Chapter 5: Burning Bridges
The heavy door slammed shut behind them, the sound swallowed instantly by the thick silence of the empty media room. Granit’s grip on her wrist wasn’t painful, but it was unbreakable, an anchor pulling her back into the storm she’d tried to flee. Before she could draw breath to protest, before the fury could fully reignite, he moved.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative. It was a claiming.
His lips crashed down onto hers with a force that stole her breath, a collision of heat and desperation. Vanja gasped against his mouth, the sound muffled, swallowed whole. His other hand, large and impossibly warm, slid around her waist, pulling her flush against the solid wall of his chest. Every curve of her hourglass figure molded against the hard planes of his torso, his thighs pressing against hers, eliminating any space, any pretense of distance.
Resistance flared – a reflexive stiffening, a surge of indignation at his audacity – but it was drowned beneath the sudden, overwhelming tide of sensation. His kiss was demanding, insistent, a raw expression of the hunger she’d seen blazing in his eyes moments before. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting her, exploring with a possessive urgency that sent electric shocks straight to her core. His hand at her waist slid lower, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of her hip, then tracing the dip of her waist before sliding up her ribcage, scorching a path through the thin fabric of her blouse. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, a deliberate, searing touch that made her whimper into his mouth.
He groaned in response, a deep, guttural sound vibrating against her lips. His grip on her wrist shifted, his fingers intertwining with hers, pinning her hand gently but firmly against the cool metal of the door behind her. His other hand continued its exploration, roaming her back, tracing her spine, pulling her impossibly closer until she felt every hard line of him. The scent of him – clean sweat, fresh soap, and that underlying, uniquely masculine musk – filled her senses, dizzying, intoxicating. His heat enveloped her, a furnace against the lingering chill of the corridor and the shock coursing through her veins.
Her body betrayed her mind. The anger, the righteous fury over Basel, over his hypocrisy, over Kimmich, dissolved like mist under a scorching sun. Her free hand, trapped between their bodies, found purchase on his chest, not pushing away, but clutching the damp fabric of his training top, anchoring herself against the dizzying onslaught. Her lips moved against his, tentatively at first, then with a matching hunger that surprised her. She kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, a silent surrender to the undeniable, terrifying chemistry that had simmered between them since he’d first pinned her to the wall.
He broke the kiss, gasping for air, his forehead resting against hers. His dark eyes, mere inches away, were dilated, fathomless pools of pure, unadulterated want. His breath fanned hot and ragged over her swollen lips. His gaze raked over her face, flushed and breathless, her green-gold eyes wide, pupils blown dark with desire. He took in the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, the slight tremble in the hand still clutching his shirt.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word rough, awed, torn from somewhere deep. His hand lifted from her back, his knuckles brushing gently, almost reverently, against her cheekbone, tracing the high arch, then drifting down to cradle her jaw. His thumb stroked the fullness of her lower lip, swollen from his kiss. "You are…" He shook his head slightly, seemingly lost for words, his gaze drinking her in with a possessiveness that stole her breath anew. "...perfect." The word wasn't smooth or practiced. It was raw, husky, filled with a stunned kind of wonder. "Vanja…"
Her name on his lips, spoken like that – thick with desire, rough with awe – shattered the last remnants of her resistance. The phantom ache from his earlier grip vanished, replaced by the searing imprint of his hands roaming her body, his lips claiming hers. The years of being unseen in Basel, the sting of his initial dismissal, momentarily receded under the overwhelming reality of now. Him. This. The undeniable, terrifying pull.
The heavy thud of Vanja’s head against the door echoed in the sudden silence, punctuated only by their ragged breathing. Granit’s hand, rough from years gripping a ball, still cradled her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip where his teeth had just scraped. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice a low gravel against her ear, hot breath stirring her hair. "Say my name like that."
"You first," Vanja countered, her voice trembling despite the defiance flashing in her green-gold eyes. She pushed against the solid wall of his chest, muscles rigid beneath damp cotton, but his frame didn’t yield an inch. "Tell me why Basel meant nothing then, but Kimmich makes you fucking feral now." The scent of him – clean sweat, expensive cologne, and raw masculine heat – flooded her senses, warring with the sharp sting of old rejection. His knee pressed between her thighs, not forcing, just there, a searing point of contact that made her gasp. "You ignored me for years, Granit. Walked right past me like I was glass."
"Fuck Basel," he growled, the words vibrating against her temple as he dipped his head, lips grazing the frantic pulse at her throat. His other hand slid down her spine, fingers splaying possessively over the swell of her ass, pulling her harder against the undeniable ridge of his arousal straining against his track pants. "This isn't about then. It's about fucking now." He nipped the sensitive skin below her ear, a sharp sting that dissolved into liquid heat pooling low in her belly. "You were flirting with him. Leaning in. Laughing like you meant it." His hand tightened on her hip, fingers digging in just enough to promise possession. "Tell me you don’t want this."
Vanja arched against him, a silent plea escaping as a whimper when his hips ground forward, the hard length of him rubbing deliberately against the thin barrier of her skirt. Heat radiated from him, seeping into her skin, melting her resolve. Her hands, trapped against his chest, slid up to clutch his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric. "I want answers," she breathed, the words shaky. "But I also want... fuck... I want you to remember me." Her hips rocked involuntarily against his, seeking friction, the movement drawing a harsh groan from deep in his chest. "Make me unforgettable."
Granit’s laugh was dark, predatory. He captured her mouth again in a bruising kiss, tongue thrusting deep, tasting her anger and burgeoning need. His hand slipped from her ass, moving with agonizing slowness up her inner thigh, bunching the soft material of her skirt. His calloused fingers found the edge of her silk panties, tracing the damp heat soaking through. "You think I could forget this?" he rasped against her lips, his fingertip pressing firmly against her clothed clit, eliciting a sharp cry from her. "You’re fucking drenched for me, Vanja. Admit it." He pushed the silk aside, his thick finger sliding easily through her slick folds, finding her entrance. "Tell me who you want."
"Fuck you," Vanja gasped, but her body screamed its answer, hips bucking against his invading touch. His fingertip circled her opening, teasing, gathering her wetness. "You arrogant prick..." The insult died in her throat as his finger breached her, sliding deep inside her tight channel with one smooth, possessive thrust. She cried out, head falling back against the door, nails raking down his back. "Shit... Granit!" The stretch was immediate, intense, his knuckle pressing against her inner walls, finding a spot that made her vision blur. "More..." The word was ripped from her, a raw admission she couldn't suppress.
He withdrew almost completely, leaving her clenching around emptiness, then plunged back in with two fingers now, stretching her wider, filling her ruthlessly. His thumb found her clit again, rubbing rough, tight circles. "Louder," he commanded, his own breathing ragged, eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of ecstasy and surrender. "Show me how fucking perfect you feel inside." His pace increased, fingers pistoning deep, curling to stroke that sensitive spot relentlessly, thumb grinding her swollen clit. Vanja’s cries mingled with the wet, obscene sounds of his fingers working her pussy. "Scream my name, you beautiful bitch." Her hips matched his rhythm frantically, chasing the peak he was ruthlessly building. "Come on my fucking fingers. Now." The command, the sheer intensity of his touch, the pressure coiling unbearably tight – it snapped. Pleasure detonated through her, a white-hot explosion that ripped a guttural scream from her lips. "GRANIT!" Her body convulsed, tightening like a vice around his thrusting fingers, juices soaking his hand as wave after wave of raw sensation crashed over her. He held her pinned, fingers buried deep inside her pulsing cunt, riding out her climax until she sagged, trembling violently against the door, gasping for air.
He slowly withdrew his glistening fingers, holding them up before her dazed eyes. "See?" His voice was thick with satisfaction and barely leashed lust. He brought his wet fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, tasting her. "Unforgettable." Before she could react, he crushed his mouth to hers again, forcing her to taste herself on his tongue, a primal claiming. His erection ground against her belly, hard and insistent. "That was just the start. You're mine, Vanja vranjan"
The taste of herself on Granit’s tongue was sharp, musky, a brutal reminder of the climax still shuddering through her limbs. Vanja clawed at his shoulders, not pushing away, but anchoring herself against the dizzying aftershocks and the relentless press of his erection against her belly. His kiss wasn’t tender; it was a branding, a reassertion of the claim he’d just voiced. "Mine," he growled against her lips, the Serbian endearment ‘vranjan’ – little crow – sounding like a dark promise in his rough Albanian-accented German. His hips rolled, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against the damp silk of her panties, the friction sparking fresh tremors low in her core. The cool metal door bit into her back, a stark counterpoint to the furnace heat radiating from him.
Her breath hitched, trapped in her throat. The defiance sparked by his Basel dismissal flared again, fueled by the sheer audacity of his possession. "Yours?" Vanja gasped, wrenching her mouth free. Her green-gold eyes blazed up at him, pupils still blown wide with residual pleasure but sharpening with challenge. "You didn’t want me then." Her hand, trapped between their bodies, slid down his sweat-dampened torso, fingers tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen beneath the thin cotton. She felt the muscles clench under her touch. "You walked past me every damn day in that fucking stadium tunnel in Basel. Looked right through me." Her voice cracked, betraying the old sting beneath the fury. Her fingers dipped lower, brushing the waistband of his track pants, feeling the impossible hardness straining beneath. "Why now? Because Kimmich looked at me? Because someone else might want what you threw away?"
Granit’s hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back sharply, forcing her to meet his obsidian gaze. Raw hunger warred with something darker, more possessive, in his eyes. "Shut up about fucking Basel," he snarled, his breath hot and ragged on her face. His other hand yanked her skirt higher, bunching it around her waist, exposing the soaked silk clinging to her pussy. He pressed his palm hard against her mound, making her cry out. "This," he ground out, grinding his hand against her, feeling her wetness seep through the fabric onto his skin. "This is why now. This fucking fire." He dipped his head, biting her collarbone hard enough to bruise. "You think I give a shit about Kimmich? I saw you. Saw how you moved. How you fucking owned that room." His tongue laved the bite mark, a rough apology that only ignited her further. "Saw how wet you got just talking. For him? Or for me watching?" His fingers hooked into the side of her panties, tearing the fragile silk with a sharp rip. The cool air hit her exposed cunt, making her gasp. "Tell me you didn’t feel me watching you, Vanja. Tell me you didn’t get slick imagining this."
She couldn’t lie. Her body pulsed, aching and empty despite the recent climax, clenching around nothing. The memory of his intense stare during the interview, the way his jaw had tightened when she’d laughed at Kimmich’s joke, flooded back. It had thrilled her. Infuriated her. Turned her on. "Fuck you," she breathed, but it lacked conviction. Her hips arched involuntarily, seeking the pressure of his hand, the promise of his cock. Her trapped hand pushed harder against the waistband of his pants. "You arrogant bastard..."
"Admit it," he demanded, releasing her hair to slide two fingers easily through her slick folds, gathering her wetness. He circled her swollen clit, a teasing, torturous pressure. "Say it." He pushed one thick finger back inside her, still loose and pliant from her orgasm, but the stretch was immediate, delicious. "Say you wanted me watching."
Vanja moaned, her head falling back against the door with a thud. Her body betrayed her, hips rocking onto his invading finger. "Yes," she hissed, the word ripped from her. "Yes, I fucking felt you." Her free hand, trembling with adrenaline and need, finally moved. It wasn't gentle. She fumbled for the button of his track pants, her fingers slick with her own arousal. The plastic popped open easily. Her gaze locked with his, defiance and raw hunger mirrored back at her. "And I wanted you to fucking burn." Her fingers found the zipper tab, cold metal against her skin. She yanked it down in one sharp, decisive motion. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room – a metallic rasp tearing through the thick air heavy with sweat and sex.
The denim parted. His cock sprang free, thick, veined, and achingly hard, the flushed head already glistening with pre-cum. It jutted against the dark fabric of his briefs, straining against the elastic waistband. Vanja’s breath caught. Her hand hovered, inches from the hot, heavy weight of him. Granit’s groan was primal, ripped from deep in his chest. His fingers stilled inside her, his entire body tensing, his dark eyes blazing down at her with feral intensity. "Do it," he commanded, his voice thick, ragged. "Touch it. Take what you fucking wanted."