Jude moaned, hidden against your ear, while his palms brushed the skin of your hips. The bed was a better support than the wall to keep from losing your balance. Suddenly, you felt that the two of you were lying on a cloud. His enormous body on top of yours, rocking into you, rubbing against you. His dick getting wetter and wetter from your fluids, preparing to condemn you both.

You kissed the skin of his jaw. Tense like his arms.

“Jude” you moaned.

The sweat made your breasts slide more easily against his when you stretched to kiss him higher up. He opened your legs. Just a few centimeters that allowed him to sink a little deeper.

The intrusion choked you.

“Fuck.”

It was too much.

“You’re so…” He buried himself deeper, “perfect.”

More and more. Until his cook was deep inside you making your vision go white.

“I’m completely lost over you” he admitted, between gasps. “I always have been.”

He penetrated you again with a devastating rhythm. It wasn’t just the size of his massive dick, but also the strength of his hips and legs, giving everything against you. Over and over. Between kisses and sobs, he managed to make your walls tighten in absolute tension around his hardness.

Four.

You screamed. Tense from the tips of your toes to the longest hair on your head. And Jude gasped, feeling his own orgasm nearing. The change in the rhythm of his thrusts drove you wild.

It heated your face.

It burned your pussy.

It drowned your breath.

“I’m close” Jude growled.

You could feel how his dick hardened even more inside you, rubbing against your pussy that swallowed him so well, like it was made for him. The controlled and devastating rhythm changed, and his grip on your body tightened.

Jude cradled you tightly in his arms and then kissed you, as he let himself go just at the same time your fifth climax hit yourself.

His intense orgasm finished condemning you both, leaving you lost in a paradise of reddish hues.

Where there were no green trees, nor open fields.

Only roses.

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