#bordy

Thomas Bordeleau was the cockiest motherfucker you had ever met. He walked through the world with a smirk on his face and his head held high, you could practically feel the ego radiating from him. He was an arrogant asshole that you promised yourself that you would avoid like the plague. You were fairly confident you knew everything you needed to know about Thomas Bordeleau, at least until you found yourself pressed against his bedroom door as he destroyed your chances of wearing anything but a turtleneck tomorrow. How you got to this point was unclear to the both of you, one second you’re chatting with Owen Power in the hockey house living room during a victory party, then the next you’re being led by the wrist to Bordeleau’s bedroom. You can’t even blame alcohol for being so easily seduced by the Canadian, you’re startlingly aware that you’re both stone cold sober. He’s nipping at your neck when you feel him squeezing your thighs, a clear signal he wants you to jump, and you do. With your legs wrapped around his waist he’s able to walk you to his bed, somehow still managing to kiss you breathless. After he’s dropped you on his bed, he takes a second to admire your flushed face and swollen lips, taking a mental picture of how fucking gorgeous you look in this moment. You thought you had already seen his cockiest smirk that time he grabbed the last croissant in the dining hall right as you reached for it, but oh god, you were so wrong. The look on his face is downright sinful as he pulls off his shirt before slotting himself between your legs, kissing you once again before his hands make fast work of the layers of fabric separating the two of you. Once he’s got you stripped down to just your panties, which are embarrassingly wet, you hate how good this is for his ego but you want him to fuck you senseless even more, he flips you around slotting his thigh against your heat letting out a groan when your hips immediately start grinding against the denim of his jeans. Your head is buried in the crook of his neck, your pathetic attempt to conceal the noises you were making, as his hands meet your hips taking control of the pace. You should have known Thomas Bordeleau would be a tease, the pace quickens and then slows each time you begin to reach your high leaving you a whiny, teary mess. “Thom, s’not fair,” your voice doesn’t even sound like your own, so pitched with need, “Oh princess, I want to hear you beg.” And you do, you beg like you’ve been waiting for this for years, like it’s the thing you’ve wanted most your whole life, and even if Thomas Bordeleau is a cocky motherfucker, he’s true to his word his pace doesn’t slow. When you finally reach your peak, you’re letting out moans that would make even a pornstar blush, while he praises you for being so damn pretty when you beg.

Tears are streaming down your face as you nod. “Yes! I love you so much.”