Chapter 13: Claiming What's His
The cool silk sheets felt like water against Vanja’s heated skin. Moonlight streamed through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, painting stripes of silver across Manuel’s broad chest and the swell of her own belly. She straddled him, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, her powerful thighs flexing as she moved. His hands, large and calloused from decades of catching footballs, rested possessively on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles on the sensitive skin just below her navel where the new life they’d created was growing. His cock, thick and hard as iron, stretched her deep inside, a constant, welcome fullness that anchored her even as she rode him with deliberate slowness.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," Manuel breathed, his voice thick, eyes locked on her face. His gaze traced the curve of her breasts, fuller now, her nipples dark and swollen, brushing against his chest hair with every languid rise and fall of her body.
Vanja leaned forward, bracing her hands on his pectorals, feeling the powerful muscle beneath her palms. She rolled her hips in a tight circle, grinding her clit against the base of his shaft, drawing a low groan from him. "Like that?" she murmured, a predatory smile touching her lips. She lifted herself almost completely, feeling the delicious drag of him along her inner walls, the head catching just inside her entrance, before sinking down again with aching deliberation. She took him to the hilt, her inner muscles fluttering instinctively around the thick intrusion. "Mmm… every inch, Manuel. Fucking fills me up just right."
She set the punishingly slow rhythm again, rising and falling with the control of an athlete, savoring the deep, stretching pressure. Her breath hitched as her swollen nipples rasped against his skin with each downward stroke. His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. "Christ, Vanja," he rasped. "Look at you. You're fucking glowing." His fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling them gently, sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core.
She threw her head back, a moan escaping her lips. The sensations were building, a slow, molten pressure coiling tight within her. The friction, the fullness, the possessive heat in his touch… it was overwhelming. She shifted, angling her hips slightly, seeking that perfect spot. Her nails raked lightly down his sweat-slicked abs, leaving faint pink trails. "Fuck me like you mean it, Daddy," she gasped, the unexpected title slipping out, raw and needy. "Make me feel it. Deep."
The word ignited him. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging in. He surged up, meeting her downward stroke with a powerful thrust of his own. The sudden, deeper penetration forced a cry from her throat. He held himself there, buried to the root, grinding against her clit as she gasped, her inner walls spasming around him. "Is that deep enough, Schatz?" he growled, his voice rough with lust. "You feel how deep I go? Feel me inside you? Filling that perfect cunt?"
"Yes! Oh fuck, yes!" Vanja panted, her rhythm fracturing, becoming urgent. The slow burn erupted into white-hot need. She rode him harder, faster, slamming her hips down onto his, the slap of skin echoing in the moonlit room. The coil inside her snapped. Pleasure detonated, radiating outwards in blinding waves. Her back arched impossibly, a guttural scream tore from her lungs, and her body clenched around him with such violent intensity it triggered a sudden, uncontrollable gush. Hot liquid pulsed from her, soaking his cock, his balls, the sheets beneath them – a flood of her release. "Ahhh! Fuck! I'm squirting! Manuel!"
He roared, the sensation of her drenching him, her cunt convulsing around his shaft, shoving him over the edge instantly. He bucked wildly beneath her, driving up into her spasming channel as his own release boiled over. Thick, hot jets of cum erupted deep inside her, adding to the slick mess. He held her hips down, impaled, grinding hard as he emptied himself, each pulse met with another clenching ripple from her core. She collapsed forward onto his chest, trembling violently, gasping for air, her body still twitching with aftershocks. The mingled scent of sex, sweat, and her release filled the air.
Manuel didn't hesitate. His hands slid down to her ass, tilting her hips. He moved her off him just enough, ignoring their combined fluids cooling on his skin, and lowered his head. His tongue, broad and hot, lapped through the slick mess coating his lower belly and groin. He licked along the base of his own softening cock, then swept up through her swollen, sensitive folds, tasting her mixed essence – salt, musk, and the unique tang of her squirting release. He groaned against her flesh, the sound vibrating through her. "Fucking delicious," he murmured, his tongue delving deeper, cleaning her, sucking gently at her still-throbbing clit, prolonging her aftershocks until she whimpered with oversensitivity. "My beautiful, perfect girl."
Later, showered and dressed in comfortable clothes – Vanja in leggings and an oversized hoodie that smelled like Manuel, Manuel in jeans and a dark sweater – they stepped out of the sleek lobby into the cool Munich evening. They walked hand-in-hand towards his parked SUV, the simple intimacy feeling new and profound after the raw intensity in the bedroom. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet pavement from an earlier shower.
The flash exploded before the shout. Blinding white light, then another, and another. Vanja instinctively flinched, raising a hand against the sudden assault. Manuel reacted instantly, pulling her close, shielding her with his body, his face hardening into a mask of protective fury.
"Manuel! Vanja! Over here!"
"Vanja!?"
"Are you two a couple now?"
"Vanja! Give us a smile!"
The voices were a cacophony, shattering the quiet of the street. Paparazzi materialized from parked cars and alleyways, lenses like insect eyes glinting in the streetlights. Their shouts were intrusive, predatory. Manuel kept his arm firmly around Vanja's shoulders, his jaw clenched. "Ignore them," he muttered, his voice low and tight, ushering her quickly towards the car. "Just keep walking."
Vanja, however, felt a familiar fire ignite. Not fear, but defiance. They thought they could corner her? Bully them? She stopped walking, pulling Manuel to a halt. She turned towards the flashing lights, her green eyes blazing. She didn't smile. She just stared, cold and unflinching, chin lifted. Her hand moved instinctively to rest on the slight curve of her belly beneath the hoodie – a silent, deliberate signal. The flashes intensified, a frenzied storm of light capturing her defiant stance, Manuel’s protective fury beside her, and that unmistakable, protective gesture.
Manuel practically bundled her into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and rounded the car, ignoring the shouts still hammering against the windows. He got in, slammed his door, and gunned the engine, pulling away sharply. The silence inside the car was thick with tension.
"Fucking vultures," Manuel spat, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Vanja leaned her head back against the headrest, exhaling slowly. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a strange mix of irritation and resignation. "They got the shot they wanted," she said flatly, pulling out her phone. The notifications were already exploding – news alerts, social media mentions. She scrolled past headlines already screaming speculation: 'Neuer's New Flame Pregnant?' 'Track Star Vanja Jakobsen Shows Off Baby Bump With Bayern Keeper! She silenced the phone. "Guess the circus Max warned us about starts now."
She hesitated, then opened her contacts. Scrolled past agents, sponsors, team officials. Found 'Alex'. Her oldest friend from her training days in Aarhus. She hit the call button.
It rang twice. "Vanja? Hej! What’s up? Saw the insane news about your double-gold haul! Legend!" Alex’s voice was warm, familiar, cutting through the tension like sunlight. He was pure, uncomplicated support.
Vanja took a breath. Manuel glanced at her, his expression softening with concern. "Hej, Alex," Vanja said, her voice catching slightly. She hadn't planned this. But hearing his voice, the genuine happiness for her athletic triumph… it cracked something open. "The golds… yeah, amazing. But… Alex, that’s not why I’m calling. There’s… something else."
A beat of silence. "Okay…" Alex said, his tone shifting to gentle inquiry. "What is it? You sound… different."
Vanja looked out at the passing city lights, then down at her hand resting on her stomach. She met Manuel’s gaze briefly. He gave a small, encouraging nod. "I’m… I’m pregnant, Alex," she said, the words finally spoken aloud to someone outside the storm. "It’s Manuel’s. We’re… together."
The silence stretched for a second longer this time. Then, Alex’s voice came back, filled with pure, unadulterated joy. "Vanja! That’s… holy shit! That’s amazing news! Congratulations!" There was no judgment, no questions about timing or scandal, just instant, heartfelt happiness for her. "A baby! My god, you’re going to be an incredible mum. And Neuer, huh?" He chuckled warmly. "Bit of a legend. You deserve this, Vanja. Really. So fucking happy for you both."
Tears, unexpected and hot, sprang to Vanja’s eyes. The contrast between the paparazzi frenzy and Alex’s uncomplicated sweetness was overwhelming. A choked laugh escaped her. "Thanks, Alex," she whispered, her voice thick. "Really. Thanks."
Manuel reached across the console, his large hand covering hers where it rested on her belly. His thumb stroked her knuckles. He heard the pure joy in Alex’s tinny voice through the phone. In that moment, amidst the chaos they knew was coming, that simple, genuine happiness felt like an anchor. Solid. Real. Vanja squeezed his hand back, hard, holding on. The city blurred outside the window, but inside the car, a fragile bubble of warmth held firm.