Chapter 5: Public Display of Ownership
The press conference room was a blister of cold, manufactured light. V sat between Alex and Gabriel at the long table, a triptych of manufactured normalcy. Microphones bristled before them like metallic fungi. The team logo glowed ominously on the screen behind their heads. A digital countdown had hit zero five minutes ago. Now, there was only the low murmur of reporters and the relentless, silent blinking of cameras.
A woman from ESPN leaned into her mic. “Alex, this seems rather sudden. Can you tell us about the proposal?”
Alex’s smile was press-conference perfect, a practiced curve of his lips that didn’t touch his eyes. He kept his left hand possessively over V’s right on the tabletop. The diamond was a glacier under the lights. “When you know, you know,” he said, his voice smooth and broadcast-ready. “Victoria… she’s my calm. My center. In the chaos of this life, she’s home.”
The words were beautiful. Empty. A script. V felt a tremor start in her thigh.
As he spoke, his other hand, hidden by the black skirt of the table, settled on her knee. His touch was warm through the thin material of her dress. She stiffened, her smile glued in place. The reporter asked a follow-up about wedding plans. Alex’s thumb began to move, a slow, deliberate stroking of her inner thigh.
“We’re just enjoying being engaged right now,” Alex said, his tone light. “No rush.”
His fingers pushed the hem of her dress up. An inch. Then two. The air in the room was cool, but the path his hand traced was fever-hot. V’s breath hitched. She shifted in the chair, a tiny, desperate movement. She glanced at Gabriel on her other side. He was staring straight ahead at the reporters, his captain’s face a mask of professional support. But she saw the muscle feathering in his jaw.
Alex’s middle finger found the lace edge of her panties. He dipped beneath it.
V’s world split. On one plane: the flash of cameras, the drone of questions about contract implications and championship windows. On the other: the slow, intrusive slide of a single finger along her slit. She was already wet. The terror, the absurdity, the relentless thrill of it had pooled there.
She pressed her thighs together, a futile clamp. He used the pressure, working his finger deeper. The lace stretched. Tore slightly with a faint, muffled sound only she could hear.
“Victoria,” a male reporter called. “You’ve maintained a very low profile until now. What’s it like suddenly being thrust into this spotlight?”
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Alex’s finger pushed inside her, a thick, claiming intrusion. Her back arched slightly against the chair. A small, choked sound escaped her.
Alex answered for her, his voice never wavering. “She’s handling it with incredible grace.” His finger curled, a relentless, private crook. V’s nails dug into the wooden arm of her chair. Spots danced at the edge of her vision. “It’s a lot, but we’re in it together.”
He began to move his finger, a slow, maddening pump. Out. Each retreat was agony. Each penetration sent a jolt of fire straight to her core. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk. She was trembling all over, a live wire strung between decorum and ruin.
Gabriel leaned over, as if to fetch a water bottle from in front of her. His mouth brushed her ear. His voice was a gravelly whisper. “Breathe, Victoria. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
Then his hand, too, disappeared below the table.
His touch was different. Firm. Authoritative. It landed on her other thigh, high up, his fingers splaying wide. He didn’t tease. He pushed her leg outward, opening her wider for Alex’s relentless hand. The two of them held her there, split open and helpless on the chair, as the cameras captured her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes for the world to see.
“A question for Captain Landeskog,” someone said. “Any concern about distractions heading into the playoffs?”
Gabriel leaned back into his mic, his face the picture of solemn consideration. His hand remained, a heavy, inescapable weight. “Focus is everything. But a happy, stable personal life can be a strength. We’re happy for them.” As he spoke, his thumb found the damp lace stretched taut over her, right where Alex’s finger was pistoning in and out. He rubbed slow, grinding circles over her clit.
The double stimulation was seismic. V’s head fell back a fraction. A low moan vibrated in her throat. She swallowed it, turning it into a cough. The room swam. The lights blurred into halos.
Alex added a second finger, stretching her brutally. The wet, filthy sound of their hands working her was deafening in the private cavern under the table. She was so close. The tension was a crystal sheaf about to shatter.
Gabriel’s whisper was hot and dark in her ear. “You’re dripping all over his hand. Making a mess. Bad girls get punished after.”
The words, the threat, the sheer illicit pleasure of it, tipped her over.
The orgasm ripped through her with silent violence. Her body locked, every muscle rigid against the chair as waves of pure, blinding sensation detonated from her core. She clenched viciously around Alex’s fingers, her cunt pulsing in a rapid, helpless rhythm. A hot gush slicked his hand, her thighs, the chair beneath her. The force of it was a shock—a rushing, flooding release that seemed to have no end. She saw stars, her vision whiting out as she rode the brutal, hidden crest.
Alex slowly, deliberately, withdrew his soaking fingers. Gabriel gave her clit one final, punishing press before removing his hand.
The questions continued. They answered. V’s voice was a distant, frayed thing. She was hollowed out. Raw. The wet chill between her legs was a scandalous secret, a map of her undoing.
It finally ended. They stood, smiling, waving. Alex’s arm around her waist was the only thing holding her up. They moved off the podium, through a side door, and into a stark, empty hallway that led to the private offices.
The moment the door clicked shut, the performance vaporized.
Gabriel grabbed Alex by the front of his suit jacket and slammed him against the cinderblock wall. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he snarled, his breath hot. “That was a professional media event! Not your personal brothel!”
Alex didn’t fight back. He just looked over Gabriel’s shoulder at V, his eyes dark with possession and something else—a shared mania. “She came so hard she squirted. All over my hand. Did you feel it, Cap? The whole fucking chair’s wet.”
Gabriel shook him once, then released him with a shove of disgust. He turned to V. She was leaning against the opposite wall, legs weak, the evidence of what they’d done cooling on her skin. His gaze was furious, hungry, appalled.
“My office. Now. Both of you.” It was the same command from the showers, but the tone was different. This was no longer about team rules.
His office was spartan. A desk, two chairs, a framed jersey on the wall. He locked the door. The click was final.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing.
“You promised to keep it behind a locked door,” Gabriel said, his voice dangerously low. “You lied.”
“We did,” Alex said, shrugging off his suit jacket. “So punish us.”
Gabriel’s eyes burned. He looked at V. “Is that what you want? Punishment?”
She was still floating in the aftermath, her nerves screaming. The shame was there, acrid and sharp. But beneath it, running hotter, was a need for the feeling to continue, for the terrifying freedom of that public unraveling to find its conclusion. She didn’t speak. She just nodded, once.
“On the desk,” Gabriel ordered.
She moved on unsteady legs. The wooden surface was cool and hard against her bare thighs as she hopped up. Alex came to stand before her, his hands pushing her dress up to her waist. She was exposed, utterly, to both of them—swollen, glistening, the torn lace a ruined frame.
Gabriel moved behind Alex. “You think you can take whatever you want, Kongsgard? Whenever you want?” He unfastened Alex’s trousers, pushing them down. “Let’s see you take it.”
There was a blunt pressure at her entrance, bigger than fingers. It was Alex, guided, positioned by Gabriel’s hand. With a rough, unforgiving shove from behind, Gabriel sheathed Alex inside her in one brutal stroke.
V cried out, the fullness staggering. Alex groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.
“Now,” Gabriel growled, his hands on Alex’s hips. “Fuck her. And don’t you dare be gentle.”
He began to move Alex like a puppet, using his larger body to set a punishing, mechanical rhythm. Alex’s thrusts were driven by another man’s force, deeper and harder than he might have gone on his own. Each one knocked a sharp gasp from V’s lungs. The desk scraped against the floor with every drive forward.
Gabriel watched, his own arousal evident, his hand wrapped around the base of Alex’s cock where it disappeared into her, controlling the depth. “Look at her,” he commanded Alex. “Look at what you did. She’s ruined.
Alex’s blue eyes, glazed with a sheen of broken pride and helpless lust, locked onto hers. The forced, deep strokes continued, each one jolting her spine against the hard wood. “Fuck,” he gasped, the word torn from him. “You’re so… fucking… wrecked.”
Gabriel’s control was absolute, his grip on Alex’s hips whitening the skin. The slap of flesh against flesh was a vulgar, wet clock ticking in the sterile room. V’s moans were ripped from her throat, raw and unbidden. She could feel the heat of Gabriel’s stare on the place where they were joined, watching his teammate’s cock spear into the wet, messy proof of their transgression.
“You like watching, Cap?” Alex managed to grunt, his body a taught bow under Gabriel’s hands.
“I’m not watching him,” Gabriel murmured, his voice a dark rumble close to Alex’s ear. His eyes, however, remained fixed on V. “I’m watching her. I’m watching you break her on your cock because I told you to.” He increased the pace, a brutal, piston-like rhythm that stole the air from the room. V’s hands scrambled for purchase on the empty desk, her knuckles bleaching white.
The overload was immense. Her second climax began as a devastating pressure low in her belly, a seismic build that had no grace. It was a fracture. A short, sharp scream left her as her cunt convulsed, clamping down in a series of vicious, fluttering spasms around the invading length. Another hot rush spilled from her, soaking Alex’s thighs and the wood beneath her.
Alex shouted, a raw, broken sound. His own control snapped. He began fucking her in earnest now, no longer a puppet but a willing, desperate participant, chasing his own end with frantic, slamming thrusts.
Gabriel released Alex’s hips. He stepped back. The silence of his movement was more frightening than the violence. He undid his own trousers, the sound of his zipper a sharp tear in the humid air. He was fully, impressively hard, his cock jutting out thick and veined.
“You don’t get to finish there,” Gabriel stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He grabbed a handful of Alex’s blond hair and wrenched him back, pulling him out of V with a slick, obscene pop.
Alex stumbled, breathless and glistening with her release. Gabriel pushed him sideways toward the chair by the desk. “Sit. Watch.”
Alex fell into the chair, his chest heaving, his cock standing angry and red against his stomach. His eyes were wide, surrendered.
Gabriel moved to the desk. He didn’t touch V with anything resembling tenderness. His large hands hooked under her knees, yanking her toward the edge until her ass was perched precariously. The cold air hit her freshly exposed, throbbing flesh. He leaned over her, his body a mountain blocking the light.
“This is the punishment,” he said, his breath hot on her face. “You don’t get his. You get mine.”
He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock nudging through her sodden, swollen folds. He was thicker. The stretch was immediate, a burn that crossed into blinding pleasure. He did not pause. He sank into her in one relentless, conquering push, burying himself to the hilt.
V’s mouth opened in a silent scream. The fullness was astronomical, a profound invasion that shoved the air from her lungs. She was impossibly full, stretched taut around him, her earlier climaxes making the channel searingly sensitive. Every nerve was alight.
Gabriel began to move. His rhythm was different. Not the frantic, animalistic pounding of Alex, but something deeper, more measured, and infinitely more devastating. Each withdrawal was almost complete, each thrust a deliberate, total reclamation. He fucked her with a grim, focused intensity, his eyes holding hers, refusing to let her look away.
“This is what you wanted,” he grunted, the sentence punctuated by a deep, rocking drive. “When you let him finger you in front of the cameras. You wanted this. To be used. To be fucked raw by your captain in a locked office.”
She couldn’t deny it. The truth of it was in the way her body clasped at him, milking his length, in the fresh, hot rush of wetness that eased his way. “Yes,” she choked out, the word a shattered thing.
“Louder.”
“Yes!” The cry was torn from her.
From the chair, Alex watched, his hand moving frantically on his own cock, his gaze feverish. “Look at her take it,” he whispered, awe and envy mingling in his voice.
Gabriel’s pace intensified. The careful control shattered. His thrusts became faster, harder, a brutal pounding that shook the heavy desk. The metal joints groaned in protest. V’s body was a ragdoll, her breasts bouncing with each impact, her cries fragmenting into incoherent pleas. The heat coiling in her gut was a third inferno, built from shame and ownership and an unbearable, gritty need.
Gabriel’s fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, sure to leave bruises. His rhythm faltered, turning jagged and desperate. “Gonna fill you up,” he growled, the words guttural and rough. “Mark what’s mine. What we own.”
That was the final trigger. Her orgasm detonated, a white-hot wire of pleasure that seared through every neuron. She shook violently, her back arching off the desk as her cunt gripped him in a series of ruthless, claiming pulses. The sensation tore a ragged scream from her throat, utterly beyond her control.
Feeling her internal walls clamp and spasm around him, Gabriel drove in one last, deep time. A rough groan was punched from his chest. He held himself there, buried, as his own release surged. She felt the hot, liquid jet of his cum flooding her depths, a stark, intimate violation that seemed to have no end, mixing with her own spendings from before.
He stayed lodged inside her, panting, his weight heavy upon her. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the slick, wet sound of their joined bodies. After a long moment, he pulled out slowly.
The release of pressure was its own sensation. A warm trickle immediately escaped down her inner thigh, onto the cool wood.
Gabriel straightened, tucking himself back into his trousers with a brisk, functional motion. He looked from V, splayed and ruined on the desk, to Alex, who was still gripping his own spent cock in the chair.
“Clean her up,” Gabriel said to Alex, his voice once again that of a captain. It held no tenderness, only the echo of command and a dark, settled satisfaction. “Then get her home. The media team has a charity appearance for you both tomorrow at ten.”
He turned, unlocked the office door, and walked out without a backward glance. The door sighed shut behind him, leaving them in the silent, ruined aftermath.
GABRIEL JOINS THEM.