After the Match- Part 1
The air was thick with sweat, heat, and leftover cheers from the match. Bottles clinked on the table, half-drunk, and the sound of laughter drifted from the kitchen. I was still flushed from the adrenaline, perched on the couch, the hem of my dress riding high up my thighs. The energy of the night buzzed beneath my skin, but it wasn’t just from the game—it was from the way they’d all been looking at me.
He was next to me, his hand lazily stroking my leg like it belonged there—and it did. His fingers slipped higher, teasing the inside of my thigh, just under the fabric.
“You’ve been driving me mad all night,” he whispered in Urdu, voice low and thick. “The way you were cheering… they couldn’t take their eyes off you.”
I smiled, biting back a little gasp as his fingers pressed just a bit deeper. I didn’t have to look up to know they were watching now too. His two Irish mates—rough around the edges, grinning like they were always seconds away from trouble—had been eyeing me all night. And I let them. I wanted them to.
“You don’t mind?” I asked, letting my hand rest on his thigh, dangerously close.
He chuckled. “Didn’t say that.”
One of them leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “You two gonna keep whispering, or are we allowed to join in?”
My heart slammed against my chest. I looked at him, waiting to see what he'd say—but he didn’t push them away. He just smirked, his hand tightening around me like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“I told you she’s trouble,” he said to them, his voice proud, maybe even daring. “But you didn’t believe me.”
One of them stood up—tall, broad, still flushed from the game—and walked over to me. His eyes were locked on mine, slow and hungry. He reached out, brushing a finger along my cheek.
“You alright with this?” he asked.
I didn’t hesitate. I nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”
Everything after that happened fast. Hands on me. Heat. The sound of my dress sliding down my shoulders. One of them was kissing my neck while the other lifted me onto the couch like I weighed nothing. He stayed behind me, grounding me with his grip, his mouth at my ear, whispering filth that only made me wetter.
They touched me like they’d been thinking about it all night. Tasting, teasing, trading me between them like I was something to be worshipped—and ruined. And I didn’t hold back. I gave into it completely, letting them have me, feeling the stretch of their hands and mouths and bodies all at once.
The best part? I never felt out of control. He was there the whole time—watching, guiding, owning it. Owning me.
He was next to me, his hand lazily stroking my leg like it belonged there—and it did. His fingers slipped higher, teasing the inside of my thigh, just under the fabric.
“You’ve been driving me mad all night,” he whispered in Urdu, voice low and thick. “The way you were cheering… they couldn’t take their eyes off you.”
I smiled, biting back a little gasp as his fingers pressed just a bit deeper. I didn’t have to look up to know they were watching now too. His two Irish mates—rough around the edges, grinning like they were always seconds away from trouble—had been eyeing me all night. And I let them. I wanted them to.
“You don’t mind?” I asked, letting my hand rest on his thigh, dangerously close.
He chuckled. “Didn’t say that.”
One of them leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “You two gonna keep whispering, or are we allowed to join in?”
My heart slammed against my chest. I looked at him, waiting to see what he'd say—but he didn’t push them away. He just smirked, his hand tightening around me like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“I told you she’s trouble,” he said to them, his voice proud, maybe even daring. “But you didn’t believe me.”
One of them stood up—tall, broad, still flushed from the game—and walked over to me. His eyes were locked on mine, slow and hungry. He reached out, brushing a finger along my cheek.
“You alright with this?” he asked.
I didn’t hesitate. I nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”
Everything after that happened fast. Hands on me. Heat. The sound of my dress sliding down my shoulders. One of them was kissing my neck while the other lifted me onto the couch like I weighed nothing. He stayed behind me, grounding me with his grip, his mouth at my ear, whispering filth that only made me wetter.
They touched me like they’d been thinking about it all night. Tasting, teasing, trading me between them like I was something to be worshipped—and ruined. And I didn’t hold back. I gave into it completely, letting them have me, feeling the stretch of their hands and mouths and bodies all at once.
The best part? I never felt out of control. He was there the whole time—watching, guiding, owning it. Owning me.
2 月 前
