Chapter 5: Julian
The sharp scent of chlorine and industrial cleaner hit Julian the moment he pushed through the glass doors of the Bayern Munich training facility. The usual buzz – the rhythmic thump of weights, the sharp shouts of coaches, the low hum of treadmills – felt distant, muffled. His cleats echoed unnaturally loud on the polished concrete floor. All he could smell was her. Vanja. The phantom scent of her skin, the clean sweat from the morning’s exertions beneath the lingering, musky sweetness of their hours together, clung stubbornly to the inside of his nostrils. It was embedded in the weave of the grey t-shirt he now wore, replacing the one she’d slept in. He could still feel the ghost of her body heat against his chest.
He tried to focus. Warm-up drills. Stretching the lingering tightness from last night’s… activities. But his mind kept looping back: the choked scream she made when he first buried himself deep in the car, the way her cunt clenched like a vice around him on the couch in the dark, the utterly wrecked look on her face afterwards, framed by his damp t-shirt. The feeling of unloading inside her, that hot, primal pulse, the absolute certainty of possession. Fuck. He was half-hard just thinking about it. He adjusted himself subtly, gritting his teeth as he lunged into a hamstring stretch. Across the pristine pitch, under the harsh stadium lights, players moved in coordinated drills, a blur of red and white. He saw none of it. Only Vanja’s long legs wrapped around his waist, her back arching, the sheen of sweat on her collarbones…
"Ryerson! Heads up!"
The ball slammed into his shin guard with a dull thud, jolting him back. Dino stood a few meters away, hands on hips, a smirk playing on his lips. "Sleepwalking? Or just finally feeling your age?" He jogged closer, clapping Julian on the shoulder. "You look like shit warmed over. Big night?"
Julian grunted, kicking the ball back with unnecessary force. "Training. Focus." His voice came out gruffer than intended.
Dino laughed, easily controlling the pass. "Sure, sure. Speaking of focus… seen Vanja this morning?" His eyes were sharp, probing. "Heard she wasn't at her usual track session spot."
Julian felt heat crawl up his neck. He bent to re-tie a lace that didn't need tying. "Dropped her at the stadium." The words felt thick. He avoided Dino’s gaze, focusing intently on the knot. "Early session."
"Ah." Dino’s smirk widened into a full grin, knowing and slightly predatory. "Is that why you’ve got that stupid look on your face? And why your driving was even more terrifying than usual this morning?" He nudged Julian with his elbow. "Good for you, man. Seriously. About fucking time someone got through that ice queen act."
Julian straightened up. "She’s not—"
"Relax," Dino cut him off, still grinning. "I know. She’s intense. Smart. Fast as fucking lightning." He lowered his voice slightly. "Alex and I are grabbing her for lunch after her weights session. Though," he added, his grin turning positively wolfish, "judging by the way you smell like her perfume and look like you haven't slept… I guess you can have her later." He winked and jogged off towards the main drills, leaving Julian standing there, a confusing mix of irritation and possessive heat blooming in his chest. Later. The word echoed, promising.
The training canteen was a vast, airy space overlooking the secondary pitch. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows. Julian pushed a plate of untouched pasta around, nursing a bottle of water. His body ached with the good fatigue of a hard session, but his nerves were still humming, attuned to a different frequency. He scanned the entrance every few seconds. Finally, she was there.
Vanja walked in beside Alex, deep in conversation. She wore sleek black training leggings and a fitted tank top that showed off the powerful definition of her shoulders and arms. But it was what was layered on top that made Julian’s grip tighten involuntarily on his water bottle. His dark blue hoodie. Swamping her frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times to free her hands, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. It screamed possession. His scent on her skin. His shirt beneath it. The memory of peeling both off her last night slammed into him.
Alex was talking animatedly, gesturing towards the pitch outside. Vanja nodded, but her gaze drifted, scanning the room. It landed on Julian. A flicker of something – recognition, heat, maybe a touch of defiance – sparked in her golden green eyes. A faint flush crept up her neck. She looked away quickly, but not before Julian saw it. He held her gaze for a beat longer, letting her feel the weight of it, the unspoken mine.
Dino intercepted them near the food counter, clapping Alex on the back, laughing at something. He glanced over Alex’s shoulder, caught Julian’s eye, and gave a barely perceptible nod towards Vanja in the hoodie. His smirk was back. Alex, following Dino’s glance, finally noticed what Julian was wearing – or rather, what Vanja was wearing. His easy smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, darting between Vanja and Julian, a storm cloud gathering on his face. Vanja deliberately avoided looking at either of them, focusing intently on choosing a salad.
Julian pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly. He didn’t join the lunch line. He headed straight for the exit, the possessive fire Dino had stoked now a roaring blaze in his gut. He didn’t look back. He knew. Later was now.
He didn’t go far. Just around the corner from the canteen entrance, tucked into a dimly lit alcove housing vending machines and a water cooler. The hum of the machines was a low drone. He leaned against the cool concrete wall, arms crossed, waiting. Heart pounding, not from exertion. From anticipation. From the image of her in his clothes, under Alex’s furious gaze. From the memory of her taste, her heat.
Minutes ticked by. He heard the canteen door swing open, voices fading as people dispersed. Then, lighter footsteps. Purposeful. He saw the flash of dark blue fabric first. Vanja rounded the corner, alone. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were bright, fixed on him. She didn’t hesitate. She walked straight up to him, stopping inches away, forcing him to look down.
"Enjoy the show?" Her voice was low, husky.
"You wearing my shit? Fucking right I did." His hand shot out, fisting in the thick fabric of the hoodie over her hip, pulling her flush against him. He felt the muscle of her thigh press against his, the soft swell of her breasts against his chest. The hoodie’s bulk between them was infuriating. "Trying to start a war, Golden?"
"Maybe," she breathed, tilting her head back, challenging him. "You going to do something about it?"
He didn’t answer with words. His mouth crashed down onto hers. It wasn’t like last night’s frantic hunger. This was raw, claiming, tinged with the anger Alex’s presence had ignited. He kissed her hard, biting her lower lip, his tongue demanding entry. She met him with equal ferocity, her hands gripping the front of his training shirt, pulling him closer. He tasted the sweet tang of her post-workout energy drink.
His hand slid down from her hip, under the ridiculously oversized hem of the hoodie. Her leggings were thin, designed for movement. He found the waistband, shoved his hand down the front. No panties. Just hot, smooth skin. He groaned into her mouth, fingers sliding lower, through the soft curls, finding her slit already slick and swollen. "Fucking soaked," he growled against her lips. "Thinking about this all lunch? Thinking about me?"
"Yes," she gasped, arching into his touch as his fingers found her clit, rubbing tight, insistent circles. "Fuck, Julian!" Her hips rocked against his hand.
He tore his mouth from hers, breathing raggedly. "Turn around." His voice was guttural. "Hands on the wall. Now."
She obeyed instantly, spinning, bracing her palms flat against the cool concrete beside the humming vending machine. He shoved the hoodie up her back, bunching it around her waist, exposing the tight black leggings stretched over the perfect curve of her ass. He didn't bother pulling them down. He gripped the thin fabric at her hip and yanked, tearing a ragged seam down the centre seam of the leggings from waistband to crotch. The sound of ripping fabric was obscene in the quiet alcove. She gasped, but pushed her ass back towards him, presenting the smooth, pale skin now exposed, the dark blonde curls glistening between her thighs.
"Needed access," he muttered, fumbling with his own track pants, shoving them and his briefs down just enough to free his cock, already thick and painfully hard, the head slick with pre-cum. He grabbed his shaft, the other hand spreading her ass cheek roughly. No preamble. No slow entry. He lined himself up and slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, stretching her open.
Vanja cried out, a sharp, choked sound muffled against her arm braced on the wall. The wall against her cheek was cool, the concrete rough. Behind her, Julian was pure heat, pure force. His cock was a long, thick, burning intrusion, filling her utterly, stretching her deliciously after the quick, efficient stretch of his fingers. "Fuck! Julian!"
"Told you," he grunted, his voice thick with strain. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the soft flesh above the torn leggings. He pulled back almost entirely, then slammed home again with the same brutal force. "Wanted my cock? Got it." His thrusts started hard and fast, short, deep pistons in the confined space. The torn fabric of her leggings rubbed roughly against her inner thighs. The only sounds were the wet slap of his hips against her ass, his laboured grunts, her ragged gasps and the relentless hum of the vending machines. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her hoodie-covered back, his mouth finding her neck, biting down hard. The sharp pain mixed with the deep, rhythmic pounding sent sparks flying behind her closed eyelids. She pushed back, meeting his thrusts, feeling him hit that deep, perfect spot with every punishing drive.
"Harder," she gasped, the word tearing from her throat. "Fucking harder! Use me! Ruin me!" She wanted to erase Alex’s look, the tension, everything but this raw, consuming fire.
Julian growled, a sound like tearing metal. He obeyed. His thrusts became savage, jackhammer-fast, driving into her with bruising force. The wall vibrated slightly with the impact. His hand left her hip, snaked under the hoodie bunched at her waist, finding her breast, pinching her nipple hard through the sports bra. She cried out again, the dual sensation overwhelming. "Yesss! Fuck! Like that! Just like that!" Her voice was a broken whimper.
"Take it," he snarled, pounding into her. "Take every fucking inch. My cock belongs there. Deep inside you. Fucking marked." His words, filthy and possessive, combined with the relentless physical assault, pushed her swiftly to the edge. The coil wound impossibly tight, ready to snap. "Julian! I'm— I'm coming!" she choked out, her body tensing, inner walls beginning to flutter violently around his invading thickness.
"Come!" he commanded, his voice cracking. "Squeeze my fucking cock! Milk it! NOW!" He hammered into her, short, brutal strokes aimed straight at her core.
She shattered. A silent scream ripped through her as orgasm detonated, a white-hot explosion that consumed her. Her cunt convulsed wildly around him, gripping and releasing in frantic pulses. She felt him shudder, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as her spasms triggered his own climax. He buried himself deep, grinding hard against her as hot jets of cum pulsed violently inside her, filling her, marking her. He held himself there, pressed flush against her trembling ass, both of them gasping, slick with sweat, pinned together by the force of their release against the humming vending machine.
He slumped forward, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades under the hoodie, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her spine. Vanja sagged against the wall, held up only by his weight and her braced arms, her legs trembling violently. The scent of sex, sweat, and Julian filled the small space, thick and primal. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. She felt the slick gush of their combined wetness sliding down her inner thigh. He stayed pressed against her for a long moment, his breathing gradually slowing. His hand, still under her hoodie, moved from her breast to splay possessively over her stomach, low, just above her mound. He didn't speak. Just held her there, marked, claimed, in the dim fluorescent light of the training facility alcove, the hoodie still rucked up around her waist, the torn leggings testament to his urgency. The distant sounds of the facility seemed miles away. There was only this: the pounding aftermath, the raw intimacy, the silent declaration hanging thick in the air between them. She leaned her head back slightly, resting it against his shoulder, catching her breath, feeling the possessive weight of his hand. Neither moved for a long time.
The silence stretched, thick with spent heat and the metallic hum of the vending machine pressed against Vanja’s cheek. Julian’s hand remained splayed low on her stomach beneath the hoodie, a heavy, possessive anchor. She felt the slick mess between her thighs cooling, the torn leggings a ruined banner around her hips. His breath, still ragged against her spine, gradually evened. He shifted slightly, the movement making her acutely aware of the raw ache inside her, the delicious aftermath of being so violently claimed.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word a rough scrape against her skin. He slowly withdrew his hand, letting the oversized hoodie fall back into place. His fingers trailed lightly over the exposed skin above the torn leggings, tracing the faint outline of his grip. "Alright." His voice was gruff, decisive. He stepped back, the sudden absence of his heat shocking against the cool air of the alcove. He efficiently tucked himself back into his track pants, the motion practical, jarringly mundane after the raw coupling. Vanja sagged, bracing herself fully on the wall, legs trembling as she pushed herself upright, wincing slightly. She tugged the hoodie down, covering the worst of the damage to her leggings, a futile attempt at modesty.
"Come," he said, his tone brooking no argument. He took her elbow, his grip firm but not painful, guiding her away from the damp patch on the wall, the lingering scent of sex. "I'm taking you home."
"Home?" Vanja blinked, trying to focus past the lingering throb. Her voice felt unused, rough. "My apartment?"
He nodded, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as they strode quickly down the sterile corridor, avoiding the main thoroughfares. "Your apartment." He steered her towards the player's parking garage. "You should rest." He opened the passenger door of his sleek black sedan, ushering her in. The cool leather seats felt alien against her heated skin.
She slid in, the movement pulling uncomfortably at her tender muscles. "How about you?" she asked, buckling the seat belt with slightly unsteady hands. The familiar scent of his car – leather, cologne, and now, undeniably, them – enveloped her.
He shut her door, walked around the front, slid into the driver's seat. The engine purred to life. "I have another training later," he said, pulling smoothly out of the space, his gaze fixed ahead. The stadium lights flashed past as they exited the garage. "But I won’t keep you waiting for long." He glanced at her, a predatory glint in his eyes.
Vanja grinned, the promise coiling low in her belly, erasing the ache for a moment. She leaned across the center console, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, and kissed him. It wasn't gentle. It was teeth and tongues, a searing brand, a confirmation of what awaited them. He growled into her mouth, one hand leaving the wheel to grasp her hip, pulling her closer until the gearshift dug into her ribs. She tasted coffee, salt, and the lingering echo of her own arousal on his lips. He broke away first, breathing hard, eyes dark. "Later," he promised thickly, pushing her gently but firmly back into her seat. "Keep that thought." He accelerated, the city lights blurring as he drove towards her sanctuary, the tension already rebuilding, thick and electric in the confined space. The ripped seam of her leggings caught on the leather seat, a stark reminder of what had passed, a silent herald of what was still to come. Her skin still hummed where he'd touched her, possessed her. Home couldn’t come fast enough.