Chapter 6: Joshua's
The sharp, antiseptic smell of the training ground clung to Vanja’s clothes, a sterile mask over the memory of Manuel’s scent on her skin. She moved through the cavernous locker room, the echo of her footsteps absorbed by the damp air and the discarded towels strewn across benches. Most of the players had already filtered out to the buses, the distant roar of an engine signaling the day's end.
She was stuffing her laptop into her bag when the main lights clicked off, plunging the vast space into a dim twilight, illuminated only by the safety lights over the emergency exits. The sudden darkness felt like a curtain falling.
A figure detached itself from the shadows near the showers. Joshua Kimmich. He moved with a quiet, predatory grace that was entirely at odds with his usual controlled intensity on the pitch. He didn’t speak, just advanced until he was close enough for her to see the cold fury in his eyes.
“You and Neuer,” he said, the words flat, devoid of their usual crisp enunciation. “What is it?”
Vanja slung her bag over her shoulder, feigning a calm she didn’t feel. “That’s none of your business, Joshua.”
He moved faster than she anticipated, his hand snapping out to grip her bicep, his fingers digging in like steel bands. He backed her into the cold, hard metal of the lockers with a jarring thud. The impact stole her breath.
“It became my business when he pulled me aside after training,” Joshua hissed, his face inches from hers. His breath was warm, smelling of mint and something sharper, angrier. “He told me to back off. To keep my distance from you. As if you’re his fucking property.”
He leaned in, his body pressing hers against the unyielding lockers. “So I’ll ask you again. What is going on with you and our captain?”
She could feel the rigid line of his erection against her hip. The violence in his touch was a stark contrast to the calculated possession of Manuel. This was raw, unfiltered jealousy. “It’s complicated,” she managed, her voice tight.
“Un-complicate it,” he demanded. His free hand came up, not to caress, but to grip her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark pools in the dim light. “Tell me.”
Before she could form a lie or a deflection, his mouth crashed down on hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an assault. His lips were hard, demanding, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth in a brutal invasion. She struggled for a moment, her hands pushing against his chest, but he was immovable, a wall of coiled muscle and rage.
His hand released her jaw and slid down her body, over the fabric of her trousers. He didn’t fumble or tease. He palmed her between her legs, his fingers pressing hard against the seam of her pants. A shocked gasp was torn from her, swallowed by his mouth.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. His eyes bored into hers, seeing too much. “You’re wet,” he whispered, the words laced with a mixture of disgust and triumph. “Already fucking wet for me.”
Shame and a dark, unwelcome thrill coursed through her. He was right. The struggle, the anger, the sheer force of him had ignited a response she couldn’t control.
“You like this, don’t you?” he snarled, his fingers rubbing her through the fabric, a rough, maddening pressure. “You like being fought over. Is this why you’re here? To fuck the entire squad?”
“Go to hell, Joshua,” she spat, but her hips bucked involuntarily against his hand.
He let out a short, harsh laugh. “We’re already there.” His hands went to the button of her trousers, yanking it open, the zip screeching in the silent room. He shoved them down, along with her underwear, until they pooled around her ankles. The cool air hit her bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch as his fingers dove between her folds.
“So fucking wet,” he repeated, his voice thick with a kind of awed revulsion. He pushed two fingers inside her without preamble, a brutal, stretching intrusion. She cried out, her head falling back against the locker with a dull clang.
He worked his fingers in and out, a crude, punishing rhythm. “Is this what he does? Our legendary captain? Does he fuck you in his pristine penthouse after he’s told us all how to behave?”
He withdrew his fingers, slick with her arousal, and brought them to his mouth, his eyes locked on hers. He tasted her, his expression unchanging. “He doesn’t own you.”
He unbuckled his own belt with frantic, jerky movements, pushing his training shorts down just enough to free his cock. It was hard and thick, jutting out angrily. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t warn her. He hooked one of her legs over his hip, lifting her, and drove into her with a single, searing thrust that filled her completely, stretching her to the point of pain.
Vanja screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the tiled walls. He was as big as Manuel, but where Manuel’s possession was a slow, deliberate burn, Joshua’s was a wildfire. He set a frantic, punishing pace immediately, each slam of his hips driving her back into the metal lockers. The sound of their bodies colliding was a brutal, rhythmic percussion in the dark.
“Whose is it?” he grunted, his face buried in her neck, his teeth scraping her skin. “Tell me whose cunt this is.”
She couldn’t form words. Her world had narrowed to the sensation of being split open, the raw friction, the cold metal at her back, and the heat of his body hammering into hers.
He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. “Answer me!”
“Yours!” she sobbed, the lie and the truth tangled together in the heat of the moment. “It’s yours!”
He groaned, his rhythm becoming even more frantic, losing all finesse. He was fucking her with a pure, unadulterated rage, each thrust a punishment for her, for Neuer, for the entire fucked-up situation. His hand slid between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing with a rough, desperate pressure.
The orgasm took her by surprise, a violent, convulsing wave that ripped through her, wringing a broken cry from her throat. Her inner muscles clenched around him, milking his length.
Feeling her climax pushed him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust that pressed the air from her lungs, he came, a hot, pulsing flood inside her. A ragged, choked sound escaped him, more pain than pleasure, as he emptied himself.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, his body heavy against hers, his breath hot and damp on her shoulder. Slowly, he pulled out. The sound was wet, final. He stepped back, adjusting his clothes with quick, efficient movements, not looking at her.
Vanja slid down the locker, her legs unable to hold her. She landed on the cold, tiled floor, the rough grout biting into her bare skin. She pulled her trousers up with trembling hands, the fabric chafing against her tender flesh.
Joshua stood over her, his silhouette dark against the exit sign. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing still uneven. “Tell Neuer,” he said, his voice cold and clear once more, stripped of its earlier fury. “Tell him he doesn’t get to make the rules for everyone.”
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing until the heavy door swung shut, leaving her alone in the dark, the scent of their sex and his rage hanging thick in the air.
Vanja remained on the cold tile, the dampness seeping through her trousers, her body humming with the brutal echo of Joshua’s possession. She dragged herself up, every muscle protesting, and straightened her clothes with unsteady hands. The metallic taste of blood from where her lip had split against the locker mingled with the lingering salt of sweat and sex.
She shoved her things into her bag and stumbled out into the corridor, the sterile fluorescent lights a harsh contrast to the locker room’s darkness. The distant sound of a car engine faded, leaving only the hum of the ventilation system and the frantic beat of her own heart. She needed a shower, a drink, anything to scrub the feeling of his hands from her skin.
A shadow moved at the end of the hall, tall and unmistakable. Manuel leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had been waiting. “Get in the car,” he said, his voice low and devoid of its usual captain’s authority, something darker simmering beneath.
She didn’t argue. The drive to his apartment was silent, the tension a physical weight in the luxurious interior of his car. He didn’t look at her, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, the city lights streaking past the windows like lost opportunities.
His penthouse was as she remembered—minimalist, cold, everything in its place. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Munich’s skyline, a glittering panorama that felt like a mockery. He didn’t bother with lights, leading her directly to the bedroom where the large bed was made with stark, black silk sheets.
He turned on her, his eyes glinting in the ambient city glow. “Tell me what he did,” Manuel demanded, his voice a low growl as he began to undress her, his movements efficient and rough. He pushed her jacket off her shoulders, then yanked her shirt over her head, the buttons scattering on the polished concrete floor.
“He kissed me,” she whispered, her skin prickling under his intense gaze.
“How?” His hands went to the waistband of her trousers, pulling them and her underwear down in one swift motion, leaving her naked and exposed before him. He spun her around to face the bed, his palm landing hard on her ass cheek with a sharp crack that echoed in the sparse room. “Details. Now.”
She gasped, the sting a bright, shocking pain. “It wasn’t a kiss. It was… he forced his tongue into my mouth.” Manuel’s hands gripped her hips, positioning her on all fours on the cool silk, her ass raised towards him. She heard the rustle of his clothes as he freed himself.
He entered her from behind in one brutal, unyielding thrust, his cock stretching her filled, wet channel, making her cry out. “And?” he snarled, his hips already setting a punishing rhythm, the silk slick beneath her knees. “What did his tongue taste like?”
“Mint,” she choked out, the words torn from her with each deep plunge. “And anger. It tasted like fucking rage.” His hand came down on her other cheek, another sharp smack that left her skin burning. He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back, his mouth near her ear.
“Did you like it?” he whispered, his voice venomous as he drove into her harder, his balls slapping against her with wet, rhythmic impacts. “Did you get wet for him in that filthy locker room?”
“Yes,” she admitted, the confession a relief and a shame. “I got wet. I came.” His response was a guttural sound, part fury, part triumph. He fucked her faster, his grip on her hips bruising, the bedframe creaking with the force of his thrusts.
“You are mine,” he snarled, punctuating each word with a deep, possessive drive of his hips. “This cunt is mine.” He bit down on the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder, a sharp, claiming pain that made her jolt. She could feel the skin break under his teeth.
“Tell me again,” he demanded, his breath hot against the fresh bite mark. “Tell me what his mouth felt like.”
“It was hard,” she moaned, her own arousal coiling tight again despite the violence of his possession. “Cruel. He tasted me on his fingers.” Manuel growled, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. He spanked her again, the same spot, the pain a bright counterpoint to the pleasure building deep inside her.
“And you came for that?” he rasped, his thrusts becoming shallower, faster, aimed perfectly at that spot inside her that made her vision blur. “You came for his anger?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her body tightening, teetering on the edge. “God, yes.” He bit her again, lower on her back, a deep, lasting mark that would surely purple by morning. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as he slammed into her one final time, his own release a hot, pulsing flood inside her that triggered her second, shattering climax.
They collapsed together onto the silk, damp and spent, the only sound their ragged breathing. He rolled away, leaving her lying in the wet spot, the evidence of their conflict cooling on her skin. The city lights outside seemed to judge her, each twinkling point a reminder of the lines she had crossed.
The city lights outside seemed to judge her, each twinkling point a reminder of the lines she had crossed. Manuel’s breathing had evened out beside her, but the silence between them was thick and unspoken. She felt his weight shift on the silk, the mattress dipping as he moved over her.
He didn’t speak. His mouth found the sweat-slicked skin of her inner thigh, his tongue a slow, rough wetness that made her jump. He licked a deliberate path upwards, ignoring the core of her, tracing the delicate skin near her hip bone, his stubble scraping lightly.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice gravelly from exertion. She forced her eyes open, meeting his intense blue gaze as he positioned himself between her legs. He held her stare as he lowered his head, his tongue finally making contact with her swollen, sensitive flesh.
He licked her with a slow, thorough deliberation that was entirely his own, a stark contrast to the frantic claiming of before. His tongue circled her clit, flat and pressing, then pointed and precise, tasting her, tasting the lingering evidence of Joshua’s possession. He was cataloging it, devouring it. His eyes never left hers, watching every flicker of reaction on her face.
“You’re still so wet,” he murmured against her, his breath hot. “Still messy from him and me.” He pushed two fingers back inside her, curling them, and she arched off the bed with a sharp cry. He fucked her with his fingers while his tongue worked her clit, a relentless, synchronized assault designed to overwhelm.
She came unexpectedly, a wave that crested and broke without her permission, her body bowing taut as a wire. He watched her disintegrate, a predator observing his prey’s final surrender.
Then he was on her, his weight familiar and solid. He guided his cock to her entrance, the head pressing insistently against her slippery folds. He pushed in slowly, a thick, stretching fullness that made her gasp. He filled her completely, burying himself to the hilt, and paused, his face inches from hers.
“Now,” he breathed, his hips beginning a deep, rhythmic glide. “Now you’re mine again.” He set a steady, possessive pace, each thrust a deliberate reclaiming of territory. He held her gaze, his eyes dark with a complex mix of anger, lust, and something terrifyingly close to affection. The intensity was unbearable, more intimate than any kiss.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, surrendering to the raw transaction of it. Her nails dug into the hard muscles of his back as he drove into her, the sound of their joining a wet, rhythmic slap in the quiet room. He was erasing Joshua, marking her with his own scent, his own rhythm.
His control began to fracture, his thrusts becoming faster, harder. A low groan rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, Vanja,” he gritted out, his rhythm becoming frantic. She held his gaze, saw the pupils swallow the blue of his eyes, saw the precise moment his orgasm ripped through him.
He came with a guttural cry, his body shuddering, pumping his release deep inside her as he stared into her very soul. He collapsed onto her, his weight a crushing, comforting anchor in the sea of their chaos.
Later, at the dimly lit club tucked away from the public eye, the thrum of bass felt alien against Vanja’s raw nerves. She sipped a whiskey, the ice clinking a fragile sound against the backdrop of boisterous laughter from the players. Joshua stood with a group of defenders, his back to her, his posture rigid. He hadn’t glanced her way once.
Then Olise approached, a fresh, easy smile on his handsome face. “Coach,” he said, leaning against the bar beside her. “Tough session today. You’re working us into the ground.” His gaze was appreciative, sweeping over the simple black dress she’d changed into.
Before she could reply, Manuel materialized behind her, his presence a heat at her back. His chin rested on her shoulder, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “It’s unfair,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. “Olise is doing his best.”
Vanja watched the younger footballer laugh at something, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was beautiful, all effortless grace and youthful energy.
“Also,” Manuel’s whisper dropped even lower, a filthy secret shared in the dark. “I saw his dick. In the showers. You don’t want to miss on that.”
A jolt of pure, white-hot anger shot through her. She stiffened, her knuckles white around her glass. She tipped her head back, her lips close to his ear. “Are you pimping me to your teammates?” she hissed, the words venomous.
His response was immediate and in their native tongue, a low, guttural German. “Nein, Liebling.” No, darling. “But you like it.” His hand settled possessively on her hip, his fingers splaying wide. “And I like fucking you after. Reclaiming you.”
A helpless, traitorous moan escaped her lips, swallowed by the club’s noise. His words, his confession, were a key turning in a lock deep inside her, revealing a dark chamber she hadn’t known existed. She felt his smile against her neck as Olise turned, his bright, uncomplicated eyes finding hers again across the room.
She felt his smile against her neck as Olise turned, his bright, uncomplicated eyes finding hers again across the room. The whiskey in her glass suddenly tasted like betrayal, sharp and smoky on her tongue. Manuel’s hand tightened on her hip, a silent command.
“Go talk to him,” Manuel murmured, his voice a low vibration against her skin. “He’s been staring all night.” He released her, stepping back into the shadows of the booth, his presence receding but his gaze a palpable weight.
Olise weaved through the crowd, his movements fluid and confident, a young athlete in his element. He stopped before her, his smile easy, unaware of the current pulling beneath the surface. “You look like you could use a real drink,” he said, nodding at her half-empty glass. “Something that doesn’t taste like regret.”
“Regret is an acquired taste,” Vanja replied, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. She could feel Manuel’s eyes drilling into her back, a spectator to this charade.
Olise laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “Then let’s acquire something better.” He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—clean and citrusy—a stark contrast to the club’s stale air. “There’s a quieter spot upstairs. Better view.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. She glanced over her shoulder, but Manuel had vanished into the darkness, leaving only the ghost of his touch. “Lead the way,” she heard herself say, the words feeling like someone else’s.
The stairs to the VIP loft were narrow and dimly lit, muffling the bass from below. Olise’s hand found the small of her back, guiding her up. The loft was empty, a plush, secluded area with a low couch and a one-way window overlooking the dance floor. He didn’t hesitate, turning her to face him as the door clicked shut.
“I’ve wanted to do this since you walked in,” he said, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge. His kiss was nothing like Joshua’s violent assault or Manuel’s calculated possession. It was hungry, yes, but open, almost reverent. His hands slid down her back, cupping her ass through the thin fabric of her dress.
She kissed him back, a part of her mind screaming, another part leaning into the simple, raw desire he offered. His tongue explored her mouth with a lazy confidence that made her knees weak. He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her cheek. “You’re even more stunning up close,” he whispered, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of her dress.
The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in only her heels and lace underwear. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. Olise’s eyes darkened, his gaze raking over her curves with undisguised lust. “Fuck,” he breathed, his hands roaming her body, palming her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through the lace.
He backed her toward the couch, his mouth finding hers again in a series of deep, wet kisses. She could taste the gin on his tongue, feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her stomach. He pushed her down onto the plush cushions, his body following, covering hers. His hands were everywhere, pulling at her underwear, yanking them down her legs.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled, his politeness evaporating. He fumbled with his belt, his movements hurried. He freed his cock, thick and veined, the head already slick with pre-cum. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly. “Tell me you want this.”
“Yes,” Vanja gasped, her body arching toward him, all thought of Manuel, of Joshua, dissolving in the heat of the moment. She was wet, so wet, her own arousal a slick mess between her legs.
He didn’t wait. He guided himself to her entrance, the broad head pressing against her swollen folds. He pushed in, not with Joshua’s brutal force, but with a steady, insistent pressure that stretched her, filled her completely. A low moan escaped her as he sank deeper, his length burying itself inside her.
“God, you’re tight,” he groaned, his hips beginning to move, setting a deep, rhythmic pace. He fucked her with a youthful earnestness, each thrust hitting a spot that made her see stars. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, the sound of their skin slapping together loud in the quiet room.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts with her own. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moons in his skin. “Harder,” she begged, the word torn from her throat.
He obeyed, his pace quickening, becoming more frantic. His breath came in ragged pants against her neck. “You feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his cock pistoning in and out of her slick cunt. “I’m gonna make you come all over my dick.”
She was close, the coil of pleasure tightening low in her belly. She could feel the sweat-slicked slide of his body against hers, the raw, primal rhythm of their coupling. Her climax built, a wave gathering force, ready to break.
From the shadows near the door, Manuel watched. He stood perfectly still, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His eyes were fixed on the point where their bodies joined, on the way Olise’s cock disappeared into her, on the way her back arched off the couch. He watched her face, the pleasure contorting her features, the way her mouth fell open in a silent scream. He watched it all, his own arousal a tight, painful knot in his gut, a silent witness to her surrender.