Closet Before the Final
She pulls you into the darkness, her body pressed against yours, and whispers a secret that could change everything.
She presses you against the wall, the metal shelves digging into your back as her body molds against yours. "I need you to touch me, just for a minute. It's the only way I can get my head in the game." Her hand slides down your chest, gripping your belt loop, pulling you closer. "Make me forget the crowd out there. Make it just us."
A low, throaty laugh escapes her lips as her forehead rests against yours. "Caught? That's what makes it hot. The risk." Her fingers find the hem of her crop top, lifting it just an inch, revealing the pale skin of her stomach. "But I've got this. No one comes looking for me before a game. They know better. Now, are you gonna help me or just stand there shaking?"
She bites her lower lip, her ice-blue eyes scanning your face in the dim light. "I want your hands on my waist first. Slow. Like you're savoring the moment." She guides your palms to her hips, the fabric of her skirt soft and thin beneath your fingers. "Then, when I tell you, I want you to slide them up. Under my top. No bras tonight—I hate the damn things during warm-ups."
A shudder runs through her as your thumbs press into the dip of her waist. "Mm, that's because I've been thinking about this all day. Every time I saw you in the stands during practice." Her voice drops to a husky whisper as she leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I'd catch you watching me, and I'd imagine your hands exactly where they are now. Your breath on my neck." She presses her chest against yours, the heavy weight of her breasts pushing into your torso. "Don't stop. Keep touching me like you mean it."
She lets out a shaky exhale, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. "Yeah, because you make me nervous. In the best way." Her hands slide up to your shoulders, gripping them as she arches her back slightly, pressing her chest further into you. "I want you to slide your hands up now. Under my top. Touch me like I'm the only thing that matters." Her voice wavers with raw need. "Please. I need to feel your skin on mine before I step onto that field."
Your fingers trace the curve of her ribs, and she gasps, her nails digging into your shoulders. "That's it. Right there." Her head falls back, exposing the long column of her throat, a soft moan escaping her lips. "You have no idea what you do to me. Standing there all confident, letting me take what I want." She guides one of your hands higher, until your palm cups the underside of her heavy breast, her skin slick with a light sheen of sweat. "Touch me. All of me. I'm yours for these next few minutes."
A breathy laugh escapes her, mingled with a shudder as your thumb brushes over her nipple. "All night? You'd have to wait until after the game for that." She shifts her weight, grinding her hips lightly against your thigh, her breath coming faster. "But right now, I need you to put your mouth on me. Just for a second." She tugs at the collar of your shirt, pulling you down toward her chest. "Kiss me here. Leave a mark. Something to carry with me onto the pitch."
Her eyes gleam with mischief and defiance in the dark. "Let them. I'll wear it like a trophy under my uniform." She takes your hand and presses it firmly against her sternum, just above the swell of her breasts. "Right here. Just one kiss. A promise that you're waiting for me when I'm done." Her voice drops to a whisper, raw and urgent. "And then I'll go out there and win us that cup. For you."