All Is Fair: A Trent Alexander-Arnold x Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.
“This is insane,” Rosa whispered softly, as if she was trying not to disturb the early morning stillness.
She stood at the edge of the sprawling terrace, one hand resting against the stone balustrade as she stared out across the valley below. The view so breathtaking, it almost felt unreal.
Towering mountains rose from the horizon in deep shades of green and blue, their peaks disappearing into the fading remnants of dawn. Dense forests wrapped around the estate, hiding the villa from the outside world and creating the illusion that they were completely alone. Just the gentle rustle of leaves that carried on the breeze and the distant chirping of a morning chorus.
The villa itself was gorgeous. Built in the nineteenth century and beautifully restored, it blended old Mediterranean charm with the sort of modern luxury that few men were capable of accessing.
It felt less like a vacation home and more like a private resort.
Rosa pushed her Chanel glasses higher onto the bridge of her nose as she continued taking everything in. The knit cardigan she’d thrown on for the journey clung to her, as the cool morning air brushed against her skin. Her dark hair cascading down her back in loose waves, still carrying the softness of sleep from their early morning.
Beside her, Trent watched the view for a matter of seconds before his attention drifted elsewhere. His eyes taking in the swell of her ass in the leggings she wore, before travelling up to her face, which seemed even softer in the early morning light.
“You’ve spent God knows how much bringing me somewhere with one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen,” she said lightly. “The least you could do is pretend to appreciate it.”
“I did,” Trent mumbled, a quiet laugh escaped him.
“It was a good ten seconds,” he smirked teasingly making Rosa roll her eyes as he came to stand behind her, his chest pressing warmth against her back, as his chin found her shoulder, and the tip of his nose ghosted against her jaw.
The scent of him, something expensive and woody, clung to his clothes, combining with the scent of the flowers that climbed the terrace wall. Rosa felt her breath catch, just slightly, before she let it out slow and deliberately.
“I like you like this,” Trent whispered softly into her ear, his hands gripping her hips as he gently turned her to face him, his eyes locking onto hers.
“Like what?” Rosa whispered.
“At ease,” Trent drawled into her ear.
“It's after 5am,” Rosa sighed, her body melting as she relaxed against him. “At ease is the only thing I can be, aside from sleepy.”
“Are you sure about that?” Trent murmured, as his fingers began to work open the buttons on her cardigan, to reveal the soft pink lace bra beneath.
“What did you have in mind?” she smirked.
Trent's hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her with an ease that made Rosa gasp, her fingers finding his shoulders for balance, as he stepped back, settling her on the edge of the stone ledge, giving her back to the sprawling gardens below.
He stood between her knees, his palms flattening against the cool stone on either side of her hips, caging her in a warmth that made her arch towards him.
Rosa's breath hitched as he leaned in, his mouth finding hers with a patience that felt deliberate, almost studied, like he was memorizing the shape of her, the give of her lower lip, the small sound she made when he nipped gently and licked to soothe it after.
"Up," he murmured against her mouth, the word vibrating through her.
Her legs wrapped around his waist without her quite deciding to, the lace of her bra pressing against his t-shirt as he carried her through the French doors.
The villa's interior was just as beautifully modern as the exterior, but neither cared to notice the recessed lighting or the abstract art on the walls.
Trent found the stairs by memory, his mouth never leaving hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips as she clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt. Each step jostled them closer, her hips rocking against his stomach, and he groaned into her mouth, the sound raw and unguarded.
At the landing, he decided he couldn't wait a moment longer before undressing Rosa, a trail of her clothing following behind as Trent stripped her bare, until she stood before him clad in nothing but her thong.
“You're so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice scraping low in his throat, almost a growl. The desperation in his voice was almost unrecognisable as his hands found her hip, pulling her body flush against his.
“So are you,” Rosa murmured, her dainty hands reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, slowly raising it to reveal the muscular plane of his abdomen, the sparse trail of hair darkening below his navel.
She paused there, fingers trembling against his warmth, and Trent stilled beneath her touch, his breath coming slow and controlled.
“Keep going,” he whispered, his restraint hanging by a thread as he anticipated her next move.
Trent raised his arms above his head so she could strip the fabric free, and Rosa drew the cotton upward slowly, revealing his broad chest. She let the shirt fall somewhere behind him, her palms settling against his bare shoulders, as her thumbs began easing the tension there.
Trent's hands found her waist, thumbs pressing into the soft hollow above her hips, and he walked her backwards through the bedroom's dim amber light. The bathroom door stood ajar, a rectangle of white tile and chrome gleaming beyond. He steered her toward it with gentle insistence, his mouth never leaving the curve of her neck, his teeth grazing the skin there hungrily.
The bathroom was larger than she'd expected, all marble and reflected fluorescence, the mirror spanning the wall above a double basin.
Trent reached behind her and flicked the switch to dim the overheads, leaving only the sconces on, their warmth making everything seem softer. He turned her to face their reflection, his chest pressed to her back, his chin resting on her shoulder as they both looked at the strangers that stared back at them.
Rosa saw herself flushed, completely bare, nipples
pebbled as Trent's fingers traced the lace edge of her thong, his reflection watching hers with an intensity that made her breathing deepen.
“Do you want me?” he drawled.
“Yes,” she whispered, as she watched his fingers slip inside of her, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on hers in the glass. Rosa's knees buckled slightly, her weight settling against his hips as he held her steady with his free hand splayed across her stomach.
“Take my cock out and show me,” Trent commanded, his voice muffled and breath warm as he nipped at her ear.
Rosa’s hands fumbled as she reached behind, her hands slipping into the waistband of his sweats as she pulled him free, his cock hot and heavy in her palm.
“Don’t be careful with me,” she let out, her words laced with desire and submission in the early morning.
Trent's reflection held hers captive, his pupils blown wide and black as he watched her grip tighten around him. The marble countertop pressed cold against her hip as he shifted her weight, his fingers still moving inside her with a rhythm that made her thighs clench involuntarily. Rosa's breath fogged the mirror in small, disappearing clouds.
"Like this," she managed, her voice thin. She stroked him once, then twice, her thumb sliding over the slick bead gathering at his tip, then guided his cock between her legs, the lace of her thong the only barrier between them.
The friction made her gasp, her head falling back against his shoulder, her eyes finally breaking from their reflection.
Trent growled, a sound that vibrated through his chest into her spine. He withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, and she whimpered at the emptiness. His fingers glistening as he raised them to her lips.
Rosa’s lips parted without instruction, and she moaned as she tasted herself on his fingers, her body arching against him as she sought out the friction of his arousal.
Trent's free hand gripped her jaw, gentle yet firm, turning her face back toward the mirror. His fingers still rested against her lips, and she could smell herself mingled with the faint trace of him. The sconce light caught the edge of his cheekbone, the hollow beneath it, the way his mouth parted.
"Watch," he said, a command not a request.
Rosa's eyes found his in the mirror again. She felt exposed in a way that nudity alone couldn't achieve. This was something else, the witnessing of her own wanting, her own undoing.
She stroked him harder, her wrist aching slightly, and felt the lace of her thong grow damp where his cock pressed against it, the friction deliberate now, each small shift of her hips dragging the fabric against her clit in a way that made her breath catch in her throat.
Trent's hand slid from her jaw to her throat, not squeezing, just holding, his thumb tracing the pulse hammering beneath her skin. His hips bucked once, involuntarily, pressing him more firmly into her palm, and she felt the twitch of him, the gathering tension. The mirror had begun to steam at the edges, their fogged breath creeping inward, narrowing the frame of their reflection like a developing photograph.
"You're going to let me fuck you in this bathroom," he said, his voice dropping to something almost conversational, as if remarking on the weather, though his breath came ragged against her ear. "And you're going to watch yourself take it, my perfect girl."
Rosa nodded, the movement small against his grip, her throat working beneath his thumb. She felt the word rise in her chest before it reached her lips, thick and unfamiliar: "Please."
Trent's laugh was soft, almost surprised, and he released her throat to hook his fingers into the waistband of her thong, tugging downward. The lace caught briefly at her hip, then gave, sliding down her thighs to pool at her feet.
She stepped out of it, one foot then the other, her hand still on him, her balance unsteady on the cold tile. The mirror showed her fully now, the dark shadow between her legs, the flush spreading down her chest to her breasts, the way her nipples had tightened to points that ached with each breath.
He turned her with a hand on her waist, and she felt the marble countertop against her back, shockingly cold against her heated skin.
Trent lifted her easily, his hands spreading beneath her thighs, and set her on the edge, the basin's porcelain rim pressing into her spine. She let go of him finally, her palms flat against the counter, her fingers finding the groove where the marble met the wall, in search of something to hold onto.
The mirror showed them from the side now, a different angle, his profile as he stepped between her knees, his cock thick and girthy as it jutted toward her, her own legs parted wider than she would have thought possible, her perfectly pedicured feet dangling above the floor.
Rosa watched his hand guide himself, the bulbous tip of him catching the light, and then the pressure, the stretch, the slow push that made her head fall back despite his earlier command, her eyes closing as her body yielded to him.
"Open them," Trent said, his voice strained, the control fraying at its edges.
She forced her eyes open, her head heavy, and found their reflection again. He was half inside her, his jaw tight, his abdomen trembling with the effort of restraint. The mirror showed her face too, mouth open, eyes glassy, someone she barely recognised but wanted to keep becoming.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back, and pulled him deeper, the stretch becoming something else, something that bordered on too much and then crossed over, her body adjusting around him with a wet sound that filled the small space, unmistakable.
“Right where I belong,” Trent's fingers dug into her thighs, his lightening a shade against her soft brown skin. He pulled back slightly, the friction making her gasp, her heels slipping against his lower back before finding purchase again.
"Look at me," he said, and it wasn't a command this time, something rawer underneath, a need that cracked his polished veneer.
Rosa dragged her gaze from the mirror to his face, his eyes dark and fixed on hers, the connection more intimate than the physical joining, more exposed. She felt seen in a way that made her want to hide and lean closer at once, her hands leaving the counter to grip his shoulders, her nails pressing half-moons into his skin.
“Am I your perfect little slut?” Rosa moaned, in an attempt to shift the heaviness of the moment into something else.
“You're mine,” Trent growled, his thrust burying him to the hilt, the force of it knocking a cry from her throat that echoed off the walls.
Rosa's breath hitched as Trent held himself deep, the pulse of him throbbing against her inner walls, his heartbeat and hers finding a rhythm through the places they connected.
A growl ripped from his throat as he began to move again, his forehead coming to rest against her as he fucked her slow and deep, the tip of his cock kissing against that cushioned spot inside her.
Rosa let out a whine as she tilted her hips against his next thrust, the angle shifting so his pelvis ground against her swollen clit with each inward stroke.
Trent lifted Rosa from the counter and carried her out of the en suite to the bed, his muscles bulging under her weight, the movement forcing him deeper with each step, as the tip of his cock kissed against her cervix.
Rosa gasped, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, as the room tilted around them until her back met the mattress, Trent following her down to the bed without breaking their connection, his weight settling over her.
“Open your mouth,” Trent rasped.
Rosa parted her lips before her mind fully caught up, the habit of obedience so natural it bypassed thought entirely. Trent's tongue slid into her mouth, thick and insistent, filling the space the way his cock filled her pussy. He didn't kiss her so much as occupy her, his tongue moving in the same rhythm as his hips, an obscene synchronisation that made her moan around the intrusion.
She sucked reflexively, her cheeks hollowing, and felt his groan vibrate through his chest into hers.
Trent's hands found her waist and flipped her with a roughness that made Rosa's breath catch, her cheek pressing into the cool sheets as he dragged a pillow beneath her hips, the elevation tilting her pelvis into obscene presentation for him.
She felt the air move across her damp skin, the room's chill kissing her exposed backside while Trent knelt behind her, his palms spreading her thighs wider, his thumbs tracing the crease where her ass met her legs.
"Stay just like this," he murmured, and the command in his voice sent a shiver up her spine that had nothing to do with temperature. He entered her in one stroke, the angle changed so completely that she cried out into the mattress, her fingers clawing at the bedding as he found some new depth, some place that made her see colours behind her eyelids.
The pillow cradled her hips and trapped all at once, making it impossible to do anything but take him, until they both lay spent and empty in the middle of the bed, the early morning Ibizan sun illuminating them as they lay tangled.
“Is it weird that I'm not sleepy?” Rosa asked softly, her lips pressing against Trent's collar bone as his hand slipped to the sweat slicked small of her back.
“No,” Trent murmured. “If you’d like we can head downstairs, maybe watch something until we fall asleep.”
“I’d like that,” Rosa nodded, her body pliant as Trent pulled her into his arms so he could settle her comfortably against his chest and stand from the bed with her in his embrace.
Dressing her in his t-shirt and her discarded thong, Trent slipped back into his underpants before heading downstairs.
By late afternoon, the quiet solitude of the villa had shifted to something a little busier, as Trent and Rosa headed to the marina to meet the rest of his teammates, who were also visiting Ibiza to celebrate Vinicius's engagement with his partner Anastasia.
Rosa’s body still hummed from her morning tryst with Trent, as he led her up a short flight of stairs into the restaurant that had been closed to the public for the afternoon to allow for private celebrations.
“You look incredible,” Trent murmured into her ear as his hand slipped instinctively to the bare small of her back while they climbed the final few steps toward the restaurant’s private terrace.
Rosa glanced sideways at him, fighting the smile threatening to appear. The compliment shouldn’t have affected her as much as it did. Not after everything that had happened between them that morning. The way he'd stripped her down and took her so thoroughly, until she trembled in his arms.
Yet somehow it still did.
“Thank you,” she replied softly, smoothing a hand down the side of her dress.
The black fabric draped elegantly over her frame, dramatic without feeling forced. The open back exposed smooth brown skin all the way to the small tattoo resting above her waist, while the plunging neckline balanced sophistication and temptation in a way Rosa had spent years perfecting.
Her dark hair had been swept into a loose updo, delicate tendrils framing her face, allowing the oversized diamond earrings she wore to catch the late afternoon sunlight.
She’d spent almost an hour convincing herself the dress wasn’t too much.
Now, judging by the way Trent’s eyes kept finding her, she suspected it might not have been enough.
The restaurant itself overlooked the marina, floor-to-ceiling windows framing endless rows of luxury yachts bobbing gently against crystal blue water. The terrace had been transformed for the occasion, white floral arrangements spilling from oversized stone urns while champagne flowed freely between guests who seemed determined to celebrate long before sunset arrived.
The moment they stepped onto the terrace, they were greeted by a wave of familiar faces.
Vinicius spotted them first.
“Finally,” he called dramatically, his Brazilian accent thick as he threw his arms into the air.
“Stop that,” Trent deadpanned, before a smile broke across his face, as he hugged Vini before turning to his fiancée to congratulate her on their engament.
Rosa offered both a polite smile and wave, leaning into Trent before her attention was pulled towards the entrance as Vini and his teammates already in attendance playfully celebrated another arrival.
Rosa’s stomach dropped as she turned to see it was Kylian who had arrived, Eliza clinging to him in a dress that was designed to steal attention, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in loose waves.
Despite the beautiful blonde on his arm, Kylian's eyes found Rosa's in a matter of seconds, and for a moment, neither of them looked away.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no visible shock, no obvious reaction that anyone else would have noticed. Just a brief pause. Long enough for recognition to settle between them. Long enough for Rosa’s stomach to tighten unexpectedly.
The last time she’d seen him, everything had felt complicated. Now, standing beneath the golden Ibizan sun with Trent’s hand resting possessively against the small of her back, she wasn’t entirely sure what she felt.
Kylian looked as he always did. Effortlessly composed, handsome, the calmness of a man who attracted attention without ever needing to seek it.
Beside him, Eliza was practically glowing beneath it.
The blonde laughed at something one of the players said before leaning into Kylian’s side, her manicured hand settling against his chest with an ease that suggested she belonged there.
Rosa hated that she noticed. She hated it even more that part of her compared herself automatically.
Fortunately, felt the warmth of Trent's breath against her ear before he thoughts could continue to spiral.
“Drink?” he offered, tilting his head towards the bar.
Fortunately, Rosa felt the warmth of Trent’s breath against her ear before her thoughts could continue to spiral.
“Drink?” he offered, tilting his head towards the bar.
The simple question breaking whatever spell had attempted to settled over her.
“Please,” Rosa looked up at him and smiled.
Trent squeezed her waist before guiding her through the crowd, his hand never leaving her lower back as they moved between clusters of guests. The gesture was casual enough that nobody would think twice about it, yet Rosa couldn’t ignore the quiet certainty behind it.
He touched her like a man who had already decided where she belonged.
The bar had been set up along the far side of the terrace beneath a canopy of white linen and climbing plants and flowers. Champagne bottles on ice gleamed beneath the afternoon sun while waiters moved effortlessly between guests carrying silver trays lined with champagne flutes.
Rosa accepted the champagne flute Trent handed her, her fingers brushing his briefly before she lifted the glass to her lips.
The crisp bubbles offered a welcome distraction, something to focus on besides the uncomfortable awareness that had settled in her chest the moment Kylian had arrived.
The afternoon continued around her in a blur of laughter and conversation.
Vinicius seemed incapable of standing still for more than thirty seconds at a time, moving effortlessly between groups of guests while Anastasia followed behind him with the patient expression of a woman already accustomed to cleaning up whatever chaos her fiancé created.
Every few minutes someone would stop them to offer congratulations, forcing the couple into another round of photographs and champagne toasts.
Rosa was halfway through listening to one of Trent’s teammateand good friend Jude describe a party filled trip in Mykonos when the atmosphere around the terrace shifted.
It wasn’t obvious at first. Nothing dramatic happened. No announcement or raised voices. Just the subtle change that occurred whenever someone unexpected arrived.
Conversations pausing, eyes drifting toward the entrance, players exchanged glances, as Trent stiffened beside her.
Rosa followed everyone’s attention toward the terrace doors. A familiar tall brunette woman stepped through them. Elegant. Expensive. Beautiful in the sort of effortless way that suggested she’d spent years perfecting the image.
It was as if the universe had every intention of testing Rosa’s composure.
The moment the brunette stepped onto the terrace, something subtle shifted beneath the surface of the celebration. Nobody reacted dramatically. Nobody stopped talking.
Yet Rosa noticed the way conversations redirected themselves toward Charlotte as she moved through the crowd, greeting old friends with practiced ease. She belonged here in a way Rosa never quite could.
Worse still, Charlotte didn’t appear remotely bothered by her presence.
She greeted Vinicius and Anastasia warmly. Laughed with Jude. Accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter. Smiled at several of the players’ girlfriends.
And completely ignored Rosa.
The deliberateness of it was impossible to miss. Not once did Charlotte acknowledge her. Not once did she make eye contact for longer than a second. Rosa might as well have been invisible.
That was when the humiliation began, because ignoring someone required intention. Ignoring someone meant they had been noticed and taken dissected them first. The realisation settled heavily in Rosa’s stomach.
For the next few hours she found herself drifting from conversation to conversation without hearing much of what anyone was saying.
Trent remained beside her for most of it, his hand frequently finding her waist or the small of her back, but even that wasn’t enough to silence the growing discomfort twisting inside her chest.
Every time Charlotte appeared across the terrace Rosa became painfully aware of herself. The life people whispered about, the life people judged.
By the time the sun began melting into the horizon beyond the marina, Rosa felt exhausted. She excused herself quietly and slipped away before anyone could stop her.
The restaurant bathroom was empty when she entered. Cool marble gleamed beneath soft lighting, and the silence was a welcome contrast to the noise outside. Rosa placed both hands on the countertop and stared at her reflection.
She knew looked beautiful, and it frustrated her.
Her makeup was flawless. Her hair remained perfectly arranged. The black dress fit her exactly as it had when she’d left the villa.
Yet suddenly none of it felt like enough.
The click of heels against marble made her stomach sink. Slowly, Rosa looked up as if she already knew it was the very last person she wanted to share such a confined space with.
Charlotte entered moments later, and neither woman spoke. She set her clutch beside the sink and adjusted a bracelet around her wrist as though she were entirely alone.
Silence stretched, and then stretched even further. Until finally Charlotte met Rosa’s gaze through the mirror.
“You know,” Charlotte started, her French accent thick as finally turned to look at Rosa. “I can hardly say I’m surprised.”
“By what? You don’t know me,” Rosa bit back.
“No, but I know women like you… the help,” Charlotte spat. “The fun girl whore.”
The words landed with enough force that for a moment Rosa genuinely forgot how to breathe. Not because she’d never heard worse.
She had been called things far crueler. Women had looked at her with far more obvious contempt.
That wasn’t what hurt, what hurt was hearing it here.
Hearing it from her, because Charlotte wasn’t just some stranger. Charlotte had been Trent’s girlfriend.
The woman who had occupied this world naturally. Effortlessly. The woman everyone already knew, and suddenly Rosa felt every inch of the distance between them.
Rosa couldn’t muster a rebuttal. She didn’t even attempt to. The words sat lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat, too heavy to swallow and too painful to force back out. For a moment she simply stared at Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror, taking in the certainty behind her expression.
That was the worst part. Charlotte genuinely believed what she was saying. She wasn’t trying to be cruel for the sake of cruelty. She thought she was stating a fact.
Rosa hated how much that hurt.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the bathroom.
The music seemed louder when she returned to the terrace. The laughter harsher. Every smile suddenly looked performative. Every conversation felt distant. She moved through the crowd quickly, clutch held tightly in one hand, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as she headed for the staircase leading down toward the marina.
She needed air, no, she needed distance. The distinction mattered, because air implied she would come back.
Distance implied something else entirely.
