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lucyandalexiafan · 9 months ago

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Winning against her | Jenni Hermoso x reader

Summary: Jenni had started to watch your instagram stories a few days before the Champions Barcelona - Roma match, liking the last one you posted. At the end of the game she makes it clear that she would like to pass the night with you, what happen if you go there?

Warnings: sex against glass wall, light chocking, light degradation, few spanks. Age gap: reader is 23, Jenni 30.

Words: 3,5k

Please, read the note at the end :)

“You have to beg me better than that if you want to have an orgasm after the match and this bratty behavior” Jenni whispers against your neck, before removing her fingers from you and resting them against your thigh, her satisfied smirk on her face reflected on the wall glass.

The story of how you ended up with your breasts against the glass wall of her apartment, completely naked, extremely horny but also extremely needy, with her behind you edging you, is a bit long.

Jenni had watched all your Instagram stories from three days before the Champions League game and liked the last one that you posted the day of the match. She had started watching them the day before you and your team were supposed to travel to Barcelona, where the first Champions League group stage match would take place, Barcelona against Roma. You had reposted a story posted by the Champions League profile: the fact that she looked at it seemed weird to you, of course, but you thought that she had simply looked at your profile after the Champions League profile story or was looking for the players of your team to have an idea of how you looked like. Furthermore, you tried not to think about it too much knowing that you too tended to look at your opponents' social profiles before matches.

The second time was a story of a photo of you and Linari the day of the travel, that you reposted from Linari's profile, but since Elena and Jenni had been teammates at Atletico, you thought that maybe she had seen it to try to understand if you were together; like gossip about former teammates.

The third time was the day before the match, when you had posted a photo of you and Haavi walking around the city, with Giacinti and Giugliano behind you, who were laughing. In this case, there was no connection between you and her that could have led her to your profile and, since she didn't follow you on Instagram, she must have searched for your profile. You had started to think about it too much, but you still hadn't said anything to anyone, not even Elena.

The fourth time, and the time of the like, was when you had, on purpose, posted a photo of yourself that Caesar took of you while you were in Parc Güell: you were wearing a tight-fitting crop top that highlighted your breasts, an open white shirt and pants that were baggy but tight at the waist; the pose highlighted your muscles, your flat abdomen, and, more generally, your shapes.

The notification of the like arrived while you, Giugliano and Linari were reviewing the match schemes in your room; you blushed so much that Manu had stolen the phone from your hands and laughed at the fact that a like gave you such a reaction. Elena, on the other hand, had winked at you revealing how Jenni, like many of her teammates, very often liked Instagram's stories with a not-so-innocent intent, when it came to people who weren't her friends.

You had dismissed the conversation, continuing to review the schemes with them, but something inside of you was always thinking of her.

Did she do it on purpose or had she pressed it by mistake?

It was just a like, okay, but she was Jenni Hermoso, the hot, tattooed, beautiful and charming midfielder of Barcelona and Spain National Team, one of your crushes for years.

When you entered the stadium that afternoon you were nervous, anxious. Certainly, the match was the main source of stress, but a part of you knew that you were feeling this way also because of the raven player.

What if she had just made a mistake?

You had worn the match kit, thanking the fact that it was still warm enough in Barcelona to not wear the thermal shirt under the t-shirt, and then you entered the field for the warm-up along with your teammates.

The Barcelona team was already on the field, Alexia was guiding the training with the athletic trainers, her teammates doing a pair exercise.

The fans were noisy, chanting songs and waving flags.

You looked around, accidentally detaching from the group, surprised by the number of people, the atmosphere, the colors. If it's true that the atmosphere of the Roma stadium was warm, compared to this it's nothing.

Then, as you turned around to look at all the sectors of the stadium, you had set your eyes on the opposing team and, a few moments later, on the raven.

She was looking at you, a smirk on her face, a posture that radiated confidence and a bit of arrogance.

She bit her lip, then tilted her head to the side.

You blushed in front of that gaze, lowering yours, but then Bartoli yelled at you to start the warm-up like everyone else, and the awkward moment ended.

Your horniness, no, you were so horny. This was the first time that you saw her in person, in real life, and even though you were on both sides of the field, she was so attractive.

The warm-up was amazing, the atmosphere and the fans singing kept making you more and more eager to play the match, but you tried in every way not to look at the other half of the field, not to look at her. Although, in reality, you tried not to look at their whole team: the idea of playing against players like Alexia Putellas, Caroline Graham or Marta Torrejon gave you too much performance anxiety, an anxiety not compatible with having been chosen as a starter.

Half an hour later you were inside the tunnel, in line with your teammates, with Barça to your right; you were the penultimate, in front of only the goalkeeper. Linari, that bitch, had greeted Jenni and had involved you in their brief conversation, a conversation that was possible because you were far enough from your captains, and at the end of the lines, to be seen talking.

"Jenni! Holaa – the Roma player had said – How are you?"

"Elena! It's been so long," she had said in return, embracing her. "All good with you? Ready to lose?" the Madrilena had winked.

"You're the one ready to lose, we have our ace up our sleeve," she had pointed at you, then put an arm around your shoulders. "Jenni, let me introduce the one who will score against you and make us win."

To say your cheeks were as red as Canada's jersey would be an understatement.

"I'm Jennifer, but you can call me Jenni," she had extended her hand to introduce herself. "It's a pleasure. You are a midfielder, aren't you?"

Your eyes had widened, surprised she knew your position. "Yes... I, yes."

Her hand was warm, it was big.

She had bitten her lip.

"Is this your first Champions League match? How old are you?" she had asked, her eyes locked on yours as if Elena wasn't next to you.

"Twenty-three, it's my first game, yes," you had whispered, embarrassed.

"Elena! Stop talking, focus!" Bartoli, the captain, then interrupted the small talk.

The line had then started to move towards the field, and you hadn't had the chance to talk to her again, even though you felt her eyes on you as you walked.

The match had been hell.

They ran as if their lives depended on it, they were physical and committed many fouls, protesting every time the referee blew the whistle, contributing to worsening your anxiety. The fans did not help to ease the tension either, continuing to sing, to yell.

Alexia had scored in the twenty-second minute, a beautiful shot into the top corner from a free kick.

Your team hadn't been particularly affected by the goal, but you had. The pressing they were applied was so stressful that your passes weren't as accurate as in Serie A and you won maybe half of the tackles; your anxiety was so much that you thanked the universe when the referee blew the whistle for halftime.

The coach's speech in the changing room had infused more confidence in you, and you had entered the field much more assertive; Haavi had told you to try long crosses to her or Viens whenever you could, to start counterattacks, the only chance to break their defense wall.

You had listened to the advice and, indeed, she was right: you had started to create attack actions more often, and Ona Batlle had gotten a yellow card for preventing one of your counterattacks. The more you attacked, the more the anxiety disappeared, the more you started to take risks in midfield. Some dribbling attempts, some sprints toward their pitch' part.

Then, in the seventieth minute, Linari had headed the ball, passed by you, into the net.

Goal, 1-1.

Elena had run towards you, her arms wide open.

You had jumped into her arms, your teammates' screams around you.

There was nothing else but you, that ball in the net, that 1-1 on the scoreboard, your cross.

From there on, it was a battle. The intensity of the match had grown, and you started to get tired. Haavi and Viens were too tired to continue those sprints and Barca's pressing was suffocating.

In the 93rd minute, they had a corner kick. You were all in the area, outside for you there was only Giacinti, and, for them, Mapi Leon and Ona Battle. Salma had kicked it, but Linari had intercepted it, passing it to Di Guglielmo on the side, who in turn passed it to Giacinti in the midfield.

At that point, you had sprinted, energy or no energy, you had started running towards the other side of the field. Giacinti had passed the ball to Giugliano, who seemed to understand your intentions, since she had passed it to you in Barça's backline. Your stop wasn't perfect, but somehow you had managed to dribble Mapi Leon and kick the ball from just outside the box.

The last shot of the match.

The last seconds of the match.

Time had almost stopped while that ball was spinning on itself in the direction of Cata Coll.

Then, as if all celestial bodies were aligned, the ball went into the net.

Cata Coll hadn't reached it.

The stadium had collapsed into a stunned silence for a moment, broken only by the scream of a tired Giacinti who had jumped on you to celebrate. But you were only staring at that ball, now still on the ground against the net.

You had scored.

The match had ended just as Barcelona had kicked the ball.

You had won.

Elena was squeezing you tightly when Jenni approached.

Her face was twisted in anger from the loss.

She was extending her hand to you and your teammate in a barely credible 'good game.'

Elena shook her hand, then moved away from you two to greet others.

Something inside you sparked; it was your only chance to speak to her.

"Jenni," you said as she was turning away, "would you mind if we swapped jerseys? I'd like to have yours."

She looked at you, confused, the trace of anger still evident in her eyes.

"Or maybe not, never mind, sorry," you whispered, giving her a chance to refuse.

"No, it's fine," she said, her voice low.

Then, in a moment, she took off her jersey in front of you, as if she wasn't stripping herself.

And, oh God, her body: her defined abs, her tattoos, a light sheen of sweat that stood out thanks to the light of the stadium, her chest that contracted according to the rhythm of her breathing, her breast tight inside the black Nike bra. She was not wearing a thermal shirt too, so her tattooed arms were free, and you could look at them too.

Fuck.

You probably stared a bit too long because she smiled at you and then asked, giggling, if you were planning to give her yours.

You nodded, embarrassed, then removed it, hand out the t-shirt to her; she took yours, giving hers to you.

Her eyes immediately landed on your body, she looked at you like no one ever had before.

The evening's chill hit you, and your nipples were visible through your white bra and, when you noticed it, you blushed and tried to put on her jersey; but Jenni said you, in a low voice, "Don't cover up, let me see your body"

You looked at her, your eyes slightly open.

What?

Her face was tilted slightly to the right, a smirk on her face as her eyes once again dropped to your body for a moment.

Was she flirting?

Maybe, maybe not; but you decided to try, so you pretended that your attempt to put on the jersey was actually a clumsy attempt to fold it, then deliberately tucked it inside your shorts, low enough to briefly reveal your right hip bone.

The smirk on her face grew, her eyes now gleaming with a different light.

"Do you have the night off?" she asked, her lips hidden behind your jersey.

You nodded.

She bit her lip.

"Find a justification, my car is the last Tesla on the right of the parking lot. I'll wait for you there in an hour."

And then, just as she had arrived, she was gone.

Of course, an hour later, you were in front of that Tesla.

Your coach congratulated you, celebrated with you, and then confirmed you had the evening free. You had gotten away from your teammates thanks to Elena, who had turned from a bitch into a saint, and Camelia, the goalkeeper, who had told the team you three were going to look for that churro stand in the city center; it may seem like a silly excuse, but since you landed in Barcelona, the three of you have eaten so many churros that the team couldn't even stand the smell of them anymore.

Shortly after, Jenni arrived.

You felt like a shy and scared novice. Casual sex wasn't your thing, probably unlike the Barcelona player, and you didn't quite know how to behave; moreover, shyness began to mix with the embarrassment of waiting for a woman in front of her car. Maybe it was the modesty you had been raised with, maybe it was the anxiety of not being good enough for someone like her.

"You're here," you jumped at the scare, then turned towards the direction of the voice. "I wasn't sure you'd come," she continued, then chuckled at the double entendre, stopping a couple of steps from you.

You blushed, lowering your gaze as an unconscious reaction, allowing you to observe her outfit.

She was... perfect. A pair of slim black jeans, a white shirt, and a black vest; the tattoos on her hands and wrists were visible thanks to the sleeves rolled up a couple of times.

"Is it okay if we go to my house? It's about twenty minutes from here,"

You looked into her eyes, returning to reality, and took too long to verbalize a response, as she added "If you're not comfortable with this, we could go to h-"

"No, it's fine, sorry I was distracted," you whispered in response, cutting her off.

She clenched her jaw, not appreciating the interruption.

"Your bag?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Elena"

She bit her lower lip, visibly annoyed by the answer.

"Are you in a relationship, you and Linari?"

"What?! No! Ele is–"

You couldn't finish the sentence because her lips collided with yours.

The fact she was taller made it even easier for her to dominate the pace of the kiss. Her lips were soft, but you didn't have much time to enjoy them given the passion of the kiss, the hunger.

Her hand had grabbed your hip, the other the back of your neck, forcefully pulling you towards her. Yours were shyly clinging to her vest, pulling it downwards as if asking her to bend more towards you or to come even closer.

After a brief moment, she pulled away, a smug smirk on her face.

"Well, that's a good start. Shall we go?"

She opened the car door for you, then headed to the driver's side; she started the car, and you were on your way to her house.

"No one will know about that kiss," she broke the silence. "The spot where my car was parked isn't visible from the outside, so it's improbable we were photographed."

You nodded, lost in your thoughts, watching her hands grip the steering wheel and gear shift.

You squeezed your thighs in reaction.

"If you don't want to talk, that's fine," she chuckled.

"What? No!" you looked at her, confused. "Sorry, it's better if we talk, it lessens the awkwardness."

She stopped at a red light, then turned to look at you, that arrogant smirk on her face. "Are you embarrassed?" You gasped under her mischievous gaze. "I should be the one embarrassed. I'm the one who lost the match because of your last-second goal."

You looked down, not knowing what to say.

"Actually, I'm more mad than embarrassed. Not at you, of course, but at myself - she sighed, then checked her window for cars from her right. - But sex is useful for venting this madness, right?"

You nodded. "Yes, I think so."

"You don't have sex to vent madness?"

In reality, you rarely had sex, too busy with university, with football, with being new in a big city, with the anxiety of making a change in your career.

You had a few partners when you lived in Milan, people older than you like Jenni, but never a relationship, and over time, casual sex almost didn't satisfy you anymore. It's funny to think about how you started feeling this way when your followers on social media and people flirting with you had skyrocketed.

But Jenni was Jenni. Beautiful, tattooed, athletic.

Dominant.

When she had liked that story, that desire for sex, for hard, rough and passionate sex, had burst; and, judging by how she behaved during the jersey swap and in the parking lot, you weren't wrong about her. Maybe you would have the night of sex you wanted, that you needed.

You shook your head, embarrassed. "Not much, actually," you quickly sought an excuse, which materialized into a pathetic, "I moved to Rome less than two months ago, I haven't had the chance yet."

She chuckled, probably not believing your dubious explanation.

"You can sleep over at my place if you want," she said as she turned the wheel. "If I'm not mistaken, your hotel is more than twenty minutes away by car from my house, and I don't think it's a smart decision to go there on foot, by public transport, or take an Uber at three in the morning."

"Thank you," you simply responded.

It may be stupid, but the regard she had shown, worrying about you walking down the street at three in the morning, had calmed you down; probably it was because a part of you was scared that, immediately after having sex, she would ask you to leave. And, if you were going to have the sex you both seemed to want, you knew you needed aftercare after the intercourse.

She opened the front door of her house with a smile, letting you in first.

Her house was beautiful. The door led to the living room, a huge room with a glass wall overlooking Barcelona.

"It's beautiful," you said, with the voice of a happy child at the zoo, as you headed towards the paintings hung on the walls to look at them.

This house had nothing to do with the small and cramped studio where you were living in Rome or the apartment where you had lived in Milan with three teammates.

Jenni chuckled and then put her bag down and headed towards the kitchen.

"Is that you as a child?" You asked, pointing at a photo of a little girl in the arms of an elderly woman.

"Yes, that's me with my grandmother on vacation at the beach. I think I was about four years old," the sound of the fridge opening prompted you to look for her in the room. "Do you want something to drink? I have wine, or tea, or Coca-Cola."

"The wine is perfect, thank you," you responded, heading towards the window.

Barcelona was breathtaking at night from the wall glass: the cars barely visible, the lights from the other buildings, the streetlamps.

It almost seemed like a dream.

“There we are” Jenni tells you, making you scared.

You grab the glass hesitantly, suddenly tense.

“What are we toasting to? – she asks you, but you shrug, not knowing what to say – Would I say, to a beautiful night?”

You blush at the allusion, but you make your glass collide with hers; you had brought it to her mouth looking into her eyes, her with hers against her chest.

Say that wine is delicious is reductive.

What wine was it? You've never had something so good.

"Do you like it? – you nod enthusiastically – I would even give you another glass, but I would like you to be sober” She giggles, teasing you.

You bite your lip and stare at her while she drinks her wine.

She is beautiful, charming, magnetic.

"Do you like Barcelona?" she asks nodding to the view.

“The view from your house is beautiful – you reply, the embarrassment replaced by enthusiasm – From here you can see so well that-“

You stop the moment she positions herself behind you, her lips suddenly on your neck.

"That?" she suggests when she realizes you're not willing to continue the conversation, too focused on how her lips kiss your skin, how her tongue licks it.

You moan almost without restraint when her hand tightens around your hip, squeezing your thighs together, then leaning completely against her body.

She towers over you, her height difference forcing her to lean towards you.

She sucks a piece of skin, then asks you to continue.

"That-"

Her hand trails under your shirt until it makes contact with your bra.

She squeezes your breast and the fabric in her hand.

“The view is so beautiful that?” She repeats, then blows against the saliva she leaves on your neck.

You close your thighs together, looking for friction, the horniness that makes your panties soaked in a few seconds.

She smiles against your neck.

Before you can feel it, her other hand, surprisingly hot, touches yours. “Leave me the glass.”

You do so, and she places it on the right, on a cabinet next to hers. When does she put it down?

Then, she is back to paying attention to you.

Her lips kiss your neck much more hungrily, her hand now under your bra with her fingers playing with the nipple, the other on your hip pushing you towards her body.

“Please,” you moan after too little time.

"What?" She responds, pretending not to know how needy you are.

"Please."

Her hand moves from your breast, making you wary of the lack of contact.

She makes you turn towards her, her hand under your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Do you know what safewords are? – you nod, embarrassed - What are yours?” She questions, her lips now against your neck again.

“Green, yellow and red.”

"There is something that I can't do? - you shake your head - Spanking, orgasm denial, degradation, praise..."

"You... all of them-okay"

She bites your lip, licking it after.

You close your hands clinging to her vest.

“Can I undress you?”

You nod, your eyes on hers.

“Words, not gestures – her voice is calm, almost sweet – Every time I ask you a question I want you to answer me and give me verbal consent.”

You blush at her words.

She bites her lip waiting for you.

“Yes, please,” the voice is decidedly more desperate than you wanted.

Her sadistic grin suddenly returns.

Her fingers quickly end up against the edges of your sweater, grabbing your t-shirt as well; you raise your arms and she slips them off together, leaving you in your bra.

Her gaze lands on your chest, her eyes stained with horniness, and she bites her lip, assorted in her thoughts.

And, taken by a moment of confidence that you don't know where comes from, you unclasp your bra, then let it fall to the floor, leaving you topless in front of her.

Her eyes widen at your boldness, in complete contrast to your shyness and embarrassment of earlier.

Then, in a second, she is against you. Her hand on the back of your neck, her lips on yours.

A passionate kiss that at first you try to dominate, only to give up after a few moments, feeling her grin on your lips in front of your bland attempt to control it.

You grab her hand, bringing it against your breast, as if begging her to touch you.

She bites your lip and you sigh.

Then, almost simultaneously, she squeezes your nipple between her fingers. At that point, you moan in her mouth.

“Please,” you beg again.

Her hands end up on your hips, pressuring you to turn towards the window.

You blush at the idea that she's fucking you from behind against a wall glass, but you’re too excited to stop it, combined with the awareness that you’re too high to be seen by other people and that this is one of your favorite kinks.

She then places one of her hands against your back, pushing you towards the window. You take a step towards the glass wall, but she grabs your shoulder. “No – the voice is now dominant – bend forward with your torso until your breasts touch the window, but stay here.”

You do as she said, arching your back and pushing your butt against her hips, the breasts against the window and the nipples now turgid because of the cold.

“Good girl – she praises you – Open your legs a little”

You do it again, following the pats she gives to your ankles with her foot.

The extremely submissive position.

“So obedient – her lips on your back – Do you like me taking control?”

You gasp when her thigh touches between your legs.

Her hands play with your breasts.

“Please.”

“You have to tell me what you want” she whispers in your ear as she squeezes a nipple between her fingers.

You tilt your head back as you moan.

“Touch me, please.”

She bites your neck.

“I'm touching you,” she replies, her smirk on your skin.

“Take my pants off,” you suggest, panting, absorbed in the pleasure given by the insufficient stimulation of her nipples.

One of her hands leaves your breast, then slaps your ass.

You scream in surprise, but your horniness increases dramatically.

“Is this how you ask what you want?”

You shake your head. “Please, please Jenni – you try to push yourself towards her, raising your torso from the window – Touch me”

Her hand rests against your back again, pushing you towards the glass wall.

“So needy – her hand reaching down to your jeans – So good at begging”

You clench your hands into fists when she pulls down the waistband of your pants, along with your panties, and you close your eyes when you feel her bend over as she pushes them to the floor.

You hear her kneel on the floor.

You pant in anticipation.

A finger that touches where you need it most.

“So wet – she whispers, then bites her thigh – So wet just for me”

“Yes, just for you Jenni”

You hear her grin and then moan without restraint when she separates your cheeks and then licks your folds.

You lift your hands up, until they are clasped above your head.

Your legs shake while her tongue explores your hole.

You arch your back even more, in an attempt to get her to give more attention to your clit.

She palpates your ass with one hand, while the other touches your inner thigh, and then places two fingers on your clit.

She moves them slowly, with light pressure.

It's not enough for you to come, she knows that.

“Jenni – you push towards her – Please”

She grins.

She pulls away from you, causing you to groan in irritation.

Her fingers move from your clit to your entrance.

“Beg me to fuck you,” she tells you, her voice low, excited, but confident.

“Jenni please, please – the tip of a finger entering you – please fuck me, Jenni, I beg you... I need you to fuck me”

She bites your ass, then penetrates you with one finger to its last knuckle.

You gasp when she doesn't move it.

“Please Jenni, no more teasing”

She laughs sarcastically, her hand hits your ass with a harsh slap.

“I decide when to stop, not you. I'm in charge”

You close your eyes. “I'm sorry – you bite your lip – Please, please, I'm sorry”

“Soo good – the finger that starts moving – So desperate and needy to let me fuck you against a glass wall, completely naked, while I'm still dressed”

“Jenni please” you beg her for the umpteenth time, the voice desperate, trying to push her to give you an orgasm.

She smiles at you.

She stands up.

“No, no please”

She leans against you again, but this time her hand is against your neck, pushing you towards her, your back arched towards her front.

“Beg me to fuck you, persuade me”

Your hands move to her forearm, squeezing it.

“Safeword?”

“Green – you close your eyes when her fingers were back against your hole – Please Jenni, I'll be good. I swear. Please, I'll be good for you Jenni, please make me come"

She kisses your temple, then pushes again a finger inside you, up to her knuckle. “Can I add one more?”

You beg her to do it.

She adds one, leaving her fingers still inside you for a second. “So tight – she squeezes your neck between her fingers – How long has it been since anyone fucked you, mh?”

You gasp, not thinking she wants an answer, thinking it's a rhetorical question.

You were wrong, the hand that was around your neck left its place for one second, enough time to slap your ass with a second harsh slap. “Answer me”

You groan, your hands gripping her arm.

“I don't remember” you gasp, your head is empty if is not for the desire to be fucked by her, but her fingers are still.

You try to ride her fingers, to find relief from the painful knot in your abdomen, but her hand tightens around your neck for a few seconds, as a warning to stop.

You close your eyes and, in search of that pleasure, you move your hands towards your nipples, squeezing them.

She lets out an annoyed sound as soon as she notices.

“Are you so a needy slut that you stop being a good girl for me? Have I to edge you?”

You gasp, shaking your head. “No, no Jenni… please fuck me”

She grins, sucking the skin of your neck, leaving a mark.

You moan uncontrollably when you feel them move, too horny, too slave to that pleasure that she is finally giving you.

“Already closed?” She questions, knowing the answer given how your walls tighten around her fingers.

You nod. “Please Jenni, I beg you. Can I come?"

Hi! I don’t know how to say what I'm gonna say without sounding rude or arrogant, but I noticed that the reposts of my works have decreased a lot since I had put this phrase "Do not copy, translate or claim my works and fics as your own; if I find out I will report them and block you. Instead, write to me, my directs are always open, and ask me if you can publish your work/fic inspired by one of mine. However, you can reblog them " at the beginning of every post.

Since this was not the consequence I expected, I would like to explain what happened: about a month ago I found a work very similar to one of mine and I took it quite badly (maybe too much) and, because I didn’t want to start a fight with this writer, I put this phrase at the beginning of each post. When it didn’t happen anymore I took it off, but I noticed that the repost had decreased a lot.

I just wanted to tell to who stopped reblog my post that you can do it, that this was not the aim of my action and I apologize for this misunderstanding, I should have handled the situation better.

I’m sorry about this long note, but I didn’t know how to talk about this situation and I’m sorry if I seem arrogant or rude.

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