6
After Hours
Clara
Alicia’s suggestion hangs between us in the treatment room like an electric spark suspended in the air.
Sharing a shower isn’t just some absurd suggestion that slipped out of her mouth; it’s a massive door bursting open onto a dangerous abyss where my strict professionalism and my wildest desires collide with brutal force.
I can feel the heat rising in waves up my neck, my cheeks flushing, and my pulse racing alarmingly until it becomes a dull drumbeat rumbling in my ears.
For too many days now, I’ve been building up tension with this woman that’s no longer just physical.
Every damn brush of contact during our rehab sessions, every meaningful glance we exchange, and every suggestive hint has been weaving an invisible yet indestructible web around my willpower.
And now she’s right there, offering me a wild paradise.
One part of me—the responsible Clara, the head physical therapist devoted body and soul to her work at Ravenhill FC—is desperately screaming at me to turn around and walk out of the room before my whole world comes crashing down.
The other part—the flesh-and-blood woman who hasn’t had a proper fuck in far too long—madly longs to sink her fingers into her skin, grab her by the hair, and drown all this frustration consuming my insides in her body.
Alicia Puertas isn’t just an exceptional, top-tier soccer player; she’s chaos personified.
A kind of chaos charged with an animal magnetism that traps me and prevents me from going about my business as usual.
She takes a small step, moving a little closer to me, and her rapid breathing hits my lips directly.
“What’s up, Doc?” she asks in a hoarse whisper, without taking her eyes off mine for even a millimeter. “Don’t you like a little madness?”
Her eyes—a deep, beautiful green flecked with golden specks—are so incredibly close to mine that I can make out the faint redness of her eyelids from exhaustion, the pure gleam of defiance, and the urgent need lighting them up.
My gaze drifts without my permission down the elegant line of her throat, where her racing pulse beats visibly beneath her skin, and drops even lower, lingering on the perfect curve of her shoulders, sculpted by daily exercise.
Desire hits me in the pit of my stomach with tremendous force, tightening my sex with a desperation that frightens me.
I can picture her perfectly right now, her strong hands pressed against the cold tiles, hot water streaming down her sculpted back while I devour her sex hungrily, savoring her inch by inch until my entire mouth is filled with her as she comes.
The thought is so vivid and intense that a shiver of pure electricity races up and down my spine.
I mentally count the minutes frantically, calculating the actual risk down to the second—the exact amount of time we have left before anyone might notice our absence from the premises.
My professional defenses crumble for a few seconds.
The one hesitating is no longer Clara the professional; she’s simply Clara, the woman who’s been fighting the insane urge for days to devour this woman’s mouth and wipe that mischievous, playful smile off her lips in one fell swoop.
“Fifteen minutes,” I finally blurt out, standing my ground and barely moving a centimeter away from her.
Alicia suddenly raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised by my response, and a slow, roguish, brazen smile spreads across her perfect lips.
“Fifteen minutes—that’s all?” she repeats aloud, savoring the number with obvious delight in her eyes. “Just that, Doctor? Well, I thought you’d give me a lot more time to really enjoy you…”
I stare at her intently, without blinking, allowing myself—for the first time in months—to freely reveal the pure fire consuming me from within.
“More time? Does the big star not think she’s capable of reaching orgasm in fifteen minutes? Or is that too much of a challenge for a world-class player like you?”
The direct challenge ignites something wild in her eyes.
I can clearly see her breathing deepen and her pupils dilate in an instant.
She doesn’t answer me with words; she doesn’t need to.
She grabs my hand firmly and pulls me decisively toward the back hallway that leads directly to the medical team’s private, restricted showers.
And as soon as we’re completely out of sight of any prying eyes, she pushes me back against the wall and devours my mouth without hesitation.
The initial shock and urgency of the moment draw a stifled moan from me that disappears against her lips.
I entwine my tongue with hers with a hunger that frightens me; I suck and savor her with complete awareness of what I’m doing.
I know perfectly well that this is a monumental mistake—possibly one I’ll regret in a matter of hours once I come to my senses.
But right now, I don’t care; only she has the power to tear away the unbearable tension I’m carrying inside, the one that’s keeping me from thinking clearly.
The kiss is a veritable wildfire. Alicia devours my mouth with that chaotic, impulsive, selfish hunger that defines her so well; her tongue is demanding, her teeth grazing my lower lip forcefully as if she wanted to leave her mark etched into me forever.
My hands rise on pure instinct toward the nape of her neck, tangling firmly in her damp hair and pulling her toward me with fury.
The hallway is completely deserted at this hour, but the tremendous risk of being discovered by anyone pounds in my chest. Fifteen minutes.
We only have fifteen minutes to satisfy everything I’ve been silently building up for days.
“You’re completely irresponsible, Alicia,” I whisper directly against her full lips as we pull apart by barely a millimeter to catch our breath.
“And you’re a textbook control freak who’s dying to lose control with me,” she replies, flashing that crooked smile that manages to make me furious and completely wet at the same time.
I roughly drag her into the team’s private showers—or rather, she lets herself be dragged along willingly.
I slam the door shut and slide the latch; the metallic clang of the lock awakens something animalistic, primal, and dark inside me.
Alicia doesn’t even wait; she’s already slipping off her official practice jersey with one nimble movement, revealing those sculpted, defined abs and firm breasts I’ve imagined beneath my own hands far too many times.
The air in the bathroom seems to grow thick with steam even before we turn on the water.
“Get completely naked. Now,” I order in my most commanding voice.
Alicia raises an eyebrow cockily but obeys me without the slightest protest. With exasperating slowness—and far too provocatively for my taste—she pulls down her black shorts and underwear in one swift motion, standing completely naked and exposed before me.
Her body is pure elite athleticism: long, powerful, sinewy legs; a round, high, heart-stopping ass; and that sun-kissed skin from outdoor training that’s a feast for the eyes.
“Happy with the view?” she asks me with an unbearable smirk.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of answering with words.
I strip off my own clothes with frantic speed, feeling the intensity of her gaze sweep over my bare skin from head to toe as if I were the league trophy she’d just won in the final minute of the game.
When I’m completely naked in front of her, I grab her by the arm and push her decisively beneath the stream of hot water.
The scalding steam instantly envelops us like a cloud.
I slam her back against the blue shower tiles, and the muffled moan that escapes her lips drives me completely wild.
I bite her lips with fury, lower my wet mouth down her neck, sinking my teeth into her, squeeze her breasts hard between my hands, and, before I even let her catch her breath, my fingers are already gliding effortlessly through the burning folds of her soaking-wet sex.
“Ten minutes…” Alicia moans, arching her back and grinding hard against my hand to increase the friction. “You’re going to have to work really hard if you want to make me come.”
“Shut up already.”
I don’t let her say another word. I thrust two fingers deep inside her at once and start moving them in a steady, wild rhythm, letting myself be carried away by her incredible natural wetness and the shower water cascading over our faces.
I feel her breasts pressed against mine, her hard nipples brushing against my skin with an electric sensation, and my own sex throbbing with pure desire between my legs.
“You’re unbearable,” I growl right into her ear, biting hard where her pulse throbs in her neck.
“And you love it when I am,” she gasps, letting out a broken laugh between moans.
Suddenly, her fingers slide straight down between my legs without asking permission.
With Alicia, there’s no time for gentle foreplay; she spreads me open with two fingers and plunges them deep into my completely soaked pussy.
I cry out, arching my back against the cold wall.
I’m so incredibly wet because of her that her fingers slide in without the slightest resistance, curving with expert precision inside me in search of that exact spot she knows drives me wild.
Alicia is soaking wet—and not just from the water streaming over us.
Her pussy burns like hell around my fingers, squeezing them with incredible force.
I move my hand inside her in a steady rhythm, fucking her furiously while my thumb presses mercilessly against her swollen clitoris.
She moans without any shame or restraint, her head thrown completely back against the wall, water cascading down her perfect breasts and across her flat stomach.
It’s a damn obscene, pornographic, and perfect sight.