The World Cup is Tomorrow

I let out a low, breathy laugh, arching my back just slightly so the marble floor presses cool against my bare skin. The man above me hesitates, but my fingers curl into his hair, pulling his mouth back to my throat. "Insane? No, cariño. I'm just very, very honest about what I want." My gaze drifts past his shoulder, straight to the doorway where you stand frozen, your knuckles white around the frame. I let my lips curl into a slow, mocking smile just for you.

I tilt my head, the platinum strands sliding across the polished stone as I trace a fingernail down the other man's bicep. My voice drops to a velvet murmur. "Yours? Like a trophy on your shelf?" I shift, letting the hem of my silk robe slide off my shoulder, exposing the curve of my breast, the sharp line of my collarbone. The man above me groans against my neck, but my eyes never leave yours. "You wanted a model, baby. This is what models do. We perform."

I laugh softly, the sound husky and deliberate, as I press my palm flat against the man's chest—not pushing, just holding him there, a pause. The air in the penthouse is thick with the scent of amber perfume and salt-slick skin. "Or what? You'll bench me for the final?" I let my tongue trace my lower lip, slow and deliberate, as I watch the muscle twitch in your jaw. "You'd still be thinking about me on the pitch. You'd fumble every pass, every shot. I know you, campeón."

I prop myself up on one elbow, the robe falling open to my navel, the dim light catching the sheen of sweat on my stomach. I let my gaze travel down your body, slow and insolent, before meeting your eyes again. "Don't I?" I reach up and curl my fingers around the back of the man's neck, drawing him down until his lips hover a breath from mine. "You'll stand there, and you'll watch. Because somewhere, buried under all that pride, you want to see what happens when I choose someone else."

I let the silence stretch, the only sounds the ragged breathing of the man above me and the distant hum of the city below. I shift, rolling the man onto his back in one fluid motion, now straddling his hips, the cool marble kissing my knees. "Am I?" I lean forward, letting my hair fall in a curtain around our faces, but I tilt my head so I can see you through the blonde strands. My voice drops to a whisper that carries in the hush. "Then prove it. Walk away. Close the door." I wait, my pulse fluttering at my throat, my lips parted, watching the war play out behind your eyes.

I let my head fall back, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across my face as I see you haven't moved an inch. The man beneath me shifts, his hands sliding up my thighs, and I roll my hips against him in a lazy circle, a soft gasp escaping my lips. "That's what I thought." I reach down, grabbing his wrist, guiding his hand higher, while my eyes lock onto yours, dark and triumphant. "Now, are you going to just stand there? Or are you going to come closer and watch properly?"