SUPREMO

Henry's waist may be your favorite thing in the world; the way his waistcoat cinched to accentuate it, the way it made him walk with importance. It all made you dizzy with need, and sometimes you swore you would actually drool over it. And as any sane person would, you made sure to put yourself in the situation where you could see it the most.

That brought you to tonight.

Henry had been… busy, to say the least, these past few weeks. It was always something new, sometimes work, sometimes errands, and sometimes you didn't even care to bother asking what it was that occupied his time. Because you would hope that it would be you. The fact is you were bored—and felt that should take precedence over any of his labors.

There had almost been a distance between the two of you recently, as if he was holding you at arm's length. That was part of the reason you suggested going out. You sat in the passenger seat of his car, knee bouncing with anticipation, eyes every so often flicking over to look at the masterpiece that sat beside you.

You knew it was childish—the jealousy; it's not like Henry purposefully ignored you. But you were supposed to be his, and that made the prospect of your plans ever the more enticing. You were only human after all, and that meant you had desires, of which had been unsatiated recently.

"What's got you all antsy, doll?" a soft voice spoke from the driver's seat. He took one hand off the steering wheel to rest lightly on your thigh, settling you.

"Nothing," you replied, settling further into the seat.

"We are almost there, okay?" He continued driving, eyes focused on the road until you pulled into a small bar on the outskirts of town. It was rather rare for the two of you to go out; staying in was what Henry was more accustomed to, but every so often he entertained your own aspirations.

As he stepped out of the car, he walked over and opened the passenger door, extending his arm out to help you out of your seat. You had fancied yourself up in a gorgeous red dress tonight, a shade far too close to matching the one on Henry's tie. That's not to say it wasn't on purpose. You knew what sinful thoughts crossed Henry's mind when you wore this dress; he always made sure of it. And even more importantly, you took great care in choosing what to wear underneath.

As you dismounted from the car, you grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He let out a soft sigh as you both pulled away, smiling and turning his full attention onto you. He then slipped his arm around your waist as you walked into the bar, pressing a light kiss to your temple.

"You look very good tonight. Did you wear that for me?" he asked in a sultry tone, holding the door open for you.

"Of course," you said, failing to conceal the smirk that tugged at the corner of your lips.

Eventually, you both made it over to the bar top. Before seating himself, Henry came up behind you and pulled out a stool, hands lightly covering yours as he helped you sit. Moments later, you couldn't help but watch as he took off his suit jacket with nimble hands, exposing the shape of his waist. The bar itself was rather quiet this evening—only the occasional clink of glasses from the bartenders and the chatter of a few patrons scattered throughout, leaving your section of the bar rather empty.

A couple of minutes later, a bartender came over; he was wearing a simple uniform and appeared a bit tired.

"What can I get you folks?" he asked cheerfully whilst wiping off a glass.

Henry is the first to speak, slinging his arm around the rear of your stool, fingers dancing over your shoulders. "I'll take an Old Fashioned. And for my wife..." he said, turning to you. "What would you like, angel?"

"I'll take a glass of red wine, please," you said with a smile.

He nodded to the bartender, "A glass of your finest red, please." The bartender then scurried off to make your drinks; Henry's gaze remained fixed on you, a private smile playing on his lips.

"Treating me today, huh?" you asked.

"Always."

It almost made you feel bad, the way he cared. Your seemingly innocent gaze suggested to him that this was going to be the picture-perfect date night, though your mind wandered to depths much closer to corruption. Truth be told, you had ulterior motives when you asked him to take you out. Because, well… at the first moment of convenience, you wanted to make him jealous.

He leaned in closer, whispering in your ear, "You really do look gorgeous in that. I mean it. I'm glad you wore it."

"I'm glad you like it," you acknowledged.

The bartender came back with both glasses in his hand, setting down two beverage napkins. Henry took a slow sip of his drink, eyes looking you up and down when he thought you were more focused on your own wine. The soft music playing overhead wrapped both of you in an intimate cocoon of your own making.

"It's good to get out. Just the two of us," he said while slowly stroking your shoulder.

"I agree," you remarked, leaning closer into his touch.

The bartender, whose name you had learned was Daniel, spoke down from the counter as he continued polishing a glass. "You guys picked a good night. It's not too busy, and quiet."

You were close to finishing your glass of wine when he squeezed your shoulder.

"I'm headed to the washroom. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," he whispered into your ear. You watched as he gracefully got out of the chair, taking his suit jacket with him in the process, not without scanning the bar in suspicion first.

As much as you loved him, your capacity to desire this very outcome weighed far too heavily on your mind. Surely he could anticipate what would happen if you were left to your own devices—right? Especially when he has been showing such an utter lack of affection, excluding his devotion tonight.

So when a man approached you, you didn't hesitate to engage with him, leaving your hand to rest underneath the table, concealing your wedding ring.

"Hey there, it's not often I see a pretty gal like you drinking alone," he gestured to your drink. "Can I buy you another?"

"I'm sorry, but I think I'm okay," you said, batting your eyelashes. Maybe you would take this a step further; who's to tell you that you couldn't have a little fun?You leaned forward as you spoke, exposing your cleavage to the man's hungry eyes.

The man's smile faltered a bit at your dismissal, but perked up at the sight of your breasts. He leaned forward on his elbow, bringing himself further into your bubble of space.

He chuckled, "Come on, sweetheart. Don't be like that. I'm jus' being friendly." He looked you up and down once more. "That's a nice dress you got on there."

You weren't dumb; you knew exactly the thoughts this man had, and it sickened you to imagine what he was thinking. But despite it all, you kept playing in, because you knew how Henry would react. And you wanted him to get angry; you wanted to see what he did with that anger. See if it would create a need for you as large as all the time he had spent away had created your need for him. The man reached out, his fingers about to brush your wrist when you heard the bathroom door swing open.

You could feel Henry's eyes burning holes into the back of your head as soon as he returned to the room. He was utterly silent, almost frozen as his gaze shifted to fix on the man grasping you.

His voice cut through the whole bar as he stormed over to you. "Remove your hand. Now."

The man ripped his grasp off you as if it were burned. "Whoa, man, easy. I was just—"

He took two deliberate steps closer. "You were just leaving. "

The man struggled as he scrambled off the chair, muttering some sort of apology you knew neither of you were listening to. Henry's gaze shifted to you with a look of pure, unadulterated fury on his features.

"What did you think you were doing!?" he asked, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bar stool. But as soon as his anger started, it faded with a look of deep concern. "He didn't hurt you, did he? Because I swear to god if he did—"

You looked down at your feet. "No, he didn't. He was just being friendly—"

"Friendly?" he interrupted you. "Sweetheart, you think he was being friendly?"

"Well—" you started with feigning innocence, but your guise didn't get past him. With the shake of his head, he had discovered the game you were playing. It was quite obvious what you wanted, and to go to this extent to get it? It wasn't that unwarranted.

"Oh. I see what's happening," his angry facade returned, throwing a wad of cash onto the bar top far more than the cost of your drinks. "We are leaving. Now."

His voice was low as he pushed you through the door. "You think you can play games? Well, you are going to learn they aren't very fun."

You stayed silent, not wanting to argue; you couldn't really. He led you back to the car, his hand a constant pressure on the small of your waist. When you were in the confines of the car, he spoke once more. "You know what men like that are after! You know I cannot protect you if you do not let me."

"But—"

That seems to set him off even more. "But nothing! You couldn't hear his thoughts as I can. You cannot imagine the things he was thinking!" He took a deep breath before continuing, trying to cool some of the anger. "It was reckless. Absolutely reckless. You know better. I can't allow this."

His knuckles white-gripped the steering wheel as he shifted the car into gear. You looked out the window, not wanting to see the look on his face, and especially not wanting him to see yours. You felt guilty, sure, but it's not like this wasn't your intention. The streets were rather empty this hour; the lights every so often illuminated the stern clench of his jaw. But that didn't take away from the fact you still had a twenty-minute drive to sit through.

You could tell he was getting worked up, as he couldn't sit still; it was a rare look on his face.

"Look, Henry—"

"Don't—" he interrupted.

"Please just let me—," but before you could finish your sentence, you felt a strange tingling sensation fill you. You looked over at him for any kind of tell, but his face remained impassive. Then you felt that very sensation focus, building at the heart of the heat between your thighs. It was unmistakably Henry, a touch that defied all bounds of what science has known. And as the pressure increased in slow circles, you had felt yourself start to squirm in the seat.

He stayed still, staring at the road in front of him. "Stay still. And quiet."

You let out the smallest whimper as the sensation rolled over your sensitive bud. Admittedly, when you had thought of this brilliant idea, you didn't expect this. You didn't think you would work him up so bad that he dared use his powers on you.

"I-It's hard to keep quiet when I'm… distracted—"

He let out a huff of frustration. "I said not a sound. I need to focus on the road."

The low sensation continued its assault on you. It wasn't harsh, but it hit everywhere, like it knew exactly what made you tick, and it turned your brain to mush. In an attempt to release some of the pressure, you squeezed your thighs together, a small gasp escaping your lips.

The car slowed to a stop at a traffic light. In a lapse of judgment, Henry slid his right hand from the steering wheel onto your thigh in an attempt to settle you, but it rather made the heat in your stomach bloom tenfold. His telekinetic focus didn't falter, continuing its rhythmic pattern on your clit.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his power rubbed over you just right, a loud groan escaping.

His eyes flicked to you for a brief moment, his control wavering. "I told you to be quiet. All you've done is piss me off. Do I need to pull this car over?"

"N-No," you whimpered.

As the light turned green, Henry returned his hand to the steering wheel and accelerated smoothly. He couldn't help it, not really, but he enjoyed seeing you like this, utterly at his mercy, leading a dark smirk to play on his face. He felt your subtle movements—the rocking of your hips—through the connection of his power. The rhythm was maddeningly slow, designed to unravel you bit by bit.

His voice was a strained whisper. "Keep your hips still, or else I will not be responsible for what happens next."

You let out a noise of feigned annoyance. "That's not fair, Henry. You know that. I can't help it." You peered over at him in the driver's seat, noticing him straining against the fabric of his own pants. It felt so good; one could even call it freeing to see him lose control like this.

Henry's breath hitched, and the pulsation beneath your clothes stirred to go along with the beating of your heart. "You can. And you will."

You could only nod stupidly, too lost in the increased pressure to your clit, it was at the point where it became relentless. You were so close; if only he would— you let out a choked noise at a particularly intense movement, your toes curling in as your pleasure started consuming you.

"One more sound and I pull over and fuck you in the backseat. Do you understand me?"

You nodded once more, biting your lip to stifle another moan. The air in the car had become even more muddled with the scent of both your arousals.

"We are almost home," he rasped out, shifting slightly in the seat. It took almost all of your willpower not to react, not to buck into the feeling of the pressure. You were close, and he could sense it. He continued the drive with unnerving precision until you were both pulling into the driveway of your shared home.

He cut the engine and with it, the pressure. Leaving the car to be covered in a deafening silence. Quickly, Henry got out of the car, coming around to your side to open the door. Still a gentleman, as always, even in situations like these. He led you up to the front door, his grip on your arm tight as he fumbled with his keys.

The only sounds inside were the slight creaking of the floorboards as you entered; Henry guided you inside. He escorted you up the stairs until you were in the bedroom. Then he pressed himself firmly against your back, feeling the hard line of his erection through the fabric. His hands settled on your hips as he leaned down, whispering into your ear. "I know you did that on purpose, love. That wasn't very nice, was it?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"I would never do such a thing," you put forth, an excuse soiled in lies.

"What did you think to gain by letting a man think he could touch what's mine? Was it this?" he asked, turning you around to face him. Up close, you were able to see how wide-blown his pupils were with desire.

In some sort of false hope, you leaned forward in an attempt to kiss him. But instead, he caught your chin before you could lay your claim.

"No. You don't get that. Not yet," he held on for a moment longer before letting you go.

"Please, Henry?"

His voice dropped to a lower register. "No. On your knees. Now."

You opened your mouth to snap back, but the attempt was worthless. You sank down onto your knees, the harshness of the wooden floorboards biting into your skin.

"I'm sorry," you muttered out, words loose and jumbled. Though you both knew deep down you didn't mean it.

"I don't want your apologies," he said, shushing you. "I think someone needs to put you in your place." You could feel the heat radiating off him as he threaded his fingers into your hair, gently holding on to you. His other hand attended to his belt buckle, the sound blaring in the silence. "Do you understand?"

You quickly nodded, responding, "yes," watching as he pulled himself out of his trousers.

"Open your mouth for me," he demanded. Henry pressed his cock to your lips, shutting up any protest you had left before easing it into the warmth of your mouth. His hands remained tangled in your hair like a guiding light from the angel who has their servant on their knees.

He began to push forward with a deliberate pace fucking up into your mouth, a silent need to reclaim what is his. His prior gentleness vanished as you gagged with every deep thrust of his hips.

A loud moan escaped from his throat as you swallowed around him, your drool dripping onto the floor beneath. He was panting above you with need. In a desperate attempt to relieve yourself from the pleasure that was given earlier, you snaked your hands into your pants, praying for a brief reprieve with your own touch.

Henry's eyes, which had been rolled far back into his head, snapped open, his rhythm faltering. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling you off his cock, and you can't help but wipe off the drool that accumulated under your chin.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip. He tugged your hair back, forcing you to look up at him. His voice dropped down to a whisper, "Did I give you permission to touch yourself?"

You remained down on your knees. "No, Henry, b-but please…"

Your pleas seemed to make him more frustrated; his eyes were burning with such intensity that it felt like it was weighing you down. "Please what, darling? Please let you undermine me? Please let me turn your correction into your pleasure?"

He continued standing in front of you, slipping his cock back into your mouth, occasionally murmuring how good you were doing, and how pretty you were on your knees in front of him. Eventually, your hands wrapped around his thighs where he could see them, far from where you needed them most. He continued his pace, occasionally burying himself so deep that your nose brushed against the sensitive skin of his abdomen, to the point where you fought back choking.

His grip remained tighter on you now as he was bobbing you up and down on his cock, gasping for his own breath as he got closer and closer to becoming undone. You whimpered around his cock in desperation, and it sent him over the edge.

"Oh fuck—" he heaved out. The moment he threw his head back, you knew he was done for, spurting hot ropes of cum down your throat.

"My god... angel," he said as he reached his hand out, helping you up. "You did so good for me," he finally brought his lips to yours, savoring the taste of himself on your lips.

"Come on. Up on the bed," he quickly shed the rest of his clothes as you crawled up onto the mattress, scooting up until your head was resting against the headboard. He followed not far behind, settling himself deep in between your thighs.

His fingers skimmed your thighs under your dress, heading upwards until resting on your stomach. His fingers danced around the lace of your panties before hooking his finger in them.

"May I?" he asked, batting his eyes.

"Please, Henry."

He pulled them down, hiking the rest of your dress up around your waist. He used his finger to trace soft lines up your thighs, skipping over where you needed him most. He then pressed his lips to your inner thigh, applying a light and teasing pressure, as if he hadn't worked you nearly to the edge already.

There was no doubt about how wet you were when he finally pressed his fingers to your cunt, gathering up your arousal.

"You poor thing… I must have really worked you up," he said, pressing a tentative finger inside you, the same fingers you had hoped to receive before the night started. He shoved your thighs further apart as he started fucking into you deeply, his thumb every so often brushing against your clit.

You squirmed and cried out when he added a second finger, scissoring you open. It wasn't until then that he took his other hand and returned that rhythmic pressure to your sensitive bud. You didn't know how you could be so close already, but your eyes squeezed shut, toes curling in.

"You're going to come, already?" he teased with a smirk on his face. "Needy are we?"

You couldn't do much more but nod and moan out as he continued his dual assault, curling his fingers to press and rub the sensitive spot inside. You grinded against the palm of his hand as he cupped your leaking sex in desperation.

"Good. Come for me, love." Your fingers dug in and held onto the sheets as he pressed lingering kisses to your lips, guiding you through your orgasm. Sobs of pleasure racked out as his fingers slipped away, continuing to gently rub at your clit.

"Henry," you moaned out.

As your tremors subsided, he stuck his fingers—slick with your arousal—into his mouth, the pink of his tongue barely visible as he tasted you. "You've made such a mess."

He helped you sit up and turns to face your back, unzipping your dress fully to pull it off of you.

"I'll give you acclaim; I could get used to this. Having you such a trembling mess in my wake, all desperate and needy." He sat, pursing his lips in contemplation again and then smirking.

"What?" you asked, your visage contorting in confusion.

"I want you to sit on my face."

You could tell just by the tone that he was not joking, and that thought alone terrified you. He laid down on the bed, his cock already stirred back to life, and gestured for you to settle on him. Without breaking eye contact, He gripped your thighs, easing you up until your pussy was directly over his mouth.

You moaned out as you felt his tongue lap at your folds, dipping inside you. Oh my God— you hissed out as he locked his lips around your clit.

"You taste so good," he groaned out, pulling back slightly to speak. "You're so sensitive already."

Your legs shook as he continued circling your cunt with his tongue; it was desperate, almost claiming in the way he devoured you. The only sound that remained in the room was your heavy breathing and the wet sound of his spit mixing with your slick. His pace was relentless and demanding.

His hands snaked up to paw at your breasts, forcing you even closer down to his face, a reminder of the control he had over you.

"Henry, please, " you breathed out as your legs started to shake and your belly quivered.

He continued flicking his tongue, causing the familiar coiling sensation to start taking root.

"Oh, so close, aren't you, but it wouldn't be fair to let you come yet, now would it?" he said as he retreated and buried his face into your thigh. The air around you grew heavy, in the same, tensing way it did in the car, the recognition you came to know as Henry's power. A faint pressure built right beneath your pubic bone as he spoke, but it wasn't that of pleasure.

"You see, I can just use my powers to pinch this one little nerve of yours, and there goes all your sensation. That orgasm you so desperately need will be rendered obsolete," he grinned.

"Wha—" you cried out, hips stuttering as you felt the pleasure drain out of you. Punishing you was one thing, but this was just cruel.

"Please, Henry, I need this. M' sorry about earlier—" you groaned out in frustration. With what little strength you had remaining, you slipped off and lay down beside him, settling deep into the bed. You reached down and parted your folds with your own fingers, but as you touched yourself, no sensation came; only the ache between your thighs remained.

"You almost sound like you mean it. You want to come? Well, maybe you should have thought of that before pulling that stunt today." His gaze on you was triumphant and inhuman, but it was clear he was enjoying this. The mere suggestion that you wouldn't be able to come made you cry out in fear.

"You can't just—" you cried out, trying to touch yourself in a desperate attempt to find relief, but Henry's power just left a void where sensation would be.

"It's not going to work, princess," he muttered, shifting to his side to face you. "Not unless I allow it. It's mine to give and mine to take away."

You sighed and removed your hand, looking over at him with a huff of annoyance. "Maybe I should have gone home with that man. I bet he would have made me come."

Henry grabbed your chin, tilting it up roughly to face him. He looked almost disappointed in the way you seemed to give up and furious at the mere suggestion that he couldn't please you. "…but I don't consider myself to be a savage, and I certainly cannot have my wife in desperation."

Your ears perked up, and he slipped over top of you, pressing his soft lips to yours—his glasses bumping into your own nose—before he settled between your thighs once more. His eyes fluttered shut, and you felt his hold on you release, returning his attention to your clit.

It was really the only stimulation you needed before being sent off the edge, hips arching up into his mouth. It felt like you were entering heaven, a sick and twisted version at that. Post-climax, you looked down at Henry, whose chin was slick and lips were swollen.

"Please, Henry. I…I want to feel you…inside," you said as you shifted to straddle his lap, movements clumsy. You intended to find any semblance of control tonight, and if that meant riding him, then so be it. Surprisingly, he didn't stop you; instead, he sat up, letting you straddle him, bracketing your knees over his hips.

A devilish smirk adorned Henry's face, as if he wanted this from you, as if it was his plan all along."Oh, you want to be on top now? You want to be in control? Fine." You weren't exactly sure what game he was playing at, but you knew you wouldn't have the opportunity to ask twice.

You felt his cock jump in your hand as you lined him up with your entrance, smearing your arousal over his tip. His cock looked so thick and pretty in your grasp, just aching for you with the way his precum dribbled out. His hands settled on your waist, guiding you down on him. You gasped with the stretch; it was overwhelming how full he made you feel as you settled down on the final few inches.

"There you go," he whined out. You started to move, shifting to take control with languid thrusts that hit every spot perfectly. Fuck— he felt so good inside you, underneath you, letting you use him for your own pleasure.

You bent down and kissed him, light stubble brushing against your face. With each snap of your hips down on his, your mouth parted further, welcoming in the intrusion of his tongue. That was until you suddenly felt yourself come to a halt.

"What—?" you asked as you were frozen. Slowly, you felt yourself being lifted and brought back down with jarring intensity that was entirely his doing. You were like a puppet on a string, entirely under his control.

"You really think I would let you take me? No, you are no more than a doll for me to use," his head shot back, a low groan escaping his as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. The thrusts were slow and deep, stuffing you over and over again, your toes curling as he controlled your movements.

You could do nothing but endure the sensation of being used by him, for him, whimpering and moaning at the sensation. But alas, his hips remained still, letting his power do all the work for him. It was all-consuming: his cock, the dirty words he whispered in your ear, and his breathy moans.

"Fuck… Henry—" you moaned out, lost in your own pleasure as your hand played with your clit.

"You're still trying to fight me… even here? Pathetic. You almost sound hysterical the way you are crying on my cock." In a swift motion, he flipped you both over so that he was back on top. You prayed for some sort of relief, that he would let you cum, but everyone knows god is cruel. The bed creaked in the way he started pounding into you, desperate cries leaving you both as the headboard smacked against the wall.

"You're taking me so good, aren't you? You think you can come again for me, doll?" He whispered down at you, his tongue tangling in with yours in desperate, sloppy kisses. At one point, he pulled out entirely, a sharp gasp leaving you at the loss of contact. Then, his hips snapped forward, resting his cock on your stomach, noticing the way his cock hit your belly button.

You looked down for just a moment before throwing your head back against the cushions.

"I want you to see, dear; I want you to see how deep you are taking me. How I'm putting you in your place," he snickered before peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jawline.

"Please, Henry… I…I can't take it anymore—"

"Yes, you can. Be a good girl for me, and I'll let you cum again," he said, driving back into you in one long thrust. The room became filled with obscene sounds with the frantic pace Henry set, engorged by chasing his own pleasure.

His hips were flush against yours as he reached up to play with your breasts, circling each nipple delicately, stirring a deep groan from deep within you. It hurt how beautiful he looked from your view as he reached down, stroking your clit in time with each thrust. Your pleas began to dissolve into moans as you were fucked senseless down on the mattress.

"Henry, I'm so close," you moaned out. At that, he continued his pace on your clit, his own thrusts becoming erratic as he stuttered, your name leaving his lips. Your nails dug into his back as you clenched down on his cock, your orgasm coming in waves of pleasure that consumed you. Not long after did you feel warmth pooling in your belly as his cum shot deep inside you with a whimper.

It was a while before the two of you moved again, Henry becoming a welcome weight on top of your chest. Eventually, he lifted himself on his elbows—eyes still hazy with climax—to speak to you once more.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked in that tender voice you know so well. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"M' no Im okay. Though I'm not sure if I'll be able to walk tomorrow," you said with a laugh.

"Good," he replied, nuzzling into your shoulder. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

He helped you stand, slinging his arm around your waist before walking you into the bathroom, and finally lifting you onto the counter. You let him guide you quietly with the occasional press of his lips to yours. He turned on the faucet and wet a washcloth with warm water before carefully attending to the area between your thighs, wiping up the mess he made between them.

"You did so good", he said as he washed his hands. He then grabbed a dry towel from the rack to continue tending to you, drying you off. "But I need you to understand, what you did was unacceptable."

"I know. Thank you," you said, planting a soft kiss on his mouth.

"Never again. Promise me, okay?" he said with a look of endearment.

A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside yours, still faintly steaming, while Jude’s was already drained except for the faint ring at the bottom. The blanket you’d pulled over your legs sometime after breakfast had slipped halfway to the floor, one corner pooling near his bare feet. Denise had left earlier for her yoga class; you’d caught her in the kitchen making coffee and the two of you had chatted softly about nothing important while Jude was still half-asleep upstairs. Now the place felt gently emptied out, just the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.

You were curled into the corner of the big sectional sofa, legs tucked under you, still in the soft Alo workout set you’d thrown on after your early Pilates class. The fabric was comfortable, slightly sweat-damp from the session, and it smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you used at your own place. Jude lounged at the other end, barefoot in white joggers that rode low on his hips and an oversized black T-shirt that had seen better days. He had one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, the other holding the remote loosely as he scrolled through YouTube with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t really looking for anything specific.

A football skills compilation started playing, some kid in Brazil doing ridiculous step-overs, and Jude let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head. “Look at that touch,” he murmured, more to himself than you, though his gaze flicked your way for half a second. His fingers tapped idly against the cushion near your shoulder, a small unconscious rhythm. You kept scrolling through your phone, smiling faintly at a friend’s story, the comfortable silence stretching between you like it always did on these mornings. No need to fill it.

After a few minutes the video switched to a chaotic British cooking clip, someone attempting to make Sunday roast in what looked like a student kitchen. Jude laughed under his breath, the sound low and easy, and shifted his weight so his leg stretched out, his bare foot nudging gently against your ankle. “You seeing this? Bloke’s about to burn the whole flat down. Reminds me of that time I tried cooking for the lads last year. Disaster.”

You glanced up, lowering your phone a fraction. “You mean the time you set off the smoke alarm making toast?”

“It was fancy toast tho,” he corrected, grinning. His foot stayed resting against yours, warm skin against skin, a casual point of contact that neither of you acknowledged. He reached over without looking away from the screen and stole your phone for a second, tilting it to see what you’d been looking at. “Instagram again? You’re ignoring my superior entertainment over here.”

You snatched it back with a quiet laugh, bumping his knee with yours in retaliation. “Your superior entertainment is a man crying over lumpy gravy. I’m catching up on actual human lives.”

“Harsh,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, then settled again, this time scooting a little closer under the pretense of adjusting the blanket. His hand landed lightly on your thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once in an absentminded circle before it stilled.

The YouTube algorithm wandered next to a funny animal video, then back to a quick highlight reel of his own goals from last season. Jude watched himself on the screen with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “Still can’t believe that one went in. Felt terrible off the boot.”

You set your phone down on the cushion between you, finally giving the screen more attention. The sunlight shifted, warming the side of his face and highlighting the details across his nose that only showed up in certain angle.

Minutes passed like that, easy, unhurried. He commented on the videos occasionally, voice relaxed and expressive, and you offered small replies or teasing jabs that made him chuckle. Jude's hand stayed on your leg, fingers occasionally tapping along to some internal beat only he could hear. At one point he nudged your foot again with his, hooking his ankle loosely behind yours for a moment before letting go, all without taking his eyes off the TV.

Eventually the videos looped into something quieter, a travel vlog through Spanish countryside. Jude’s thumb resumed its slow, unconscious sweep on your thigh. “We should do something like that one off-season,” he said softly. “Just drive somewhere. No schedule.”

You turned your head to look at him properly. He was already watching you instead of the screen, that playful spark still in his eyes but softened around the edges by the lazy morning. “Only if you promise not to turn it into a fitness bootcamp.”

He smiled, slow and genuine, the kind that showed how much he was enjoying his morning off.“No promises. But I’ll let you pick the playlist.” The teasing lilt in his voice lingered, and something in the way you held his gaze made the moment stretch.

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me? Generous of you.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and close. He leaned in just a fraction, as if to deliver another retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead the look held: comfortable, familiar, the kind built from nights spent side by side and mornings exactly like this. His smile softened further, you smiled back, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the question in your head: "what's wrong?".

His thumb continued its slow sweep on your thigh, the motion so habitual it seemed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The oversized black T-shirt had twisted slightly around his torso from all the shifting, and a faint line from the sofa cushion pressed into his cheek where he’d been leaning earlier.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low and a little rough from the quiet morning. The corner of his mouth quirked higher, like he could see the question behind your raised brows. “Just thinking you look comfortable. Proper relaxed. Suits you.” He gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze, the kind that said he liked having you here more than any grand statement could. His foot found yours again under the slipped blanket, toes brushing lazily against your ankle before hooking gently behind it, anchoring the contact.

You let out a soft breath of amusement, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same ease. “High praise from someone who just spent twenty minutes watching himself on YouTube.”

Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating faintly where his arm still rested along the back of the sofa near your shoulders.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the familiar rhythm of your teasing. The travel vlog played on, forgotten now, rolling hills and olive groves flickering across the screen while neither of you glanced at it. His free hand lifted from the remote, landing lightly on the cushion between you before his fingers found the edge of your workout top, tracing the seam near your hip in an absent, exploratory way. Not purposeful. Just the natural drift of touch when words felt secondary.

“Oi, I was scouting technique,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. The Brummie lilt thickened a touch with the lazy drawl of morning. “Important research. You should be impressed.” His thumb brushed higher on your thigh, then stilled as he tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight caught in your hair. The space between your faces had narrowed without either of you deciding to close it, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, coffee and the faint mint from his toothpaste earlier.

One of his knees pressed against yours, solid and warm through the thin layers of clothing. His fingers at your hip slipped under the hem of your top by a centimeter, not seeking, just resting skin to skin in that unconscious way he did when the morning felt slow and safe.

Then you said something small, half a tease about his “research methods”, and Jude’s eyes crinkled with another quiet laugh. That laugh brought him the last inch. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost an extension of the shared smile, the kind of accidental contact that happens when two people are already leaning into the same small orbit. He exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound carrying a hint of surprise and delight, before pressing in again with more intention. The kiss stayed gentle, exploratory, his lips warm and slightly dry from the morning air. You felt him smile into it, the curve unmistakable, and when your noses bumped he pulled back just enough to let out a low, breathy chuckle that fanned across your cheek.

“Clumsy today,” he whispered, voice laced with amusement, but he didn’t move far. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, palm broad and steady, fingers splaying naturally against the curve there as he drew you a little nearer. The other hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek in a slow sweep. He leaned back in, the rhythm unhurried, kisses that lingered and shifted, sometimes softer, sometimes a touch deeper, guided by the quiet give and take of breathing together. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, not gripping, just holding with the same casual affection he showed in everything else.

You tasted the lingering coffee on him, felt the faint scratch of stubble against your skin when he tilted his head. Another soft laugh escaped him when your hand found the front of his oversized T-shirt, bunching the fabric slightly. He paused once, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you up close, really looked, the kind of pause that said he was savoring the ordinary miracle of this exact moment.

Then Jude shifted, the sofa creaking faintly under his weight as he rearranged himself. He leaned back more fully into the corner of the sectional, stretching one long leg out along the cushions before patting his thigh in a clear, casual invitation. His gaze stayed on you, playful but soft, the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smile. “Come here,” he said quietly, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.

You hesitated, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “Really?”

He raised his eyebrows, nodding once with an amused little tilt of his head, as if to say yes, really. “What, you acting shy now?” The teasing lilt crept back into his tone, warm and familiar. “Not like it’s our first kiss or anything.”

Your gaze flicked briefly toward the direction of the front door, the quiet of the apartment suddenly feeling a little more fragile. Denise could walk back in from yoga at any minute. The thought made you pause, even as the warmth of his hand lingered at your waist. Jude seemed to read it on your face immediately. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, patting his thigh again, more insistently this time. “My mum likes you more than me anyway. She knows we sleep together—she’s not blind.” His fingers gave your side a gentle squeeze, reassuring and playful all at once. “She’s probably doing extra sun salutations just to give us time.”

The silence stretched for another beat, your hesitancy still written across your expression. Jude’s eyes softened further, the competitive edge melting into something gentler, more coaxing. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, the endearments slipping out naturally. “Come here.” He patted his thigh one more time, an open invitation, then added with a low, boyish laugh, “Let your boyfriend have some motivation this morning, yeah? Before I have to go get shouted at on the pitch.”

The words, delivered with that expressive, slightly cheeky grin, finally tipped the balance. You moved, and Jude helped guide you with easy hands on your hips, settling you astride his lap so your knees sank into the cushions on either side of him. The position brought you closer, chests brushing, his oversized T-shirt bunching between you. His hands settled naturally at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your workout set, while he looked up at you with open affection. No rush. Just the same comfortable intimacy that had carried the whole morning, now wrapped a little tighter.

“See? Not bad at all,” he murmured, voice low and warm with that playful lilt, one eyebrow raised like he was proving a point. His hands gave your waist a gentle squeeze, more reassurance than anything else, before one slid slowly up your back, palm broad and steady against the fabric of your top. “Come here,” he added softly, the words almost under his breath as he tilted his chin up.

You leaned down and the kiss picked up where it had left off, slow at first, familiar. Jude smiled against your mouth the moment your lips met, the curve of it impossible to miss. His hand at your waist stayed put, thumb still moving in those absent circles, while the other drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. The contact was constant but easy, like he simply preferred some part of him touching you at all times. When your noses bumped awkwardly he broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second as he caught his breath.

“Seriously?” he teased, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Every time.” But he didn’t pull away. He just tilted his head the other direction and leaned back in, the kiss deepening a touch, unhurried. His fingers at the back of your neck rubbed gently, a soothing rhythm, while his other hand slipped lower to rest on your thigh, palm warm through your leggings. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart.

He kept the little comments coming between breaths, nothing elaborate, just the natural flow of his thoughts. “Missed this,” he whispered against your lips at one point, the words slipping out like they were nothing and everything at once. When you smiled into the next kiss he let out another soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you, and paused again, forehead to forehead, eyes half-open as he studied your face up close. “You alright?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw now, checking in the way he always did: casual, genuine, never making a big deal of it.

You nodded, and he smiled again—the make-out stayed lazy and affectionate, the kind that ebbed and flowed with the quiet morning rather than racing anywhere. His hand on your thigh gave a light squeeze when you shifted closer, then moved back to your waist, anchoring you gently.

Eventually the kisses slowed of their own accord, not because either of you wanted to stop, but because there was nowhere left to rush. They dissolved into smaller moments instead—his lips lingering once against the corner of yours, another absent kiss to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His breathing gradually evened beneath you, the lazy rhythm matching your own until the room fell quiet again.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The travel vlog had wandered somewhere along the southern coast now, the narrator enthusiastically explaining a tiny seaside village neither of you had been paying attention to for the last ten minutes. Sunlight had crept further across the living room, warming the edge of the coffee table and catching the forgotten mugs still sitting where you'd left them after breakfast.

Jude's hand never really stopped moving.

It rested against the small of your back now, fingertips tracing slow, thoughtless patterns through the fabric of your top while the other remained comfortably around your waist. It wasn't an attempt to start anything again. It was simply what his hands seemed to do whenever you were close enough to reach.

You let your head settle against his shoulder, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his T-shirt. From here you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath it, slower now than it had been only moments before. His chin came to rest lightly against the top of your head.

For someone whose life was measured in fixture lists, departure gates and recovery schedules, Jude had always been unexpectedly good at doing absolutely nothing.

He never seemed to grow restless in moments like these. There was no instinct to reach for his phone, no urge to fill the silence simply because it existed. He was content to let the apartment breathe around the two of you, to let the television chatter unnoticed in the background, to trace absent patterns against your back without any destination in mind. It was one of the first things you'd learned about him, and somehow one of the things you cherished most.

author's note — no one is going to read this so wtv heheheh BALLBLR PLS ACCEPT ME. cozy makeout with jude >>>>>

you stood in the stands, cheering loudly. your boyfriend was playing against norway in the World Cup quarterfinals, and you were cheering him on. "bellingham 10" was displayed proudly on your back as your eyes scanned the pitch for him.

there he was. he was running down the field, gesturing to his teammate to pass him the ball. you watched in anticipation as he received the ball, then moved forward, dribbling past two defenders and shooting. the keeper lunged to block it, but the ball slipped past his fingers, touching the net.

you jumped up from your seat in excitement and celebrated with the people sitting next to you. this was jude's second goal, and you were beyond proud of him for it. you also knew that he was definitely going to celebrate with you later that night.

the match ended in a 2-1 win for england after extra time. you waited by the player's tunnel as jude exited the pitch, quickly kissing him and whispering a suggestive “see you after the game”, winking at him before he was pulled away by his teammates to celebrate.

you made your way back to you and jude's hotel room, knowing he would be held back for a little by post game interviews and to finish up with his teammates. while you were waiting for jude, you decided to surprise him with a treat once he got back. you had packed a dark red lingerie set with white lace in your suitcase for this exact reason, in england's colors. you put it on thinking of jude, and you couldn't wait for him to come back.

you were scrolling through your Instagram feed when the lock clicked open, signaling Jude’s arrival. you quickly positioned yourself on the bed, waiting for him to make his way towards the bed.

“baby?” jude called out as he dropped his duffel bag near the door.

he stopped straight in his tracks the moment he saw you on the bed, his eyes appreciating every aspect of you before he smiled that devilish grin of his which had always made your heart skip a beat.

“all for me, huh?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he made his way towards you. you stood up from your position on the bed, grabbing the neckline of his shirt to pull him in.

“you did so good today, jude.” is all you said before you started to pepper kisses along his neck, making sure you paid special attention to the spot where his neck meets his jaw, which made him groan slightly. you made a particularly noticeable mark there before breaking away to make eye contact with jude.

his eyes were already hooded, clouded with lust and desire. he swallowed as you sunk to your knees in front of him, hands already going to pull down his shorts.

“baby..” he practically whispered out as you pull down his boxers down, revealing his already rock hard cock.

“shh.” you reassured him as you make eye contact. “you were so amazing today, jude.” you spat on your hand, spreading it around on his cock before you licked the tip, swirling your tongue around it and tasting the pre-cum. jude let out a low moan at your actions, his hands going to grab your hair and pull it into a makeshift ponytail for you.

you opened your mouth wide and took him inside, letting out a tiny whimper once his cock hit the back of your throat. you gagged slightly, but you focused on breathing through your nostrils before you started to work his cock.

jude lets out a guttural moan as you began to bob up and down, swirling your tongue against his tip before licking the underside of his shaft.

“f-fuck, baby. feels s-so good.” are the only words he managed to get out before you took him in again, working him to his climax. his length hit the back of your throat again, and you moan against his cock, the vibration causing jude to curse under his breath before using his grip on your hair to tug you closer.

your right hand squeezed his balls as your left latched onto his thigh, grounding yourself as you took your mouth away. you spat on his length again before enveloping him inside your mouth again, making his eyes roll back.

you looked up through your eyelashes at him while you were working him, and you’ve never seen a prettier sight.

jude bellingham was reduced to pieces, courtesy of your work. his head was thrown back in pleasure as his hips rutted forward, desperate for more.

“please baby, oh fuck.” are the words he kept on repeating as you continued to pleasure him. it’s as if he’s incapable of thinking of any other words to speak. you could tell that he’s close - his cock twitched in your mouth slightly and his legs trembled, signaling he was about to come.

his hand kept your head still. he was completely vocal now, something you love about him during sex. his moans grew louder and he pulled your head off his cock before pushing you back onto it again. you moaned around him again, helping him reach his climax.

“fuck, baby I’m coming” are his only words before he threw his head back again, moaning as thick, hot ropes of cum shot down your mouth. you did your best to swallow it all, making sure to not leave a single drop anywhere.

jude slowly pulled his cock out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two. jude’s eyes softened, a look of love and adoration in his eyes before he smiles at you.

“you did so good, baby.” jude said to you before pulling you up to your own feet.

“round two?” he asks you, raising his eyebrows suggestively. you pull him in for a kiss, and you know for sure that you’re not getting any sleep that night.

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You don’t think.

You pounce.

The ice cream hits the floor. The spoon clatters. You’re across the living room in three strides, launching yourself at him so hard he actually stumbles back against the door with a surprised laugh that dies the second your mouth crashes into his.

“Missed you,” you pant between kisses, hands already shoving his hoodie up. “Missed you so fucking much, Jude — weeks, it’s been weeks—”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, but his hands are already on your ass, squeezing the soft, full curves like he’s trying to memorize them again. “Fuck, you feel good. Look at you—”

You don’t let him finish.

You bite his bottom lip, tug his hoodie off, and push him toward the couch. He lets you. Of course he does. He’s smirking against your mouth but his hands are greedy — sliding under the hem of his shirt on your body, palms dragging up the sides of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your heavy breasts.

The back of his knees hit the couch and he drops down. You follow instantly, straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. Your panties are already soaked. You can feel it. He can definitely feel it when you grind down against the growing bulge in his sweats.

“Baby—” he tries, voice rough.

“No talking,” you whine, yanking the shirt over your head. Your tits spill free, full and soft and bouncing with the movement. Jude’s eyes drop to them immediately, a low curse leaving him.

“Fuck, I missed these.”

You don’t give him time to worship. You’re too feral.

You shove his sweats down just enough to free his cock — thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. The sight of it after weeks apart makes your mouth water. You don’t even bother with foreplay. You hook your panties to the side and sink down on him in one smooth, greedy motion.

The stretch burns so good.

A broken moan rips from your throat. Jude’s head falls back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before they snap open again — locking onto yours.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, voice suddenly deeper. One hand slides up your throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there. A reminder. “That’s it. Look at me while you take this dick, yeah?”

You nod frantically, lips parted, breath already ragged as you start moving. Rolling your hips in messy, desperate circles, riding him like you’ll die if you stop. The wet slap of skin fills the room immediately. Your tits bounce with every movement and Jude’s free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, guiding you, helping you fuck yourself on him.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice wrecked. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Look how wet you are — all that for me?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Only you. Missed you so much—”

“I know, baby. I know.” His thumb strokes the side of your neck. “You’re squeezing me so tight. This pussy missed me, huh?”

You moan louder, grinding down harder, taking him deeper. The eye contact is almost too much — his dark eyes boring into yours, watching every flicker of pleasure across your face. He looks like he wants to devour you.

His hand on your throat tightens — just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your walls flutter around him.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you gasp. “You, Jude — fuck—”

“That’s right.” He thrusts up suddenly, meeting you halfway, and your eyes almost roll back. “Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets to see you like this — all pretty and feral and creaming on my cock. You hear me?”

You nod, tears pricking your eyes from how deep he is, from how good it feels, from how much you missed him.

He loosens his grip on your throat and slides his hand down to slap your ass — hard. The sting blooms beautifully across your soft skin.

“Ride me properly then. Show me how bad you needed it.”

You do.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and fuck him like you’re trying to break him. The couch creaks underneath you. Your moans mix with his grunts. He keeps praising you the whole time — “That’s it, just like that… fuck, you’re so beautiful… look at those tits bounce for me… good girl, good fucking girl” — until you shatter.

Your orgasm hits you so hard your vision whites out. You cry out his name, thighs shaking, pussy pulsing around him as you soak his lap. Jude doesn’t stop. He grips your hips with both hands and fucks you through it, deep and relentless, eyes never leaving yours.

Only when you start to slump does he slow down, pulling you down for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.

But you’re not done.

Not even close.

You’re still clenching around him when you whisper against his lips, “Shower. Now.”

He laughs — low, dark, delighted — and stands up with you still impaled on his cock. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically. He carries you like you weigh nothing, mouth still on yours, cock still buried deep as he walks you both to the bathroom.

The shower is barely warm by the time he presses you against the tiles.

He fucks you there too — slower this time, deeper, one of your thick thighs hooked over his arm so he can watch every inch of him disappear inside you. Water cascades over both of you. Your curls are ruined. His are plastered to his forehead. Neither of you cares.

“Look at me,” he demands again, forehead pressed to yours. His hand comes back to your throat — light, possessive. “Eyes on me while I fuck you deep, baby. Want to see you fall apart again.”

You can’t look away even if you wanted to.

He praises you through the entire second orgasm — telling you how perfect you are, how tight, how wet, how no one else will ever make you feel like this. You come with his name on your tongue and his eyes locked on yours, his cock hitting that spot so perfectly you see stars.

He pulls out before he finishes, stroking himself once, twice, and painting your belly and tits with hot stripes of cum. The sight alone almost makes you come again.

You both wash up quickly after that — sort of. There’s a lot of touching, a lot of kissing, his hands soaping up every curve of your body like he’s rediscovering it.

But the second you’re out of the shower?

You don’t even dry off.

Jude throws you onto the bed while you’re both still dripping wet. The sheets soak instantly underneath you. He climbs over you, caging you in, water droplets falling from his curls onto your chest.

“One more,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Need to feel you one more time.”

You nod frantically, legs spreading for him immediately. He slides back inside you in one smooth thrust — so deep your back arches clean off the bed.

“Fuck, Jude—”

“I’ve got you.” He leans down, elbows braced on either side of your head so he can keep that heavy eye contact. “That’s it. Take all of me, such a good fucking girl.”

His hand finds your throat again — firmer this time, thumb pressing just under your jaw so your head tilts back slightly. Not cutting off air, just holding you there. Owning you.

You’re so wet from the shower and from two orgasms already that the sounds are obscene. Every deep stroke makes a filthy wet smack. Your tits jiggle with every thrust. Jude can’t stop looking at you — eyes flicking between your face, your bouncing chest, and where you’re stretched around him.

“Missed this pussy so much,” he groans. “Missed how she grips me. Missed how pretty you look when you cum. Give me one more, baby. Come on. Let me feel it.”

You’re already so close.

The praise, the eye contact, the way he’s fucking you so deep it feels like he’s in your stomach — it’s overwhelming.

His free hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles.

“What did I say baby? Eyes on me,” he reminds you when your lids flutter. “Don’t look away. Want to watch you fall apart while I’m inside you.”

You cum harder than you have all night.

Your whole body locks up, walls spasming around his cock so tightly he curses. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, eyes wide and locked on his the entire time. Jude fucks you through it, hips losing rhythm, praise spilling from his lips like a prayer.

“Fuck — that’s it, baby. So good. So perfect. My girl. My fucking girl—”

He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a broken moan, flooding you deep. You feel every pulse, every spurt, and it makes your orgasm drag on impossibly longer.

For a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the wet drip of shower water still sliding off your bodies onto the ruined sheets.

Jude collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush you, but close enough that you feel surrounded by him. His hand slides from your throat to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, dazed and blissed out, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Missed you.”

He chuckles softly and kisses you — slow, deep, reverent this time.

“Never leaving you that long again,” he promises against your mouth. “Not when you jump me like that. Fuck, I think I’m ruined.”

You laugh, the sound bright and happy, and pull him closer.

The sheets are soaked. Your bodies are sticky. Your thighs ache in the best way.

And you’ve never felt more loved — or more thoroughly fucked — in your life.