ONE YEAR LATER
Leo
I’ll never get over seeing George, his ridiculously broad shoulders, his tall frame, filling my little house.
Well, our little house now.
He’s well and truly moved in; his presence is everywhere.
And I love it. I catch his scent when I enter a room, think of him making love to me in the shower, in our bed, that one time on the kitchen table.
I blush as I remember him groaning into my ear, whispering the most delicious things, his full lips brushing my skin.
His replica trophies found their way into the dining room and I’ve made sure they take pride of place. Last year’s Wimbledon trophy sits alongside his latest Grand Slam, won a few weeks ago in Paris.
We returned together, requesting a different suite at the Ritz, to make new memories in a place so special to us both.
He took me to the Musée Rodin one evening, showed me what he wrote all that time ago in the guestbook.
I think I might have just had the best evening of my life, with the girl of my dreams.
There have been many ‘best evenings’ since then, including the French Open final where he dominated, radiating power, unstoppable.
The world earned another wink that evening, another viral TikTok that he tells me to stop watching. I can’t get enough of him (though the real thing is so much better).
Or perhaps the evening I decided to open my own concierge, focused on athletes and their specific needs. I already have half the Top Ten signed up, a few F1 drivers, a footballer or two.
It’s going well. Really well.
I sigh, finishing a tidy of the kitchen, as George comes in, freshly showered, looking like a movie star with his hair slicked back, a few curls escaping. He still takes my breath away every day.
‘Why didn’t you join me?’ he grumbles in my ear, his arms circling my waist from behind. I can feel his hardness press against me. ‘I missed you. Please can we go to bed, baby girl?’
I can’t help but smile. ‘You have a big day tomorrow.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, remember? Your job? Tennis? Racket, balls, a Wimbledon final?’ I twist and kiss him lightly. ‘Ring any bells?’
He pretends to think.
‘Nah, nothing.’
I slap him on the chest. ‘You need to sleep.’
‘I need you.’ He pulls away, his eyes dark, smoky, his gaze dropping to my lips. ‘Please.’
I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him, hard, pushing my tongue into his mouth, as he grabs my arse, gripping me tight and pushing me against the counter. I don’t need much convincing when it comes to him.
‘I fucking love you, Leo.’
I sigh, completely content as he kisses me again and again.
I fucking love you too, George.