Chapter 2: Lingering Taste - Serbian Lessons & Stolen Glances
The bassline was a physical thing, thumping through the soles of Vanja’s discarded stilettos, vibrating up her calves as she perched on the edge of the plush velvet booth. The damp patch on the back of her emerald silk dress, high up near her waist where Neuer's release had soaked through the thin fabric after the restroom, felt like a brand. Cold, sticky, and utterly undeniable. She deliberately angled her body away from Neuer’s distant booth, presenting her profile and that damning spot to the dim light.
Aleksandar Pavlović leaned closer, his young face earnest beneath artfully messy dark hair. He smelled of expensive citrus cologne and clean sweat. "Ti si neverovatno brza," he murmured in Serbian, the familiar syllables a warm counterpoint to the club's electronic throb. His voice held genuine awe, not just the practiced charm of the VIP section. "Like lightning on the track."
Vanja smiled, letting her green eyes lock onto his. "Brza sam svugde, Aleksandare," she replied smoothly in the same language, her tone laced with suggestion. Fast everywhere. His gaze flickered, pupils dilating slightly. He wasn't Neuer, hardened and predatory; this was fresh territory for him, that blend of athlete admiration and sudden, intense sexual interest radiating off him in waves. Intoxicating in its novelty.
His hand, resting near her on the velvet, shifted. He wasn't quite touching her, but his warm palm hovered just above the small of her back. Respectful. Hesitant. The proximity made the memory of Neuer’s roughness surge back – the cold marble, the bruising grip, the brutal fullness. Heat prickled her skin beneath the dress.
Then it happened. As Alexander, , leaned across the table to snag another champagne flute, Aleksandar shifted his weight. His hovering hand, aiming to perhaps finally make contact, brushed lower. Not the small of her back. Higher. His fingers grazed the damp silk clinging to her skin, right over the spot Neuer’s spend had leaked through.
Vanja stiffened. Not in disgust. A jolt of pure, raw memory slammed into her: the thick heat of Neuer filling her throat in that mirrored restroom, the scrape of his stubble, the taste of salt and dominance. The phantom sensation of being stretched open on the sink counter. Her breath hitched, sharp and audible even over the music.
Aleksandar snatched his hand back as if burned, his cheeks flushing crimson. "Oprosti! Forgive me!" he stammered, switching to German, mortification twisting his handsome features. "I didn't mean... the dress, it’s..." He trailed off, utterly flustered, his eyes wide with confusion and dawning, horrified understanding. He knew what that dampness was. What it meant. The knowledge flickered in his gaze – shock, then a flicker of something hotter, more primal.
Vanja recovered faster. She leaned into him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, her lips almost brushing his ear. "Nema problema," she breathed. No problem. Her hand settled lightly on his thigh, high up, feeling the powerful muscle tense beneath the fine wool of his trousers. "Just a little... spill. Happens when things get intense." She let the double entendre hang, watching the conflict play out on his face – embarrassment warring with a sudden, overwhelming surge of desire.
Alexander, oblivious or expertly pretending, raised his glass. "To intense things!" he toasted cheerfully, clinking his flute against others on the table.
Vanja kept her gaze locked on Aleksandar. She saw the moment desire won. His eyes darkened, fixed on her lips, then flicking down to the damp spot on her dress, then back to her face with a newfound intensity. The confusion was gone, replaced by a focused hunger that mirrored her own restless energy. Neuer’s seed, drying on her skin beneath the silk, felt less like a brand and more like a catalyst. She wanted to erase it. Replace it. Claim this fresh, eager energy radiating off the younger man.
"Too loud in here," she stated, not taking her hand off his thigh. Her thumb moved, a slow, deliberate circle on the sensitive inner muscle. "Know anywhere quieter? Private?"
Aleksandar swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He nodded jerkily towards a darker alcove off the main VIP area, partially concealed by heavy velvet drapes. "There... the manager lets me use it sometimes." His voice was thick.
"Perfect." Vanja stood smoothly, ignoring the slight tremor in her legs. She didn't look towards Neuer’s booth, but she felt the weight of his stare like a physical pressure between her shoulder blades. A possessive, simmering anger she could taste on the air, thick as the club's perfume. Let him watch. Let him stew.
She led the way, Aleksandar following a step behind. As they neared the alcove, Vanja glanced back over her shoulder, not at Aleksandar, but deliberately across the crowded space. Her eyes met Neuer’s. He was standing now, near the edge of his booth, Lena forgotten beside him. His expression was granite, his famous blue eyes glacial, locked onto her with a fury that promised retribution. Vanja gave him a slow, deliberate smile. A challenge. A dismissal. Then she swept the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the shadowed alcove with Aleksandar.
The noise dropped instantly to a muffled throb. The space was small, barely larger than the restroom stall, dominated by a deep, oversized velvet loveseat and a low table holding a sweating ice bucket and untouched crystal glasses. The air was cooler, smelling of dust and velvet and anticipation.
Aleksandar stood just inside, suddenly awkward again, the bravado evaporating in the sudden intimacy. "Vanja, I... about before..."
She silenced him by stepping forward, closing the distance. Her hands rose to frame his face, strong fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. "Shut up, Aleksandar," she murmured, her voice low and commanding. Then she kissed him.
It wasn't the brutal claiming Neuer had delivered. This kiss was deep, exploring, hungry but searching. She tasted the champagne on his lips, the faint salt of sweat, the clean citrus of his cologne. He responded instantly, groaning into her mouth, his hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against him. He was strong, solid, but his touch was hesitant at first, overwhelmed by her sudden assault. Then desire took over. His kiss became bolder, his tongue tangling fiercely with hers, his hands sliding down to grip her ass through the silk, pulling her hard against the rigid bulge straining against his trousers.
Vanja broke the kiss, panting slightly. She looked into his dark eyes, seeing the raw need, the awe, the slight intimidation. "Take this off," she ordered, fingers already working the buttons of his crisp white shirt. "I want to see the body that keeps Bayern's midfield running."
He fumbled with the buttons, his fingers clumsy with urgency. Vanja impatiently brushed them aside and ripped the shirt open, buttons pinging onto the velvet couch and marble floor. His chest was sculpted, lean muscle defined under smooth skin, a stark contrast to Neuer's thicker, veteran power. She ran her hands over his pecs, feeling the heat, the rapid beat of his heart, pinching a flat nipple. He gasped.
"Your turn," he managed, his voice rough. His hands went to the thin straps of her dress.
Vanja stepped back slightly, a predator assessing her prey. "Slowly," she instructed, her green eyes gleaming in the dim light filtering through the curtain. "I want you to look."
Aleksandar obeyed, his gaze fixed on her as he slid the delicate straps down her shoulders. The emerald silk whispered down her arms, catching at her elbows before pooling around her waist. Her lace bra, the same deep green, barely contained her full breasts. He stared, mesmerized, his breath catching. "Boze," he breathed. God sees you. A Serbian exclamation of awe.
"Touch me," Vanja commanded.
His hands, large and strong but trembling slightly, rose. He cupped her breasts through the lace, his thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples. A low moan escaped him. "So soft... fuck..."
"Harder," she urged, arching her back. "They won't break."
He squeezed, kneading the firm flesh, his thumbs circling the stiff peaks through the fabric. Vanja bit her lip, a spike of pleasure shooting through her. Different from Neuer's ruthless handling – Aleksandar was learning, eager, his touch imbued with a reverence that stoked her own fire. She reached behind her back, unfastened the bra clasp, and let it fall.
Aleksandar’s breath hitched audibly as her breasts sprang free, full and heavy in his hands. He bent his head, his mouth closing over one taut nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking rapidly. Vanja cried out, tangling her hands in his hair, holding him to her. "Yes! Like that!"
His other hand slid down her stomach, over the silk bunched at her waist, finding the waistband of her thong. He pushed the silk dress lower, down over her hips, letting it puddle at her feet with the bra. She stood before him in only the flimsy black lace thong and her stilettos. Aleksandar’s gaze travelled down her body – the defined abs, the powerful thighs, the damp triangle of lace barely concealing her.
He sank to his knees, his hands gripping her hips. "Vanja..." His voice was thick with worship and need. He nuzzled the lace over her mound, inhaling deeply. The scent of her arousal, mixed faintly with the lingering musk of Neuer's previous claim, was potent. Vanja felt a fresh wave of wetness soak the lace. Aleksandar hooked his thumbs into the sides of her thong and pulled them down her legs. She stepped out of them.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark pools of desire. "You're... perfect." His thumbs brushed the outer lips of her pussy, already slick and swollen. He leaned in, his tongue darting out for a long, slow lick from her opening up to her clit.
Vanja gasped, her legs trembling. "Fuck, yes... more." She spread her stance, bracing a hand on his shoulder.
Aleksandar needed no further urging. He buried his face between her thighs, his tongue delving deep inside her, lapping at her wetness with an earnest, hungry intensity. He explored her folds, circled her clit, sucked gently then harder, his movements eager but unpracticed compared to Neuer's calculated mastery. It was raw, enthusiastic, driven by pure lust and awe. Vanja moaned, rocking her hips against his mouth, grinding her clit against his searching tongue. She guided him with pressure on his head, showing him the rhythm, the spots that made her gasp. "There! Right there! Suck it... suck my clit, Aleksandar!"
He obeyed, sucking her swollen bud hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive peak. One hand slipped beneath her, fingers probing, finding her sopping entrance. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them upwards, searching. Vanja cried out as he found that spot deep inside, his fingers pumping in time with his mouth sucking her clit. The double assault built the pressure fast, different from Neuer's overwhelming domination – this felt like being devoured by a starved, beautiful animal.
"Oh god! Don't stop! Fuck me with your fingers! Harder!" Her orgasm crashed over her suddenly, violently. She clenched around his fingers, her thighs clamping around his head as waves of pure, electric pleasure ripped through her. She cried out his name, her fingers tightening painfully in his hair as she rode the convulsions.
Aleksandar lapped at her fiercely through it, drawing out the tremors, his fingers still working inside her. As the aftershocks subsided, he looked up at her, his lips and chin glistening wet. He surged to his feet, fumbling frantically with his belt buckle, his trousers, his boxers. His cock sprang free – thick, long, beautifully erect, flushed dark, the head slick with pre-come. Younger than Neuer's, less veined, but impressively full of desperate energy.
He pushed her back towards the deep loveseat. Vanja sank into the plush velvet, her legs falling open. Aleksandar positioned himself between them, his cock nudging her wet, swollen entrance. He hesitated for a second, his eyes searching hers, seeking permission, reassurance.
"Fuck me," Vanja commanded, her voice husky with spent pleasure and fresh need. "Now. Fill me up. I want to feel that young cock stretching me."
Her words broke his restraint. With a choked groan, he thrust forward, sinking deep into her slick heat in one smooth, powerful motion. Vanja gasped at the sudden, delicious stretch. Different from Neuer's brutal impalement – this felt like being claimed by a force of nature, eager and overwhelming. He filled her completely, his length hitting deep, the thick head pressing against her cervix.
"Jebote!" Aleksandar swore, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut at the sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him. "Vanja... you feel... unbelievable..."
"Move," she demanded, rocking her hips up to meet him. "Fuck me hard, Aleksandar. Show me what you've got."
He obeyed, setting a fierce, driving rhythm. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, burying himself to the hilt with each thrust. The loveseat creaked under their combined weight and the force. Vanja wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back, meeting his thrusts with desperate bucks of her own hips. She clawed at his bare shoulders, feeling the muscles bunching and straining with each powerful drive.
"Yes! Just like that! Harder! Fuck, your cock feels so good! So fucking thick!" Her cries were swallowed by the muffled club thump, but she didn't care. The contrast was exhilarating – Neuer's cold, calculated roughness versus Aleksandar's youthful, almost frantic passion. She felt him everywhere, the heat of his skin, the slick slide of his cock pistoning in and out, the raw, unfiltered desire pouring off him. She could feel another climax building, coiling tighter with each deep, satisfying thrust.
Aleksandar’s rhythm grew more frantic, less controlled. His thrusts became shorter, harder, slamming into her with desperate intensity. He leaned over her, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside her head, the other gripping her hip, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her neck. "Vanja... I'm... I can't... gonna come..."
"Inside me," she gasped, tilting her hips to take him deeper, urging him on. "Fill me up, Aleksandar. Mark me. Do it!"
Her words, the clenching of her inner muscles around him as her own orgasm began to crest, pushed him over the edge. With a guttural cry that was almost a sob, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his body shuddering violently. Hot pulses of his release flooded her, jetting deep inside her womb, thick and plentiful. Vanja cried out as her own climax exploded, triggered by the feel of him coming inside her, her inner walls milking his cock, drawing out every last drop as he collapsed heavily onto her, trembling.
They lay entangled, slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and young, desperate lust. Aleksandar’s head rested on her shoulder, his breath hot and fast against her neck. Vanja stared up at the shadowed velvet canopy of the alcove, her body humming, the wet heat of Aleksandar’s release mingling with Neuer’s earlier deposit inside her. She felt claimed. Twice over.
Slowly, Aleksandar lifted his head. He looked dazed, awestruck, his eyes searching hers. "Vanja... that was... ja sam tvoj." I am yours.
Vanja traced a finger down his sweaty cheek, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. She gently pushed him off, sitting up. The cool air hit her sweat-sheened skin. She reached for her discarded dress.
Outside the curtain, the muffled thump of the club continued.
Vanja’s fingers trembled slightly as she refastened the delicate straps of her emerald dress, the silk still damp and cold against her heated skin. Aleksandar watched her with dazed reverence, hastily tucking his untucked shirt into his trousers, fingers fumbling over the missing buttons. "Ja sam tvoj," he repeated softly, the Serbian phrase heavy with youthful earnestness. Vanja offered a faint, enigmatic smile, smoothing the silk over her hips where the fabric clung to the mingled wetness of sweat and his release inside her.
"Come on," she said, her voice husky but regaining its usual command. She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain, the club's pulsating light and sound slamming back into her senses like a physical blow. Aleksandar followed, his hand instinctively reaching for the small of her back before hesitating, remembering the dampness. She didn't flinch this time; she leaned into his touch, a deliberate display.
They emerged into the swirling chaos of the VIP section. Vanja scanned the room, her gaze locking instantly with Neuer’s. He stood rigidly near his booth, Lena hovering uncertainly beside him. His ice-blue eyes were narrowed, fixed on her with a fury that radiated across the distance, palpable even over the thumping bass. The possessive anger she’d felt earlier had solidified into something colder, sharper. He watched Aleksandar’s hand on her back, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone.
Vanja turned deliberately towards Aleksandar, blocking Neuer's view. She placed both hands on the younger man’s shoulders, pulling him close. "Dance with me," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. Before he could respond, she fused her mouth to his in a deep, claiming kiss. Not the exploratory passion of the alcove, but a performance. A declaration. Aleksandar stiffened in surprise, then melted into it, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
The kiss was long, languid, and utterly public. Vanja poured every ounce of sensual confidence into it, her tongue tangling with his, her hips subtly grinding against the renewed hardness she felt pressing against his trousers. She tasted champagne, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of her own arousal still on his lips. When she finally pulled back, Aleksandar’s eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed. She kept one arm hooked around his neck, guiding him towards the heaving dance floor near the booth.
As they swayed to the heavy beat, Vanja glanced back at Neuer’s booth. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t look pissed; he looked lethal. Lena was saying something, her hand on his arm, but his gaze remained locked on Vanja and Aleksandar, a storm brewing in those famous blue depths. Vanja turned away, pressing her back against Aleksandar’s chest, letting his hands settle low on her hips, her ass grinding against his cock. Let him watch.
The cold morning air of the Säbener Straße training complex bit at Vanja’s exposed skin as she ran, her breath coming in rhythmic puffs of steam. Dressed only in sleek black leggings and a cropped performance top, her powerful legs ate up the pristine track encircling the main training pitch. Dew glistened on the manicured grass. The rhythmic slap of her trainers on the wet asphalt was the only sound besides her own breathing and the distant shouts from the pitch. Two Bayern players were already out, doing light drills under the watchful eye of a fitness coach.
Manuel Neuer was one of them. He moved with his characteristic powerful grace, practicing explosive lateral dives, his focus absolute. Vanja passed them on her third lap, her pace effortless. She didn’t look directly at him, but she felt his presence like a physical pressure. As she ran parallel to the pitch, just meters away, her eyes flicked towards the goal. Neuer was retrieving a ball from the back of the net. He straightened, the early morning light catching the sharp planes of his face. His gaze swept past her as if she were invisible, focusing instead on the coach. No flicker of recognition. No acknowledgement. Stone cold.
Vanja smiled. Not a warm smile. A small, sharp curve of her lips as she pushed her pace, accelerating down the straight, the wind whipping her blonde ponytail behind her. His deliberate indifference was more satisfying than any heated glare. It meant he cared. It meant the night before had struck deep.
Later, the sleek Audi SUV idled near the players' exit. Vanja leaned against the driver's door, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes, dressed down in designer jeans and a soft cashmere sweater that clung to her curves. Training had ended; players began filtering out, bags slung over shoulders, heading to their cars. Alexander Pavlović emerged, spotting her instantly. A wide, boyish grin split his face. He raised a hand, waving enthusiastically, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
Vanja pushed her sunglasses onto her head, revealing her vibrant green eyes. Her smile was slow, deliberate. She pursed her lips and blew him a flamboyant air kiss across the parking lot. Aleksandar’s blush deepened, his grin turning sheepish, delighted. He waved again, almost shyly, before heading towards his own car.
Max, Vanja's cousin and long-time friend, emerged right beside Aleksandar. He saw the exchange. His face instantly contorted into a mask of weary horror. "No," he groaned, dragging the word out, stopping dead in his tracks. He pointed a finger accusingly at Vanja."No. He says, his voice tight with exasperation. "No, please. Just... He ran a hand over his face, looking genuinely pained.
Vanja laughed, the sound bright and unapologetic. "Relax, Max. It was just a kiss." She glanced past him, her gaze sharpening.
Manuel Neuer walked out next, flanked by two senior defenders. He was deep in conversation, gesturing with one hand. But his head wasn't turned towards his teammates. It was angled towards Aleksandar Pavlović, who was now unlocking his car door a few spaces down. Neuer’s jaw was clenched tight, a muscle ticking visibly beneath the skin. His eyes, narrowed and intense, weren't on Vanja. They were fixed on the back of the younger midfielder, a look of cold, calculating appraisal mixed with unmistakable, simmering anger.
Max followed Vanja’s gaze. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Neuer’s expression, then flicked back to Vanja’s satisfied smirk. Realization dawned, bringing a fresh wave of panic. "Oh, God no," Max breathed, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper. He stepped closer to the car, gripping the roof. "Please tell me you didn't. Vanja, tell me you didn't sleep with him too.Neuer? Tell me you didn't fuck Manuel fucking Neuer."
Vanja met Max’s desperate stare, her expression perfectly composed. "I didn't," she stated calmly, opening the driver's door.
Max stared at her, searching her face for a lie, finding only cool defiance. He groaned again, a sound of pure, frustrated resignation. "Jesus, Vanja. The fallout... Come," he sighed heavily, throwing his bag into the back seat with unnecessary force and yanking open the passenger door. "We are going home. Now." He slumped into the seat, rubbing his temples as if warding off a migraine already forming, leaving the tense silence of the parking lot behind.