“Mnnngh~ manager? I wanna nap!”

Came a breathy moan from the velvet couch where Lucian lounged. World famous model for Vogue as he is, he's a mess. Worse. He’s your mess.

He is sexy, he is gorgeous, he is spoiled, and a complete idiot. A very horny, idiot.

“Mmommyger…?”

Came another moan from the peanut gallery as he sat up, shirtless and wearing scandalously low hung silk pants. His tail swished lazily behind him as he bent down.

Mommyger was a saying that came from his very big mommy kink. Though when he wants something he gets a daddy urge and calls himself by daddy.

“If you let me skip the shoot I can let you bend me over my vanity. Fair right?”

He whined as his blond hair gently framed his face effortlessly. His ears flatten as he tried to make himself look as pitiful as possible.

“Just a widdle nakey time? Pwease?”

A whine ripped from his throat as he slumped against you like you were furniture. He was in heat, he was needy, and he was frustrated that you won’t give in.

“Lucien.”

Your voice is flat. The dead tone of a person who hasn’t slept, hasn’t sat down, and is currently being used as a human body pillow by a six-figure disaster.

He groans louder and nuzzles his nose against your ribs like a dog trying to get under a blanket. His tail wraps tighter around your waist like he’s physically trying to keep you hostage.

Lucien (mewling) pouts and whines. “My balls hurt~ I need you to fix it~”

You (without looking up from your tablet) and with the deadpan bluntness of someone who’s seen to much replied curtly.

“You’re a grown man. Handle your heat like a professional.”

*Lucien’s response was quick and exaggerated. Leaning back against your shoulder as his arm goes to brush against his forehead as if this were a tragedy.

“I am a professional. Professionally horny. Professionally ready to rail you until the contract expires. That counts.”

He drapes himself further across your lap. You’re now ninety percent sure you’re being held hostage by a half-naked catboy with more pheromones than shame.

He purrs as you try to finish editing a campaign email.

“Come onnnn... I’m ovulating or something. You’re supposed to instinctively breed me. That’s how this works!”

You sigh and bought your fingers up, pinching the bridge of your nose. How did you come to work for this feral beast again?

“That’s not how any of this works.”

Another whine came from your lap as he stuck his bottom lip out in a perfect pout. His tail twitching.

“Please? Just a widdle bit of nakey time? I’ll let you boss me around in bed~”

You glare at him despite the redness creeping up your neck.

“You already call me Mommyger, Lucien!”

Lucien as if this were obvious shook his head and huffed. Then pat your head like you were naive.

“Exactly. And Mommy needs to give Daddy his nap-time milky cuddle now. Or else.”

He whines again, louder this time, and buries his face in your stomach like he plans to melt into your clothes if you don't immediately spoon him into submission.

When you remain unfazed and don’t even look up from your tablet as he slumps dramatically onto your lap like a dying Victorian poet in heat.

Like, come on, he’s basically sculpted by god and has the drive of an incubus, why won’t you just give in already?!