Chapter 2: Living Room Floor
The rhythmic thud of cleats hitting the turf, the shouted commands, the sharp whistle – Manuel moved through the afternoon training session with his usual lethal efficiency. Reflexes like lightning. Commands barked sharp and clear. But beneath the surface focus, a current hummed. A phantom heat against cool steel. The sharp gasp. The slick, wet sound of his cock plunging into tight, desperate heat. Fuck. The memory of Vanja Jakobsen, legs locked around him, moaning into his mouth as he emptied himself deep inside her, was a spectre he couldn’t banish. Every sprint, every dive, every grunt of effort seemed to echo with the sounds she’d made against Dino’s fridge.
He showered quickly, the water doing little to cool the images. Dino was practically vibrating beside him at the lockers. "Manu! You’re coming tonight, right? To mine? Aleksandar’s bringing his famous ćevapi, Kimmich and Müller are confirmed, maybe a couple others. It’s casual. And Vanja’s there! You have to meet her properly."
Manuel kept his expression neutral, toweling his hair roughly. Inside, his gut clenched. "Vanja?" He feigned mild interest. "Your cousin? The sprinter?"
Dino beamed, oblivious. "Yeah! She’s incredible, Manu. Honestly, mind-blowing talent. And funny. Sweet. Everyone’s dying to meet the star." He punched Manuel’s shoulder playfully. "Be nice. Don’t scare her with your grumpy goalkeeper face."
Manuel managed a non-committal grunt. Dying to meet her? If only they knew. The thought of facing her, across a room full of his teammates, after what they’d done… it felt like walking onto a minefield naked.
---
Back at the apartment, Vanja was scrubbing the already-clean kitchen counter with ferocious intensity, trying to erase the phantom scent of burnt pancakes and sex. The memory of Manuel’s hands on her skin, the sheer size of him stretching her open, the guttural sounds he made as he came… it sent hot shivers down her spine, followed immediately by a wave of nausea-inducing panic.
The door slammed open. Dino burst in, radiating energy. "Vanja! Awesome, you’re here! Guys will be here soon. Kimmich, Müller, Aleksandar, maybe Leroy… and Manuel." He winked. "Told them they had to meet the fastest woman alive."
Vanja froze, the damp cloth clenched in her fist. Her stomach dropped. "Manuel… Neuer?" Her voice sounded unnaturally high.
"Yeah! He’s cool. Bit intense sometimes, but a legend. Just be yourself, they’ll love you." Dino was already heading to the fridge, oblivious to the sheer terror gripping his cousin.
Be myself? Vanja thought hysterically. The self that let Manuel Neuer fuck her raw against the fridge barely 12 hours ago? The self that’s still sore between her legs, still remembering the feel of his cum leaking out? She felt dizzy. She’d pulled on leggings and a loose sweater now, armor against the world, against him. But it felt flimsy.
The doorbell rang. Panic flared, bright and hot. Aleksandar, Dino’s best friend since childhood, arrived first, enveloping her in a crushing hug that smelled of tobacco and spices from the containers of ćevapi he carried. Then Kimmich, sharp-eyed and quick to laugh, followed by Müller, radiating chaotic charm. Their easy banter filled the small apartment. Vanja forced smiles, laughed at jokes, made coffee, helped Aleksandar in the kitchen. She played the charming, slightly shy prodigy perfectly. Friendly. Approachable. Normal.
Then the door opened again. Manuel stood in the threshold. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing dark jeans and a simple grey t-shirt that stretched across his powerful chest. His gaze swept the room, lingering for a fraction of a second too long on her before settling on Dino, a neutral mask firmly in place. "Sorry I’m late."
Vanja’s mouth went dry. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She busied herself with plates, avoiding his direct gaze, acutely aware of his every movement as he greeted the others, the deep rumble of his voice resonating through the room. He accepted a beer from Kimmich, leaning against the counter opposite her. She could feel the weight of his presence like a physical pressure.
He was talking to Müller about a training drill, angled away from her. The conversation flowed around her, Aleksandar arguing playfully with Dino about the correct grill temperature for ćevapi. Vanja dared a glance. Manuel’s profile was sharp, focused on Müller, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, as if sensing her stare, he turned his head. His eyes, those intense blue eyes, locked directly onto hers.
Time stopped. The noise of the room faded. All she saw was his face, the image of it contorted in raw pleasure as he thrust into her, his cock buried to the hilt inside her wet, clutching cunt. The memory slammed into her, visceral and shocking. Heat flooded her cheeks, travelled down her neck. Without thinking, driven by pure, panicked impulse, her body reacted.
She winked.
A small, fleeting, instinctive flicker of her eyelid.
Manuel Neuer, the impregnable wall, the veteran leader known for his unflappable calm, froze. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Then, something extraordinary happened. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. Not his usual confident smirk, but something… shy. Almost boyish. It transformed his features, making him look younger, vulnerable. And his neck, above the collar of his t-shirt, flushed a deep, unmistakable crimson.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Vanja bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting blood. Shy? Manuel Neuer does not do shy. The contrast between the man who’d dominated her with primal intensity hours ago and this flustered, blushing giant was dizzying. She saw his pupils dilate, black swallowing the blue, a mirror of the hunger she’d seen as he’d commanded her to look at him while he filled her. An image flashed: him groaning, hips jerking erratically as he came deep inside her. Her own core clenched in response, a traitorous pulse of heat flooding her despite the lingering soreness. She had to look away, focusing desperately on the plate of ćevapi she was arranging, her hands trembling.
The evening blurred. Food was eaten. Beer flowed. Jokes flew. Vanja remained charming, engaging Aleksandar about Belgrade, listening intently to Müller’s absurd anecdotes, laughing at Kimmich’s dry wit. But her awareness was laser-focused on Manuel. He participated, his deep voice interjecting occasionally, the shyness gone, replaced by his usual quiet command. But his gaze would drift back to her. A simmering intensity simmered beneath his calm exterior. When their eyes accidentally met again across the crowded room, the heat was undeniable. Electric. Dangerous.
She excused herself to use the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe, to cool her flushed skin. The narrow hallway outside the bathroom felt claustrophobic. She leaned against the cool wall, closing her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart.
Suddenly, the air shifted. A large, warm presence filled the space. She opened her eyes. Manuel stood inches away, blocking the light from the living room. The playful shyness was gone, incinerated by the raw hunger blazing in his eyes. His gaze raked over her, stripping away the sweater, the leggings, seeing only the woman he’d fucked senseless.
"Winking at me, Vanja Jakobsen?" His voice was a low growl, vibrating straight through her. "Teasing me in front of everyone?"
Before she could form a word, before she could even gasp, his hand was on her waist, spinning her roughly to face the wall. He pressed his body flush against her back, hard. She felt the thick ridge of his erection grinding against her ass through the layers of fabric. His heat, his strength, the memory of his cock splitting her open – it flooded her senses, obliterating thought.
"Manuel… no… they’ll hear…" she managed, a breathless protest that sounded weak even to her own ears.
"Fuck them," he growled into her hair, one large hand sliding down the front of her leggings, shoving past the waistband of her panties. His fingers found her core, already slick and swollen. He groaned, the sound primal. "Jesus, you're soaked. Been thinking about my cock in this tight little cunt all night, haven't you?" He plunged two thick fingers inside her without warning, curling them hard.
Vanja gasped, arching back against him as white-hot pleasure-pain shot through her. "Fuck! Yes!" The words tore from her, muffled against the wall. His fingers pumped ruthlessly, scissoring, stretching her, finding that spot deep inside that made her legs tremble. He added a third finger, the stretch intense, mimicking the girth she craved. She could feel his hard length grinding against her ass, demanding entry.
"Please," she whimpered, pushing her hips back against his hand, against his cock. "Manuel… please…"
"Please what?" His voice was rough, breath hot on her neck. He bit down lightly on her earlobe. "Tell me what you want, sprinter. Tell me what this greedy cunt needs."
"Your cock," she moaned, shameless, lost in the sensation. "Fuck me. Now. Please fuck me now, Manuel."
He withdrew his fingers, slick with her arousal. She heard the frantic rustle of clothing, the metallic scrape of his belt buckle, the rough drag of his zipper. Then his hands were on her hips, yanking her leggings and panties down to her knees in one brutal motion. Cool air hit her exposed skin for a split second before the overwhelming heat of his body covered her again.
He spat roughly onto his palm, then slicked it over the swollen head of his cock. The blunt, thick tip pressed against her slick entrance, nudging, demanding. "Look back," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. "Look at me when I fuck you."
Vanja twisted her head, meeting his burning blue gaze over her shoulder. The intensity there, the raw ownership, stole her breath. He held her stare, eyes locked, as he pushed forward.
He entered her slowly, agonizingly slowly, stretching her open inch by thick inch. She felt every ridge, every vein of his rigid cock parting her swollen lips, stretching her inner walls beyond the memory of that morning. It burned. It stretched. It felt impossibly full. She cried out, a choked sound of pure sensation, her nails scrabbling against the wall.
"Fuck… so tight…" Manuel groaned, his jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead. He paused when he was fully sheathed, buried to the hilt inside her clutching heat. "Taking every fucking inch." He pulled back slightly, then slammed forward, hard and deep.
Vanja screamed, the sound muffled against her arm braced on the wall. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, no finesse, just raw, powerful thrusts that drove her forward with each impact. Her breasts crushed against the wall, her ass pushed back against his pounding hips. The wet, obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoed in the narrow hallway, mingled with their harsh gasps and grunts.
"Harder!" she begged, lost to everything but the brutal friction, the sensation of being filled, claimed. "Fuck me harder! Use me!"
Manuel growled, a feral sound. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he pounded into her with devastating force. Each deep stroke hammered against her cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through her core. She could feel the sweat slicking his chest against her back, hear the ragged hitch in his breathing. His cock felt massive, stretching her beyond belief, filling her completely with each deep plunge.
"Yes! Fuck! Just like that!" she gasped, meeting his thrusts, pushing back, desperate for more. The pressure built, coiling tight and hot in her belly. She felt the telltale flutter deep inside, the muscles clenching involuntarily around his invading shaft. "Manuel… I'm gonna… oh GOD!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She convulsed, screaming his name into her arm as her inner walls clamped down on his cock in frantic, rhythmic spasms. The intensity was blinding, tearing through her, leaving her trembling and weak.
The violent clenching of her cunt around him was too much. With a guttural roar that she was certain would bring everyone running, Manuel buried himself to the root and held deep. Hot jets of cum erupted inside her, pulsing again and again, flooding her, claiming her. She felt the warmth spread, the primal satisfaction in his harsh groan vibrating through her body. He ground against her, pushing his seed deeper as he emptied himself, his body shuddering against hers.
He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, both of them slumped against the wall, panting, slick with sweat, the sounds of the party just a murmur beyond the hallway. Slowly, he pulled out. A rush of wetness followed, a slick trail dripping down her inner thigh.
Vanja sagged, boneless, barely holding herself up. Manuel quickly rearranged his clothes, his breathing still ragged. He turned her around, his gaze fierce, possessive. He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her swollen bottom lip. "Mine," he rasped, the word a low vibration against her skin.
Before she could react, before the reality of their recklessness truly crashed down, he bent and hooked an arm under her knees, the other behind her back. He lifted her effortlessly against his chest, her leggings still tangled around her ankles. Her arms instinctively went around his neck.
Manuel carried her down the hallway, her legs dangling, the rough carpet grazing her bare ankles where her leggings remained bunched. His arms were solid bands under her thighs and shoulders, his heartbeat a frantic drum against her ear pressed to his chest. The muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the living room felt distant, unreal, a world away from the raw, wet mess between her legs and the lingering ache deep inside.
He pushed open the door to the small guest room with his shoulder, the space dimly lit by streetlight filtering through the blinds. The scent of clean linen mingled incongruously with the musk of sex clinging to them both. He lowered her onto the bed, the cool sheets a shock against her heated skin. Her legs instinctively curled up as he gently disentangled the twisted leggings and panties, pulling them off completely. The air felt cool on her exposed skin.He didn’t speak. Kneeling beside the bed, his large hands smoothed the rumpled sheet over her hips with surprising tenderness. His gaze, intense and unreadable in the gloom, swept over her face, her tangled blonde hair fanned on the pillow, the vulnerable curve of her shoulder. The silence stretched, thick with the memory of his harsh grunts and her desperate cries against the wall.
"Come," he finally murmured, his voice a low rasp scraped raw."I’ll take you to your room."A ghost of a wry smile touched his lips. "And tell Dino you were tired."
Vanja blinked, the haze of spent lust and sudden exhaustion making his words echo strangely.Tired. The understatement clawed a weak, breathless laugh from her throat. She felt flayed open, utterly used, and yet… claimed. "Thanks," she whispered, the word barely audible.He leaned down then, filling her vision. Instead of the demanding possession of before, his lips brushed hers with startling gentleness. A soft, lingering pressure that spoke of something deeper than the frantic fucking minutes ago. It was a benediction, a sealing. His thumb traced her cheekbone once, rough pad catching on her damp eyelashes. Then he straightened, the shadow of him receding towards the door.
"Sleep," he commanded softly, the door clicking shut behind him, plunging her into near darkness punctuated only by the faint orange glow from the street.The silence roared in her ears, louder than the party. Her body throbbed, a symphony of deep, satisfying aches and the slick reminder of him leaking onto the sheets. Exhaustion, profound and heavy, dragged her under before she could even process the terrifying tenderness of that kiss.
Sunlight, sharp and intrusive, stabbed through a gap in the blinds, painting a harsh stripe across Vanja’s face.She groaned, burying her head under the pillow. Every muscle protested, a pleasant, deep-seated soreness radiating from her core outward. The scent of stale beer and grilled meat lingered faintly in the apartment, but beneath it, she could still smell him on her skin, mingled with her own musk. She stretched gingerly, wincing at the delicious pull in her inner thighs.
Reaching blindly for her phone on the nightstand, she squinted at the screen.Mid-morning. Several notifications – a missed call from her coach, a text from her mother in Copenhagen, a meme from Aleksandar. And then… one unfamiliar notification.A text message.From an unknown number.
Her thumb hovered, a sudden, inexplicable tremor running through her. The phantom feel of his hands pinning her hips, the brutal stretch of him filling her, the guttural sound he made when he came… it all flooded back, visceral and immediate. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the frantic slap of their bodies in the hallway. She tapped the message.> Unknown Number: Hi Vanja. It’s Manuel.