ON YOUR KNEES
jude bellingham x gf!reader
warnings: a bit of toxicity, +18 content, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, dom!Jude (maybe a bit mean), dirty talk, praising, possesive behaivor, a semipublic space, boys slut shaming the reader (not jude), and probably mistakes since english is not my first language.
summary: In the throbbing pulse of a nightclub, jealousy ignites a fiery confrontation between you and your boyfriend, Jude. Provoked by your dance with another man, he pulls you into a private moment of reckoning in the bathroom, demanding an apology that leaves no room for hesitation.
a/n: (somebody help me to come up with titles please)
The nightclub hummed with an intoxicating energy, a haven for lost souls seeking solace in the arms of strangers or the oblivion of a pounding bassline. The air was heavy with sweat, alcohol, and desperation masquerading as joy. You had dressed for war tonight, in a red satin dress that hugged your curves and heels high enough to command attention. This wasn’t your scene, not really. But Jude had been distant after the fight, and your insecurities screamed for validation louder than reason.
Jude Bellingham, your boyfriend, stood across the room, chatting with some friends. His laughter boomed, carefree and natural, and you wondered how he could be so unaffected by the rift that had formed between you after the fight. His presence was magnetic; even in a crowd, you were caught in his orbit, unable to escape.
And then there was Theo. A friend of a friend, someone whose name barely mattered. He had shown up with your group earlier in the night, and though he seemed charming in a low-key way, you hadn’t paid him much attention. Not until Jude, pointedly, hadn’t paid attention to you. His eyes swept over the crowd while laughing, skipping over you deliberately. It wasn’t subtle. The cold disregard had stung more than you cared to admit, especially when you’d tried earlier to bridge the gap with him.
The argument had started over something petty—an offhand comment about him always being preoccupied with football. You hadn’t meant for it to spiral, but his reaction had been defensive, his words clipped and final, leaving the tension between you unresolved. Now, with each minute that passed, the silence between you grew heavier. He hadn’t so much as glanced your way all evening, and it gnawed at you.
Theo, on the other hand, had noticed you. A cheeky grin lit up his face as he leaned closer, just enough to make you feel a little thrill of rebellion. When he offered his hand to dance, you hesitated for half a beat before slipping your fingers into his. If Jude wasn’t going to acknowledge you, then why shouldn’t you let someone else? After all, it was just a dance, and you were getting bored.
The music pulsed like a heartbeat as Theo led you to the dance floor. The space was tight, and the proximity lent an intimacy to every movement. He wasn’t overbearing, though—his hands stayed respectfully at his sides, his rhythm perfectly matching yours as you swayed to the beat. You weren’t trying to make anything happen with Theo, but the act of dancing with him, of letting him pay you attention, felt like an act of defiance. You wanted Jude to notice. To feel something.
And he did.
From across the room, you felt his eyes on you like a laser. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a visceral awareness of his gaze locking onto you. Jude’s jaw clenched as he stood rooted in place, watching you. He didn’t move, didn’t intervene, but his presence was suffocating. The heat of it made your stomach twist, nerves tightening with every shift of his broad shoulders. And then, as if none of it mattered, he turned back to his conversation, his indifference as cutting as his earlier intensity. Prick.
So you didn’t stop. If anything, you leaned into it, letting Theo spin you once, your laughter ringing out like a challenge. Your boyfriend looked at you again, and you saw Jude’s dark expression, his easy smile from earlier replaced by something stormy and unreadable. For a split second, you almost faltered, the weight of his emotions bearing down on you. But this was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? To make him care enough to do something?
"Having fun?" Theo asked, his voice warm and low, oblivious to the drama playing out behind him.
“Yeah,” you said, though your tone betrayed a hint of distraction.
Theo didn’t seem to notice, twirling you again with effortless charm. But you couldn’t shake Jude’s piercing stare. It was as though he were trying to will you to stop, to come to him, without ever saying a word.
Your heart raced for reasons that had little to do with the dance.
Feeling particularly suicidal tonight, thanks to your spectacular failures and, possibly, the cocktail of drinks coursing through your veins, you grabbed Theo’s hands and placed them on your bare sides again. His fingers rested lightly against your skin, just at the curve of your waist, the contact a muted sensation rather than the electrifying spark you might have hoped for if Jude was there with you.
Your skin does not catch fire. You do not break out in sweat or experience the shattering sensation of mysterious eroticism.
But it is good enough to keep going.
The pounding rhythm of the nightclub seems to slow as you let yourself melt into the movement, your arms sliding up and around Theo’s neck. You dance slower than the beat demands, provocatively, swaying your hips in a way that feels deliberate, jutting your breasts just enough to know it would catch someone’s eye. And it does—though not the one dancing with you.
Theo’s hands tighten a fraction on your waist, his grin growing, but you’re barely paying attention to him. The music pulses through your body, the bass reverberating in your chest, making your heart race with a symphony of chaos and rebellion. Every sway of your hips is a message, every tilt of your head a taunt, but not for the one in front of you.
Jude’s eyes burn into you from across the room. The sensation of his gaze is impossible to ignore, a toxic elixir swirling and bubbling within you, a concoction that promises a temporary escape from reality and a false sense of bliss. You’ve always known Jude’s intensity, but now, that intensity is wrapped in jealousy, and something darker. It ignites a masochistic thrill within you.
He hasn’t moved. Jude stands at the edge of the crowd, his teammates fading into the background as he leans casually against the bar, drink forgotten in his hand. The set of his jaw is hard, his shoulders squared, his lips pressed into a thin line. His stare is molten, hot enough to scald, and you can feel it even with the bodies and music between you. Then, just as suddenly, he smirks.
Your breath catches when his head tilts slightly, a motion that seems to say, Are you having fun?
Theo leans closer, saying something you don’t catch over the music, his lips brushing against your ear. Maybe he was not telling you a joke, however, you laugh, though it’s forced and far too bright, leaning into his touch with a little more weight. Your hands slide to his chest, flattening against the fabric of his shirt as you sway together, bodies close but still frustratingly detached for him—and perfectly calculated for Jude.
You glance over your shoulder, unable to help yourself, and the storm in Jude’s eyes pins you in place. Your body continues to move, but your mind stumbles, caught in the ferocity of his expression. There’s no mistaking it now—he’s furious. His knuckles are white against the glass he holds, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to shatter it. Now it is your turn to smirk.
This isn’t just jealousy. It’s possessiveness. A dangerous, intoxicating cocktail of emotions that makes you feel both vindicated and on the verge of collapse.
When Jude finally pushes off the bar and begins to weave through the crowd, your heart skips a beat. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, but there’s a predatory edge to them that sends a chill racing down your spine. He’s coming for you.
Jude is on you before you can even process the intent in his eyes. The heat of his fury radiates, sharp and unmistakable, as he steps forward through the sea of dancers. The music blurs around you, the world fading as his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist with an iron grip. His fingers are like steel, unyielding, and in a single motion, he pulls you away from Theo, nearly yanking you off your feet.
“Theo, I’m—” You try to say something, but Theo, standing there looking helpless and confused, doesn’t matter anymore. Jude doesn’t even spare him a glance.
Your heart starts to pound as you stagger for balance, nearly tripping in your heels, but Jude’s grip holds you firm avoiding you falling to the dance floor. He’s moving fast, and his pace doesn’t adjust for you in the slightest. You can’t match it. He’s walking like he’s a man on a mission—unbothered by the people swarming around, dodging them effortlessly as if they aren’t even there. You’re practically running to keep up, stumbling over your feet, but Jude’s grip doesn’t loosen.
“Jude! Where are we—?” Your voice is lost in the music, but he doesn’t even glance at you, doesn’t hear you, or at least pretends no to. It’s as though you don’t exist beyond the space he’s carved out for you in that moment, and it’s suffocating.
He’s not walking. He’s striding—his long legs taking confident strides, moving through the crowd with an almost predatory grace, a rhythm only he can keep. You can barely breathe as you’re pulled along, the rapid pace tightening the knot in your stomach. The world is rotating around you, and your pulse races—not from nervousness, but from sheer excitement. Your mind is spinning, heart pounding, as you try to make sense of what is happening. You imagine a lot of outcomes, each one better than the other.
You open your mouth again, ready to protest due to the pace, but his jaw tightens, and he looks down at you for a brief second, a smirk twisting his lips. That smirk makes your chest tighten even more.
“I thought you didn’t want to dance,” you manage to mutter, barely above a whisper, your voice thick with emotion. You’re trying to get under his skin, trying to understand why his anger feels so consuming, but all he does is bite the inside of his cheek, suppressing another smug smile and probably some words.
He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t acknowledge the weight of your words. He just keeps walking, and you’re helpless to do anything but follow. It’s as if the entire club is distorting into a haze of colors and noise around you, and all that matters is Jude.
You want to speak again, to demand an answer, but you can’t. His grip is tight around your wrist, and the pressure in your chest makes it hard to breathe. His steps never falter as he walks, maneuvering through the bodies with ease—there’s no resistance, no interruption. He’s in complete control, dragging you along like a marionette.
The closer you get to the back hallway, the more you realize where he’s taking you. Your stomach turns. The bathroom. Not just any bathroom, but the kind that reeks of exclusivity, the kind where people disappear into.
“Jude!” You pull against his grip, but it’s futile. His smirk only deepens, and there’s something almost amused in his eyes. He’s enjoying this—enjoying making you squirm.
“I’m not just some toy for you to—”
Before you can finish, he halts in front of the door. His fingers tighten on your wrist as he spins you to face him, leaning down just enough to make your breath catch. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even need to. The look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. His silence is louder than any words.
And then, without a word, he pulls you into the restroom, the door slamming behind him with a finality that makes your pulse race. The smirk on his lips is barely contained now as he surveys you, his eyes dark and possessive, glinting with something that leaves you breathless and a little afraid.
“Jude,” you breathe. “What are we doing here?”
Instead of answering you, he just presses into you farther. “You made me watch him touch you.”
“Made you? Then you should´ve—”
“You made me. You made it impossible to look anywhere but you. Existing effortlessly in a room full of people, looking every bit of holy, divine, and angelic, practically forcing me to look at you. You made me watch him grind against you, inhale you.”
“I’m with you,” you whispered, meaning it more than you’ve ever meant anything before. “I’m always with you. I was just with him to make you jealous.” Then you lowered your voice, a hint of embarrassment creeping in, your eyes darting away. "Sorry"
Now you feel horribly. You used Theo, who seemed nice enough not to deserve it, and you hurt Jude. The tension between you and Jude had been building for a while, an undercurrent of frustration and misunderstanding, but that didn't make your actions any easier to justify. You'd pushed him to his limits, used someone else as a distraction, all because of your frustration.
“I couldn’t watch you with him anymore. I think that dude is bad news. Also, I understand that you wanted to dance but that is not the way. You know it. You pissed me off. I was sick of seeing him touch you.” The power in his hold rattles you to your core. There is so much severity in him right now that you know he isn’t joking.
You know it’s wrong, but he hurt you too. He made you feel as if you did not mattered. You couldn’t keep your toughts from him. So that leaft you with only one option. The truth. “Jude, I—”
Rambunctious laughter and voices burst into the bathroom, followed by the door exploding open. It dings against the wall behind it, but the group of men, from the VIP zone, who just tumbled inside didn’t even care. “Theo, that little thing that was rubbing against you out there is a solid fuck. Had her in between my sheets a few years ago, before she was with her fucking boyfriend.”
“I’ll pass on your sloppy seconds, then. I’m capable of getting my own pussy.” The color drains from your face as you recognize Theo’s voice. But more importantly, the first man—whose voice you didn’t recognize—was completely lying. You feel a knot form in your stomach, but thankfully, their voices are drowned by the thumping bass and the chatter of the crowd around you. You glance at Jude, hoping he didn't overhear. A hot flush creeps up your neck, and your heart races, but, to your relief, he’s focused entirely on you, oblivious to the exact words just out of reach.
You’re thankful for the pressure Jude is putting on your back, or else your knees would’ve buckled. This is not how you wanted this conversation to go with him, and the last thing you want is for him to believe those lies before you could explain.
“It seems we have company, baby,” Jude mutters in your ear, “How about you put on a show for them like you did me earlier, hmm?”
Your body melts a little when you feel him grind into your backside, feeling his hardened cock behind the fabric of our clothing. A gnawing in your stomach starts abruptly, resulting in a pulse beginning between your thighs.
Your dress rode up some, enough to expose the back of your legs. You shivered at the scratchy feeling of his jeans rubbing against you. You bit down on your bottom lip as his hands fall to your lower half.
“I want you to make it up to me, Y/N. I want you to be my good girl and get down on your knees,” he starts, building this fantasy for you to act out, one that has your nipples taut and core dripping.
“And apologize for making me watch you and him. Make it up to me.” The grip on your waist tightens as he spins you smoothly so that you are facing him. Behind you, you can hear them all laughing about someone not doing a line of coke correctly. The way you had Theo´s hands in your waist before, it´s terrifying.
You hear footsteps and their muffled voices approaching the bathroom compartment where you and Jude are. The group of friends is moving closer, and the pressure in the air grows. Your heart races faster, the space suddenly feeling smaller. Panic comes back, out of fear of their reaction of finding you, but Jude pulls you back into his body, making everything else besides him disappear. He grabs your chin between his fingers, holding you there.
Your breath catches, heart racing as you lean in, closing the small gap between you. But just before your lips meet, he smirks, his dark eyes glittering with playful control. He doesn’t give you the kiss you’re seeking, and the teasing refusal makes your cheeks burn.
Flustered but determined, you tilt your head and plant a quick kiss on his cheek instead, a move that feels bolder than it should. Embarrassment floods through you, and before you can think twice, you hide your face in the curve of his neck, trying to steady your breathing.
Jude’s chuckle rumbles softly in his chest, and then you feel his lips brush against the side of your neck, pressing wet, warm, deliberate kisses that make your nerves spark and your embarrassment melt away.
“On your knees, baby.”
The air between you shifts, thick with tension, his tone wrapping around you like a velvet tether. Your breath hitches, a flush creeping up your neck as his gaze pins you in place. For a moment, you hesitate—not out of defiance, but because the weight of the moment is so intense it’s almost dizzying.
His fingers trail along your jawline, firm but not harsh, guiding you gently down as if he’s already certain you’ll obey. There’s no need for him to repeat himself; his confidence is undeniable, and it pulls at something deep within you.
You want to make it up to him. You want to give him this. So, you do as you are told. You creep down in a squatting position, dropping to your knees one at a time, the cold tile stinging your skin. You keep your eyes up, staring at him because you already know how much he loves it when you look at him while you go down.
“Like this?” you ask innocently, licking your bottom lip, waiting for his answer as your palms run up his thighs. Your mouth waters eagerly. The challenge of making him feel good, the opportunity to receive his praise, makes your toes curl and your heart race.
You made quick work of his button and zipper, dipping your hand into his jeans. Kneading his stiffened length through his boxers, you teased him. Chills racked your spine as you pulled him free, and your body hummed as you admired his dick. The anticipation crackled in the air, and you couldn’t resist running your fingers along him, savoring the weight of him in your grasp.
But just as the moment deepened, muffled voices from outside shattered the intimacy like glass splintering across tile.
“Y/N didn’t let you smash?” The crude question carried clearly through the thin walls, each word like a slap against your ears. Your movements faltered, your hand freezing mid-stroke as your head snapped up in shock.
“That uppity slut has barely let me touch her.” Theo sneered, his tone laced with venom. The words hit you hard, bile rising in your throat as your mind reeled. Theo—who had seemed kind, respectful, and far removed from this kind of cruelty—had just ripped apart his character with casual malice.
Laughter followed, rough and mean-spirited. “Skank’s probably the loyal type, man. She looked like a bitch starving for attention.”
Jude’s reaction was immediate and terrifying. His body tensed like a spring about to snap, his jaw clenching so hard you swore you could hear it. His nostrils flared, and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides.
“I’m gonna kill that piece of shit,” he snarled, the sheer venom in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He moved, his rage propelling him toward the door.
“No, Jude!” you hissed, grabbing his wrist firmly. You looked up at him, your wide eyes begging him to stop. “Don’t. Please.”
His glare snapped down to you, fiery and unrelenting, but then he paused. For a moment, you could see the war inside him—the need to protect you battling against his trust in your words. Finally, he let out a sharp, furious exhale, his fist relaxing just slightly.
“Fucking idiots,” he muttered under his breath, his voice still seething with anger. But he didn’t move toward the door again. Instead, his gaze dropped back to you, his expression softening as his focus returned to what truly mattered—you.
“That’s right,” you whispered, your hand sliding up his thighs to ground him. “But forget them. Stay here with me.”
Jude’s lips quirked into a dark, frustrated smirk, his anger not entirely gone but redirected. His hand reached out to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Then his hands fell to your head, sneaking to the back of it to grab a chunk of your soft hair to hold on to.
Your skin is warm and tingling as you did not listen to them talk far away shit about you, focusing on pleasuring him. Seductively and without moving your eyes from his glowing face, you spit onto the head, using your hand to smear your saliva up and down his length. You lubed him all up so he slides down your throat smoothly.
“Maybe that footballer will fuck the bitch out of her,” Theo jokes, making the guys around him cackle.
Your scalp burns sweetly as Jude twists his wrist, pulling tighter on your hair. “You going to fuck the bitch out of me?” you asked, your voice a whisper for only him to hear, eyes wide, trying to get him to focus on you so that he doesn’t kill the entire group of friends of a friend of yours. You do not care about their crude comments; their words do nothing as long as he is with you.
Your palm curled around him at his base, pumping up and down while you opened your mouth to take him inside. You engulfed him fully, swirling your tongue, tracing the grooves. He pulled you off him before you could do anything else, bending at the waist so his face is near your own, “What bitch in you? I know how to handle you perfectly, love.”
A blush heats your cheeks, just before you feel him press your head down towards his hips. He pushes his cock past your lips, into your mouth, and down your throat, catching you off guard completely. His member tickled the back of your throat, making you choke quietly, but it doesn’t seem to faze him because he holds you there.
With no mercy in sight, he shifts his hips back as he places his other hand in your hair, stroking forward once again, creating a sloppy sound as he crams his cock into your mouth. His head is tucked into his chin, his eyes staring straight through your own. Your throat constricts around him, pushing him out with resistance, and your gag reflex kicks into high gear.
“Open up for me, baby. Let it feel right.” He groans lowly, using both hands to shove you farther down him next to his pelvis. The girth painfully presses against the back of your throat. Your breath through your nose comes out shaky as you wince, your eyes squinting as you focus on not making any noise so those outside of the stall don’t hear me.
You swallow around him, suctioning him with your lips, “That’s it. Such a good girl for me.”
Every time you try to catch your breath, he steals it with another hard thrust into your mouth, and you have no choice but to take it. You can sense the lingering edge of his resentment over your earlier performance, and it drives you to give him everything—to accept him fully, without hesitation or complaint. The raw intensity of his control sends a jolt of heat straight through you, making your walls clench and your arousal deepen with every movement.
And it only gets worse as the seconds tick by. His hold on your hair burns with the pull, and his strokes become violent. You struggle to breathe, desperately trying to keep your gags quiet. Although there’s nothing you could do about his soft groans of pleasure and the wet noise of his cock filling your mouth.
Finally, fate decides to give you a break, because you hear the group of guys start to file out of the bathroom. When the door shuts, you choke embarrassingly loud, pressing your hands into Jude’s thighs and forcing him out so you could catch your breath. A trail of spit from your mouth drips from his shaft, leaking down your chin and onto your neckline. You can feel the heat from your flushed cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears that freely fall from the force of his thrusts.
“You think we are done, Y/N?” he taunts, pushing you backwards so that your head and his hands press into the stall door.
Your reply is empty. You’re unable to speak once he returns to your mouth, pushing deeper inside you than you thought possible. Your head against the door gives him a backboard to drive into so that his thrusts are harder, and you have nowhere to pull back to.
You move your head while his hardened dick chokes you, flattening your tongue so that it massages the underside of his length, lapping at the bulging vein every single time you force yourself down. It’s chaotic. The kind of painful ecstasy that makes you question your sanity.
Your eyesight is blurred with the faint lights from the bathroom, hazy with tears as he continues to find pleasure. Fully ignoring the ache in your throat and jaw, his moans become more audible and you find yourself dripping.
This is how it always happens with him. He pushes, pushes, pushes until you are unable to function. He does it so well, he always leaves you breathless. There are no breaks. There is no easy with him. He takes you to the complete verge of incomprehensible pleasure every time.
The number of grunts and moans pouring out of him is enough to keep you going, the kind of pleasure that feeds on itself, a heady mix of his reactions and your own growing need. You gag and sputter around him, your throat tightening as you bring you hand up to rest on his abdomen. You can feel his stomach seizing, his vicious thrusts turning sloppy and out of control. Your other slippery hand cups his balls, drawing a sharp hiss from him as his hips stutter, his head tipping back as he drags in a breath through clenched teeth.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and laced with lingering tension. With your name on his lips, he shoves deep into the back of your mouth, pouring his release into your throat. You swallow greedily, sucking until he is finished with you. You can feel his legs shaking slightly as he cradles the back of your head.
His hands cherish your face with a tenderness that feels almost at odds with the intensity of the moments before, your head resting against the door. He holds you up. You shudder slightly as you breathe him in. Your body feels heavy, yet weightless in his arms, the aftershocks of what just transpired making it difficult to ground yourself.
Jude shifts his grip, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His touch is gentle as he works to wipe away the evidence of your shared heat—the smudged makeup staining your skin, the faint sheen of sweat that clings to you. His brows furrow slightly, as if this small act of care carries the weight of an apology.
His thumb lingers at the corner of your lips, gently catching the slight wetness there. You watch him, heart pounding as his gaze flicks to yours, holding your attention with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice soft, tinged with awe and a bit of regret for the rudeness. “Messy, perfect, all for me.” His lips curve into the smallest of smiles before his thumb brushes over your lips one last time.
Then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans in and kisses you deeply. The kiss is slow, searching—an apology, a promise, and a plea wrapped into one. His lips move against yours with a reverence that makes your chest ache, his hands still cradling your face as if you might slip away.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he lets out a breath that seems to carry all his unspoken thoughts. His fingers trace along your jaw, grounding you both in the moment.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice rough with sincerity. “For not paying you enough attention. For letting that stupid fight anger me.”
“It´s fine,” you whispered, “I’m the one who is sorry though, I shouldn’t have danced with him to make you jealous. And due to how he was talking...”
Jude’s arms tighten around you, his warmth anchoring you even as your mind spins from everything that’s happened. The hard press of the door behind you contrasts with the softness of his lips brushing over your forehead, a kiss as much for comfort as it is a promise.
He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression shifting—softer now, but still infused with that controlled intensity that makes your heart flutter. His hands slip down to your hips, his thumbs brushing gently over the fabric of your dress as if to soothe the frayed edges of your nerves.
“We’re going home,” he says, his voice quiet but firm, a decision made. “It’s your turn now, baby. I’m going to make you feel good—so good you will forget your own name,” His eyes burn with the promise, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.
The sheer tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache, but then he glances toward the door, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. “But first,” he says, his tone taking on a new edge, “I need to have a little talk with that asshole and his fucking friends.”
Your stomach flips, a mix of fear and worry crashing into you. Your hands press against his chest instinctively, as if you could keep him here with you, away from whatever confrontation he’s thinking about. “Jude…” Your voice trembles with concern. “You don’t have to. It is fine, really.”
His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away your nerves. The gesture is slow, deliberate, and laced with so much care it almost undoes you. “I do have to,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his lips just grazing your temple. “But I’ll be nice, baby. Don’t worry.”
The words are meant to reassure you, but your chest tightens anyway. You swallow hard, trying to find the right words to convince him otherwise, but then he smiles—that smile. The one that’s as disarming as it is reassuring, the one that makes your stomach flip in a completely different way.
“Trust me,” he says softly, his fingers tilting your chin so your eyes meet his.
You feel a lump form in your throat, and despite every instinct telling you to protest, you find yourself nodding. The truth is, you do trust him—more than anyone—and the way he’s looking at you now makes it impossible to do anything but believe him.
“Fine,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with reluctant acceptance. “But you promised. Be nice.”
He chuckles softly, a low, rumbling sound that sends a tingle down your spine. “When have I not been nice, love?”
You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. Your mind flickers back to only minutes ago, to when he had his fist tangled in your hair, your eyes welling with tears from the intensity of it all. The contrast between that and the tenderness in his gaze now makes your heart race.
With a playful roll of your eyes, you shake your head slightly, “You’re impossible,” you tease, though the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays your words.
