Chapter 11: Possession Claimed
The velvet curtains swallowed the weak dawn light, leaving the vast bedroom bathed in flickering candle shadows. Vanja lay pinned beneath Joshua’s weight, his cock still buried deep inside her, his harsh breaths hot against her neck. The scent of sex, sweat, and expensive bergamot perfume hung thick and cloying. His hand, rough and possessive, still gripped her hip where faint bruises were blooming purple against her pale skin – echoes of the hallway floor, the door, his earlier claiming. She felt raw, used, and terrifyingly alive. His whispered "Mine" vibrated against her spine.
Then, without warning, his weight shifted. Hands, hard and demanding, gripped her shoulders and flipped her onto her stomach. The silk sheets were cool against her flushed cheek. Before she could gasp, his knee shoved between her thighs, forcing them wide. His palm pressed hard between her shoulder blades, pinning her down. She felt the thick, blunt head of his cock, still slick with her wetness and his release, nudge against her swollen, dripping entrance.
“Joshua—” she started, her voice muffled by the mattress.
He didn’t speak. He drove forward. One brutal, unforgiving thrust. Sheathed himself to the hilt in one stroke. Vanja screamed, the sound swallowed by the plush bedding. The sudden, brutal stretch stole her breath. He filled her impossibly, stretching her tender inner walls to a sharp, burning ache. He held himself deep, grinding his pelvis against her ass, the coarse hair of his groin scratching her sensitive skin. She felt every pulsing inch, hot and rigid, buried impossibly deep.
“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound ripped from him. His hands slid down her back, gripping her hips, fingers digging into the flesh. “This…” He pulled back slowly, agonizingly, letting her feel the drag of his thick cockhead against her inner walls, the exquisite friction sparking white-hot behind her eyes. “…is mine.” He slammed back in. Hard. Deep. The wet slap of skin on skin cracked through the candlelit silence.
He set a relentless, punishing rhythm. Short, piston-like strokes that hammered her cervix with bruising force. No finesse. Just raw, animalistic fucking. His hips snapped forward again and again, driving into her with the focused intensity he usually reserved for the pitch. Each thrust forced a choked gasp or a ragged cry from her lips. Her large breasts crushed against the mattress, jolting with every impact. Her fingers clawed at the silk sheets, twisting them into desperate knots.
“Feel it,” he growled, his voice thick with possession and exertion. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Feel how deep I own this cunt.” His hand slid down, fingers finding her swollen clit. He rubbed hard, rough circles, the friction almost painful against her oversensitive nub. “Your greedy little hole’s sucking me in… clamping down… Fucking mine, Vanja.” He punctuated the word with another brutal thrust that drove her face deeper into the mattress. “Say it.”
She couldn’t. Words were beyond her. Sensation overloaded her. The brutal pounding deep inside, the rough assault on her clit, the sheer dominance radiating from him – it coiled the tension in her belly tighter, tighter. Her hips bucked instinctively, meeting his thrusts, grinding back onto him, seeking more friction, deeper penetration. A low, guttural moan escaped her, vibrating against the sheets.
“Say it!” he commanded, his fingers pinching her clit sharply. The sharp pain-pleasure jolt made her cry out. He slammed into her again, hitting that deep, vulnerable spot with unerring accuracy. “Whose fucking wet cunt am I pounding?”
“Yours!” The word tore from her, raw and desperate. “Joshua! It’s yours! Fuck! Please!” She was begging now, lost to the primal need he was stoking. “Harder! Don’t stop!”
He obeyed. His thrusts became shorter, harder, faster. A jackhammer rhythm designed to shatter her. The slap of his hips against her ass was a constant, wet percussion. His breathing was ragged gasps against her neck. She felt him swelling impossibly thicker inside her, pulsing against her spasming walls. The pressure built, unbearable, incandescent.
“Gonna fill you,” he warned, his voice strained, guttural. “Mark you inside again… Claim what’s fucking mine…”
The words, the raw possession, tipped her over the edge. Pleasure detonated, a supernova tearing through her core. Her body arched violently, back bowing despite his weight pinning her down. A raw, primal scream ripped from her throat as her inner walls convulsed around his cock in violent, rhythmic spasms. “YES! GOD! JOSHUA! FUCK!”
Feeling her climax ripped his own control away. A harsh, animalistic roar tore from his chest. He slammed into her one final, devastating time, hilting himself impossibly deep. His hips jerked, pinned against her ass. Hot, thick pulses of come erupted deep inside her, flooding her spasming channel in urgent, scalding spurts. He shuddered violently against her, his arms locking like iron bands around her hips, grinding his release into her depths, his groan muffled against her shoulder blade, his teeth grazing the darkening bruise he’d left hours before.
Time dissolved. Only sensation existed. The crushing weight holding her pinned. The deep, rhythmic pulses filling her. The ragged, gasping breaths. The slick heat trapped between their bodies. The cool silk against her flushed cheek. Her own fading tremors clutching his softening cock. The overwhelming scent of sex and sweat and him.
Slowly, the frantic pounding subsided. His harsh breathing filled the silence. His weight settled against her, heavy, trembling with exhaustion. His softening cock remained buried deep inside her, a tight, possessive knot. The wet heat trapped between them was a shocking intimacy. He finally withdrew, a slow, reluctant slide that drew a soft whimper from her. More wetness, a mixture of her arousal and his release, trickled down her inner thigh onto the ruined silk.
He rolled off her, collapsing onto his back beside her, one arm flung over his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat gleamed on his sculpted abdomen in the candlelight. Silence stretched, thick and charged, broken only by their ragged breathing and the faint sputter of a dying candle.
Vanja lay face down, trembling, her cheek still pressed to the damp sheet. Exhaustion pulled at her, deeper than any hangover, a numb counterpoint to the throbbing ache in her shoulder and the raw tenderness between her legs. The words hung in the air, terrifyingly real: Mine. The bite mark throbbed. His release leaked onto the silk. The hallway floor felt like a lifetime ago.
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. His arm still covered his eyes. The controlled midfielder was utterly absent. This was raw, exposed Joshua – wrecked, possessive, terrifyingly vulnerable. A flicker of something dangerous sparked in her chest – not just fury, not just lust, but a terrifying curiosity.
“Lina wouldn’t scream like that,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, the words slicing through the fragile silence. A deliberate provocation. A reminder of the woman he’d used to hurt her.
His arm snapped down. His eyes, instantly alert and blazing with a dark, possessive fury, locked onto hers. He moved with startling speed. Before she could react, he was over her again, pinning her wrists above her head against the mattress, his knees forcing her thighs apart. His face was inches from hers, his breath hot and angry.
“Don’t,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t fucking say her name. Not here. Not now.” His grip on her wrists tightened, bordering on painful. His gaze bored into hers, fierce, demanding. “Look at me.” She met his stare, defiance warring with a traitorous thrill at his reaction. “Lina,” he spat the name, “was nothing. A distraction. A fucking mistake.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing hers, not kissing, just a threatening proximity. “This,” he ground his hips down against hers, his semi-hard cock already stirring against her slick thigh, “is everything. You are everything. Mine.” The word was a vow, rough and absolute. “Understand?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth crashed down onto hers. It wasn’t tender. It was a reclamation. Hungry, demanding, punishing. His tongue forced its way past her lips, claiming her mouth with the same brutal possession his cock had claimed her body. His hand released one wrist, sliding down her body, over her breast, pinching her nipple sharply, then lower, through the wet mess between her legs. He shoved two thick fingers back inside her still-sensitive cunt, curling them ruthlessly.
Vanja gasped against his mouth, her body arching off the bed. Pain and pleasure collided, igniting fresh fire in her core. Her free hand tangled in his sweat-damp hair, pulling him closer, biting his lip in retaliation. He growled, the sound vibrating through her. His fingers pumped inside her, rough and demanding, while his thumb found her clit, rubbing hard, relentless circles. The coil tightened again, impossibly fast, fueled by his anger, his jealousy, his raw claim.
“Joshua,” she gasped, breaking the kiss. “Fuck me. Now. Like this.” She bucked against his hand. “Show me.”
He didn’t hesitate. He withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening. He positioned himself between her thighs, his gaze locked on hers, fierce and unyielding. His cock, fully hard again and flushed dark, nudged against her swollen, dripping entrance. He pushed forward slowly, deliberately, watching her face as he stretched her open once more, inch by thick, burning inch. He filled her completely, burying himself to the root, grinding his pelvis against hers. He held himself deep, his eyes burning into hers.
“Mine,” he breathed again, the word a dark promise against her lips. Then he began to move. Not the frantic pounding of before, but a slower, deeper, more controlled rhythm. Each thrust was deliberate, powerful, designed to claim not just her body, but her focus, her breath, her very thoughts. His hands framed her face, forcing her to hold his gaze. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice thick with exertion and possession. “See who’s fucking you. See who owns this cunt.”
Vanja stared up into his intense blue eyes, lost in the storm of anger, desire, and terrifying vulnerability she saw there. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. Her moans escalated, raw and unrestrained, echoing in the cavernous room as he drove into her again and again, his gaze never wavering, his claim absolute under the dying candlelight. The city outside began to wake, oblivious to the brutal, beautiful war being waged in the velvet-draped sanctuary high above its streets.
The city’s low rumble seeped through the thick glass, a distant counterpoint to the ragged breaths still echoing in the velvet-draped silence. Joshua finally collapsed beside her, his skin slick with sweat, muscles trembling with exertion. Vanja lay spent, the deep ache between her thighs a visceral reminder of his claiming, her skin marked by his teeth and grip. The scent of sex, bergamot, and blown-out candles hung thick and cloying.
“Water,” she rasped, her throat raw from screaming. He didn’t speak, just pushed himself up, the muscles in his back flexing as he padded naked to the ensuite. The sight of him – powerful, wrecked, utterly hers in that moment – sent a fresh, dangerous tremor through her exhausted body. He returned, handing her a cold glass, his eyes, usually so controlled, holding a stormy mix of satisfaction and something unnervingly vulnerable.
She drank greedily, the cool liquid a shock. He watched her throat work, his gaze intense, possessive. “You’re a fucking mess,” he stated, his voice rough. He traced a finger over a fresh bruise blooming on her shoulder, the touch unexpectedly gentle.
“Your mess,” she countered, meeting his stare defiantly, placing the empty glass on the nightstand with a soft clink. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. He leaned down, catching her chin, forcing her gaze to hold his. The intensity was back, primal and undeniable.
“Mine,” he affirmed, low and final. His thumb brushed her swollen lower lip. The air crackled again, thick with unsated tension despite their exhaustion. His hand slid down her neck, over the curve of her breast, his calloused thumb circling her nipple, making it peak instantly. She gasped, arching into his touch. “Still greedy,” he murmured, a dark amusement in his eyes. His hand moved lower, over her trembling belly, through the sticky wetness coating her inner thighs.
His fingers found her swollen clit, still hypersensitive. He rubbed slow, firm circles, watching her face intently as she bit back a moan. “Fuck, Joshua… too much…” she breathed, but her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more pressure. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. His fingers slid lower, dipping easily back into her slick, stretched cunt. He pushed two thick fingers deep inside, curling them ruthlessly against her inner walls, finding that spot that made her vision blur.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his voice thick, his own cock already stirring again against her thigh. He pumped his fingers, the wet sound obscenely loud. Her body betrayed her, clenching around his invading digits, her moan escaping freely now. “Can’t… don’t stop…” she gasped, her hands fisting the sheets again. He withdrew his fingers, glistening, and brought them to her lips. “Taste,” he commanded. She opened her mouth, her tongue swirling around his fingers, tasting their mingled salt and musk. The submission, the raw intimacy, sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to her core.
He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock hard and heavy against her slick entrance. He didn’t ask. He pushed forward, slow and inexorable, filling her aching channel inch by thick, burning inch. She cried out, the stretch intense after the earlier brutality, yet her body welcomed him, gripping him tightly. He sank to the hilt, grinding his pelvis against hers, burying himself impossibly deep. He held there, his eyes locked on hers, breathing ragged. “Fuck, you’re tight… still fucking gripping me…” he groaned.
He began to move, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm designed to torture. Each withdrawal was agonizingly deliberate, letting her feel every ridge of his cock dragging against her sensitized walls. Each thrust forward was a powerful surge, hitting her deepest spots with bruising accuracy. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his hips. His hands gripped her ass, lifting her slightly, angling her perfectly to take him deeper still. The slow, relentless pace was maddening, building a different kind of tension, a deep, coiling pressure that threatened to shatter her from the inside out.
“Harder,” she begged against his lips, her nails scoring his back. “Fuck me harder, Joshua. Please.” He growled, a feral sound, and obeyed. His hips snapped forward, abandoning the slow torture for hard, driving strokes. The wet slap of flesh filled the room. He pounded into her, his control fraying, his breath coming in harsh gasps against her neck. She met each thrust, grinding back onto him, her cries escalating, raw and unrestrained. The coil snapped violently. Her orgasm ripped through her, a blinding wave of pure sensation that arched her off the bed, her inner muscles clamping down on his cock in frantic, rhythmic spasms. “YES! GOD! JOSHUA! FUCK!”
Feeling her convulse around him tore his release from him. A guttural roar ripped from his chest as he slammed deep and held, his hips jerking erratically. Hot pulses of come erupted inside her, flooding her spasming channel, marking her internally once more. He collapsed onto her, his weight crushing, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. They lay tangled, breathing in ragged unison, the only sound their gasps and the distant hum of the waking city.
Hours bled away in a haze of exhausted sleep and tangled limbs. Vanja woke to weak afternoon light filtering through a gap in the curtains, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. Joshua was already awake, propped on an elbow, watching her. The raw intensity was banked, replaced by a quiet, unnerving scrutiny. His hand rested possessively on her hip, fingers tracing the outline of a bruise.
“Hungry?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep. It was such a mundane question after the night and morning they’d shared. She blinked, disoriented. “Starving,” she admitted, her stomach growling as if on cue. The thought of food felt grounding, necessary.
He nodded, pushing himself up. The sight of him moving, the powerful lines of his body shifting in the dim light, sent a familiar thrill through her, mixed now with a profound exhaustion. “Shower,” he stated. “Then we eat. Somewhere quiet.” He didn’t ask; he declared. The possessiveness lingered, quieter now, but no less absolute.
The shower was a necessary, utilitarian affair, washing away the physical evidence of their hours together, though the deep ache remained. Dressing felt strange – choosing clothes that weren’t ripped or stained. Vanja opted for a simple black dress, elegant but understated. Joshua wore dark jeans and a fitted grey sweater that made his eyes look impossibly blue. The domesticity was jarring. He held the penthouse door open for her, his hand briefly resting on the small of her back – a subtle claim.
The restaurant he chose was intimate, tucked away in a quiet street, known for discretion and exquisite Northern Italian cuisine. Low lighting, dark wood, the murmur of hushed conversations. They were seated in a secluded booth, shadows clinging to the corners. The tension between them had shifted, softened by exhaustion and the shared intimacy, but it hummed beneath the surface, charged and unpredictable. He ordered for them both – pasta with truffles, a bottle of Barolo – his confidence effortless.
They ate mostly in silence, the clink of cutlery loud in the quiet space. The food was rich, delicious, a stark contrast to the raw intensity they’d shared. Vanja watched him across the table. The disciplined footballer was back in place, his movements precise, his expression controlled. Yet, she saw the flicker in his eyes when he looked at her, the memory of his desperate possession still vivid. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt through her.
“Vanja…” he started, his voice low. The vulnerability she’d glimpsed earlier threatened to surface.
The sudden explosion of light cut him off. Blinding, staccato flashes erupted outside the restaurant’s large window. Paparazzi. A cluster of them, lenses pressed against the glass like predatory insects, shouting muffled questions. “Joshua! Over here!” “Who’s the lady, Joshua?” “Is it serious?!” The most piercing shout sliced through: “LINA KNOW YOU’RE OUT WITH SOMEONE NEW, KIMMICH?!”
Vanja froze, the fork halfway to her lips, the intimate bubble violently shattered. Shock, then a hot wave of humiliation washed over her. She instinctively recoiled, pulling her hand from his touch, shrinking back into the booth’s shadows. The shouted name – Lina – hung in the air like poison.
Joshua’s reaction was instantaneous, primal. His controlled facade shattered. Fury darkened his features, his jaw clenching like granite. He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he was out of his seat, moving not towards the window, but towards her. He blocked the photographers’ view with his body, his back to the flashing lights. His hand shot out, not gentle, but firm and protective, gripping the back of her neck, pulling her face into the solid warmth of his chest. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders, shielding her completely, enveloping her in the scent of his sweater and his own unique, familiar warmth.
His voice, when it came, was a low, dangerous growl, loud enough to carry through the glass, vibrating against her ear pressed to his chest. “She’s with me.” The possessiveness was absolute, a public declaration etched in steel. “Back. Off.” He didn’t shout. The quiet, lethal command was far more terrifying. He held her tightly against him, a human fortress against the invasive glare, his body radiating protective fury. The flashes continued, but they seemed distant now, muffled by the solid wall of him, by the fierce, undeniable claim echoing in the sudden, charged silence of the restaurant. His grip tightened, anchoring her in the storm.