#brightlightwrites

“Pedri –” you try to tug him up by his hair, but he doesn’t budge. He’s been between your thighs for an hour, wringing two orgasms out of you already, but he looks nowhere near done. His eyes are glazed, pupils blown, his whole face wet with you. He inhales, breathing you, nose buried in your scent.

His grip is brutal, pinning your legs open like he’d die if you closed them. “No,” he mutters, voice hoarse. His mouth seals around you again, tongue dragging, lips sucking, and you cry out, half-pleasure, half-overstimulation.

It isn’t often you get time alone like this. Always family around, even on vacation. But here, in this rented villa, it’s just the two of you. And judging by the way he’s devouring you, there won’t be much tourism.

He spits, just to be filthy. You’re already drenched, slippery everywhere. Sweat dripping down your chest, your thighs shaking, the sheets ruined beneath you. It reeks of sex in the room, heavy and hot, and he’s insatiable. Every time you think he’ll slow down, he moans against your pussy like he’s addicted, grinding into the mattress, leaking for you while refusing to even touch himself.

“Fuck – Pedri, I can’t –” your voice cracks, body arching, desperate for air.

“Yes, you can, baby. Look at me.” He glances up, his lips shiny, his cheeks flushed. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. Let me have you. Let me see cum you again.”

You sob his name, and that’s when it breaks. Something inside you snaps loose. At the peak of your high, the pressure explodes, and suddenly you’re squirting. All this unknown tension was inside of you and it gushes out, unstoppable, your waters splashing his face, his chest, the ruined sheets. His fingers pump into you, working you through it, coaxing every drop until you’re trembling, mind blank, undone.

“Holy fuck – yes. That’s it. God, baby, you’re beautiful.” He pulls back just enough to watch, wide-eyed, awestruck, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Look at you…”

Shame floods you, your hands trying to cover your face, but he won’t allow it. He catches your wrists, kisses them, shakes his head frantically. “No, no, don’t hide. Look at me. I’ve never been so proud. You hear me?”

You’re still trying to breathe when he hauls you onto his lap, finally sliding inside you. His cock is painfully hard, throbbing, and he sinks deep in one smooth push, both of you groaning at the overwhelming relief. He’s shaking, voice breaking.

“Fuck – finally. Been so hard for you this whole time. Couldn’t even touch myself. Just wanted to take care of you.” His hands are everywhere – your hips, your back, your ass, holding you down as he thrusts up into you. “You feel so good. We’re never leaving this bed. Give me another one, come on.”

You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Pedri, I can’t again –”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, almost begging. His pace quickens, snapping his hips, hitting deep. “Please, baby. One more. For me.”

The desperation in his voice melts you. He sounds wrecked, desperate. And when he finds that rhythm, the one that ruins you, you don’t stand a chance. The orgasm tears through you, dragging a scream from your throat, your walls fluttering around him.

His own release follows, messy and loud. He moans against your shoulder, spilling inside you, holding you so tight you can barely breathe.

You collapse together, bodies sticky, trembling. His grin splits his face, eyes crinkling even as sweat drips down his temples. You kiss him everywhere – his lips, his nose, his eyelids – murmuring thank-yous between gasps.

They’ve been together long enough to share a home, to trust each other deeply. He still can’t believe how lucky he is to have found loyalty, companionship, and desire in a single person. She’s never resented his career, never made him feel guilty for missing birthdays, family dinners, or weddings. She just smiled through it all, told him she understood, and meant it.

But it still hurt seeing photos of her alone at those events, knowing she’d feel safer, happier, if he were there to hold her hand, to soothe her. It bruised his pride, even if she never said a word about it.

So when she told him she was going to the U.S. for a week on a work trip, he had no right to complain. He did, quietly, to his friends. Kylian was used to having her close, always within reach, always orbiting each other. This time, she was the one leaving him behind, boarding a plane while he stood there empty-handed.

It made him jealous. Bitter. Possessive. He knew exactly how those company events went, in those fancy hotels. He knew the exact name and faces of which of her coworkers he would be directing his anger and insecurity and hated how vivid his imagination could be. Still, when she smiled at him all bright and proud and buzzing with excitement, every ounce of his childishness melted away.

“I’m so proud of you,” was all he managed to say, and he meant it. Beneath the fear, beneath the ache, he knew this was her hard work paying off.

He drove her to the airport, held her hand until the very last second, and tried not to show how badly he didn’t want to let go.

Now, a week later, as he walks into the Bernabéu before a match, his phone buzzes: just landed, see you at home <3

He exhales hard, the message is both comforting and cruel. Half of him is relieved that she’s home safe, but the other half wants to drop everything, skip the game, and drive straight to her.

On the pitch, every foul, every second the keeper wastes feels unbearable. They’re stealing time from him, time he could be with her. Five minutes of extra time in the first half. Twelve in the second. He plays all of it, pushing harder, desperate to be done. After the final whistle, there’s still the media and cooldown routine. By the time he finally walks through the door, it’s well past midnight.

When Kylian steps into the bedroom, he finds her asleep in their bed looking so soft and peaceful. His chest tightens. There she is. His girl.

For a long moment, he just stands there, drinking all of her in. He feels every hour of the past week hit him at once, all the restless nights and lonely mornings without her. All he wants is to bury his face in between her tights and show her how much he misses her. To let out all this longing, all this suffering. End his pain. He feels himself shuddering, but shakes his head and sighs looking at his woman again, feeling grateful that she’s finally where she belongs.

He sheds his clothes without thinking, the need to feel her skin almost overwhelming. Yet when he slides onto the bed beside her, his movements slow. He doesn’t want to wake her. Not yet. He just wants to be near her again, to breathe her in.

His nose finds her hair, and the familiar scent makes him sigh out loud in relief. She stirs a little, her body instinctively shifting toward his.

“I missed you,” she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, her eyes still closed, but now with a smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wait up,” she adds softly, blinking up at him with those warm, puppy eyes.

Kylian can’t help but smile back. “It’s okay,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You had a long flight.”

His hand trails gently through her hair, along her cheek, so slow, almost absent-minded, as if to convince himself she’s real.

“I missed you too,” he admits quietly, whispering like he’s telling her a very important secret. She giggles, small and soft, and it melts him completely. He doesn’t know it, but since she left, his friends and family haven’t stopped teasing her over text complaining about how moody and grumpy he is when she’s gone. But none of that matters now. Because she’s home, in his arms again.

He feels himself hardening, a week’s worth of want pressing against his ribs, his pulse hammering under his skin, his desire for her becoming more and more impossible to ignore. 

He almost wants to punish her, wants to be rough, for all the times he had to get to completion with his own hand since she was away. But he can't stop himself from being kind to her. 

His sweet girlfriend deserves a reward for working so hard. He kisses her softly, their lips merely brushing against one another. He feels her getting warmer and agitated in his arms.

“I need to feel you,” he confesses with his eyes closed. “I know you’re tired, but I need to be inside you. Just for a moment, please,” he begs, ashamed of how his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. He feels like if she refuses him, he might explode. 

But his girl nods enthusiastically and he’s certain she feels the same need. He’s certain that if he puts his hand in between her thighs he’ll feel her dripping, ready for him. 

And that’s exactly what he does. “Did you touch yourself?” he asks, circling her bud with his thumb. “Hm?”

She moans at the feeling of finally getting what she’s been deprived of. They never spend this much time without having sex and here, in the solitude of their shared bedroom, she’s allowed to be as loud as she wants. His woman doesn’t hold back for him, answering immediately.

“Yes… I was thinking about you,” she confesses her sin, and he grins maliciously, raising an eyebrow.

“Really? What were you thinking about?” he asks, pushing his middle finger inside her, curiously paying attention to her reaction. “Thinking about this?” he adds another finger. “Or was it my tongue?” 

He kisses her deeply as he says that, desperately wanting to taste her, to savour her. Their kisses are loud, wet and sticky just like the sound of fingers moving in and out of her. Their bedroom is suddenly filled with the symphony of sounds of their lovemaking: her quickened breathing, his groaning. 

He wishes he had the strength to prepare her longer, to open her up more, but his girl is not helping him with her begging.

“Please, Kylian, please.” A single tear rolls down her angelic face.

“Please what?” He’s angry now – at himself for having no self control next to her, at her for leaving him unattended for so long.

“I need to feel you. I missed you so –” she doesn’t finish her sentence and he’s already entering her, being as careful as humanly possible for him. It’s a challenge, but he manages to, so, so slowly, enter her completely – without any discomfort besides her brow furrowing and her eyes squinting at him. 

“That’s right, let me in,” he nods as he feels her relaxing, looking at her with pride.

Kylian just stares at her. He’s dreamt of this all week but now that she’s here, he can’t think straight. Every piece of him is wired and restless, he wants to touch her, to speak, to do a hundred things at once, but all he can manage is to breathe her in. His chest aches with relief, with guilt for missing her so much. He closes his eyes, presses his forehead to hers, and lets himself just feel, without trying to understand.

He starts moving slowly, but every sound she makes undoes him a little more. He keeps telling himself to slow down, to be gentler, but his body won’t listen. Her thighs hold him tighter as his movements fasten. The sound of their bodies slapping against one another is enough to make him lose his mind; all he can hear is the syncopated rhythm between them.

“Just a little more,” he whispers, voice strained, almost pleading, feeling himself getting past the point of no return. He needs to cum inside his girlfriend immediately – to have her filled to the brim with him, to watch his love leaking out of her – and there’s absolutely nothing else on his mind after he understands that. His heart and body can’t tell the difference between love and need anymore.

He changes position, lifting her legs up, holding them on his shoulder with one hand and the other on her breast, needing to feel that she’s real, that she’s here. He shifts to hold her better, trying to balance control and desperation, as he chases his pleasure, no longer focusing on caring for her.

Then, suddenly, something changes. He’s shocked back to consciousness as he feels her getting impossibly tighter around him, her body tensing, trembling, breaking open with a rush of sensation he can’t quite process. The sounds coming out of her getting louder and louder until she screams and he feels her pleasure watering both of them. The sight and sound of it leave him stunned. For a moment he doesn’t know what to do except hold her through it, still moving, still trying to understand the miracle of what just happened. He’s appalled, doesn’t know what to do but to keep pushing himself inside her. His thrusts lack rhythm, just one long thrust followed by a ragged one followed by a rushed one. He needs to cum but he doesn’t want to stop fucking her after what he just witnessed.

“That was beautiful,” he hears himself saying but doesn’t even remember thinking about it. He lost his mind completely.

When he notices her flinch, he stops immediately. “Fuck, you’re too sensitive?” he asks, his own voice shaking, concerned. She nods faintly, and that’s enough for him to still, breathing hard, forehead resting against hers – he can’t risk hurting her. He feels a pain in his chest, tears in his eyes at how difficult it is for him to leave her.

Then he notices the sheets beneath them, damp and ruined, and lets out a quiet, breathless laugh. She hides her face, mumbling an apology he doesn’t let her finish. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispers, still smiling. Kylian thought he was the one losing his mind at their reunion but it was his sweet girl who was getting fucked dumb.

“You’re so good to me…” he tells her, hoping she understands. He has his fist tight around his member, changing his plans, wanting to simply get rid of his erection so he can think straight and take care of her. He’s staring at her and she’s staring back with a dazed look on her face, making him wonder how stupid he must look right now. “Where?” he asks her, feeling himself getting closer to the edge.

“Everywhere,” her sweet feminine voice whispers to him and Kylian tries his best to oblige. He paints her to the best of his abilities, hearing himself moaning as loudly as she did when he finally cums.

When they finally catch their breath, holding each other close, she feels playful enough to tease him. “If this is how I’m welcomed every time I travel…”

“Don’t you dare,” he growls before she can even finish, still sad from being away from her.

Somewhere between kisses, you mutter, “We should get up. Make food or something.”

“Later,” he says, not even pretending to let you go.

But the idea hangs there, tempting. The two of you shuffle toward the kitchen, half-stumbling because neither of you can walk without stopping to kiss again. You nearly trip over the blanket trailing behind you. He steadies you, laughing into your mouth.

In the kitchen, he’s pressed against your back, arms circling your waist. His lips don’t leave you, not even when you fumble open the fridge. Somehow you grab eggs one-handed, cracking them against the side of the pan. One yolk lands right, the other splatters, and you both burst into laughter without pulling apart.

“This is a terrible way to cook,” you say, trying to keep the pan steady while his mouth distracts you.

“I disagree,” he murmurs, grinning against your lips.

The eggs sizzle unattended, a faint hiss in the background, but neither of you cares. He turns you, backs you gently into the counter, and kisses you. His hands slip lower and your laughter breaks into a gasp.

“I want to eat you,” he says, voice rough against your skin.

You’re smiling, breathless. He sinks to his knees, still grinning up at you.

You lose yourself in his mouth, his hands, fingers, the way he looks up at you like your taste is the only thing he’s ever needed. Your laughter turns into moans, into broken syllables of his name, until you can’t hold yourself up anymore. The counter is the only thing keeping you steady, it’s so overwhelming, then spills over.

For a moment, you’re nothing but shaking limbs.

He rises to his feet, kisses your lips soft this time, allowing you to taste yourself in his tongue, and you’re tugging him closer, wanting to return the favor, wanting to change positions and get on your knees for him. He leans into it, eager. Until his nose twitches. He pauses.

“Wait… do you smell that?”

It takes you a second to register. The faint curl of smoke. You both turn toward the stove.

You cover your face, laughing hard. “Oh my god. The eggs are ruined.”

Tonight, you’re half on top of him on his couch, laughing into his neck after he said something stupid. He smells like his perfume, the one you’ve learned to miss when he’s away, the one that makes you freeze when you catch it on strangers in the street. It feels unfair, like he’s the only one who should be allowed to wear it. It suits him better anyway.

When you pull back, his hand stays on your hip, holding you close like he isn’t ready to let you go. His hair is a little messy, his eyes tired in a soft way, and he keeps glancing at your mouth when you speak. For a long second you just… stay there. Looking at each other. Waiting.

“Let me kiss you,” he murmurs, asking, even though you’ve kissed more times than you can count.

You nod, leaning into him. You could never get tired of this, of the way his tongue brushes yours, the taste of him, the way your body heats up instantly. Your thighs tighten when his fingers press harder into your waist, like he feels it too.

When you shift to straddle him properly, his breath catches. His hands slide up under your shirt, and you feel him hard beneath you. The thought that you can get him this way makes you shiver, makes you proud. He wants you just as much as you want him.

It’s the first time you’ve let yourself get this close, this bold. Maybe it’s sudden or maybe it’s frustration and you’re tired of waiting, tired of playing the good girl and holding back. So you start moving your hips, slowly, sweetly, testing. He lets out a rough sound, shuddering under you, his hands unsure whether to stop you or guide you.

“You sure?” His voice is low, strained, like he’s holding himself back.

“Yeah,” you whisper, and you mean it. “I want to. Please.”

The second the words leave your lips, you see it hit him. His eyes widen, pupils blown, jaw tightening. It’s like a wave of arousal crashes over him, and for a second you almost feel guilty for how long you’ve both been holding back, all these months of torturing yourselves.

“Fuck,” he exhales, searching your face for any hesitation. You nod, firm, and he nods back, still looking like he can’t believe it.

You’ve caught him off guard, but then he breaks into a grin before crashing his mouth to yours, this time hungrier, rougher, finally letting himself touch you the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he admits against your lips, his voice low and ragged.

Your heart stutters. “Me too.”

“Come here. Let me take you to bed.” His hands frame your face, threading through your hair, and you can’t stop kissing him as he guides you down the hall. Everything is too much – the heat, the wanting, the relief of finally not having to hold back. You moan into his mouth without caring, without shame.

You undress each other piece by piece, laughing in between, always finding your way back to each other’s mouths. You feel reckless, like you’re discovering a whole new world, every inch of his body something you’ve craved. You’d spent so many nights with only your hand and the thought of him, but now he’s here. Real.

By the time you’re on his bed, bare under him, you can’t look away. He’s all golden skin and muscle, staring down at you like you’re something to worship. His gaze drops lower, a sly smile tugging at his mouth as he repeats himself, softer this time.

“Let me kiss you.”

He kneels between your legs, lowering himself, and you can only nod breathlessly. “Yes. Please.” You’d give him anything.

Then he kisses you there, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever known. His tongue, his fingers, his voice breaking into quiet moans against you. It's overwhelming, too good, too much. Your own sounds spill out without control, his name caught between gasps. You swear you’ve never felt anything so heavenly in your life.

He doesn’t rush, and neither do you. Every movement is slow, reverent, like you’re both trying to understand and memorize each other’s bodies. His hands roam over your skin lightly, tracing your ribs, your thighs, lingering wherever you shiver.

You shift position and finally find yourself face to face with your greatest desire: his manhood. He’s heavy, wet, painfully hard. You try to ease him with your mouth, hoping you can give back even a fraction of what he’s given you. Pedri holds your hair, guiding you, his touch gentle and steady. When you look up at him, his brows are furrowed, lips parted, panting, a single bead of sweat dripping onto his forehead. His cheeks are rosy, and you swear he’s never looked more beautiful. And if you had asked him, seeing you like this, your mouth full of him, teary-eyed, proud of how well you’re taking him… he would say the same.

“You’re mine,” he growls, low and rough, and the sound sends heat straight to your core.

You try to nod in agreement, but in your current situation it comes out a little funny. The two of you giggle, and he brings you back up to him, hand still holding your hair.

His kisses are deep but gentle, drifting from your lips to your neck, your collarbone, always returning to your mouth. You sigh, breath hitching, melting into him.

When he finally enters you, it’s slow and tender. Every motion feels meant to make you feel safe, worshipped. Your thighs wrap around him instinctively, nails grazing his back, and he groans low, resting his forehead against yours.

You’re dizzy with sensation, every part of you alive but also relieved, full of love, reveling in the sheer joy of being his. You moan softly at first, then a little louder as he moves, and he matches you with every push, every shiver, every gasp.

He slides inside faster, harder, hitting all the right spots. Your back arches, nails raking over his back, hands tangled in his hair. His body presses into yours, hips snapping against yours, hands clutching your waist, everything.

You shake, dripping, trembling with need, breath coming in sharp, ragged pants. “Pedri – fuck, oh God – yes!” Your sounds spill out, unstoppable, each motion driving you closer to the edge.

He groans, low and guttural, face pressed to your shoulder, moving faster, gripping you tight. You ride him, matching his thrusts, moaning louder, calling his name until you come in shivers and gasps. He follows, trembling, kissing you hard, teeth, tongue, until you both collapse together, panting, a tangled heap of limbs and heat.

“I can’t sleep.” He turns his head toward you, exasperated. “My brain won’t shut off. It’s like… I feel like I should be doing something. Running laps. I don’t know.” He laughs, but there’s also this anxious energy underneath it.

You watch him, the way his fingers twitch against your leg, the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. And maybe it’s selfish, maybe you just want him to stop tossing and turning so you can actually get some sleep, but an idea takes root in your malicious little brain.

You shift closer to him, pressing yourself into his side, your lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “What if I helped you relax?”

His hand, still resting on your leg, tightens ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You press a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his ear. “But only if you promise to stop thinking about Ferrari for five minutes.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I can do better than five minutes, baby.”

But you know, even as his hands slide over your body, even as he pulls you on top of him, there’s still a part of his brain stuck in Maranello, in the future, in the rush of everything that’s coming. You kiss him anyway. He’s restless, overthinking, running simulations in his mind when all he really needs is to be here, with you, in this moment. You want to be the one thing capable of shutting his brain off.

So, you take your time.

You trace your fingers over his tattoos, letting your touch be light, feather-like, as you admire the ink on his skin. Your fingertips dance across his arm, following the lines you’ve memorized by now, the muscle under his skin flexing instinctively and he melts into it. You press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart – fast, just like you thought. His body is always in motion, trained for endurance, for speed. You think about the hours he’s poured into it, every sprint, every weight lifted, every rep designed to push him to his absolute peak. It’s almost unfair that he puts himself through so much just to be stronger, faster, better. Because at the end of the day, you get to enjoy the results with no effort at all. The sculpted chest, the hard lines of his abs, the way his shoulders feel under your palms, solid and sure.

You smile to yourself.

“You’re so tense,” you whisper, letting your nails graze down his ribs. “Aren’t you supposed to be the best at controlling your nerves?”

He exhales sharply, closing his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to center himself. But you don’t want him centered. You want him off balance, as unsteady as you feel. His hand comes up to cover yours, like he wants to stop you, but he doesn’t. He just holds you there, presses your palm against his ribs like he needs the anchor. He groans softly, and shakes his head. “Baby…”

You grin, dragging out your response, feeling bratty. “Yes?”

He exhales through his nose, a slow, measured thing, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens, the way his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to flip you over, to pin you down. You press a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another, watching for the exact moment his restraint wavers.

“Give me more.”

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, low and commanding. It makes something inside you coil tight. His eyes are open now, he cups the back of your head, threading his fingers into your hair. In the blink of an eye, he’s in control again, like he always is when it really matters. But you don’t mind. But you don’t mind. You both like switching. The give and take. The push and pull. You just giggle, breathless, as you straddle him fully.

“I’ll give you everything.”

And you do. You keep your promise, moving exactly how you know he likes, listening to every instruction, every shift in his breath, every shudder of his body beneath yours. There’s nothing but this moment, the heat between you. You give him all of it, everything he needs, everything he wants.

By the time it’s over, his arms are wrapped tightly around you, holding you against him like he can’t bear to let go. Both of your bodies are drenched in sweat, chests rising and falling in tandem, hearts pounding in sync. It was more exercise than either of you needed, and it definitely lasted longer than five minutes, but you don’t regret a second of it.

You shift slightly, looking up at him, and when your eyes meet, you smile. Because finally, he isn’t thinking about Ferrari. No, right now, he’s only thinking about you.

You laugh, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and it’s ridiculous how warm your chest feels over something so small. Everyone else is celebrating too, but the only one that matters to you is him. You’re drawn together by a private gravity you both pretend not to notice.

It’s always been like this. Too much, not enough. His hand brushing yours when you pass him a drink, lingering a moment too long. Your knees knocking under the table. His face lighting up when you walk into a room, even if he swears you’re imagining it. And maybe he’s caught you doing the same.

He’s tipsy, cheeks flushed, leaning too close. “You’re wearing the dress I like.”

You blink, heart stuttering. “Yep…”

He doesn’t look away, his smile going soft. “You look pretty.”

Your chest tightens, too full, so you grab the first distraction you can. You nod toward the girl he’d been talking to earlier near the kitchen. “And not just me. Lucky you, surrounded by pretty girls all night.”

His face heats even more, but not from the alcohol, this time you’re sure. He tilts his head, tongue pressing against his cheek to hold back a laugh. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.” You’re sure he can hear the panic underneath, so you shift, biting down on your lip. “It’s just… it’s been a while since it was just us, you know. As friends. That’s all.”

He looks hurt when he hears you saying that. It makes your stomach flip.

“I’ve been a bad friend, haven’t I?” His brow furrows. He leans in, eyes searching yours, and before you can answer he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is clumsy but gentle, his face suddenly too close, and your skin burns where his fingers brushed.

Neither of you moves at first. The music, the people's laughter in the next room, it all fades under the hum of his breath so close to yours.

Then you both lean in at the same time, helpless against the pull.

Your lips meet for a split second. Soft, clumsy, feeling like static sparking. And then you both jolt back like you’ve been shocked.

“I’m so sorry,” Pedri blurts, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to –”

“What? No, I’m sorry,” you interrupt, voice cracking. “It was my fault –”

“No, no, that was me.” He shakes his head, too fast, too desperate. “I know you don’t like me this way, it’s okay. It’s fine, I swear.”

“Oh, I know you don’t have feelings for me, Pedri.” Your chest aches, your words coming out all in a rush. “You don’t need to apologize, really, it was all me.”

The two of you keep talking over each other, louder, faster. Neither of you are listening, just scrambling to patch over what you think you’ve broken.

And then it hits. You understand. If you’re both so frantic to take the blame… that means you both went for the kiss.

“Oh…” you whisper.

“Yeah…” He agrees.

“Shit, I –”

“Can we please get out of here?” He drags a hand down his face, restless now, scanning the room like the walls are closing in. The situation he finds himself in becomes unbearable and he regrets drinking so much. His jaw clenches, and his voice drops low. “I need to tell you. You need to know.”

Your throat goes tight, your vision blurring just slightly. A single tear slips free and you let out a soft, embarrassed giggle. “I… I think I know.” You wipe at your cheek, shaking your head at yourself. “But yes. Let’s get out of here. Please.”

You turn to say something – maybe a joke about how exhausted you are from dancing, or how your cheeks still ache from smiling too much – but before the words can form, he’s already closing the space between you.

“Wait,” he says, his voice teasing as his hands settle on your waist. In one swift motion, he lifts you off the floor. You let out a startled laugh, your arms flying around his neck.

“Ruben!”

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he says, his smile widening as he steadies you in his arms. 

His fingers shift slightly, holding you tighter. Then he leans in closer, his forehead almost touching yours, and his voice softens.

“With my beautiful wife.”

The words hit you square in the chest, and you’re not sure how to hold all of it – the tenderness, the certainty, the love. Your grip on him tightens instinctively, your fingertips brushing against the warm nape of his neck.

“Your wife,” you repeat, almost testing the weight of the words, and they come out so quiet they barely make it past your lips. But he hears them. Of course he hears them. “That still feels weird to say.”

“Get used to it,” he says, then he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I’ve been yours long before today, Ruben.”

He tilts his head back slightly, a playful gleam in his eyes. “True.” He pauses. “But now I get to say it officially.”

“Officially, huh?” you tease. “I think you’re just excited about the title.”

“I mean, it’s a pretty good title,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful, as though he's seriously considering the weight of the word. “Wife has a nice ring to it.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “You’re ridiculous.” But the smile spreading across your face betrays you, and the entire moment feels too perfect to be real. It’s like you’re floating, suspended in this bubble of joy that you never want to break.

Ruben leans in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to send a flutter through your chest. “I’m just happy,” he says quietly.

“I know.” You rest your head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the waves outside. The sound is calming, familiar, grounding you in this moment, but inside, your heart feels like it’s ready to burst from the sheer intensity of everything you’re feeling. You want to hold on to this, to him, forever.

“I’m happy too,” you add, your fingers tracing small, absentminded patterns along his shirt. The words feel too small to describe everything that’s swelling inside of you – the love, the yearning, the certainty of him being everything you ever needed.

He tightens his arms around you, his hand resting on the back of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. You look up at him, eyes meeting his with a hunger that neither of you can hide.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, the words rough, full of a hunger that sends a heat through you that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room. He leans in, his lips catching yours in a kiss that’s deep, urgent, filled with all the things you’ve been trying to hold back all night.

Your hands slide down his chest, pulling at the fabric of his shirt as you arch against him, feeling the heat of his body pressing into yours. The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you gasping for air, and his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling as the room spins.

“I need you,” he says, his voice thick with desire. His hands slide down your back, pulling you closer, the space between you shrinking as if the two of you can’t get close enough. You feel the rush of his breath against your skin, the desperation in his touch making your pulse race.

“Then take me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but charged with everything you want. His eyes darken and in one smooth motion, he lays you gently on the bed. 

Ruben hovers over you, his eyes roaming your face as if he’s memorizing every detail. “You have no idea how much I want you,” he says, his voice even rougher now, but still filled with the same adoration that makes your chest tighten with affection.

You tilt your head back, your hair spilling across the pillows, and reach for him again, your hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to you. You need him just as much, feel the ache of it in every inch of your skin, every beat of your heart.

And then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, the desperation in his touch matching your own. His body presses against yours, hot and heavy, and you can feel the way he’s trying to keep control, but you can also feel the way he’s unraveling beneath your touch. You pull him closer, your hands sliding underneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

Ruben pulls back for a second, and his hands move to the zipper of your dress. His fingers are clumsy, a bit too eager, fumbling with the fabric like it’s something he’s never seen before.

"Hold on," he mutters, trying again, but the zipper doesn’t budge. You can't help but laugh softly, a little nervous giggle that catches him off guard.

"You okay?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concentration, his hands still working on the zipper.

"Yeah," you chuckle, lifting your arms so he has more room. "You’re gonna have to work for this, huh?"

He laughs too, shaking his head. "Apparently, yes." His face softens with a smile. He gives up on the zipper and moves his hands to the straps, trying to slide them off your shoulders, but the dress won’t cooperate. The whole thing is tangled now, your arms awkwardly raised, your whole body stuck in this massive, elegant piece of fabric.

You both sit there, slightly breathless. Ruben shifts on the bed, leaning back with a deep sigh and letting out a laugh that sounds more from disbelief than frustration.

“Okay,” he says, voice breaking with a half-laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

You lean back against the bed, unable to hold back your laughter anymore. “I told you it was complicated.”

He shrugs with a grin. 

You sit up, trying to find a way to untangle the mess of fabric, and he watches you for a second, both of you smiling at how absurd the whole situation is. The tension that was there a few minutes ago has eased, replaced by an ease that only comes when you're with someone you trust.

After a few more moments of playful struggling, Ruben finally manages to slip the dress off your body with a triumphant sigh, leaving you in nothing but the delicate white lingerie you’d bought specifically for tonight.

You sit up, feeling exposed but free, and Ruben takes a moment to just look at you. His eyes are full of admiration, as if he can’t quite believe that you’re here with him, in this moment. There’s no rush in the way he looks at you, just pure, unfiltered affection.

"God," he murmurs, almost to himself, a slight awe in his voice. "You’re perfect."

You feel the heat rise in your chest, the flutters in your stomach, but it's not nerves or embarrassment this time. It’s love – love that feels so big it could swallow you whole, but in the best way. Ruben reaches for you, his hands gently cupping your face as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

When he pulls back, he looks at you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours. "I don’t want to rush this," he whispers. "I want to remember every moment of tonight."

You nod, your breath hitching. Ruben’s hands are gentle, almost reverent, as they move over every inch of you, he’s not rushing – every touch, every kiss, every bite, it all feels like he’s savoring you. His lips finding every spot that makes you shiver, his teeth grazing over your skin like he’s marking you, claiming you in the most tender way possible.

His lips trace the curve of your neck, and then his teeth nip just below your ear. You gasp, your body involuntarily arching into him, but he doesn’t hurry. He moves lower, his lips finding the soft, sensitive skin of your collarbone, then your shoulder, trailing kisses all the way down your arm. When he bites lightly on the inside of your elbow, you can’t suppress the moan that escapes you, the sensation tightening everything inside of you.

He’s taking his time with every inch of your body, moving from one part of you to the next, his lips leaving behind a trail of heat in their wake. Your skin feels on fire, the sensation of him against you so intoxicating that it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Your breath comes faster, your heart pounding in your chest, and despite the way his touch makes you feel completely undone, you can’t help but want more. You need more.

“Ruben…” you murmur, barely able to catch your breath. Your voice cracks with the desperation you feel deep inside, your body pulsing with the need for him. “Please…”

He pauses for a moment, looking up at you with that same adoring, almost possessive gaze. His lips are swollen, his chest rising and falling just as rapidly as yours. But he doesn’t speak. He just studies you, the desire in his eyes nearly suffocating in its intensity. And then his mouth returns to your skin, moving lower, his lips kissing, biting, teasing, marking every inch of your body as if he’s trying to make it impossible for you to ever forget this moment.

You bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but it’s becoming unbearable, the longing inside you too powerful to ignore. “Ruben,” you beg again, your voice full of want. “Please… take your clothes off.”

The heat is building so quickly between you both that you can’t hold back anymore. He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Ruben moves quickly, almost impatiently now, but still with that careful tenderness. He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it aside without breaking his eyes from you. 

He stands over you for a second, his body in front of you like it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. The smooth lines of his chest, the way his muscles shift as he moves, it’s enough to make your breath hitch again. His eyes flicker to yours, and then his hands are at the waistband of his pants, swiftly unbuttoning them. The anticipation, the waiting, makes your chest tighten with excitement, and your heart races as he steps out of his pants, leaving him standing in only his boxers.

Then Ruben leans down over you, his hands on either side of your face, his lips brushing over yours in the softest kiss. But it’s not enough. Not anymore. His hands slide down to your waist, the desire in his eyes is like fire, and you know he’s feeling it just as much as you are – burning with it, aching for it. You can’t stand the waiting anymore.

“Please…” you whisper, your voice trembling with the need that’s been building since he first touched you. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Ruben doesn’t need any more words. His mouth finds yours again in a kiss so full of hunger and longing, it’s like he’s trying to devour you, to take in every part of you. 

His fingers rest at the edge of your mouth before gently slipping two of them inside, grazing your tongue in slow, deliberate circles.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice shaken, but still trying to sound calm, controlled.

You can’t answer immediately, not with his fingers pressing against your lips, so you shake your head instead.

He chuckles softly, that familiar teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you wanted to feel me inside of you, amor.” 

Your heart races in your chest as he tilts his head, still smiling, before slowly pulling his fingers from your mouth. His touch lingers for a moment, then he lowers his hand.

“Okay, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s put them somewhere else,” he says, his voice low with intent.

He takes your hand, guiding it to help him, though you both know he doesn’t really need it. He’s still teasing you. He gently moves your underwear aside, pushing those two fingers, now dripping wet with your spit, inside of your cunt. His touch is slow, in-and-out, and you can’t help but shiver at the feeling of him finally as close as you want him, as you need him to be.

“Better now?” he asks, pride in his voice as he watches your reaction, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You nod, unable to hide the warmth building inside you. “Better,” you whisper.

His other hand, gentle, caresses the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek – and then he kisses you. His mouth is warm and comforting against yours, you pull him a little closer, needing the warmth of him, the closeness, and he responds, his body pressing against yours as if to reassure you that he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere. 

His free hand moves to your breasts, tracing your nipples, and you let out a soft sigh against his lips. For a long moment, you stay like that – wrapped up in each other, his hands all over you, inside of you.

The kiss deepens, and the tension between you builds, quiet but undeniable. You can’t help it. You’re burning for him, every inch of your body craving his touch. “Ruben,” you breathe against his lips, voice thick with impatience. You want him, need him, and you can’t wait anymore.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Patience," he murmurs.

You shake your head, frustration mixing with desire. “I can’t. Please...” The words barely make it out before you’re kissing him again, harder this time, desperate for more.

The layers of clothes still left between you seem to vanish, almost without thought. It’s frantic but tender, your undergarments are now tangled up in the bedsheet, forgotten as you both move with a desperation that matches the intensity of the kiss. His body is pressed against yours again, both of you shivering, not from the cold, but from the need, the desire.

There’s a quiet moment when everything slows, and Ruben finally enters you, right when the rush of your heartbeats begins to sync with his. You’re finally with him in every way you’ve wanted all night. The space between you is gone, and you feel the weight of his cock settle deep in you, like everything is exactly where it should be. His hands trace the curves of your body, holding you close, and you can’t help but feel a deep, overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

It’s not just the closeness, it’s knowing you’ve reached this place with him, that all the moments leading up to this have led to this perfect connection. The feeling of being his, of being his wife, settles over you in a way you can’t quite explain, but it feels like the missing piece of something you’ve been looking for your entire life.

The sweat on your skin feels... beautiful. It’s a sign of how deeply you’ve shared this moment. The heat of it doesn’t make you want to pull away – it makes you want to stay wrapped up in it, in him.

You can feel your pulse under his touch, the rise and fall of his breath against your neck, and everything feels so perfect, so right. This is what you always wanted, and it fills you up, leaving no room for anything else.

You feel whole in a way you never have before, like you’ve become the person you were always meant to be – his wife, his partner.

You move together in a rhythm that feels both slow and urgent, there’s a shared intensity between you both, a connection so deep that it feels like you’re no longer two separate people, but a single, intertwined whole. The world outside the villa fades to nothing as you lose yourselves in the moment.

His touch, gentle but firm, holds you closer, guiding you as you respond to him, the tension building, slow and steady. The way his lips brush against your skin, his breath quickening as you do the same, it all pulls you deeper into this shared space, where only the two of you exist.

Still, you’re nervous. She told you the date would be at some ridiculously preppy, expensive restaurant, and that he’d cover everything. That only makes you feel more out of place. You try your best: put in some effort, look pretty, fight against the creeping expectations that you’re not supposed to have.

Then you walk in and freeze. What the hell. It’s a football player. And not just any player, it’s Florian Wirtz. Florian Wirtz who you know very well because he plays for your team.

What is your cousin thinking? Seriously. What makes her believe you’d want to be a wag? That you could be one? There’s no way he’ll be interested in you. Guys like him always go for the same type.

“Hi,” he says, cheeks flushing pink. “You must be… I’m Florian. How are you?” His words stumble over each other as he holds out his hand.

You shake it, your own hand trembling. His is cold, startling you into realizing how stiff and awkward you must look. You force a polite smile.

“I’m –” Your voice cracks. You cough. “I’m good. Great! Happy to be here.” You blink too slowly, still staring at him like you’re star-struck. “How are you?” The question bursts out of you after a beat of silence, and he blinks, startled, eyes widening.

“I’m good.” He nods, fidgeting. “Hungry, I guess.”

“Right…” You swallow, and for a moment you consider bailing. This would be the perfect time to excuse yourself, run for the door, and never mention it again. But instead, you hear yourself speaking before the thought is finished. “We should order, then.” 

You bury your nose in the menu, pretending to study every item even though you already know you can’t afford to breathe in this place, let alone eat here. He does the same, flipping the pages too quickly, like he’s cramming for an exam.

“So…” you say finally, eyes still on the menu. “You come here often?”

It’s such a cliché line you almost groan, but then you hear him snort. When you look up, he’s grinning.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never. Honestly, I was nervous about it. My teammate recommended it, but… it’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

You exhale a laugh, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. “Yeah. Just a little.”

He laughs too, softer this time. The waiter shows up, and you both rush to order the safest, most boring things on the menu like you’re afraid of being caught out. When he leaves, Florian leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Your cousin told me you’re into football,” he says.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Really? Because she didn’t tell me anything. Oh wait, actually she did! She told me I was meeting her coworker.”

He laughs, ducking his head. “Yeah, sorry about that. She told me not to say anything either. Just… show up. I think she thought it’d be funny.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away. “Of course she did.”

There’s a pause. Then, “So… is it weird? Sitting here with me?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Weird? Definitely.” You feel your shoulders tighten again, and from the way looks at you, you know he’s scrambling for something to say.

“Your cousin didn’t totally lie, though,” he blurts. “I am working with her. I hired her for PR, that’s how we met.”

“Wait.” You blink. “Is this what this is? Some PR stunt?” You give a nervous laugh, half joking, half bracing yourself.

“What? No!” His eyes widen. “No, no… I just – I mentioned I was single, and… I honestly don’t know. She told me…”

“Told you what?” you press, folding your arms, annoyance starting to creep in.

“That we were meant to be.” The words come out in a rush. His face goes red, like he regrets saying it but can’t take it back. “Or… something like that.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “Right. She told me that too.”

You look down at your glass, then back up at him. The restaurant suddenly feels too warm, and your breathing uneven. You hadn’t noticed until now, but being under his gaze, being this close to him, is making you flustered in ways you weren’t prepared for.

The food arrives quicker than you expect, set down neatly between the two of you. You eye your plate, then his. For a few minutes, you both eat in silence, and it’s… comfortable. Weirdly comfortable. Until he glances up at you, mid-bite, and you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes again.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, then smirks. “You just… don’t seem like the blind date type.”

You snort. “Wow, thanks. And you do?”

“Definitely not.” He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “Honestly, I thought your cousin was messing with me. Like, I’d show up and it’d be a prank or something.”

You laugh so loud a couple at the next table looks over. “Oh my god. Same. I almost walked out the second I saw you.”

“Cold,” he says, pretending to be offended.

“Not because of you!” you defend yourself quickly, waving your fork. “Because… well, you know. You’re you. And I’m just…” You trail off, shrugging.

He looks confused. “You’re just what?”

You poke at your food, avoiding his eyes. “Not the kind of girl football players go on dates with.”

For a moment, you think you’ve ruined it. But then he leans closer, voice lower, like he wants you to really hear him.

“Good,” he says. “That’s exactly the point.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. He looks down at his plate again like he didn’t just drop a line that has your heart doing somersaults.

You grab your glass, hiding a smile behind it. “Smooth,” you murmur.

His grin creeps back, boyish and shy all at once. “I have my moments.”

You push a piece of food around your plate, sneaking another glance at him. He’s chewing slowly, like he’s buying time. When he notices you watching, his brows lift, and he nearly chokes on his sip of water.

“What?” he coughs, then clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Just… you look different.”

His fork clatters a little too loud as he sets it down. “Different how?” His hand runs through his hair, messing it up even more.

You hesitate, fumbling for words. “I don’t know, it’s just… I’ve seen you play before, of course, but, well, I guess I didn’t really look at you, you know? Not like this.” You laugh nervously, reaching for your glass.

“Oh,” he says, shifting in his chair, his eyes darting to the table, then back to you. “So, uh… is that… good different? Or…?”

You exhale, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Good different.”

His ears turn red, and he laughs under his breath, leaning back like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then he starts, “I was, um –” He breaks off, shakes his head, and tries again. “This is… it’s not what I expected, but it’s… nice.”

The way he says it, almost shyly, makes your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you murmur. “It is.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. He looks down at his plate, then up at you again, and when your eyes catch this time, it’s like neither of you can look away. His eyes flicks to your mouth, and he gives a small, helpless laugh before dragging a hand over his face.