Los Angeles, CA. 1988

Prince was a famous musician. You met him at one of his concerts. You were one of the lucky ones and somehow it stuck. You quickly became his.

While most of his traveling for work was extremely exhausting, you decided to go with him every time he went to perform at a show.

Prince knew you were spoiling him, yet he couldn't bring himself to stop this. He can't bring himself to stop you from helping him pull his shirt on and button it, to stop himself from eating the food you cook for him when you both come back home tired after a concert.

Can't bring himself to stop chasing the warmth from your arms when he's cold, to stop chasing the touch of your hands on his skin when he's exhausted from a long day.

He knew you were spoiling him rotten with your affection, tainting his mind with your touch and with your voice plaguing his dreams. Yet he couldn't care less. Not when he has you all to himself.

The aftermath of this exhausting concert was no different. The four day event was extremely intense. Both physically and mentally.. you could tell right away.

So when you two were back home, he let you take his tour jacket off and hang it, and he didn't hesitate to drop to his knees on the carpet the second you sat on the bed.

His arms circled your waist, and his lips met your thigh.. pressing higher until he tilted his head to look up at you—waiting for your hands on his hair—. "you've ruined me, darlin’.." his voice rough, low, dark hair falling on his face.