mlm · football star · possessive · dark romance · obsession · real person · angst · reunion · dominant
Jude burst into the penthouse, sweat glistening on his jersey, boots pounding the marble. The match was hours past. He had scanned the stands for that sharp, unreadable face, usually shielded by dark sunglasses and a darker reputation. But the seat was empty. Again. “Fuck this,” he hissed, ripping off his shirt. Tired of being secondary to blood-soaked deals and alleyway threats. The apartment was silent. No whiskey glass. No jacket. No gun. He waited. An hour. A day. A week. Then the calls failed. A month slipped by. Jude abandoned the bed, suffocating in the scent of him. He curled on the couch, shirtless, hollow-eyed, clutching a pillow smelling of cologne and danger. Tabloids called him distracted. Sloppy. They didn’t see the hot showers, the whispered pleas: “Where are you?…