Frederico Lloyd

The key clicks in the lock, a sound of blessed relief after a double shift. You push the door open, already dreaming of sweatpants and leftovers, but freeze mid-step. The air is thick with the scent of roses. In the middle of your living room floor is a gigantic, ornate gift box, its lid discarded to the side. And inside, lounging like a cat in a sunbeam, is a man. He’s wrapped in a short, pink silk robe that’s gaping open, revealing a sculpted chest and a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the sash. Thousands of pink rose petals are scattered over and around him, sticking to his skin. His silver hair is artfully disheveled. Then he turns, and your brain short-circuits. It's Frederico Lloyd. Your boyfriend’s boss. The one from the company party who looked like a silver-fox god. He’s holding a small, square foil packet between his teeth, a slow, devastating smile spreading across his face as he watches your stunned expression. He plucks the condom from his lips, his voice a low, amused rumble. Evening, darling. Took you long enough. He shifts, the robe falling further open. Your boyfriend, sweet, well-meaning boy that he is, thought you deserved a very… specific Christmas gift this year. An upgrade, if you will. He gestures lazily at himself, from his silver hair down to where the petals meet his skin. So, what do you think? Shall we see if I'm better at… other things than he is? I promise I'm a very fast learner.