Chapter 8: The First Time
The air in Joshua’s minimalist living room crackled, thick with the scent of sweat, crushed grass from the pitch still clinging to their gear, and something hotter, more primal. Vanja rode the hard line of his thigh, her fingers tangled deep in his damp hair, pulling his head back as she kissed him. Not soft. Not asking. Taking. Her tongue swept against his, demanding, tasting the sharp bite of his exertion and the faint salt of his skin. He met her with equal ferocity, a low growl vibrating in his chest as his hands slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, and gripped hard through the slick fabric of her leggings, hauling her impossibly tighter against him.
"You," he gasped against her mouth, breaking the kiss just enough to force the words out, his breathing ragged, "are driving me fucking insane." His eyes, dark and intense, bored into hers, pupils blown wide.
A smirk, sharp and challenging, curved Vanja’s lips. She ground down deliberately, the friction against the hard ridge trapped beneath his shorts and her leggings electric. She felt the answering jerk of his hips. "Good," she breathed, her voice husky, raw. She leaned close again, her lips grazing his ear. "Let’s see how far you can go, Joshua." She lingered on his name, the correct pronunciation dropped like a gauntlet.
A shudder ran through him. His hands left her ass, one sliding up under the hem of her cropped compression top, fingers splaying possessively across the hot, sweat-slicked skin of her lower back. The other hand fisted in the fabric at her hip again, fingers digging in. The thin leggings were suddenly too much, a frustrating barrier. His thumb hooked into the waistband, a question, a demand.
Vanja didn’t hesitate. She rocked back, just enough, breaking the contact, her gaze locked on his. Her own hands went to her top, peeling the damp fabric up and over her head in one swift, decisive movement. It landed on the sleek black leather beside them. The cool air of his sterile living room hit her bare skin, pebbling her nipples instantly, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between them. She saw his gaze drop, darken, the hunger flaring hotter. He hadn't moved, just watched, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Her hands went to the waistband of her leggings. Joshua’s breath hitched. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the sofa cushion. The sound of the expensive espresso machine humming in the open-plan kitchen seemed absurdly loud in the charged silence. She pushed the leggings down over her hips, the damp fabric clinging, revealing black athletic briefs. She kicked them off her ankles, leaving her clad only in the briefs and her cleats, the metal studs scraping slightly on the polished concrete floor. She looked elemental like this, powerful muscles defined, skin gleaming faintly with sweat, defiance blazing in her eyes.
He was on her in a heartbeat.
Not gentle. Not careful. His hands were everywhere – sliding up her thighs, gripping her waist, pulling her back onto him, crushing her bare torso against his damp, still-clothed chest. He buried his face against her neck, teeth grazing the tendon, a low groan escaping him as his hips surged up, grinding the hard evidence of his need against her core, separated only by thin layers of fabric. "Fuck, Vanja," he muttered into her skin, the growl back, deeper now, edged with desperation. "You have no fucking idea…"
One hand slid up her spine, fingers tangling in her hair again, tilting her head back. The other hand slid down, slipping under the elastic of her briefs, cupping her bare ass, squeezing hard, pulling her tighter against his relentless rhythm. His mouth found hers again, a collision of lips and tongue and teeth, messy and consuming. He tasted of adrenaline and frustration and a building frenzy. The sterile lines of his house, the expensive abstract art on the walls, the city view through the floor-to-ceiling windows – it all faded, irrelevant. There was only the feel of his hands, the hard planes of his body beneath her, the relentless friction, and the simmering memory of Rummenigge’s cold, violating ownership that this raw, mutual hunger was somehow erasing.
Joshua broke the kiss, his forehead pressed hard to hers. "Off," he demanded, his voice thick, strained. He tugged urgently at the waistband of her briefs, then at his own shorts. "Get these… fuck… get them off."
Vanja moved. She pushed herself back, bracing her hands on his shoulders, the leather sofa cool against her knees. Her fingers fumbled with the button of his shorts, then the zip. He lifted his hips, helping her shove them down his legs, along with his briefs, the fabric catching briefly at his powerful thighs before pooling around his ankles. He kicked them off impatiently, his gaze locked on her as she finally, finally slipped her own briefs down and off.
The air felt charged, thick. Naked now except for her cleats, she straddled him again, her core hovering just above his hard length. His hands clamped onto her hips, fingers digging in, ready to pull her down. His eyes were almost black, burning with need, fixed on the place where their bodies would join. "Vanja," he breathed, the single word a command, a plea, a promise of oblivion.
She braced one hand on the back of the sofa beside his head, the other resting flat on his sweat-damp chest, feeling the frantic hammer of his heart. Their eyes locked. The air was taut with anticipation, a tremor running through them both. She started to lower herself.
The leather squeaked under Vanja’s knees as she lowered herself onto him, the initial stretch sharp, breathtaking. He was thick, pushing her open, forcing a gasp from her lips. Joshua’s hands clamped harder on her hips, a low groan tearing from his throat as she sank down fully, taking every inch, the sensation overwhelming, a perfect, burning pressure.
"Christ," he rasped, his eyes wide, pupils huge and dark, fixed on where their bodies joined. His hips jerked involuntarily beneath her, a ragged gasp escaping him. He felt impossibly deep, filling her completely, the sheer size stealing her breath for a second.
She adjusted, shifting her weight, the friction sparking along her nerves. The cleats on her feet scraped against the pristine floor as she found her rhythm, rising slowly, then sinking back down. Each downward stroke drew a ragged groan from him, his fingers digging into the muscle of her thighs, encouraging her pace. "Like that," he choked out, his chest heaving. "Fuck, Vanja, just like that."
Heat pooled low in her belly, building with every roll of her hips, every gasp he made. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders again, her hair falling around their faces. The slick slide of him inside her, the tight clutch of her body around his cock, the frantic pulse beating against him – it was consuming. Her breath hitched, her movements becoming more urgent, less controlled.
She rode him harder, faster, chasing the coil tightening deep within. Joshua met her thrust for thrust, driving up into her, the wet sound of their joining loud in the quiet room. His hands slid up her sweat-slicked back, pulling her closer, crushing her against him. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing, sucking hard, a primal claim. "Yes," he growled against her skin, the vibration shaking her. "C'mon. Let go."
It shattered her. The orgasm ripped through Vanja like a live wire, blinding and violent. She cried out, arching back, her body clamping down on him in fierce, rhythmic pulses. She saw stars behind her eyelids, her thighs trembling wildly, the sheer force of it tearing a sob from her throat. She held onto his shoulders like an anchor as the waves crashed over her.
Feeling her convulse around him, tight and wet and perfect, was Joshua’s undoing. With a guttural roar, his hips snapped up, burying himself to the hilt. He held her there, pressed down hard as he pulsed inside her, his release hot and deep. He shuddered violently against her, fingers digging into her skin, overcome by the intensity, his own climax drawn out by the relentless grip of hers. "Vanja... fuck... fuck...!" His voice was raw, broken.
They collapsed forward together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and ragged breaths, her forehead pressed to his chest, his arms locked around her. The silence was filled only by the frantic hammering of their hearts and the rasp of their breathing. He stayed buried inside her, both trembling in the aftershocks. The cool leather beneath her knees, the sharp scent of sex and sweat, the distant hum of the city outside – reality seeped back slowly.
Eventually, Joshua shifted, easing himself out of her, a soft, wet sound accompanying the separation. He slumped back against the sofa cushions, utterly spent, eyes closed. Vanja slid sideways off him, her legs feeling like jelly, collapsing onto the leather beside him. She stared up at the stark white ceiling, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. The cleats felt absurdly heavy now.
A low chuckle, rough and unexpected, rumbled in Joshua’s chest. He turned his head on the cushion, looking at her profile, her sweat-damp hair fanned out. "Still think I'm 'Josh-wah'?" His voice was hoarse, laced with exhausted amusement and something like disbelief.
Vanja turned her head to meet his gaze. A slow, genuine smile spread across her face, bright and slightly dazed. She laughed, a rich, breathless sound that echoed in the quiet room. "Kimmich," she murmured, the name a lazy concession. She leaned over the small distance between them and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips, tasting salt and exhaustion and shared release. He kissed her back, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, the touch surprisingly tender amidst the wreckage of the sofa and their discarded clothes. His thumb stroked her cheekbone.