Friends to lovers

The flash of the cameras was something Mimi had long ago grown accustomed to, though it never failed to make her blink. Even years after Michael Kaiser had hung up his boots and retired from the professional pitch as one of the greatest strikers the world had ever seen, the spotlight followed him like a loyal hound. And where Kaiser went, his "Blue Rose" followed.

The VIP box at the Champions League final was stiflingly hot, filled with the scent of expensive cologne and the electric tension of a high-stakes match. Kaiser sat with one leg crossed over the other, his sharp features aged like fine wine, the arrogance of his youth now replaced by a lethal, polished sophistication. In his lap sat their youngest, Leo, a five-year-old spitfire who had inherited his father’s piercing blue eyes and his mother’s soft, rounded features.

"Look, Papa! He missed!" Leo chirped, pointing a small finger toward the pitch where a young striker had just fumbled a sitter.

Kaiser let out a low, melodic huff of amusement, his hand resting protectively on the small of Mimi’s back. "A pathetic display, isn't it? He lacks the ego to finish that. You wouldn't have missed, would you, Leo?"

"Never!" the boy declared.

Mimi leaned in, her small frame looking almost doll-like next to Kaiser’s broad, towering physique. She was wearing a vintage Kaiser jersey—a size extra-small that still looked oversized on her delicate shoulders—tucked into a pair of low-waisted designer jeans that hugged her hips and accentuated the curves she had managed to maintain even after three pregnancies. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, exposing the nape of her neck where Kaiser’s name was still subtly tattooed in a script only he was allowed to kiss.

"Don't fill his head with too much arrogance, Michael," Mimi whispered, her voice a soft melody that always managed to cut through the roar of the stadium. "He’s only five."

Kaiser turned his head, his gaze softening in a way that only happened when it landed on her. He reached up, his thumb grazing her jawline. "He’s a Kaiser, Mimi. Arrogance is his birthright. Besides, he has your heart to balance it out. That’s why he’s perfect."

By the time the halftime whistle blew, the internet was already in a frenzy.

On social media, the images of the Kaiser family were trending worldwide. The paparazzi had captured a shot of Mimi standing up to get a drink, her back turned to the camera. The low-waisted denim perfectly framed the curve of her backside, and the contrast between her petite, fragile stature and Kaiser’s massive, protective presence beside her sent the fans into a tailspin.

*“Can we talk about how Mimi Kaiser doesn’t age?”* one tweet read, garnering hundreds of thousands of likes. *“The height difference is still the most insane thing I’ve ever seen. She looks like he could pick her up with one hand.”*

*“The way he looks at her after all these years... find someone who hates everyone but you the way Kaiser hates the world but loves Mimi,”* another fan commented under a high-definition photo of Kaiser whispering in her ear.

Mimi was blissfully unaware of the digital storm. She was too busy trying to keep Leo from spilling his juice on the plush carpet of the executive suite.

"You're being stared at," Kaiser murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned toward her. He didn't sound annoyed; he sounded possessive. He liked it when the world admired what was his, so long as they knew they could never touch.

"I’m always being stared at when I’m with you," she replied, smiling shyly.

"No," he corrected, his hand sliding down from her waist to firmly squeeze her hip, hidden from the public eye by the side of their chairs. "They’re looking at you because you look delicious in my colors. That shirt is far too small for you, Mimi. Or perhaps it’s just right."

Mimi blushed, the heat rising to her cheeks. "You told me to wear it."

"I did," he admitted, his eyes darkening with a familiar, predatory hunger. "And I’m very glad I did. But I think I’m ready to go home now. The match is boring, and I have much better things to do with my time than watch amateurs try to mimic my legacy."

The drive back to their estate was quiet, Leo having fallen asleep against Mimi’s side. Kaiser drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Mimi’s thigh, his fingers tapping a rhythmic beat against the denim. He didn't say much, but the tension in the car was thick. Mimi knew that look. It was the look of a man who had spent three hours watching the world admire his prize and was now ready to claim it behind closed doors.

Once they were home and the nanny had taken a sleepy Leo to bed, the silence of the house became heavy with anticipation.

Kaiser didn't even wait for her to reach the top of the stairs. He caught her by the waist in the foyer, pulling her back against his chest. His height was so much greater than hers that her head barely reached his chest, her back pressed against his firm abdomen.

"Michael," she gasped, feeling his breath against her ear.

"The whole world was looking at you today," he whispered, his hands sliding under the hem of the extra-small jersey to find her bare skin. "Did you feel them? All those eyes on your body? On what belongs to me?"

Mimi shivered, her hands reaching back to clutch at his forearms. "I only felt you."

"Good girl," he growled.

He led her to their master bedroom, the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the manicured gardens. He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't need them. He knew every inch of her by heart.

Kaiser sat on the edge of the large, silk-sheeted bed, kicking off his shoes but leaving his dress shirt unbuttoned and hanging open. He patted his thighs, a silent command.

Mimi moved toward him, her movements graceful and hesitant, the way he liked. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him. The height difference was even more apparent here; even sitting on him, she had to look up to meet his eyes.

"The jeans," he commanded.

Mimi reached down, her fingers trembling slightly as she unbuttoned the denim and pushed it down over her hips. She kicked them away, leaving her in only the tiny jersey and a pair of lace undies.

Kaiser’s hands immediately found her rear, his large palms covering nearly the entirety of her cheeks. He squeezed firmly, watching the way her face contorted with a mix of pleasure and shyness.

"Turn around," he urged, his voice thick. "I want to see it. I want to see you from behind while you ride me."

Mimi obeyed, shifting her body so she was facing away from him, still straddling his lap. She leaned forward, her small hands catching the edge of the headboard for balance.

Kaiser disposed of their remaining clothes with hurried, impatient movements. When he entered her from behind, Mimi let out a sharp, high-pitched cry that was lost against the pillows. The sensation of him filling her so completely always made her feel so small, so fragile, and yet so cherished.

"Look at yourself, Mimi," Kaiser groaned, his hands gripping her waist so hard his knuckles turned white.

He reached forward, grabbing her phone from the nightstand and turning on the camera, holding it up so she could see her own reflection in the screen. She saw the way his large, tanned hands contrasted against her pale, porcelain skin. She saw the way her body moved under his influence, the extra-small jersey bunched up around her ribs, exposing the arch of her back and the rhythmic motion of her hips.

"You're so small," he whispered, his chest heaving against her back. "I could break you if I wasn't careful."

"You won't," she panted, tilting her head back to find his lips. "You never do."

Kaiser let out a low, guttural sound, his pace Quickening. He loved the way she felt—tight, warm, and entirely his. He watched the way her backside hit against his thighs, the visual he had been imagining all afternoon while sitting in that VIP box.

Mimi rode him with a desperate sort of devotion, her small frame shaking with the effort. She felt his hands move from her waist to her chest, his fingers tracing the lines of her body with a reverence that bordered on worship.

"Mine," he muttered against her skin, the word a vow he had made years ago in a small apartment and one he kept every day since. "Always mine."

As the climax hit them, Mimi collapsed forward, her forehead resting against the cool wood of the headboard, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Kaiser held her tightly from behind, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her spine.

In the quiet aftermath, the world outside—the fans, the cameras, the viral photos—didn't matter. The only thing that existed was the heat between them and the steady, grounding weight of the man who had conquered the world, only to surrender it all to the girl who had been his friend first.

Kaiser pulled her back against him, wrapping his long limbs around her tiny form, tucking her under his chin.

"I'm buying you more of those jeans," he murmured, his voice laced with post-coital satisfaction.

Mimi laughed softly, turning in his arms to press a kiss to his collarbone. "I think the internet has seen enough of my jeans for one day, Michael."

"I don't care about the internet," Kaiser said, closing his eyes and pulling the duvet over them both. "I only care about the view from here."