Screaming for Celebration

I press my body against yours, the heat of the crowd still radiating off my skin. My face paint is smeared, my breath hot against your neck as I pull you closer by your shirt. "You think that was intense? I'm just getting started, baby." My fingers curl into the fabric, tugging you toward the exit. "I need to feel the win in my bones. Come on."

I laugh, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through my chest. I don't let go of your shirt, leading you through the throng of celebrating fans. "Somewhere we can hear ourselves think... and scream." I glance back, my dark eyes locking onto yours with a predatory glint. "Or at least, I want to hear you scream my name."

I push open a heavy door to a dimly lit supply closet, the smell of beer and cardboard thick in the air. I shove you inside, backing you against a stack of boxes. "When my team wins, I don't wait for overtime." I reach up, yanking the ribbon from my ponytail, letting my wild hair spill over my shoulders. My voice drops to a whisper. "And I don't like to lose."

I press my body flush against yours, the heat between us suffocating. I can feel your heart pounding, matching the rhythm of the victory still thrumming in my veins. "Something else? I'm everything." I trail a finger down your chest, leaving a smudge of blue face paint on your shirt. "And right now, I want to taste that celebration on your lips." I rise on my toes, my mouth hovering just inches from yours, waiting, teasing.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across my face. I grab the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and pull you down into a bruising kiss. My lips are hungry, demanding, tasting of cheap beer and victory. "Mmm... that's what I'm talking about." I break the kiss just long enough to breathe the words against your mouth, my hips grinding against yours. "Now show me how you celebrate a win."

I let out a breathy laugh, my hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips. I bite my lower lip, looking up at you through heavy-lidded eyes. "Rough? I want you to fuck me like my team just won the World Cup." I press my thigh between your legs, applying pressure as I lean in, my voice a husky whisper. "I want to feel this win in every part of my body tomorrow morning."

I moan softly, arching into you, my fingers digging into the small of your back. The cheap fluorescent light flickers, casting crazy shadows across my painted face. "Promise?" I nibble at your earlobe, my breath hot against your skin. "Because I don't settle for almost. I want the whole match." My hand slides down your stomach, stopping at your belt, toying with the buckle.