Chapter 9: Morning Training
The city glow had faded to a pale, pre-dawn grey when Vanja stirred. The deep, bone-melting exhaustion from the stadium, the frantic escape, and Kenan’s demanding release still clung to her muscles. Warmth radiated beside her, a solid, reassuring presence. She shifted, seeking the heat, her bare skin brushing against the cool, expensive cotton sheets.
A low chuckle vibrated against her back. Before she could fully register it, a heavy weight settled across her hips, pinning her to the mattress. Her eyes flew open. Kenan loomed above her, already dressed in sleek, dark Juventus training gear that hugged every powerful line of his torso and thighs. The faint scent of shower gel and sportswear fabric mingled with the lingering musk of sex in the room. His hair was damp, tousled, his jaw clean-shaven. He looked alert, energized, utterly in control. A predatory glint lit his dark eyes as he took in her nakedness beneath him.
"Sleeping in?" he murmured, his voice rough with morning gravel, but imbued with that familiar, confident heat. One large hand slid possessively from her hip, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, then lower, across the plane of her stomach. "Not on my watch, champion."
Vanja’s breath hitched as his fingers dipped between her thighs without preamble. She was still tender, swollen from the intensity hours before. "Kenan—" The protest was weak, caught in her throat as his fingertips found her slick core, already embarrassingly responsive.
"Shhh," he breathed, leaning down. His lips brushed her shoulder, near the fading bruise Alex had left. "Morning training starts now." He didn’t ask. He didn’t tease. He simply pressed two fingers inside her, deep and sure. The sudden stretch, the immediate friction against her over-sensitised nerves, drew a sharp gasp from her lips. It wasn’t gentle. It was efficient, purposeful. Like a drill.
He began to move his hand, a slow, relentless piston. His thumb found her clit, circling with focused pressure. His other hand held her hip firmly against the mattress, preventing any escape she might have feebly attempted. "That’s it," he growled, watching her face intently, the flush already rising on her neck and chest. "Wake up, Vanja. Feel it."
She arched, a low moan escaping her. It was too much, too soon after the night’s exertions, yet her body responded with shocking immediacy, coiling tight around the intrusion. Her hands fisted the pristine white sheets. The contrast was dizzying: the clinical precision of his touch versus the wildfire it ignited in her core; his composed, fully-dressed form versus her naked vulnerability; the sterile scent of his gear against the raw intimacy of what he was doing. Her thighs trembled. The friction was almost painful, yet utterly necessary, driving her rapidly towards the edge.
"Faster," she choked out, the words barely audible. The need was a physical ache, overriding fatigue and soreness.
Kenan’s grin was wolfish. He complied, his fingers driving deeper, the pace quickening, his thumb relentless. He watched her unravel, the concentration on his face mirroring the focus he'd had on the pitch. "Come on," he urged, his voice a low command. "Give it to me. Now."
The climax hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. It ripped through her with startling violence, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her body locked, convulsing around his fingers. It was sharp, almost brutal in its intensity, leaving her gasping, shuddering, tears pricking her eyes as the waves subsided into trembling aftershocks.
Kenan withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately. He brought them to his lips, his eyes locked on hers as he tasted her release. A dark, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. "Good start," he stated, wiping his hand casually on the sheet beside her hip. He shifted his weight, releasing her, and swung his legs off the bed. "Get cleaned up. Kitchen in ten."
He strode out of the bedroom without a backward glance, leaving Vanja sprawled on the rumpled sheets, her heart hammering, her body humming with a confusing mix of exhaustion, lingering pleasure, and a strange, hollow ache. The bruise on her collarbone throbbed faintly.
Shower spray pounded the lingering sweat and the scent of Kenan from her skin. The hot water soothed her screaming muscles but did nothing for the knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Alex. The buzzing phone. Kenan’s claiming bite. The memory of Alex’s grip on her neck felt colder than the water. She dressed quickly in the clothes she’d worn last night – the ripped cashmere sweater, the short skirt, feeling exposed and strangely defiant.
Kenan was in the sleek, minimalist kitchen, sipping black coffee from a heavy ceramic mug. He’d pulled on a hoodie over his training top. He glanced up as she entered, his gaze sweeping over her. Assessing. Unreadable. He nudged a second mug towards her across the polished concrete countertop. Steam curled lazily into the cool morning air.
Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Vanja cradled the hot mug, the warmth seeping into her palms. The city below was waking up, a low rumble filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She knew she had to deal with it. Now. Before Alex detonated.
She pulled her cracked phone from her pocket. The screen flashed with multiple missed calls and a barrage of texts from Alex, the tone escalating from furious demand to cold threat. Her thumb hovered. She looked at Kenan. He was watching her, leaning back against the counter, his expression impassive.
"He called me too," Kenan said casually, taking another sip of coffee. "Around dawn. Sounded… unhinged." He set his mug down. "Said he wants to talk. To you. Here."
Vanja flinched. "Here?" The penthouse felt like a fortress, but the idea of Alex invading this space, this strange, charged aftermath, made her skin crawl.
Kenan shrugged, a ripple of muscle under the hoodie. "Seems he didn't appreciate the radio silence." His eyes held hers, dark and steady. "Your call, Vanja. Tell him to fuck off back to Munich. Or…" He paused, letting the implication hang. "Let him come. Get it over with. Face him here, where I can see him."
The offer wasn’t protection. It was control. His control. Seeing Alex here, in Kenan’s domain, after what happened… it was dangerous. Explosive. But letting Alex fester, letting his rage build unchecked… that felt infinitely worse. The memory of his hands on her throat, the possessive fury in his eyes… He needed to see she wasn’t his to claim. That she wasn’t cowed.
She looked down at her phone. The screen showed Alex’s latest text: Answer me. Now. Where ARE you?
Her thumb moved. Not a call. A text. Short. Definite. She typed slowly, the click of the keys loud in the quiet kitchen:
Come to Kenan’s. Penthouse. Now.
She hit send. The swoosh sound was final. She looked up at Kenan, her chin lifted, the ghost of her usual defiance flickering despite the tremor in her hands. "Let him come," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. The words hung in the air between them, a challenge accepted, a battle line drawn in the sterile luxury of Kenan’s kitchen. The coffee in her mug had gone cold. Kenan’s lips curved in a slow, humorless smile. Outside, the city buzzed on, oblivious to the storm brewing fifty floors above.
The city buzzed on, oblivious to the storm brewing fifty floors above. Kenan pushed off the counter, his movement fluid, predatory. "He’ll be ballistic," he stated, refilling his coffee mug like he was discussing the weather. "Good."
Vanja shivered despite the penthouse warmth. Cold dread warred with the fading echo of Kenan’s fingers inside her. "He already is," she murmured, staring at her phone’s black screen. Silence. No immediate reply from Alex, which was somehow worse.
Kenan’s gaze swept over her ripped sweater, her bare legs. "Change," he ordered, nodding towards the bedroom. "Put on something of mine. Let him see." It wasn’t a suggestion. It was strategy. A visual claim.
She didn’t argue. Retreating to the bedroom felt like entering a cage, the rumpled bed a stark reminder of the morning’s ruthless possession. The scent of their sweat, his cologne, her release – it hung thick in the air. She rummaged through Kenan’s vast walk-in, pulling out a simple, oversized black t-shirt. The soft cotton swallowed her frame, falling to mid-thigh, smelling cleanly of expensive detergent and him. She kept her underwear on, a flimsy barrier.
The silence stretched, suffocating. Minutes ticked by on the sleek bedroom clock. Vanja paced, the t-shirt brushing her thighs. She heard Kenan move in the living area, the faint clink of his mug on stone. Then, a sharp, insistent buzzing cut through the quiet. The intercom. Her breath hitched. Kenan’s voice, calm and low, filtered through the speaker. "Send him up."
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She walked back into the living room, drawn to the panoramic view. The city sprawled beneath them, indifferent. Kenan stood near the entrance foyer, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He looked utterly relaxed, infuriatingly so. "Showtime," he murmured, eyes fixed on the elevator doors across the expansive space.
The soft chime echoed. The brushed steel doors slid open silently.
Alex stood there. Munich was a blurry memory; he must have flown immediately. He looked wrecked. Dark circles bruised his eyes beneath messy, uncombed hair. His clothes were rumpled, jacket hanging open. Fury radiated off him in palpable waves, sharp and acrid, cutting through the penthouse’s cool, scented air. His eyes, bloodshot and blazing, locked onto Vanja first, then snapped to Kenan. He stepped out of the elevator, letting the doors hiss shut behind him. "Vanja." Her name was a snarl, thick with accusation and hurt. His gaze raked over Kenan’s t-shirt on her body, his jaw tightening until the muscle jumped. "What the fuck is this?"
Kenan didn't move from the wall. He just tilted his head, a faint, cold smile playing on his lips. "Morning, Alex. Long flight?" The casual cruelty in his tone was calculated, designed to ignite. Alex flinched like he’d been slapped. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.
Vanja felt the room tilt. Alex’s raw pain was a physical force, mingling with Kenan’s icy control. It was too much. The penthouse, the view, the tension – it compressed her lungs. She saw the violence coiled in Alex’s shoulders, the dangerous stillness in Kenan’s stance. Words felt useless, inadequate splinters against the concrete wall of their animosity. The need to shatter the moment, to disrupt the predictable trajectory of rage and confrontation, surged through her with electric urgency.
She moved. Not towards Alex, not away. Towards Kenan. Three quick strides across the polished floor. Before he could react, before Alex could process it, she grabbed the front of Kenan’s hoodie, pulled herself up, and crushed her mouth against his. It wasn’t tender. It was hard, claiming, tasting of coffee and the sharp edge of his surprise. She felt his initial stiffness, then a low rumble in his chest as his hand instinctively tangled in her hair, holding her there, deepening the kiss for a brutal, possessive second.
She broke away just as violently, leaving Kenan momentarily stunned. Alex stood frozen, a statue carved from pure disbelief and burgeoning rage. Vanja didn't hesitate. She pivoted, closing the distance to Alex in two heartbeats. His eyes widened, confusion warring with fury. Before he could speak, before he could recoil or strike, she grabbed his face. Her fingers dug into the rough stubble of his jaw. She pulled him down to her level. Her kiss on his mouth was fierce, desperate, tasting of salt, anger, and the metallic tang of Kenan’s lips. It was defiance. It was chaos. It was a grenade thrown into the center of the room.
The kiss against Alex’s mouth was a collision of salt, stale coffee, and the unexpected metallic tang of Kenan still on Vanja’s lips. It lasted only seconds, desperate and fierce, before she shoved him back a step, breathing hard. His face was a mask of stunned betrayal, eyes wide and wounded beneath the fury. Kenan hadn't moved from the wall, his expression unreadable, but his gaze, locked on Vanja, burned with a dark, possessive heat.
Silence crashed down, thicker than the penthouse glass. Only their ragged breaths filled the vast space. Alex stared at Vanja, then at Kenan, his chest heaving. Kenan watched Alex watch Vanja. Vanja stood between them, trembling, the oversized black cotton shirt suddenly feeling flimsy armor.
"Jesus Christ, Vanja," Alex rasped, voice shredded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of disgust that stung far worse than any slap. "What the hell was that?"
She lifted her chin, meeting his furious gaze. "What it looked like." Defiance laced every word. The cold dread was still there, coiled in her gut, but it was buried under adrenaline now. She’d lit the fuse; now she faced the blast.
Kenan finally pushed off the wall, his movement fluid and deliberate. He didn't look at Alex. His eyes stayed pinned on Vanja. "You want to play games, champion?" His voice was dangerously low, a velvet rumble that vibrated through the floor. He took a slow step towards her. "Or do you want something else?" He stopped inches away, his presence overwhelming, the scent of his expensive cologne and clean sweat enveloping her. His gaze flickered down her body, lingering on the hem of his shirt riding high on her thigh. "Seems you dressed the part."
Alex surged forward, grabbing Vanja’s arm, spinning her towards him. "Don't you fucking talk to her like—" His grip was bruising, echoing the phantom pain on her collarbone. Vanja gasped, more in shock than pain.
Kenan moved like lightning. His hand clamped down on Alex’s wrist, fingers digging into tendons. "Take your hand off her," he commanded, the calm veneer cracking to reveal icy steel. "Now." The tension snapped taut, a physical wire vibrating between the three of them. Alex glared, his jaw clenched, knuckles white under Kenan’s grip. He didn’t let go.
Vanja felt it – the raw, masculine fury radiating from both men, focused on each other, yet somehow encircling her. The possessive heat from Kenan, the wounded, desperate anger from Alex. It wasn’t just conflict; it was a terrifying magnetism. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. The cool marble floor beneath her bare feet felt miles away. Her gaze darted between them – Kenan’s controlled ferocity, Alex’s volatile hurt.
The air crackled, thick with unsaid threats and primal challenge. She saw the dangerous calculation in Kenan’s eyes, the reckless pain in Alex’s. The penthouse, the city view, everything blurred. Only this triangle of tension existed. The hollow ache Kenan’s fingers had left inside her earlier reignited, sharper, deeper. It wasn’t just physical need; it was a compulsion forged from exhaustion, defiance, and the sheer, terrifying power crackling between them. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, raw and stripped bare.
"I need you both," she moaned, the sound trembling in the charged stillness. It wasn't a plea. It was an unleashed command, flung into the heart of the storm she'd created.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Alex’s furious gaze snapped to her, confusion warring with disbelief. Kenan’s eyes, dark and fathomless, held hers, a flicker of savage understanding passing through them. Then, Alex’s grip on her arm loosened slightly, not releasing, but shifting. Kenan’s hold on Alex’s wrist tightened, pulling him fractionally closer to Vanja, not pushing him away.
Kenan’s free hand reached out, not towards Alex, but to cup the back of Vanja’s neck, his thumb brushing the fading bruise Alex had left. His gaze locked with Alex’s over her head. "You heard her," Kenan growled, the challenge implicit. His thumb pressed harder against her bruise, a silent claim, a demand for Alex’s submission to her will. Alex flinched, a muscle jumping in his jaw, his eyes dropping to Vanja’s face, searching, lost.
Then, with a ragged sound that was half groan, half surrender, Alex released Vanja’s arm. Instead of retreating, his hand slid possessively around her waist, pulling her tight against him, his other hand rising to mirror Kenan’s grip on her neck, his fingers tangling roughly in her hair. His breath was hot and harsh against her temple. "Fine," he gritted out, the word thick with anger and something darker, hungrier. "You want this? You got it."
Kenan’s answering smile was a predator’s flash. He released Alex’s wrist only to shove Alex’s hand lower on Vanja’s waist, guiding him against the curve of her hip. His own hand slid down her spine, pulling her back flush against his chest, trapping her between them. The sudden press of hard muscle, the conflicting scents of Alex’s exhaustion and Kenan’s clean menace, the overwhelming heat – it stole Vanja’s breath. Kenan’s lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear, biting down sharply. "Then show her," he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating through her bones.
Alex reacted instantly, his mouth claiming hers again, fierce and demanding, erasing Kenan’s bite with his own desperate heat. His hands slid under the hem of Kenan’s shirt, rough palms scraping against her bare thighs, then higher, seeking skin. Kenan’s hands moved too, pushing the shirt up Vanja’s torso as Alex kissed her, his fingers finding her breasts, rolling a nipple to a stiff peak through the thin fabric of her bra. Vanja gasped into Alex’s mouth, arching back against Kenan. It wasn't tender. It was a claiming, a contest played out on her body.
Kenan spun her abruptly, breaking Alex’s kiss. He backed her towards the vast expanse of cold marble countertop edging the kitchen island. Alex followed, a shadow attached by heat and need. Kenan lifted Vanja onto the hard surface without ceremony, the chill shocking against her thighs. Alex stepped between her knees, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her to the edge. Kenan’s hands were on the button of Alex’s jeans, popping it open with ruthless efficiency.
"Hold her," Kenan ordered Alex, his voice rough. Alex’s hands tightened on her hips, pinning her against the counter’s edge. Kenan shoved Alex’s jeans and underwear down his hips just enough. He reached past Alex’s thigh, fingers sliding under the lace edge of Vanja’s panties, tearing them aside. His touch was impersonal, efficient. He guided Alex’s hard length with one hand, positioning him at her slick entrance.
Alex groaned, his head falling forward against Vanja’s shoulder as Kenan pushed him steadily inside her. The sudden stretch, the intrusion from Alex while Kenan’s hands held her open, made Vanja cry out, a sharp sound swallowed by the cavernous room. Alex thrust deep, burying himself with a ragged gasp, his fingers digging into her flesh. His breath was hot and uneven against her neck.
"Fuck," Alex breathed, the word shuddering out of him. He pulled back slightly, then drove in again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm. Vanja clutched his shoulders, nails biting through his jacket fabric as her body struggled to accommodate the force. Kenan watched them, his face a mask of intense concentration. One hand remained on Alex’s hip, urging him deeper, controlling the pace. The other hand slid down Vanja’s stomach, fingers tangling in her damp curls, finding her clit with unerring precision.
He began to stroke, hard circles against the swollen bud, perfectly timed with Alex’s thrusts. The dual assault – Alex filling her, stretching her, Kenan igniting the nerve endings Kenan had already pushed to the edge that morning – was overwhelming. Vanja’s head fell back against Kenan’s chest as he leaned over her. She saw the city lights blurring into streaks below. Pleasure coiled, impossibly tight, a wire fraying under tension. She arched, straining against Alex’s grip, against Kenan’s relentless fingers.
Kenan’s mouth was on her neck again, teeth grazing, his breath hot. "Take him," he growled into her skin. "Take it all." Alex’s rhythm became erratic, frantic. His groan was guttural. Kenan pressed harder on her clit, his other hand tightening on Alex’s hip, forcing him impossibly deep. Alex shouted, his body locking, shuddering violently as he came inside her, his grip on her hips bruising.
The sensation of Alex’s release, hot and pulsing, combined with Kenan’s merciless fingers still working her clit, tipped Vanja over the edge immediately after. Her climax wasn't a wave; it was a detonation. White light fractured her vision. She screamed, a raw, tearing sound ripped from her throat, her body convulsing uncontrollably against Alex’s spent form, against Kenan’s unyielding chest. She bucked, shuddered, every muscle locking and releasing in violent spasms. Kenan kept his hand pressed hard against her, prolonging the blinding, agonizing pleasure until she sagged, gasping, utterly spent, against him.
Alex slumped forward, his forehead pressed against her sternum, breathing heavily, still buried inside her. Kenan withdrew his hand from between her legs, slowly, deliberately. He watched Vanja’s trembling form, her eyes closed, lashes dark against her pale cheeks. A faint smirk touched his lips. He brushed damp strands of dark blonde hair from her forehead. Alex lifted his head, his eyes dazed, meeting Kenan’s gaze over Vanja’s shoulder. There was no triumph there, only exhaustion and a profound, unsettling vulnerability.
Vanja floated in a haze of obliterated sensation. The cold marble beneath her, Kenan’s solid warmth behind her, Alex’s softening weight pressing against her front – they were anchors to a reality that felt impossibly distant. Her body hummed, a raw, exposed nerve. The scent of sex, sweat, and Alex’s faded cologne hung heavy in the air. She heard Kenan shift behind her, felt Alex pull away slowly, the loss of him inside her a sudden, hollow chill.
Silence descended again, deeper this time, weighted with the enormity of what had just happened. Kenan’s hand lingered on her shoulder, a possessive weight. Alex stood unsteadily, pulling his jeans back up, avoiding looking at either of them, his expression shuttered. Outside, the indifferent city glittered, its morning rhythm unchanged. Inside the penthouse fortress, oblivion receded, leaving only the trembling aftermath and the echo of Vanja’s shattered command hanging in the charged air.