#sinfulpetal.

A — Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I believe before Kylian started dating you, he was sort of lacking in this department. Not that he neglected the women he had been with before, but it wasn’t anything serious to him. After he met you, however, he realised the importance of aftercare.

Now, Kylian always makes sure to be attentive to your needs and absolutely puts you before himself. No matter how the night went, whatever position he was in, as soon as you both tap out, he's at your beck and call. Cupping your face gently and double—no—triple checking to make sure you are okay.

After you both are cleaned up and back in bed, he's very cuddly. Prefers when you're facing him so he can hold you to his bare chest, gently stroking the curve of your head while his other hand runs up and down your side.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kylian loves his hands. He's known that you've loved them well before you both started dating, so he's always used them to his advantage. When you're both fighting for the upper hand in bed, those slender fingers are a cheat code.

He loves the size difference too—your hand looks so small compared to his. It's the first he notices when he puts his hand into yours. It drives him crazy, thinking about how he notices it when he's pinning you down with his hands, too.

On you, Kylian loves your thighs. He loves to lay his head in your lap, the soft plush of your skin being the best pillow. But he also loves the feeling of your thighs claiming shut around him as he eats you out like a deprived, needy man. He will wrap his arms around them as he does so, hands gripping your flesh. And when he's particularly desperate, he will squeeze your thighs around his face, feeling the need to be absolutely suffocated by you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not particularly picky, especially in the earlier years. Loved to cum on you—thighs, stomach, and maybe even your face. He liked seeing you marked with more than just his lovebites and what better way to finish (literally) the night?

But now, Kylian loves to cum inside you over everything. The more serious your relationship gets, the more his desires change. Develops a serious breeding kink. Realistically, he knows he's in his prime, and you're far too deep into your career to think about children, but he can't help but let his mind swirl with the ‘what ifs,’ and suddenly he's coming more than once inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kylian would never suggest this to you, but in the darkness of a hotel, when you're miles away, and he's all alone, he wishes he had a tape of you going down on him. Only for him. However, Kylian is too nervous about someone hacking into his iCloud and having it uploaded to the internet. He would rather die.

Despite his fears, the idea drives him wild while you’re apart.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Even though the man has been busy with football his whole life, Kylian is pretty experienced given his fame; he knows what he's doing. It works perfectly when you both want to try new things.

If you get with Kylian in his younger years (2017-2019), then he's pretty average. Knows the basics and knows a few tricks from the hookups he's had, but you learn together for the most part. However, Kylian is very perceptive and naturally talented in everything he does/tries so even if he isn't sure, he will figure it out in seconds to make you feel good.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

I feel like he has a top three: reverse cowgirl, doggy style, and missionary. And Kylian can't choose only one because he fucking loves all of them. But if we take his love for your thighs and ass into consideration, then doggy style would be his favourite because he loves the way your ass perks up in front of him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kylian definitely doesn’t ruin the moment, but when you are intimate in the mornings, especially, his mischievous personality gets the best of him. Maybe a little chuckle or two, a few jokes. Nothing ridiculously cheesy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well groomed. I don't think he gets fancy with it, but he definitely doesn't let it get out of hand.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I’ve said before, a younger Kylian didn’t really care about this with his hookups. They were just hookups. But when he met you, he valued romantic and emotional connection during sex highly. A gentleman after everything, and I could see him being into pillow talk—unless he is too tuckered out from his match (and sex).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You try to spend as much time together as possible, but with Kylian’s crazy schedule, he ends up having to jerk off pretty often. He would like to wait to see you again, of course, but sometimes he can't help it. Kylian thinks about you all the time, and when you're not there, he gets imaginative. (Pro: he gets new ideas on how to spice things up the next time he sees you.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think this goes without saying. Again; he definitely has a breeding kink. Listen, he's young and doesn't have the time to commit to being a father right now, but have you seen him with children? I think he wants to have several in the future. And the idea that you will be their mother immediately gets him hard at the thought of it.

Kylian also speaks three different languages; so rest assured that he will be grunting dirty babble into your ear. Especially if he's frustrated after a loss, he doesn't shut up. And the way you react by squirming and moaning even louder? It urges him to be oh-so condescending. He would be laughing at you if it were any other situation.

On the softer side, Kylian loves when you compliment him and praise him while you're having sex, especially if you're on top of him, riding him, and telling him how good he makes you feel, how much you adore his cock. But he also enjoys praising you, cooing at your reaction to each compliment. (again: big fan of dirty talk.)

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

For peace of mind, Kylian’s favourite place to have you is the bedroom but he also loves bending you over things. The back of the couch, the kitchen counter, hell, you name it, he's probably bent you over it or planning on it at least once.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's the little things with Kylian. If you interact with children around him in any way. Or if you are touchy-feely with him. Sends him reeling when you hold his hand and graze your thumb back and forth absentmindedly against his.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Nothing that involves you getting hurt. He might indulge in some spanking and maybe squeeze your neck a little while he fucks you, but nothing beyond that. Kylian would never think to harm you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think right now, Kylian prefers to give rather than to receive. As I said before, he loves everything about your thighs and the way they latch onto the sides of his head as he goes down on you. But he would never say no to the sight of you on your knees, struggling to get all of his cock inside your sweet mouth. Which is just as addictive as burying his face between his face and eating you out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, it depends on the context. Kylian is slow and sensual when you're doing it first thing in the morning or maybe after date night. He needs to feel you, but doesn't have too much energy to make it fast and rough. But for the most part, Kylian is fast and rough. Have you seen him on the pitch? After a few days of not seeing you or after a frustrating loss, he gets desperate and needs to ruin you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

A younger Kylian, like most people, wouldn't mind. Sometimes he needed that extra boost in confidence before an important match, and he would always have you at any chance he could get. Plus the adrenaline rush of such a spontaneous rendezvous was extremely exciting to him.

But currently, quickies aren't Kylian’s favourite thing ever. He prefers to take his time with you, to get the full experience of being connected to you—even if he is rough. For him, spending the whole night together is better than twenty quickies in a day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kylian is quite risky. He would never put you in an extremely embarrassing position, but he would do you anywhere, whether there are people around or not. Think maybe the empty locker rooms, office, or a bathroom at a Michelin-star restaurant.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Unsurprisingly, Kylian’s stamina is a fucking beast. He is an athlete after all, and he is regarded as one of the fastest footballers. It's like he has a recovery time of near zero—Kylian is always ready for round two—three—four with you. You end up being the one who needs a break.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don’t see Kylian owning any toys while dating you. He strikes me as more of a simple man who prefers to please you with his fingers or cock. But as I said before, he is open to anything as long as it doesn’t harm you. And who knows? Maybe you both will discover something new you like.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I mean, we all know Kylian loves to tease. It's one of his favourite things in the world.

From something small like touching your arm or waist when you're doing chores around the house, to something much bigger like sending you dirty texts when you're halfway across the world from him. He loves feeling you tremble in his arms every time he touches you, even if it's innocently; and when you're flustered in public, trying to hold yourself back? A piece of art that belongs in the Louvre.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I feel like Kylian isn't the loudest, but he definitely makes some pretty, quiet sounds when he's inside you. He can't help it.

I see him more as a dom than a sub, so as I said before, he loves to grunt out dirty things—stumbling over his words as he relentlessly thrusts into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the person)

Although Kylian isn’t the biggest fan of quickies… he may have fucked you in some secluded area at Real Madrid’s campus after a hard match that left him fuming with anger. The press, his managers, and the entire team were looking for him, wondering where the hell he was, while he was fucking you mercilessly in some bathroom or closet.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Normal, maybe slightly above average. Maybe around 7 inches?

I feel like it’s thick, though. And he knows how to use it, which actually is the only thing that matters. I feel like he has a pretty cock—like those that are nice to look at. It looks delicious when he’s hard; all veiny and with a nice, thick head.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High as fuck. We already said that you have to spend some days apart from time to time, so he knows he won’t be able to be with you all the time; thus, he always has his hands on you and gets horny pretty easily. In fact, stress doesn’t kill his drive but rather makes it skyrocket. I’m sending prayers in advance.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bless him. Kylian puts everything into sex, so he’s usually tired after everything. He stays up to clean each other up, have some deep pillow talk—but he eventually lets sleep cascade over him. He’s so exhausted that he will fall asleep with you tightly in his arms. And there’s no place on this planet that Kylian would rather be at.

You’d stood in your bathroom one week ago, staring at your own reflection deeply. You were done settling for half-hearted conversations and a version of Jude that barely seemed to have room for you anymore. Granted, he was a high-performance athlete dealing with the pressures that came with the title… But still, that wasn't fair to you!

But… It also wasn’t your fault you were terrible at keeping your word.

“Where are you going?” Jude’s voice pulled you from your drowning thoughts. You glanced over your shoulder, finding him stretched across the bed, watching as you wandered around the room collecting your things.

The wadded sheets that caressed his lower half did little to offer modesty, his taupe skin glistened with sweat across his abdomen, decorated in red lines left moments ago by your nails.

You ignored his words as you shifted your lace underwear up your trembling, tired legs, your eyes scanned the room in search of all of your clothing. Jude had never been too considerate or precise when discarding them across the floor; he was always so needy and desperate with you.

“Oh, come off it,” Jude scoffed jokingly, not understanding why you’d been in such a hurry after fucking. “We are well past this.”

Touché—you raised your eyebrows in agreement. You had always stayed back, cuddled up in Jude’s arms until he checked out of the hotel the next morning. And that was the issue.

“Jude, you know this was a mistake.” You grumbled out, not offering him a second glance. You know if you did, you wouldn’t want to leave. And that made you annoyed. Especially with yourself.

Jude laughed. Laughed! God, you sometimes envied how unbothered he could be. You rolled your eyes, turning away to find your skirt crumpled on the floor. With an irritated sigh, you shimmed it back up your legs while Jude pushed himself off the bed, tugging on his boxers as though nothing had happened.

“Ouch,” his lip came to a pout, acting as if your words had stung him. He didn't believe you, so they didn't affect him. Damnit!

“I told you last time this wasn't happening again.” You volleyed out an explanation, sounding more like you were convincing yourself rather than him. And you were—Jude didn't even ask for an explanation.

“Ah.. And yet, here we are.” Jude exhaled a chuckle through his nose; and your annoyance was beginning to spread due to his inability to take you seriously.

“Well it's not happening again.”—Famous last words. You looked at Jude and hoped your expression was enough to persuade him to believe your words. But he didn't; maybe because you were the one who sought him out tonight. Or maybe because he didn't want to believe you deep down. Regardless.. He’d prefer to avoid such conversations.

You groaned when you couldn't find your shirt while Jude watched in amusement. He didn't bother to help you—why would he cover up the red and purple marks that caressed your skin thanks to himself?

“Have I lost my touch or something?” Jude knew that wasn't the case. Not when you had just cummed around his fingers and cock three times.

You took a sharp inhale and spun on your heels to face him fully, “Listen, I'm no longer fine with just being a fuck of convenience.” You admitted, shoulders shrugging defeatedly. Only then did you capture the falter on Jude’s face—or rather—his deep eyes. Oh, his eyes. You could get lost in his expressive, gorgeous eyes.

His eyebrows pinched together in confusion as his lips tugged into a small frown.

“That's what you think this is?” His question almost sounded accusatory, but you knew better when it came to Jude. He was just so unintentionally animated, that anything he said came out ten times more passionate.

Jude bent over and scooped up your shirt off the floor but refrained from forfeiting it just yet.

Come to think of it, you didn't want to answer his question, even though it had the most obvious answer. You didn't need it rubbed into your face that your needs didn't align. So, instead, you went to grab your shirt from his grip, but he was quick to draw it back; eyebrows curling in question. Jude really wanted an answer.

“How else would you describe it, Jude?” You tilted your head to the side.

Jude faltered once more, his lip trembling. He hadn’t signed up for this. He avoided this question the last time when you had ‘ended’ the arrangement that had been going on for far too many months now.

“Fun,” Jude settled on. And when you let out a dry, disbelieving laugh, he shuddered. “You.. You know what I mean,” he attempted to follow up.

It startled him. Jude was usually good with words. People had always told him he was mature beyond his years, that he always knew the right thing to say. But when it came to you, he felt like the stupidest man alive.

He searched for a better word, but nothing came. Convenience wasn’t right. It made you sound temporary, interchangeable. You were anything but that.

“I know what to expect from you, Jude.” You successfully grabbed your shirt this time and yanked it over your head. “I'm not going to ask for more. But this isn't enough for me anymore.”

Your explanation was fair; he couldn't complain. Jude couldn't throw it in your face, tell you that he already warned you that he didn't want anything serious. Couldn't make it your problem, or tell you that you were wrong, or your expectations were wrong.

Because they weren't wrong. And that was Jude’s problem. You made sense, you were doing what was right by you. So why did it make him feel like shit? He should be grateful you weren't putting him in an awkward position he had been in far too many times, forced to let others down. He really couldn’t find the words to say anything.

“Thanks for the fun night,” you smiled sarcastically, being able to throw his words in his face. Jude had to refrain from scoffing in disbelief.

You knew damn well it wouldn’t be the last time you saw Jude, but you’d hoped it’d be the last time you were that close to the footballer. Given that the last time you melted beneath his touch and came undone from nothing more than a few whispered words and lingering touches.

You prayed that was the case, and it seemed more and more likely that it was as the months flew by.

Jude knew you were in Madrid; he always knew what clubs you were attending despite never telling him. The smarter side of your brain screamed out danger but the impulsive side made you miss the little game you two had.

Honestly, he barely crossed your mind, it wasn't like it was hard to avoid a footballer. Hot property, especially in Madrid. There were fans chomping at the bit to get their hands on any Real Madrid player, thus security crowded around anyone with any sort of status. It was impossible to stumble across the man.

But ignoring his presence was a bigger feat than intended, especially when he scored the winning goal against Barcelona. As if the posters of his face and name everywhere weren't enough!

Suddenly, Jude’s face was plastered everywhere all at once, and only his name dropped from everyone's lips. You'd like to think there was no bad blood; but he was so hard to resist and you resented him for it. Suddenly he was everywhere—yet not in reach. Perhaps it was a good thing.

So you were optimistic. If getting near Jude was hard before, it'd be ten times harder now. Man of the moment; you felt that you'd be in the clear.

So.. How the fuck did you manage to be only five people back in the front of the line for the exclusive after party club? Your VIP pass decorated your neck as Jude walked past the front doors. He was ushered through the crowd, no need to pay or wait like every other eager party-goer, hoping their name made the list with cash in hand to pay for entry.

Jude shouldn't had spotted you, not with the gaggle of paparazzi that snapped enough pictures to blind a person or the slew of people cheering for him for a shred of attention. But, of course, Jude did.

“Hey, hey, they’re with me.” Jude stopped in his tracks; fishing you and your friend out of line towards him. The second your eyes met his, your expression hardened. Jude only snickered, looking far too pleased with himself.

You wanted to stay where you were and tell him you would wait like everyone else and get in yourself. Your pride was too strong to spare yourself ten minutes and a couple of hundred euros. Yet, your best friend, however, was far too pleased to get in for free. She didn't know your guys’ history, and you couldn't blame her for wanting to be a part of the attention. Hell, you knew Jude was hot as much as she did.

Deep down, it almost felt shameful, as if you were just some pretty girl Jude picked out to entertain himself with. But you only viewed it that way because you feared that had been true in the past. And knowing him, it probably was.

“Would you believe me if I said this is almost the highlight of the day?” Jude spoke to you with a wide grin, head ducked down towards you to ensure you heard him over the music growing in volume as you entered the venue.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes even; it appeared opting to be cold was the easiest option. Friendliness never lasted long with you two; being friendly became flirty. Flirting leads to touching and suddenly you'd be trapped beneath the nearest surface and his fiery body.

"No." Your answer was short, 'forgetting' to mumble the obvious, a congratulations, you'd feel bad if he wasn't getting it from every angle, but he was.

Jude’s grin only widened, regardless, bemused at your words. You weren't surprised, you doubted anything would wipe the shit-eating grin off his face right now. A breath of relief escaped you when someone grabbed at his arm and tugged him along, turning his attention elsewhere as you turned to your friend. Drinks were an absolute need tonight.

In hindsight, deciding to stay in the secluded area reserved for the Real Madrid player was definitely a bad idea. But with the rest of the venue packed shoulder to shoulder, you stood by your decision.

The free drinks and friendly faces proved to be enough of a distraction; music and alcohol flowing through your veins, so much so you’d join in on the cheers every time someone toasted to the footballer, or his name popped up on a board with bottles of champagne arriving.

An arm slithering around your waist should’ve been alarming, but shamefully you recognised the muscular grip immediately, your body naturally welcoming such action instead of pulling away.

“You still haven’t congratulated me.” Jude’s voice was low and in your ear, Birmingham accent thick, making you have to take a sharp breath. It was stupid, ridiculous the way such an action could have your mind growing hazy.

“Haven't I?” You posed the question innocently, bringing your drink to your lips as if it would offer you refuge from the temptation behind you.

You’d lost your friend ages ago, and suddenly you couldn’t recognise many people around you. Or maybe you didn’t make an effort to, because the company you quietly craved was the man behind you.

“Nope,” Jude popped the ‘p,’ lips lingering next to your ear momentarily before he pulled away to also bring his drink to his lips, you taking the moment to turn around and face him. “Not very nice of you, you know?”

You’d rolled your eyes again, a small laugh escaping you. Wanting to point out the fact that everyone was dropping to their knees to sing his praise. He didn’t need it from you. Not to mention how pesky his little Britishisms can be.

Did it make your heart skip a beat that he wanted it, though? Of course it did, despite your brain screaming that it shouldn’t. It was far too easy to cling onto anything this man did.

“Well done,” you spoke, voice laced with sarcasm despite there being truth to your words. “I’m so, so, so proud of you!”

Jude chuckled and his face lit up in amusement once more; a vast contrast to every other conversation he had tonight. This very reason he’d sought you out. Jude thought it spoke for something, the fact his mind had been consumed with so many thoughts of you despite the win he’d just accomplished with the team.

“Thank you.” Jude grinned from ear to ear, and it was as if on cue, he was being tugged away once more; and suddenly, you could breathe again.

You took the time to grab some much needed air, a balcony not too far. The next hour or so ended up being a bit of a blur. You ended up back on the dance floor, familiar faces all around, drinks continuously flowing—reunited with your friend whose lipstick was now smudged and hair slightly tangled, your hands quick to fix it up with small giggles.

You were loosening up, so much so that when Jude next appeared with two drinks in hand and daring eyes… You couldn’t help but accept. You were practically dying by your own hand, you knew you should politely decline and slip back into the crowd. But Jude Bellingham was always so hard to ignore, especially in a black button-up and white slacks.

Both of you toasted and raised the glasses to your lips, somehow still moderately sober in comparison to those around you. You knew your limits and you didn't want the night to end prematurely.

“You're not mad at me, are you?” Jude had to shout for you to hear, your eyes narrowing as you shook your head. You were somewhat surprised at his efforts. His ability to seek you in a crowd that was there for him and his team. All for what? To ask you that question?

“Why would I be mad at you?” You deflected, because you knew he had a point. You weren’t mad at him, obviously. He hadn't done anything; you’d been the one to… get attached. But you were quite clearly being distant and cold and you didn’t feel like explaining why.

Jude shrugged his shoulders, face scrunching up like he was thinking momentarily, giving you time to admire how pretty he looked. How his large hand wrapped around the glass, the way his arms looked with his sleeves rolled up.

“You’re avoiding me,” his brow shot up and you were rolling your eyes once more, like a broken record. The grin on his face showed he didn’t care to sound desperate; that he was well aware why you were acting in such a way. He distinctly remembered the last conversation between the pair of you. How you swore off the two of you—much to his dismay.

“I’m not! I’m keeping a friendly distance,” you corrected playfully, eyebrows raising as he nodded unconvincingly, lips parting in fake shock.

It was pathetic, you already could feel it. Your self restraint slipping away. Suddenly, posing yourself the question, would it be that bad if you entertained yourself with the idea of him just one more time? Just once?

“Right,” Jude practically sung, a laugh following suit as he downed the rest of his drink. “There’s no fun in that.”

All you could do was shrug at his words and give no answer because you agreed. This wasn’t fun, it was hard. It would be so much easier to let yourself take the usual reckless route. And why live life the hard way?

So, there, you chose easy, and when someone appeared to place a drink in Jude’s hand and capture a few minutes of his attention, you allowed the footballer to throw his arm over your shoulders; tugging you closer to his body. He didn’t want you slipping away into the crowd again.

You let yourself stay in his grasp, mindlessly swaying to the music and awaiting for him to finish shooting the shit. You should’ve taken this precious time to realise this was what you were meant to avoid. Take this precious time to duck out from his hold and busy yourself with someone else once more.

But instead you found yourself leaning into Jude; admiring the way his calloused yet gentle fingertips danced on your collarbone—oblivious to prying eyes and jealous gazes from those who were hoping to be in your place. His cologne was intoxicating, his touch was familiar and inviting and the way he was keeping you close while still paying you attention despite everyone trying to get their two cents in with him had your stomach flipping and fluttering.

“I really, really missed you,” Jude whispered; your head tilting aside invitingly. Contrast to your initial and intended behaviour. Regardless, the moment his lips met your skin, all rational plans were out the door with a relieved sigh.

“Good.” you answered back, knowing to not grow excited by such a confession. Not needing to say the words back because Jude already knew you missed him. You were always missing him—and he loved that.

Another kiss was pressed to your skin, and another.

“I mean it,” Jude mumbled, your eyes fluttering shut briefly at the feeling of his lips still peppering your skin. Heat spreading across your cheeks, which you later blamed on the temperature inside the venue.

You were glad you’d made your mind up, having come to the conclusion that one more night with him couldn’t be that bad. Your thought process was definitely influenced by your sexual desires rather than rationality or consideration for your aching, breaking heart. But it meant you weren’t dwelling on his words and picking them apart, instead focused on the way his hand was now resting on the side of your leg.

“Is there a bathroom near?” Your question was all Jude needed to hear as the pair of you were not so subtle as you weaved through the crowd.

His lips were on yours the moment you were in the bathroom, your back being pressed against the door to shut it—his fingers fiddling around to find the lock and the moment he heard it click, his hands were all over you.

It was messy, and rushed; adrenaline pumping between the pair of you much like the muffled music seeping through the door. Your hands were pawing at each other, his at your waist, then your hips, then your legs; touching what he could of you over the silk of your dress.

Your hands were gripping the back of Jude’s head, then running down his chest; attempting to pull him closer despite his body pressed tightly against yours. His hands then moved to grab yours, before lifting them up and over your head; pinning them to the door as his lips moved to your jaw, then to your neck.

“Jude,” you breathed in need. Your eyes shut as you attempted to push forward off the door, wanting to touch him in any way. Excitingly, you were no match for his strength.

He tutted and smacked his lips quietly, kissing at your skin with such intent that made you whimper.

“What do you want?” Jude’s question was almost a taunt while his knee was pushing between your thighs. Jude knew exactly what to do to have you squirming. It made you feel helpless, needy and desperate. Nonetheless, not one bit regretful or ashamed you found yourself here again.

“You—fuck—anything,” you breathed, hips rutting against his leg slightly; the action not unnoticed as a cocky smirk grew on Jude’s lips.

Your eyes poured into his, watching as he bathed the sight of you in. You were so flustered and worked up already, and he barely touched you.

“Yeah?” he hummed, releasing your hands now so he could cup your cheek, which made it hard for you to nod but you attempted to regardless.

“Want you to fuck me,” you elaborated; taking the chance to touch him, hand going straight to the huge bulge in his trousers. Jude gritted and hissed through his teeth with a curl of his eyebrows.

You two would often take your time. Jude liked to have you spread open for him, a few orgasms deeply thanks to his fingers or tongue first before fucking you sensually. Taking his time in kissing every inch of your body, exploring your mouth, kissing you and touching you all he could. He loved to memorise your body like a map.

However, the both of you had a sense of urgency tonight. Keen to feel him inside you, aware there were plenty of people awaiting the footballer; that the night had barely begun in the grand scheme of things. The fact you’d avoided him for so long. The fact you promised, but God, it’d been too long. Jude would struggle to draw this out the way he wanted to.

“Barely touched you, baby,” Jude pointed out with a smirk as if he was not feeling the same burning desire to be with you.

You normally would’ve paid more attention to the way your stomach flipped at the casual drop of the nickname, but his actions captured your attention before you could dwell too hard.

It was a relief as he moved you to the sink counter, pressing on your back to bend you over the surface. Behind you, your hands scrambled to grip on the counter as your eyes settled on him in the mirror. A position you’d only be in for him, and Jude knew that.

Spreading your legs was easy as you watched Jude, flipping the skirt of your dress up and merely pushing your panties aside; fingers swiping through your wetness, entering you once, then twice.

“Gotta make sure this isn’t a mistake, hm?” Jude’s inquiry was a taunt, quoting you, hands leaving your figure. He then unzipped his pants and freed his cock, leaving you to whimper and watch in the mirror.

Jude didn’t make the move to touch you, prolonging your torture; hips swaying slightly as you dwelled on his words. His big doe eyes were pouring into yours through the mirror and your cheeks only grew more hotter. His reminder that you had once claimed you didn’t want this anymore had you speechless, not suddenly rational.

“What changed your mind?” His hands moved to squeeze your ass, cock pressing against your entrance which left you with nothing but anticipation and emptiness. “Cause we finally won? Am I good enough for you now?”

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you weren’t in such a compromising position, his wicked grin enough to show his words were simply throw away comments, not an insight into his actual assumptions.

“Jude… please,” you whined, all you could muster. Your hips attempted to push back onto him but his hands on your ass held you directly in place; chest rising at the sight of you so needy for him. A sight he’d never, ever get sick of.

“Your words, not mine, babe,” Jude reminded you; tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he took in the sight of you momentarily, your laboured breathing and inability to keep still due to your need for him always something he loved to be witness to.

He was usually gentle with you at first, would warm you up; start off slow and build up to the pace that would have tears streaming down your pretty face. But he was insanely eager tonight, adrenaline still pumping madly through his veins. And by the way you were looking at him in the mirror told him you reciprocated.

“Gotta fuck some sense into you, yeah?” Jude’s question was matched with his hand tangling in your hair. He grasped a few strands before tugging you up harshly which made your back meet his chest and a gasp escaped you. “Yeah?” Jude repeated when you failed to answer.

You tried to nod quickly, hips pushing back once more to little success with the position he had you in. His lips were next to your ear now and the chuckle he let out had your thighs attempting to squeeze tightly together.

“Please! Please,” you whimpered; desperation growing pathetically quickly. It was almost pathetic, how he could shorten your vocabulary to pleas and curses in such little time.

Jude would like to say he was one of those men who could do this all night, but that would be a lie. He groaned audibly at your whimper; chest now pushed forward towards the mirror beautifully, still with a perfect view of your face.

He gave you no warning as he slid inside of you, your jaw going slack as he bottomed out; letting go of your hair and pushing your back down once more. Your hands flew to the counter again, moaning at the stretch while he groaned at the way your walls hugged him so, so tightly.

He didn’t give you the usual time to adjust, moving immediately and thrusting deeply inside of you, hands using your hips to meet his movements.

“Swear you’re fucking made for me,” Jude groaned as his head fell back, pounding into your tight cunt repetitively, your moans escaping each time as your face contorted in pleasure.

It was too good—he was too good. You weren’t sure how you could ever actually give this up.

You attempted to keep your moans hushed, although with the volume of the music you weren’t at much risk of being heard; which was good, because you were struggling to keep quiet. In fact, failing miserably! Your eyes rolled back when Jude didn’t fail to hit that spot inside of you repetitively, hands still gripping your hips tightly.

His grunts and groans were addictive, so much so you wanted to open your eyes and bask in the sight of him but the pleasure was too much to do so.

Jude, however, wouldn’t settle for such, hand tangling in your hair once more. He tugged once and pulled your head up slightly, with clear intentions behind his actions.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he cooed breathlessly, and you did as he said, being met with his ones through the mirror; a lazy smile gracing his features as you whimpered and gripped the counter tightly.

You never expect to get off so quickly from pure penetration, but you were. Suppose it was made easier with the sight of him and his hands gracing your skin, plus his filthy, loud mouth.

“So good,” you whined out; not that you needed to vocalise such a thing, it was already clear. But Jude loved your praise as much as you loved his. He hummed in agreement, squeezing your ass in appreciation.

Suddenly, his groans began to grow in frequency.

Jude was close, but in no way would he ever cum before you. His hand sneaking around your waist and dipping in between your thighs, finding your clit with ease. Jude’s fingers circled your clit expertly, dancing and sliding around like he knew you like the back of his hand. Because he did.

“Come for me baby, go on,” his words of encouragement were all you needed to hear as he continued to thrust in and out of you. You released on his cock virtually immediately at his demand. Your walls squeezed him so perfectly, Jude’s name so pretty coming from your lips—his own high cascading him as he came inside of you with a loud groan.

It was oddly satisfying, a quick release; a new experience for the pair of you. The both of you panting and coming down as he slid out of you.

Jude was gentle again, a contrast to before, as he turned you round and sat you on the counter. Your breaths were heavy as you observed him and his hands reaching up your thighs and tugging your underwear down your legs before shoving them in his pocket, only then pulling your dress down for you.

“Pervert,” you mocked with a teasing smile, Jude’s own one growing as he rolled his eyes—hands shifting to rest on your thighs.

“Collecting all the wins today,” he shrugged; a boyish chuckle escaping him as your face screwed up—his humour never lost on you as you pushed against his chest.

“I should smack you for that,” you taunted, failing to pretend to be disgusted as you grinned at him. Your entire body flushed and chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath, a small chuckle escaping you.

There were a few moments of silence as Jude adjusted himself, zipping his trousers back up and straightening out his shirt; your own hands moving to flatten your own hair.

“You gonna stay?” Jude’s question fell upon you with his intent gaze, eyes showing genuine interest. Your own eyebrows quirked in interest, unexpectedly. You'd assumed this was it for the night. Jude got his fix, you got yours.

“…Maybe,” you raised your shoulders slightly, not in a teasing way, but genuinely. You weren’t going to overstay your welcome. You were sure the casual party goers would be falling off the next couple of hours, the ones who just wanted to get a glimpse of the footballer.

You were assuming you fell into that category, not his inner circle.

“You should,” Jude hummed; and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you and the man almost frowned.

“You need to celebrate out there,” you hummed, patting his chest lightly with a small laugh.

His eye roll was one of sass, like you should’ve expected. What you didn’t expect was for him to insist on you staying.

“Yeah, I did already,” Jude retorted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his thumb moving absentmindedly against the warmth of your skin.

And maybe that was the problem. Because somehow, somewhere between every warning you’d given yourself and every promise you’d made, you’d ended up right back here.

Still close enough to him to forget why you were supposed to leave.