hehehehwhewg

"what is it?" you ask, still breathless from the orgasm.

"i wanna film you getting up, babe!"

you laugh, used to your boyfriend filming the two of you in moments like this. the blond guy always loved recording your "slutty little moans", his phone gallery is full of videos of him thrusting deep inside you.

the phone looks tiny in his hand, haaland smiles, fingering your wet entrance, making sure to get things even messier by spreading your juices all over.

"slut!" the slap cracks against your cheek, and you laugh with pure masochistic delight, feeling the red mark he’s leaving behind.

his thick tip rubs against you, throbbing intensely, desperate to take you.

"b-baby," you moan softly, wanting to be tortured in a different way.

"beg for it, slut!" he laughs, almost with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "i love hearing you beg."

the camera zooms in on his cock, dripping pre-cum onto your cunt, hovering right at the entrance without sliding in.

"please..." you beg.

"please what, huh? forget how to speak?" his firm tone makes your body heat up even more.

"wreck my pussy, baby," you whimper coyly, your voice almost sickeningly sweet.

erling laughs, sinking the tip of his hard cock into you.

the first six inches go in easily enough, but then he pushes in a few more, and even then, his cock isn't fully inside yet.

you gasp, feeling your walls burn as they stretch to accommodate your boyfriend's cock, he keeps opening you up inch by inch, driving deeper.

"look at that," he says, filming the profane scene. "that tiny little pussy taking my cock. a trained little slut."

the norwegian pushes a bit harder and realizes he’s hit the limit, the head of his cock is bumping against you, deep enough to stop him from going any further.

your body spasms, clamping tight around his thick cock as the first tears spill from your eyes.

"full already?" he taunts. "such a tiny pussy, baby, can't even handle taking it all."

"b-baby," you moan around that thick cock, your body trying to push it out at all costs.

he pushes a little harder, making you scream as the head finally stretches you open. but he quickly pulls back a bit, knowing it’s too much.

"you can never take it all, can you?" he laughs, filming the bulge his cock makes against your belly. he moves it slowly, making your body mold around him, your tummy distended by the size of his cock. "such a weak little thing."

"t-too big." you spread your legs, the burning sensation hurting just as much as it feels good.

"and yet you always take it, don't you, love? you always let me wreck this pussy." slow thrusts and a sweet voice contrasting with the dirty words. "you're gonna be sore tomorrow."

he looks proud, still filming your pussy, even though there are still a few inches left to go, knowing just how hard it is to take his cock.

"i'm gonna tear you apart, princess, can i?" he asks gently, his words making your toes curl.

you nod, spreading your legs wider, staring into his light-colored eyes.

when he picks up the pace, you gasp, clutching his defined biceps as you moan. his thick cock hits the very back of your womb, its length stretching your tight pussy to the limit.

"slut. my slut," he growls, his phone filming your pussy stretching wide to take almost his entire length.

"b-baby," you call out, your mouth falling open.

you know each other so well that he knows exactly what he wants. laughing, the camera shifts to your face, capturing the spit he lands in your mouth, followed by a sharp slap across your delicate cheek.

"bitch! mine!"

the camera is tossed aside onto the bed, still recording a glimpse of the two of you.

erling keeps fucking you, sometimes thrusting all the way inside, hurting you in a way that satisfies your masochistic side, but fuck, it feels so good. you scream and roar, biting his shoulder while digging your nails into his pale back.

your man dominates you so roughly, so powerfully, stretching your tight pussy, using you like a doll, driven wild by your hot hole taking his cock.

"greedy whore, you can't even handle it all, but you won't let me stop." his large body shoves against yours, making you scream every time he pushes past the limit and buries it deep.

tears stream down your cheeks as he kisses you, clumsy, rough. "i fucking love you." he kisses you again, almost devouring you. "my woman. my slut."

your hole clenches, and you try to close your legs out of pure reflex when your belly begins to burn, not from the penetration this time.

"hot. my woman is so damn hot."

"b-baby," you whimper around his thick cock, your face flushed red as tears stream down. "i love you."

"bitch. my bitch. my slut. my cumdump." he kisses your jaw, completely losing control.

his cock throbs inside you, your toes curling tight, as the blond man fumbles across the bed for the phone he’d tossed aside.

just so he can record your orgasm, the slutty little cries you make while he keeps fucking you, filming your body trembling beneath him.

"i'm gonna cum inside you, baby," he says, thrusting on as he chases his own release. "i'm gonna fill up that pussy."

he kisses you again, gripping your jaw as he devours you, in every sense of the word.

his cock slams deep against your cervix, and you scream.

and then haaland comes. deep inside you, making sure to shoot jets of cum right into your ravaged pussy, not wasting a single drop, his cock buried to the hilt.

when his breathing settles, he kisses you, his touch a little gentler now.

he pulls back just enough to film exactly how deep inside you he is, chuckling softly. "you always take it all. you really are the woman of my life."

he thrusts a few more times, just to mess you up, your thighs are still trembling as the camera captures the spasms.

"i love you so much. you're so beautiful." that tender compliment hardly seems to come from the guy who’s going to be the reason you’re walking with a wobble for the next few days.

and when his cock starts to go soft and he pulls it out, your pussy clenches around the emptiness, gaping wide after taking that thick dick.

"so beautiful." the blond lowers the camera, capturing exactly how dirty and used you look. "totally stretched out by my cock," he says affectionately, running his fingers through the sticky fluids and over your abused opening.

you moan, the slight sting in your pussy and deep in your belly makes you feel weak.

"you're the woman of my dreams."

haaland turns off the camera, lingering for a few seconds to admire the mess he made, your pussy all stretched out and slick.

"i love you so fucking much!"

he kisses your forehead.

he goes to the bathroom, grabbing a wet towel and some ointment, and cleans you up completely with the utmost care. even though the blond is rough by nature, he’s always incredibly gentle with you.

after cleaning you, he applies the ointment, tending to the hole he’d just roughed up. then, he heads to the kitchen to get a hot water bottle for your belly, he knows that even though it only happened a few times, the way he pounded against your cervix is ​​going to leave you sore.

it’s almost funny, the same rough guy who just wrecked you with his aggressive cock is now taking care of you like a princess, peppering your face with kisses while stroking your hair.

The library is dead silent, but your mind is anything but. You've been staring at the same page of your political theory textbook for twenty minutes, the words blurring into meaningless shapes.

It's been a while since you've seen Jude in person and you miss him. Badly.

Your phone buzzes on the table, a welcome distraction from the academic torture. Just finished training. You awake?

A smile tugs at your lips. Barely. drowning in political theory. you?

Missing you, he replies instantly. Wish you were here.

Me too. My bed feels too big without you in it.

There's a pause before his next message comes through. Send me a picture.

Your cheeks flush as you glance around the deserted library. Here?

Yeah. Right now. I need to see you.

Slipping into the restroom, you lean against the counter and snap a quick photo in the mirror, just your face, hair falling around your shoulders, a soft smile playing on your lips.

Not what I meant, he texts back. Lift your shirt.

Your heart races as you comply, pulling your sweater up to reveal the simple black lace bra you threw on this morning.

Beautiful, he replies. But the library bathroom? Really?

It was private! you type back, feeling bold. What are you wearing?

Just joggers. Thinking about you has me… distracted.

How distracted? you ask, your fingers trembling slightly as you type.

Enough that I had to come back to my room. Alone.

Poor Jude. Need some help?

Maybe. What are you doing after the library?

Going home to an empty bed. Unless you have other ideas?

Go home now. I'll call you in ten.

Packing up your things with shaking hands, you practically run back to your dorm room. The phone rings the moment you kick off your shoes.

"Hey," you breathe, sinking onto your bed.

"Did you run?" Jude asks, his voice deeper than usual.

"Maybe," you admit.

"Good girl," he praises. "Are you in bed?"

You nod before remembering he can't see you. "Yeah."

"Take off your shirt," he commands. "I want to imagine you there, just like in that picture."

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull the sweater over your head, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. "Okay."

"Are your nipples hard?" he asks.

You run your fingers over them, shivering at the sensation. "Yes."

"Pinch one for me. Not too hard, just enough to make you gasp."

You do as he says, a small gasp escaping your lips. "Jude…"

"I hear it," he says, his voice strained. "I hear that little sound you make when you're turned on. Now slide your hand down your body, nice and slow. Tell me what you feel."

"Soft," you breathe, your fingers trailing down your stomach. "Warm."

"When you get to your jeans, don't touch yet," he instructs. "Just run your fingers along the edge, back and forth. Tease yourself like I would."

Your breath hitches as you follow his instructions, the light touch sending shivers through you. "Jude, please…"

"Please what?" he asks, though you know he knows exactly what you want.

"Please let me touch myself."

"Not yet," he says firmly. "You're being such a good girl, following instructions. But you need to learn patience. Now take off those jeans for me."

You wiggle out of them, tossing them aside. "Okay."

"Spread your legs for me, baby. Wide open. I want to imagine you there, waiting for me."

You comply, feeling exposed and vulnerable despite being alone. "Like this?"

"Perfect," he murmurs. "Now I want you to circle your clit with one finger. Just one. Slow circles. Tell me how it feels."

Your finger finds the sensitive bundle of nerves and you gasp at the contact. "So good. So sensitive."

"Keep going," he commands. "Nice and slow. Build that pressure. I want you right on the edge, but don't you dare come."

You follow his instructions, your breathing growing ragged as pleasure builds. "Jude, I'm close."

"Already?" he teases. "God, you're so desperate for it, aren't you? Can't even control yourself without me here to guide you."

The words should embarrass you, but instead they send a fresh wave of arousal through you. "I need you," you whimper.

"I know, baby, I know," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But you're not coming yet. Stop touching."

You whine in protest but obey, removing your hand. "Jude…"

"It's okay," he soothes. "You're being so good for me. So obedient. Now I want you to get that little rose toy I bought you. Remember the one?"

Your heart races at the thought. "In my nightstand."

"Go get it."

You scramble to retrieve the toy, returning to the bed with trembling hands. "Okay."

"Now turn it on the lowest setting. Just a gentle buzz," he instructs.

You do as he says, the low vibration sending pleasure through you as you press it against your clit. "Oh god…"

"How does that feel?" he asks.

"So good," you breathe. "So much better than my fingers."

"Good," he says. "Now increase the speed just a little. Not too much, just enough to make your hips start moving."

You adjust the setting, your body arching involuntarily. "Jude…"

"I hear it in your voice," he says, his own breathing growing heavier. "You're getting close again, aren't you?"

You nod, then remember to speak. "Yes. Please let me come this time."

"Not yet," he says firmly. "Turn it up again. The middle setting."

You comply, crying out as the stronger vibration pushes you closer to the edge. "Please, Jude, I can't…"

"Can't what?" he challenges. "Can't control yourself? Can't come without me telling you how? God, you're pathetic sometimes, aren't you? So needy, so desperate for my guidance."

The degradation should sting, but instead it pushes you higher, your body trembling with need. "Please…"

"Turn it to the highest setting," he commands. "Right against your clit. Don't move it, just hold it there."

You fumble with the controls, then press the buzzing toy against your most sensitive spot. The intense pleasure is almost too much and you cry out, your back arching off the bed.

"That's it, baby," Jude encourages. "Let me hear those sounds. Let me hear how desperate you are for me."

Tears of pleasure and frustration stream down your face as you hover on the edge of orgasm, unable to tip over without his permission. "Please, Jude, please let me come. I'll do anything, just please…"

"Anything?" he asks, his voice dark with satisfaction. "You'll be my good girl? You'll wait for me whenever you need it like this?"

"Yes," you sob. "Anything, just please let me come."

"Okay, baby," he says finally. "Come for me. Now. Let me hear you scream my name."

The permission is all you need. The orgasm crashes over you, intense and overwhelming. You scream his name as waves of pleasure course through you, your body convulsing with the force of your release.

"That's it," Jude praises as you ride out your orgasm. "Such a good girl for me. Coming so hard for me."

As the pleasure subsides, you collapse against the pillows, panting and trembling. "Jude," you whisper, completely spent.

"I'm here, baby," he says softly. "Did so good for me. So proud of you."

You can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the pride in how well you followed his instructions. "Miss you," you murmur, your eyes already drifting closed.

The book lies open in your lap, words blurring into meaningless shapes as your mind drifts. You're curled up in Jude's bed, surrounded by his scent, but it's the memory of his body that's really consuming you.

The past few months have transformed him in ways that make your mouth water and your core clench. The extra hours at the gym, the heavy lifting, it's all paying off in ways that drive you absolutely insane.

His arms have thickened, biceps bulging with the slightest movement. His back has broadened, creating that delicious V-shape that makes you want to trace the lines with your tongue. Even his thighs, which were already pretty sculpted from football, have become even more defined.

Every time he walks around in those ridiculously short Lululemon shorts, you have to physically stop yourself from staring. When he's shirtless, which seems to be more often now, it's even worse. The way his abs flex when he stretches, the beads of sweat trickling down his chest… it's almost too much to handle and it got you drooling like an absolute idiot.

"Hey, I'm back!" Jude calls from the hallway. "Just going to shower real quick, then I'll join you."

You hear the water start and you try to refocus on your book, but your mind is already racing with images of him wet, naked in the shower.

When he emerges, you nearly drop your book. He's wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp lines of his Adonis belt. His hair is damp, curls falling across his forehead. As he rubs the towel over his head, his abs ripple and his biceps bulge, the muscles in his back shifting beneath his skin.

It's also painfully obvious he's not wearing anything underneath those sweats and the thought alone makes you wet.

"Ready for some cuddle time?" he asks, tossing the towel onto a chair and climbing into bed.

You nod, trying to appear casual as he pulls you against his chest. He shifts, pulling you on top of him so you're lying flush against his body.

"How was your day?" he asks, his fingers combing through your hair.

Your hands rest on his broad shoulders and you can't help but trace the defined muscles of his forearms. His veins are prominent, trailing down to his large hands and you find yourself mesmerized by them.

"Fine," you manage, your voice slightly breathless.

You shift against him, restless, your thighs clenching together as a wave of arousal washes over you. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent, hoping that will erase the unholy thoughts from your mind.

"Everything okay?" he asks, a note of concern in his voice.

You don't know how to answer that, so you just press a soft kiss against his neck.

Jude's hands begin to roam your body. "You seem a little distracted," he murmurs, a teasing edge to his voice. "Want to tell me something?"

"I just… you've been looking a bit too good lately," you admit, your cheeks flushing.

He chuckles, a low, cocky sound. "Oh yeah? Noticed the extra hours at the gym, did you?"

You playfully roll your eyes at him. "You shouldn't be this cocky about it."

But he's not listening. He shifts beneath you, his hands moving from your waist to grip your hips, encouraging you to sit up. You move without protest, straddling his lap, the thin material of your shorts and his sweats doing little to dull the heat radiating between you. His bulge presses insistently against your core and you can't help the way your hips twitch in response.

"Go on then," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "Show me how much this body's been distracting you."

You bite your lip, hesitating for only a moment before giving in. You start to move, slowly at first, rocking your hips against his. The friction sends sparks of pleasure through your veins. Each roll of your hips drags your clothed pussy along the length of his cock and you can feel him growing harder beneath you.

"Fuck, Jude," you breathe out, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders.

"Yeah, just like that," he groans, his head falling back against the pillows. His eyes are half-lidded, watching you through his lashes and the sight alone makes you wetter. He looks so beautiful underneath you.

You move against him a little faster, every movement fueled by fucked out look in his eyes. Your movements become more erratic as pleasure builds within you.

"Look at you, baby," he murmurs, his hands tightening on your hips. "So desperate for it. Does it feel good? Grinding against my cock like the greedy little thing you are?"

You can only whimper in response, too lost in sensation to form coherent words. Your breaths come in short, sharp pants, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

"You gonna come just from this?" he asks, a smirk playing at his lips. "Just from rubbing your little pussy all over my cock?"

His filthy words send you closer to the edge and you can feel your climax approaching. But just as you're about to tumble over the edge, his hands still your hips, holding you in place. You whine in protest, your body trembling with need.

"No, no, no," you whimper, tears pricking at your eyes. "Please, I was this close."

"Be patient, baby," he murmurs, but you're having none of it.

Your hand slides down between your bodies, palm pressing firmly against the hard ridge straining against his sweats. Jude's breath hitches, his hips bucking involuntarily as you trace his length through the fabric. You can feel him twitch beneath your touch, can feel the heat radiating through the thin material.

"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back against the pillows. "You're playing with fire, baby."

"Good thing I'm not scared of getting burned," you retort, your fingers curling around him. You stroke him slowly, feeling him grow even harder in your palm.

With a smirk, you shift back, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats. You tug them down slowly, revealing inch after inch of his flushed skin. His cock springs free, hard and thick, glistening with pre-come, the tip an angry pink.

You lean in, pressing your lips against his stomach. You trail kisses downward, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. You pay special attention to his hips, your teeth grazing the sharp line of his hip bone, making him hiss. But it's his thighs that really captivate you. His thick and muscular thighs, which have been on your mind a little too much lately. You worship them with your mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling the muscles tremble beneath your touch.

"Fuck, stop teasing," he groans, his hands tangling in your hair.

You look up at him through your lashes, a wicked glint in your eyes. "Or what?" you challenge, before finally taking pity on him.

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. You hollow your cheeks, sucking gently and he groans, his hips jerking forward.

"God, your mouth," he breathes out, his fingers tightening in your hair.

You take him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth. You can feel the way his muscles tense as he resists the urge to push you further down, the way his stomach clenches with every flick of your tongue. You dig your nails into his thighs, leaving faint red marks in your wake and he groans, the sound vibrating through his entire body.

You pay special attention to the vein on the underside of his cock, your tongue tracing the raised ridge. He whimpers, his hips stuttering and you know you're driving him crazy. You suck harder, your head bobbing faster, taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat.

"Fuck, I'm gonna…" he starts, but you pull away before he can finish.

"What the fuck?" he groans, his eyes flying open. "Don't stop, I was so close."

You smirk, crawling back up his body until you're straddling his hips again. "You didn't let me come," you remind him, your voice low and husky. "So now I won't let you come. It's as easy as that, baby."

Your smirk is still playing on your lips when Jude moves. One second you're straddling his hips and the next you're on your back, the air knocked from your lungs as he flips you with an effortless strength that makes your head spin.

He's above you now, caging you in, his arms bracketing your head as he holds himself over you. The muscles in his biceps and shoulders ripple and tense and the sight of him above you is so fucking sexy it makes your pussy clench with need.

"Think you're clever?" he growls. Before you can answer, his mouth is on yours in a punishing kiss. He bites your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue and you melt into it, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

He breaks the kiss, panting slightly and shifts his hips. You feel the hot, heavy length of his cock sliding through your slick folds. He coats himself in your wetness, the head bumping against your clit with every pass, making you whimper and arch against him.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as he looks down at you. "All spread out underneath me. You look so much smaller like this." He punctuates his words with another drag of his cock against your entrance. "Did all that time in the gym make me too big for you, baby?"

The mocking tone, combined with his relentless teasing, only makes you want him more. So you take matters into your own hands. You wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles together at the small of his back and pull him down, using all your strength to hopefully get what you've been craving all along.

He gives a dark chuckle against your lips. "So eager," he whispers and then he's pushing into you.

He enters you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. It's a torturous pace that allows you to feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as your walls stretch and flutter to accommodate him. He doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt, his hips flush against yours.

He stills then, deep inside you and you can feel him pulsing, can feel the way your body clenches around him, trying to pull him deeper.

He loves it. You can tell by the smug look on his face. He loves watching you struggle to take him, loves how desperate you are for his cock.

"Please, Jude," you whine, trying to rock your hips to encourage him to move. "Please, move."

"Please, Jude" he mock, mimicking your pleading tone. Then he pulls out almost completely, leaving just the tip inside you. You feel so empty you're about to start begging again when he slams back into you. Hard.

The force of his thrust steals your breath and stops the sassy retort that was forming on your tongue. He sets a punishing rhythm, pounding you into the mattress, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has the bedframe slamming against the wall.

It's exactly what you needed, exactly what you were craving and you can't do anything but take it. You don't want to do anything but take it.

"Fuck, yes," you moan, your head thrown back. "Just like that. You feel so good, Jude. So fucking deep. You're so... oh my god... you're so big."

Your praise seems to spur him on. He groans, his movements becoming more erratic. Your hands slide down his back, your nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin and you can feel the muscles rippling beneath your touch with every thrust.

"I need you come for me, baby," he growls, his voice strained. "Come all over my cock"

The knot in your stomach tightens until it finally snaps, pleasure crashing through you so hard your vision turns white. Your back arches off the bed, pressing your chest flush against Jude's as a broken moan tears from your throat. Your thighs clamp around his hips, your body locking up around him as he continues to fuck you through it.

“yes.” he nods.

“good. get her nice and wet for you.” jude commands. the fucking ass is trying to control everything, like normal.

djed does as he’s told, those eyes rolling up to meet yours as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks, his fingers sliding into your wet heat.

it doesn’t take long for you to build up to your release, but like the fucker he is, just as you’re about to come, djed pulls away. groaning, you close your eyes, swearing until your head is turned and a cock is shoved in your mouth. you choke for a second, the underside dragging along your tongue as your eyes flicker open to meet jude’s gaze.

two rough palms trace up your thighs and push them farther open. you want to turn to look at djed, but you can’t, jude is controlling your head, and he isn’t going easy.

he fucks your mouth hard, punishing you. tears fall from your eyes at the force, your throat constricting as you try to breathe through your nose and the panic. only when you relax do you feel djed line up at your pussy.

he rubs his huge cock along your wetness before slamming inside you, making you scream and choke around jude’s cock, who, in punishment, presses your head deeper and doesn’t let you breathe.

it has you clenching around djed, making him groan as he fights your tight pussy.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, his hands clasping your thighs harder as he drags you farther down, your body stretching between them as they take their punishments out on you.

djed fucks you hard and fast, dirty and raw. his cock drags along those nerves that have you groaning around jude’s cock. his dark eyes are locked on you crazily.

“our pretty little girl,” djed murmurs. “you should feel how wet she is,” he tells jude.

“she’s fucking soaked, and every time you hit the back of her throat—oh yeah, like that—she squeezes my cock.”

jude groans, his cock jerking in your mouth but he pulls it out, and you pant as you watch him wrap his hand around it, stroking along his wet length with his eyes still locked on yours. then, he presses the tip to your lips. “suck me down, slut. do it properly.”

you narrow your eyes and reach back to slap him, but he grabs your hand and drags it up your body to cup your own breast. then, he grabs your chin and forces your lips closed around him while djed grips your thigh and starts to move in slow, measured thrusts, which have you reaching out and clutching jude’s thigh.

he groans, and you roll your eyes up to meet his dark, desire-filled orbs as you suck him down.

this has been brewing for the last few hours, and now you’re wild with it, just a ball of desire. needing more, needing everything. needing the pleasure they can give you.

keeping your eyes open and locked on jude, even though they want to close, you suck him down deeper. you feel spit dripping down your chin, but you don’t care. you push your ass back against djed, moaning around jude’s cock as he slams in and out of you.

jude groans, his head dropping back as he starts to thrust into your mouth in quick, hard jabs as he chases his orgasm. sucking him down, you bob your head, faster and faster, in time with djed’s thrusts, all of you locked in this loop of pleasure. djed groans dirty words in your ear, spurring you on, his fingers teasing and flicking your clit until you scream around jude’s cock, everything becoming too much to handle. you try to pull back, but his hand in your hair keeps you there, and he takes over.

using your mouth, abusing it with hard thrusts which have him down your throat, he groans as his hips stutter before his seed fills your mouth. you have no choice but to swallow it, and only then do his fingers untangle from your hair.

“don’t let her come,” jude orders, and you tremble from the force growing inside you. “you don’t get a reward for walking away, slut. take his cock and cum like a good girl, and only when we’re finished will we decide if you get a release or not.”

jude binds your hands while djed pounds into you, so big it’s on the edge of pain. you feel his nails digging into your skin, almost cutting. “fuck, baby,” he growls. you feel his hips stutter, and then he groans, bursting inside you before pulling out. that bastard!

“you fucking assholes,” you rasp, your voice raw as you swallow and lick your lips. jude chuckles and releases your hands, then goes to sit on the sofa. your body aches, and your pussy clenches again and again, so close to coming yet so far away.

they’ve had their fun, now it’s your turn.

you sit up, not even wincing when you feel djed’s cum slipping from you. you meet jude’s gaze. he’s in control here, but he forgets you don’t take orders well.

“you don’t get to control everything, jude,” you murmur, as you crawl towards him. he watches you approach, his lips parting and eyes melting.

you crawl up his legs and slide onto his lap, grabbing his cock and lining up before dropping down on him. he groans, grabbing your hips to still you, to control your movements, but you won’t let him. you want to come, you want to come on his cock, and you take what you want. you rock, lifting and dropping, djed’s cum helping you. it’s a wild, uncontrolled ride until he swears and finally lets go.

djed moves closer, and you turn your head, opening your mouth to him.

he slips his cock inside while his best friend is buried in your pussy.

you’re so goddamn close to coming that when jude leans forward and sucks your nipple into his mouth and you grind down on his cock, you come with a scream around him. they don’t let you pull away though, jude’s hands tighten and move you harder, fucking you now. djed slams in and out of your mouth, their eyes on you as they take what they want. you shake and tremble between them, barely over your release even as another builds.

“fucking hell, slut. you should see yourself. a cock in your mouth and one in your pussy, a fucking masterpiece,” jude grits out, jaw tight, and your eyes shut at the words as you clench around him.

“eyes open, love,” djed snaps. “you will watch us fuck you and fill you with our cum. every goddamn time you try to get away from us, we’ll remind you exactly whom you belong to. this body?” he groans. “is ours. this pussy? ours. never fucking forget that.”

he is now panting, his eyes wild as he stares at you. “darling—fuck.”

you reach up and roll djed’s balls in your hand while you ride jude’s cock.

djed swears, his eyes closing as if in pain. “i’m so fucking close. god, stop—”

but you bloody won’t.

you almost lost this.

lost them.

because of pride and fear.

you suck him harder and squeeze his balls. he whimpers and jerks, thrusting into your mouth before suddenly pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he watches you. your mouth is sore, your lips swollen, and he glares at you.

“we’ll mark you,” djed snarls, and pumps his cock twice more before coming, his cum spraying across your breasts. he groans, and when his eyes open again, he sees his cum on you and he grunts. “fuck, that’s hot.”

running your finger through the mess, you suck your finger into your mouth as you turn and look into jude’s eyes. he was letting you finish with his best friend before all your attention was brought back to him. then, he reminds you why you love his punishments, his pain and fire.

why you love him.

he flips you, bending you over the sofa, your head dangling as he gets to his knees behind you and slams into your pussy. one hand tangles in your hair and yanks your head back as he bites your neck, his cock hard and thick, dragging along those nerves that have you almost screaming and your eyes crossing from the pleasure.

“don’t you ever fucking leave us again,” he demands, voice wild.

“never,” you pant, pushing back to meet his thrusts.

“say it again,” he orders, as he pounds into you.

“never, never, never, jude,” you chant, as he controls your body. you can feel him losing his restraint as he teases your clit, sending you tumbling over that edge. you come with a scream. you can barely feel your body, your eyes darkening, and when you come to, you’re leaning into the sofa with his weight on you and a wetness between your thighs that tells you he came.

jude licks your neck again. “we are nowhere near done. when the sun comes up, you won’t even be able to walk after what we have planned for you.”

he slips from your pussy, and you tumble to the sofa, boneless and sticky but beyond satisfied. your pussy aches, but like he promised, he isn’t done with you.

djed cleans your pussy with soft strokes of a cloth before he tosses it away and his fingers take over, stroking your raw pussy. you try to protest, but he’s slow and gentle, and before you know it, you’re tilting into his fingers again.

he slips two inside you and strokes until you’re panting and rolling your hips up, only then does he drag your legs to the end of the sofa and bury his face there. licking and lapping you, soothing you with his tongue.

“how does she taste, bro?” jude murmurs, and you turn your head to see him watching both of you. he is hard again. dear god.

he groans, licking his lips as he steps closer, making you pant harder.

“like fucking heaven,” djed groans, his hands grabbing you greedily as he consumes you, faster and faster.

“djed,” you whimper, arching up when you felt jude leaning over to touch you.

“she moans so sweetly, doesn’t she?” jude laughs. “what a perfect slut.”

your eyes close at that, you can’t take it, and when jude squeezes your throat, cutting off your air supply, and djed curls his tongue around your clit, you come with a scream, both of them watching you as you writhe in pleasure.

“ready for round two?”

oh shit.

THE LAST time you saw jobe bellingham, you were sixteen. you remembered the room before you remembered the argument.

his bedroom had always carried the faint smell of laundry detergent, football boots and whatever aftershave he’d started wearing because he thought it made him smell older. there were clothes draped over the chair in the corner, a pair of trainers kicked beneath his desk and footballs lined against the wall in various states of disrepair.

the afternoon sunlight had slipped through the gap between his curtains, painting thin golden lines across the carpet.

you’d been sitting on the edge of his bed. he’d been pacing.

that should’ve been your first warning.

jobe only paced when he was nervous, irritated or trying to figure out how to say something without admitting he cared too much.

“you’ve barely spoken to me all week.”

you watched him stop beside his desk. “i’ve been busy.”

“you keep acting like i’m annoying you.”

his jaw tightened.

“you’re not annoying me.”

“you haven’t answered my messages.”

he exhaled through his nose, looking towards the ceiling.

“i can’t do this right now.”

something in your chest sank.

he gestured vaguely between you. “whatever this is.”

you stood slowly. “you mean us?”

he didn’t answer immediately. that silence was worse than anything he could’ve said. you swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i’m not asking you to choose me over football. i just want you to talk to me”

“but every time i don’t have time for you, it becomes a whole thing.”

your mouth fell slightly open. “because i miss you.”

“i can’t keep dealing with that.”

you stared at him. he dragged both hands over his face. he looked tired. genuinely tired. training had clearly taken everything out of him, and for a brief second you almost softened.

then you remembered how many times you’d sat beside him while he talked about his dreams. how you’d listened to every story. every goal. every fear.

you’d never asked him to give any of it up.

you’d only wanted to be somewhere inside his life while he chased it.

“football is getting serious,” he said finally. “i need to focus.”

“okay.”

“i mean it. i need to focus on football. you’re just a waste of energy right now.”

your eyes stung. silence.

even he seemed to realise what he’d done. his shoulders dropped.

“i didn’t mean—”

you picked up your bag. “don’t.” you walked towards the door, eyes wet, but your voice remained frighteningly calm. “you said it.”

jobe stopped. “i can’t forget that.”

then you left. you blocked him before you’d even reached the end of the street. his number disappeared first then along with every other way of contact.

you didn’t give him a chance to apologise because you knew yourself well enough to understand that if you heard him say sorry, you might forgive him. and you couldn’t afford to.

not when the words were still fresh enough to hurt.

FOUR YEARS passed. at twenty, you had a press pass instead of his hoodie around your shoulders. you had deadlines instead of late-night conversations. a notebook filled with tactical observations instead of pages of messages you’d once reread whenever you missed him.

you’d become a sports journalist.

not the kind who sat in a studio shouting opinions across a desk, but the kind who travelled. cold mornings spent standing behind barriers while players warmed up.

you’d built your career quietly, assignment by assignment, until your work began getting noticed by professional clubs.

which was how you ended up standing on the edge of the training pitch at Borussia Dortmund. the morning was grey and cool.

the grass was still damp from an earlier shower, tiny beads of water catching against the blades whenever the players ran past. the air smelled faintly of wet earth and fresh-cut grass, mixed with the sharp scent of sports tape and whatever the groundskeepers used on the pitch.

you had your notebook tucked beneath your arm, your press credentials hanging neatly from your neck.

you were writing the time when you heard laughter coming from the pitch. you looked up. and everything inside you went still.

jobe.

for a moment, you didn’t recognise him, not because he’d changed beyond recognition but because he’d changed in all the small ways that mattered.

he was taller. broader.

his face had lost the softer edges of sixteen and settled into something sharper, more mature. his hair was different. his movements were more confident. there was a calmness in the way he carried himself that hadn’t existed when you’d known him.

but his eyes were the same.

you knew them immediately.

your pen stopped against the paper.

four years vanished. you were sixteen again.

jobe had looked across the pitch and he had seen you. his movement faltered.

his eyes stayed on you longer than they should’ve, you immediately looked down. professional.

you were here for work. not him.

you inhaled slowly and wrote something in your notebook—or at least you tried to. you wrote three words before realising you’d stopped paying attention again.

because you could feel him, his eyes kept finding you across the pitch.

once, you glanced up and caught him already looking for a second, everything around you seemed strangely distant. you could hear your own heartbeat far too clearly then you looked away.

you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d affected you. except he already knew.

because your notebook was practically useless you had written down fragments of information that made no sense together. this was ridiculous. you had experienced major things but a boy you had history with reduced your brain to static.

when training ended you packed your equipment slowly. you could hear footsteps approaching from behind.

“you really don’t remember me?”

your fingers tightened around your pen. that voice.

you turned, jobe stood a few feet away. his training shirt was slightly damp from the session, curls pushed back from his forehead. his breathing hadn’t completely settled, and there was a faint flush across his face from training.

but his expression wasn’t confident. if anything, he looked uncertain.

“i remember you.” his eyes searched your face.

“right.” you slipped your notebook into your bag.

he looked down for a moment. “it’s been four years.”

“sure has!” you sighed heavy.

jobe swallowed. “i was sixteen too.”

“so was i.”

he looked away. “were you ever going to let me explain?”

“your really doing this right now?” four years had taught you that apologies didn’t erase memories. you adjusted your bag over your shoulder. “i have to go.”

for the first time in four years, jobe bellingham was left standing somewhere without knowing how to follow you.

THE INCIDENT happened so quickly that you barely had time to process it. one second, you were standing near the edge of the stadium, notebook tucked beneath your arm, listening to someone explain what had happened.

the next, something sticky and cold splashed across your clothes.

you froze. a few nearby people gasped, but you barely heard them.

heat rushed to your face as you looked down at yourself, humiliation burning beneath your skin. you didn’t wait for anyone to ask if you were alright. you turned and hurried through the nearest corridor, your shoes echoing against the concrete floor.

the stadium suddenly felt enormous. you pushed through the door marked showers and stepped inside. the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their pale reflection stretching across the mirrors. water dripped steadily from one of the showerheads somewhere behind you, each drop amplified by the tiled walls.

you stood in front of the sink, breathing unevenly. then you turned the tap on, cold water rushed over your hands. you splashed it over your face, trying to wash away the lingering embarrassment. you wiped at your clothes, sighing when the stain refused to disappear.

then you heard footsteps.

slow.

distinct.

echoing through the empty corridor.

you froze. you knew those footsteps. you looked up. in the mirror, you saw him.

for several seconds, neither of you spoke. then he walked towards you. his reflection grew closer until he was standing a few feet behind you.

you turned around. “what are you doing here?”

his expression was different from earlier. “i need you to let me explain.”

you looked away. “jobe—”

“i could’ve done everything differently. i know that. i know i hurt you, and i know saying i was sixteen doesn’t magically make it okay. i was angry, i was overwhelmed, and i said the worst thing i could’ve possibly said to the person who was actually there for me.”

you stayed silent. “you never let me explain after that. you blocked me, and honestly, i deserved some of it. but i spent years wondering if you knew how sorry i was.” his voice cracked slightly. “i thought about you constantly. every time something good happened, i wanted to tell you. every time something went wrong, you were still the person i thought about calling.”

your eyes finally met his.

“and when i saw you here…i realised four years hadn’t changed that.” the room seemed impossibly quiet.

“fuck i still i love you,” he said.

your breath caught, you stared at him. there were so many things you wanted to say. but none of them came out.

instead, you stepped closer. jobe looked at you carefully, almost as if he was afraid to move. “you hurt me,” you whispered.

“i know.”

“a lot.”

“and i’m a jerk for it .”

you looked at him for another second. then you closed the distance. the kiss was soft and hesitant, almost uncertain at first, like neither of you quite believed you were finally standing here after four years of silence. jobe’s hand gently rested against your cheek, you felt his palm, deepening the kiss.

you pulled away first, nose in touch with his. “i never forgot about this. about us.” your voice cracked. “i miss you. i need you” you admitted unabashed.

“show me that you need me. prove it to me.” he commanded, breath nipping at your skin.

it was then the air shifted, every space shrunk and it felt like it was just the two of yous. your hand slid around his waist, fingers tracing the hard planes of his abdomen before dipping lower. he didn’t turn. didn’t speak. but his breath hitched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock, already half-hard.

“i’ve never done anything like this” I murmured, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “fuck. you better take good care of me”

jobe exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that was half groan, half curse. he didn’t answer, but his hips rolled back into my touch, urging you on. you stroked him slow, savoring the way his body responded even after all this time—like youd never been apart. your other hand slid up to palm his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingers.

“fuck. answer me” you whispered, my voice rough with need. “yes, fuck yes. just keep going your doing so well y/n”

his head dropped back against your shoulder, sweat cascading over his forehead. a shudder ran through him as you tightened your grip, twisting just enough to make his knees buckle. He bit his lip—hard—but didn’t make a sound. smart man.

you dropped to your knees beneath him, the tile cold against your skin, and took him into your mouth. the first taste of him was electric, salty and new. he groaned, low and desperate, his fingers flexing against the wall like he was trying to anchor himself. you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deep before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the head.

“fuck— are you sure this is your first time? your doing so good.” the words tore from him in a hiss, his body jerking forward before he caught himself. his free hand shot out, slamming against the wall to keep from making more noise. you smirked around his cock, savoring the way his thighs trembled.

you pulled off just enough to speak, voice a filthy whisper. “is this your first?”

“mhm. fuck. i’ve only done t-this stuff by myself. shit i didn’t know it felt this good” he made a choked sound, his hips stuttering forward. you took him deeper, gagging slightly on his length, but you didn’t care. you wanted him to lose control. wanted him to forget every reason why you’d ever been apart.

his cock pulsed against your tongue, his breath coming in ragged bursts. you could feel him fighting it, trying to hold back, but you werent having that. you reached around, fingers finding his balls, rolling them gently before giving them a firm tug.

“come on, baby,” you coaxed, your lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the head. “give it to me.”

that did it.

jobe’s entire body tensed, his hips snapping forward as he came with a muffled shout. hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat, and you swallowed every last drop, milking him through it until he was trembling, his cock twitching against your tongue.

you licked him clean before pulling back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. he relaxed finally, his eyes dark with lust and something else—something raw and aching. you stood, pressing your body against his, and kissed him hard, letting him taste himself on your lips

“did i do okay?”

jobe huffed a laugh, his hands gripping your hips. “You’re a fucking menace.”

you grinned, fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest. “you love it”

he didn’t argue. just kissed you again, slower this time, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. you moaned into his mouth as he lifted you, legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed your back against the wall.

“i need you inside me, be gentle” you breathed, your nails raking down his back.

jobe didn’t need to be told twice.

he lined himself up, his cock already hard again, and pushed inside in one gentle thrust. I gasped, my head falling back against the tile as he filled me completely. He was slow but desperate, trying so hard to be soft for you, his mouth hot on your neck as he fucked you against the tiled wall.

“fuck, you feel good,” he growled, his hips snapping forward. “like you were made for this.”

you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair. “just for you.”

he came with a groan, his cock pulsing deep inside. you came right after the last thrust, body clenching around him as pleasure crashed over in waves.

when you finally pulled apart, breathless and sated, jobe rested his forehead against yours. “did we both lose it in a stadium?”

the once muffled chatter, comes to life as you pad across the plush carpets to the restroom. you could hear the clinking of glasses, clattering of silverware against plates, and mostly males laughing at whatever was said.

this was a daily occurrence in your family household. your fathers influence in the realm of Spanish football was so high, and it was an honor to be invited to one of his prestigious meals. but all they ever were to his family, was an annoyance of being coped in tight quarters and walking on egg shells.

though there was one excitement to this particular dinner. your boyfriend, Kylian, was one of the attendees, and maybe that was the reason the pen never met the paper for notes.

carefully closing the restroom door behind you, you turn to face the mirror and nearly screech at the sight of the light skinned man leaning against the glass shower door.

“what if my mother walked in instead of me?” you whirl around to face him, an eyebrow cocked at him.

the cocky smirk on his face was enough to create an itch to smack him. leaning off the glass, he wraps his large palms around your hips, “your mum has been asleep for ages.”

swallowing the thick saliva building in the back of your throat, you nod. you’re sure your father made it known none of his family members were allowed to interfere with the dinner, but that didn’t stop Kylian from “wandering” off to the upstairs restroom where he knew he’d find you.

he knew this place like the back of his hand. though he was used to seeing this place dimly lit, and was often sneaking up and down stairs at the crack of dawn, he knew his way up to you. he knew every nook and cranny because he’d done far worse things than the stories that they bore.

“so why are you up here?” you whisper gently. your fingers trace the buttons down his white dress shirt, fingers aching to fly the buttons open and reveal his abdomen and strength of his muscles.

“I think you know why.” the words were faint across your skin, his lips sink into the crook of your neck without much of a warning, leaving you gasping for air.

gripping backwards at the cool metal countertops, you steady yourself in his grip and allow his lips to trail your exposed skin.

Kylian’s long fingers tug on the collar of your shirt over your collarbone and expose more warm flesh to his lips. he ached for you, it was impossible for him to be in the same house as you and know you were hidden from him.

it made all the waiting more fun but damn near impossible. every second the clock ticked he knew the more drunk the lads got, the easier it would be to sneak off. so that’s what he did, he waited until bottles of wine were near empty and he bolted for the stairs that led him to you.

“spread for me.” he grunts as he hoists your bum up to the edge of the counter, and you obey. legs spreading open, he yanks off the panties that held you together.

sinking down to his knees, his fingers dance along the skin of your inner thighs like a tease. your body twitches under his touch, goosebumps spreading along your skin to show his work.

he could hear the uneven breath of air rising and falling out of your mouth above him. it was erratic.

his finger drifts across your folds and a whine echoes across the walls from you. looking up at you from his trance, his brown eyes swim with longing, “shut up and take it.” he demands.

his fingers pry you open with ease. you pulse around him, nearly falling back against the sink and mirror, but his free hand grips one of your hips tight like glue.

his fingers pump a slow and long rhythm. feeling you tighten and clench around him made his cock in his pants tighten across the harsh fabric of his boxers.

your attempts to being silent were adoring to him. the occasional whimper that left your lips were because it was impossible to keep yourself quiet. kylian was teasing you with his fingers. he was stretching you and taking you inch by inch like time wasn’t a problem on your hands.

riding the high of his fingers, you rock your hips forward off the counter. the feeling across his fingers was a sensation he’d never expected. it was like seeing stars in daylight: rare. he felt the thumping of blood in his cock making it harder for him to contain himself.

pulling his fingers out was a choice he knew he had to make to save himself, and by the look on your face he knew his mistake, but he couldn’t risk looking pussy whipped with boxers full of cum in front of your father.

“you bastard.” you pant. shoving your foot into his chest you watch him tumble backward against the tile of the bathroom floor.

looking up at you, he watches you jump down from the sink and lower yourself down towards him. like an animal catching its prey, he surrenders to you and lets you finish him off.

your pussy grinds against his lap, the wetness leaves a spot across his crotch that he just doesn’t care about in the moment, he just lays there with his head thrown back against the cool tile and lets you rock yourself against his hard-on.

“you don’t get to leave me like this.” you whisper in your uneven breathing that makes you sound like a voice in his head.

just nodding, he feels the precum oozing around him, the threat of the real thing creates panic across his nervous system, but he lets it happen. he doesn’t hold back like he was going to, and lets you have him entirely.

“how do I explain to your father what you did to me?” he asks, looking down at the mess on the crotch of his pants.

“fuck, baby— pussy’s squeezing me like it wants every drop,” he rasped, hips snapping forward. the wet slap of skin filled the room, your slick coating his shaft and dripping down your ass. he smelled like sweat mixed with the cologne he wore, his breath hot on your neck. “i know we’re too young for this shit— know it. but goddamn, the way you milk me— like your cunt’s begging for my cum.”

you moaned, thighs trembling around his waist. his grip tightened, one hand sliding down to thumb your clit in rough circles. pleasure shook, harsh and rough, your inner walls fluttering around him. jobe’s eyes darkened, jaw clenched as he fought the urge.

“can’t pull out,” he growled, thrusting harder, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every stroke. “feels too fucking good. your tight little hole’s gripping me, sucking me deeper. wanna breed you, baby. fill this pussy up till it’s leaking my load. tell me you want it.”

his voice cracked with raw need, hips stuttering. you felt every ridge of him dragging against your sensitive flesh, the wet squelch of your juices mixing with his pre-cum. sweat slicked your skin where your bodies met, the air thick with the scent of sex. inside, your mind spun, too young, too reckless, but the thought of him claiming you like this made your cunt clench harder.

“please,” he begged, voice rough, “let me knock you up. can’t stop. your pussy’s too perfect, milking my cock like it owns me. gonna cum so deep— fuck, take it.”

he slammed in one final time, cock throbbing as hot ropes of cum flooded your womb. his body shuddered over yours, breath ragged, still whispering filthy pleas even as he emptied himself completely.

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

He won most of the time.

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

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

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

And lastly, there was Jude.

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

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

But even so, you did it. 

Just once.

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

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

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

Everything changed after that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jude broke records from his very first match. 

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

Jobe and you watched all of it.

You from the stands. Jobe from the bench.

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

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

You were on your way home when Jobe called you. 

“Meet me at the tree”

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

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

“He's moving to Germany” he said.

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

“Mom's going with him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were the last person to say goodbye.

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

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

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

“Good luck” you murmured; vision blurred.

Jude hugged you before the tears wet your cheeks.

“I'm going to miss you” he whispered.

The knot inside your chest tightened a little more.

“Me too.”

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

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

Like always.

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

“We're going to be there” you said.

Jude nodded.

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

“I’ll wait for you.”

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

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

“Let’s go, champ.”

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

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

You nodded, carrying the heaviest flower in the world.

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

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

“I don't know why he did it”

“Amiga (girl), you know it”

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

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

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

Simply no.

You thought about that the whole night.

Until a rock hit your window.

And then another.

And another.

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

“Bet you can't catch me, shortcake.”

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

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

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

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

The morning breeze filled your lungs.

“I know.”

“What do you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, after dinner, your phone unexpectedly rang.

It was him.

“Hey.”

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

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

“Hey Jude” you sang, still happy. 

His laugh tickled your ear. 

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

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

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

“It's been like this for months.” 

“You didn't tell me” Jude complained.

Dramatic boy, as always. 

“You didn't ask.”

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

“How was your day?” he asked.

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

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

This Bellingham's smile was outrageous.

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

“We're very happy for you, you know?”

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

“I know,” he exhaled. 

“You're doing incredible things.” 

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

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

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

Obviously, smartass, they're siblings.

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

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

The accusation made you laugh.

“You play in Germany, Jude.”

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

“Enough with my hair, please”

“You look pretty.”

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

“Shouldn't you be sleeping, Bellingham?”

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

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

“About what?”

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

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

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

“Why?”

“Because you're not here.”

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

 “Would you like me to be?”

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

“Good night, Bellingham.”

You hung up before it was too late.

Too late for what?

You didn’t want to answer yourself.

2023 would be a different year.

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

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

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

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

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

Not bad. Not good. Just… different.

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

No.

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

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

It was too much for one night.

And it was also only the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jobe’s voice was deep too.

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

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

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

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

Yes, that voice was an absolute torture.

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

“Yeah?” he teased.

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

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

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

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

You lost your breath completely.

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

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

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

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

A small gasp escaped your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was his achievement.

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

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

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

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

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

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

“I told you!” you shouted at him.

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

Because he was writing his own story.

And because he had you in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

No.

You didn't just think that.

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

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

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

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

“Jobe!” Someone shouted in the distance.

You both separated in an instant.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” the intruder asked you.

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

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

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

That happiness lasted exactly 20 days.

Only 20 days.

20 sunrises.

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

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

Real Madrid.

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

Jobe shook his head.

“I wish I were fucking kidding you”

“You’re fucking kidding me, Samuel.”

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

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

“The fucking Real Madrid.”

Jobe nodded.

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

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

“One hundred and three million”

The air caught in your throat.

“Pounds?”

Jobe shook his head.

“Euros” he sighed.

“Dear fucking lord.”

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

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

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

You hated it because you loved him so much.

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

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

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

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

Two sharp stars.

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

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

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

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

The interruption was imminent. So was his distance. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?” he whispered.

You agreed, without stopping kissing him. 

“Too much.” 

Too proud. Too attached. 

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

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

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

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

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

You hugged him closer to you. 

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

“Are you sure?” he murmured. 

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

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

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

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

“Fuck” he muttered through gritted teeth. 

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

And then lower. 

Lower.

And lower.

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

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

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

“Who’s?” you asked, still breathless.

Jobe’s chest vibrated.

“It’s mom.”

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

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

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

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

Their happiness was outrageous.

Tender.

Contagious.

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

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

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

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

“My best friend is Spanish.”

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

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

“You didn't ask.”

One of your lips ended up caught between your teeth.

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

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

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

“Why?” you asked, cynically. 

Jude tortured you again with a deep laugh. 

“Why, William?” you insisted. 

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

Dangerous.

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

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

“Fine, but I choose which medal.”

You took the easy way out, the provocation.

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

“The Champions League one.”

Jude almost moaned in response.

“You want the whole cake, greedy little thing”

That was an accusation that made your face flush. 

“I didn't start this.”

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

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

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

“That's fair.”

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

And that’s exactly what he did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go with me.”

“No.”

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

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

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

“I just don’t want to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes accused her.

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

“Jobe doesn't…”

Maria raised her hand, silencing you.

“Let's have some fun.”

You nodded.  

Just fun. Nothing more.

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

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

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

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

With a perfect smile and adidas outfits.

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

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

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

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

This was different.

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

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

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

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

You shook your head.

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

He didn't want to come.

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

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

Jude shook his head, laughing.

“I don't think so.”

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

“A break?” Jude asked, frowning.

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

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

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

Jude wet his lips.

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

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

Maria noticed it. You noticed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re kidding.”

Jude smiled.

“Only if you want.”

You rolled your eyes again. 

Maria took pictures and also asked him for an autograph. 

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

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

“Then she has a good brother.” 

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

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

“I don’t think…” 

Maria, once again, butted in. 

“We’d love to go.”

It was not a good idea.

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

Not for what was happening in front of you.

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

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

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

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

Maria laughed.

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

“That's better.”

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

No.

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

Maria laughed again.

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

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

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

Not after having make out with his brother.

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

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

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

“You should give your medal to Denise.”

Jude maintained his athletic stance.

“That was my original idea, but…”

You stopped him.

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

“But…” He tried to move closer.

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

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

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

“This is wrong, Jude.”

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jude” you threatened.

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

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

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

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

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

You savored his silence longer than you should have.

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

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

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

“See you tomorrow, shortcake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your best friend straightened her posture.

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

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

The man laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth felt dry.

“I have to look for Denise.”

She stopped you.

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

The field began to empty out.

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

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

What paralyzed you was something very different.

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

Shit.

“It is.”

Shit.

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

The area where you were. 

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

Shit.

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

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

“I need water.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so happy for you… for Jude.”

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

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

“Shortcake.”

You smiled more relaxed.

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

“Idiot” you hit his chest, laughing.

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

“I missed you” he confessed, suddenly.

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

You touched his cheek.

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

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

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

“Finally” you heard Mark say.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s better” the younger brother muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maria burst out laughing.

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

“I don’t fucking believe you”

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

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

“Let’s get out of here, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What's wrong with it?”

María refused.

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

She ended up lending you one of her dresses.

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

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

Subtle.

Dangerously subtle.

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

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

She took you by the shoulders.

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

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

The older brother of…

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

“Maria!”

Your best friend kissed your cheek while laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Congrats, champ” you shouted into his ear.

His arms wrapped around you.

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

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

You knew it.

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

“I promised you.”

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

“Asshole” you insulted him, smiling.

Jude laughed, without letting you go.

“Toast with me.”

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

It was only the first one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck” he choked out a moan.

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

Until you felt it.

And, Dear Lord, he was huge.

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

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

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

“You're trying to kill me” Jude said.

You were trying to kill him. Not him.

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

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

“Kiss me, Jude.”

His lips parted slightly.

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

Torture.

That’s what soccer was to you.

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

“I can’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Please” you begged “kiss me.”

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

“Fuck” he gasped, “fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Ah”

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

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

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

“Not here” he declared “Let's go.”

“But your celebration…”

He silenced you.

“It just started.”

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

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

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

“This is wrong” he muttered. 

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

His gasp tasted like lemon to you.

“Stop teasing me, baby”

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

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

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

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

Jude cursed.

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

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

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

“What about you?”

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

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

The correction arched your back.

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

You stopped breathing and your pussy clenched around nothing.

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

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

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

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

Jude shook his head.

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

You bit both lips, not wanting to answer him.

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

“So fucking beautiful.”

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

“Jude, fuck.”

Your vision blurred.

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

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

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

The answer came out as a sigh.

“Five.”

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

“You are on two, baby.”

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

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

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

“Three” he said.

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

Jude staggered backward, smirk still in his lips.

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

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

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

He caught his lower lip between his teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

Inside. On top. Behind. Beneath.

Everywhere.

“Don't hold back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hardened dick felt the wetness of your entrance.

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

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

“Jude” you moaned.

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

The intrusion choked you.

“Fuck.”

It was too much.

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

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

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

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

Four.

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

It heated your face.

It burned your pussy.

It drowned your breath.

“I’m close” Jude growled.

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

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

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

Where there were no green trees, nor open fields.

Only roses.

.

.

.

.

After a long day at the beach with your friends, fine grains of sand still clung to your overly warm shoulders, which were slightly burnt under the relentless Greek sun. The group had just made it back to the hotel and went straight to your room, while a few of the girls ducked inside for refreshing showers or popped open cans of icy soda, you slipped out onto the small balcony, phone in hand, checking your unread texts.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, but before you could read the rest of them, Jules was already leaning into your space, trying to pull the device out of your hand.

“What are you up to over there, sneaky link?” She teased. “Is that Jude?”

Giggling, you tightened your grip and pulled the phone away, but Rue swooped in from your other side and plucked it from your fingers with ease.

“So Jude’s the chosen one now?” Rue asked, handing the phone back with a playful tap to your sand-dusted hip. “Does that mean Michael is available for new situationships?”

“No! He’s just spending some time in London with his mom this summer,” you protested, feeling a rush of heat creep up your neck and to your cheeks. “Back off, we’re still very much a thing.”

“Girl, that’s a level of greed worse than the devil himself!” Cassy yelled from the bathroom, stepping out in a cool summer dress, ready for some late night drinks.

“It’s not evil if they both like it,” you giggled, thumbs flying across the screen as you typed a reply to Jude.

“Right. They like it because they don’t know about each other, but we love your greedy little mind, girlie,” Jules laughed, heading back into the room to check your closet. “Props to you for getting Jude to fly all the way to Mykonos just to spend time with you, though.”

Jude had actually been spending his summer in Italy, but the second he found out you were just a short flight away, he hopped on a plane to meet you. It was supposed to be an all-girls euro trip—no boy problems or men bothering your lives—but you couldn’t bring yourself to complain when both of your secret boyfriends were practically drooling over you and willing to do anything you asked. Even if that meant flying into Greece just for a taste of summer with you.

Later that afternoon, the heavy Mykonos air still lingered in your skin, giving you a warm, permanent glow. After a long year of working your ass off for an annoying boss—pulled into overtime as if you didn't have a hundred clubs to be at—it all finally felt worth it, twirling the pink cocktail in your glass and batting your lashes at the gorgeous guy sitting across from you.

Jude was telling a story about his upcoming season at Real Madrid and how excited he was to reunite with his teammates after the World Cup. You nodded along, biting the tip of a manicured nail between glossy lips and flashing a flirty smile every time he laughed at his own jokes.

Underneath the table, however, your thumb was quickly typing across your screen, hidden from the warm brown eyes that couldn't seem to leave your face. If only he knew who was waiting in your DMs.

@ prettybaby : omg I literally can’t find any aloe vera in this town, not how i wanted my euro trip to go, it’s over for me mick ×_×

@ m.olise : can’t change the weather babe, should’ve put more sunscreen

@ prettybaby : but I did goddamn it >< I just can’t reach my back, guess I need some help with that ^^

@ m.olise : how about my pretty girl stops whining and gets her cream delivery with me? waiting for u at ur hotel ;) couldn’t stay away from u for too long <3

You swallowed your fruity cocktail way too fast and started choking. Jude’s eyes widened with concern, forehead frowning like a cartoon as you coughed into your napkin, hastily flipping your phone face-down onto the table.

“Cheeks, you okay? Want me to grab you some water?”

You shook your head quickly, gently placing your hand over his as he reached toward you, and dangerously close to your phone.

“I’m fine, thanks Juju,” you croaked out, trying to recover your composure. “Just read a text from my mom. Thought something bad happened for a second.”

“Oh, is she alright?” Jude asked, his voice dropping into a lower tone as a teasing smirk curled his full lips. “You know, I’m still waiting for you to take her to a match or invite me to a family lunch so I can properly meet her.”

“Soon. You need to be patient, love,” you purred back.

But the sweat suddenly slicking your back had nothing to do with the Mediterranean heat anymore. You loved Jude, it was fun, low-pressure, and completely unlabelled, but now your other guy had just crash-landed right into the middle of your getaway, ready to complicate things in the best and worst way possible.

—

Jude walked you back toward your hotel with his fingers loosely intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. The night air had cooled down, but his palm was warm and far too distracting. He was laughing about a joke one of his English teammates had pulled during training, completely unaware of the absolute panic rising in your chest with every step closer to your lobby.

As you rounded the final corner, the lit glass doors of your hotel came into view, along with a tall and unmistakable silhouette leaning casually against the wall.

Michael was dressed in a tight tank top, hands shoved into his pockets, casually scrolling on his phone. In about ten seconds, Jude would look up, see him, and recognize him instantly.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Thinking fast, you yanked Jude by his hand, sharply pulling him to the left into a dimly lit, narrow alleyway between two stone buildings.

“Whoa, Cheeks—” Jude stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but before he could finish his sentence, you threw your arms around his neck, pressed him up against the cool brick wall and brought your lips to his.

Jude melted instantly, a soft moan escaping him against your mouth before his large hands found your waist, lifting you slightly off your feet to pull you flush against him. The kiss was deep, slow and completely intoxicating, exactly the kind of distraction you needed to keep his eyes anywhere but the main street.

He turned your back to the stones and caged your body, pulling back just an inch, his breathing heavy and lips slightly swollen. His large hands slid down to your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Jude murmured, his voice low and raspy, a seductive grin spreading across his face, “but what got into you all of a sudden?”

“Just missed you,” you breathed out, running your fingers through his curls and pulling him back down before he could look over his shoulder. “Couldn’t wait until we got inside.”

Jude chuckled against your neck, pressing a row of warm kisses along your jawline, completely oblivious to the anxiety crawling under your skin. His hands slid down to your waist slowly gathering the hem of your dress, hooking his fingers on your lace underwear and pulling it down your legs as he carefully knelt in front of you.

The alley was shrouded in shadows, casting long silhouettes against the white walls where no one could see Jude’s tongue meet your wet core. A breathless gasp escaped your lips at his bold move, though it gave you the perfect window to call for backup.

While keeping one shaky hand tangled in Jude’s hair as his lips sunk deeper, you blindly reached into your purse, slid your phone out, and sent a rushed text to the group chat.

[ girls trip 🍸 ] @ you : get michael off the lobby rn!!!!!!

Inside the lobby, Rue’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, eyes going wide as she nudged Jules and Cassy, who were just talking with some locals.

The three girls immediately bolted through the glass doors, putting on their best act of surprise as they almost ran into Michael.

“Michael!” Jules gasped, stepping right into his line of sight. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

Michael blinked, sliding his phone into his pocket and looking at them with a relaxed smirk. “Looking for your girl. Said she needed some soothing cream, so I brought the whole package.” He held up a small green tube between two fingers.

“Aren’t you the sweetest?” Cassy chimed in, trying to snatch the tube out of his hand, but he smoothly pulled it back out of reach. “ She actually started feeling super sick after the beach this afternoon! Sunstroke, you know? She’s been under a cold shower for like half an hour. We were just coming down to get her some water!”

Michael raised an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly to the side. “She texted me fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well, I think we’re all getting affected by it—Greek heat just hits different,” Rue added smoothly, placing a firm hand on his arm to gently steer him back toward the street. “She was delirious. Kept talking a bunch of nonsense.”

“Right,” Michael said softly, a knowing, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses despite it being dark. “Tell her she owes me one and to meet her delivery guy later, then.”

“Will do, Michael! Enjoy your stay!” Jules chirped, waving frantically as he finally turned and began strolling down the stone street.

Michael paused for a fraction of a second, his shades darting toward the shadowy alley just a few feet away, where a faint murmur and the rustle of clothes barely registered over the distant crashing of ocean waves, before he kept walking.

Meanwhile in the alley, you nearly melted in the heat of Jude’s tongue sliding over your sensitive core, his full lips and the rough stubble of his jaw rasping deliciously against your inner thighs. The knot in your lower stomach pulled impossibly tight as he drank you in, his rhythm quickening until your hand flew to your mouth as a muffled climax broke over you.

Right as the wave washed over your skin, you felt your phone vibrate inside your purse. With a breathy laugh, Jude slowly drew back from your trembling thighs, standing back up to wrap his toned arms snugly around your waist. You rested your forehead against his chest, still catching your breath.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, lover boy,” you whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before leading him out of the dark alleyway.

You parted ways at the corner, Jude heading back to his hotel with a satisfied grin, while you headed straight into the lobby to cool down and get ready for your next round.

—

It was nearly midnight when you finally arrived at Michael’s hotel. With one quick call to the concierge, he instructed them to send you straight up. A cool night breeze swept through the quiet corridors until you reached his door and gave a soft knock.

When Michael opened it, he greeted you with that familiar half-lidded gaze and a dark smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He wore nothing but a pair of navy shorts hanging low on his hips, leaving his carved chest on full display. Before you could even process the view, his arms were already around your waist.

“Are you crazy? What are you even doing here?” you giggled against his warm skin as you wrapped your arms firmly around his neck. He lifted you off your feet effortlessly, kicking the door shut behind you. “I thought you were staying in London.”

“Do I need an appointment to see you now?” His lips found the sensitive skin right below your ear, tracing a trail of damp kisses up to your jaw until they met your parted lips. “I barely get to see you during the season, and when we’re finally on vacation, you try to shut me out?”

“You were the one visiting your mom,” you murmured against his mouth as he placed you onto the plush mattress, hovering over you and framing your heated face with his hands planted on either side of your head. “And this is a girls' trip, Mick. No boys allowed.”

“Sure. Tell that to the Greek guy Cassy was flirting with in the lobby.” Michael leaned down for another lingering kiss, one hand sliding possessively down to your hips.

“What? She didn’t tell us about that—”

Your words caught in your throat as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your skimpy summer dress, only to find that your underwear was already missing and your folds were damp and waiting for him.

A wicked grin spread across his face when he pulled back slightly, kneeling between your knees to take in the view of you bare spread before him.

“You’re insane,” he murmured, his voice dropping in a dangerously low tone.

“Not as insane as you are for me,” you teased back, sliding your palm over the defined shape straining against his shorts. With a fluid motion, you tugged the fabric down his thighs, letting him kick them aside as your fingers wrapped tightly around his hardened length.

“Well, look who isn’t that nonchalant anymore,” you purred, eyes hooding as your fingertips brushed his round tip, stroking the warm, pulsing heat of his skin.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, pressing you back against the bed. He caught your ankles, lifting your legs onto his broad shoulders as he aligned himself against your entrance.

Michael pushed inside with a smooth pressure, stretching you completely. A sharp gasp escaped you at the sudden fullness, his hands gripping your waist with that heavy and unyielding strength he usually reserved for match days.

The pace he set was relentless as always, hips driving into yours with deep and rhythmic thrusts, burying himself entirely as your walls clamped tightly around him, sending every nerve ending into overdrive. The bed groaned beneath the friction, the room filled only with heavy breathing and the slick sound of skin on skin.

Just as the knot in your lower stomach threatened to snap and pull you both over the edge, a harsh buzzing noise rattled against the nightstand. Your phone.

Michael’s dark eyes flicked toward the screen in annoyance. He reached out to grab it and see who was interrupting his moment, but your hand shot out, reaching his wrist just in time. You guided his hand down to your chest and pulled his head back down into a bruising kiss, sliding your legs off his shoulders to lock them tightly around his waist instead.

His chest damp with sweat pressed against yours as he hit that deep spot a few more times, his breathing ragged until he finally released his load, sinking his weight into you with a low groan. Exhausted, he rolled onto his side, throwing one forearm over his eyes as his chest heaved.

Totally ruined, but capitalizing on the brief distraction, you casually reached over to the nightstand, checking the unread messages and missed call. A mischievous smirk played on your lips as the chat popped up.

@ judebellingham : i can’t stop thinking about earlier baby ♡_♡ gonna meet some friends tomorrow for dinner, need u there cheeks

@ prettybaby : getting addicted to me so fast ;) me and the girls were planning on skinny dipping at the beach, but i can make some time for you xoxo

@ judebellingham : i might be the one to ditch my homies after that... god you’re driving me insane <3

“Who was that?” Michael mumbled, turning onto his side to nuzzle his face into the curve of your neck.

You immediately flipped the phone face-down onto the sheets before he could catch a glimpse. “Just my mom. Checking if I’m eating properly.” You slid closer into his arms, resting your head against his chest.

He let out a low, unconvinced hum. “You’re living on pink cocktails and beach snacks—you’ll survive. And I’ll pretend I actually believe that was your mom.” He took a deep breath, pressing a soft kiss into your bare shoulder.

“You don’t believe me?” Your voice dripped with sweet mock innocence.

“I don’t believe we still aren’t official, babe.” Michael shifted, his intense gaze locking onto yours, knocking the remaining air straight out of your lungs.

“We’re a secret thing for now,” you giggled softly, tracing a finger down his collarbone.

For tonight, Michael let it slide, partly from exhaustion, and partly because of how breathtaking you looked tangled in his hotel sheets, entirely his in the dark. But the secret was stretching thin, and deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d be forced to choose between your two intoxicating options.

—

Over the next few days, your hedonistic summer routine started looking dangerously like your day job, with packed schedules, overlapping agendas, and tight meeting times. Using every bit of your organizational skills, you managed to alternate dates between the two of them day and night. But Mykonos was a small island, and there was only so much your body could take after having your legs thoroughly wrecked every night.

On the day before your departure back to reality, you decided to spend the afternoon with Michael on a quiet beach. The sun was low over the horizon, painting the sky in a blue and orange gradient as the bustling night crowd began flooding the streets.

You and Michael sat together on the warm sand, debating whether to slip into the nearby alleys for cocktails without alerting the paparazzi, or head straight back to his hotel room where he’d undoubtedly ruin you until you fell asleep in his arms.

His fingers traced your shoulder softly before coming to a stop.

“You know… you were complaining so much about being burned, but it doesn’t really look that bad,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes glued to the calm ocean waves. “I might’ve overreacted a little bit. And you brought me that magic cream, didn’t you? My lifesaver.”

Michael chuckled softly, completely oblivious to the fact that Jude had been religiously smoothing sunscreen over every inch of your body since the day he arrived. And right on cue, a familiar voice called out from behind you on the sand.

“Care to explain what’s going on here?” Both you and Michael whipped your heads around toward the sharp tone.

Jude stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, staring down at the two of you. Heat flushed straight up to your face. “Nothing! We were just talking!” Dropping all pretense of playing it cool, you immediately shuffled away from Michael, which only made you look guiltier. “Jude, what are you even doing here?”

“I have a better question,” Jude said, stepping closer. “What is he doing here?”

“We’re—” Michael began, turning to look at your rapidly panicking expression.

“Talking! Just talking,” you cut in, your voice sweet, though the slight breathlessness in your chest instantly gave you away. “Jude, how about we talk about this later? I’ll finish up here and meet you in a bit, okay?”

“Nah, why wait?” Jude sneered, locking eyes with Michael. “I’d love to catch up with my bro. Having a good summer vacation, Olise?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed into a dark glare. “How long have you been here?”

“Two weeks,” Jude rasped,  the exact amount of time you had told Michael you were spending on your girls-only getaway.

Michael let out a bitter laugh. “I fucking knew it.” He stood up from the sand where he’d been cuddling with you just minutes ago. “You know what? Go back to the hotel with him and enjoy the rest of your trip together.”

“No! Michael, wait!” Before he could take a step away, you scrambled up and grabbed his wrist. But as you reached for him, you saw Jude turn on his heel to walk away, too. Driven by pure desperation, you reached out with your other hand and caught Jude’s fingers, stretching yourself between the two of them like a human tug-of-war. “Please don't go, Jude!”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look right now?” Michael snapped, trying to shake off your grip, though his hold remained stubbornly loose.

“Are you both really going to throw away everything we spent together?” You pleaded, tightening your hold on both their hands. “As if I didn’t make both of you come like crazy every single day of this trip. Are you really that selfish?”

Jude’s eyes widened in almost comical disbelief. “We’re the selfish ones now? Are you serious?”

“Can you blame me for wanting you both to myself?” you blurted out, exasperated, refusing to let go of either one. “Please just let me make it up to you guys. Both of you. Just trust me.”

Jude ran a hand over his face, scowling deeply, but still rooted to the spot, clearly waiting to hear whatever absurd proposition was about to come out of your mouth next. Michael rolled his eyes and pulled his arm back, but he didn't walk away, staring you down for a long second. 

“I swear to God, if you’re about to suggest a threesome, I’m out—”

—

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Michael immediately sank onto your soft bed, closing his eyes as the room seemed to turn around him, his legs hung over the edge, ankles restlessly tapping against the floor.

After some cocktails at a cozy bar near the hotel, just enough to soothe the anger out of their system, you managed to sneak both men up to your room. Now on the other side of the mattress, Jude also sat with hazy, heavy-lidded eyes, running a hand over his curls for the thousandth time. “How the hell did you convince us to do this?”

“Just let go, Juju,” you whispered, leaning to his broad back and sliding your palms across his chest. With a soft touch, your fingers tilted Jude’s face upward as you tipped another splash of sweet cocktail over his lips, guiding him toward where Michael lay, shirtless, with his forearm thrown over his eyes still in denial.

Positioning Jude in front of the bed, you climbed onto Michael and slowly slid his underwear down his thighs, wrapping your fingers around his member, massaging him until he hardened instantly under your warm touch. He released a shaky, tensed exhale as you turned your back to him, straddling his lap and letting your warm walls sink slowly over his throbbing length.

Jude’s chest rose and fell heavily at the sight before him. You shuddered as Michael filled you completely, though still keeping eye contact with Jude’s glossy, dark gaze. Reaching out, your hands pulled him closer, fingers tracing his carved abdomen until you hooked your hands into the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down to free his stiff member right beside your cheek.

Your lips hungrily closed around his girth, tongue swirling around his sensitive tip, tasting the heat of his skin. A needy whimper escaped Jude’s throat, his hips bucking helplessly toward your mouth, starved for the slick sensation.

Hearing the low, muffled groans echoing between the two of you, Michael couldn't take it anymore. He suddenly pushed his torso up from the mattress with a raspy, “Fuck it.”

His large, calloused palms gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down harder as his rhythm quickened into deep, relentless thrusts against you. A surprised gasp caught in your throat, vibrating directly against Jude’s length as he pulsed inside your mouth.

“God, cheeks, you’re so fucking good,” Jude groaned, his fingers gripping into your hair.

Michael scraped every sensitive inch inside you with a possessive pace until his heat spilled deep within your fluttering walls. On the other end, Jude reached for the back of your neck with a low grunt, pulling your face flush against him as he released his own warm load inside your mouth. He drew back, chest heaving, gazing down at your glassy, blown-out eyes as you swallowed every drop.

Growing impatient, Michael pulled out of you and wrapped his arms around your waist to lean back against the headboard. Jude also didn't give you a second to catch your breath, already turning you onto your knees and pressing your chest down against the mattress right between Michael’s thighs, inches away from his rapidly hardening length.

“I think you took off a bite bigger than you can chew this time, baby,” Michael chuckled under his breath, his chest glistening with sweat as your tear-stained eyes flickered up to meet his dark ones.

“I never get too much on my plate, love,” you murmured against his tip, pressing a sweet kiss to the head before sliding him right back inside the heat of your mouth. A strained groan erupted from deep in his chest as he tilted your head slightly to push in deeper.

Jude didn’t wait for you to settle into Michael’s rhythm, driving himself back into your tight walls from behind, hands locking around your hips and yanking you back against him with every deep stroke. In a sudden move, a muffled moan burst from your lips as Jude arched your back, pulling you up flush against his sculpted chest to attach his lips to the curve of your neck.

With an annoyed, needy grunt, Michael sat forward, taking your face in his hands to drown your breathy whimpers in a bruising kiss. He guided your free hand down to stroke his bursting member right at the edge of another release. Behind you, Jude’s body shivered with intense friction, driving deeper as you leaned entirely on both of them for balance, trusting them completely not to let you fall.

Pushing to the edge of overstimulation, your climax finally hit you like a wave, racking your entire body with shuddering release. Seconds later, both men gave in to the intoxicating pleasure, spilling over you with heavy groans that mixed with your unintelligible moans.

In a tangle of slick skin, sore limbs, and ragged breathing, the three of you collapsed onto the bed in complete exhaustion. A heavy silence settled over the room, thick with the lustful scent of sweat, summer heat, and lingering desire.

“Por Dios, cállate!” the muffled voice of an annoyed Spanish tourist echoed through the thin hotel wall next door.

Jude let out a breathless laugh of disbelief, pulling you into his chest for a lingering kiss while his long fingers traced down to your sensitive hips. “You are gonna have to tone your moans down, cheeks.” A soft whimper escaped your lips at how raw and hypersensitive you felt.

“We’re nowhere near done with your greedy ass, babe,” Michael growled softly, his fingers already travelling downwards and finding your swollen, dripping clit again.

Over a skipped heartbeat, another tremble ran through your skin as both of their members shifted against your thighs, and in that very moment you finally realized that greed, gluttony, and lust were far too dangerous sins. Though you were more than willing to pay the price for all three.

at first, his thumb had only been playing with your bottom lip, tracing the soft curve of it while you slept peacefully against him. you were tucked flush against him, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear. his right arm tucked under your head like a pillow, the muscle warm.

his other hand rested beside your face.

he smiled faintly when you shifted closer. his thumb brushed over your lower lip again. then your lips parted.

Armando froze. he felt the gentle warmth of your mouth around the tip of his thumb, tongue wet, warm, curling around the pad of his thumb. followed by the faintest movement of your tongue as you instinctively drew it farther in.

his eyebrows lifted.

you didn’t wake. your breathing remained slow and even, your lashes resting against your cheeks as you continued sleeping like nothing had happened. meanwhile, Armando was suddenly very aware of exactly where his hand was.

he should have moved it. instead, he watched you for a moment, utterly charmed. your lips softened around his thumb, and the sleepy little motion made his expression melt into something unbearably fond. he brushed his knuckles lightly against your cheek with his free fingers.

carefully, he let his thumb remain where you’d unconsciously placed it, making no attempt to tease or wake you. his hand simply rested against your cheek, gentle and warm, while he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

he wasn’t about to complain. especially not when you looked this peaceful in his arms.

“Mi vida…” he whispers, voice low so it won’t wake you.

his thumb sinks farther, past the first knuckle, and your lips seal around it with a soft, wet sound. the light suction tugs at him. he feels the faint press of your tongue underneath, the tiny movements as you take comfort in him without even knowing. heat grows low in his stomach, but he stays perfectly still, letting you have what you reached for.

“Qué linda te ves así.” he murmurs, thumb stroking the inside of your cheek in the smallest circles. “Dormida, chupando mi dedo como si fuera tuyo.” he leans in, pressing another kiss to your hairline.

your breathing stays deep and even. every exhale fans over his wrist. the gentle pull of your mouth grows a fraction stronger, as though your sleeping mind has decided his thumb belongs there. saliva gathers at the corner of your lips; he wipes it away with the side of his finger, slow, careful not to disturb you.

“tranquila.” he soothes when your brows twitch. “sigue, mi amor. tómate tu tiempo.” his voice is soft. “Entre mis brazos, nadie te va a molestar.”

he shifts only enough to cradle you closer, the arm beneath your head adjusting so your cheek rests more fully against his bare chest. his thumb never leaves your mouth. instead he lets you set the pace, feeling every lazy suckle. the sensation is intimate, almost too much, yet he wouldn’t move for anything.

“Tan chiquita.” he coos, “mira nomás, chupando tan bonito…” his words soothe as much as they praise. he rocks you the tiniest bit, a slow sway that matches the sucking of your lips.

your tongue presses up again, drawing him deeper still. Armando exhales through his nose, eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your mouth works around him. the wet heat, the soft sounds, the trust. it all grows tight inside him. he brushes his nose against your temple, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Qué rico se siente.” he confesses shamelessly. “Tenerte así… tan entregadita…” his thumb slides out just enough for your tongue to chase it, then sinks back in, and he smiles when your lips follow greedily.

minutes stretch. your breathing never changes, but the suction grows more insistent. Armando’s free hand strokes your back in long, soothing lines, fingertips tracing the dip of your spine through the thin shirt you wear. every now and then he murmurs another soft praise, each one timed between the gentle tugs of your mouth.

he feels the moment your body melts even deeper into him, fully relaxed, fully his. the thumb between your lips is slick now, shiny with saliva, and he doesn’t mind at all.

“Quédate así toda la noche si quieres.” he tells you, though you were far too asleep to answer. “Yo no me muevo. Chúpalo cuanto necesites.” he kisses your forehead again, eyes closing. “Te quiero dormida y feliz. con mi dedo en tu boquita.”

the quiet room feels heavier now, every slow pull of your mouth sending heat straight down Armando’s body. his thumb rests warm and slick between your lips, and the sight alone makes his cock twitch inside his sweats. he pictures it, your mouth stretched around him instead, the same gentle suction, the same trusting way you draw him deeper without waking. the mental image making him swallow hard, adams apple bobbing once, twice.

“Mírate… chupando tan rico.” he breathes, voice low and rough. his free hand slides down your back, palm open, feeling the rise and fall of your sleeping breaths. “tan inocente… y yo pensando en meterte la verga hasta el fondo de esa boquita.”

he doesn’t move his thumb; he lets you keep it exactly where you want it. the wet heat, the soft press of your tongue, the rhythmic sucking, it all mirrors what he imagines his cock would feel like sliding past your lips. he feels himself hardened against your thigh, stiff, but he stays perfectly still.

“Tan caliente…” he whispers. “Tienes la boquita tan caliente, imagínate si fuera algo más- la que estás chupando ahora mismo… cómo la chuparías dormida...” his thumb strokes the inside of your cheek in tiny circles, and you suck harder without knowing, making him bite back a groan.

Armando’s breathing grows heavier. he rocks his hips the smallest bit, just enough to feel the friction of his cock against your leg, then forces himself still again. the contrast of it; your innocent, sleeping mouth suckling his thumb while his mind fills with every filthy thing he wants to do makes his heart pound so hard he can hear it.

“Aunque lo que realmente quiero es verte con la boca llena de mí… en vez de mi dedo.” his voice dips lower.

his eyes stay half-lidded as he watches your lips work around his thumb. more saliva glistens at the corner of your mouth; he wipes it gently with his knuckle, then presses the pad back inside so you can keep suckling it.

his cock twitches again, aching, but he doesn’t wake you. he just holds you closer, lets you suckle in peace, and lets his mind wander deeper into every filthy, tender fantasy your sleeping mouth inspires.

“Así es como me gustas.” he whispers one last time, thumb stroking the roof of your mouth in the lightest caress.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

The walk to Choi San's office always feels like committing a crime. By instinct, your legs press together, seeking friction where your thighs meet. It's pure animal want—the primal way you need him.

He smells your perfume before he hears you. You're the only one who enters without knocking.

And like always, you lift your chin, haughty before the inevitable surrender.

San doesn't acknowledge you, and only continues scribbling notes, annotating with exhausted breath. There were too many mistakes to fix, too many things to make right today.

You strut with the sureness of a woman who knows the room, and like a cat with no restraint, you slam your palm on the desk—sending files, papers, binders scattering to the floor.

San's jaw tenses, a muscle ticking at the edge.

"Oh?" He mutters calmly, eyes still fixed ahead. But just beneath the surface, something flickers on.

You say nothing, only climb onto the cleared surface and spread your legs, heels digging into his chair.

San finally looks up, glasses perched on his nose, sharper than his usual skittish demeanor.

"Use your words." His voice betrays him, husk crawling beneath the dryness.

You swing your legs, all cat-like in opaque stockings, replying with silence.

He rises calmly. In one motion, he lifts you by the waist, sits back down, and drapes you tummy-down across his lap.

"Better fucking count."

You hide a manic grin, eyes already lolling back. His palm strikes—stinging even through the thin layer of fabric.

"One."

Another descends, raw enough for saliva to pool in your mouth. You can already taste him. "Two."

On most days, you're obedient—unnervingly so. If he told you to lick his leather loafers or crawl naked around the office with a collar (which he does, often), you'd do it flushed and dripping, trembling with bliss.

But he's been too busy to use your body, to vent his frustrations. CEO this, CEO that—frustratingly devoted to his work.

Adrenaline pulses through you. When you try to turn your neck to glance back, his hand threads through your hair, clenching at the roots, and forces your head down.

The count continues, your voice losing confidence, fading to a whine. Saliva trails from your mouth.

Tears bead at your lash line.

Purple blooms form beneath your skin. Your legs shake, and sticky arousal soaks through your underwear, clinging to your cunt. "Sit." He forces you upright, points to the floor, then stands to gather the scattered papers.

Just as he sits back down, a knock comes.

"Mr. Choi?"

San unbuttons his trousers. Like muscle memory, you crawl under the desk, settling between his thighs as he scoots in.

"Come in."

His voice is softer now. You hear the faint clack of his fingers adjusting his glasses, and when you try to glance up, four fingers tap your cheek in warning.

You tug his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, tapping against his white button-up. You wrap your fist around him, pumping slowly.

He's half-hard when you lick a stripe up his length, tracing a prominent vein. The adrenaline makes you mindless, makes you feel alive.

You suck lightly at the tip. Background noise about project outlines fades to black as he grows in your mouth, stretching your jaw, stuffing you full.

You cram him down, cheeks flushing, stars sparking in your vision when he hits the back of your throat, still needing inches to bottom out.

He replies to every question with infinite patience while both hands reach down, cradling your head, pushing you all the way down.

Your eyes roll back. Saliva wells, trickling down to his balls as he presses your mouth and nose flat against his pubic hair.

Everything smells like him—skin, sweat, something vaguely erotic.

He works your mouth manually, fingers tugging your hair to the point of sting.

When he finally releases you, you stifle a gasp, quickly wiping tears and spit before wrapping your mouth around his balls. You suck.

His thighs tense immediately, hands tightening. You jerk his cock with one hand, rest your cheek on his inner thigh, alternating between licking up to swirl your tongue around his tip and fondling him with the other.

And finally, you’re alone.

San threads his fingers through your hair, gripping it in a makeshift ponytail before yanking you out from under his desk. His cock bounces with the movement as he rises, forcing you into a deep, almost painful arch before slamming into you in one brutal thrust.

Your mouth falls open. Your legs spread instinctively as you crawl forward, but San follows with each movement, driving into you with every desperate inch you gain. He sheathes himself so deep there’s nowhere for you to go. Drool slips from your lips as your cheek presses against the hardwood floor.

Still, you try to crawl. San hunches over you, fucking you so hard you can feel him in your throat.

“Stupid fucking bitch,” he spits. “I’ve got so much work to do, and all you know how to do is piss all over my cock.”

“So good, Mr. Choi—” you stutter, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself back onto his thick cock.

He yanks out of you and spreads your pussy wide with both hands, staring at the way you gape and clench around nothing. With one arm, he lifts you and drops you onto his desk. He drops into the chair and buries his face between your thighs, groaning as he slides his tongue inside you.

His grip on your thigh is bruising. His salt-and-pepper hair has come undone from its usual neat style. He sucks hard, jaw stretching wide, then pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit.

“Such a wet pussy,” he murmurs. “You like that?”

You whine, grinding against his nose. “You’re so good— I wanna cum. Can I cum?”

He pulls away, spins you around, and slams your cheek down onto the mahogany desk. One hand locks around the back of your neck, pinning you in place as he thrusts back inside, pounding into the fat of your ass with sharp, relentless strokes.

“F-fuck!” You couldn’t care less about your job right now. You grit your teeth and take it, clenching hard around him until you’re spraying down his cock, legs locking straight.

San groans, a strand of white hair stuck to his temple.

“This is all you’re good for,” he pants. “Needed this so fucking bad.”

You grin, voice hoarse. “Thought so.”

He grabs your hair and shoves your face back down, fucking you with short, brutal thrusts while staying buried to the hilt.

“You’re like a pocket pussy, you know that?”

His lips curl into a half smile. He cums with a low moan, pumping you full until it starts leaking out around him. He watches it for a moment, then drags your panties back up over your cunt and gives your ass a sharp slap.

“Now get the fuck out of my office.”

All you offer is a fucked-out smile.

“Yes, sir.”

fin.