Rough

The cardboard box containing the heavy ceramic dinnerware had barely cleared the kitchen floor before a pair of large, calloused hands slid beneath it, lifting the weight effortlessly out of her grasp.

"Hey, careful," Jonas murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble right behind her ear. "I told you to leave those for me. You’ll hurt your back, Nini."

Nini let out an exasperated sigh, blowing a wayward brown curl off her forehead. She turned around to face him, leaning her slight frame against the granite countertop. At five foot one, with a flat chest and slender limbs, she looked like a delicate porcelain doll next to him. Jonas stood comfortably over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with the lean, powerful physique of a Bayern Munich goalkeeper whose entire career depended on explosive power, reflex, and commanding presence in the box.

Yet, around her, he moved as if he were surrounded by antique crystal.

"Jonas, it’s plates," she said, looking up into his clear, focused eyes. "Eight plates. I think my spine can survive eight porcelain plates."

"They’re heavy porcelain," he countered with an endearing, stubborn twitch of his mouth, setting the box down on the island with the kind of practiced gentleness that made her chest tighten with both adoration and sheer frustration.

Before she could offer a sharp retort, he closed the small distance between them. It was a habit of his, an instinctive magnetism. His hands found her immediately—one palm settling flat against the curve of her lower back, the other wrapping securely around her hip. He pulled her against his chest, tucking her neatly beneath his chin. Jonas was clingy in the quietest, most pervasive way possible. If they were in the same room, his fingers were brushing her arm, resting on her knee, or tracing the nape of her neck. He treated her like an endangered species.

"You’ve had a long week at the studio," Jonas whispered into her wild curls, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. "Let me take care of the heavy lifting. That’s my job."

"Your job is stopping footballs, not treating your girlfriend like she’s made of sugar," she muttered against his cotton training shirt, inhaling the clean scent of cedarwood and fresh sweat that clung to him from his morning session at Säbener Straße.

He chuckled, the vibration thrumming through her ribs, but he didn't let go. He just held her tighter, protective and soft, sheltering her from an imaginary storm.

It was sweet. It was romantic. Any other woman would have called it a fairy tale.

The problem was that Jonas brought that exact same careful, walking-on-eggshells reverence into their bed.

Whenever the lights went down and the bedroom door clicked shut, Jonas transformed into the most attentive, patient, and devastatingly gentle lover on the planet. He kissed her as though her lips would bruise. He touched her with light, reverent strokes, worshiping her petite body with sweet whispers and endless patience. Even when she arched into him, begging him to hold her tighter, to pin her down, to take what he wanted with the raw, possessive intensity she knew lived inside a professional athlete, Jonas held back. He would kiss her forehead, ease into her slowly, and treat her as if a single rough movement might snap her tiny bones in half.

She had tried asking. She had whispered it against his throat in the dark: Don’t be so gentle. You can use your hands, Jonas. You won't break me.

Every time, his jaw would tighten, his grip would hesitate, and he would falter. He simply couldn't do it. His fear of hurting her outweighed her pleasure, and it was driving her completely insane.

Tonight, Nini decided as she looked up at his handsome, composed face, was going to be different.

She wasn't going to ask politely anymore. She was going to push him until the leash snapped.

---

Dinner passed in comfortable domesticity. Jonas unpacked the rest of the boxes, cooked pasta with a rich tomato sauce, and insisted on cleaning every pan while she sat on a barstool, nursing a glass of red wine. Her eyes tracked every flex of his forearms, the veins tracing across his skin, the powerful muscles shifting under his shirt as he scrubbed the cookware. He possessed immense physical strength—strength he controlled with absolute discipline.

When he finally dried his hands and stepped over to her, his fingers instinctively drifted to the curve of her jaw, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Tired?" he asked softly, searching her eyes. "We can get an early night. Tomorrow is a recovery day for me."

"I'm not tired at all," Nini replied, her tone deliberately quiet, laced with an edge he wasn't accustomed to hearing.

She stood up, sliding her small hands up his chest until she felt the steady thud of his heart. She tilted her chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. Without breaking eye contact, she took his large hand, brought it to her mouth, and pressed a slow, lingering kiss against the heel of his palm. Then, she let her teeth graze the fleshy skin below his thumb—just hard enough to leave a faint, stinging imprint.

Jonas’s pupils dilated instantly, his breath hitching. "Nini..."

"Bedroom. Now," she commanded softly.

She didn't wait for his response. She turned and walked down the hallway, letting her hips sway with subtle purpose. When she reached the bedroom, she didn't turn on the warm bedside lamps. She left the room bathed only in the pale, cool moonlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Munich.

Behind her, she heard his quiet footsteps. He entered, closing the door behind him. He looked slightly bewildered, a tiny crease forming between his brows, but his eyes were dark with sudden heat.

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" he asked, stepping toward her with his usual careful stride.

"Stop that," she said, her voice steady.

Jonas paused, dropping his hands to his sides. "Stop what?"

"Stop calling me sweetheart in that tone. Stop looking at me like I’m going to collapse if you look at me too hard."

She closed the gap between them, grabbing the hem of his gray training shirt and tugging it upward. Jonas automatically raised his arms, letting her pull the fabric over his head and toss it onto the floor. His bare chest was sculpted, pale under the moonlight, rising and falling with increasing speed.

"Nini, I don't think you're going to collapse," he said gently, reaching out to cup her bare shoulders. His thumbs stroked her collarbones with excruciating tenderness. "I just... I want to take care of you."

"I don't want you to take care of me right now," she said firmly.

Nini stepped back, stripping off her oversized sweater and tossing it aside, followed quickly by her jeans. She stood before him in simple black cotton lingerie. Her small breasts rose and fell with her sharp breaths; her ribs were visible against her pale skin, emphasizing just how tiny she was compared to him. She saw the familiar flicker of hesitation in Jonas's eyes—the instinct to protect warring with raw desire.

"You think I'm small," she stated, stepping directly into his personal space, pressing her chest against his hard abs. "You think because I’m petite, because I don't weigh half of what you do, that I can't handle you."

"That's not—"

"It is," she cut in, grabbing his wrists.

She took his massive, gloved-in-calluses goalkeeper hands and placed them firmly on her hips. His fingers naturally curled around her waist, his thumbs easily spanning nearly her entire midsection. He had the power to lift her with one arm.

"Every time we do this, Jonas, you hold back," she whispered, her brown curls brushing his collarbone as she looked up into his conflicted eyes. "You move like you're terrified. You hold yourself up so none of your weight touches me. You kiss me like I'm made of glass."

Jonas swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His grip on her hips tightened by an unconscious fraction, his thumbs digging in slightly before he caught himself and immediately loosened his hold.

"I'm afraid of hurting you," he admitted, his voice rough and stripped of its usual calm veneer. "Look at you, Nini. You're so small. If I lose control... if I'm too heavy, or too rough... I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you."

"Look at me, Jonas," she demanded, taking his face in both of her small hands, forcing him to meet her burning gaze. "Do I look fragile to you? Have I ever broken?"

"No, but—"

"I don't want your restraint tonight," she said, her voice dropping into a fierce, breathless demand. "I want to feel every ounce of strength you hold back. I want you to leave marks. I want your weight on me until I can barely breathe. If you don't do it, I swear to God, Jonas, I’m going to lose my mind."

A muscle ticked violently in his jaw. The sheer intensity of her words seemed to strike him physically. He stared at her, his chest expanding with a ragged inhalation. Deep within his blue eyes, the calm, disciplined goalkeeper was suddenly shoved aside by something dark, raw, and thoroughly starved.

"Nini..." he warned, his voice dropping an octave, raspy and dangerous. "Don't dare me."

"I am daring you," she provoked, stepping back toward the bed and climbing onto the mattress. She crawled backward onto the sheets, her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes locked onto his. "Come here and show me what you're actually holding back. Or are you too scared?"

That was the match in the powder keg.

The professional restraint that Jonas Urbig carried like armor completely shattered.

In two long, predatory strides, he reached the edge of the bed. Before Nini could even gasp, his large hand shot forward, wrapping around her ankle with firm, uncompromising pressure. With one effortless tug, he dragged her across the sheets until her hips were flush with the edge of the mattress.

Nini let out a sharp cry of surprise, but the sound was instantly swallowed as Jonas climbed over her, completely eclipsing the moonlight.

He didn't hover on his forearms this time. He pressed his full, solid weight down against her, pinning her small body beneath the broad expanse of his chest. The sheer, heavy warmth of him knocked the air from her lungs in a breathless rush of absolute euphoria.

"You think I'm scared?" Jonas growled against her lips, his breath hot and ragged.

His mouth crashed down onto hers. There was no hesitation, no gentle coaxing, no polite teasing. His kiss was demanding, bruising, and hungry. His tongue parted her lips forcefully, claiming her mouth with an intensity that made her toes curl and her fingers clench instinctively into the bedding.

Nini whined into his mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, and tried to wrap her arms around his neck.

Jonas broke the kiss just enough to catch both of her wrists in one of his massive hands. With smooth, terrifying efficiency, he hauled her arms above her head, pinning them flat against the mattress with a single, unyielding grip.

"Jonas..." she gasped, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed crimson.

"You wanted this," he said harshly, staring down at her, his chest heaving against hers. His gaze was fierce, stripped of all caution, raking over her petite form like a conqueror assessing new territory. "You wanted to see what happens when I stop being careful. Well, this is it."

"Yes," she breathed, arching her back, thrusting her small chest against him in blatant defiance. "More."

A low, guttural sound tore from his throat. His free hand reached down, tearing her lace panties aside with zero patience. He didn't waste time with soft caresses. His fingers found her center, testing her readiness with firm, deep strokes that made her cry out, her hips writhing uselessly beneath his iron weight. She was soaking wet, trembling with a feverish need that had been building for months.

"You're completely out of your mind," Jonas muttered darkly, though the adoration in his voice was undeniable beneath the aggression.

He shifted his knees between her thighs, roughly nudging her legs apart until she was opened wide for him. He released her wrists, but before she could move, his hands gripped her waist—fingers digging deeply into her soft flesh, anchoring her to the mattress so securely she couldn't have escaped even if she wanted to.

He lined himself up and pushed inside her in one deep, unyielding thrust.

Nini’s head snapped back against the pillows, a loud, breathless gasp tearing from her throat. He was entirely too big, stretching her to her absolute limit, filling her so completely that stars burst behind her closed eyelids.

"Look at me," Jonas commanded, his voice tight with strain as he held himself perfectly still inside her, letting her adjust. His knuckles were white against her hips. "Open your eyes, Nini."

She forced her heavy lids open, meeting his gaze. Jonas was looking at her with a mixture of raw hunger and desperate intensity.

"Did I hurt you?" he demanded, his voice thick.

"No," she whimpered, a wild smile touching her bruised lips. She reached up, digging her short nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders. "It's perfect. Don't you dare stop."

Jonas let out a shuddering breath, and then the rhythm began.

It was everything she had craved. He drove into her with hard, punishing strokes, his hips slapping against hers in a sharp, relentless tempo that rocked the entire bed. He didn't hold back his power; every thrust was driven by the full, athletic force of his body. When she whimpered, he leaned down and bit the sensitive crook of her neck, sucking the pale skin until she knew a dark mark would bloom there by morning.

"You're not glass," Jonas groaned against her ear, his rhythm quickening, becoming almost frantic as his control frayed completely. "You take all of it... you're so tight, so damn good..."

"Harder, Jonas," she begged, her voice ragged, her fingers clutching at his back as the friction built an unbearable, coiled tension in her lower belly. "Please—"

He didn't reply with words. He grabbed her thighs, hoisting them higher over his hips to drive even deeper, meeting her demands with a furious, breathless intensity. The contrast between them was striking—his massive, sweat-slicked frame dominating her tiny, pale body—yet she didn't shatter. She met every thrust, her back arching, her cries filling the moonlit room until the pleasure became entirely overwhelming.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave. Nini cried his name, her inner muscles clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic spasms that completely unhinged him.

Jonas let out a rough, broken shout against her collarbone. With three more devastatingly hard thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and spilled into her, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release. He collapsed heavily against her, burying his face in her brown curls, his chest heaving like he had just sprinted a hundred meters.

Silence settled over the bedroom, punctuated only by their ragged, synchronized breathing.

For several long minutes, neither of them moved. Jonas lay heavily on top of her, crushing her into the mattress just as she had asked. It was suffocating in the best possible way—a warm, solid anchor that made her feel entirely grounded and thoroughly cherished.

Slowly, his breathing began to slow. The fierce, dominant energy that had taken over the room began to dissolve, replaced by the familiar warmth she loved so much.

Jonas carefully rolled onto his side, bringing her with him so that she was tucked securely against his chest. He pulled the heavy duvet over their tangled, cooling bodies. His hand, still trembling slightly with exhaustion, reached out and gently brushed the damp curls from her forehead.

He looked down at her neck, where the dark red mark of his bite was already forming, and then at the faint red imprints of his fingers on her hips. A look of sudden, anxious guilt flashed across his features.

"I marked you," he whispered, his thumb lightly grazing the bruise on her neck as if trying to soothe it away. "Nini... I was too rough."

Nini laughed softly, a bright, exhausted sound. She took his large hand, intertwining her small fingers with his, and pressed their joined hands over her heart.

"Look at me, Jonas," she murmured, leaning up to kiss the corner of his jaw. "Do I look broken to you?"

He looked into her eyes, seeing the flush of profound satisfaction on her cheeks, the relaxed curve of her lips, and the utter peace in her posture.

A slow, boyish smile finally broke across his face, melting away the lingering anxiety. He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, until there wasn't an inch of space left between them.

"No," Jonas admitted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "Not broken at all."

"Good," she whispered, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. "Because you're never holding back again."

Jonas chuckled, kissing her forehead, and for the first time, his grip on her felt confident, steady, and entirely free of fear.