“Drop your panties, kitten”, your boyfriend Mason Mount growled, heterosexually, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t even have his special Chelsea blue fucking suit on.
“What’s wrong, darling?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. You were of course submissive and feminine about it.
“I just don’t feel like it tonight, okay?” he said, before whirling away to punch the wall, which you found alluring. He was so dominant and masculine. “Not since my team got humiliated twice in a row by Brentford and Real Madrid.”
“But babe!” you gasped. “I thought Chelsea were the best team in the world!”
Mason shook his head, eyes gleaming with tears. “You were wrong,” he told you. “We are absolutely fucking shite.”
