SEED TO A STAR

You do your best, but every lungful drags you further down his length, your body desperate for the heavy fill it’s already trembling to accommodate. A needy whimper slips out, fists knotting the sheets, and he soothes you with a gentle kiss against your smile line. 

“That’s it,” he praises, hips rocking in a rich, molasses-slow circle that lets you savor every thick inch. “Such a good girl, taking it all — see how beautifully you fit me?”

Tiny wildfires flower through you everywhere at once, heating your cheeks, spilling down your throat, settling low in your belly where desire winds itself tight and shining.

Embarrassment flickers its wings right alongside it, because he’s cooing at you the same way he coaxes patients through vaccinations: gentle, forbearing, inexorable.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, like there exists a universe where you would ask him to stop.

His hand glides the length of your back, fingers pausing in the dip where your spine meets sacrum. 

Too much is exactly how you’d describe the feeling of his cock dragging across that spot that makes your vision strobe starbusting colors, but the tenderness in his voice knots something unsteady in your body. 

You manage a breathy, “please, don’t stop.” 

A contented rumble answers you, and he plants a feather-light kiss on your forehead, right where he’d lay cool fingers to check your temperature.

He resumes that same rhythm. Slow drive in, lingering grind, languid pull out that leaves you aching for the return. The headboard knocks a soft counterpoint, each tap punctuated by his gentle commentary.

“Doing so well,” he croons when your elbows buckle, gathering you up with one flush tug to his chest. “Hold on to me, there you go, honey.”

Jack angles your leg higher, opening you wider for him, and the change steals air from your lungs in one shattered sound. 

“Shh,” he hushes, half-smile curving, proud and adoring all at once. “I know. Feels big, doesn’t it? Let me make it better.”

His fingers dip to your clit, and your gasp dissolves into his name. “Jack — s’good.”

The room narrows to the glide of his thumb and the steady ballast of his body. 

He kisses the salt at your hairline, murmuring, “Same here, baby. My perfect girl. Let me handle the rest, yeah?”

MARIA NOTE if being babied this hard during sex is wrong, i refuse to be right <3

his big game against dortmund is coming up tomorrow and he’s already pregaming. the girls are with the nanny leaving you and him with ample alone time together. “c’mon baby you can take it.” he says in that honeyed tone that makes your pussy clench even more as he fucks you at that rough-gentle pace you both like.

you’re already spent with your third orgasm of the night threatening to rip through you like a current as suguru keeps fucking you. “I can’t baby, i cant.” you pout as your voice grows more whiny, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. he leans over and wipes the stray tears from your face, placing gentle kisses on your cheeks.

“yes you can, sweetheart.” he croons affectionately as his hand trail down to your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. suguru revels in your pleasure watching your eyes crinkle up and your back arch from the sheer pleasure that he alone is giving you. it gives him a slight boost knowing that only him can get you like this.

he places sloppy kisses up your jaw as he continues his unrelenting pace. you grip the hotel sheets beneath you as you feel like you’re about to explode with immense pleasure. “sugu baby, ‘m gonna—“ you aren’t even able to finish your sentence as you have your third orgasm of the night.

suguru follows through soon after, falling limp on top of you, spent yet satisfied. “you better win this game tomorrow.” you joke, moving his fallen locks away from his face so you could see him better. he grins placing a gentle kiss to your neck before meeting your gaze. “oh i will, angel.” he says with a knowing smirk, kissing you once more as you were now wrapped up in his arms.

and lo and behold he did, with the game against borussia dortmund ending with a score of 3-1 and the media dubbing you as his ‘good luck charm.’

maybe your pussy does have some magical properties after all.

his big game against dortmund is coming up tomorrow and he’s already pregaming. the girls are with the nanny leaving you and him with ample alone time together. “c’mon baby you can take it.” he says in that honeyed tone that makes your pussy clench even more as he fucks you at that rough-gentle pace you both like.

you’re already spent with your third orgasm of the night threatening to rip through you like a current as suguru keeps fucking you. “I can’t baby, i cant.” you pout as your voice grows more whiny, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. he leans over and wipes the stray tears from your face, placing gentle kisses on your cheeks.

“yes you can, sweetheart.” he croons affectionately as his hand trail down to your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. suguru revels in your pleasure watching your eyes crinkle up and your back arch from the sheer pleasure that he alone is giving you. it gives him a slight boost knowing that only him can get you like this.

he places sloppy kisses up your jaw as he continues his unrelenting pace. you grip the hotel sheets beneath you as you feel like you’re about to explode with immense pleasure. “sugu baby, ‘m gonna—“ you aren’t even able to finish your sentence as you have your third orgasm of the night.

suguru follows through soon after, falling limp on top of you, spent yet satisfied. “you better win this game tomorrow.” you joke, moving his fallen locks away from his face so you could see him better. he grins placing a gentle kiss to your neck before meeting your gaze. “oh i will, angel.” he says with a knowing smirk, kissing you once more as you were now wrapped up in his arms.

and lo and behold he did, with the game against borussia dortmund ending with a score of 3-1 and the media dubbing you as his ‘good luck charm.’

maybe your pussy does have some magical properties after all.

You and Satoru’s marriage was a whirlwind of love, arguments and unspoken words. It was a hasty decision on both of your parts, fuelled by emotion and hormones on your part when you found out that you were pregnant during your final year of university. A shotgun wedding ceremony that was advised by your families to prevent shame is what led to you both being wed at the mere age of 21.

There was a time in your life where you could confidently say that you loved him. That you loved your family and the life that you were building together irregardless of the circumstances that brought you two together along the way. He was a wonderful father and husband yet there was something so impenetrable about him, how you could never tell what was going on inside his head.

Over time, the distance between you both grew larger and you grew tired of trying to understand the man that was Gojo Satoru, the man who clutched his cards so closely to his chest. So you both came to the mutual agreement to separate for the betterment of yourselves and for your daughter. After all, you both were so young experiencing such a wide range emotions in bodies that weren’t so prepared for it at all.

He was a great father to your daughter Emiko, showing up to all parent teacher conferences, recitals, championships. He even bought a house not too far from where you lived so Emiko could visit as frequently as she wanted. Whilst you both moved on with different partners, that you both silently disapproved of whilst trying to seem cordial above the surface, there was no animosity between you both which you appreciated.

But God you forgot how annoying he could be.

“You’re late.” You reminded him in the midst of the cheers that filled the room as each student collected their degree, your voices merely making a ripple in the sounds of collective happiness.

“Traffic.” He smiled, knowing how anal you were about punctuality and lateness. One of the things he missed about you was being able to rile you up by showing up to things a tad bit too late which made you frustrated that you were running behind schedule. He shrugged his shoulders, his biceps subtly rippling through his suit that you thought was a bit too showy for a graduation ceremony but whatever.

Ever so perceptive, he picked up on your travelling gaze. “You like?” He whispered whilst wiggling his eyebrows at you. Your face immediately dropped as you weren’t in the mood to entertain his bullshit but deep down you couldn’t deny that he looked good.

“No, I hate.” You whispered back drily. He snorted, a sound that seemed to grate on your nerves rather than ease them. It’s like he did this on purpose, to antagonise you more than you needed to be. Especially during a precious moment like this.

“It’s our daughter’s graduation, try to look a little less glum sweetheart.” He replied, patting your shoulder as he whipped out his phone to record. Before you could get even with him he shushed you, redirecting your attention to the main event happening on stage.

Right, there was a whole graduation going on and you were letting your ex husband get on your nerves. “They’ve already gotten to the G names.”

You sat through the flurry of graduates walking the stage until it was time for Emiko to walk the stage, looking radiant as ever and every bit of the confident young woman you raised her to be. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Satoru cheering her on, giving the pair of you a wave as she walked off the stage, degree in hand.

In the midst of all your joy you could hear sniffling beside you. Lo and behold it seemed that Satoru had finally broken down.

“We did a good job, didn’t we?” He uttered softly. For a moment, you forgot about how much he could be a pain in your ass as you reached over and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Letting him know that the feeling of seeing your little girl grow up into a young well rounded woman was bittersweet emotion you both felt. All the late night feeds, the last minute school projects, the teenage angst, the first love and heartbreak all led to this moment.

Satoru’s hands held onto yours for the rest of the ceremony, only letting go once to hug Emiko after the whole ordeal. Your hand tingled with the warmth lost as you watched the tender scene unfold before you. It was now your turn to shower your daughter in affection and praise whilst Satoru looked on with an expression on his face you couldn’t decipher.

“Careful, you’re gonna crush her ribs whilst you’re at it.” He playfully scolded you. You looked back at him and scoffed knowing that he had no room to talk, remembering the time that he nearly sent your blood pressure up the roof when you caught him tossing Emiko up in the air when she was a toddler.

“Well luckily for her, you’ve got her on the best insurance plan money can buy. So you don’t need to worry about it.” You quip back, finally letting go of your daughter as you moved the stray white strands away from her face. She rolls her eyes at your theatrics but doesn’t move away, she’s still your little girl at the end of the day.

Satoru couldn’t help but throw a lavish graduation party for his daughter and you smiled whilst you stood by the gardens of the Gojo estate watching Emiko celebrate with friends and family. You didn’t even have to turn around to know he was approaching you. Your friends often joked you had a sixth sense only reserved for him.

He placed a hand on your waist and for once you didn’t fight it, following him into the garden as he carried two flutes of champagne with him, handing you one as you finally took your seat. “One for you my lady.” He said with a painful British accent, handing you a glass to which you accepted.

“Thank you my good sir.” You replied, feeling a sense of lightness in your chest that took you back to being the bright eyed newlyweds with a baby on the way. God you missed how easy it was. You missed him. He didn’t even have to ask to know what you were feeling, which was funny since you hoped this weird telepathic connection you only had for each other would be severed during the divorce.

“I don’t like being here too if it helps.” He mumbles into the vast night sky, as if looking at you would be the greatest travesty he’d ever commit. You appreciate his subtle attempt to kickstart conversation if it wasn’t so awkward between you both. At the graduation it was easier, your mind was so occupied with your baby girl walking the stage and graduating that anything pertaining to Satoru was left on the back burner.

Now that you were here alone with him, you had nowhere to hide, no crowd to disappear into, no Nanami or Shoko to chat with to distract yourself from the way his eyes flickered over to you several times tonight. The man made Satoru dam in your mind threatening to burst with burgeoning feelings you didn’t want to think about at all.

It was stupid, you both had moved on. You were with other people. Your boyfriend(?) was fine, stable, a great communicator and an open book. He had a good relationship with your daughter and Satoru was in between people, so why did you feel so unfulfilled in your life? Why couldn’t you feel neutral towards him like a person in a co parenting relationship should be?

“Yeah, Shoko told me how you used to escape from here often during the winter break. It was that bad huh?” You asked and he simply nodded, not wanting to divulge much and you let it go. The familiar silence washed over you both once again as you stared down at the empty flute of champagne you didn’t remember drinking that much of.

A familiar pair of footsteps caught your attention and it was Emiko, her curls spilling out of the updo you did for her before she left the house. “Mom, Dad what are you doing out here?” Her assessing gaze flits between you both, from your pensive state to Satoru’s unusual silence and she sighs as she sits between you both, taking a sip of her dad’s now lukewarm champagne, grimacing at the taste. “Uh oh, Do I have to pick a side this time?”

Emiko’s knack for comedic timing, which can only be attributed to her father is what dispels the tension between you both as you let out a chuckle. “No sweetheart, it’s just your dad and I are getting old.” You say teasingly, knowing how much Satoru was in denial about his age.

“I’ve still got a young spirit!” He defends himself, clearly still in denial, earning a chuckle from you and Emiko. His heart bloomed knowing that he still was able to make his girls laugh even if it was st his expense. In the midst of the laughter you both lock eyes again and in that moment he sees you 20 odd years ago. The same spark in your eyes that he fell in love with.

Satoru decides against spilling his heart out to you, preferring to preserve your coparenting relationship as is. The night goes on and no matter how close or far you are in his vicinity, other than his daughter is eyes are trained on you. Drinking you up as you dance with Emiko, watching you move with the beat.

He joins in a few minutes later (he blames the fomo) dropping some moves that makes your daughter want to recoil into her skin but he lives for it, he’s encouraged by your laughter as you film the entire ordeal and he’s fine with this, figuring he can suppress his growing feelings for you whilst he still can.

Besides being in both of your lives was what mattered the most to him anyway,

he just needed to figure out a way to get rid of your so called “boyfriend” first.

Not on the dating apps or the countless influencers and models in his DMs—that was cheating in his book. He preferred to sit in your plush yet inviting office once a week and open up to the only person who couldn’t really judge him. You’d be there with your pen and notebook in your hand, trying to sort out the embellished details from the facts, allowing him to express his emotions and feelings whilst challenging his beliefs.

It was simple, textbook stuff really.

He saw it as a nice contrast but he preferred the validation more. His faults and errors that you’d pointed out that he should work on being a mere ripple in the vast pool of validation that he’d been receiving. That was all he wanted. To feel like he did a good job, not as a tennis player, but as a father, a husband, hell even a person. Just hearing that you were proud of him after he told you about how he completed the homework you set him was enough to keep him going.

You were gorgeous, albeit a few years younger but the knowledge and expertise you held was beyond your years. In his opinion it was one of the things he found the most attractive about you. You always knew what to say that made him feel better, like a healing balm for his soul that was splintered and frayed by the ever demanding world of professional tennis and his personal life.

The sessions became less frequent as he progressed, going from weekly, fortnightly and now monthly. Art now had an itch he couldn’t scratch. Seeing you monthly wasn’t enough for him. He got obsessive, spending his nights reading about your achievements on LinkedIn or scrolling on your Instagram that wasn’t private, seeing the life you lived outside of the business casual outfits you donned to the office.

He spent his nights in the guest room, his hand wrapped around his cock, the cool metal of his wedding band rubbing against his shaft. Your voice from the recent therapy session that you so innocuously allowed him to record for his own betterment, filling his headphones.

His mind wanders to how’d you feel beneath him, how’d he’ll feel inside you and would you speak to him in that honeyed tone, the one that is currently spurring him on right now? The one that makes him feel validated and secure? And when you say his name, he comes on cue—hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach, his groans muffled by his hand to not wake his daughter and wife who are sleeping a couple doors down.

When the high subsides and the post-nut clarity hits him, his skin shining in a light sheen of sweat as he catches his breath, Tashi’s words ring resonant in his mind. He truly is pathetic. Jerking off to his therapist, like a horny teenager. He ought to feel shame, he was a family man after all, who swore a vow of marriage to his Tashi all those years ago but things weren’t the same anymore. Besides, he wanted to have a little bit of fun too. If she could have Patrick, he could have you.

Art knew that you’d never make a move. Too many ethical guidelines would be breached and one thing you prided yourself on was having strict boundaries, his subtle flirty remarks bulletproof against your professional demeanour. So he purposely let himself go, regressing to a worse form that differed from when you first met him.

Now he was a man riddled with a toxic cocktail of jealousy, paranoia and insecurity at a level that you now couldn’t handle. After the last session where your attempt to challenge his beliefs about his wife’s supposed infidelity fell on deaf ears, you referred him to another therapist—one that would be more adequate to deal with his needs, one that may be able to finally get through to him.

After his referral, you found yourself thinking about him more than you should and it didn’t help that he was lauded and posted up everywhere. You found him intriguing, a man riddled by paranoia, jealousy and insecurity despite his professional and personal caveats. Against your better judgment and ethics, you ended up emailing his current therapist, Dr. Mellich , about his wellbeing. She gave you limited updates, which was nothing you could glean from.

He looked to be in better spirits, from what you gathered from his post match interviews that were always playing in the office. Dr. Mellich was really a miracle worker, the elation was ever present on his face as he recalled his emotions at the time of beating his opponent and qualifying to the round of 16—A feat for somebody who had the pundits saying that it was time for him to hang up his rackets after a terrible last season.

Things seemed to be looking up for Art. He and Tashi looked less like they hated each other and were more amicable with one another in public, hand-holding and the embraces being enough to quell the divorce rumours. He also became a brand ambassador for a watch brand that he was supposed to care about but it was all the same to him. Yet despite his successes, you still ruminated in the back corners of his mind, your strategies becoming a part of his daily regimen. It was like he had a piece of you all along and he wasn’t planning on letting go.

Art started to attend and speak at mental health panels, sharing the importance of getting help, especially in the sports field, encouraging others to speak up when they were suffering. He’d partnered with mental health charities and starred in campaigns along with other notable celebrities and fellow sports personalities. It was an unsuspecting move by someone who rarely gave any public interviews unless it was sports related but the press lapped it up.

What you didn’t expect to see was him being the guest speaker at a panel you had planned to leave halfway through. You’ve already found yourself at the bar by the end of it though, nursing an overpriced cocktail that you probably could’ve made at home. The people around you networking and chatting, probably about nothing of substance so they could probably get brownie points and connections on LinkedIn. Maybe you should make the most of this panel and secure some connections that may come to use in future.

But when that familiar crop of blond hair makes its way through the crowd, turning down pictures and autographs from fans to head towards you. You realise that you had other goals in mind that you wanted to achieve. The former patient that you had been lowkey keeping up with for almost a year had just fallen into your lap as a gift, you believe to be from the universe.

He leads you to a secluded spot, near his hotel away from the fans and the eager paparazzi. He buys you another drink as you sit opposite each other but this time you’re here on your own volition, so eager to be back in his web again.

“So how have you been?” you ask coolly, taking a sip of your drink. A cosmopolitan. A drink you never recalled telling him about but it was a nice coincidence nonetheless. You sit up, shrugging off your jacket, ready to hear about the things he’s been up to since the last time you met as if it was the first time you’ve heard of it all.

“Well I’ve been busy…” he begins before unfurling into a tangent about his current endeavours and you lap it all up. You keep supplying him with more questions, helping you satiate your fix on all things Art.

Soon enough it’s hard to tell where your touch ends and where his begins. A gentle hand on your thigh later ghosts over your waist, pulling you closer to him when a group of friends stumble past you. You play it off, chalking it down to him just being polite. However Art is relentless in his pursuit for your affection, you’d finally entered his orbit and he wasn’t going to let you walk away.

“Stay,” He murmurs, pulling you closer to him. Feeling him this close to you, your skin, your body was making your brain short circuit. Usually you weren’t the type to comply with the wants of men and their desires but why did he make it sound so good? He watches you toy with the idea in your mind, the battle between logic and hazy desire fanned by the flames of the cosmopolitans you necked down moments before ever present on your face.

“I don't think–I mean you’re…and I just can’t.” You shut him down, logic seemingly winning the battles of wills this time. He watches you stand on your feet, fishing through your purse for your phone so you could call an Uber to your hotel across town. You eventually find your phone just for it to be dead. Art can’t thank the Lord that he stopped believing long ago enough, making a silent vow to attend service when he has the time.

“Shit.” You nervously rock on the balls of your feet, unsure of what to do. Sure, you could be stubborn and ask any of the other patrons to borrow their phones to book a taxi home or you could swallow your pride and take him up on his offer.

He knows what you’ll choose.

The elevator dings once you reach the 16th floor luxury suite with Art in tow. He lets you in with a swipe of his keycard and you take a second to marvel at what his tennis earnings had gotten him. The room was spacious, a massive upgrade compared to the hotel you were staying in across town. You wondered if his wife and daughter were around but a quick sweep of the room said otherwise, he came here alone.

“Can I take these off for you?” You don't even notice him kneeling before you, shirt slightly unbuttoned and his hair slightly tousled. His hand running up and down your leg awaiting your command. It’s hard to say no to him when he looks up at you, his eyes full of need and looking eager to please.

You nodded, giving him the green light to lose yourself in the pleasure that he was offering you in the moment. He takes off your heels, trailing kisses up your leg, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. You squirm at the ticklish sensation that his stubble leaves against your skin.

“Gorgeous,” He whispers against your skin, his large calloused hands running over your thighs, slowly hiking up your skirt.

He pulls off your panties with ease, taking a moment to marvel at your soaked core that was weeping just for him, just for his touch. Art takes a tentative swipe at your folds, not missing the strangled whine that left your lips. He feels heady with power, knowing that him alone has got you this worked up. He wastes no time getting acquainted with your pussy, his tongue circling your clit whilst he slowly works you open with his fingers, stretching you out, one finger at a time.

He glances up at you and seeing you in that state, mouth hanging open and your brows knitted as he continued to eat you out like a man starved was enough to make his cock twitch. It didn’t help that your manicured nails that were currently gripping his hair were pulling him deeper into your cunt, your hips bucking up, shamelessly wanting more of him.

Your legs started to tremble from Art’s ministrations but his arm kept you firm against the bed, leaving you no room to escape him. Your cries fell on deaf ears whilst he nestled between your thighs, getting comfortable as he sucked and slurped your juices without a care in the world. He knew he was getting greedy but he couldn’t help it, not when he was finally living out the same fantasies he got off to every night.

It was hard to think about the ethics and morality of this situation when he was eating you out like he had something to prove. “You’re doing so good,” You praised him, not even knowing what you were saying at this point. You just wanted him to keep giving you that constant pleasure that you’d been craving for.

“You mean it?” He panted, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. Art didn’t have to be asked twice, already sucking on your clit whilst stretching you open with his fingers. The cool metal of his wedding band against your pussy makes you shiver slightly. It was all getting too much. From the sounds he was making, to the way he was shamelessly rutting his hips into the sheets—you knew you weren’t going to last long.

White hot pleasure ripped through your body as you finally came, sending shockwaves through your body as you gushed all over him. He finally came up, licking off the last of your juices with a grin.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted.” He said, pressing kisses to your inner thighs which made you shiver slightly, still reeling from the mind numbing orgasm you had just a few seconds ago.

Art fucks you with a fervor that speaks of passion and slight desperation that only a man who hasn’t touched his wife has. His movements are rushed, hurried like this’ll be a cruel dream if he doesn’t bury himself inside you soon and subconsciously utters words of love and affection that you know is meant to be for his wife.

You didn’t expect this sexual encounter to trigger an emotional response but as you made contact with the man that was bringing you to the edge of release through lidded eyes, you could tell this was more than physical for him.

“We could always have baby number two, like you said,” he muttered but it wasn’t to you. His eyes were glazed and his pupils were wide as saucers, like he could feel Tashi’s essence in this room which lowkey concerned you. Well at least he still loved his wife even if he was balls deep inside of you.

You tuned out his babble and focused on your own pleasure that he was giving you.

You were arriving at the pinnacle of pure pleasure and Art looked increasingly determined. His hips were snapping into you, knocking the wind out of your chest and turning you into cock hungry machine who’s sole goal was mind numbing pleasure.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he rasped, his blue eyes darkening whilst he watched another orgasm rip right through you, sending you spiralling. This was an image he was gonna have on repeat for the next time he got lonely. He followed soon after, finishing with a groan before tying up his condom and throwing it away.

He joined you on the bed, slumping down beside you and pulling you closer to him. “You were better than I imagined,” he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before falling into a deep slumber.

You didn’t stay for long. Not even

Once your phone was charged and your clothes were back on, you drafted a quick text to your friend who’d been blowing up your phone since you went dark. It was full of typos and your message was all over the place but it was nothing you couldn’t polish up once you got in your Uber back to your hotel room.

You hated dealing with all those awkward conversations and emotions after hooking up with someone and the complex golden boy was no exception to that rule either.

After all, you both got what you wanted in the end. He got a quick fix and you’d gotten a quick fuck.

Win win.

Not on the dating apps or the countless influencers and models in his DMs—that was cheating in his book. He preferred to sit in your plush yet inviting office once a week and open up to the only person who couldn’t really judge him. You’d be there with your pen and notebook in your hand, trying to sort out the embellished details from the facts, allowing him to express his emotions and feelings whilst challenging his beliefs.

It was simple, textbook stuff really.

He saw it as a nice contrast but he preferred the validation more. His faults and errors that you’d pointed out that he should work on being a mere ripple in the vast pool of validation that he’d been receiving. That was all he wanted. To feel like he did a good job, not as a tennis player, but as a father, a husband, hell even a person. Just hearing that you were proud of him after he told you about how he completed the homework you set him was enough to keep him going.

You were gorgeous, albeit a few years younger but the knowledge and expertise you held was beyond your years. In his opinion it was one of the things he found the most attractive about you. You always knew what to say that made him feel better, like a healing balm for his soul that was splintered and frayed by the ever demanding world of professional tennis and his personal life.

The sessions became less frequent as he progressed, going from weekly, fortnightly and now monthly. Art now had an itch he couldn’t scratch. Seeing you monthly wasn’t enough for him. He got obsessive, spending his nights reading about your achievements on LinkedIn or scrolling on your Instagram that wasn’t private, seeing the life you lived outside of the business casual outfits you donned to the office.

He spent his nights in the guest room, his hand wrapped around his cock, the cool metal of his wedding band rubbing against his shaft. Your voice from the recent therapy session that you so innocuously allowed him to record for his own betterment, filling his headphones.

His mind wanders to how’d you feel beneath him, how’d he’ll feel inside you and would you speak to him in that honeyed tone, the one that is currently spurring him on right now? The one that makes him feel validated and secure? And when you say his name, he comes on cue—hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach, his groans muffled by his hand to not wake his daughter and wife who are sleeping a couple doors down.

When the high subsides and the post-nut clarity hits him, his skin shining in a light sheen of sweat as he catches his breath, Tashi’s words ring resonant in his mind. He truly is pathetic. Jerking off to his therapist, like a horny teenager. He ought to feel shame, he was a family man after all, who swore a vow of marriage to his Tashi all those years ago but things weren’t the same anymore. Besides, he wanted to have a little bit of fun too. If she could have Patrick, he could have you.

Art knew that you’d never make a move. Too many ethical guidelines would be breached and one thing you prided yourself on was having strict boundaries, his subtle flirty remarks bulletproof against your professional demeanour. So he purposely let himself go, regressing to a worse form that differed from when you first met him.

Now he was a man riddled with a toxic cocktail of jealousy, paranoia and insecurity at a level that you now couldn’t handle. After the last session where your attempt to challenge his beliefs about his wife’s supposed infidelity fell on deaf ears, you referred him to another therapist—one that would be more adequate to deal with his needs, one that may be able to finally get through to him.

After his referral, you found yourself thinking about him more than you should and it didn’t help that he was lauded and posted up everywhere. You found him intriguing, a man riddled by paranoia, jealousy and insecurity despite his professional and personal caveats. Against your better judgment and ethics, you ended up emailing his current therapist, Dr. Mellich , about his wellbeing. She gave you limited updates, which was nothing you could glean from.

He looked to be in better spirits, from what you gathered from his post match interviews that were always playing in the office. Dr. Mellich was really a miracle worker, the elation was ever present on his face as he recalled his emotions at the time of beating his opponent and qualifying to the round of 16—A feat for somebody who had the pundits saying that it was time for him to hang up his rackets after a terrible last season.

Things seemed to be looking up for Art. He and Tashi looked less like they hated each other and were more amicable with one another in public, hand-holding and the embraces being enough to quell the divorce rumours. He also became a brand ambassador for a watch brand that he was supposed to care about but it was all the same to him. Yet despite his successes, you still ruminated in the back corners of his mind, your strategies becoming a part of his daily regimen. It was like he had a piece of you all along and he wasn’t planning on letting go.

Art started to attend and speak at mental health panels, sharing the importance of getting help, especially in the sports field, encouraging others to speak up when they were suffering. He’d partnered with mental health charities and starred in campaigns along with other notable celebrities and fellow sports personalities. It was an unsuspecting move by someone who rarely gave any public interviews unless it was sports related but the press lapped it up.

What you didn’t expect to see was him being the guest speaker at a panel you had planned to leave halfway through. You’ve already found yourself at the bar by the end of it though, nursing an overpriced cocktail that you probably could’ve made at home. The people around you networking and chatting, probably about nothing of substance so they could probably get brownie points and connections on LinkedIn. Maybe you should make the most of this panel and secure some connections that may come to use in future.

But when that familiar crop of blond hair makes its way through the crowd, turning down pictures and autographs from fans to head towards you. You realise that you had other goals in mind that you wanted to achieve. The former patient that you had been lowkey keeping up with for almost a year had just fallen into your lap as a gift, you believe to be from the universe.

He leads you to a secluded spot, near his hotel away from the fans and the eager paparazzi. He buys you another drink as you sit opposite each other but this time you’re here on your own volition, so eager to be back in his web again.

“So how have you been?” you ask coolly, taking a sip of your drink. A cosmopolitan. A drink you never recalled telling him about but it was a nice coincidence nonetheless. You sit up, shrugging off your jacket, ready to hear about the things he’s been up to since the last time you met as if it was the first time you’ve heard of it all.

“Well I’ve been busy…” he begins before unfurling into a tangent about his current endeavours and you lap it all up. You keep supplying him with more questions, helping you satiate your fix on all things Art.

Soon enough it’s hard to tell where your touch ends and where his begins. A gentle hand on your thigh later ghosts over your waist, pulling you closer to him when a group of friends stumble past you. You play it off, chalking it down to him just being polite. However Art is relentless in his pursuit for your affection, you’d finally entered his orbit and he wasn’t going to let you walk away.

“Stay,” He murmurs, pulling you closer to him. Feeling him this close to you, your skin, your body was making your brain short circuit. Usually you weren’t the type to comply with the wants of men and their desires but why did he make it sound so good? He watches you toy with the idea in your mind, the battle between logic and hazy desire fanned by the flames of the cosmopolitans you necked down moments before ever present on your face.

“I don't think–I mean you’re…and I just can’t.” You shut him down, logic seemingly winning the battles of wills this time. He watches you stand on your feet, fishing through your purse for your phone so you could call an Uber to your hotel across town. You eventually find your phone just for it to be dead. Art can’t thank the Lord that he stopped believing long ago enough, making a silent vow to attend service when he has the time.

“Shit.” You nervously rock on the balls of your feet, unsure of what to do. Sure, you could be stubborn and ask any of the other patrons to borrow their phones to book a taxi home or you could swallow your pride and take him up on his offer.

He knows what you’ll choose.

The elevator dings once you reach the 16th floor luxury suite with Art in tow. He lets you in with a swipe of his keycard and you take a second to marvel at what his tennis earnings had gotten him. The room was spacious, a massive upgrade compared to the hotel you were staying in across town. You wondered if his wife and daughter were around but a quick sweep of the room said otherwise, he came here alone.

“Can I take these off for you?” You don't even notice him kneeling before you, shirt slightly unbuttoned and his hair slightly tousled. His hand running up and down your leg awaiting your command. It’s hard to say no to him when he looks up at you, his eyes full of need and looking eager to please.

You nodded, giving him the green light to lose yourself in the pleasure that he was offering you in the moment. He takes off your heels, trailing kisses up your leg, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. You squirm at the ticklish sensation that his stubble leaves against your skin.

“Gorgeous,” He whispers against your skin, his large calloused hands running over your thighs, slowly hiking up your skirt.

He pulls off your panties with ease, taking a moment to marvel at your soaked core that was weeping just for him, just for his touch. Art takes a tentative swipe at your folds, not missing the strangled whine that left your lips. He feels heady with power, knowing that him alone has got you this worked up. He wastes no time getting acquainted with your pussy, his tongue circling your clit whilst he slowly works you open with his fingers, stretching you out, one finger at a time.

He glances up at you and seeing you in that state, mouth hanging open and your brows knitted as he continued to eat you out like a man starved was enough to make his cock twitch. It didn’t help that your manicured nails that were currently gripping his hair were pulling him deeper into your cunt, your hips bucking up, shamelessly wanting more of him.

Your legs started to tremble from Art’s ministrations but his arm kept you firm against the bed, leaving you no room to escape him. Your cries fell on deaf ears whilst he nestled between your thighs, getting comfortable as he sucked and slurped your juices without a care in the world. He knew he was getting greedy but he couldn’t help it, not when he was finally living out the same fantasies he got off to every night.

It was hard to think about the ethics and morality of this situation when he was eating you out like he had something to prove. “You’re doing so good,” You praised him, not even knowing what you were saying at this point. You just wanted him to keep giving you that constant pleasure that you’d been craving for.

“You mean it?” He panted, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. Art didn’t have to be asked twice, already sucking on your clit whilst stretching you open with his fingers. The cool metal of his wedding band against your pussy makes you shiver slightly. It was all getting too much. From the sounds he was making, to the way he was shamelessly rutting his hips into the sheets—you knew you weren’t going to last long.

White hot pleasure ripped through your body as you finally came, sending shockwaves through your body as you gushed all over him. He finally came up, licking off the last of your juices with a grin.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted.” He said, pressing kisses to your inner thighs which made you shiver slightly, still reeling from the mind numbing orgasm you had just a few seconds ago.

Art fucks you with a fervor that speaks of passion and slight desperation that only a man who hasn’t touched his wife has. His movements are rushed, hurried like this’ll be a cruel dream if he doesn’t bury himself inside you soon and subconsciously utters words of love and affection that you know is meant to be for his wife.

You didn’t expect this sexual encounter to trigger an emotional response but as you made contact with the man that was bringing you to the edge of release through lidded eyes, you could tell this was more than physical for him.

“We could always have baby number two, like you said,” he muttered but it wasn’t to you. His eyes were glazed and his pupils were wide as saucers, like he could feel Tashi’s essence in this room which lowkey concerned you. Well at least he still loved his wife even if he was balls deep inside of you.

You tuned out his babble and focused on your own pleasure that he was giving you.

You were arriving at the pinnacle of pure pleasure and Art looked increasingly determined. His hips were snapping into you, knocking the wind out of your chest and turning you into cock hungry machine who’s sole goal was mind numbing pleasure.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he rasped, his blue eyes darkening whilst he watched another orgasm rip right through you, sending you spiralling. This was an image he was gonna have on repeat for the next time he got lonely. He followed soon after, finishing with a groan before tying up his condom and throwing it away.

He joined you on the bed, slumping down beside you and pulling you closer to him. “You were better than I imagined,” he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before falling into a deep slumber.

You didn’t stay for long. Not even

Once your phone was charged and your clothes were back on, you drafted a quick text to your friend who’d been blowing up your phone since you went dark. It was full of typos and your message was all over the place but it was nothing you couldn’t polish up once you got in your Uber back to your hotel room.

You hated dealing with all those awkward conversations and emotions after hooking up with someone and the complex golden boy was no exception to that rule either.

After all, you both got what you wanted in the end. He got a quick fix and you’d gotten a quick fuck.

Win win.