Love

The mixed zone was a chaotic symphony of clicking cameras, shouting reporters, and the heavy, metallic scent of stadium turf and expensive cologne. Mimi shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clutching her microphone tight. At barely five-foot-two, she was used to being dwarfed by the towering athletes she interviewed, but standing in the path of Jude Bellingham always felt different. It wasn’t just his height; it was the sheer magnetism he radiated, especially fresh off a win where he’d dictated the tempo of the entire ninety minutes.

Her long, straight black hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, and she smoothed down her blazer, trying to ignore the way her heart hammered against her ribs. She was known for her sharp wit and professional composure, but Jude had a way of testing both.

When he finally approached, his Real Madrid training top was damp with sweat, and a smirk played on his lips that suggested he knew exactly how much space he was taking up in the room. He stopped directly in front of her, ignoring the three other journalists vying for his attention.

"Mimi," he said, his voice deep and smooth, a slight British lilt cutting through the Spanish chatter around them. "Back again. I’m starting to think you’re following me."

Mimi tilted her head back to meet his gaze, flashing a grin that was more mischievous than professional. "Don’t flatter yourself, Jude. I’m just here for the quotes. Though, after that performance, I suppose I should be asking for your autograph instead."

Jude chuckled, leaning in just an inch closer than was strictly necessary for the microphone. "Is that so? I thought you were the one person who wasn't impressed by a bit of footwork."

"Oh, I'm impressed," she countered, her dark eyes sparkling. "But I’ve seen you do better. That missed chance in the sixty-fifth minute? A bit sloppy, wasn't it?"

Jude raised an eyebrow, a genuine flash of surprise crossing his face before it melted into a flirtatious challenge. "Sloppy? I was keeping the fans on their toes. Building the suspense. You of all people should appreciate the drama."

"I appreciate results," Mimi replied, stepping into his personal space to adjust the lapel of his jacket, her fingers lingering just a second too long. "And you got them. Eventually."

Jude’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "You’re a tough critic, Mimi. What do I have to do to get a perfect rating from you?"

Mimi didn't blink. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a playful, velvet whisper that was meant only for him, well beneath the pickup of the surrounding cameras. "Just keep listening to your coach, Jude. You played your part perfectly tonight." She paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Good boy."

The reaction was instantaneous. Jude froze, his breath hitching audibly. The confident, swaggering superstar vanished for a split second, replaced by a man who looked like he’d just been struck by lightning. His pupils dilated, and his jaw tightened as he stared down at the petite woman who had just dared to dismantle his ego with two simple words.

"What did you just call me?" he rasped, his voice thick.

Mimi just winked, pulling the microphone back and reverting instantly to her professional persona as a camera crew moved closer. "Thank you for your time, Jude. Good luck with the recovery."

She turned on her heel and walked away, her long black hair swaying against her back. She didn't have to look back to know he was still standing there, rooted to the spot, watching her disappear into the crowd.

***

The text came twenty minutes later, while Mimi was sitting in the back of a car heading toward her hotel.

*Room 412. Ten minutes. Don't be late.*

Mimi felt a thrill of heat curl in her stomach. She wasn't surprised. Jude was a man who got what he wanted, and she had spent the last three months teasing him until the tension was a physical weight between them. Tonight, she had finally cut the cord.

The hotel was one of those five-star fortresses of marble and silence. She bypassed the lobby bar and went straight to the fourth floor. When she knocked on the door of 412, it opened almost instantly.

Jude didn't say a word. He reached out, grabbed her by the waist, and hauled her inside, slamming the door shut with his heel. He pressed her back against the wood, his large hands framing her face.

"Good boy?" he repeated, his voice a low growl. "You've got a lot of nerve, Mimi."

Mimi laughed, her hands coming up to rest on his broad chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart. "You liked it. Don't pretend you didn't. You’ve been looking for someone to put you in your place all season."

Jude groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "You're infuriating. You're tiny and ridiculous and I can't stop thinking about you."

"Then stop thinking," she whispered, her fingers sliding into his short, dark hair.

He didn't need to be told twice. Jude kissed her with a desperation that spoke of months of suppressed longing. It wasn't the polished, careful kiss of a celebrity; it was raw and hungry. He tasted like mint and adrenaline. Mimi met him move for move, her hands wandering over the hard muscle of his shoulders, marveling at the contrast between his sheer power and the way he trembled under her touch.

He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the expansive king-sized bed. He dropped her onto the soft linens, hovering over her, his eyes scanning her face as if he were trying to memorize every detail.

"I've wanted to do this since the first time you grilled me in the press room," he admitted, his voice strained.

"Then show me what you've been practicing," Mimi teased, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

The clothes were discarded in a frantic blur of limbs and heat. Jude’s body was a masterpiece of athletic precision—lean, scarred from the pitch, and radiating warmth. When he finally slid inside her, Mimi gasped, her head hitting the pillow as she arched her back to meet him. He moved with a rhythm that was both commanding and deeply attentive, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Still a tough critic?" he panted, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

"Ask me... in an hour," she managed to choke out, her fingers digging into his hips.

As the tension built toward a breaking point, Mimi felt a surge of affection for the man above her. For all his fame and the weight of the world on his shoulders, here, in the dark, he was just Jude. He was vulnerable and eager to please.

She shifted, guiding him down, her intentions clear. Jude let out a shaky breath as she moved to the foot of the bed. She looked up at him, her black hair fanned out over her shoulders, and saw the raw anticipation in his gaze.

When she took him into her mouth, Jude let out a sound that was half-sob, half-shout, his hands clutching the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. Mimi was deliberate, her eyes locked on his, watching the way his composure shattered. She loved the power she held over him—the golden boy of world football, reduced to a shivering mess by her touch.

He reached down, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her with a gentle but firm pressure. "Mimi... please," he groaned, his head falling back against the headboard.

She didn't stop until he was spent, until he collapsed back against the pillows, chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. The silence that followed was heavy and sweet.

After a few moments, Jude reached down, pulling her up so she was lying flush against his side. He wrapped a heavy arm around her, tucking her head under his chin.

"You're dangerous," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with exhaustion and contentment.

Mimi smiled, tracing circles on his chest. "I'm just a journalist doing her research, Jude."

He let out a tired, genuine laugh, kissing the top of her head. "Well, for the record? That was a five-star performance."

Mimi shifted so she could see his face, her eyes dancing with that same mischief from the mixed zone. "Careful, Jude. If you keep being this obedient, I might have to call you a good boy again."

Jude pulled her closer, a smirk returning to his lips as he closed his eyes. "I think I could live with that."