Page 52 of Last Line of Defense

“I want to fuck you until you can barely walk…” I whisper directly into her ear, biting her earlobe eagerly. “So that tomorrow, during every damn exercise, you’ll remember exactly how my fingers feel inside you.”

And I thrust three fingers inside her all at once, all the way in.

Alicia lets out a sharp moan and pushes her hips back against my hand, seeking more pressure. I fuck her hard, eagerly, listening to the pool water slosh obscenely around our bodies, while with my other hand I pinch her nipples firmly and bite the nape of her neck. She comes for the second time in my hands, trembling like a leaf, screaming my name between loud gasps that cut through the air.

Realizing the pool is too uncomfortable for anything else, I lead her over to the lounge chairs by the edge. I lay her on her back and position myself on top of her without wasting a second, settling into a perfect 69 position. I position my soaking-wet pussy directly over her mouth while I unhesitatingly bury my face between her legs. We devour each other with an insatiable hunger, almost desperately. I eagerly suck on her clitoris while she does exactly the same to me, sliding two fingers inside me that make me see stars. Our moans are drowned out by each other’s hot, wet flesh. The pleasure builds so quickly that we come almost at the same time, writhing, trembling, and moaning in pure ecstasy in the middle of the night.

But it’s not enough, and we both know it all too well. The need we’ve built up over weeks has us in its grip. Alicia looks up at me with glassy, dark eyes, her chest rising and falling at a frantic pace from the effort, and her skin glistening spectacularly with sweat and pool water. Her brown hair clings to her neck and shoulders, and that image of her—the star player of Ravenhill FC, completely undone and overcome by pleasure—still turns me on.

“Come here, don’t go away,” she growls in a commanding voice, pulling me by the arms until our bodies are pressed together from head to toe once more. I feel her hard nipples brushing against mine, and an identical shiver runs down both our spines at the same time.

We kiss again, at a slightly slower pace this time, but with the same intensity. Our tongues explore each other slowly, savagely savoring the remnants of the other’s previous orgasm. My hands slide down her lower back, squeezing her firm, round, toned ass and parting her buttocks to brush my fingertips against the wetness that continues to flow from her unchecked. Alicia gasps against my mouth and moves her hips instinctively, seeking direct friction.

“I want more…” she whispers between kisses, biting my lower lip with a mischievous smile.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, laden with chlorine, sweat, and the dense, intoxicating, distinctive scent of our sex. I lay her completely on her back on the mat and straddle her, spreading her legs with my knees. Our genitals rub directly against each other, with no barriers, hot, wet, and swollen to the limit. I start moving slowly, rubbing my clitoris against hers in slow, firm circles, full of pressure. The contact is pure electricity. Every damn brush sends sparks straight down my spine.

“Shit, Clara… like that, yes…” Alicia moans, arching her pelvis upward to increase the intensity of the friction. Her hands grip my hips tightly, digging her nails into my skin and guiding my movements into a much faster rhythm.

I pick up the pace of our grinding, moving with an almost agonizing desperation. The wet, slick, obscene sound of our genitals sliding against each other fills the silence of the room. My breasts hang right over her face, and she lifts her head just enough to capture one of my nipples with her mouth, sucking it with a force that makes me arch my back as I continue to grind against her. Pleasure builds at a dizzying speed—that delicious tension in my lower abdomen that threatens to send us flying through the air at any moment.

“I’m so close…” I warn her with my eyes closed, moving harder and pressing my swollen clitoris against hers.

Alicia releases my nipple with a wet sound and fixes me with a completely wild stare—no trace of the professional soccer player, just the woman who drives me crazy.

“Come with me, Clara. I want to see the look on your face and feel you melt all over me.”

The orgasm hits us practically in unison, like an explosion. I scream her name with all my might, shaking violently as wave after wave of pure pleasure courses through my muscles. Alicia arches fiercely beneath me, digging her heels into the lounge chair’s frame and letting out a long, deep, guttural moan that vibrates right against my chest. Our juices mix, soaking our thighs. I collapse, drained of strength, on top of her, our hearts pounding like drums and our skin sticky, hot, and bound together by sweat.

“I could stay in this moment forever…” Alicia murmurs against my hair, her voice thick with desire.

I want to say something witty in reply, but I’m physically unable to form a coherent word. Her long fingers trace slow, lazy patterns across my stomach while she tenderly kisses the skin of my shoulders.

“Tomorrow at practice…” I finally manage to say with a mischievous smile, regaining a thread of my voice, “it’s going to be impossible for me not to stare at your ass.”

“Believe me… it’s going to take every ounce of my willpower to focus on the exercises and not think about how beautifully you move…”

We kiss once more—a slow, deep kiss, heavy with a silent promise—knowing full well that tonight is just the beginning of everything that’s coming our way. Because I’m perfectly aware that none of this is going to be easy, that she’s the team’s star player and I’m the club’s physical therapist, and that no matter how hard we try to hide it within these walls, everyone ends up finding out everything. But right now, with her warm body beneath mine, I don’t give a damn.

20

The Echo of the Tabloids

Alicia

Waking up in this room is, literally, like suddenly returning to a place I didn’t even know I’d been searching for all these years.

For a few seconds, I lie motionless under the sheets, holding my breath as I listen to the faint, rhythmic sound of Clara’s breathing as she sleeps beside me and the distant murmur of rain pounding hard against the windowpanes. The bedroom still smells like us—that fruity perfume imprinted on her skin that, for weeks now, has become my greatest obsession. I inhale slowly, letting that scent fill my lungs, and feel my body relax against the mattress despite the annoying stiffness in my left knee.

I turn my head a fraction on the pillow. Clara is sleeping on her side, with her back to me. I find myself mesmerized, watching the gentle curve of her bare shoulder, the incredibly elegant line of her spine beneath the sheet, and a familiar warmth—thick and overwhelming—begins to spread throughout my chest. I remember perfectly every one of the crazy things we did down by the pool, and everything we eagerly repeated in her bed as soon as we went upstairs.

Dr. Clara Valle has lost her composure and her strict self-control around me, and the mere thought of it brings a truly silly smile to my face. A genuine smile—the kind that just slips out on its own, that spreads across your face and makes you feel ridiculous because you’re unable to stop it no matter how hard you try. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the memory of the pool, the water reflecting the blue spotlights on the ceiling, and that unbearable sexual tension that finally exploded between us after so many days of pretending. Her lips desperately seeking mine, the echo of our rapid breaths mingling in the air, the wild way we wrung the most exaggerated moans from each other… What we have has stopped being a game of glances, and we both know it all too well.

The worst part—or the best, depending on how you look at it—is that, despite the tremendous risk we’re taking, I don’t regret a single thing. We had sex so wild, intense, and fun that it left me floating in a strange kind of calm, a feeling of happiness so silly that it makes me feel like I’m walking on the moon.

I sit up carefully so as not to wake her and look for my underwear and the club sweatshirt. My knee protests with a sharp twinge as soon as I set my left foot on the hardwood floor, reminding me that my body is still a problem even when my mind decides to forget it. I get dressed in silence, casting furtive glances toward the bed every two seconds. Before opening the door to slip back to my own room, I turn to look at her one last time. It takes a superhuman mental effort not to throw caution to the wind, crawl back under the sheets, wrap my arms around her waist, and lose myself in her warmth once more.

Hours later, the hotel’s fitness center is much livelier than it has been in recent days. The entire team seems to have woken up with a tremendous burst of energy after the toughest days of training camp, and the hubbub of overlapping conversations, mixed with the pop music blaring from the speakers, fills the gym from first thing in the morning. I try with all my might to put on a completely normal front. I say “try” because my face has decided to betray me outright and without mercy.