Jay woke to the rare and frankly suspicious experience of being alone in Alexia's bed.
At first, she did not realise it. Her body surfaced slowly, still warm, still sleep heavy, one hand searching automatically across the mattress for the familiar shape of Alexia's waist, her shoulder, the curve of her hip, any part of her that Jay could anchor herself to before the day started getting ideas. Her palm met cooling sheets instead. For one blurry second she frowned into the pillow, offended in the way only half conscious people could be offended, as if Alexia had personally broken a law by becoming vertical before Jay had authorised it.
Then she heard movement from the bathroom.
Water running. A drawer sliding open. Alexia's quiet morning cough, followed by the muted scrape of a toothbrush against the sink.
Jay smiled before she opened her eyes.
She lay there for another minute, face buried in Alexia's pillow, breathing in the soft, clean smell of her and letting the apartment come into focus around her piece by piece. The curtains were only half drawn, allowing a warm strip of Barcelona morning to fall across the floor and the discarded hoodie Jay had dropped there the night before. Her phone was on Alexia's bedside table, plugged into the charger because Alexia had done it while Jay was too tired to remember that electricity existed. One of Alexia's shirts was on the chair. Jay's socks were, for reasons that would remain between them and God, in two different corners of the room.
It should have felt like any other morning after any other night spent together.
It did not.
There was something settled in her chest that had not been there before. Not calm exactly, because Jay did not trust calm as a personality state and also her brain had already started wondering whether she had left wet clothes in her washing machine at home. But settled, yes.
Looser.
The kind of ease that came after doing the thing she had been afraid of without realising the thing had already been done. She had come back. Alexia had wanted her. Jay had fed her, made her laugh, stayed through the night, and somehow the world had not collapsed under the weight of being needed.
The words were still there.
Of course they were.
I love you had not disappeared because Jay had slept. If anything, sleep had made them less dramatic, which was almost worse. They no longer felt like a crisis. They felt domestic. As if they belonged somewhere between coffee and toothpaste, between a stolen hoodie and Alexia's hand under her shirt in the dark.
Jay was beginning to suspect that the longer she waited for the perfect moment, the more the words would keep attaching themselves to completely ordinary things until eventually she would blurt them out while Alexia bought bin bags.
That would be humiliating.
Probably accurate, but humiliating.
The bathroom door opened.
Jay shut her eyes immediately and pretended to be asleep, purely because she wanted to see what Alexia would do and also because lying still with romantic motives counted as strategy.
Alexia's footsteps crossed the room softly. She did not come straight to the bed. Jay heard the wardrobe open, the faint shift of clothes, the pause that meant Alexia was checking her phone, then a quiet sigh that suggested emails had already started attacking her before breakfast. Jay remained heroically motionless, breathing slow, face half hidden in the pillow.
A few seconds later, Alexia came closer.
The mattress dipped.
Jay felt fingers brush her hair back from her face with such care that the fake sleep nearly became real emotion and ruined her entire performance.
"Dormilona," Alexia murmured.
Jay kept still.
Alexia's fingers traced once over her cheek. "You are very pretty when you are not talking."
Jay opened one eye. "That's bullying."
Alexia startled only slightly, then narrowed her eyes with immediate suspicion. She was sitting beside Jay in soft shorts and an old T shirt, hair damp around her temples, face bare and sleep soft in a way that made Jay's chest do something unreasonable. "You were awake."
"Barely. Legally I was in a dream state."
"You were spying."
"I was being adored quietly."
Alexia rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted. "You are impossible."
"You keep saying that like it's a surprise."
"It is not."
Jay rolled onto her back and stretched, the duvet slipping low around her waist. Alexia's eyes flicked down for half a second, then away with the kind of discipline Jay admired and considered a personal challenge. Jay smiled slowly.
Alexia pointed at her. "No."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face said something."
"My face is expressive. That's why cameras love me."
"Your face is trouble."
"You kissed it last night."
"I was tired."
"You kissed it this morning while you thought I was asleep."
Alexia paused.
Jay's grin widened.
Alexia stood quickly, pretending the conversation was beneath her. "Coffee."
Jay sat up, hair falling into her eyes. "Interesting escape route."
"Breakfast."
"More convincing."
"Training later."
"Threatening."
Alexia looked back from the doorway. "You are coming?"
"To training? Contractually."
"To the kitchen."
Jay blinked at her, then softened because the question was hidden inside the practical words. Alexia was not asking whether Jay wanted breakfast. Not really. She was asking whether Jay was staying in the morning, whether the late night arrival had become a morning presence, whether she could move through her apartment and expect Jay to follow.
Jay swung her legs out of bed. "Yeah, baby. I'm coming."
Alexia's face softened before she turned away.
Jay watched her go and felt the words stir again, warm and lazy beneath her ribs.
Not yet, she told herself, not because she was running, but because she had a plan.
The plan arrived very suddenly and with the kind of confidence Jay usually associated with ideas that later became Julia's problem. Alexia had been tired the night before. She had eaten a sandwich at midnight because Jay had practically staged a nutritional intervention. She deserved a nice morning. Proper coffee. Pastries. Something sweet and easy and thoughtful. Jay could slip out while Alexia answered whatever emails were already ruining her peace, go to the bakery two streets over, bring back the good croissants and maybe those little custard things Alexia pretended were too much but always ate half of. Then, with coffee made and breakfast laid out and Alexia looking at her all soft and pleased, Jay could say it.
Not a performance.
Not violins.
Just breakfast.
Breakfast felt manageable. Breakfast felt real.
Jay dressed quickly and badly, pulling on yesterday's hoodie over sleep warm skin and nearly putting both legs through the same side of her shorts before correcting herself with a muttered, "Professional athlete." In the kitchen, Alexia was leaning against the counter with her phone in one hand, reading something with a faint frown. The coffee machine had not yet been turned on. Excellent. Fate had left an opening.
"I'm going out," Jay announced.
Alexia looked up immediately. "Where?"
"Secret mission."
Alexia's frown deepened. "Before coffee?"
"Exactly why it must be secret. Your judgement is compromised."
"Jay."
"I'm not leaving leaving. I'm pastry leaving."
Alexia blinked. "Pastry leaving?"
"Yes. A temporary absence in pursuit of baked goods."
Alexia stared at her for a second, then her expression softened into reluctant amusement. "You do not have to."
"I know."
"You should not drive."
"I'm walking. Calm down, captain safety."
"You have shoes?"
Jay looked down.
Bare feet.
Alexia lifted an eyebrow.
Jay nodded gravely. "Important first checkpoint. Good catch."
Alexia laughed under her breath and turned back to her phone while Jay found shoes, then keys, then realised she had picked up Alexia's keys instead of her own, then accused the key bowl of being "conceptually overcrowded". Alexia did not intervene until Jay tried to leave without a wallet. Even then she only held it out silently, looking far too pleased with herself.
Jay took it, wounded. "I was testing your awareness."
"Of course."
"You passed."
"Go, guapa."
Jay stepped close enough to kiss her. Alexia turned her face up automatically, and the ease of it almost undid the whole plan before it had begun. One quick kiss became two. The second lingered. Jay's hand found Alexia's waist. Alexia's fingers curled lightly in the front of Jay's hoodie, and for a dangerous moment the bakery became theoretical.
Alexia pulled back first, though not far enough to be convincing. "Pastries."
Jay nodded, forehead brushing hers. "Right. Pastries. Public service."
"If you keep kissing me, you will not go."
"True."
"Go bebe."
"Bossy."
"Hungry."
Jay kissed the corner of her mouth once more and left before she could forget the mission entirely.
The morning outside was bright and mild, the street already awake but not yet frantic. Jay walked with her hands in her hoodie pockets, hair messy, sunglasses shoved on mostly because she had not brushed enough of herself into public order to be recognised with dignity. Barcelona smelled like warm stone, coffee, exhaust, and bakery sugar. A delivery man was stacking crates outside a small restaurant. An old woman with a tiny dog gave Jay a look of such frank assessment that Jay nearly apologised for whatever crimes her bed hair suggested. The dog sneezed at her.
"Fair," Jay muttered.
The bakery had a short queue, which gave Jay enough time to turn the pastry decision into a competitive event. Alexia liked plain croissants when she was pretending to be sensible. She liked the chocolate ones when she thought no one was watching. She liked anything with almond if Eli had bought it, because family calories apparently belonged to a different moral category. Jay bought all three, because restraint had no place in love or carbohydrates, then added two little custard pastries because the woman behind the counter said they were fresh and Jay was vulnerable to confidence in aprons.
By the time she walked back, bag warm in her hand, the plan had grown dangerously clear.
She would go in. Alexia would be at the counter. Jay would put down the pastries. Maybe make coffee, or at least participate in coffee adjacent behaviour under supervision. Alexia would smile, that quiet private smile she gave when she was moved but trying not to show it. Jay would tell her. Simple. No theatre. No dramatic build up. Just I love you, because the morning was good and because silence had become more effort than speech.
The confidence lasted until she reached the apartment door and realised she was holding six pastries and no idea how to operate Alexia's coffee machine without turning breakfast into a hostage situation.
Still.
She could improvise.
Jay was good at improvising.
In certain contexts.
Football, flirting, press questions, getting out of trouble, yes.
Coffee, perhaps less so.
Alexia had gone back to the bathroom when Jay returned, the sound of the shower running faintly through the apartment. Perfect. Dangerous, but perfect. Jay placed the pastry bag on the counter like an offering and looked at the coffee machine with the grave expression of a woman approaching unfamiliar machinery on behalf of love.
"You and I," she told it quietly, "are going to make history."
The machine said nothing, which Jay chose to interpret as respect.
She had seen Alexia make coffee dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe. There were steps. Beans. Scoop. Tamp. Cup. Button. Steam. Milk sometimes, depending on mood and training. Cinnamon, because Alexia liked a little on top when it was a slower morning. Not sugar. Never sugar. Alexia took sugar in some things, but not that coffee, and she had strong opinions about it in the way Spanish women with excellent cheekbones often had strong opinions about small consumable rituals.
Jay could do this.
She found the beans. Ground them. Made a small mess. Cleaned most of the mess with her sleeve, then remembered that was disgusting and used a cloth. She tamped the coffee with what she felt was reasonable authority. The first shot came out slightly fast, but it looked brown and smelled correct, which Jay considered a major success. She warmed milk. Too much milk. Poured some away. Felt wasteful. Apologised to the sink. Frothed what remained with increasing confidence until it became a texture she decided was probably foam.
The shower turned off.
Jay's pulse jumped.
She poured the milk into the coffee. Not badly. Actually, not badly at all. It looked good. Proper. Almost elegant. Jay stared at it, impressed.
Then came the cinnamon.
Alexia kept cinnamon in a small jar near the sugar because apparently chaos lived even in well-organised apartments. Jay grabbed the jar by sight rather than reading the label because she was moving quickly now, because Alexia was out of the shower, because the pastries were warm, because the moment was approaching and her chest had started doing the thing again.
She sprinkled generously.
Beautiful.
Domestic.
Fatal.
Alexia walked into the kitchen towel drying her hair, wearing shorts and one of Jay's old training tops, and Jay nearly forgot the coffee entirely.
"Pastries," Jay said, too brightly.
Alexia looked from Jay to the pastry bag to the cup in Jay's hand. Something in her face shifted with surprise, then warmth. Not the obvious kind. Alexia's emotions rarely threw themselves across rooms unless Jay had pushed them there. This was smaller, quieter, which made it worse. Her shoulders softened. Her eyes moved over Jay's face with that sleepy, fond look that turned Jay's bones unreliable.
"You made coffee?" Alexia asked.
Jay lifted the cup with great dignity. "I participated in your culture."
Alexia's mouth curved. "Should I be afraid?"
"Of my talent? Yes."
"Jay."
"I watched tutorials by memory."
"That is not tutorials."
"That is romance."
Alexia came closer, still smiling, and took the cup from her. Their fingers brushed. Jay felt the words rise instantly, as if they had been waiting inside the steam.
This was it.
This was actually it.
Alexia had wet hair, bare face, Jay's shirt, and that soft look that made the whole kitchen feel lit from somewhere underneath. The pastries sat warm on the counter. The apartment smelled like coffee and butter. Jay had gone out and come back. She had made something. She had tried. There was no performance here, no audience, no pressure beyond the truth itself.
Alexia lifted the cup.
Jay opened her mouth.
"Babe...?" she said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded different.
Alexia's eyes flicked up over the rim of the cup.
Jay swallowed as she prepared to speak.
Alexia took a sip.
The change in her face was immediate.
Not dramatic. Alexia had too much pride for dramatic food reactions unless Mapi had cooked. But her entire expression paused. Her eyes widened a fraction. Her mouth remained closed around the sip with the heroic restraint of a woman unwilling to spit coffee over someone she cared about. She swallowed slowly, like the coffee had become a tactical problem she had to manage in real time.
Jay froze.
Alexia lowered the cup.
Silence.
Jay looked from Alexia to the coffee. "What?"
Alexia looked at the cup, then back at Jay.
Jay's stomach dropped. "What did I do?"
Alexia pressed her lips together.
"Baby."
Alexia inhaled carefully through her nose. "You put sugar."
Jay stared.
"No."
"SĂ."
"No, I put cinnamon."
Alexia turned the cup slightly, as if the evidence might visually confess. "This is sugar."
Jay snatched the jar from the counter and read the label.
AzĂşcar.
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, the entire universe narrowed to one fact: she had prepared a romantic coffee confession and poisoned it with enthusiasm.
Jay placed the jar down with devastating care. "I have been betrayed by Spanish labelling."
Alexia's mouth trembled.
"Do not laugh," Jay said.
Alexia made a small sound that was mostly breath and entirely dangerous.
"I swear to God, Ale, do not laugh. I was doing a thing."
Alexia's eyes softened at that, but the laughter was already there, bright and helpless beneath her tired morning face. "A thing?"
Jay dragged both hands down her face. "A nice thing. A pastry thing. A coffee thing. A deeply competent girlfriend thing."
Alexia set the coffee down and covered her mouth.
Jay pointed at her. "You're laughing at my domestic growth."
Alexia's shoulders began to shake.
"I walked to get you pastries."
"I see."
"I operated machinery."
"Also I see."
"I almost respected your beverage standards."
Alexia lost it then, laughing properly, one hand gripping the counter as if the sugar coffee had attacked her balance. Jay stared at her, trying to remain offended, but Alexia laughing in Jay's shirt with wet hair and terrible coffee in front of her was, unfortunately, one of the best things Jay had ever seen. The annoyance lasted about three seconds before it started softening at the edges.
Still, dignity required a performance.
"I hope you know," Jay said, "this is how people become villains."
Alexia laughed harder. "Because of sugar?"
"Because of thwarted excellence."
"You made dessert coffee."
"I made incorrect romance."
Alexia's laughter softened into something warmer, and she reached for Jay's hand. "It was sweet."
Jay stared at her.
Alexia realised what she had said a beat too late.
Jay's mouth opened in disbelief. "That was horrific."
Alexia's cheeks went faintly pink, which nearly cured the entire disaster. "No."
"You made a sugar pun."
"I did not."
"You did. By accident, which makes it worse."
Alexia pulled Jay closer by the hand, still smiling. "It was a good thing."
"It was undrinkable."
"It was..." Alexia glanced at the cup. "Very sweet."
"Stop saying sweet."
"You tried amor."
Jay looked down at their joined hands. The humour was still there, but underneath it was the disappointment, small and ridiculous and real. She had been close. Ridiculously close. And then her own hands had ruined the landing with sugar. It was almost impressive. She did not even need the universe to interrupt anymore. She had become self sabotaging in beverage form.
Alexia squeezed her fingers. "I make another coffee."
Jay groaned. "No, I'll make it. I can recover."
Alexia looked at her.
Jay corrected, "You will supervise with full authority."
"Better."
They remade the coffee together, which mostly meant Alexia stood beside her and prevented catastrophe with one hand on Jay's lower back while Jay narrated every step like a cooking show hosted by someone under legal review. Beans. Grind. Tamp. Cup. Button. Milk. Not too much milk. Cinnamon, read twice, confirmed verbally, shown to Alexia for inspection.
"Cinnamon," Jay said, holding up the jar.
Alexia nodded solemnly. "Cinnamon."
"Not sugar."
"Not sugar."
"The enemy remains contained."
"You are doing well guapa."
Jay looked at her. "Don't praise me during coffee recovery. I'll get emotional."
Alexia's face softened, but she only said, "Then finish."
The second coffee was good.
Not Alexia level, but good enough that Alexia took a sip and hummed with actual approval, which Jay received with the humility of a woman who had survived battle.
"Acceptable?" Jay asked.
Alexia looked at the cup, then at her. "Good."
Jay placed both hands on the counter and bowed her head. "Thank God."
Alexia laughed and kissed her cheek. "Gracias for pastries."
Jay turned her head slightly. "And the attempted coffee?"
"And the attempted coffee."
"I'll take it."
They ate pastries at the counter because neither of them had the discipline to move to the table. Alexia tore the corner from an almond croissant and made a tiny sound of pleasure she clearly had not meant anyone to hear. Jay looked at her immediately.
Alexia pointed the pastry at her. "No."
"I didn't speak."
"Your face."
"My face is supportive."
"Your face is smug."
"You made the noise."
"I made no noise."
"You absolutely made a pastry noise."
Alexia took another bite, expression defiant. "It is good."
"It is. I chose emotionally."
"You choose many things emotionally."
Jay smiled, softer now, and broke her own croissant in half. "Only the important stuff."
The moment could have turned again there, but Jay let it pass. Not because she was afraid exactly. More because Alexia had sugar on her thumb, and the morning had already become funny, and Jay's chest no longer felt like a locked door she had to break down in one attempt. The confession had been delayed by coffee malpractice, yes, but not destroyed. Alexia was still there, laughing at her. Jay was still there, feeding her pastries and reading cinnamon labels like sacred texts.
There would be another moment.
The realisation steadied her.
Later, training arrived with its usual complete disregard for emotional development.
By the time they reached the training ground, the sugar coffee incident had evolved into what Jay insisted was a private domestic tragedy and Alexia had decided was the funniest thing to happen before noon. Alexia, unfairly, seemed restored by the whole thing. Not fully rested, not entirely free of the previous day's exhaustion, but lighter, her eyes brighter, her mouth still curving whenever she glanced at Jay too long. Jay suspected this was less because of the pastries and more because Alexia enjoyed watching her suffer through minor incompetence.
"You are still smiling," Jay said as they walked from the car park towards the entrance.
Alexia adjusted the strap of her bag. "I am happy."
"That is suspiciously cruel."
"I like when you try things."
"I succeeded eventually."
"You did."
"Say that louder near Lucy."
"No."
"You don't support my reputation."
"I protect it by silence."
Jay looked at her. "That is actually fair."
Lucy was already near the entrance, talking to Keira with a ball tucked under one arm. She looked up as they approached, eyes narrowing immediately with the predatory awareness of someone who could detect romantic chaos through concrete. Jay met her gaze and gave a tiny shake of her head.
Not here.
To Lucy's credit, she did not say anything in front of Alexia. Her expression barely shifted. She only lifted her coffee in greeting and said, "Morning," with such unnatural innocence that Jay almost respected the effort.
Alexia glanced at Lucy, then at Jay. "Why is she being polite?"
Jay sighed. "I hate that you noticed."
Lucy looked offended. "I'm often polite."
Keira, without looking up from tying her lace, said, "No, you're not."
"Thank you, Keira," Jay said.
Lucy pointed at both of them. "Hostile environment."
Alexia smiled faintly and kept walking into the building. Jay followed, close enough that their shoulders brushed once before she forced herself to move a reasonable distance away because there were staff present and because if she kept touching Alexia, training would become secondary to whatever this new pastry soft mood was doing inside her.
The changing room was already loud. Mapi had music playing from her phone while insisting it was not "too much" even though three people had already threatened the speaker. Patri was sitting with her boots unlaced, looking half asleep and philosophical. Pina was eating something from a wrapper that had the words high protein on it in a font that suggested punishment. Cata was arguing with Vicky about whether being goalkeeper gave her the right to control the playlist. It was all normal enough that Jay felt her body settle into it.
Football noise.
Safe noise.
She dropped her bag by her locker and started changing, moving through the familiar routine while the sugar coffee incident replayed every few minutes with increasing levels of personal betrayal. She had been close. Not almost in the dramatic sense, not one of those obvious, aching pauses where Alexia looked into her soul and the room held its breath. Just close because the morning had felt right. She had wanted to say it before Alexia tasted the coffee. She had wanted to say it in the ordinary warmth of doing something badly but lovingly.
Instead, Alexia had swallowed what was basically hot dessert and laughed until she had to grip the counter.
Which, unfortunately, Jay also loved.
Lucy waited until Alexia was pulled across the room by Irene and Jonatan's assistant to discuss something near the door. Only then did she slide onto the bench beside Jay, keeping her voice low under the cover of Mapi's music and the changing room chaos.
"Well?" Lucy asked.
Jay kept tying her boots. "No."
Lucy blinked. "I haven't even asked."
"You were about to."
"I might have been asking how your morning was."
"You weren't."
"I could be emotionally unpredictable."
"You're not. You're nosy with a jawline."
Lucy leaned closer. "Did you say it?"
Jay pulled her lace tight, then looked up at the ceiling with the exhausted dignity of a woman persecuted by dairy products and fate. "No."
Lucy's face softened, but amusement sat ready at the corners. "What happened?"
Jay inhaled.
Then said, with great seriousness, "Coffee."
Lucy waited.
Jay looked at her. "Incorrect coffee."
Lucy's eyebrows lifted. "Incorrect how?"
Jay leaned closer and lowered her voice even further. "I went to get pastries."
"Oh, that's nice."
"It was nice. It was very nice. I returned victorious. Croissants. Almond things. Custard things. Full girlfriend performance. Excellent form."
"Okay."
"I made her coffee."
Lucy stared at her.
Jay pointed. "Do not look scared. I was supervised by memory."
"That's worse."
"I was doing well. It looked like coffee. It smelled like coffee. I had confidence."
"Always dangerous."
"Then I sprinkled what I thought was cinnamon on top."
Lucy's mouth parted.
Jay closed her eyes. "It was sugar."
Lucy made a noise.
Jay opened her eyes immediately. "Do not."
Lucy pressed both lips together, eyes bright with strain. Her shoulders trembled once.
"Luce."
"I'm not laughing."
"You are fighting for your life."
"I'm picturing her face, Alexia hates sugar."
"Don't."
"I can't help it."
Jay stared at her with wounded authority. "I had a whole moment. I had pastries. I had soft morning lighting. I had emotional readiness, which, by the way, is a limited resource in my ecosystem. And then she drank syrup coffee."
Lucy turned away, one hand over her mouth.
Jay slapped her lightly on the arm. "Support me."
"I am," Lucy said, voice cracking. "I am so sorry for your loss."
"You're not."
"I'm not," Lucy admitted, and finally laughed properly, ducking her head so it would not carry across the room. "I'm sorry, mate, but that is horrendous."
"It was sabotage."
"By who? You?"
"By Spanish kitchen organisation. Sugar and cinnamon should not be neighbours."
"That does feel risky."
"Thank you."
Lucy wiped at one eye, still smiling. "What did Alexia do?"
"She swallowed it like a soldier."
"That's love."
Jay went still.
Lucy noticed immediately and softened the joke before it could bruise. "Sorry."
Jay looked down at her boots.
The room was still loud around them. Mapi's music had changed into something with a heavy beat. Pina was laughing at Vicky. Alexia was across the room, listening to whatever Irene was saying, her face serious but rested, one hand absently holding the pastry bag Jay had apparently failed to hide because Alexia had brought leftovers for after training. Jay looked at her and felt that warm, ridiculous ache again.
Lucy's voice dropped. "You okay?"
Jay nodded. "Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yeah." She tied her second boot, slower now. "It was actually... fine. Annoying. Deeply offensive to my plans. But fine."
Lucy studied her. "You don't sound like you think you failed."
Jay looked back at her. "Maybe I didn't."
Lucy's expression changed, pleased but careful.
Jay shrugged, almost embarrassed. "I mean, I didn't say it. But I went out for pastries, made bad coffee, got laughed at by the woman I love, and didn't immediately fake my own death. That's progress."
Lucy stared at her.
Jay froze.
There was a very short, very dangerous silence.
Lucy's face broke into the slowest grin Jay had ever seen.
Jay pointed at her. "Do not make that face."
"You just said it."
"Not to her."
"You said it."
"Not to her, Lucy."
"But you said it like a fact."
Jay looked away, heat rising up her neck. "It is a fact."
Lucy's grin softened into something warmer. "Yeah. I know."
Jay swallowed and pulled at the cuff of her sock. "Don't be nice. It makes me rashy."
"Fine." Lucy nudged her knee. "You're an idiot."
"Better."
"And the cinnamon thing is the most you way to bottle a confession I've ever heard."
"I didn't bottle. I was poisoned by my own generosity."
"You bottled after poisoning her coffee."
"Details matter."
Lucy laughed again, but quieter this time, and Jay let herself smile because, annoyingly, it was funny. It was awful and stupid and very them. If she could not say I love you because Alexia had drunk dessert coffee and looked at her like she was both an idiot and something treasured, then maybe the moment had not been ruined. Maybe it had simply become part of the story.
Alexia returned before Lucy could say anything else, dropping onto the bench beside Jay with the pastry bag in one hand. "What is funny?"
Jay and Lucy both answered too quickly.
"Nothing."
Alexia looked between them.
Lucy stood with impressive speed. "Warm up."
Jay nodded. "Yes. Football. Important."
Alexia narrowed her eyes. "You are both strange."
"Team culture," Jay said.
"Bad culture," Alexia replied, but she was smiling as she set her bag carefully inside her locker.
Training started sharp.
Jonatan was in one of those moods where he had decided the team required intensity, which meant everyone suffered for the first forty minutes and pretended it was character building. The drills were quick, narrow, and designed to punish anyone whose touch was even half asleep. Jay was grateful for it. There was nothing like a tight rondo under pressure to shut down unnecessary thinking. The ball came fast. Feet moved faster. Body before brain. Scan, receive, release. Press, recover, close the lane. The clarity of football arrived like cold water.
Jay played well because the chaos had somewhere to go.
She was sharp in the press, sharp in the turn, laughing when Mapi swore at her for slipping the ball through her legs and then claiming the nutmeg had been "emotionally premeditated". Alexia, as always, found pockets no one else saw and demanded standards without raising her voice. When Jay overhit one pass, Alexia only pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at the space the ball should have gone, and Jay nodded because Alexia's correction landed cleanly inside her, not as criticism but as invitation.
Do it better.
So Jay did.
She scored twice in the finishing drill. Bullied one of the academy defenders so thoroughly in a hold up exercise that Pina shouted, "Someone check her pockets for crimes," and Cata, from goal, announced that Jay was "built like a nightclub bouncer with cheekbones". Jay bowed. Alexia rolled her eyes. The session moved, hard and sweaty and satisfying, until the whole morning had been burned down to grass, breath and the hard clean smack of the ball.
After training, the team drifted towards the changing rooms in that loose, heavy way athletes did after a session that had taken more than expected. Shirts stuck to backs. Boots dragged. Someone complained about hamstrings. Someone else complained about the person complaining. Jay walked beside Alexia for most of the way, not touching her much because they were surrounded, but close enough that their arms brushed now and then.
Alexia looked good after hard training.
This was, in Jay's opinion, a problem nobody was addressing with enough urgency.
Her cheeks were flushed, hair damp at the hairline, captain face half off now that the session was done. She had that satisfied tiredness she got when the work had been hard enough to matter. Jay wanted to kiss her. This was not new. Jay almost always wanted to kiss her. But wanting it after training, with Alexia all sharp eyed and sweaty and bossy, was its own specific category of suffering.
Alexia glanced sideways. "What?"
Jay blinked. "What?"
"You made a face."
"No, I didn't."
"You did."
"I was thinking tactically."
"You were looking at my mouth."
Jay grinned despite herself. "Mouths can be tactical."
Alexia's eyes narrowed, but her cheeks warmed faintly. "Shower."
"Together?"
"No."
"You're very committed to crushing morale."
"We are at work amor."
"Terrible place for a relationship."
Alexia shook her head, but she was smiling as they entered the changing room.
The room was loud for the first few minutes, everyone peeling off kit and complaining about the session. Jay showered fast, partly because she was hungry and partly because she was still carrying the strange leftover confidence from the morning. Not full courage. Nothing that clean. But she felt less like she was walking towards a cliff and more like she was walking towards a door that might, terrifyingly, open.
Alexia was two shower stalls over, talking to Patri about a midfield rotation from training. Jay could hear her voice through the rush of water, low and thoughtful, slipping between English and Spanish with that easy authority that made even tactical disagreement sound elegant. Jay rinsed shampoo from her hair and listened without meaning to, smiling when Alexia corrected Patri with absolute certainty and Patri immediately argued back.
The conversation drifted away when Patri finished and left.
For a few seconds, it was quieter.
Only the water. The tiled echo. Someone laughing far outside near the lockers. Steam softening the edges of everything.
Jay turned off her shower and reached for her towel, then saw Alexia still standing under the water, head tipped back, eyes closed, one hand braced lightly against the wall. She looked tired again now that training had ended, the effort catching up with her in the privacy of the steam. Not exhausted like the night before, not worn down by graphs and meetings, but softened. Human. The kind of tired that made Jay want to wrap her up and take her somewhere quiet.
Jay stepped closer, towel around herself, hair dripping onto her shoulders.
"You alive?" she asked.
Alexia opened her eyes and looked over, blinking water from her lashes. "SĂ."
"You went very dramatic against that wall."
"I am standing."
"You were spiritually in a music video."
Alexia's mouth curved. "You are annoying."
"Concerned."
"No. Annoying."
"Concerned but fit."
Alexia laughed and turned off the water. Steam moved around her as she reached for her towel. Jay looked away enough to be respectful, not enough to pretend she was made of stone. Alexia noticed because she was Alexia, but she did not call her on it. She only wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out, bare feet quiet on the wet tile.
They were alone for a moment.
Actually alone.
Not bedroom alone. Not kitchen alone. Not the kind of alone that belonged entirely to them. The showers still carried the team around them in echoes, in abandoned shampoo bottles and distant voices, in the knowledge that anyone could walk in at any second. But that was the strange danger of it. A small, borrowed pocket of privacy in the middle of work, warm with steam and after training exhaustion.
Jay leaned back against the tiled wall, towel tucked at her chest, and watched Alexia squeeze water from her hair.
The words stirred.
Not violently.
Just there.
Again.
Jay almost laughed at herself. Of all places. Of all possible moments. Not the pastry breakfast. Not the soft bed. Not the late night sandwich. Now, apparently, in the shower room at work while Alexia towel dried her hair and half the team was probably ten metres away arguing about conditioner.
But maybe that was the point.
Maybe it was never going to feel like the right place because every place with Alexia became the right place too quickly.
Alexia looked up. "What?"
Jay swallowed, then smiled faintly. "Nothing bad."
Alexia's gaze stayed on her for a second, then she nodded, accepting the answer without pulling at it.
That helped.
Jay pushed off the wall and stepped closer. Not too close. Close enough that her voice could stay low. Close enough that the steam seemed to fold them away from the rest of the building.
"I was just thinking," Jay said.
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Dangerous for you bebe."
"Yeah."
Jay looked at her then, properly. No performance, no audience, no coffee to ruin it. Alexia was damp and bare faced and tired in the most ordinary way, and Jay felt the truth rise with almost frightening simplicity.
"It's just that..."
A phone exploded into sound.
Not buzzed.
Not politely rang.
Exploded.
From somewhere near the bench outside the showers came a violent burst of reggaeton at a volume that suggested the device had been designed for emergency evacuations. The beat ricocheted off tile and steam and every nerve Jay owned. Alexia startled. Jay flinched so hard her shoulder hit the wall.
Then Mapi's voice shouted from the changing area, "MI TELĂFONO! WAIT, WAIT, DO NOT ANSWER, THAT IS MY MOTHER!"
The ringtone kept going.
Louder, somehow.
Jay stared at the doorway.
Alexia pressed her lips together.
Mapi thundered past the entrance in a towel, one sock on, hair half wet, yelling, "INGRID, WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS MY PHONE? WHY IS SHE CALLING? I DID NOTHING!"
Patri shouted back, "That is never true!"
The ringtone continued with astonishing commitment.
Jay stood there in the steam, one hand still half lifted, sentence murdered in mid air by Mapi LeĂłn's mother and a reggaeton chorus with no respect for emotional timing.
Alexia looked at her.
Jay looked back.
For half a second, there was a chance she could keep going.
A brave person might have.
A less ridiculous person might have laughed, waited, then said the words anyway.
Jay, unfortunately, had just been jump scared by a phone and could now hear Mapi yelling, "DO NOT TELL HER I LOST MY INSURANCE CARD," while Ingrid calmly insisted the phone was in Mapi's shoe.
The moment was gone.
Jay felt it leave, not painfully this time, but with the absurd inevitability of a balloon deflating across a room.
She closed her eyes. "I cannot compete with that."
Alexia's laugh broke through then, warm and helpless. She tried to cover it with one hand and failed completely.
Jay opened her eyes and pointed towards the doorway. "Do not laugh. That ringtone just assaulted my central nervous system."
Alexia was laughing properly now, shoulders shaking, towel clutched at her chest. "Your face."
"My face was attacked."
"You jumped."
"It was loud."
"You are scared of coffee and phones."
"I am scared of badly timed technology."
From outside, Mapi shouted, "FOUND IT! WHY WAS IT IN MY SHOE?"
Patri shouted, "BECAUSE YOU PUT IT THERE!"
Mapi replied, with deep conviction, "IMPOSSIBLE!"
Jay looked at Alexia. "See? This is not an emotionally stable workplace."
Alexia laughed harder, and Jay tried very hard to remain offended, but it was impossible when Alexia looked like that, laughing in the steam with wet hair and tired eyes and no idea that Jay had almost handed her everything. Or maybe she had some idea that Jay had been about to say something. Maybe she did not. It did not matter. For once, Jay refused to make the failed moment a crime scene.
She had bottled it, yes.
Completely.
No question.
The ringtone had fired one shot and Jay's courage had left the building wearing flip flops.
But she was still here. Alexia was still laughing. The words were still alive somewhere inside her, not gone, not spoiled, just delayed again by the ongoing sabotage of everyday life.
Alexia stepped closer and touched Jay's arm. "What did you want to tell me?"
Jay looked at her.
The question was gentle. Not suspicious. Not loaded. Just Alexia asking because Jay had started a sentence and Mapi's mother had destroyed civilisation.
Jay could still do it.
Right there.
With Mapi yelling outside and Patri laughing and the ringtone finally blessedly silent.
Jay opened her mouth.
Then from the doorway, Mapi appeared, still wrapped in a towel, holding her phone up like evidence. "Do either of you know if I am supposed to call my mother back before or after I remember why she is angry?"
Jay stared at her.
Alexia closed her eyes.
Mapi looked between them. "What?"
Jay turned slowly to Alexia. "I forgot."
Alexia's mouth twitched.
"You forgot?" Mapi asked.
"Yes," Jay said gravely. "Your ringtone erased my memory. Possibly permanently."
Mapi looked delighted. "It is a good song, no?"
"It is a weapon."
"You have no taste."
"I have trauma."
Alexia, still smiling, shook her head and reached for her things. "Go get dressed."
Jay pointed at Mapi. "You owe me damages."
"For what?"
"Emotional vandalism."
Mapi looked impressed. "I don't know what this means, but I like it."
Jay walked past her towards the changing area, towel clutched around her and dignity dragging somewhere behind. Mapi followed, immediately launching into a story about her mother, the insurance card, and a misunderstanding involving a parking ticket that apparently had nothing and everything to do with Ingrid. Jay heard Alexia laughing softly behind them and felt the sound settle into her like warmth.
At her locker, Lucy took one look at Jay's face and lifted an eyebrow.
Jay sat down heavily on the bench.
Lucy leaned in. "What happened?"
Jay stared straight ahead. "Reggaeton."
Lucy's mouth fell open.
Jay nodded once, solemn and dead eyed. "Mapi's ringtone."
Lucy turned away, shoulders already shaking.
"I was in the showers," Jay continued, voice low and grave. "Steam. Privacy. Emotional momentum. Then boom. Mapi's mother entered the chat with percussion."
Lucy folded over her own knees, laughing silently.
Jay looked at her with immense betrayal. "I need support."
Lucy wheezed, "I'm sorry."
"You are not."
"I'm really not."
Jay leaned back against the lockers and stared at the ceiling. "I bottled it."
Lucy wiped at her eyes, still smiling but softer now. "Because of Mapi's ringtone?"
"And because Mapi appeared in a towel asking about maternal anger."
Lucy lost it again.
Jay closed her eyes. "This club is cursed."
Across the room, Alexia emerged from the showers dressed now, hair damp, face relaxed with the leftover laughter. She glanced towards Jay, then towards Lucy laughing beside her, and shook her head like she had accepted long ago that whatever was happening over there was both Jay's fault and beyond the reach of captaincy.
Jay watched her for a second.
The frustration eased.
Not entirely. She was still annoyed. Deeply. Personally. Historically. But Alexia was smiling, and the sight of it made the failed attempt feel less like failure and more like another ridiculous piece of the road between them.
Lucy recovered enough to sit upright. "You know," she said quietly, "at this point, when you finally say it, she's either going to cry or laugh for ten minutes."
Jay looked at Alexia again.
"Maybe both," she said.
Lucy smiled. "Probably both."
Jay picked up her shirt and started getting dressed, slower now, calmer than she expected to be after yet another emotional ambush by the universe. Cinnamon had failed her. Mapi's ringtone had committed a crime. Lucy was enjoying the whole thing far too much. And still, beneath the embarrassment and the comedy and the constant derailment of her carefully unplanned plans, something steadier was growing.
She loved Alexia.
She had said it once today. Not to Alexia, no. To Lucy by accident, as a fact so obvious it had slipped past the guards. That counted for something, even if Jay was not ready to admit how much.
Alexia looked over again while tying her hair back.
Jay met her eyes and smiled.
Alexia smiled back.
No almost.
No panic.
Just that.
Jay breathed out, picked up her boots, and thought, soon.
"Trust me?" she asked quietly.It should've been a difficult question, but it wasn't.An hour ago she was a stranger watching you from across a crowded bar. Now you're climbing into the back of a black Rolls Royce because somehow saying no feels impossible.She flirts like it's a language. Smiles like she's already won. Kisses like she doesn't ask for permission from the world.A woman in a tailored suit calls her boss and suddenly the gorgeous stranger you've been shamelessly flirting with might not be just another woman at the bar and you have absolutely no idea what you've just walked into.
Part 3
Word Count: 12.8k
Warnings: Smut
Masterlist
You let your head fall all the way back, arms splayed, a boneless heap in the chaos of her desk. Your pulse still thundered in your ears, so loud you only half registered the scrape of Alexiaâs chair as she rolled it closer. She braked the wheels with both feet, then picked up your wrist and pressed her lips to the inside, a lazy kiss to the vein as if sampling its speed.
âYouâre not breathing,â she teased, voice roughened by what had just happened. âI can do CPR, but youâll have to ask nicely.â
You snorted, tried to catch your breath, then remembered your own state of undress and groaned, âYou ruined me.â
She grinned, and for a moment the dangerous, untouchable Alexia was replaced by the side that laughed at her own bad puns and got way too competitive at chess. âDid you want gentle?â she said, reaching up to run the back of her knuckle down your cheekbone, the gesture was almost sweet.
âNo,â you admitted, âBut I think I need a minute.â
She stood, rolled her own neck until it popped, then started collecting your scattered clothes from where theyâd landed on the floor. She walked them over, but instead of handing them to you, she just laid them across your stomach like a towel at a spa.
âClothes,â she said, matter of fact as if the air between you wasnât still sparking, âWe should get dressed.â
âAre you sure?â You waggled your eyebrows, making a joke of it, but you both knew the spell had already shifted into something less urgent, more raw and real.
She gave you a look that said she was sure, then turned and started buttoning her own shirt. You watched, mesmerised, as she went from unguarded to composed in the time it took you to pull on your jeans.
You sat up gingerly, legs quivering, and Alexia watched you with the same analytical gaze youâd assume sheâd use on her chessboard, âShould I order you a car?â she asked.
You pursed your lips, âYou want me to leave?â
âNo,â she said, too quickly, then smiled, âBut if you stay, Iâm not responsible for your legs in the morning.â She poured herself another two fingers of the brown stuff, then offered you the glass. You took it, sipped, and this time didnât even flinch at the taste. You let it burn a path straight to your core.
âWhat now?â you asked, when the silence had grown comfortable.
Alexia considered, then leaned back in her desk chair, arms folded behind her head. âNow I try to figure out what your father will do,â she said, completely matter of fact, âand whether you just created an international incident or merely a complicated family drama.â Her smile softened the words.
You fiddled with your jean button, then shrugged. âIf it helps, I think heâs more likely to kill you for fucking me than for killing his manâ
Alexiaâs eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, igniting the hushed air between you with a static so palpable it felt like a third presence in the room. âFamily first, always,â she said, âBut your fatherâs never met anyone like me.â
You took the glass from her hand with deliberate slowness, letting your fingers brush the rim of her knuckles, âHe has no imagination,â you said, âbut he knows how to burn things down.â
You wondered whether the same was true of you, whether youâd inherited your motherâs gift for absence or your fatherâs genius for violence, or perhaps both, which terrified you more than either alone.
âItâs always a burned bridge with men like him,â Alexia said, propping her chin on her fist. âThey donât know another language.â
Her gaze flicked over you, still half clothed and barely holding yourself together after what sheâd just done to you, and arched a brow.
âYouâre not like him.â
You shivered, partly from the chill of the open window, partly from the weight of being seen.
âYou donât know that,â you said, but you tasted the lie even as you said it. Your legs still twitched with echoing aftershocks, desperate to fold themselves beneath you, to run, to stay.
âI do,â she insisted, and her certainty was its own wrench, âYou hesitate. People like us never hesitate, unless weâre fighting ourselves.â
She stood, circled behind you, and rested her hands on your shoulders, moulding them with slow, deep pressure. It was not a tender gesture, but it was honest, and you pressed your cheek to the back of her hand, feeling the pulse in her wrist, steady as a metronome.
âYou could stay,â she said, voice pitched low, âif you want.âÂ
You let your breath out slowly. âAnd if I do?â Alexia didnât answer right away, just kneaded at the muscles in your neck until your resistance slackened.
âIf you do,â she said at last, âyouâll have to own who you are in my house.â
You could have argued, but didnât. Instead, you stared at the chessboard near her desk and saw that the game was unsolvable, every move endgame and checkmate at once. âIâll try,â you said, and let her hands move you as they pleased. It felt like the only thing left you hadnât ruined yet.
She spun you in the desk so you faced her, knees colliding with her. âYouâre safe here,â she said. âNo one gets in without my say soâ
The words should have comforted you, instead, they made your chest tighten.
You're safe here.
You searched Alexia's face, trying to decide whether she believed that or whether she'd simply said it because it was what you needed to hear.
"My father has people everywhere," you said quietly.
"So do I." There wasn't an ounce of arrogance in her voice, just certainty.
You let out a slow breath, "This is insane."
Alexia smiled faintly, "I've had that thought once or twice."
"No..." You shook your head, looking around the room, a laugh escaped you, disbelieving more than amused, "I met you in a bar."
"You did."
"I thought you were just..." You gestured vaguely, "a ridiculously attractive woman who was far too confident."
"And now?"
"Now I find out you're the head of..." You stopped yourself, unsure what word to use.
Alexia spared you the effort, "My organisation."
"You say that like you're the CEO of a tech company."
"It keeps the paperwork simpler." Despite everything, you laughed, she watched the tension leave your shoulders a fraction, "You laugh when you're overwhelmed," she observed, "and you play Sudoku."
"I do."
"You make jokes."
"I do that too."
"You flirt." You looked up at her, he corner of her mouth lifted.
Silence settled again as your gaze drifted to the chessboard on the table beside her desk.
Neither side had an obvious advantage.
"You play?"
Alexia followed your eyes, "Every evening."
"Against who?"
"Myself, usually."
You frowned, "Doesn't that get predictable?"
"No."
She walked over, absentmindedly moving a white knight one square, "It teaches you to think like the person trying to beat you."
You watched the move, "Is that how you stay alive?"
She looked at the board for a long moment before answering, "It's part of it." The honesty surprised you, "So is knowing when not to make a move."
You thought about your father leaving the dinner table, about the convoy of cars disappearing into the night, "I don't think he's going to wait."
"No." Alexia's expression hardened slightly, "I don't think he is either."
A knot formed in your stomach, "I'm sorry."
She looked up, "For what?"
"For bringing this here."
"You didn't."
You rubbed your forehead, "If I'd never walked into that bar..."
Alexia interrupted gently, "If you'd never walked into that bar" She held your gaze, "I'd still have killed Manuel."
The bluntness caught you off guard.
"He made a decision that endangered people under my protection." There was no pride in her voice, no satisfaction it was just fact. "This was coming whether you met me or not."
You weren't sure whether that made you feel better or worse, Alexia stepped closer, leaning lightly against the edge of the desk.
"The only difference now" She paused, "...is that you're standing between two worlds."
You gave a tired smile, "I spent years pretending one of them didn't exist."
"And the other?"
"I thought it only existed in films."
A quiet laugh escaped Alexia, "I assure you" She glanced toward the window overlooking the estate, "it's considerably less glamorous."
You looked around the room again, the books, the chessboard, the reading glasses she'd left beside a stack of paperwork, it was strangely ordinary, if you ignored the wall of monitors with cameras on every square inch of the property constantly rolling.
"I keep expecting you to become..."
"What?"
"I don't know." You smiled sheepishly, "Scarier."
Alexia laughed properly then, the sound was warm, genuine, and so different from the composed woman who gave orders that people obeyed without question. "I'm afraid that's disappointing."
"It is, actually."
"Oh?"
"I was preparing a speech."
She folded her arms, "I'd love to hear it."
"It involved me dramatically announcing that I wasn't afraid of you."
"And now?"
You looked at her for a long second, "I'm still a little afraid of you." She nodded as though that was entirely reasonable. "But" You took another breath, "...I'm starting to think I'm more afraid of what happens when my father finds out I came here."
The amusement faded from Alexia's face, she became serious again, "So am I."
The admission landed heavily, not because it frightened you, because it told you she was no longer thinking only as a boss protecting her organisation.
She was thinking about protecting yo, the distance between you no longer felt charged by flirtation.
It felt charged by choices, by consequences.
By the uncomfortable understanding that whatever happened next, neither of your lives would be as simple as they had been before you looked across that crowded bar.
Alexia left you and unlocked the office door, the heavy click echoed in the quiet room.
She pulled the handle down and stepped aside, "After you."
You walked out first, you barely made it two steps into the hallway before stopping, Alexia raised an eyebrow, her team had appeared with almost supernatural speed.
Ingrid stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel.
Patri was somehow already leaning against the wall opposite, phone tucked into her pocket.
Mapi looked up from the sofa with the remote still in one hand.
Misa remained further back, shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded, unreadable as ever.
It was as though the simple act of Alexia's office door opening had summoned everyone.
Alexia didn't seem remotely surprised, Ingrid looked past you to Alexia, "Is she staying for dinner?"
The question wasn't directed at you, it was directed entirely at Alexia.
You answered anyway, "I've already eaten."
Alexia's lips twitched, that smug little smile was becoming dangerously familiar.
Before she could respond, Patri spoke with complete nonchalance, "We know you have."
You frowned, "...What?"
Patri looked genuinely confused that you were confused, "Enjoyed yourself did you?" She grinned, "Those moans almost made me blush!"
Your brain stalled, your mouth fell open. You looked from Patri to Mapi to Ingrid, who had suddenly become deeply interested in the tea towel she was folding.
Finally, your horrified gaze landed on Misa, the bodyguard met your eyes without a flicker of emotion, "You're the loudest one she's had yet."
The sentence was delivered so flatly it took you a second to realise she wasn't joking.
Your entire face burned, slowly, very slowly, you turned towards Alexia, "I thought you said your office was soundproof."
Alexia looked entirely unbothered, "I mean it basically is."
You stared at her, "Clearly fucking isn't."
Mapi made a thoughtful noise from the sofa, Alexia folded her arms, thoroughly enjoying herself now, she tilted her head.
"So are you saying if you knew that" She took one small step closer, "it would've changed how the night went?"
You opened your mouth, nothing came out, your brain searched desperately for a response and found absolutely nothing.
You blinked at her, Alexia smiled, "Thought so."
She simply slipped her hands into her pockets, the corner of her mouth still lifted in quiet satisfaction as she watched you try and fail to recover your composure.
"It's soundproofed."
Patri looked at her incredulously, "...It's certainly not."
Mapi nodded from the sofa with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "Could hear her moaning from across the city I bet."
You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a plea for the floor to swallow you whole, "Oh my God..."
Pina, who hadn't looked up from her phone once, spoke without missing a beat, "I've already ordered earplugs for next time."
Alexia slowly turned her head towards them all, one eyebrow lifted, her voice lost its amusement, dropping into something quieter. "I said..." She paused just long enough for everyone to notice, "it's soundproofed."
The atmosphere shifted instantly, Patri straightened so quickly it was almost impressive, "Didn't hear a thing."
Mapi nodded with complete sincerity, "Must've been the wind."
Pina tapped at her screen for another couple of seconds before finally looking up, "I actually just paid the invoice for the soundproofing they installed last month."
Silence, then Pina looked back down at her phone as though that settled the matter entirely.
You stared at them, then at Alexia, Alexia looked back at you with an expression that very clearly said, See?
You rolled your eyes, it was automatic, you didn't even think about it.
The hallway went suspiciously quiet, Patri's eyebrows climbed, Mapi looked between the two of you, even Misa glanced over.
Nobody. Absolutely nobody, rolled their eyes at Alexia, except, apparently, you, Alexia didn't seem offended in the slightest, if anything, the corner of her mouth twitched.
"You staying," she asked calmly, "or going?" The question pulled you back to reality.
You sighed, "I should go." Alexia waited, "I've got work tomorrow."
She nodded once, no argument, no attempt to persuade you otherwise.
"Cata will take you."
As if on cue, Cata appeared from somewhere further down the hallway, already holding the Rolls Royce keys, "I'm ready whenever you are."
You looked back at Alexia, "Thank you."
"For?"
You smiled faintly, "For... listening."
There was a brief pause, then Alexia stepped forward just enough to maybe open the front door for you herself, "You know how to reach us now."
Not me. Us.
You understood the distinction, you nodded, "I do."
As you walked towards the entrance, Ingrid called after you, "Next time" You turned, "come hungry."
You laughed, "I'll try."
Patri folded her arms, "And maybe warn us before you disappear into Boss's office."
"Patri," Alexia said evenly.
"I'm joking!" Alexia gave her a look, Patri immediately raised both hands, "I'm stopping."
Mapi leaned back into the sofa, "Smart choice."
You couldn't help smiling as Cata opened the front door for you, for a house full of people who, by reputation alone, should have terrified you they were alarmingly normal.
As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you glanced back once, Alexia was still standing in the hallway, watching you leave.
She gave a single nod, you returned it, then Cata closed the door gently behind you, and together you made your way towards the waiting car.
đŞđź
The drive back into the city was quiet, not awkward, just quiet, the Rolls Royce glided through the evening traffic, the cabin insulated from the noise outside.
You watched Barcelona drift past through the tinted glass, neither of you seemed in a hurry to fill the silence.
Eventually, you spoke, "Can you just drop me where you picked me up?"
Cata caught your eyes briefly in the rear view mirror, she simply inclined her head, "Alright." Nothing more was said for the remainder of the journey.
The Rolls-Royce rolled to a gentle stop beside the pavement overlooking the marina not too long later, Cata climbed out first, opening your door.
You stepped onto the pavement, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
You hesitated, "...And thank you."
Cata frowned slightly, "For what?"
"For answering the phone."
Something softened in her expression, "I almost didn't."
A small nod passed between you, then you turned and started walking, Cata waited until you disappeared around the corner before climbing back into the driver's seat.
She pulled away from the curb, but not very far, she drove another fifty metres before easing the car into a quiet parking bay overlooking the marina entrance.
The engine remained running, she rested both hands lightly on the steering wheel and waited.
She wasn't following you, not exactly, just making sure, as she was a little suspicious that you didn't want dropping home at the late hour.
Then you appeared pushing a motorbike, Cata sat forward slightly it was black and very large. Powerful enough that even from a distance she recognised it wasn't something a beginner rode.
You pulled a helmet from the handle bars slipping it onto your head, then swung one leg effortlessly over the bike.
Cata's eyebrows lifted, "Hm."
You clearly knew what you were doing, the engine barked into life it was deep and aggressive. You barely let it idle before pulling away, the bike accelerated down the road with startling speed.
At the first junction the traffic lights turned red and you didn't even slow down. The bike slipped cleanly through the empty intersection before disappearing into the evening traffic.
Cata watched until the taillight vanished completely, "...Well then."
She reached into the centre console and picked up her phone to ring one contact. Boss.
The call connected after two rings, Alexia answered immediately, "Everything alright?"
"Yes." Cata looked once more towards the now empty road, "I've just learnt something."
A pause, "What?"
Another brief glance towards the intersection, "Y/N rides like she's trying to outrun death."
Alexia was quiet for a moment, "...She what?"
"She had me drop her where she must keep this very powerful bike, she ran a red light and accelerated hard enough to make me question my own driving."
Alexia smiled to herself on the other end of the line.
"I think" Cata paused. "...she has more layers to her than she lets on."
Silence, then Alexia answered quietly, "I know."
Cata ended the call and couldn't quite shake the image of you disappearing into Barcelona traffic.
One thing had become abundantly clear, you might have grown up sheltered from your father's business, but fear had never stopped you from twisting a throttle and charging headfirst into danger.
đŞđź
For three days, your phone became something you actively avoided.
The first call came the morning after.
Cata đśď¸
You stared at the screen until it stopped ringing, the second came that evening, ignored.
The third arrived the next afternoon while you were making coffee at work and you ignored again.
Lily glanced over as your phone vibrated across the counter, "You gonna get that?"
You looked at the screen for barely half a second before turning it face down, "Spam."
"Hm." Lily didn't sound convinced, neither were you by your own lie
By the fourth day, you'd stopped jumping every time your phone buzzed. You'd convinced yourself that if you ignored it long enough whatever this was would eventually go away.
But it didn't.
You'd just finished work, apron folded neatly into your backpack, headphones resting around your neck as you wandered down one of the quieter side streets towards your apartment.
The afternoon sun was warm, people drifted past carrying shopping bags.
For the first time all week your mind wasn't occupied with mafia families, murdered right hand men or women named Alexia fucking you until you couldn't think straight.
A familiar engine purred beside you and your shoulders slumped before you even looked.
The black Rolls Royce matched your walking pace the window lowered smoothly, there sat Cata behind the wheel expression as unreadable as ever.
She looked at you, "Get in."
You stopped walking, people continued flowing around you as though nothing unusual was happening. You sighed, "Do I have a choice?"
Cata considered the question, then answered with complete honesty, "Boss sent me to find you."
"...So no then?"
"No."
You looked at the immaculate car, then back at Cata, "You know this is a really weird thing to do, right?"
"Is it?"
"People are looking."
"They usually do."
You pinched the bridge of your nose, "I've been ignoring your calls."
"I noticed."
"I thought you'd take the hint."
"I did." You frowned.
"...You did?"
Cata nodded once, "Boss didn't"
You stared at her for a long moment but you couldn't help it, a laugh escaped you. You looked up and down the street, there really wasn't much point arguing, Alexia clearly wasn't going to stop sending Cata.
Cata almost smiled, almost as you let out another sigh, "Fine."
You opened the rear door, paused then looked back at Cata.
"If she's sent you to kidnap me..."
"You're getting in voluntarily."
"That's a technicality."
You climbed into the back seat, the door closed with its familiar soft thud, Cata pulled smoothly back into traffic.
You settled against the leather seat, "So..." You looked towards the driver's rear view mirror, "Where am I being kidnapped to?"
Cata's eyes met yours briefly in the reflection, "Boss said you'd ask that."
"And?"
"She told me to tell you..." A tiny pause, "that if she wanted to kidnap you, she'd have done it properly"
You stared at the back of Cata's head, Cata drove on in silence for another few seconds before her phone began ringing and the blackout divide slid up between you.
The journey ended somewhere familiar, the tall gates rolled open before the car reached them, you recognised the sweeping driveway. Cata parked outside the front entrance, she climbed out first, opening your door with the same practiced efficiency she always had.
"We're here."
"I gathered." You stepped onto the gravel, looking up at the enormous house, "You know normal people usually text."
Cata almost smiled again, she gestured towards the front door, "After you."
The front door opened before either of you reached it, someone inside had clearly been watching the cameras, the house felt different today, less busy, quieter.
The smell of something baking still drifted from the kitchen, but there were no raised voices, no football playing on the television.
Your footsteps echoed gently across the polished wooden floor, you'd barely taken three steps inside when something made you look up.
The landing above overlooked the entrance hall, Alexia stood there, one hand resting lightly on the bannister. She wasn't reading, wasn't working, she'd clearly been waiting, your eyes met, neither of you spoke.
For a long second, she simply studied you from upstairs as if making sure you were actually here, then, without a word, she turned walked along the landing reached the last door pushed it open and disappeared inside.
She didn't close it, she left it hanging open, an invitation, you looked beside you to Cata was already taking off her suit jacket.
She noticed your hesitation, "Go on."
You looked back upstairs, "...She didn't actually ask me."
"She doesn't need to."
You frowned, "That's incredibly cryptic."
"It's incredibly Alexia."
Taking a steadying breath, you started climbing the staircase, each step creaked softly beneath your feet, the closer you got to the landing, the quieter the house seemed to become.
At the top, you paused outside the open doorway, you knocked gently against the already open door anyway, "Come in." Her voice was calm.
You stepped inside it wasn't what you'd expected, for the second time since meeting Alexia you realised you'd built an entirely different picture of her in your head.
The bedroom was large but understated, dark wooden floors, bookshelves lined one wall, packed with novels, biographies and history books.
A king sized bed sat neatly made beneath wide windows overlooking the gardens.
A chess set rested on a small table beside an armchair, another unfinished game frozen mid match.
There wasn't a trace of unnecessary luxury, no gold, no marble, no attempt to impress anyone. It looked lived in.
Alexia stood by the open balcony doors, hands tucked into the pockets of her joggers.
The evening breeze stirred the curtains behind her, "You came."
You smiled faintly, "I was under the impression I didn't have much choice."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, "Cata can be persuasive."
"Ignoring calls apparently has consequences."
"I was running out of ways to ask if you were alright."
The honesty caught you completely off guard, you slipped the phone back into your pocket, "I didn't think..." You hesitated, "I didn't think you'd actually be worried."
Alexia held your gaze, "I was."
The room fell quiet, she didn't move from the balcony, didn't look away from the horizon line, only lifted her hand in the smallest beckon. You crossed the bedroom, feeling the plush rug flatten under your feet until you stood beside her, the world outside the window now cool and washed in that strange blue that happens right before dusk.
She said, "Come here," which was absurd because you were already as close as you could get, but then she reached and drew you firmly in front of her, guiding your hips until you were pressed, back to chest, against the banister rail.
Alexia's hands landed on your waist, fingers splayed and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. She let them rest there a moment, then snaked them higher, up your ribs, until she found the hollow between your breasts and the edge of your collarbone. You let your head fall back, resting it against her shoulder, and with your eyes closed you could almost hear the rustling leaves rather than the wild racket of your own heartbeat.
Alexia kissed the edge of your jaw, slow and unhurried, her lips tracing a path from your ear to your neck. She stopped where your throat met your shoulder, tongue flicking out, teeth grazing just shy of a bite, and you felt the sound she made, low and approving, vibrate through both your bodies.
You didn't say anything, her hands bunched in your shirt, her mouth on your skin, every soft kiss she left a promise of more. Her right hand slipped down again, under the hem and between the waist of your jeans and the band of your underwear, splaying across your lower belly. She pressed you back into her, anchoring you while her left hand found your hair, sweeping it off your neck so she could get her mouth there, too.
You were in front, eyes closed, hands gripping the iron rail so hard your knuckles were pale, Alexia behind, dark hair falling over her face, features sharpened by the light, her hands and mouth the only things that existed.
She exhaled softly against your throat, then nipped you, just enough to make you shiver. Her hand slid lower, cupping you through your jeans, then pressing, testing.
"You're so tense," she said, a faint smile in the corner of her voice.
You tried to answer but only managed a stuttering breath. She laughed, the sound as intimate as a secret, your back arched from her chest, her hand expertly undoing the button of your jeans, then the zip, and suddenly her fingers were against your skin.
She didn't rush, slipping slow and careful between your legs, coaxing your thighs apart until you couldn't keep your knees steady. You heard yourself gasp, felt the vibration of her laughter at your shoulder, and then her fingers were inside, just barely, the pad of her thumb circling your clit through the thin damp cotton of your underwear.
The touch was featherlight, almost disrespectfully so, as if she wanted you to feel every millimetre of restraint. She kissed your ear as she did it, each flick of her thumb matched to the pulse in your neck.
You tried to turn, to see her, but Alexia held you there, a palm flat between your breasts, pinning you to her and into the balcony rail as if you might otherwise float away.
She pressed her body into your back, her hips flush with yours, the harness you hadnât noticed her put on earlier suddenly and unmistakably hard against your lower back.
She mouthed at the spot just below your earlobe, âYou want it here?â she murmured, her words equal parts taunt and challenge.
You found yourself nodding, the idea so raw and shameless it left you dizzy. Her right hand slipped further down, knuckles dragging between your thighs, then under the band of your underwear. Two fingers pressed in, slow and sure, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning loud enough to carry across the lawn.
Alexiaâs other hand worked up your shirt, found your nipple and rolled it between thumb and forefinger, pinching just shy of pain. The dual sensation sent you arching up onto your toes, gasping.
She fucked you with her fingers, unhurried, letting you feel every inch, every withdrawal and return. Her thumb never left your clit, the pressure gradually increasing until the friction was a constant, inescapable drag, and you could no longer keep your knees from buckling.
She held you up with the arm across your ribs, the strength in it startling, and rocked her own hips in counterpoint, as if she could fuck you open from both directions at once. The entire time, she never stopped talking, whispering praise, filth, questions you were in no state to answer.
âYouâre so wet,â she said, âDid you get this desperate just from my hands?â
You nodded, or tried to, but her grip on your hair had become possessive, forcing your chin up so you could only stare straight out at the garden.
âGood girl,â she purred, and with that, drove her fingers in hard enough to make you shudder. She curled them, found that place inside you no one had ever quite reached, and milked it without mercy. You heard yourself make a noise, high and humiliating, and Alexiaâs laughter was in your ear, a private delight.
She doubled the speed, the intensity, and you slammed your hands against the rail to steady yourself as the world dissolved into pure sensation. She held you there, right at the threshold, not letting you tip over. âYou can come if you want,â she said, soft and approving, and the permission was all it took. You came with a violence that surprised even you, legs shaking, mouth open soundlessly, the aftershocks echoing out through your entire body. Alexia caught you, kept you upright, her hand gentling as she stroked you through the last of the shame and joy at once, until you finally collapsed against the banister and sagged into her hold.
She gathered you up in her arms, with no more effort than if youâd weighed nothing at all. You let go, head lolling back against her shoulder, and she walked you to the bed, mindless of how your jeans and underwear bunched around your thighs. She set you down on the edge, her palm firm at the centre of your chest, and pushed you flat onto your back.
She stripped the shirt from your shoulders, her hands reverent now, only when you were bare did she step back enough to strip her own joggers off, and you saw the black harness sleek, heavy, obscene already strapped around her hips. She left the grey t-shirt on, it suited her, the irony of domesticity and hunger. She knelt on the mattress, knees pressing either side of your hips, the cock bobbing impossible and perfect between you.
You felt something between panic and exhilaration as she stroked it, once, twice, slicking it with a practiced thumb, eyes never leaving yours. She bent down and kissed you mouth soft and open, a question written in the way her lips brushed yours. You answered by clawing at her shirt, hauling her close, wanting nothing more than to be filled, so totally there would be no room left for fear or regret.
Alexia took her time, lining up the head, teasing it through your folds, rolling her hips so the tip pressed just inside, then back again. You arched, desperate, and she gave you a look that said she liked you like this. With a single, slow thrust she slid inside, the stretch so sharp your mouth fell open, breath a full body shiver. She pushed all the way in, hips flush against yours, her body stretched over you, eyes still locked on yours, and waited for you to signal you could take it, and when you nodded, she grinned.
She started slow, fucking you with long, even strokes, the movement hypnotic, deliberate. Her hands mapped your ribs, your hips, her grip tightening every time you clenched around her. She watched your face for every change, every tremor, as if memorising the way you broke and reformed with each thrust.
You fisted the tee, needing something to anchor you, and she leaned in to lick the sweat from your collarbone, murmuring encouragement, filth, praise and threat all at once.
She fucked you with full attention, never once looking away, never once breaking the rhythm except to check that you were still with her, to push your hair off your face, to hold your chin steady so you were forced to meet her gaze. You felt yourself unravel, the pleasure building tight and thick, pressure mounting with every slap of her hips. She moved faster, harder, her breaths coming ragged at your ear, and when you moaned her name it made her snap to thrust so deep that you almost blacked out.
She murmured into your ear, âGet on your hands and kneesâ You did as you were told you felt yourself move before the thought caught up. You rolled, arms bracing, elbows gone soft, cheek still warm from the sheets. Alexia moved behind you, hands running the length of your thighs, fingers tracing up your hips, adjusting you into exactly the right angle.
The brief slip of the harness along the backs of your legs made you shiver, and then she was lining up again, the blunt head finding you with a practiced confidence that made you realise sheâd done this before, and would do it again, and you wanted to be the only name she remembered each time.
She eased in, the intrusion at this angle so intense you had to grip handfuls of blanket to steady yourself. She started moving, a relentless rhythm, hard enough to force your breath out in ragged, animal sounds. Each time she bottomed out, her hips slapped the curve of your ass with a sharp, hot sting, and you pushed yourself back against her, greedy, embarrassing, nothing but friction and pulse.
âGood girl,â she said, low and guttural, her hands digging into your waist, holding on like she was scared you might vanish between thrusts. Her fingers slid down, found your clit, worked it with that perfect pressure, and you made a noise like a sob. She pressed the flat of her other hand between your shoulder blades and just held you there, caged and caught and finally, completely owned.
You lost track of the words that spilled from your mouth,
âpleaseâ
harder
oh fuck, Alexia
until all you knew was the certainty that you would do anything she asked and beg for more. She fucked you until the pleasure became so raw you had to hide your face in the sheets, until you felt your body coil around an edge, then tip, then shatter apart.
You came with a violence that blanked your brain, the noise crashing out of you before you realised what you were doing. Alexia didnât slow, if anything, she fucked you through it, pushed you harder, drew out every last wave until you collapsed finally, boneless, gasping and shaking into the mattress.
She followed you down, the weight of her body a necessary steadines, and just held you there, both of you panting, slick with sweat and something like relief. You felt her mouth brush the back of your neck, her lips on your shoulder, the soft hush of her voice telling you how well youâd done. âCan you take another?â
You nodded, âgo slowâ You said yes, and even after everything that had come before, you weren't ready for how gently she began, how slow and unhurried the pressure was as she nudged her way back in after moving you.
She pulled back, hands finding your ankles, drawing your legs together in one smooth motion before swinging a thigh over to straddle you. You felt the harness drag slow across the backs of your legs, the weight of the cock settling between your thighs as she shifted her hips to find the angle.
She took her time, hands spread on your hips, rocking into you her left hand slipped up your back, tracing shoulder blades and the knobs of your spine, as she thrust short shallow movements.
You wanted to tell her to go faster, but you liked the control, even liked that she could take you apart with this. Each slow thrust built the tension back up, not burning and bright like before, but molten, like it was filling you up from the inside out.
She fucked you like she was memorising the sound. The way the mattress squeaked, the way you whimpered her name, the wet, slick, unashamed pitch of your body opening around her. Her right hand gripped your ass, fingers splayed and firm, until finally she let lift up and come down with a smack.
She leaned forward, body flush to yours, the harness grinding against you with a delicious friction. Her mouth found your ear, breath hot and steady, "You look so fucking good with my cock inside you," she said, and the approval in her voice made your legs tremble.Â
You gasped, lost the rhythm, and she caught you, steadied you with her hands, and started up again, a little faster now, a little harder, hips snapping into you with the force of someone who knew exactly how to break a person in the best possible way. You wanted to touch her, so you reached back blindly, found her hand, held onto it as if you might otherwise float away.Â
She let you have that, let you hold on to her even as she fucked you into the mattress. Your mind swam, senses overloaded, and it was all you could do to keep from coming again. "You can take more," she murmured, "I know you can," and you had no idea how you managed to obey, except that you wanted so badly to please her, no, to impress her, to be the memory she kept in her throat every time she thought of you.
She kept you on that edge for what felt like a lifetime, until you were panting into the sheets, every muscle drawn tight. Only then did she roll her hips with a brutal, perfect precision the pressure so exquisite you thought you might dissolve into molecules, and then, just as you surrendered to the inevitability of it, a sharp knock startled you halfway out of your own body.
Alexia clapped a hand over your hip, stilling you mid thrust, âIâm busy.â
The voice on the other side was crisp and apologetic, âBoss, itâs urgent.â
You heard Cataâs voice, and you wanted to laugh or scream or both, but all you could manage was to bury your face deeper into the mattress. Alexiaâs cock stayed buried inside you, the fullness of it somehow amplifying the humiliation.Â
You heard the sound of her picking up a blanket, then a brief rustle before the warmth of flannel was thrown over the exposed arch of your ass.
âYouâre not letting her in are you?â you asked almost incredulously.
She never even stopped rolling her hips as she called out, âCome in.â
The door eased open. You didnât dare lift your head, but Cataâs footsteps were light and efficient, the hesitation in her voice palpable, âIâm sorry, Boss. Thereâs a situation with the port authorities. They need your signature to process the container before customs arrives.âÂ
âEvery fucking time,â Alexia said, her tone clipped, her hands tightening just perceptibly on your hips. You heard the shuffle of paperwork, the click of a pen being offered.
She let go of your waist with one hand, and reached for the papers. There was a moment of silence while she scanned them, then a brief, sharp click as she uncapped the pen.
Cata was standing at the side of the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she passed the pen over. Alexia dropped the papers onto your bare back the only solid surface she and signed with quick, decisive strokes, then handed it back, her other hand never leaving its grip on your ass.
âCats?â you asked.
Cata coughed, âErm, yeahâ
"Get out," you managed, though it came out wrecked and breathless, barely a word at all. Alexia hadn't stopped moving, just that slow, devastating rock of her hips, buried so deep inside you that every small shift sent a tremor through your thighs.
Cata hesitated, as if to make sure nothing else was needed, and then you realised you were still panting, trembling, you're burying your face into the mattress not nearly enough to muffle the sounds of your breathing or the heat rising off your skin.
Cataâs eyes darted briefly to you, then away, then to the floor. âRight away.â Cata moved towards the door. Her hand found the handle, and she should have left, but she looked back. Alexia's hips had found a new rhythm, deep and unhurried, and the sounds you were making into the mattress were unmistakable. Your fingers had twisted into the sheets. Alexia glanced up and met Cata's eyes and something passed between them. The corner of Alexia's mouth pulling slow, Cata pressing her lips together against a smile she couldn't quite kill before Cata turned the handle and stepped out, the door closing with a soft click.
Alexia exhaled, slow and deliberate, then leaned over your back, her mouth at your ear, and said, âYou didnât just take that like a good girl. You took it like you wanted her to see it.âÂ
You wanted to argue, but then her fingers found your hair pulling your face out the mattress, and you let her, felt the tension at the base of your skull as she used your hair as a lever and fucked you harder, deeper, the fullness almost unbearable.
You breathed her name, once, twice, and she didn't let go, "You like being watched?"
You shook your head, but your body gave you away. You were shaking, raw, the friction of each thrust overwhelming, pleasure and humiliation merged, no way to tell them apart anymore.Â
Alexia's grip on your hair forced your head back so your eyes caught the movement in the mirror youâd only now just seen on the ceiling.
The mirror offered a warped, perfect record of exactly what she was doing to you, her body arched over yours, her arms flexed, the harness obscenely slick, your own body straining for every inch. It hit you then, the awareness of your own image, the wanton wreckage of yourself, and you came again, violently, so hard your arms collapsed beneath you and your knees slid wide apart on the sheets. Alexia held you through it, her own breath ragged, her focus absolute.
She didn't stop until you begged her, not even then, not until the tremors had wrung every last drop of sensation from your body.
When she finally let go, you folded down, face to the sheets, lungs burning, and she stayed there on top you, hand on your spine, counting the beats of your heart with steady, possessive strokes.
She pulled out slow, and you moaned at the loss, and then she was on her back beside you. Neither of you spoke for a long time. You couldn't, the aftershocks made your teeth chatter with every exhale.
Alexia, as always, was the first to recover, she moved onto her side as she pressed her lips to your shoulder, then leaned back, the harness still strapped tight and glistening.
You stared at her, blurry and exhausted, and then the two of you started laughing at the same time, a silly, breathless, undignified sound. You covered your face, and she rolled onto her back, arms crossed behind her head, self satisfaction radiating off her in waves.
You caught your breath, eventually, you reached out, grazed your palm over the flat plane of her abdomen, fingers drifting lower, slick from a mix of your own arousal and her sweat. You traced the lines of muscle, felt the shudder that ran through her at your touch, and for a half second, the balance shifted, you in control.
She caught your wrist, kissed the inside, "If we don't stop now," she said, "I'll never let you go home."
"That's the point," you said, and you only half meant it as a joke. She didn't laugh. She just looked at you, quiet and searching, and you wondered if this was the moment she'd say whatever it was she had
đŞđź
The living room was loud in the way that rooms full of people who know each other well always are overlapping conversations, someone's feet up on the coffee table, the particular ease of people who don't need to perform for each other. You sat beside no one in particular, phone in hand, thumb moving without purpose.
You noticed Alexia glancing at your screen from across the room, not obviously, just enough. You didn't look up.
When she got up and left without a word, your attention pulled toward the TV where the rest of the group had already settled, you let yourself breathe a little.
Barcelona were up one-nil, sixty minutes gone, and visibly retreating.Â
"Bit early to sit back, isn't it," you said, to no one in particular.
Misa's eyes slid sideways to you, "You watch football?"
"Six uncles, four brothers, three brothers-in-law." You chewed the inside of your lip, watching them surrender possession in the final third. "I don't get a choice." You gestured at the screen, "See that? They're inviting the press. They need to hold a higher line or it's going to cost them."Â
"Careful," Misa said, "Almost sounds like you know what you're talking about."
"Player of the year. Under-fourteens."
"Same."
You looked at her, "What position?"
"Keeper."
"I was midfield."
"Didn't ask."
You rolled your eyes, she was still staring at you, which you chose to ignore, "I could score past you."
She actually laughed, short, sharp, surprised out of her, "No you couldn't."
"Want a bet?"
She turned to face you fully for the first time, "You score, name your price. I save it" the corner of her mouth pulled, "I get to watch the boss fuck you."
Alexia reappeared in the doorway , and you felt it before you saw it, the shift in the room's temperature, the way Misa's shoulders dropped a fraction, the way the air got thin. Alexia's gaze landed on you first, then slid to Misa, and something in her expression went very still, very cold, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm.
She didn't say anything, she didn't need to. The set of her jaw, the way her hand found the doorframe and gripped it you knew the look. You could picture that sheâs done it a hundred times, that particular stillness right before she made someone regret their existence, but she didn't address it.
She let it sit there, heavy and unresolved, and walked to the armchair in the corner instead, dropping into it with a deliberate casualness that fooled absolutely no one. She picked up a glass someone had left on the side table for her, swirled it once, and took a long, unhurried sip.
The match played on, you tried to focus on the screen, tried to care about the tactical collapse happening in real time, but your skin was prickling. You could feel the weight of Alexia's attention like a hand on the back of your neck, even though she wasn't looking at you. She was watching the game, or pretending to, her glass resting on her knee, one finger tapping a slow rhythm against the stem.
Misa had gone very quiet beside you, the energy had shifted, the easy warmth of the room curdling into something watchful and waiting.
You heard Alexia move before you saw it, the creak of leather as she shifted in the armchair, the soft click of her glass being set down on the side table. You didn't turn, but you did count the seconds in your head. One. Two. Three.
"Y/N." Her voice was quiet, conversational, the kind of quiet that makes people lean in rather than lean away, "Come here."
The room didn't go silent, someone was still talking about an offside call, but the conversation stuttered, stumbled, kept going at half volume with half the attention. You set your phone down on the cushion beside you and stood, your legs were steadier than they had any right to be.
You crossed the room, Alexia didn't look up at you until you were standing directly in front of her, close enough that your knees almost brushed the arm of the chair. Then she tilted her head back, slow, and met your eyes, "Turn around."
You turned, you felt the eyes of the room on you, you heard the rustle of fabric as she leaned forward adjusting the way she sat, felt her breath warm against your hip through the thin material of your shirt.
"Sit" she spoke as she sat back, and you lowered yourself onto her lap, feeling the firmness of her thighs beneath you. Her arm wrapped around your waist, possessive and warm, pulling you back against her chest. You could feel the steady thud of her heartbeat against your spine, "Comfortable?" she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You nodded, not trusting your voice, you could feel her strap clearly and firm beneath you. The match continued on the screen, but you couldn't focus on it anymore. Alexia's hand rested on your hip, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of your jeans. The room had adjusted to your presence on her lap, conversations resuming, though you caught Misa watching from the corner of your eye, her expression carefully neutral.
"Good girl," Alexia whispered, and the words sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
You tried to pay attention to the game. Barcelona had regained some possession, working the ball along the left flank. You felt Alexia's interest sharpen, her body tensing slightly beneath you as the play developed.
The match entered its final minutes, Barcelona held their lead through sheer determination, the defence scrambling to clear every cross, every through ball. When the final whistle blew, the room erupted in a mix of celebration and relief.
Alexia's arms tightened around you, "Stay," she said, though it wasn't really a question.
The others began to disperse, some heading to the kitchen, others to the garden for post match cigarettes. Misa caught your eye one last time, something unreadable in her expression, before following the others out.
When the room had emptied, Alexia turned you in her lap so you were facing her, her eyes searched yours, serious now.
"What did Misa say to you?"
You hesitated, then decided honesty was safer, "She offered a bet. If I could score past her, she'd give me anything I wanted. If she saved it..." You trailed off.
Alexia's jaw tightened, "If she saved it?"Â
"She said she wanted to watch you... fuck me."
The silence that followed was heavy, dangerous, Alexia's eyes darkened, her fingers digging into your waist,  "And what did you say?"
"Nothing. You came back before I could answer."
She studied you for a long moment, then something shifted in her expression. The tension didn't leave her body, but her voice softened. "You're mine," she said simply, "No one watches. No one touches. No one even thinks about it."
You nodded, unable to look away from the intensity in her eyes.
"Say it," she demanded.
"I'm yours," you said, and the words came out steadier than you expected, truer than you meant.
Her expression didn't change, not exactly, but something behind her eyes settled, like a lock clicking into place. She nodded once, slow, then pulled you closer until your forehead rested against hers. You could feel her breath on your lips, warm and measured.
"Good," she said, then, quieter, almost to herself, "You have no idea what you do to me."
You wanted to say something clever, something that would make her laugh, but the moment was too heavy, too real, and your chest ached with a feeling you weren't ready to name. So you stayed quiet, let her hold you there in the emptying room, the television still playing post match analysis that neither of you was watching.
You opened your mouth to protest, but the sound of voices approaching from the kitchen made you both straighten. Alexia's arm stayed around your waist, possessive even as the room began to fill again.
Cata appeared first, carrying two fresh beers. She handed one to Alexia without comment, then caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, a silent question. You looked away, feeling heat climb your neck.
The evening stretched on, you stayed on Alexia's lap longer than was strictly comfortable, but neither of you suggested moving. Her hand never left your body your hip, your thigh, your arm, always touching, always claiming. The conversation ebbed and flowed around you, football and gossip and plans for the weekend, and you found yourself relaxing into it, into the warmth of her and the easy rhythm of the room.
At some point, Misa drifted back in and took a seat on the far side of the sofa. You felt Alexia tense beneath you, her fingers tightening on your waist, but she said nothing, just pressed her lips to your shoulder in a gesture that was half kiss, half warning.
Misa kept her distance for the rest of the night. You caught her watching once or twice, but her expression was careful, measured, the look of someone who'd been reminded of their place and didn't need the lesson repeated.
When the room finally began to thin out people making excuses about early meetings, Alexia's hand found yours and laced your fingers together. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to.
The last person to leave was Cata, who lingered in the doorway, watching the two of you with an expression that hovered between amusement and concern. "You're staying?" she asked, though the question was clearly directed at you rather than Alexia.
You felt Alexia's thumb trace circles on the back of your hand, felt the subtle pressure of her fingers tightening not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of their presence. "Yes," you said, the word coming out steadier than you expected.
Cata nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to Alexia, something passed between them a look, a warning, or a question that you couldn't quite decipher. Whatever it was, Alexia seemed to understand it perfectly. She nodded once, a small, decisive movement.
"Be good," Cata said, and the words were directed at both of you, though her eyes lingered on Alexia. Then she was gone, the front door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made your stomach drop.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything that hadn't been said, everything that had been building since the moment Alexia had called you to her lap. You were still sitting there, your back against her chest, her arms wrapped around you, your fingers intertwined on your thigh.
Neither of you moved for a long moment. You could hear the soft sound of her breathing, could feel the steady thud of her heart against your spine. The television had been muted at some point, the post match analysis playing out in silent pantomime.
"Look at me," Alexia said, her voice low and rough.
You turned in her lap, shifting until you were facing her, your knees bracketing her hips. Her hands settled on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above your hipbones. Her eyes were dark, intense, and you felt yourself falling into them, drowning in the depth of what you saw there.
"I meant what I said," she told you, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're mine."
"I know," you said, and you did.
She studied you for a long moment, her gaze traveling over your face like she was memorising it. Then her hand came up to cup your jaw, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You scared me tonight," she admitted, and the vulnerability in her voice surprised you.
"Scared you?"
"When I saw Misa looking at you like that." Her jaw tightened. "When I heard what she said." Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, "I wanted to" She stopped herself, took a breath, "It doesn't matter what I wanted to do."
You leaned into her touch, turning your head to press a kiss to her palm, "You don't have anything to worry about."
"I know." She said it like she was trying to convince herself, "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to mark you so clearly that no one would ever dare."
The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly, "Alexia"
"Shh." Her hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, applying just enough pressure to tilt your head back. "I've been thinking about this all night," she murmured, her breath warm against your throat. "About having you here, just like this."
You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering where her fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck.
Her mouth found the spot just below your ear, teeth grazing the tendon there before she soothed it with her tongue. You gasped, your hands gripping her shoulders as your body instinctively arched toward her.
"Tell me what you want," she whispered against your skin.
You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Your mind had gone blank, overwhelmed by the sensation of her lips moving down your neck, the scrape of her teeth, the warm pressure of her hands on your body.
"I want" you started, but she cut you off with a kiss, deep and consuming, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I know what you want," she said, her voice rough. "I've known since the moment you walked into this room."
She stood suddenly, lifting you with her as she rose from the chair. Your legs wrapped around her waist instinctively, your arms circling her neck as she carried you through the house. The journey was a blur of shadows and dim light, your focus entirely on the feel of her body against yours, the strength in her arms as she held you.
When she laid you down on her bed, the sheets were cool against your heated skin. She stood over you, looking down with an intensity that made your breath catch. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the toned muscles of her abdomen, the sports bra that left little to the imagination.
"Alexia," you breathed, reaching for her.
She caught your wrists, pinning them gently above your head with one hand. "Not yet," she said, her free hand trailing down your arm, over your collarbone, between your breasts. "I want to take my time with you."
Her hand continued its path downward, fingertips tracing the edge of your waistband before sliding beneath the fabric. You arched into her touch, a moan escaping your lips as her fingers slid between your folds.
"You're already so wet for me," she observed, her voice thick with want. "Have you been like this all night?"
You couldn't answer, couldn't form coherent thoughts as her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles. Her mouth found yours again, swallowing your whimpers as she worked you higher, closer to the edge.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, she released your wrists, her hands moving to the hem of your shirt. "Can I?" she asked, and the question was so gentle, so at odds with the intensity of moments before, that your heart clenched.
You nodded, lifting your arms to help her pull the fabric over your head, her breath caught as she took you in. Your bra followed, tossed carelessly to the floor. Her eyes darkened as they travelled over your exposed skin, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the quick rise and fall of your chest.
"Perfect," she whispered, her voice reverent. "You're perfect."
Before you could respond, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and underwear, pulling them down in one fluid motion. Alexia's eyes never left yours as she stripped off her remaining clothes, revealing the lean, powerful body you admired everytime.
She moved over you, her body hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel her heat but not quite touching. "I've wanted this," she confessed, her voice rough. "Wanted you."
"Then take me," you breathed, reaching up to tangle your fingers in her hair.
Something shifted in her expression, the tenderness gave way to something more primal, more possessive. With surprising strength, she flipped you onto your stomach, then pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, your face pressed into the pillows. Before you could process the change in position, she spread your legs wider, "Alexia" you gasped, her name before dissolved into a moan as she thrust into you without warning.
The force of it drove you forward, your hands scrabbling for grip on the sheets. She gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as she set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the headboard against the wall with a rhythmic thud that echoed through the room.
"This pussy," she growled, her voice thick with desire, "is mine. Do you understand? No one else touches it, no one else thinks about it."
"Yes," you panted, the word barely coherent as pleasure built with each powerful stroke.
She pulled you back against her, your back pressed to her chest, her hand sliding around to cup your breast, fingers rolling your nipple. "These tits," she continued, her mouth hot against your ear, "are mine. Every curve, every inch of you belongs to me."
"Yours," you agreed, your head falling back against her shoulder.
Her free hand moved between your legs, fingers finding your sensitive clit as she continued to thrust into you. The dual sensation was overwhelming, your body tightening around her as the pressure built.
"Say it again," she demanded, her voice rough against your skin.
"I'm yours," you gasped, the words tumbling from your lips. "All of me, yours."
The sound that escaped her was almost feral, possessive and triumphant. She increased her pace, her fingers working in perfect rhythm with her hips, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.
When you came, your body shuddered around her as waves of pleasure crashed through you. She followed moments later, her arms tightening around you as she buried herself deep inside you, her own release pulsing through her body.
For several long moments, neither of you moved, both trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. Then, gently, Alexia tangled her fingers in your hair, pulling gently until you were looking directly into her eyes, the intensity of her gaze made your breath catch.
"I want everyone to know," she whispered, her voice rough with desire. "I want them to hear exactly who you belong to."
"Lie down," you suggested, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.
Alexia raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Oh?"
"I want to ride you," you said, the words coming out steadier than you felt. "I want you to watch me."
Something shifted in her expression surprise giving way to something darker, hungrier. She nodded slowly, moving on the bed and reclining against the headboard, the strap positioned between her thighs.
"Come here then," she said, her voice a low command that sent shivers down your spine.
You crawled up the bed toward her, your body responding to her presence like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole. When you reached her, she guided you onto her lap, her hands firm on your hips as you positioned yourself above her.
You slid onto her, the head stretching you, her hands finding your hips to steady you as you took her inch by inch. The feeling was electric, the friction perfect, your thighs trembling as you began to move. Alexiaâs eyes locked on yours, jaw clenched, the tension in her arms betrayed her own restraint.
"Fuck, you look good like this," she said, her voice rough, her hands guiding your rhythm. You braced against her chest, fingers playing with her nipples, grinding down, letting yourself take everything she could give, riding her until your vision blurred and the only thing you could focus on was the way she watched you, like she was starving and you were the only meal.
The steady slap of flesh and the wet sounds filled the room, but you didnât care if the whole estate heard you. If anything, you wanted them to. You wanted the world to know who you belonged to, and who belonged to you.Â
Alexiaâs hands pressed you up, holding you in place as she thrust up, hard enough to see stars. You moaned her name, over and over, until your voice broke and you came again, the pleasure so sharp you thought youâd split in two. She held you as you shook, her own voice a low, rolling groan as she came with you, her grip bruising on your ass.
You collapsed against her, sweat damp and dizzy, her arms coming around to cradle you to her chest. You stayed there, tangled and silent, the afterglow spreading lazy and warm through every inch of your body.
For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the steady, silent promise in the way she held you and you almost believed it, right up until the knock at the door.
You felt Alexia tense beneath you, a fractional tightening of every muscle. She didnât let go, but she did shift you gently to her side, untangling your legs and smoothing your hair with a practiced, almost tender hand.
"Stay," she said. Then, louder, "Yes?"
Cataâs voice came through the door, just as calm as ever. "Boss, you need see thisâ Alexia just pressed a kiss to your shoulder and rolled out of bed, pulling on her joggers with a single, practiced movement. âDonât go anywhere,â she said, voice low even as her eyes darted toward the door. âIâll be quick.â
You barely had time to yank the duvet over your chest before the door swung open. Cata stepped in, face set and businesslike, not a flicker of surprise at the scene in front of her. If anything, she looked exasperated.
Cata surveyed the scene, Alexia topless, sweat still shining along the blade of her shoulder, the bed clearly and unmistakably used, you only half cocooned in the sheets. She didnât so much as blink at the evidence, only tensed her jaw and offered Alexia a folder, thick as a novel and creased at the edges.
âTell me,â Alexia said, flicking it open, her eyes darting so fast you barely tracked the motion. Cata waited while she read, arms folded, not looking at you but not avoiding your gaze either.
You tucked the duvet under your arm and made yourself sit up, pretending you werenât so wrecked your legs could barely fold beneath you.
Alexiaâs face went cold and hard as first steel, then colder, then something else entirely, a look like someone who saw the whole chessboard and wished she didnât. She snapped the folder shut and handed it back with a sharp motion, she turned to you, âCata will take you home nowâ
Something dropped in your chest, a cold, quiet thing, "Have i done something wrong?â
âSome business has come up i need to take care ofâ
âI canât just stay here?â Alexia considered you for a moment, then her face shuttered completely, "No," she said, "Not tonight."
She didn't elaborate. She had already turned to confer, in rapid fire Catalan, with Cata. They both ignored you as if you had become a piece of furniture, the way only people who wielded real power could.
You sat very still on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet around your chest, they didn't bother lowering their voices, either because they knew you didn't understand, or because it truly didn't matter if you did.
You caught the name Carlos Hernandez, your father's name, a few times, and then yacht and finally your own, thrown between sentences like a coin to the gutter.
The conversation was quick, efficient, no wasted words. Cata shot a look at you, something hard and pitying, then back to Alexia, who nodded once final, irrevocable. They left together as Alexia slipped a t-shirt on, closing the door behind them, and you were alone, blinking in the late evening light with nothing but the smell of sex and the taste of dread in your mouth.
You stayed put for a moment, waiting for the world to right itself. The window was open, the air outside slow and sticky with the onset of rain. In the garden, a sprinkler clicked to life, stuttering a rhythm that felt both random and mechanical.
You wanted to put your clothes back on, but some small, angry pride stopped your hands. Instead, you went to the window, took in the view, and let your body cool slowly in the breeze. You imagined Alexia outside somewhere, maybe in a hidden office that didn't show up on the floor plan, plotting out her next moves, or maybe simply having a drink, laughing about you with her people.
You wondered what you'd done wrong, and then realised with an electric sting, maybe nothing. Maybe this was simply how it worked sex and then absence, belonging and then exile, the whiplash between worlds. Maybe that was the cost. You couldn't decide if you felt cheap, or merely mortgaged.
You pulled your phone out from the wreckage of the bedsheets. A single text appeared, timestamped only minutes ago.
From: Mami
u coming home for dinner, mi vida? i saved you some bacalao x
You stared at the message. For a moment, an irrational, helpless laugh bubbled up. You had gotten fingered by the teenage fantasy of your own fatherâs criminal empire, watched a girl sign international cargo shipments off the small of your back, and now you were being summoned for salt fish and family dinner as if any of it made sense.
You didnât answer, you stared out at the garden, feeling at once invisible and too visible, the sum of every possible contradiction. The ache in your thighs had not yet faded. You wanted Alexia back in the room, wanted her gone from your life, wanted to hold her and never let go.
It took a few more minutes for you to get dressed, raiding a hoodie and joggers from Alexiaâs closet when you realised you couldn't find all your own clothes, and then you padded on bare feet down the hallway and the stairs, following the faint sound of voices toward the kitchen. The conversation inside was low and urgent, but the moment you entered, both fell silent. You hovered in the doorway, feeling the chill of the tiled floor through your skin.
Alexia was at the counter, head bowed over a phone, her hair pulled back into an impatient knot. Cata stood at the fridge, pouring mineral water into a glass, her face still unreadable. You cleared your throat and neither looked up.
It was Cata who finally spoke. "Are you ready?" The question landed with the practiced neutrality of someone who had asked it before, in other rooms, of other girls. You nodded without looking at her, already turning toward the door, already knowing how this part went. Then a hand closed around your wrist not Cata's and the air in the room shifted the way it does before a storm finally breaks.
Her breath came warm against your ear, "I'm doing this to keep you safe." Then her lips, briefly, at the side of your neck not a kiss so much as a punctuation mark. "I'll see you soon."
Your hand found hers where it rested against your stomach, and you pressed down once, feeling the cool of her rings, before you untangled yourself and walked out without turning around, the gravel of the drive loud under your feet, the car already idling outside.
Cata drove you in silence, the cityâs lights flickering past through the tinted glass. You watched the night roll by, not bothering with words, not even when she finally pulled over four blocks from your actual building, the same discreet side street youâd used to keep everyone guessing where you really lived. She didnât ask if you wanted walking to the door, didnât ask if youâd be okay alone, just said, âIâll wait here five minutes,â and left it at that, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, hands at ten and two.
You walked the rest of the way, the taste of Alexia still in your mouth, the imprint of her every finger still warming your skin. You kept your head down and hands deep in the hoodieâs front pouch, even though no one was watching no one you could see, anyway.
Your building always looked like it was waiting for the day it could collapse and be rid of itself. The elevator was dead again, so you took the stairs, winding up three flights with your hand trailing along the chipped paint of the banister. You fumbled your key at the door out of sheer exhaustion, but it wasnât necessary, the door hung open, the frame splintered around the lock.
This was the part where you should have paused, called the police, or at least ran, but you just stood in the threshold, taking it in. The lights on, cast everything in the flat yellow of an interrogation lamp. Your shoes were gone from the rack. Your kitchen chairs were upended, their legs torn off and piled like driftwood in the hallway. In the living room, every book you owned had been ripped from the shelves and cut open, their spines splayed and pages scattered like the aftermath of some paper massacre.
The air was thick with dust and something else, not quite bleach but close, the sharpness of it stinging your nose. You stepped inside, feet crunching on torn photographs and shredded envelopes. In the kitchen, cabinet doors hung open, the contents of your fridge dumped across the linoleum in a sour, glistening heap. The only thing untouched was the old moka pot on the counter, polished to a shine and placed carefully upright, as if whoever did this wanted you to know they could have taken everything, but left you the ability to make coffee out of mercy or mockery.
You walked the perimeter of the apartment, past the bathroom where every towel had been soaked and wrung out onto the tile, past your bedroom where the mattress had been knifed through, feathers and foam bulging from the wounds like stuffing from a ruptured doll. On the wall above the bed, written in something you hoped was black marker but looked too dark for comfort, was a single word Traitor.
Your knees gave out a little when you saw it, and you sat heavily on the side of the bed, ignoring the slow collapse of the ruined mattress beneath you. You read the word again, and then a third time before you heard movement and you stiffened.
âYou really thought we wouldnât find out you were in with Putellas huh?â
"Trust me?" she asked quietly.It should've been a difficult question, but it wasn't.An hour ago she was a stranger watching you from across a crowded bar. Now you're climbing into the back of a black Rolls Royce because somehow saying no feels impossible.She flirts like it's a language. Smiles like she's already won. Kisses like she doesn't ask for permission from the world.A woman in a tailored suit calls her boss and suddenly the gorgeous stranger you've been shamelessly flirting with might not be just another woman at the bar and you have absolutely no idea what you've just walked into.
Part 3
Word Count: 12.8k
Warnings: Smut
Masterlist
You let your head fall all the way back, arms splayed, a boneless heap in the chaos of her desk. Your pulse still thundered in your ears, so loud you only half registered the scrape of Alexiaâs chair as she rolled it closer. She braked the wheels with both feet, then picked up your wrist and pressed her lips to the inside, a lazy kiss to the vein as if sampling its speed.
âYouâre not breathing,â she teased, voice roughened by what had just happened. âI can do CPR, but youâll have to ask nicely.â
You snorted, tried to catch your breath, then remembered your own state of undress and groaned, âYou ruined me.â
She grinned, and for a moment the dangerous, untouchable Alexia was replaced by the side that laughed at her own bad puns and got way too competitive at chess. âDid you want gentle?â she said, reaching up to run the back of her knuckle down your cheekbone, the gesture was almost sweet.
âNo,â you admitted, âBut I think I need a minute.â
She stood, rolled her own neck until it popped, then started collecting your scattered clothes from where theyâd landed on the floor. She walked them over, but instead of handing them to you, she just laid them across your stomach like a towel at a spa.
âClothes,â she said, matter of fact as if the air between you wasnât still sparking, âWe should get dressed.â
âAre you sure?â You waggled your eyebrows, making a joke of it, but you both knew the spell had already shifted into something less urgent, more raw and real.
She gave you a look that said she was sure, then turned and started buttoning her own shirt. You watched, mesmerised, as she went from unguarded to composed in the time it took you to pull on your jeans.
You sat up gingerly, legs quivering, and Alexia watched you with the same analytical gaze youâd assume sheâd use on her chessboard, âShould I order you a car?â she asked.
You pursed your lips, âYou want me to leave?â
âNo,â she said, too quickly, then smiled, âBut if you stay, Iâm not responsible for your legs in the morning.â She poured herself another two fingers of the brown stuff, then offered you the glass. You took it, sipped, and this time didnât even flinch at the taste. You let it burn a path straight to your core.
âWhat now?â you asked, when the silence had grown comfortable.
Alexia considered, then leaned back in her desk chair, arms folded behind her head. âNow I try to figure out what your father will do,â she said, completely matter of fact, âand whether you just created an international incident or merely a complicated family drama.â Her smile softened the words.
You fiddled with your jean button, then shrugged. âIf it helps, I think heâs more likely to kill you for fucking me than for killing his manâ
Alexiaâs eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, igniting the hushed air between you with a static so palpable it felt like a third presence in the room. âFamily first, always,â she said, âBut your fatherâs never met anyone like me.â
You took the glass from her hand with deliberate slowness, letting your fingers brush the rim of her knuckles, âHe has no imagination,â you said, âbut he knows how to burn things down.â
You wondered whether the same was true of you, whether youâd inherited your motherâs gift for absence or your fatherâs genius for violence, or perhaps both, which terrified you more than either alone.
âItâs always a burned bridge with men like him,â Alexia said, propping her chin on her fist. âThey donât know another language.â
Her gaze flicked over you, still half clothed and barely holding yourself together after what sheâd just done to you, and arched a brow.
âYouâre not like him.â
You shivered, partly from the chill of the open window, partly from the weight of being seen.
âYou donât know that,â you said, but you tasted the lie even as you said it. Your legs still twitched with echoing aftershocks, desperate to fold themselves beneath you, to run, to stay.
âI do,â she insisted, and her certainty was its own wrench, âYou hesitate. People like us never hesitate, unless weâre fighting ourselves.â
She stood, circled behind you, and rested her hands on your shoulders, moulding them with slow, deep pressure. It was not a tender gesture, but it was honest, and you pressed your cheek to the back of her hand, feeling the pulse in her wrist, steady as a metronome.
âYou could stay,â she said, voice pitched low, âif you want.âÂ
You let your breath out slowly. âAnd if I do?â Alexia didnât answer right away, just kneaded at the muscles in your neck until your resistance slackened.
âIf you do,â she said at last, âyouâll have to own who you are in my house.â
You could have argued, but didnât. Instead, you stared at the chessboard near her desk and saw that the game was unsolvable, every move endgame and checkmate at once. âIâll try,â you said, and let her hands move you as they pleased. It felt like the only thing left you hadnât ruined yet.
She spun you in the desk so you faced her, knees colliding with her. âYouâre safe here,â she said. âNo one gets in without my say soâ
The words should have comforted you, instead, they made your chest tighten.
You're safe here.
You searched Alexia's face, trying to decide whether she believed that or whether she'd simply said it because it was what you needed to hear.
"My father has people everywhere," you said quietly.
"So do I." There wasn't an ounce of arrogance in her voice, just certainty.
You let out a slow breath, "This is insane."
Alexia smiled faintly, "I've had that thought once or twice."
"No..." You shook your head, looking around the room, a laugh escaped you, disbelieving more than amused, "I met you in a bar."
"You did."
"I thought you were just..." You gestured vaguely, "a ridiculously attractive woman who was far too confident."
"And now?"
"Now I find out you're the head of..." You stopped yourself, unsure what word to use.
Alexia spared you the effort, "My organisation."
"You say that like you're the CEO of a tech company."
"It keeps the paperwork simpler." Despite everything, you laughed, she watched the tension leave your shoulders a fraction, "You laugh when you're overwhelmed," she observed, "and you play Sudoku."
"I do."
"You make jokes."
"I do that too."
"You flirt." You looked up at her, he corner of her mouth lifted.
Silence settled again as your gaze drifted to the chessboard on the table beside her desk.
Neither side had an obvious advantage.
"You play?"
Alexia followed your eyes, "Every evening."
"Against who?"
"Myself, usually."
You frowned, "Doesn't that get predictable?"
"No."
She walked over, absentmindedly moving a white knight one square, "It teaches you to think like the person trying to beat you."
You watched the move, "Is that how you stay alive?"
She looked at the board for a long moment before answering, "It's part of it." The honesty surprised you, "So is knowing when not to make a move."
You thought about your father leaving the dinner table, about the convoy of cars disappearing into the night, "I don't think he's going to wait."
"No." Alexia's expression hardened slightly, "I don't think he is either."
A knot formed in your stomach, "I'm sorry."
She looked up, "For what?"
"For bringing this here."
"You didn't."
You rubbed your forehead, "If I'd never walked into that bar..."
Alexia interrupted gently, "If you'd never walked into that bar" She held your gaze, "I'd still have killed Manuel."
The bluntness caught you off guard.
"He made a decision that endangered people under my protection." There was no pride in her voice, no satisfaction it was just fact. "This was coming whether you met me or not."
You weren't sure whether that made you feel better or worse, Alexia stepped closer, leaning lightly against the edge of the desk.
"The only difference now" She paused, "...is that you're standing between two worlds."
You gave a tired smile, "I spent years pretending one of them didn't exist."
"And the other?"
"I thought it only existed in films."
A quiet laugh escaped Alexia, "I assure you" She glanced toward the window overlooking the estate, "it's considerably less glamorous."
You looked around the room again, the books, the chessboard, the reading glasses she'd left beside a stack of paperwork, it was strangely ordinary, if you ignored the wall of monitors with cameras on every square inch of the property constantly rolling.
"I keep expecting you to become..."
"What?"
"I don't know." You smiled sheepishly, "Scarier."
Alexia laughed properly then, the sound was warm, genuine, and so different from the composed woman who gave orders that people obeyed without question. "I'm afraid that's disappointing."
"It is, actually."
"Oh?"
"I was preparing a speech."
She folded her arms, "I'd love to hear it."
"It involved me dramatically announcing that I wasn't afraid of you."
"And now?"
You looked at her for a long second, "I'm still a little afraid of you." She nodded as though that was entirely reasonable. "But" You took another breath, "...I'm starting to think I'm more afraid of what happens when my father finds out I came here."
The amusement faded from Alexia's face, she became serious again, "So am I."
The admission landed heavily, not because it frightened you, because it told you she was no longer thinking only as a boss protecting her organisation.
She was thinking about protecting yo, the distance between you no longer felt charged by flirtation.
It felt charged by choices, by consequences.
By the uncomfortable understanding that whatever happened next, neither of your lives would be as simple as they had been before you looked across that crowded bar.
Alexia left you and unlocked the office door, the heavy click echoed in the quiet room.
She pulled the handle down and stepped aside, "After you."
You walked out first, you barely made it two steps into the hallway before stopping, Alexia raised an eyebrow, her team had appeared with almost supernatural speed.
Ingrid stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel.
Patri was somehow already leaning against the wall opposite, phone tucked into her pocket.
Mapi looked up from the sofa with the remote still in one hand.
Misa remained further back, shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded, unreadable as ever.
It was as though the simple act of Alexia's office door opening had summoned everyone.
Alexia didn't seem remotely surprised, Ingrid looked past you to Alexia, "Is she staying for dinner?"
The question wasn't directed at you, it was directed entirely at Alexia.
You answered anyway, "I've already eaten."
Alexia's lips twitched, that smug little smile was becoming dangerously familiar.
Before she could respond, Patri spoke with complete nonchalance, "We know you have."
You frowned, "...What?"
Patri looked genuinely confused that you were confused, "Enjoyed yourself did you?" She grinned, "Those moans almost made me blush!"
Your brain stalled, your mouth fell open. You looked from Patri to Mapi to Ingrid, who had suddenly become deeply interested in the tea towel she was folding.
Finally, your horrified gaze landed on Misa, the bodyguard met your eyes without a flicker of emotion, "You're the loudest one she's had yet."
The sentence was delivered so flatly it took you a second to realise she wasn't joking.
Your entire face burned, slowly, very slowly, you turned towards Alexia, "I thought you said your office was soundproof."
Alexia looked entirely unbothered, "I mean it basically is."
You stared at her, "Clearly fucking isn't."
Mapi made a thoughtful noise from the sofa, Alexia folded her arms, thoroughly enjoying herself now, she tilted her head.
"So are you saying if you knew that" She took one small step closer, "it would've changed how the night went?"
You opened your mouth, nothing came out, your brain searched desperately for a response and found absolutely nothing.
You blinked at her, Alexia smiled, "Thought so."
She simply slipped her hands into her pockets, the corner of her mouth still lifted in quiet satisfaction as she watched you try and fail to recover your composure.
"It's soundproofed."
Patri looked at her incredulously, "...It's certainly not."
Mapi nodded from the sofa with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "Could hear her moaning from across the city I bet."
You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a plea for the floor to swallow you whole, "Oh my God..."
Pina, who hadn't looked up from her phone once, spoke without missing a beat, "I've already ordered earplugs for next time."
Alexia slowly turned her head towards them all, one eyebrow lifted, her voice lost its amusement, dropping into something quieter. "I said..." She paused just long enough for everyone to notice, "it's soundproofed."
The atmosphere shifted instantly, Patri straightened so quickly it was almost impressive, "Didn't hear a thing."
Mapi nodded with complete sincerity, "Must've been the wind."
Pina tapped at her screen for another couple of seconds before finally looking up, "I actually just paid the invoice for the soundproofing they installed last month."
Silence, then Pina looked back down at her phone as though that settled the matter entirely.
You stared at them, then at Alexia, Alexia looked back at you with an expression that very clearly said, See?
You rolled your eyes, it was automatic, you didn't even think about it.
The hallway went suspiciously quiet, Patri's eyebrows climbed, Mapi looked between the two of you, even Misa glanced over.
Nobody. Absolutely nobody, rolled their eyes at Alexia, except, apparently, you, Alexia didn't seem offended in the slightest, if anything, the corner of her mouth twitched.
"You staying," she asked calmly, "or going?" The question pulled you back to reality.
You sighed, "I should go." Alexia waited, "I've got work tomorrow."
She nodded once, no argument, no attempt to persuade you otherwise.
"Cata will take you."
As if on cue, Cata appeared from somewhere further down the hallway, already holding the Rolls Royce keys, "I'm ready whenever you are."
You looked back at Alexia, "Thank you."
"For?"
You smiled faintly, "For... listening."
There was a brief pause, then Alexia stepped forward just enough to maybe open the front door for you herself, "You know how to reach us now."
Not me. Us.
You understood the distinction, you nodded, "I do."
As you walked towards the entrance, Ingrid called after you, "Next time" You turned, "come hungry."
You laughed, "I'll try."
Patri folded her arms, "And maybe warn us before you disappear into Boss's office."
"Patri," Alexia said evenly.
"I'm joking!" Alexia gave her a look, Patri immediately raised both hands, "I'm stopping."
Mapi leaned back into the sofa, "Smart choice."
You couldn't help smiling as Cata opened the front door for you, for a house full of people who, by reputation alone, should have terrified you they were alarmingly normal.
As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you glanced back once, Alexia was still standing in the hallway, watching you leave.
She gave a single nod, you returned it, then Cata closed the door gently behind you, and together you made your way towards the waiting car.
đŞđź
The drive back into the city was quiet, not awkward, just quiet, the Rolls Royce glided through the evening traffic, the cabin insulated from the noise outside.
You watched Barcelona drift past through the tinted glass, neither of you seemed in a hurry to fill the silence.
Eventually, you spoke, "Can you just drop me where you picked me up?"
Cata caught your eyes briefly in the rear view mirror, she simply inclined her head, "Alright." Nothing more was said for the remainder of the journey.
The Rolls-Royce rolled to a gentle stop beside the pavement overlooking the marina not too long later, Cata climbed out first, opening your door.
You stepped onto the pavement, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
You hesitated, "...And thank you."
Cata frowned slightly, "For what?"
"For answering the phone."
Something softened in her expression, "I almost didn't."
A small nod passed between you, then you turned and started walking, Cata waited until you disappeared around the corner before climbing back into the driver's seat.
She pulled away from the curb, but not very far, she drove another fifty metres before easing the car into a quiet parking bay overlooking the marina entrance.
The engine remained running, she rested both hands lightly on the steering wheel and waited.
She wasn't following you, not exactly, just making sure, as she was a little suspicious that you didn't want dropping home at the late hour.
Then you appeared pushing a motorbike, Cata sat forward slightly it was black and very large. Powerful enough that even from a distance she recognised it wasn't something a beginner rode.
You pulled a helmet from the handle bars slipping it onto your head, then swung one leg effortlessly over the bike.
Cata's eyebrows lifted, "Hm."
You clearly knew what you were doing, the engine barked into life it was deep and aggressive. You barely let it idle before pulling away, the bike accelerated down the road with startling speed.
At the first junction the traffic lights turned red and you didn't even slow down. The bike slipped cleanly through the empty intersection before disappearing into the evening traffic.
Cata watched until the taillight vanished completely, "...Well then."
She reached into the centre console and picked up her phone to ring one contact. Boss.
The call connected after two rings, Alexia answered immediately, "Everything alright?"
"Yes." Cata looked once more towards the now empty road, "I've just learnt something."
A pause, "What?"
Another brief glance towards the intersection, "Y/N rides like she's trying to outrun death."
Alexia was quiet for a moment, "...She what?"
"She had me drop her where she must keep this very powerful bike, she ran a red light and accelerated hard enough to make me question my own driving."
Alexia smiled to herself on the other end of the line.
"I think" Cata paused. "...she has more layers to her than she lets on."
Silence, then Alexia answered quietly, "I know."
Cata ended the call and couldn't quite shake the image of you disappearing into Barcelona traffic.
One thing had become abundantly clear, you might have grown up sheltered from your father's business, but fear had never stopped you from twisting a throttle and charging headfirst into danger.
đŞđź
For three days, your phone became something you actively avoided.
The first call came the morning after.
Cata đśď¸
You stared at the screen until it stopped ringing, the second came that evening, ignored.
The third arrived the next afternoon while you were making coffee at work and you ignored again.
Lily glanced over as your phone vibrated across the counter, "You gonna get that?"
You looked at the screen for barely half a second before turning it face down, "Spam."
"Hm." Lily didn't sound convinced, neither were you by your own lie
By the fourth day, you'd stopped jumping every time your phone buzzed. You'd convinced yourself that if you ignored it long enough whatever this was would eventually go away.
But it didn't.
You'd just finished work, apron folded neatly into your backpack, headphones resting around your neck as you wandered down one of the quieter side streets towards your apartment.
The afternoon sun was warm, people drifted past carrying shopping bags.
For the first time all week your mind wasn't occupied with mafia families, murdered right hand men or women named Alexia fucking you until you couldn't think straight.
A familiar engine purred beside you and your shoulders slumped before you even looked.
The black Rolls Royce matched your walking pace the window lowered smoothly, there sat Cata behind the wheel expression as unreadable as ever.
She looked at you, "Get in."
You stopped walking, people continued flowing around you as though nothing unusual was happening. You sighed, "Do I have a choice?"
Cata considered the question, then answered with complete honesty, "Boss sent me to find you."
"...So no then?"
"No."
You looked at the immaculate car, then back at Cata, "You know this is a really weird thing to do, right?"
"Is it?"
"People are looking."
"They usually do."
You pinched the bridge of your nose, "I've been ignoring your calls."
"I noticed."
"I thought you'd take the hint."
"I did." You frowned.
"...You did?"
Cata nodded once, "Boss didn't"
You stared at her for a long moment but you couldn't help it, a laugh escaped you. You looked up and down the street, there really wasn't much point arguing, Alexia clearly wasn't going to stop sending Cata.
Cata almost smiled, almost as you let out another sigh, "Fine."
You opened the rear door, paused then looked back at Cata.
"If she's sent you to kidnap me..."
"You're getting in voluntarily."
"That's a technicality."
You climbed into the back seat, the door closed with its familiar soft thud, Cata pulled smoothly back into traffic.
You settled against the leather seat, "So..." You looked towards the driver's rear view mirror, "Where am I being kidnapped to?"
Cata's eyes met yours briefly in the reflection, "Boss said you'd ask that."
"And?"
"She told me to tell you..." A tiny pause, "that if she wanted to kidnap you, she'd have done it properly"
You stared at the back of Cata's head, Cata drove on in silence for another few seconds before her phone began ringing and the blackout divide slid up between you.
The journey ended somewhere familiar, the tall gates rolled open before the car reached them, you recognised the sweeping driveway. Cata parked outside the front entrance, she climbed out first, opening your door with the same practiced efficiency she always had.
"We're here."
"I gathered." You stepped onto the gravel, looking up at the enormous house, "You know normal people usually text."
Cata almost smiled again, she gestured towards the front door, "After you."
The front door opened before either of you reached it, someone inside had clearly been watching the cameras, the house felt different today, less busy, quieter.
The smell of something baking still drifted from the kitchen, but there were no raised voices, no football playing on the television.
Your footsteps echoed gently across the polished wooden floor, you'd barely taken three steps inside when something made you look up.
The landing above overlooked the entrance hall, Alexia stood there, one hand resting lightly on the bannister. She wasn't reading, wasn't working, she'd clearly been waiting, your eyes met, neither of you spoke.
For a long second, she simply studied you from upstairs as if making sure you were actually here, then, without a word, she turned walked along the landing reached the last door pushed it open and disappeared inside.
She didn't close it, she left it hanging open, an invitation, you looked beside you to Cata was already taking off her suit jacket.
She noticed your hesitation, "Go on."
You looked back upstairs, "...She didn't actually ask me."
"She doesn't need to."
You frowned, "That's incredibly cryptic."
"It's incredibly Alexia."
Taking a steadying breath, you started climbing the staircase, each step creaked softly beneath your feet, the closer you got to the landing, the quieter the house seemed to become.
At the top, you paused outside the open doorway, you knocked gently against the already open door anyway, "Come in." Her voice was calm.
You stepped inside it wasn't what you'd expected, for the second time since meeting Alexia you realised you'd built an entirely different picture of her in your head.
The bedroom was large but understated, dark wooden floors, bookshelves lined one wall, packed with novels, biographies and history books.
A king sized bed sat neatly made beneath wide windows overlooking the gardens.
A chess set rested on a small table beside an armchair, another unfinished game frozen mid match.
There wasn't a trace of unnecessary luxury, no gold, no marble, no attempt to impress anyone. It looked lived in.
Alexia stood by the open balcony doors, hands tucked into the pockets of her joggers.
The evening breeze stirred the curtains behind her, "You came."
You smiled faintly, "I was under the impression I didn't have much choice."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, "Cata can be persuasive."
"Ignoring calls apparently has consequences."
"I was running out of ways to ask if you were alright."
The honesty caught you completely off guard, you slipped the phone back into your pocket, "I didn't think..." You hesitated, "I didn't think you'd actually be worried."
Alexia held your gaze, "I was."
The room fell quiet, she didn't move from the balcony, didn't look away from the horizon line, only lifted her hand in the smallest beckon. You crossed the bedroom, feeling the plush rug flatten under your feet until you stood beside her, the world outside the window now cool and washed in that strange blue that happens right before dusk.
She said, "Come here," which was absurd because you were already as close as you could get, but then she reached and drew you firmly in front of her, guiding your hips until you were pressed, back to chest, against the banister rail.
Alexia's hands landed on your waist, fingers splayed and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. She let them rest there a moment, then snaked them higher, up your ribs, until she found the hollow between your breasts and the edge of your collarbone. You let your head fall back, resting it against her shoulder, and with your eyes closed you could almost hear the rustling leaves rather than the wild racket of your own heartbeat.
Alexia kissed the edge of your jaw, slow and unhurried, her lips tracing a path from your ear to your neck. She stopped where your throat met your shoulder, tongue flicking out, teeth grazing just shy of a bite, and you felt the sound she made, low and approving, vibrate through both your bodies.
You didn't say anything, her hands bunched in your shirt, her mouth on your skin, every soft kiss she left a promise of more. Her right hand slipped down again, under the hem and between the waist of your jeans and the band of your underwear, splaying across your lower belly. She pressed you back into her, anchoring you while her left hand found your hair, sweeping it off your neck so she could get her mouth there, too.
You were in front, eyes closed, hands gripping the iron rail so hard your knuckles were pale, Alexia behind, dark hair falling over her face, features sharpened by the light, her hands and mouth the only things that existed.
She exhaled softly against your throat, then nipped you, just enough to make you shiver. Her hand slid lower, cupping you through your jeans, then pressing, testing.
"You're so tense," she said, a faint smile in the corner of her voice.
You tried to answer but only managed a stuttering breath. She laughed, the sound as intimate as a secret, your back arched from her chest, her hand expertly undoing the button of your jeans, then the zip, and suddenly her fingers were against your skin.
She didn't rush, slipping slow and careful between your legs, coaxing your thighs apart until you couldn't keep your knees steady. You heard yourself gasp, felt the vibration of her laughter at your shoulder, and then her fingers were inside, just barely, the pad of her thumb circling your clit through the thin damp cotton of your underwear.
The touch was featherlight, almost disrespectfully so, as if she wanted you to feel every millimetre of restraint. She kissed your ear as she did it, each flick of her thumb matched to the pulse in your neck.
You tried to turn, to see her, but Alexia held you there, a palm flat between your breasts, pinning you to her and into the balcony rail as if you might otherwise float away.
She pressed her body into your back, her hips flush with yours, the harness you hadnât noticed her put on earlier suddenly and unmistakably hard against your lower back.
She mouthed at the spot just below your earlobe, âYou want it here?â she murmured, her words equal parts taunt and challenge.
You found yourself nodding, the idea so raw and shameless it left you dizzy. Her right hand slipped further down, knuckles dragging between your thighs, then under the band of your underwear. Two fingers pressed in, slow and sure, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning loud enough to carry across the lawn.
Alexiaâs other hand worked up your shirt, found your nipple and rolled it between thumb and forefinger, pinching just shy of pain. The dual sensation sent you arching up onto your toes, gasping.
She fucked you with her fingers, unhurried, letting you feel every inch, every withdrawal and return. Her thumb never left your clit, the pressure gradually increasing until the friction was a constant, inescapable drag, and you could no longer keep your knees from buckling.
She held you up with the arm across your ribs, the strength in it startling, and rocked her own hips in counterpoint, as if she could fuck you open from both directions at once. The entire time, she never stopped talking, whispering praise, filth, questions you were in no state to answer.
âYouâre so wet,â she said, âDid you get this desperate just from my hands?â
You nodded, or tried to, but her grip on your hair had become possessive, forcing your chin up so you could only stare straight out at the garden.
âGood girl,â she purred, and with that, drove her fingers in hard enough to make you shudder. She curled them, found that place inside you no one had ever quite reached, and milked it without mercy. You heard yourself make a noise, high and humiliating, and Alexiaâs laughter was in your ear, a private delight.
She doubled the speed, the intensity, and you slammed your hands against the rail to steady yourself as the world dissolved into pure sensation. She held you there, right at the threshold, not letting you tip over. âYou can come if you want,â she said, soft and approving, and the permission was all it took. You came with a violence that surprised even you, legs shaking, mouth open soundlessly, the aftershocks echoing out through your entire body. Alexia caught you, kept you upright, her hand gentling as she stroked you through the last of the shame and joy at once, until you finally collapsed against the banister and sagged into her hold.
She gathered you up in her arms, with no more effort than if youâd weighed nothing at all. You let go, head lolling back against her shoulder, and she walked you to the bed, mindless of how your jeans and underwear bunched around your thighs. She set you down on the edge, her palm firm at the centre of your chest, and pushed you flat onto your back.
She stripped the shirt from your shoulders, her hands reverent now, only when you were bare did she step back enough to strip her own joggers off, and you saw the black harness sleek, heavy, obscene already strapped around her hips. She left the grey t-shirt on, it suited her, the irony of domesticity and hunger. She knelt on the mattress, knees pressing either side of your hips, the cock bobbing impossible and perfect between you.
You felt something between panic and exhilaration as she stroked it, once, twice, slicking it with a practiced thumb, eyes never leaving yours. She bent down and kissed you mouth soft and open, a question written in the way her lips brushed yours. You answered by clawing at her shirt, hauling her close, wanting nothing more than to be filled, so totally there would be no room left for fear or regret.
Alexia took her time, lining up the head, teasing it through your folds, rolling her hips so the tip pressed just inside, then back again. You arched, desperate, and she gave you a look that said she liked you like this. With a single, slow thrust she slid inside, the stretch so sharp your mouth fell open, breath a full body shiver. She pushed all the way in, hips flush against yours, her body stretched over you, eyes still locked on yours, and waited for you to signal you could take it, and when you nodded, she grinned.
She started slow, fucking you with long, even strokes, the movement hypnotic, deliberate. Her hands mapped your ribs, your hips, her grip tightening every time you clenched around her. She watched your face for every change, every tremor, as if memorising the way you broke and reformed with each thrust.
You fisted the tee, needing something to anchor you, and she leaned in to lick the sweat from your collarbone, murmuring encouragement, filth, praise and threat all at once.
She fucked you with full attention, never once looking away, never once breaking the rhythm except to check that you were still with her, to push your hair off your face, to hold your chin steady so you were forced to meet her gaze. You felt yourself unravel, the pleasure building tight and thick, pressure mounting with every slap of her hips. She moved faster, harder, her breaths coming ragged at your ear, and when you moaned her name it made her snap to thrust so deep that you almost blacked out.
She murmured into your ear, âGet on your hands and kneesâ You did as you were told you felt yourself move before the thought caught up. You rolled, arms bracing, elbows gone soft, cheek still warm from the sheets. Alexia moved behind you, hands running the length of your thighs, fingers tracing up your hips, adjusting you into exactly the right angle.
The brief slip of the harness along the backs of your legs made you shiver, and then she was lining up again, the blunt head finding you with a practiced confidence that made you realise sheâd done this before, and would do it again, and you wanted to be the only name she remembered each time.
She eased in, the intrusion at this angle so intense you had to grip handfuls of blanket to steady yourself. She started moving, a relentless rhythm, hard enough to force your breath out in ragged, animal sounds. Each time she bottomed out, her hips slapped the curve of your ass with a sharp, hot sting, and you pushed yourself back against her, greedy, embarrassing, nothing but friction and pulse.
âGood girl,â she said, low and guttural, her hands digging into your waist, holding on like she was scared you might vanish between thrusts. Her fingers slid down, found your clit, worked it with that perfect pressure, and you made a noise like a sob. She pressed the flat of her other hand between your shoulder blades and just held you there, caged and caught and finally, completely owned.
You lost track of the words that spilled from your mouth,
âpleaseâ
harder
oh fuck, Alexia
until all you knew was the certainty that you would do anything she asked and beg for more. She fucked you until the pleasure became so raw you had to hide your face in the sheets, until you felt your body coil around an edge, then tip, then shatter apart.
You came with a violence that blanked your brain, the noise crashing out of you before you realised what you were doing. Alexia didnât slow, if anything, she fucked you through it, pushed you harder, drew out every last wave until you collapsed finally, boneless, gasping and shaking into the mattress.
She followed you down, the weight of her body a necessary steadines, and just held you there, both of you panting, slick with sweat and something like relief. You felt her mouth brush the back of your neck, her lips on your shoulder, the soft hush of her voice telling you how well youâd done. âCan you take another?â
You nodded, âgo slowâ You said yes, and even after everything that had come before, you weren't ready for how gently she began, how slow and unhurried the pressure was as she nudged her way back in after moving you.
She pulled back, hands finding your ankles, drawing your legs together in one smooth motion before swinging a thigh over to straddle you. You felt the harness drag slow across the backs of your legs, the weight of the cock settling between your thighs as she shifted her hips to find the angle.
She took her time, hands spread on your hips, rocking into you her left hand slipped up your back, tracing shoulder blades and the knobs of your spine, as she thrust short shallow movements.
You wanted to tell her to go faster, but you liked the control, even liked that she could take you apart with this. Each slow thrust built the tension back up, not burning and bright like before, but molten, like it was filling you up from the inside out.
She fucked you like she was memorising the sound. The way the mattress squeaked, the way you whimpered her name, the wet, slick, unashamed pitch of your body opening around her. Her right hand gripped your ass, fingers splayed and firm, until finally she let lift up and come down with a smack.
She leaned forward, body flush to yours, the harness grinding against you with a delicious friction. Her mouth found your ear, breath hot and steady, "You look so fucking good with my cock inside you," she said, and the approval in her voice made your legs tremble.Â
You gasped, lost the rhythm, and she caught you, steadied you with her hands, and started up again, a little faster now, a little harder, hips snapping into you with the force of someone who knew exactly how to break a person in the best possible way. You wanted to touch her, so you reached back blindly, found her hand, held onto it as if you might otherwise float away.Â
She let you have that, let you hold on to her even as she fucked you into the mattress. Your mind swam, senses overloaded, and it was all you could do to keep from coming again. "You can take more," she murmured, "I know you can," and you had no idea how you managed to obey, except that you wanted so badly to please her, no, to impress her, to be the memory she kept in her throat every time she thought of you.
She kept you on that edge for what felt like a lifetime, until you were panting into the sheets, every muscle drawn tight. Only then did she roll her hips with a brutal, perfect precision the pressure so exquisite you thought you might dissolve into molecules, and then, just as you surrendered to the inevitability of it, a sharp knock startled you halfway out of your own body.
Alexia clapped a hand over your hip, stilling you mid thrust, âIâm busy.â
The voice on the other side was crisp and apologetic, âBoss, itâs urgent.â
You heard Cataâs voice, and you wanted to laugh or scream or both, but all you could manage was to bury your face deeper into the mattress. Alexiaâs cock stayed buried inside you, the fullness of it somehow amplifying the humiliation.Â
You heard the sound of her picking up a blanket, then a brief rustle before the warmth of flannel was thrown over the exposed arch of your ass.
âYouâre not letting her in are you?â you asked almost incredulously.
She never even stopped rolling her hips as she called out, âCome in.â
The door eased open. You didnât dare lift your head, but Cataâs footsteps were light and efficient, the hesitation in her voice palpable, âIâm sorry, Boss. Thereâs a situation with the port authorities. They need your signature to process the container before customs arrives.âÂ
âEvery fucking time,â Alexia said, her tone clipped, her hands tightening just perceptibly on your hips. You heard the shuffle of paperwork, the click of a pen being offered.
She let go of your waist with one hand, and reached for the papers. There was a moment of silence while she scanned them, then a brief, sharp click as she uncapped the pen.
Cata was standing at the side of the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she passed the pen over. Alexia dropped the papers onto your bare back the only solid surface she and signed with quick, decisive strokes, then handed it back, her other hand never leaving its grip on your ass.
âCats?â you asked.
Cata coughed, âErm, yeahâ
"Get out," you managed, though it came out wrecked and breathless, barely a word at all. Alexia hadn't stopped moving, just that slow, devastating rock of her hips, buried so deep inside you that every small shift sent a tremor through your thighs.
Cata hesitated, as if to make sure nothing else was needed, and then you realised you were still panting, trembling, you're burying your face into the mattress not nearly enough to muffle the sounds of your breathing or the heat rising off your skin.
Cataâs eyes darted briefly to you, then away, then to the floor. âRight away.â Cata moved towards the door. Her hand found the handle, and she should have left, but she looked back. Alexia's hips had found a new rhythm, deep and unhurried, and the sounds you were making into the mattress were unmistakable. Your fingers had twisted into the sheets. Alexia glanced up and met Cata's eyes and something passed between them. The corner of Alexia's mouth pulling slow, Cata pressing her lips together against a smile she couldn't quite kill before Cata turned the handle and stepped out, the door closing with a soft click.
Alexia exhaled, slow and deliberate, then leaned over your back, her mouth at your ear, and said, âYou didnât just take that like a good girl. You took it like you wanted her to see it.âÂ
You wanted to argue, but then her fingers found your hair pulling your face out the mattress, and you let her, felt the tension at the base of your skull as she used your hair as a lever and fucked you harder, deeper, the fullness almost unbearable.
You breathed her name, once, twice, and she didn't let go, "You like being watched?"
You shook your head, but your body gave you away. You were shaking, raw, the friction of each thrust overwhelming, pleasure and humiliation merged, no way to tell them apart anymore.Â
Alexia's grip on your hair forced your head back so your eyes caught the movement in the mirror youâd only now just seen on the ceiling.
The mirror offered a warped, perfect record of exactly what she was doing to you, her body arched over yours, her arms flexed, the harness obscenely slick, your own body straining for every inch. It hit you then, the awareness of your own image, the wanton wreckage of yourself, and you came again, violently, so hard your arms collapsed beneath you and your knees slid wide apart on the sheets. Alexia held you through it, her own breath ragged, her focus absolute.
She didn't stop until you begged her, not even then, not until the tremors had wrung every last drop of sensation from your body.
When she finally let go, you folded down, face to the sheets, lungs burning, and she stayed there on top you, hand on your spine, counting the beats of your heart with steady, possessive strokes.
She pulled out slow, and you moaned at the loss, and then she was on her back beside you. Neither of you spoke for a long time. You couldn't, the aftershocks made your teeth chatter with every exhale.
Alexia, as always, was the first to recover, she moved onto her side as she pressed her lips to your shoulder, then leaned back, the harness still strapped tight and glistening.
You stared at her, blurry and exhausted, and then the two of you started laughing at the same time, a silly, breathless, undignified sound. You covered your face, and she rolled onto her back, arms crossed behind her head, self satisfaction radiating off her in waves.
You caught your breath, eventually, you reached out, grazed your palm over the flat plane of her abdomen, fingers drifting lower, slick from a mix of your own arousal and her sweat. You traced the lines of muscle, felt the shudder that ran through her at your touch, and for a half second, the balance shifted, you in control.
She caught your wrist, kissed the inside, "If we don't stop now," she said, "I'll never let you go home."
"That's the point," you said, and you only half meant it as a joke. She didn't laugh. She just looked at you, quiet and searching, and you wondered if this was the moment she'd say whatever it was she had
đŞđź
The living room was loud in the way that rooms full of people who know each other well always are overlapping conversations, someone's feet up on the coffee table, the particular ease of people who don't need to perform for each other. You sat beside no one in particular, phone in hand, thumb moving without purpose.
You noticed Alexia glancing at your screen from across the room, not obviously, just enough. You didn't look up.
When she got up and left without a word, your attention pulled toward the TV where the rest of the group had already settled, you let yourself breathe a little.
Barcelona were up one-nil, sixty minutes gone, and visibly retreating.Â
"Bit early to sit back, isn't it," you said, to no one in particular.
Misa's eyes slid sideways to you, "You watch football?"
"Six uncles, four brothers, three brothers-in-law." You chewed the inside of your lip, watching them surrender possession in the final third. "I don't get a choice." You gestured at the screen, "See that? They're inviting the press. They need to hold a higher line or it's going to cost them."Â
"Careful," Misa said, "Almost sounds like you know what you're talking about."
"Player of the year. Under-fourteens."
"Same."
You looked at her, "What position?"
"Keeper."
"I was midfield."
"Didn't ask."
You rolled your eyes, she was still staring at you, which you chose to ignore, "I could score past you."
She actually laughed, short, sharp, surprised out of her, "No you couldn't."
"Want a bet?"
She turned to face you fully for the first time, "You score, name your price. I save it" the corner of her mouth pulled, "I get to watch the boss fuck you."
Alexia reappeared in the doorway , and you felt it before you saw it, the shift in the room's temperature, the way Misa's shoulders dropped a fraction, the way the air got thin. Alexia's gaze landed on you first, then slid to Misa, and something in her expression went very still, very cold, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm.
She didn't say anything, she didn't need to. The set of her jaw, the way her hand found the doorframe and gripped it you knew the look. You could picture that sheâs done it a hundred times, that particular stillness right before she made someone regret their existence, but she didn't address it.
She let it sit there, heavy and unresolved, and walked to the armchair in the corner instead, dropping into it with a deliberate casualness that fooled absolutely no one. She picked up a glass someone had left on the side table for her, swirled it once, and took a long, unhurried sip.
The match played on, you tried to focus on the screen, tried to care about the tactical collapse happening in real time, but your skin was prickling. You could feel the weight of Alexia's attention like a hand on the back of your neck, even though she wasn't looking at you. She was watching the game, or pretending to, her glass resting on her knee, one finger tapping a slow rhythm against the stem.
Misa had gone very quiet beside you, the energy had shifted, the easy warmth of the room curdling into something watchful and waiting.
You heard Alexia move before you saw it, the creak of leather as she shifted in the armchair, the soft click of her glass being set down on the side table. You didn't turn, but you did count the seconds in your head. One. Two. Three.
"Y/N." Her voice was quiet, conversational, the kind of quiet that makes people lean in rather than lean away, "Come here."
The room didn't go silent, someone was still talking about an offside call, but the conversation stuttered, stumbled, kept going at half volume with half the attention. You set your phone down on the cushion beside you and stood, your legs were steadier than they had any right to be.
You crossed the room, Alexia didn't look up at you until you were standing directly in front of her, close enough that your knees almost brushed the arm of the chair. Then she tilted her head back, slow, and met your eyes, "Turn around."
You turned, you felt the eyes of the room on you, you heard the rustle of fabric as she leaned forward adjusting the way she sat, felt her breath warm against your hip through the thin material of your shirt.
"Sit" she spoke as she sat back, and you lowered yourself onto her lap, feeling the firmness of her thighs beneath you. Her arm wrapped around your waist, possessive and warm, pulling you back against her chest. You could feel the steady thud of her heartbeat against your spine, "Comfortable?" she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You nodded, not trusting your voice, you could feel her strap clearly and firm beneath you. The match continued on the screen, but you couldn't focus on it anymore. Alexia's hand rested on your hip, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of your jeans. The room had adjusted to your presence on her lap, conversations resuming, though you caught Misa watching from the corner of your eye, her expression carefully neutral.
"Good girl," Alexia whispered, and the words sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
You tried to pay attention to the game. Barcelona had regained some possession, working the ball along the left flank. You felt Alexia's interest sharpen, her body tensing slightly beneath you as the play developed.
The match entered its final minutes, Barcelona held their lead through sheer determination, the defence scrambling to clear every cross, every through ball. When the final whistle blew, the room erupted in a mix of celebration and relief.
Alexia's arms tightened around you, "Stay," she said, though it wasn't really a question.
The others began to disperse, some heading to the kitchen, others to the garden for post match cigarettes. Misa caught your eye one last time, something unreadable in her expression, before following the others out.
When the room had emptied, Alexia turned you in her lap so you were facing her, her eyes searched yours, serious now.
"What did Misa say to you?"
You hesitated, then decided honesty was safer, "She offered a bet. If I could score past her, she'd give me anything I wanted. If she saved it..." You trailed off.
Alexia's jaw tightened, "If she saved it?"Â
"She said she wanted to watch you... fuck me."
The silence that followed was heavy, dangerous, Alexia's eyes darkened, her fingers digging into your waist,  "And what did you say?"
"Nothing. You came back before I could answer."
She studied you for a long moment, then something shifted in her expression. The tension didn't leave her body, but her voice softened. "You're mine," she said simply, "No one watches. No one touches. No one even thinks about it."
You nodded, unable to look away from the intensity in her eyes.
"Say it," she demanded.
"I'm yours," you said, and the words came out steadier than you expected, truer than you meant.
Her expression didn't change, not exactly, but something behind her eyes settled, like a lock clicking into place. She nodded once, slow, then pulled you closer until your forehead rested against hers. You could feel her breath on your lips, warm and measured.
"Good," she said, then, quieter, almost to herself, "You have no idea what you do to me."
You wanted to say something clever, something that would make her laugh, but the moment was too heavy, too real, and your chest ached with a feeling you weren't ready to name. So you stayed quiet, let her hold you there in the emptying room, the television still playing post match analysis that neither of you was watching.
You opened your mouth to protest, but the sound of voices approaching from the kitchen made you both straighten. Alexia's arm stayed around your waist, possessive even as the room began to fill again.
Cata appeared first, carrying two fresh beers. She handed one to Alexia without comment, then caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, a silent question. You looked away, feeling heat climb your neck.
The evening stretched on, you stayed on Alexia's lap longer than was strictly comfortable, but neither of you suggested moving. Her hand never left your body your hip, your thigh, your arm, always touching, always claiming. The conversation ebbed and flowed around you, football and gossip and plans for the weekend, and you found yourself relaxing into it, into the warmth of her and the easy rhythm of the room.
At some point, Misa drifted back in and took a seat on the far side of the sofa. You felt Alexia tense beneath you, her fingers tightening on your waist, but she said nothing, just pressed her lips to your shoulder in a gesture that was half kiss, half warning.
Misa kept her distance for the rest of the night. You caught her watching once or twice, but her expression was careful, measured, the look of someone who'd been reminded of their place and didn't need the lesson repeated.
When the room finally began to thin out people making excuses about early meetings, Alexia's hand found yours and laced your fingers together. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to.
The last person to leave was Cata, who lingered in the doorway, watching the two of you with an expression that hovered between amusement and concern. "You're staying?" she asked, though the question was clearly directed at you rather than Alexia.
You felt Alexia's thumb trace circles on the back of your hand, felt the subtle pressure of her fingers tightening not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of their presence. "Yes," you said, the word coming out steadier than you expected.
Cata nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to Alexia, something passed between them a look, a warning, or a question that you couldn't quite decipher. Whatever it was, Alexia seemed to understand it perfectly. She nodded once, a small, decisive movement.
"Be good," Cata said, and the words were directed at both of you, though her eyes lingered on Alexia. Then she was gone, the front door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made your stomach drop.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything that hadn't been said, everything that had been building since the moment Alexia had called you to her lap. You were still sitting there, your back against her chest, her arms wrapped around you, your fingers intertwined on your thigh.
Neither of you moved for a long moment. You could hear the soft sound of her breathing, could feel the steady thud of her heart against your spine. The television had been muted at some point, the post match analysis playing out in silent pantomime.
"Look at me," Alexia said, her voice low and rough.
You turned in her lap, shifting until you were facing her, your knees bracketing her hips. Her hands settled on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above your hipbones. Her eyes were dark, intense, and you felt yourself falling into them, drowning in the depth of what you saw there.
"I meant what I said," she told you, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're mine."
"I know," you said, and you did.
She studied you for a long moment, her gaze traveling over your face like she was memorising it. Then her hand came up to cup your jaw, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You scared me tonight," she admitted, and the vulnerability in her voice surprised you.
"Scared you?"
"When I saw Misa looking at you like that." Her jaw tightened. "When I heard what she said." Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, "I wanted to" She stopped herself, took a breath, "It doesn't matter what I wanted to do."
You leaned into her touch, turning your head to press a kiss to her palm, "You don't have anything to worry about."
"I know." She said it like she was trying to convince herself, "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to mark you so clearly that no one would ever dare."
The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly, "Alexia"
"Shh." Her hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, applying just enough pressure to tilt your head back. "I've been thinking about this all night," she murmured, her breath warm against your throat. "About having you here, just like this."
You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering where her fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck.
Her mouth found the spot just below your ear, teeth grazing the tendon there before she soothed it with her tongue. You gasped, your hands gripping her shoulders as your body instinctively arched toward her.
"Tell me what you want," she whispered against your skin.
You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Your mind had gone blank, overwhelmed by the sensation of her lips moving down your neck, the scrape of her teeth, the warm pressure of her hands on your body.
"I want" you started, but she cut you off with a kiss, deep and consuming, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I know what you want," she said, her voice rough. "I've known since the moment you walked into this room."
She stood suddenly, lifting you with her as she rose from the chair. Your legs wrapped around her waist instinctively, your arms circling her neck as she carried you through the house. The journey was a blur of shadows and dim light, your focus entirely on the feel of her body against yours, the strength in her arms as she held you.
When she laid you down on her bed, the sheets were cool against your heated skin. She stood over you, looking down with an intensity that made your breath catch. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the toned muscles of her abdomen, the sports bra that left little to the imagination.
"Alexia," you breathed, reaching for her.
She caught your wrists, pinning them gently above your head with one hand. "Not yet," she said, her free hand trailing down your arm, over your collarbone, between your breasts. "I want to take my time with you."
Her hand continued its path downward, fingertips tracing the edge of your waistband before sliding beneath the fabric. You arched into her touch, a moan escaping your lips as her fingers slid between your folds.
"You're already so wet for me," she observed, her voice thick with want. "Have you been like this all night?"
You couldn't answer, couldn't form coherent thoughts as her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles. Her mouth found yours again, swallowing your whimpers as she worked you higher, closer to the edge.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, she released your wrists, her hands moving to the hem of your shirt. "Can I?" she asked, and the question was so gentle, so at odds with the intensity of moments before, that your heart clenched.
You nodded, lifting your arms to help her pull the fabric over your head, her breath caught as she took you in. Your bra followed, tossed carelessly to the floor. Her eyes darkened as they travelled over your exposed skin, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the quick rise and fall of your chest.
"Perfect," she whispered, her voice reverent. "You're perfect."
Before you could respond, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and underwear, pulling them down in one fluid motion. Alexia's eyes never left yours as she stripped off her remaining clothes, revealing the lean, powerful body you admired everytime.
She moved over you, her body hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel her heat but not quite touching. "I've wanted this," she confessed, her voice rough. "Wanted you."
"Then take me," you breathed, reaching up to tangle your fingers in her hair.
Something shifted in her expression, the tenderness gave way to something more primal, more possessive. With surprising strength, she flipped you onto your stomach, then pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, your face pressed into the pillows. Before you could process the change in position, she spread your legs wider, "Alexia" you gasped, her name before dissolved into a moan as she thrust into you without warning.
The force of it drove you forward, your hands scrabbling for grip on the sheets. She gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as she set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the headboard against the wall with a rhythmic thud that echoed through the room.
"This pussy," she growled, her voice thick with desire, "is mine. Do you understand? No one else touches it, no one else thinks about it."
"Yes," you panted, the word barely coherent as pleasure built with each powerful stroke.
She pulled you back against her, your back pressed to her chest, her hand sliding around to cup your breast, fingers rolling your nipple. "These tits," she continued, her mouth hot against your ear, "are mine. Every curve, every inch of you belongs to me."
"Yours," you agreed, your head falling back against her shoulder.
Her free hand moved between your legs, fingers finding your sensitive clit as she continued to thrust into you. The dual sensation was overwhelming, your body tightening around her as the pressure built.
"Say it again," she demanded, her voice rough against your skin.
"I'm yours," you gasped, the words tumbling from your lips. "All of me, yours."
The sound that escaped her was almost feral, possessive and triumphant. She increased her pace, her fingers working in perfect rhythm with her hips, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.
When you came, your body shuddered around her as waves of pleasure crashed through you. She followed moments later, her arms tightening around you as she buried herself deep inside you, her own release pulsing through her body.
For several long moments, neither of you moved, both trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. Then, gently, Alexia tangled her fingers in your hair, pulling gently until you were looking directly into her eyes, the intensity of her gaze made your breath catch.
"I want everyone to know," she whispered, her voice rough with desire. "I want them to hear exactly who you belong to."
"Lie down," you suggested, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.
Alexia raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Oh?"
"I want to ride you," you said, the words coming out steadier than you felt. "I want you to watch me."
Something shifted in her expression surprise giving way to something darker, hungrier. She nodded slowly, moving on the bed and reclining against the headboard, the strap positioned between her thighs.
"Come here then," she said, her voice a low command that sent shivers down your spine.
You crawled up the bed toward her, your body responding to her presence like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole. When you reached her, she guided you onto her lap, her hands firm on your hips as you positioned yourself above her.
You slid onto her, the head stretching you, her hands finding your hips to steady you as you took her inch by inch. The feeling was electric, the friction perfect, your thighs trembling as you began to move. Alexiaâs eyes locked on yours, jaw clenched, the tension in her arms betrayed her own restraint.
"Fuck, you look good like this," she said, her voice rough, her hands guiding your rhythm. You braced against her chest, fingers playing with her nipples, grinding down, letting yourself take everything she could give, riding her until your vision blurred and the only thing you could focus on was the way she watched you, like she was starving and you were the only meal.
The steady slap of flesh and the wet sounds filled the room, but you didnât care if the whole estate heard you. If anything, you wanted them to. You wanted the world to know who you belonged to, and who belonged to you.Â
Alexiaâs hands pressed you up, holding you in place as she thrust up, hard enough to see stars. You moaned her name, over and over, until your voice broke and you came again, the pleasure so sharp you thought youâd split in two. She held you as you shook, her own voice a low, rolling groan as she came with you, her grip bruising on your ass.
You collapsed against her, sweat damp and dizzy, her arms coming around to cradle you to her chest. You stayed there, tangled and silent, the afterglow spreading lazy and warm through every inch of your body.
For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the steady, silent promise in the way she held you and you almost believed it, right up until the knock at the door.
You felt Alexia tense beneath you, a fractional tightening of every muscle. She didnât let go, but she did shift you gently to her side, untangling your legs and smoothing your hair with a practiced, almost tender hand.
"Stay," she said. Then, louder, "Yes?"
Cataâs voice came through the door, just as calm as ever. "Boss, you need see thisâ Alexia just pressed a kiss to your shoulder and rolled out of bed, pulling on her joggers with a single, practiced movement. âDonât go anywhere,â she said, voice low even as her eyes darted toward the door. âIâll be quick.â
You barely had time to yank the duvet over your chest before the door swung open. Cata stepped in, face set and businesslike, not a flicker of surprise at the scene in front of her. If anything, she looked exasperated.
Cata surveyed the scene, Alexia topless, sweat still shining along the blade of her shoulder, the bed clearly and unmistakably used, you only half cocooned in the sheets. She didnât so much as blink at the evidence, only tensed her jaw and offered Alexia a folder, thick as a novel and creased at the edges.
âTell me,â Alexia said, flicking it open, her eyes darting so fast you barely tracked the motion. Cata waited while she read, arms folded, not looking at you but not avoiding your gaze either.
You tucked the duvet under your arm and made yourself sit up, pretending you werenât so wrecked your legs could barely fold beneath you.
Alexiaâs face went cold and hard as first steel, then colder, then something else entirely, a look like someone who saw the whole chessboard and wished she didnât. She snapped the folder shut and handed it back with a sharp motion, she turned to you, âCata will take you home nowâ
Something dropped in your chest, a cold, quiet thing, "Have i done something wrong?â
âSome business has come up i need to take care ofâ
âI canât just stay here?â Alexia considered you for a moment, then her face shuttered completely, "No," she said, "Not tonight."
She didn't elaborate. She had already turned to confer, in rapid fire Catalan, with Cata. They both ignored you as if you had become a piece of furniture, the way only people who wielded real power could.
You sat very still on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet around your chest, they didn't bother lowering their voices, either because they knew you didn't understand, or because it truly didn't matter if you did.
You caught the name Carlos Hernandez, your father's name, a few times, and then yacht and finally your own, thrown between sentences like a coin to the gutter.
The conversation was quick, efficient, no wasted words. Cata shot a look at you, something hard and pitying, then back to Alexia, who nodded once final, irrevocable. They left together as Alexia slipped a t-shirt on, closing the door behind them, and you were alone, blinking in the late evening light with nothing but the smell of sex and the taste of dread in your mouth.
You stayed put for a moment, waiting for the world to right itself. The window was open, the air outside slow and sticky with the onset of rain. In the garden, a sprinkler clicked to life, stuttering a rhythm that felt both random and mechanical.
You wanted to put your clothes back on, but some small, angry pride stopped your hands. Instead, you went to the window, took in the view, and let your body cool slowly in the breeze. You imagined Alexia outside somewhere, maybe in a hidden office that didn't show up on the floor plan, plotting out her next moves, or maybe simply having a drink, laughing about you with her people.
You wondered what you'd done wrong, and then realised with an electric sting, maybe nothing. Maybe this was simply how it worked sex and then absence, belonging and then exile, the whiplash between worlds. Maybe that was the cost. You couldn't decide if you felt cheap, or merely mortgaged.
You pulled your phone out from the wreckage of the bedsheets. A single text appeared, timestamped only minutes ago.
From: Mami
u coming home for dinner, mi vida? i saved you some bacalao x
You stared at the message. For a moment, an irrational, helpless laugh bubbled up. You had gotten fingered by the teenage fantasy of your own fatherâs criminal empire, watched a girl sign international cargo shipments off the small of your back, and now you were being summoned for salt fish and family dinner as if any of it made sense.
You didnât answer, you stared out at the garden, feeling at once invisible and too visible, the sum of every possible contradiction. The ache in your thighs had not yet faded. You wanted Alexia back in the room, wanted her gone from your life, wanted to hold her and never let go.
It took a few more minutes for you to get dressed, raiding a hoodie and joggers from Alexiaâs closet when you realised you couldn't find all your own clothes, and then you padded on bare feet down the hallway and the stairs, following the faint sound of voices toward the kitchen. The conversation inside was low and urgent, but the moment you entered, both fell silent. You hovered in the doorway, feeling the chill of the tiled floor through your skin.
Alexia was at the counter, head bowed over a phone, her hair pulled back into an impatient knot. Cata stood at the fridge, pouring mineral water into a glass, her face still unreadable. You cleared your throat and neither looked up.
It was Cata who finally spoke. "Are you ready?" The question landed with the practiced neutrality of someone who had asked it before, in other rooms, of other girls. You nodded without looking at her, already turning toward the door, already knowing how this part went. Then a hand closed around your wrist not Cata's and the air in the room shifted the way it does before a storm finally breaks.
Her breath came warm against your ear, "I'm doing this to keep you safe." Then her lips, briefly, at the side of your neck not a kiss so much as a punctuation mark. "I'll see you soon."
Your hand found hers where it rested against your stomach, and you pressed down once, feeling the cool of her rings, before you untangled yourself and walked out without turning around, the gravel of the drive loud under your feet, the car already idling outside.
Cata drove you in silence, the cityâs lights flickering past through the tinted glass. You watched the night roll by, not bothering with words, not even when she finally pulled over four blocks from your actual building, the same discreet side street youâd used to keep everyone guessing where you really lived. She didnât ask if you wanted walking to the door, didnât ask if youâd be okay alone, just said, âIâll wait here five minutes,â and left it at that, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, hands at ten and two.
You walked the rest of the way, the taste of Alexia still in your mouth, the imprint of her every finger still warming your skin. You kept your head down and hands deep in the hoodieâs front pouch, even though no one was watching no one you could see, anyway.
Your building always looked like it was waiting for the day it could collapse and be rid of itself. The elevator was dead again, so you took the stairs, winding up three flights with your hand trailing along the chipped paint of the banister. You fumbled your key at the door out of sheer exhaustion, but it wasnât necessary, the door hung open, the frame splintered around the lock.
This was the part where you should have paused, called the police, or at least ran, but you just stood in the threshold, taking it in. The lights on, cast everything in the flat yellow of an interrogation lamp. Your shoes were gone from the rack. Your kitchen chairs were upended, their legs torn off and piled like driftwood in the hallway. In the living room, every book you owned had been ripped from the shelves and cut open, their spines splayed and pages scattered like the aftermath of some paper massacre.
The air was thick with dust and something else, not quite bleach but close, the sharpness of it stinging your nose. You stepped inside, feet crunching on torn photographs and shredded envelopes. In the kitchen, cabinet doors hung open, the contents of your fridge dumped across the linoleum in a sour, glistening heap. The only thing untouched was the old moka pot on the counter, polished to a shine and placed carefully upright, as if whoever did this wanted you to know they could have taken everything, but left you the ability to make coffee out of mercy or mockery.
You walked the perimeter of the apartment, past the bathroom where every towel had been soaked and wrung out onto the tile, past your bedroom where the mattress had been knifed through, feathers and foam bulging from the wounds like stuffing from a ruptured doll. On the wall above the bed, written in something you hoped was black marker but looked too dark for comfort, was a single word Traitor.
Your knees gave out a little when you saw it, and you sat heavily on the side of the bed, ignoring the slow collapse of the ruined mattress beneath you. You read the word again, and then a third time before you heard movement and you stiffened.
âYou really thought we wouldnât find out you were in with Putellas huh?â
Jay rinsed the shower gel from her body and tried not to think about the fact that Alexia was now in some sterile meeting room being asked to review sponsor obligations and public positioning while Jay was standing naked under a shower thinking about how badly she wanted to tell her she loved her. There were women in history who had probably handled romance with dignity. Jay respected them from a distance. She herself appeared to be handling it by developing emotional attachments to toast, coffee, Alexia's socks, and the exact angle of Alexia's mouth when she tried not to smile.
When she stepped out, towel wrapped around her, Lucy was by the sinks washing her face, pretending with heroic dishonesty that she was not waiting. Jay saw it immediately. Lucy had the casual posture of someone who had positioned herself there for a reason and then attempted to look surprised by her own location. It was poor acting from a woman who spent enough time in front of cameras to know better.
Jay stopped beside her and reached for her moisturiser. "If you're hovering for emotional updates, you have to pay a subscription fee."
Lucy rinsed, lifted her head, and looked at Jay through the mirror. "I'm brushing my teeth."
"You haven't got a toothbrush."
Lucy glanced down at her empty hands, then back up with no shame at all. "I was building up to it."
Jay snorted despite herself and squeezed moisturiser into her palm. For a moment they stood side by side, both watching their reflections rather than each other, which made the conversation easier. Lucy was good at that sometimes, choosing the angle of kindness carefully, not looking directly at the bruise unless Jay gave her permission. It was one of the reasons Jay trusted her more than she usually admitted. Lucy could be unbearable, nosy, too loud by half, and still somehow know when to make herself useful.
"She looked tired," Lucy said after a while, keeping her voice low.
Jay rubbed moisturiser over her face. "She is tired."
"Long meetings?"
"Three long meetings."
Lucy nodded with solemn horror. "Hate those. Always starts with 'this should be quick' and ends with someone saying 'brand alignment' like they've discovered fire."
Jay leaned closer to the mirror, checking the small mark near her jaw where Alexia had kissed her too enthusiastically earlier that morning and then denied any evidence existed. "If anyone says 'activation strategy' to her after training, I'm going in."
"With what?"
"A chair."
Lucy's mouth twitched. "Reasonable."
"She should be allowed to nap. She's captain. Captains should get naps by law."
"Are you campaigning for captains or for Alexia?"
Jay gave her a look in the mirror.
Lucy held up a hand. "Right. Stupid question."
There was a pause then, not awkward but weighted, the kind of pause that arrives when humour has done the opening work and the truth waits to see whether it is safe. Jay lowered her hands and stared at herself. Her own face looked back at her, clean now, hair damp, eyes too bright with the kind of fatigue that had nothing to do with training. She looked like a woman who had scored two goals, showered badly, and survived several near confessions before lunch.
Lucy saw it too.
"Don't make tonight into a performance," she said.
Jay went still.
Lucy kept looking at the mirror, not at Jay. "I know you. You'll go home, overthink it until your brain starts producing smoke, decide you need a perfect moment, then either build one so carefully that you scare yourself out of it or turn up at hers acting too casual and say something deranged about poultry."
Jay narrowed her eyes. "The poultry was contextual."
"I'm sure it was."
"Eli was involved."
"That explains everything and nothing."
Jay leaned both hands on the sink, towel still wrapped around her, shoulders dropping a little despite herself. The steam in the room had begun to thin. Behind them, lockers slammed, someone laughed, and Mapi shouted for Ingrid in a tone that suggested she had lost a third item and was preparing to make it a relationship issue.
"I don't want to make it a performance," Jay said quietly.
"I know."
"I just..." She stopped, because the rest of the sentence felt childish before she had even said it.
Lucy waited.
Jay sighed. "I just want it to be good for her."
Lucy's face softened in the mirror. "It will be."
"You don't know that."
"I know she loves you."
Jay looked down sharply.
Lucy did not apologise this time. She only lowered her voice. "Sorry, but I'm not going to pretend I haven't got eyes. She's gone for you, mate."
Jay swallowed. "Don't say it like that."
"Why?"
"Because then I might believe you, and that seems like a dangerous precedent."
Lucy looked at her then, properly. "Jay."
"No, I know. I know." Jay rubbed a hand over the back of her neck and laughed once, without much humour. "I know what you mean. I see things. I'm not completely oblivious. She looks at me and I can feel it. She makes room. She checks on me without making me feel checked on. She lets me be weird about breakfast and then kisses me like being weird about breakfast is part of the package. I'm not stupid."
"No one said you were."
"I'm just not used to trusting good evidence."
Lucy's expression changed.
Jay hated how plainly true it sounded once it was outside her.
For a moment, she thought Lucy might make a joke because that was what they did when the feeling got too close. Instead Lucy only leaned her hip against the sink and nodded once, serious now in a way that made Jay's throat tight.
"That makes sense," Lucy said.
Jay glanced at her, surprised.
"What?"
"I said that makes sense."
Jay blinked. "You're not going to call me emotionally constipated?"
"I already did. Didn't work."
"It did a bit."
"Good. Range."
Jay laughed, and Lucy smiled, but the quiet stayed honest between them.
After a moment, Lucy nudged her foot against Jay's. "Go home. Eat something that isn't just grapes pretending to be a meal. Try not to draft an entire speech in Notes app. And when she texts, answer like yourself, not like someone trying to win a literature prize."
Jay frowned. "I would absolutely win a literature prize."
"You once described Alexia's face as 'a national security issue'."
"And?"
"That is not literature."
"That is reporting."
Lucy shook her head, but she was smiling. "Just don't turn it into a trap for yourself. That's all I'm saying."
Jay looked at herself again, at the faint tiredness under her eyes, at the small wet curl of hair stuck to her temple. "Yeah," she said. "I'll try."
It was not a promise, but it was closer than she had been.
Jay's apartment was waiting exactly as she had left it.
That was the problem.
Nothing had changed because she had changed. The sofa was still slightly too big for the room. Her black Ducati helmet still sat on the sideboard. Trainers by the door. A hoodie over the back of a chair. A framed shirt on the wall. The faint smell of laundry detergent and the expensive candle Julia had bought her after saying, with no affection spared but no mercy either, "Your home should not smell like protein powder and emotional avoidance."
Jay dropped her keys into the bowl by the door.
Missed.
They hit the table, bounced once, and fell to the floor.
Jay stared at them.
"Great," she said. "Even keys are against intimacy."
The apartment did not answer.
She picked up the keys, put them properly in the bowl, and stood there with her bag still over her shoulder, suddenly not quite sure what to do with herself. This was the part of the day she usually filled instinctively. Shower. Food. Recovery. Maybe gym if her body was restless. Maybe Xbox if her mind needed something bright and pointless to hook itself onto. Maybe a nap, if sleep could be tricked into arriving. But now every ordinary option seemed thin because Alexia was elsewhere, and the room did not know how to hold the amount of feeling Jay had brought into it.
She showered anyway.
A proper shower this time, without Alexia leaning in to accuse her of philosophising under the water, which was probably efficient but significantly less enjoyable. She washed the training ground from her skin, shampooed properly, rinsed properly, and did not have any major emotional encounters with her scalp. Progress, she supposed. When she got out, she dressed in soft shorts and an old T shirt, then stood in front of the fridge looking at food with the wary suspicion of someone facing an exam she had not revised for.
Alexia would ask if she had eaten.
That was certain.
Alexia asked because Alexia knew. Not in a nagging way, though sometimes she absolutely nagged and Jay had grown worryingly fond of it. She asked because Jay forgot the body sometimes when her head got busy. Hunger became an abstract concept. Food became a task with too many steps. Alexia had figured that out with humiliating speed and had begun inserting meals into Jay's day with the calm ruthlessness of a captain organising a press. Toast in hand. Protein bar in bag. "Eat this." "Drink water." "No, coffee is not lunch." Every instruction delivered in that tone that made Jay want to salute and misbehave simultaneously.
Jay reheated pasta, and added grapes because fruit made the plate look less like a cry for help. She took a photo before eating, then stared at the image with deep suspicion.
Was sending proof weird?
Possibly.
Was Alexia going to demand proof anyway?
Also possibly.
Jay ate half the pasta standing at the counter before realising she had not sat down. She sat, purely out of defiance towards her own habits, and finished the rest slowly.
Her phone buzzed just as she was rinsing the plate.
Alexia: You eat?
Jay smiled before she could help it.
Jay: Yes.
Alexia: What?
Jay: Pasta. Grapes.
Alexia: Grapes?
Jay: Decorative health.
Alexia: Real food too?
Jay: pasta baby
Alexia: Good.
A second later another message appeared.
Alexia: Meeting boring. Many slides.
Jay leaned her hip against the counter, warmth moving through her so quickly it embarrassed her. Alexia was in the meeting and still texting her. Not much. Not a dramatic conversation. Just a small tether across the afternoon.
Jay: How many slides?
Alexia: Too many.
Jay: Blink twice if you need extraction.
Alexia: I am typing.
Jay: That's one long blink.
Alexia: Do not make me laugh. They are talking about serious campaign objectives.
Jay: Sounds fake.
Alexia: Very fake.
Jay: Want me to call and pretend there's been an emergency?
Alexia: No.
Jay: i could sell it.
Alexia: No.
Jay: you sure baby?
Alexia: Behave.
Jay: For you?
There was a pause before Alexia replied, just long enough for Jay to stare at the phone and feel every nerve in her body lean towards the screen.
Alexia: SĂ. For me.
Jay closed her eyes.
"Unnecessary," she said to the empty kitchen.
The phone buzzed again.
Alexia: I go now. Text later.
Jay: Be terrifying in Spanish.
Alexia: Always.
That should have been enough to settle her.
It did not.
The afternoon stretched.
Jay tried to be normal. She put the plate in the dishwasher, which was already a point in her favour and possibly something she should report to Alexia later for praise. She started a load of laundry, then forgot to press start, then came back ten minutes later and pressed start with the solemn dignity of someone overcoming adversity. She answered two emails from Julia, one about a sponsor appearance and one about a journalist request, replying with enough competence that Julia immediately texted separately, Are you ill?
She tried television next. A match replay. Good choice in theory. Football was reliable. Football made sense. But the first Barcelona attack reminded her of Alexia receiving on the half turn, which reminded her of the pass Jay had failed to shoot from, which reminded her of Lucy shouting Romeo across the pitch, which reminded her that Lucy knew, which reminded her that Alexia probably knew something too, which made the television useless.
She turned it off.
Music lasted nine minutes. The first song was wrong. The second was too much. The third had a lyric about wanting someone to stay, which Jay considered legally targeted, so she turned the speaker off and sat in silence.
The silence was worse.
It had too much room.
Her apartment, in silence, became a place where thoughts could echo. The sofa. The windows. The soft hum of the fridge. Her training bag by the door, still not unpacked because apparently bags did not unpack themselves despite years of opportunity. The framed shirt on the wall from a cup final she barely remembered celebrating because adrenaline had turned the day into flashes. Her own life sat around her, evidence of survival and achievement and independence, and yet all she could think was that Alexia's apartment had her unfinished book beside the bed and her toothbrush next to Alexia's.
Jay put her head back against the sofa and covered her face with both hands.
"This is embarrassing," she told the room.
The room, loyal to Alexia perhaps, did not disagree.
By six, Alexia had not texted.
That was fine.
By seven, still nothing.
Also fine.
By eight, Jay had opened and closed their chat twelve times and had begun considering whether a short, casual, entirely normal message would seem relaxed or desperate. She typed Hope the slides haven't killed you, deleted it because it sounded too needy, typed Still alive?, deleted it because it sounded like Lucy, typed Thinking of you, stared at it until her face went hot, then deleted that so quickly her thumb nearly sprained.
At eight twelve, she called Clara.
Not because she was panicking.
She was not panicking.
She was simply engaging in preventative emotional maintenance before her brain turned into a haunted group chat.
Clara answered after a few rings, voice warm but alert. "Jay?"
"Before you ask, nobody is dead, bleeding, or in custody."
"That is a reassuring start."
"I am calling voluntarily."
"I am proud already."
"Don't be. It may get worse."
Clara laughed softly. "Tell me."
Jay was lying diagonally across the sofa now, one foot on the floor, one leg hooked over the back cushion, because ordinary sitting had never suited the shape of her thoughts. She stared up at the ceiling and tried to work out where to begin.
"She's in a meeting," Jay said.
"Alexia?"
"No, the toaster. Yes, Alexia."
Clara hummed, accepting the sarcasm as punctuation rather than avoidance. "And you are at home."
"Sadly."
"You do not like being apart tonight."
Jay shut her eyes. "That sounds pathetic."
"Does it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Jay made a frustrated noise. "Because I saw her this morning. And at training. And I'm going to see her tomorrow. Probably. We're not separated by war. She's in a meeting across Barcelona. I am a grown woman with muscles and a mortgage level boot sponsorship. I should be able to spend an evening in my own apartment without acting like someone has removed an organ."
Clara did not answer immediately.
Jay hated when Clara left space like that. It always made the next thing bigger.
"You miss her," Clara said eventually.
Jay's mouth twisted. "Obviously."
"Missing someone you love is not pathetic."
Jay went still.
The word sat there between them.
Love.
Clara had not made it dramatic. She had not softened it into a question. She had simply used it as a fact because Jay had already said it out loud to her earlier, even if she had not yet said it to the person who mattered.
Jay stared at the ceiling.
"I haven't told her."
"I know."
"So technically..."
"Technically what?"
Jay rubbed a hand over her face. "I don't know. Technically I am emotionally squatting?"
Clara laughed, and Jay felt a little better for making her break.
Then Clara said, "You are allowed to know something before you say it."
Jay swallowed.
That landed, annoyingly.
"I feel like I'm lying by not saying it," Jay admitted.
"That is different from what you have said before."
"Before I felt like I'd die if I said it. Now I feel like I'm somehow betraying her by carrying it around unsaid." Jay sighed. "Which is great. Love has evolved into a double threat."
"What changed?"
Jay looked towards the dark window, where her own reflection was faint over the city lights beyond. "This morning, I think."
"What happened this morning?"
"She invited me to her mother's lunch on Sunday."
"So it was the lunch invitation?"
"With all of it. Lunch. Breakfast. Her pushing me into the shower like a sexy traffic warden. The car. Training. The way she kept letting me be... whatever I was being." Jay swallowed, searching for the truth without dressing it too much. "She keeps making it safe, and then I keep not stepping into it."
Clara's voice softened. "You are stepping into it. Not as quickly as the impatient part of you wants, but you are."
"I don't feel like I am."
"Because you think only the words count."
Jay stopped moving.
Clara continued, "The words matter. Of course they matter. But they are not the only evidence of love. You are already showing her. You are staying after breakfast. You are letting her see when you are moved. You are allowing her to care for you without immediately turning it into a performance. You are thinking about what she needs after a long day, not because you want praise, but because her tiredness matters to you."
Jay blinked at the ceiling.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
"And perhaps part of why the words feel so urgent now is that your behaviour has already crossed the threshold."
Jay did not answer.
There was something almost relieving about that and something terrifying too. The idea that she had been loving Alexia out loud in every way except language made her feel exposed. Had Alexia seen it? Of course she had. Alexia saw when Jay was looking at the wrong sock. Alexia absolutely knew when Jay was building a whole religion around her coffee preferences.
"What if she's waiting?" Jay asked.
"She might be."
The honesty was both comforting and awful.
Jay sat up slowly, elbows on knees. "What if she thinks I don't feel it because I haven't said it?"
"What evidence would she have for that?"
Jay opened her mouth, then shut it again.
Clara waited.
Jay looked around the apartment, at the discarded hoodie, the phone on the coffee table, the silence she had filled with Alexia all day without Alexia even being there.
"None," she said eventually.
"None?"
"I mean, I stare at her like she's a religious experience and almost burn down breakfast. So probably not none."
Clara smiled through her voice. "Probably not."
"But words matter to her. I think they do. She acts like she doesn't need much, but she hears everything. She remembers everything. If I say something soft, she pretends to be normal and then turns pink at the ears."
"That is very specific."
"It's one of my favourite things," Jay said before she could stop herself, then winced at her own softness. "Jesus."
Clara did not tease her. "You know her well."
"I'm learning."
"And being learned."
Jay's chest tightened.
There it was again. The dangerous part. Not knowing Alexia, but being known by her. Being watched with tenderness instead of evaluation. Having someone remember the things Jay did without making them evidence against her. Alexia knew she forgot to eat and did not treat it like a failure. Alexia knew she deflected and did not treat every joke like a lie. Alexia knew she got restless when stillness became too intimate, and instead of grabbing at her, she touched her wrist, her neck, her back, and gave her somewhere to come back to.
Jay covered her face with one hand. "Being learned sounds awful."
"It sounds intimate."
"Exactly."
Clara gave a soft laugh. "You are allowed to be afraid of intimacy and want it at the same time."
"I contain multitudes. Unfortunately, most of them are arguing."
"What are they arguing about tonight?"
Jay leaned back into the sofa. "One part of me wants to go over there the second she texts and just say it before I can talk myself out of it. Another part thinks that is insane because she'll be tired, and then what if I'm making her long day about me? Another part thinks I should wait until tomorrow, but then tomorrow I'll find another reason. Another part is currently thinking about ordering chips."
"Is the chips part loud?"
"Always."
"Feed that part later."
Jay laughed.
Then Clara asked, "What does the part that loves Alexia want?"
Jay went quiet.
Not the scared part. Not the strategic part. Not the funny part, the hungry part, the part that could construct three possible escape routes from a vulnerable conversation before anyone had finished inhaling.
The part that loved Alexia.
Jay sat with the question for a while.
When she answered, her voice was soft. "It wants to go where she is."
Clara's silence warmed.
Jay swallowed. "Not even to say it, necessarily. Just... if she's tired, I want to be there. I want to take her bag. I want to make sure she eats. I want to lie next to her and make her stop being captain for a bit." She rubbed both hands over her face, embarrassed by the simplicity of it. "God. Horrifying."
"Jay."
"What?"
"That is not horrifying."
"It feels like someone has replaced my personality with a Labrador."
"It sounds like care."
"Same thing, emotionally."
Clara laughed softly, then became serious again. "You do not have to decide now whether tonight is the night. You can go where she is because you want to be with her. You can listen to the moment when you get there. You do not need to force the words, and you do not need to keep stopping them if they come."
Jay breathed in slowly.
That was the thing. That exact thing. She had been trying to either force the confession into existence or hold it back with both hands, and both options made her feel trapped. Clara was offering a third option. Go. Be there. Let the truth arrive if it arrived.
"Say it when staying silent becomes harder than being afraid," Clara added quietly.
Jay let her head fall back against the sofa.
"There it is again."
"It still applies."
"You're getting too much mileage out of that line."
"It is a good line."
"It is. I'm annoyed."
"You can be annoyed and use it."
For a moment, Jay just listened to the quiet on the other end of the phone. Clara did not feel far away when she was like this. She felt like a steady hand at the edge of the room, not pulling Jay anywhere, just keeping the light on while Jay worked out which direction the door was.
"What if I cry?" Jay asked suddenly.
Clara's answer was gentle and immediate. "Then you cry."
"Hate that."
"I know."
"I'm not a pretty crier."
"That is not important."
"It is a bit. Alexia is very beautiful when emotional. It's rude. She looks like a painting. I look like I've been pepper sprayed by personal growth."
Clara laughed properly then, and Jay smiled because making Clara laugh was one of the few parts of therapy where she felt she had home advantage.
When the laugh faded, Clara said, "If you cry, and Alexia loves you, she will not be disappointed that you look human."
Jay stared down at her hands.
Human.
That was the terrible thing, maybe.
Jay had spent years being impressive because impressive was safer than human. Impressive could be wanted. Impressive could be watched. Impressive could score goals and get tattoos and flirt through discomfort and turn panic into a joke fast enough that no one asked where it came from. Human was needier. Messier. Human had childhood underneath it. Human wanted to be held after a long day for no reason other than wanting.
Alexia made her feel human.
And somehow still wanted.
Jay closed her eyes.
"I think I'm going to go if she asks," she said.
"Good."
"And if she doesn't ask, I might still ask if she wants me."
"That sounds reasonable."
"It sounds clingy."
"It sounds connected."
Jay grimaced. "You therapists always rebrand things."
"Sometimes accurately."
"Annoying industry."
Clara smiled through her voice. "You are doing well Carino."
Jay wanted to reject it automatically.
She did not.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
When she hung up, the apartment was still quiet, but it no longer felt like it was closing in around her. The silence had softened into something she could move through. She made tea she did not really want, drank half of it, then put it down and forgot about it.
Alexia had meant it when she texted that it was too late.
She had not meant it in the way Jay would almost certainly choose to interpret it, with that infuriating little smile and the immediate assumption that practical concerns were merely decorative obstacles romance could step over if it had long enough legs. Alexia was not telling her not to come because she did not want her there. That was the problem. She wanted Jay there so badly that it had made her text carefully, slowly, with more restraint than the sentence deserved, because wanting Jay had begun to make Alexia less sensible in private than she liked to admit.
It was nearly eleven by the time she got home. The meeting had not ended so much as dissolved from collective exhaustion, leaving behind a table full of empty coffee cups, printed pages, and several opinions Alexia hoped never to hear again. She had spent hours listening to people talk about image, schedule, partnerships, tone, access, responsibility. Words that meant something in theory but, after training and a long day, had begun to flatten into a dull wall of noise. She had nodded when required. She had pushed back when necessary. She had kept her face calm when one man spoke over a woman from comms twice, then corrected him so cleanly the room went very still. She had been captain, professional, composed, and useful.
By the time she closed her apartment door behind her, she was none of those things in any shape she wanted to maintain.
She dropped her bag by the hallway wall and stood there in the dim quiet for a second, one hand still on the handle, feeling the day slide off her in pieces rather than all at once. Her shoulders hurt. Her head felt tight behind the eyes. Her hair, still faintly damp from the rushed post-training shower, had dried wrong near her temples. Her stomach was empty in the specific way that felt less like hunger and more like an accusation, because she had eaten a protein bar between meetings and then decided that counted as being an adult.
The apartment was warm and still. Too still.
In the morning, it had been full of Jay.
Not full in the loud way people assumed Jay filled spaces, though she could do that easily when she wanted. Full in the smaller, more dangerous ways. Her laugh still seemed to sit in the kitchen where Alexia had tried and failed to make coffee with Jay's mouth against her neck. Her hoodie was still on the back of the chair because Jay had taken it off, forgotten it, then accused the chair of emotional theft. One of her hair ties, which was actually Alexia's hair tie but had become a shared object through the mysterious law of lesbian domesticity, lay near the sink. The whole apartment held little traces of her, and somehow that made Jay's absence heavier rather than lighter.
Alexia took off her shoes, rubbed a hand over her face, and texted before she could overthink it.
Too late for you to come back, bebĂŠ. Sleep.
She stared at the message after she sent it.
It was sensible. It was kind. Jay had trained hard, gone home, eaten because Alexia had asked her to, and probably needed rest more than another drive across Barcelona. Alexia did not want to be selfish with her. She did not want to become someone who pulled Jay back every time she missed her, especially when Jay was still learning that being wanted was not the same as being trapped.
Still, the second the message was gone, Alexia regretted the generosity of it.
She wanted her.
Not dramatically. Not in a way that required anything from Jay beyond presence. She wanted the sound of her key consideration by the door because Jay always paused there as if checking she was really allowed in, even though Alexia had told her a hundred times. She wanted Jay's hands, warm and absentminded, finding her waist while she pretended to complain. She wanted that sleepy smile Jay got when she was tired enough for softness to rise closer to the surface. She wanted Jay on the sofa, in the kitchen, in the bed, in the apartment, anywhere close enough that Alexia did not have to carry the captain face one second longer than necessary.
Her phone buzzed.
Jay: That sounded like a suggestion dressed up as responsibility.
Alexia closed her eyes.
Of course.
Alexia: It is late.
Jay: Yes, clocks do that.
Alexia: Jay.
Jay: Ale.
Alexia sat down on the edge of the sofa, too tired to stand and too awake to sleep. She could almost hear Jay's voice through the messages, that lazy teasing warmth she used when she was trying to make Alexia smile and win an argument at the same time.
Alexia: You should rest.
Jay: I can rest there.
Alexia looked at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering.
The want in her chest was not elegant. It was not composed. It was not the dignified desire of a woman who knew how to manage all her needs with adult reason. It was simple and tired and almost embarrassingly soft.
Alexia: You do not have to come.
The reply came quickly.
Jay: I know.... I'm coming anyway.
Alexia read it once and felt something inside her go unbearably quiet.
Not relieved exactly, though relief was there. Not triumph. Not even surprise. It was warmer than that, more fragile. Jay had understood the space Alexia had left between wanting and asking, and instead of making Alexia reach again, she had stepped into it. I know. I'm coming anyway. No performance, no drama, no promise bigger than the moment. Just Jay choosing to cross the city because Alexia was tired and wanted her, even if Alexia had tried to be noble about it like an idiot.
Alexia stood before she had decided to.
She went to the bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed into sleep shorts and an old white T shirt, then went back to the hallway because sitting down felt pointless when her whole body had started listening for the lift. She made herself drink water. She opened the fridge, looked at the contents, closed it again because the idea of eating required too many steps. She checked her phone even though there was no message. She walked to the window, then back to the door.
By the time the buzzer went, she had been standing three feet from it for four full minutes.
Jay's voice came through the speaker, low and amused and tired around the edges. "Open up before I start singing something romantic and ruin property values."
Alexia pressed the button, already smiling despite herself.
The lift took too long. Alexia heard it rise through the building, that faint mechanical hum she had never noticed so sharply before Jay started arriving late at night with sleepy eyes and terrible excuses. The doors opened somewhere down the corridor. Footsteps followed, slower than usual, not cautious exactly but softened by tiredness. Then Jay appeared in the doorway Alexia had already opened, one hand in the pocket of her hoodie, hair messy from the drive, face bare and sleepy and smiling like she was pleased with herself for being exactly where Alexia wanted her.
Alexia melted.
There was no better word for it, even though she would never say that out loud where anyone with a pulse could use it against her. The shape she had been holding all evening simply gave way. Her shoulders dropped, her jaw loosened, and the last of the meeting room composure vanished so quickly it almost annoyed her. Jay looked at her and seemed to understand none of the power she had. She only lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, as if turning up at Alexia's door at nearly midnight because Alexia had tried not to ask for her was no great thing.
"Hi," Jay said softly.
Alexia stepped forward, took the front of Jay's hoodie in both hands, and pulled her inside.
Jay laughed once, quiet and surprised, as Alexia kissed her in the hallway before the door had fully closed. It was not neat. Alexia had no patience left for neatness. She kissed Jay with the whole exhausted weight of the day behind it, with relief and irritation and longing tangled together, with the annoyed tenderness of someone who had spent hours being composed and was now being rewarded with the only person she wanted to fall apart on.
Jay caught the door with one hand and pushed it shut behind herself without breaking the kiss. Her other hand went to Alexia's waist automatically, steadying her, gathering her close. She tasted like mint and tiredness and home. Alexia made a small sound into her mouth that had no captain in it at all, and Jay's fingers tightened.
"Miss me?" Jay murmured when Alexia finally let her breathe.
Alexia rested her forehead against Jay's collarbone. "No."
Jay smiled against her hair. "Convincing."
"I wanted silence."
"You opened the door to me."
"A mistake."
"You kissed the mistake very enthusiastically."
Alexia pinched her side through the hoodie.
Jay laughed properly then, and the sound moved through the hallway, low and warm and familiar enough to settle something inside Alexia that had been tense for hours. She kept her face pressed against Jay's chest for another moment, breathing her in. Jay smelled like clean skin, late night air, and the faint trace of the soap from her own apartment. Not Alexia's soap this time. Hers. That difference should not have mattered, but it did. Jay had gone away and come back. Still a separate person. Still choosing the door.
Alexia liked that more than she knew how to explain.
Jay's hand moved slowly up and down her back. "Long day?"
"Terrible."
"How many men used the word 'strategy' while saying nothing strategic?"
"Three."
"Awful. Any graphs?"
"Many."
Jay sucked in a sympathetic breath. "Baby, that's workplace violence."
Alexia laughed into her hoodie despite herself. "You are stupid."
"Yeah, but I came with emotional support and possibly snacks."
Alexia lifted her head. "Snacks?"
Jay looked slightly guilty. "I didn't know if you'd eaten."
Alexia narrowed her eyes.
Jay narrowed hers back.
The silence between them was brief, intimate and full of accusation.
"Alexia," Jay said.
"I had a protein bar."
Jay stared at her.
"And fruit."
Jay took a step back like she needed distance to process the betrayal. "Fruit."
"It was there."
"It's always there. That doesn't make it dinner. Decorative health is not a meal."
"You had grapes."
"I had grapes with pasta. I submitted evidence."
"You did."
"And you accepted that evidence while committing fruit fraud?"
Alexia's mouth twitched. She tried to look stern and failed because tiredness had made her too soft around the edges. "I was busy."
"You were hypocritical."
"I was captain."
"Not of digestion."
Alexia laughed, and Jay's whole expression shifted with quiet satisfaction, as if that had been the goal all along. She dropped a small paper bag onto the side table, then toed off her trainers by the door with unusual care because Alexia had once complained about shoes in the hallway and Jay, despite pretending to be unmanageable, remembered every domestic preference Alexia had ever accidentally revealed.
Alexia looked at the bag. "What is this?"
"Emergency sandwich. The nice place near mine was still open. Also those little almond biscuits you pretend not to like because you think they're too sweet, even though you eat three when Eli brings them."
Alexia stared at her.
Jay shrugged again, suddenly less smug. "You said the meeting was boring. Boring meetings are where dinner goes to die."
For a second, Alexia did not move.
The apartment felt very quiet around them, but not empty now. Jay was there, standing in the hallway in a hoodie and joggers, hair pushed back badly, tattoos visible at her throat and hands, holding snacks like devotion was something you could put in a paper bag and drive across Barcelona. It was such a small thing. It was exactly the kind of small thing that undid Alexia most.
She stepped back into Jay's space and kissed her again.
This one was softer.
Jay's hand came up to cup the side of her face, thumb brushing Alexia's cheek with a gentleness that made the day finally loosen its grip. When Alexia pulled away, she did not bother pretending she had not been moved.
"Gracias," she said quietly.
Jay's smile softened. "De nada, baby."
They went to the kitchen because Jay insisted on seeing Alexia eat with the grave authority of a woman who had been repeatedly supervised about her own meals and had clearly been waiting for revenge. Alexia tried to protest that she was more tired than hungry, but Jay only gave her a look, the kind with one eyebrow raised and her mouth slightly flat, and Alexia was offended to realise it was very effective. She sat on the stool at the counter while Jay unpacked the sandwich, found a plate without asking, and moved around the kitchen with the familiarity of someone who had learned the space by loving the person who lived in it.
That thought arrived without warning.
Alexia watched Jay open the right drawer for a knife, the right cupboard for a plate, the right shelf for a glass. Jay did not have to search anymore. She knew where things were. She knew Alexia kept the good olive oil beside the stove, not with the rest of the oils, because the rest were for cooking and this one was for finishing. She knew which glass Alexia reached for at night when she was tired. She knew the light above the counter buzzed faintly if left on too long, so she used the softer lamp near the shelves instead.
"You are looking at me," Jay said without turning around.
Alexia rested her chin on one hand. "You look domestic."
Jay turned with the knife in one hand and the expression of a woman accused of treason. "Take that back."
"No."
"Domestic is a very serious allegation."
"You know where my plates are."
"I'm observant."
"You bought me sandwich."
"I'm hungry by proxy."
"You took off your shoes without me asking."
Jay pointed the knife at her, then seemed to realise threatening one's exhausted girlfriend with cutlery while holding a sandwich was not the image she wanted, and put it down carefully. "That was personal growth. Don't make it weird."
Alexia smiled, too tired to hide the affection in it. "I like it."
Jay's face softened for half a second before she looked down at the food. "Yeah, well. Eat before I become insufferable about protein."
"You already are."
"Good. Then I'm consistent."
Alexia ate because Jay stood there and watched her with barely concealed satisfaction. The sandwich was good, simple and salty and exactly what Alexia had needed without knowing she needed it. Jay leaned on the opposite side of the counter, arms folded, pretending not to monitor every bite and failing with impressive confidence. After the third bite, Alexia pushed the plate towards her.
"Share."
Jay shook her head. "Bought it for you."
"I know. Share."
"You need food."
"So do you."
"I ate."
"You always say this."
"I did."
"Share, Jay."
There it was, that tone. Not sharp, not bossy in the public way, but steady enough that Jay took the other half of the sandwich without further argument. Alexia watched her bite into it and felt something warm move through her chest at the ease of it. They stood in the kitchen at nearly midnight, sharing a sandwich from a paper bag, both tired, both still carrying the day, and the whole scene should have been ordinary enough not to matter. Instead it felt like one of the truest things Alexia had ever known.
Jay chewed, then frowned at the sandwich. "This is better than I remembered."
"You bought it."
"I chose emotionally."
"You chose well."
Jay's eyes flicked up, and the softness in them was there and gone so quickly Alexia might have missed it if she had not been watching. She did not comment on it. She had learned that some of Jay's feelings needed to pass through the room without being trapped in a net. Not because they were unwelcome, but because if Alexia grabbed too quickly, Jay's body mistook attention for danger. So Alexia only nudged her foot against Jay's beneath the counter and took another bite.
The almond biscuits came after, because Jay insisted dessert was medicinal after graphs. Alexia said she did not want one, then ate two while Jay watched with smug restraint.
"Do not look pleased," Alexia said.
"I'm not."
"You are glowing."
"I'm just happy to see medical treatment working."
"They are biscuits."
"Emotional medicine comes in many forms."
Alexia broke the third biscuit in half and held one piece out. Jay took it from her fingers with her mouth because she was incapable of being normal, and Alexia immediately regretted every decision that had led to that moment.
Jay smiled slowly while chewing.
Alexia pointed at her. "No."
Jay swallowed. "I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"I was simply enjoying dessert."
"You are dangerous with biscuits."
"That's new. Write it down."
Alexia laughed again, the tired kind that loosened her whole face, and Jay looked so openly satisfied at having pulled it from her that Alexia had to look down at her glass of water for a second. It was not that Jay did not know she was charming. Of course she knew. She moved through the world with the kind of confidence that made people turn before they knew they had decided to. But she did not always understand the effect of this quieter care, the late night sandwich, the shoes by the door, the way she watched Alexia eat like feeding her was not a task but a privilege she had been allowed.
After they finished, Jay rinsed the plate before Alexia could touch it.
Alexia stood beside her, hip against the counter, too tired to argue and too fond not to try. "Leave it."
"No."
"It is one plate."
"It is your one plate, and you've had a traumatic graph day."
"You cannot use graphs for everything."
"I can until the emotional bruising fades."
Alexia's mouth curved. "You are very dramatic."
Jay put the plate in the rack with unnecessary care. "You invited dramatic over at eleven at night."
"I did not invite."
"You emotionally invited."
"That is not real."
"It is. You texted in a tone."
Alexia folded her arms. "A tone?"
"A lonely Spanish responsible tone."
Alexia stared at her.
Jay leaned back against the sink, smiling but gentler now. "I know you didn't want to ask."
The smile did not quite leave Alexia's face, but something under it shifted.
Jay did not push. For once she seemed content to let the sentence stand as it was, simple and kind, without turning it into a joke before Alexia could feel it. Alexia looked at her in the soft kitchen light, at the tired slope of her shoulders, the tattoos on her hands, the line of her throat above the hoodie, and felt again that quiet ache of being known by someone who pretended to be careless and remembered everything.
"I did not want you to feel you had to come," Alexia said.
"I didn't."
"I know."
"I wanted to."
Alexia swallowed.
Jay looked down for a second, then back up with a small, crooked smile that saved the moment from becoming too fragile. "Also I didn't trust you to eat. Correctly, as it turns out."
Alexia laughed, grateful for the way Jay gave her somewhere to put the feeling. "Yes. Very heroic."
"I'm basically a nutritionist."
"You are not."
"I could be."
"You called grapes decorative health."
"Branding."
Alexia stepped closer and took the front of Jay's hoodie in one hand. "Come here."
Jay's expression softened immediately, all humour quietening at the edges. She let herself be pulled in, though let was generous, because she moved before Alexia had really tugged. Their bodies met gently this time, no rush, no sharp heat. Alexia slipped both arms around Jay's waist and tucked her face into the curve of Jay's neck. Jay held her back without making a joke, one hand spreading across the middle of Alexia's back, the other sliding into her hair.
This was what Alexia had wanted when she texted.
Not food, though she had needed it. Not entertainment, though Jay had given her that without even trying. This. Jay's body steady around hers. The warm press of her chest. The familiar rhythm of her breathing. The knowledge that Alexia could stop being impressive for the day and Jay would not be disappointed to find only the tired woman underneath.
They stood like that for a long time.
Long enough that the kitchen light hummed faintly above them. Long enough that Alexia's breathing slowed. Long enough that Jay's hand, which had been moving in gentle strokes through her hair, settled at the back of her neck and stayed there.
Eventually Jay murmured, "Bed?"
Alexia nodded into her.
"Teeth?"
A smaller, more reluctant nod.
Brushing their teeth together should not have been intimate. It should have been normal, mildly unattractive, functional. But Jay stood beside her at the sink, shoulder touching hers, mouth full of toothpaste, still managing to raise her eyebrows suggestively at Alexia in the mirror with a toothbrush between her teeth. Alexia elbowed her. Jay nearly spat foam laughing. Alexia had to put a hand over her own mouth because if she laughed, she would also spit, and then they would both be idiots in the mirror at midnight.
"Stop," Alexia said around the toothbrush.
Jay made an innocent face that lost credibility because of the toothpaste.
"You look deranged," Alexia added.
Jay pointed at herself, then made a heart with her fingers.
Alexia rolled her eyes so hard it should have hurt, but she was smiling when she rinsed. Jay saw it and looked victorious with foam still on her chin. Alexia wiped it away with her thumb before thinking, then paused because Jay went very still under the touch.
Not dramatic. Not exposed. Just quiet.
Alexia did not ask about it.
She rinsed her own mouth, put the toothbrush down, and kissed Jay's clean mouth once, brief and soft.
Jay blinked at her. "That was very efficient."
"You had toothpaste on you."
"So you kissed it better?"
"I removed it first."
"Still romantic."
"Everything is romantic to you."
Jay's smile turned crooked. "Only with you."
Alexia's chest warmed, but she let the sentence pass without catching it. Not because she had missed it. Because not every softness needed to be held up to the light immediately. Sometimes it was enough to hear it and keep it safe.
They turned off the lights as they moved through the apartment, the rooms folding into darkness behind them one by one. By the time they reached the bedroom, Alexia felt half asleep on her feet. Jay seemed to notice, because she stopped teasing and moved with quiet purpose, pulling the duvet back, nudging Alexia gently towards the mattress, setting her phone on the charger without being asked.
Alexia sat on the edge of the bed and watched her.
Jay glanced over. "What?"
"You are taking care."
The words came out softer than Alexia expected.
Jay stilled for a second, then shrugged with a little smile. "Someone has to. You had fruit for dinner."
Alexia reached for her hand.
Jay gave it immediately.
"Gracias bebe." Alexia said.
Jay looked at their joined hands, thumb brushing once over Alexia's knuckles. "You don't have to thank me for staying."
Alexia's throat tightened.
There was a depth beneath the sentence that neither of them named. Jay seemed to realise it too, because her eyes flicked away for a second, not running, not exactly, just giving the truth space to breathe without making it perform. Alexia held onto her hand and did not let go.
"I know," Alexia said.
Jay nodded once.
They climbed into bed with the careful heaviness of two people who were trying to be gentle and were both exhausted enough to become clumsy. Alexia got under the duvet first. Jay followed, switching off the lamp, and the room softened into darkness around them. For half a second they lay apart, adjusting pillows and bodies and the cool sheet between them. Then Alexia turned, reached blindly, and pulled herself into Jay's side with the unthinking entitlement of someone who had decided in sleep and wakefulness that Jay belonged under her hands.
Jay huffed a small laugh into the dark. "Subtle."
"Shut up."
"Beautifully said."
Alexia slid one hand under Jay's T shirt and rested her palm on warm skin. Jay's arm came around her immediately, holding her close. The shift in her body was immediate too, some quiet release Alexia could feel more than hear. Jay relaxed when she was touched like this, when contact answered the part of her that still wanted to check the door. Alexia knew that now. She did not make a thing of it. She simply kept her hand there.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The room was dim and warm. Outside, somewhere far below, a car passed with music low enough to be only bass and vibration. The building creaked softly in the ordinary way of night. Jay's heart beat beneath Alexia's ear, steady but not slow. Alexia listened to it because she liked having proof. Not proof of love, not in any formal sense. Just proof of presence. Jay there, breathing under her, alive and solid and choosing not to leave.
Jay's fingers moved through her hair, slower with every pass.
"You're tired," Jay whispered.
"SĂ."
"Sleep."
"You also."
"I drove across Barcelona. I'm basically heroic."
"You brought sandwich."
"Double heroic."
Alexia smiled against her chest. "My hero."
Jay went quiet.
Alexia felt the tiny change in her breathing and did not chase it. She only pressed a kiss to the fabric over Jay's heart and settled again.
A dog barked somewhere in the building.
Once.
Then twice.
Then with the passionate commitment of an animal who had heard a ghost, a neighbour, or possibly its own thoughts.
Jay opened her eyes in the dark. "Is that the dog from downstairs?"
Alexia sighed. "SĂ."
"He sounds like he's seen the meeting graphs."
Alexia's laugh came out muffled against Jay's shirt. "Stop."
"That dog knows synergy."
"Jay."
"He's trying to warn the building."
Alexia lifted her head just enough to look at her in the dark. "You are not allowed to fight the dog."
"I wasn't going to fight him. I was going to recruit him."
"For what?"
"Anti graph resistance."
Alexia laughed properly then, tired and helpless, and Jay's smile grew in the dark because this was what she had wanted too. Not a perfect confession under perfect conditions. Not an orchestrated scene with the right lighting and no interruptions and courage arriving on cue. This was better in ways she could not quite explain. Alexia warm against her. A half eaten packet of almond biscuits in the kitchen. A barking dog with strong opinions. The two of them whispering nonsense in bed because the day had been long and they had found each other at the end of it.
The dog barked again.
Jay whispered, "Tell him I agree but he needs to organise his message."
Alexia pushed her face into Jay's neck, laughing softly enough now not to wake herself further. "Sleep, idiota."
Jay smiled and tightened her arm around her. "Bossy."
"You like."
"I do."
The truth sat underneath the words, not trying to escape now, not demanding a doorway every time Jay opened her mouth. It was there, steady and warm, woven through the way she had come when Alexia tried not to ask, through the sandwich, through the dishes, through the hand under her shirt and the dog in the walls and Alexia's tired laughter against her chest.
Jay did not say it that night.
Not because she lost courage.
Not because the moment was ruined.
Because for once, she understood that saying it was not the only way to stop running.
She stayed.
Alexia fell asleep first, as Jay had known she would. It happened slowly, her breath evening out against Jay's throat, her hand going heavier beneath Jay's shirt, her whole body giving over to rest now that the day no longer required anything from her. Jay lay awake for a while after, one hand still in Alexia's hair, the other resting over the hand Alexia had tucked against her ribs.
The room felt different with Alexia asleep in it.
Safer, maybe.
Or maybe Jay was finally starting to believe that safe did not always have to mean temporary.
She turned her face into Alexia's hair and closed her eyes.
"Night, baby," she whispered, too softly to wake her.
Alexia shifted closer in sleep, because of course she did.
Jay smiled into the dark.
And when sleep finally came, it did not feel like escape. It felt like staying.
Summary - Jay realises sheâs in love with Alexia.
Word count - 10.9k
Requested by @hansolostella
Jay had been awake long enough for the morning to become suspicious.
At first, waking before Alexia had felt accidental, one of those strange, quiet slips out of sleep where the body surfaced before the alarm, before duty, before the world started reaching in through the curtains and asking for things. There had been no sharp return to consciousness, no jolt of panic, no sudden physical inventory of where she was, what she had forgotten or whether she had replied to a message from Julia three days ago that might now have evolved into a legal problem. There had only been warmth, the low blue grey of early morning, and the soft hush of Alexia's apartment before Barcelona fully remembered it was a city.
The light through Alexia's curtains looked almost careful, thin and silver at the edges, touching the wardrobe first, then the chair with yesterday's training hoodie thrown over the back, then the water glass on the bedside table, then the curve of Alexia's shoulder where she lay half across Jay as if Jay had been designed by architects for exactly this purpose.
Jay opened her eyes, realised where she was, and smiled before she had the chance to stop herself.
That was the first problem.
The second problem was Alexia.
Alexia was asleep on top of her.
Not beside her. Not near her. Not politely sharing the mattress like a sensible adult woman with healthy boundaries and a functioning awareness of spatial distribution. On top of her. Half of her body sprawled across Jay's chest and stomach, one thigh heavy between Jay's legs, one hand tucked under Jay's T shirt against her ribs, her face buried in the hollow of Jay's neck as if sometime around four in the morning she had decided that ordinary closeness was not enough and had started the long, determined process of becoming part of Jay's circulatory system.
Jay did not move.
There were several reasons for this.
One, Alexia looked comfortable, and Jay had learned very quickly that disturbing a comfortable Alexia was both morally wrong and personally unrewarding. A comfortable Alexia was rare in a way that made Jay instinctively protective. Alexia spent so much of her life held upright by discipline, by captaincy, by the endless small decisions that came with being the person everyone looked to first, that when her body finally went soft and heavy with sleep, Jay treated it with the reverence of a protected species.
Two, Alexia's hair was spread everywhere, across Jay's shoulder, across the pillow, one strand stuck to Jay's lower lip, and Jay was too emotionally weak to do anything except stare at it as if it had personally invented intimacy.
Three, Alexia's mouth was warm against Jay's throat, and every few breaths she made a tiny soft sound, not quite a sigh and not quite a hum, something sleep had pulled out of her before she could organise it into dignity. Jay felt strongly that the sound should be registered with some kind of international authority, if only so there was a record of the fact that Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, terror of midfielders, collector of individual awards and public expectations, apparently made small sleepy noises against Jay's neck like a woman who had no idea she was ruining lives.
Four, Jay was in love with her.
That was the main one.
Jay had not meant to arrive at this conclusion at seven seventeen in the morning while pinned beneath the captain of Barcelona like furniture with feelings, but there it was.
She had suspected it for a while.
No, suspected was cowardly.
She had known.
The knowing had come slowly and then all at once, which Jay found deeply inconvenient because she preferred feelings to announce themselves with enough warning for her to make a plan. Love, apparently, did not respect scheduling. Love had not sent an email. Love had not asked whether now was a good time. Love had simply moved into Jay's chest sometime around week three, taken off its shoes, rearranged the lighting, and started making comments about the state of the place.
At first she had called it other things.
Attraction.
That had been easy. Obvious. Alexia was gorgeous in a way that felt almost rude. Jay could admit that without emotional consequence. She had eyes. Anyone with eyes and a pulse would look at Alexia Putellas and understand that God, genetics, football, and probably several ancient Catalan blessings had collaborated with suspicious focus. It was not Jay's fault that Alexia's face looked like something painters would have fought over if football had not got there first.
Then Jay had called it chemistry.
Also easy. Chemistry explained the way they kissed. Chemistry explained the way Jay's hands found Alexia's waist before her brain caught up. Chemistry explained why one look from Alexia across a room could turn Jay from a functioning professional athlete into someone who forgot the ending of her own sentence and, once, the word for "chair", which had been particularly humiliating because she had been pointing at one.
Then she had called it comfort.
That one had been more dangerous.
Comfort was Alexia putting toast into Jay's hand without making a big thing of it because Jay had forgotten lunch existed. Comfort was Alexia knowing that Jay needed music off when her head was too loud. Comfort was Alexia's hand resting on the back of Jay's neck in crowded rooms, not controlling, not possessive in any way anyone else would recognise, just there, a warm anchor beneath Jay's hair. Comfort was waking up and not immediately wanting to leave. Comfort was Alexia's apartment feeling less like someone else's space and more like a place Jay's body had quietly started understanding.
But this morning, with Alexia asleep and heavy and trusting against her, Jay had run out of safer names.
She loved her.
It was ridiculous.
It was terrifying.
It was, frankly, very poor planning.
Jay Jones had never been in love.
She had liked people. Desired people. Been obsessed briefly with people in the shallow, glittery way that burned hot and quick and left no ashes worth sorting through. She had dated women who made her laugh, women who made her feel wanted, women she had slept beside for a while and then drifted away from because drifting was easier than explaining why staying made her skin feel too tight.
She had been called charming.
Dangerous.
Fun.
A nightmare.
A good time.
A bad idea.
A woman who made you feel like the only person in the room and then disappeared before breakfast because she had training, or a flight, or no language for the panic that rose whenever someone started looking at her like they expected permanence.
People had wanted her. That had never been the issue. They had wanted the body, the mouth, the talent, the chaos, the version of Jay who arrived bright and flirtatious and made everything feel alive for a night or a month or a summer. Jay knew what wanting looked like. She knew how to summon it and how to survive it. Wanting was simple. Wanting had edges. Wanting knew what it came for.
But love was different.
Love did not only want the easy Jay. Love stayed when the jokes got too fast or the silence got too heavy. Love learned the difference between distracted and overwhelmed. Love noticed she had not eaten without turning it into a complaint. Love sat down beside the inconvenient parts and did not immediately start looking for a door.
Jay had never really given anyone the chance to love those parts.
She left first.
That was the trick.
Leave before the room changed. Leave before the warmth became expectation. Leave before someone discovered that behind the swagger and the grin and the extremely useful ability to flirt her way out of almost anything, there was a woman who still did not fully believe she was the kind of person people chose and kept choosing.
It had worked for years.
Then Alexia Putellas had walked into her life with serious eyes, strong hands, and an expression that suggested she was not remotely impressed by Jay's usual survival strategies.
The worst part was that Alexia had not chased her.
That would have been easier to resist.
Alexia had simply stayed.
Stayed in conversations. Stayed in silences. Stayed when Jay made jokes too quickly. Stayed when Jay got restless. Stayed when Jay flirted instead of answering questions. Stayed when Jay's attention skipped and circled and returned, when her emotions flashed too bright, when her need for movement made stillness hard. Alexia did not grab at her. Did not demand softness on a timetable. Did not try to tame the chaos into something more convenient.
She just made room.
And somehow that had been worse.
Because Jay had found herself walking into the room.
Now Alexia shifted against her, sleep heavy and unaware of the life altering crisis happening underneath her cheek. Her fingers flexed once against Jay's ribs.
Jay's heart did something humiliating.
"Oh, come on," Jay whispered to it.
Alexia's breathing stayed even.
Jay glanced at the clock.
Seven twenty one.
She had been awake for forty minutes. Forty full minutes of lying there being emotionally ambushed by a woman who had not even opened her eyes. Forty minutes of trying to pretend this was normal, that she could simply be in love quietly and not immediately turn it into an international incident.
The problem was not only that Jay loved Alexia.
The problem was that she wanted to say it.
Badly.
The words had been pressing at the back of her mouth for weeks now, waiting for a gap. I love you. Three words. Tiny. Common. People said them all the time. In texts. In kitchens. At airports. Half drunk at parties. Casually, dramatically, badly, beautifully.
Jay had said many reckless things in her life. She had flirted with women she should not have flirted with. She had told reporters they asked stupid questions. Words, historically, were not her problem.
These words were.
Because once they were out, they could not be made funny if they landed wrong.
And if they landed wrong, Jay did not know what she would do.
Alexia stirred.
Jay stopped breathing.
It happened slowly. Alexia's brow furrowed first, like waking up was an administrative inconvenience she had not approved. Then she made a quiet, displeased sound and pressed her face harder into Jay's neck. Her hand slid further beneath Jay's shirt, palm spreading over warm skin.
Jay stared at the ceiling.
"Bon dia," Alexia mumbled without opening her eyes.
Her voice was rough. Sleepy. Spanish around the edges. Possibly illegal.
"Morning, baby," Jay said, and managed not to sound like she was about to propose marriage, surrender territory, or write poetry on a public wall.
Alexia hummed. "You are awake."
"Apparently."
"How long?"
Jay considered lying.
Then remembered Alexia could smell dishonesty better than most people smelled smoke.
âForty minutes."
Alexia lifted her head with slow suspicion. Her hair fell over one eye. There was a crease from Jay's shirt pressed into her cheek. She looked soft and dishevelled and devastating.
"Why?"
Jay swallowed.
Because I'm in love with you and it's ruining my personality.
"Got distracted."
Alexia blinked at her, still half asleep. "By what?"
Jay gave her a look.
Alexia understood two seconds later.
Her mouth curved.
There it was. The private smile. The one she tried to hide because Jay being pleased with herself was already enough of a public health problem.
"Flirt," Alexia murmured.
"Observation."
"You observe too much."
"You exist too loudly."
"I am sleeping."
"Still loud."
Alexia's smile widened. She shifted higher, bringing their faces level, her thigh sliding more firmly against Jay's. Jay's hands moved to her waist automatically. That was another thing that had happened. Her hands had developed loyalties. They belonged on Alexia now. Waist, hip, back of neck, thigh, wherever Alexia was warm and close and willing.
Alexia noticed, because Alexia noticed everything.
"You are touching me already," she said.
Jay's thumb stroked over her hip through the oversized shirt. "You're on top of me."
"You could choose not to touch."
Jay stared at her. "Let's stay realistic."
Alexia laughed, low and sleepy, and leaned to kiss her.
It was supposed to be a small kiss.
Alexia's small kisses were lies.
They began like something harmless. A soft press of mouth to mouth, a warm little morning hello, the kind of kiss sensible people could give and then separate from to make coffee and become citizens of the world. But Alexia's hand was still under Jay's shirt, and Jay's fingers had tightened at her waist, and Alexia made that tiny pleased sound against Jay's mouth, and the kiss tipped.
Not dramatically.
Worse.
Naturally.
Jay's other hand slid up Alexia's back, feeling the heat of her through the thin shirt. Alexia's mouth opened beneath hers, and Jay forgot the clock, the world, the whole fragile plan to say anything coherent. Alexia kissed like she meant it. Like kissing Jay was not a step towards something else but a place she wanted to live for a while.
Jay rolled them carefully, one arm braced so Alexia landed on her back against the pillows with a soft laugh.
"Careful," Alexia whispered, though her hands were already pulling Jay down.
"I'm always careful with you."
Alexia's eyes darkened. "Not always."
Jay grinned against her mouth. "Emotionally? Debatable. Physically? Elite."
Alexia laughed again, then kissed her quiet.
The morning dissolved.
There was no rush. That was what ruined Jay most. The way Alexia let things take time with her. The way want moved between them without hurry, without demand, growing out of all that ordinary affection until the room felt warmer, smaller, made only of breath and skin and hands asking, answering.
Jay kissed Alexia's neck, her shoulder, the place near her collarbone that made her fingers tighten in Jay's hair. Alexia murmured her name, half warning, half invitation, and Jay smiled because she knew the difference now.
She knew Alexia.
Not completely. Not yet. Jay was not arrogant enough to think eight weeks gave her all of anyone, especially not a woman as layered and disciplined and privately tender as Alexia. But she knew enough to read the lift of Alexia's hips, the tilt of her head, the way her breath caught when Jay slowed down instead of speeding up. She knew when Alexia wanted teasing and when she wanted gentleness. She knew that Alexia became more Spanish when overwhelmed, that her English thinned at the edges when pleasure or anger or tenderness got too big.
And Jay knew that Alexia trusted her.
That was the thing that kept undoing her.
Not the heat. Not only the heat, anyway. Jay was still Jay. She was not dead. Alexia in her shirt, warm and breathless beneath her, was enough to rearrange every sensible thought in her skull. But beneath that, deeper than it, was the fact that Alexia let herself go here. Let herself be soft. Messy. Needy. Uncomposed. Not captain. Not legend. Not the woman the world wanted to turn into symbol and expectation.
Just Alexia.
Jay's Alexia, though she barely let herself think the possessive because it made something animal and protective curl behind her ribs.
Alexia's hands were in her hair. Her mouth was against Jay's jaw. Her voice, when she spoke, was thick and warm.
"Guapa."
Jay lifted her head. "Yeah?"
Alexia looked up at her, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, one hand sliding to Jay's neck. "Stay close."
Two words.
Nothing dramatic.
Not even unusual.
And Jay nearly said it then.
I love you.
It was right there. Not because this was intimate, though it was. Not because Alexia was beautiful, though she was so beautiful Jay still sometimes felt personally attacked by it. But because stay close sounded like everything Jay had never believed she would be asked for in a way that did not frighten her.
Stay close.
Not perform.
Not impress.
Not disappear before anyone noticed too much.
Stay.
Jay kissed her instead.
Deeply.
Enough that Alexia's back arched under her. Enough that the words had somewhere to go without becoming sound yet. Enough that when they finally slowed, both of them were breathing hard and smiling into each other's skin, the room brighter now, morning fully awake around them.
Alexia's alarm did not go off.
Jay was grateful.
Alexia's phone did.
Loud.
Vicious.
A ringtone like the universe had cleared its throat and said, actually, no.
Jay went completely still.
Alexia froze beneath her.
The phone kept ringing.
Jay lifted her head very slowly. "I'm going to throw that into the sea."
Alexia's eyes were still dark, her mouth still swollen from kissing, but the captain in her surfaced automatically. "Could be important."
"It could be a hate crime."
"It could be MamĂĄ."
"Those are not mutually exclusive."
Alexia laughed, breathless, then reached blindly for the phone on the bedside table. Jay dropped her forehead to Alexia's shoulder and breathed there, trying not to commit violence against a device.
Alexia looked at the screen.
Her whole expression changed.
"MamĂĄ."
Jay whispered into her shoulder, "I knew it."
Alexia answered, still lying half beneath Jay, hair destroyed, voice shifting from soft and intimate to worried in half a second. "MamĂĄ? QuĂŠ pasa? EstĂĄs bien?"
Jay closed her eyes.
She could not understand all of it. Her Spanish was better than it had been, mostly because Alexia alternated between teaching her useful phrases and making her repeat ridiculous ones while laughing at her pronunciation. But she understood enough tones. The immediate worry. The pause. The confusion. The relief.
Then irritation.
Alexia's hand, the one not holding the phone, slid absently to Jay's waist and stayed there.
That did not help.
Jay lay with her face against Alexia's shoulder, listening to the woman she loved have an urgent conversation about what was, apparently, not urgent at all. She caught domingo. Lunch. Alba. Something about chicken. Then Alexia saying, with great controlled patience, "MamĂĄ, son las siete."
Jay's mouth twitched despite herself.
The call lasted three minutes.
It felt longer, partly because Jay's entire body had been in the process of explaining love physically and now had been forced into polite suspension by family catering.
When Alexia finally hung up, she threw the phone onto the mattress and covered her face with both hands.
Jay lifted herself on one elbow. "Everyone alive?"
Alexia did not uncover her face. "She wanted to know if I am coming Sunday."
"Sunday."
"SĂ."
"It's Tuesday."
"SĂ."
Jay nodded gravely. "Classic early week Sunday emergency."
Alexia dragged her hands down her face. "She is unbelievable."
"Efficient woman."
"She said if she does not ask now, she will forget."
"Would she?"
"No. Never."
"Then why call?"
"Because she thought of it." Alexia looked at her with absolute offence. "And if my mother thinks of something, everyone must participate."
Jay laughed.
Alexia glared. "Do not laugh. This is serious."
"It is. I can tell by the chicken logistics."
Alexia shoved her shoulder.
Jay caught her hand and kissed the knuckles. "I'm sorry your mother interrupted your very important Tuesday morning."
"Our very important Tuesday morning," Alexia corrected before she could stop herself.
Jay's chest kicked.
Alexia heard it in the silence. Her eyes softened.
For a moment, the interruption almost did not matter. Alexia was still beneath her, still warm, still looking at her like the phone call had annoyed her mostly because it had taken Jay away from her. Her thumb moved once against Jay's hand.
Jay opened her mouth.
A text buzzed.
Both of them looked at the phone.
Alexia picked it up with murder in her eyes.
Then groaned.
"Alba says MamĂĄ called her also."
Jay smiled. "Family conference."
"She asks if you are invited."
Jay blinked. "To Sunday lunch?"
"SĂ."
"That's nice."
Alexia looked at her.
Jay realised too late that her face had changed.
It was stupid, really. Ridiculous. A Sunday lunch invitation should not make anything inside her ache. But it did. Because Alexia's family included people so easily. Because Eli fed Jay like it was a moral obligation. Because Alba teased her as if she had always been allowed. Because being asked to come to lunch felt, in some quiet little wounded place in Jay, like being expected.
Alexia saw all of that.
Of course she did.
Her irritation softened immediately. "You want to come?"
Jay tried to make her voice light. "Free food with your mum? Baby, I'm not stupid."
Alexia's eyes stayed gentle. "Jay."
Jay looked down at their joined hands.
"Yeah," she said, quieter. "I'd like to come."
Alexia pulled her down and kissed her.
Not heated now.
Soft.
So soft Jay almost could not stand it.
"You come," Alexia murmured against her mouth. "Of course you come."
Jay swallowed.
There it was again.
The feeling.
The words.
Her chest full, throat tight, everything in her wanting to say I love you because Alexia had made Sunday lunch feel like belonging and somehow that was more dangerous than being half naked in bed with her.
But the moment had changed shape.
The phone had rung. Eli had called. Alba had texted. Alexia was now typing back about timings and whether Jay ate chicken with lemon, which Jay absolutely did, especially if it came with being invited.
The words retreated.
Not gone.
Just waiting.
Alexia was still kissing her like the invitation had already been decided long before Jay knew she was allowed to want it.
It was not the hungry kind of kiss from before, not the one that had grown out of sleep-warm bodies and wandering hands and the particular danger of waking beneath a woman who looked soft enough to touch and powerful enough to ruin you. This was quieter, almost unbearably so, a kiss that pressed into Jay's mouth with the same certainty as Alexia's words. Of course you come. No drama, no hesitation, no careful checking to see if Jay was too much of an addition to the family table. Just that. Of course. Like Jay's place beside her was already understood, like Eli's Sunday lunch had somehow expanded around her without anyone needing to ask permission.
Jay lay beneath her and tried not to make anything of it, which was difficult because her body had already made several things of it and her chest had gone tight in a way that felt deeply inconvenient for a Tuesday morning. She could handle big gestures. Big gestures had warning lights. Big gestures gave a person time to brace. It was the small things that caught her without armour. Alba asking if she was invited. Alexia answering like the question was barely worth asking. Eli calling too early with chicken logistics and, unintentionally, making Jay feel expected. Ordinary things had always been the ones that hurt most, because ordinary meant repeatable, and repeatable meant someone had imagined you in next week, not just tonight.
Alexia pulled back enough to look at her, and Jay knew from the faint crease between her brows that she had noticed the change in her face. Alexia always noticed. Not loudly, not with the exhausting performance of someone who wanted credit for paying attention, but quietly, in the background, as if part of loving Jay had become learning the weather systems of her expressions. She knew the difference between Jay being amused and Jay hiding. Between Jay being distracted and Jay being overwhelmed. Between Jay making a joke because something was funny and Jay making a joke because something had gone tender enough to frighten her.
âYou are doing the face bebe," Alexia said, her thumb brushing once beneath Jay's eye.
Jay blinked up at her. "I have a very famous face, baby. You'll have to be more specific."
"This face is not famous."
"Rude. Sponsors love this face."
"This is the face when you want to joke, but you are too full."
Jay stared at her for a moment, not because she did not understand, but because she understood too well. Alexia had said it gently, no accusation in it, no smug satisfaction at having caught her exposed. Still, the accuracy landed with the intimacy of a hand slipped beneath a shirt. Jay's instinct was to wriggle out from under it, to make the truth laugh before it had time to sit on her chest.
"Do you know how hostile it is to be accurately perceived before breakfast?" Jay asked.
Alexia's mouth curved. "You say this like I should apologise."
"You should. In writing. Maybe notarised. Maybe witnessed by Alba so I can prove someone in your family was involved in the harm."
"If Alba witnesses, she will laugh at you."
"She laughs at me anyway. At least then it would have legal structure."
Alexia shook her head, but the softness stayed. She gave Jay one more brief kiss, warm and careful, then rolled off her with the kind of practical decisiveness that made Jay immediately miss the weight of her. "Come. Breakfast. Then shower. Then training. We cannot be late because you are having feelings at my ceiling."
Jay pushed herself up on one elbow and watched Alexia climb out of bed, which was a mistake because Alexia was wearing Jay's shirt and nothing about that was conducive to emotional stability. The shirt hung loose around her, slipping slightly at one shoulder, creased from sleep and warm from her body. Her hair was a complete disaster, falling over one eye and down her back, and she crossed the room barefoot with the relaxed ownership of someone who did not realise she was creating problems by existing in borrowed cotton.
"First of all," Jay said, because language was the only defence she had left, "my feelings were having a private meeting with the ceiling, and you've breached confidentiality. Second, breakfast before shower is ambitious considering you just climbed off me like a woman choosing public order over personal joy."
Alexia paused near the wardrobe and looked back. The look should have been illegal. Sleepy amusement. Bare legs. Jay's shirt. That tiny tilt of her head that said she knew exactly what she was doing and had decided, as usual, not to apologise. "If we shower first, we will not have breakfast."
Jay opened her mouth, then closed it, because every response available to her would make them late and prove Alexia right. She hated when Alexia was right before coffee. It gave the whole morning an unfair power dynamic. "That was very captain of you."
"Good."
"Not a compliment."
"It sounded like one."
"It had layers."
Alexia gave her a dry look and disappeared towards the bathroom just long enough to wash her face and brush her teeth, leaving Jay alone in the bed with the lingering warmth of her body and the irritating knowledge that she was somehow expected to get up and behave like a normal member of society.
By the time Jay made it to the kitchen, Alexia was already at the counter, still in Jay's shirt but now with a pair of soft shorts underneath, hair scraped into a loose knot that had pieces escaping at her neck. She was preparing coffee with the seriousness of a military briefing.
Jay stopped in the doorway.
It was stupid, how domestic the sight was. Stupid and devastating. Alexia standing barefoot in morning light, sleeves pushed up, one hip resting lightly against the counter as she measured coffee with the focus of a woman who had opinions about extraction and the moral weakness of watery espresso. Outside the balcony doors, Barcelona had fully woken, all scooters and faint voices and sunlight catching on windows, but inside the apartment the morning felt held in a softer rhythm. Coffee. Bare feet. Stolen shirt. The two of them not quite clean yet, not quite ready for the day, still carrying the warmth of the bed on their skin.
"You are staring guapa," Alexia said without turning around.
Jay leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "I'm supervising."
"You do not know how to make my coffee correctly."
"That is a hurtful accusation."
"It is a fact."
"I know the theory."
"You know where the cups are."
"Foundational knowledge."
Alexia glanced at her then, and whatever answer she had ready softened into something warmer when she saw Jay still standing there, hair messy, shirt rumpled, mouth half curved around a smile she had not quite committed to. "Come here, then, foundational knowledge."
Jay pushed off the doorframe immediately. "See, that sounded like you wanted help, but your tone said you wanted trouble."
"My tone said coffee."
"Your tone has range."
"Jay."
"I'm coming."
"You say that like you are doing me favour."
"I am. I'm extremely comfortable over there. Doorframes support me emotionally."
Alexia rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. Jay came up behind her slowly, partly because she liked the way Alexia pretended not to wait for it and partly because she liked the moment Alexia's body gave her away. There it was, the tiny shift backwards before Jay even touched her, the subtle loosening of her shoulders, the almost invisible tilt of her head as Jay's hands settled at her waist. Alexia kept her eyes on the coffee machine with heroic focus, but Jay could feel the smile she was trying not to make.
Jay rested her chin near Alexia's shoulder and breathed her in, sleep warm skin and toothpaste and that particular Alexia smell that had ruined her from the beginning. "You know," she murmured, "when we first met, you barely spoke to me."
Alexia tamped the coffee with excessive concentration. "You spoke enough for both of us."
"That is defamatory."
"It is accurate."
"You were very serious. I thought you hated me."
"I did not hate you."
"You looked like you were mentally issuing me a fine."
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Maybe a small fine."
Jay laughed against her neck, the sound warm and low. "And now look at you. Wearing my shirt. Making me coffee. Inviting me to family lunch. Massive character development."
"I am making my coffee."
"Shared household resource."
"You have your own apartment."
"Technicality."
"You have your own coffee machine."
"My coffee machine doesn't look like you."
Alexia closed her eyes for half a second, as if asking for patience from a higher power, but her fingers had stilled around the handle. Jay noticed. Of course she noticed. She kissed the side of Alexia's neck once, light and lingering, and felt the answering breath move through her body before Alexia could organise herself against it.
"BebĂŠ," Alexia said, warning wrapped in warmth.
"What?" Jay asked, all innocence and no credibility.
"You are distracting me."
"I'm motivating you."
"You are kissing my neck."
"Positive reinforcement."
"I have not made coffee yet."
"Exactly. Imagine how encouraged you'll feel once you start."
Alexia huffed a laugh, and Jay's arms tightened around her waist, not enough to trap her but enough to make staying the easiest option. The coffee machine began to hiss, hot and sharp in the quiet kitchen, and Alexia reached for the cup with one hand while the other settled over Jay's wrist. It was meant, Jay suspected, to stop her wandering, but Alexia's thumb started stroking the inside of her wrist without permission from either of them, and the gesture destroyed the authority of the whole thing.
Jay kissed beneath her ear again.
Alexia's head tipped, just a fraction.
Victory.
Jay smiled against her skin. "There she is."
"No."
"Yes."
"I am making coffee."
"You are being kissed while standing near coffee. Different event."
"You make everything difficult."
"I make everything more interesting."
"You make me late."
"You were going to be early. I'm balancing the schedule."
Alexia laughed properly then, unable to stop herself, and the cup almost missed the saucer. Jay caught her hand just in time, steadying it with both of hers, their fingers tangled around porcelain and heat. For a second neither of them moved. The cup sat between them, steam rising, Alexia's hand enclosed in Jay's, the whole kitchen narrowing to that small contact and the way Alexia's body had gone still against her.
Jay felt the words rise again.
Not frantically this time. Not in a rush. They came up slowly, drawn by the closeness, by the morning, by the impossible ordinary beauty of helping Alexia not spill coffee because Jay had been kissing her neck. It should not have been romantic. It was objectively stupid. But love had never asked Jay's permission before attaching itself to absurd things. Coffee had become emotional. Toast had become emotional. Alexia's stolen shirt had become an artefact of devotion.
Jay's mouth opened near Alexia's shoulder.
Alexia turned in her arms before she could speak.
The movement placed them face to face, Alexia backed lightly against the counter, Jay's hands still at her waist, the coffee abandoned beside them. Alexia looked up, eyes warm and amused but with something beneath it, something quieter, like she had heard the inhale and knew Jay had nearly stepped somewhere frightening.
Jay swallowed.
Alexia did not ask.
That was somehow worse.
She simply lifted one hand and touched Jay's jaw, thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. "You are very awake now," she murmured.
Jay gave a small, helpless laugh. "That's your fault."
"I was making coffee."
"You were existing aggressively."
"Ah. Again with this."
"It's a pattern."
Alexia's eyes narrowed with soft amusement. "You blame me for everything."
"Only the beautiful problems."
"That is nonsense."
"That is romance, actually."
Alexia's mouth softened on a smile Jay wanted to keep. "You are ridiculous amor.â
"You like ridiculous."
"I tolerate ridiculous."
Jay leaned closer, nose brushing Alexia's. "You kissed ridiculous for a very long time this morning."
"I was sleepy."
"You were enthusiastic."
Alexia tried to answer, but Jay kissed her before she could form the lie. It began as teasing, because most of their kisses did when Jay was trying not to say something else, but it did not stay there. Alexia's fingers curled at Jay's jaw, pulling her closer, and Jay's hand slipped to the small of her back, pressing her gently into the counter as the kiss deepened with unhurried familiarity. It had none of the frantic edge from waking. The heat was there, bright and ready beneath the surface, but the morning had slowed it, softened it into something domestic and dangerous. Alexia's mouth opened under hers. Jay smiled into the kiss when Alexia's other hand slid beneath the hem of Jay's T shirt.
The coffee machine clicked off behind them.
Neither woman moved.
A scooter backfired somewhere below, and Alexia barely flinched. Jay counted this as significant personal progress.
"Training," Alexia said against her mouth, though she did not pull away.
"Unfortunately."
"We have to go."
"Eventually."
"In forty five minutes."
"Loads of time."
"Not with you."
Jay pulled back just enough to look offended. "That makes me sound inefficient."
Alexia glanced meaningfully at the untouched coffee, the bread still not toasted, the fruit uncut on the counter, the two of them pressed together like breakfast had become a philosophical rumour. "You are inefficient."
"I am thorough."
"You are kissing me instead of eating."
"Again, thorough."
Alexia's laugh escaped against Jay's mouth, and Jay kissed it because she could. Because laughter from Alexia in the morning felt like something she had earned and wanted to spend immediately. Alexia let her for another moment, another two, then pushed both hands firmly against Jay's chest and shoved her back with enough force to make Jay stumble one step.
Jay stared at her.
Alexia pointed towards the bathroom. "Shower."
Jay blinked. "You just assaulted me into hygiene."
"You need it."
"I am clean emotionally."
"You are sweaty from sex."
"That is a romantic description."
"It is a factual description."
Jay moved back in. Alexia put one palm in the centre of Jay's chest and stopped her, which was unfair because Jay absolutely loved when Alexia did that. "Ale," Jay said, dragging the name out just enough to make Alexia's eyes flicker.
"No."
"I haven't even argued yet."
"You are about to.â
"I was about to negotiate."
"No negotiation bebe.â
"Captains are supposed to inspire cooperation."
"You are not cooperating."
Jay looked down at Alexia's hand on her chest, then back up with a slow grin. "You realise touching me like that does not make me more likely to leave."
Alexia's face did something beautiful and dangerous, but she recovered quickly. Too quickly. She took Jay by the shoulders, turned her with impressive efficiency, and marched her towards the bathroom. "Shower."
Jay allowed herself to be pushed because Alexia was warm behind her and because being manhandled by Alexia in the direction of responsibility was, frankly, one of the better developments of her adult life. "I would like the record to show I am being treated like a difficult golden retriever."
"You have eaten fewer shoes."
"That you know of."
Alexia shoved her through the bathroom doorway. "Ten minutes."
Jay turned, leaning back against the sink, arms folded. "Together?"
Alexia gave her a look so flat it could have held furniture. "No."
"Rude."
"Necessary."
"You don't trust me."
"I trust you. I do not trust us."
Jay's grin softened into something warmer. "That was actually quite cute."
Alexia's mouth twitched, but she refused to give in. "Ten minutes, Jay."
"Fifteen."
"Ten."
"Twelve and a half."
"Now nine."
Jay gasped. "Authoritarian."
Alexia stepped closer, caught Jay's chin, and kissed her once, quick and firm and devastatingly effective. "Shower."
Jay stood there for a moment after Alexia left, staring at the closed bathroom door with the dazed expression of a woman who had lost an argument and somehow enjoyed every second of it.
The shower should have reset her.
In theory, showers were good for Jay. Water gave the body a task. Soap, sequence, rinsing, clean clothes. A contained routine with clear edges. Training mornings usually worked because they were built from those small rails: wake, eat, shower, kit, bag, car, pitch. Her ADHD brain liked the muscle memory of it, liked the way routine made fewer decisions possible. But Alexia had ruined the routine by being Alexia in the kitchen, Alexia at the counter, Alexia with coffee steam curling between them and one hand on Jay's chest like she knew exactly where Jay's heart had started misbehaving.
Jay stood under the water and tried not to think about the Sunday lunch.
That failed.
She tried not to think about the counter.
That failed harder.
She tried not to think about I love you, and her brain, deeply unhelpful, responded by placing the words in large invisible letters across the inside of her skull.
By the time she got out, Alexia was back in the bedroom laying out training kit on the bed with the expression of a woman who had decided efficiency was the only thing standing between them and public disgrace. She had changed into shorts and a sports bra, her hair tied back tighter now, the stolen softness of the morning giving way to the cleaner lines of captaincy. But she was still barefoot. Still private enough that Jay wanted to cross the room and undo all of Alexia's effort.
Alexia looked up at her towel wrapped body and sighed.
Jay spread her hands. "What?"
"You are not dressed."
"I am wearing towel."
"That is not training kit."
"It has range."
"You are going to make us late."
"I have never been late to training."
Alexia looked at her.
Jay corrected herself. "I have rarely been late to training for reasons that were legally my fault."
Alexia threw Jay's training shirt at her. It hit Jay in the face.
Jay slowly pulled it down. "Violence before breakfast."
Alexia crossed her arms, but the corner of her mouth lifted. "Dress."
Jay did dress, though she did it with a level of commentary that would have exhausted a weaker woman. Alexia ignored most of it, which was another of her talents, and finished packing both her own bag and half of Jay's because Jay kept losing things in the short distance between bed and doorway. One sock was under the chair. Jay's tape was in the kitchen for reasons nobody could defend. Her water bottle was still beside the sofa from two nights ago. Alexia collected these items with increasing disbelief while Jay followed her around offering theories that were more creative than useful.
"The tape migrated."
"Objects do not migrate."
"You don't know its dreams."
"It was beside the fruit."
"Maybe it wanted vitamins."
Alexia stopped, water bottle in one hand, tape in the other, and looked at her. "How do you live alone?"
Jay leaned against the wall, grinning. "Badly, but with charisma."
Alexia tried very hard not to smile.
Failed.
They ate the toast standing at the counter because the table had become too formal for the amount of time they had left. Alexia handed Jay half without ceremony, then stole a bite from Jay's piece despite having her own. Jay complained that this was systemic. Alexia said Jay's toast always looked better. Jay said it was the same toast. Alexia said no with the finality of someone who had ended cases with less confidence.
Coffee, finally, was consumed properly.
Alexia took a sip of hers and closed her eyes for one brief second, her face smoothing in a way that made Jay's chest loosen. Jay watched her over the rim of her own cup, struck by the intimacy of knowing this too, the tiny ritual of Alexia's first proper coffee, the way her shoulders dropped, the quiet satisfaction she would never admit was dramatic.
"What?" Alexia asked, eyes still closed.
"Nothing."
Alexia opened one eye. "Again this word."
Jay smiled faintly. "Just like looking at you."
Alexia's expression changed before she hid it in another sip.
Jay saw.
Of course she saw.
For a while, neither of them said anything. They stood side by side at the counter, eating toast, drinking coffee, their hips touching. It should have been boring. It should have been nothing. That was what unsettled Jay most. The ordinary moments with Alexia had started feeling bigger than the dramatic ones. Kissing at the counter was one thing. Want had language. Jay understood heat. But this, standing barefoot and damp haired in a kitchen, sharing toast while Alexia checked the time and nudged Jay's coffee closer when she put it down absentmindedly, made Jay feel as though her heart had been placed somewhere visible.
Alexia finished first and reached for Jay's cup before Jay could set it down in the wrong place. "Come. We have to leave."
Jay took one final bite of toast. "I feel rushed."
"You have been kissed, fed, caffeinated, showered, and dressed."
"Bare minimum care standards."
Alexia laughed, picking up her bag. "You are impossible."
Jay followed her towards the door, grabbing her own bag from where Alexia had placed it because apparently Alexia had stopped trusting Jay with object permanence. "You love impossible."
Alexia paused with her hand on the door handle.
It was only half a second.
Barely that.
But Jay felt it.
The word again. Close. Dangerous. Always slipping into places it had not yet been invited.
Alexia did not turn around immediately. When she did, her face was soft, but not surprised. That was the thing. Alexia had begun to hear the almosts, Jay was sure of it. Maybe not the full shape yet, but enough to know there was something pressing against Jay's teeth. Enough to wait without pushing.
Jay's heart beat once, hard.
Alexia stepped back to her, rose onto her toes, and kissed the corner of Jay's mouth. "Vamos, guapa."
Then she opened the door, and the moment moved because mornings did not pause for fear.
The drive to training was brighter than Jay felt prepared for. Barcelona had turned gold in the late morning, the streets full of scooters and delivery vans and pedestrians moving with the kind of confidence that suggested they had never once had to survive Alexia Putellas making coffee in their stolen shirt. Alexia drove because Alexia had looked at Jay's face before they left and said, "I drive," with no room for discussion. Jay had protested on principle, but weakly, because her hand ended up on Alexia's thigh before they had reached the second junction and that made losing the argument feel less severe.
"You are quiet," Alexia said at a red light.
Jay looked over. "You complained when I talked."
"I complained when you said the man in front was braking with emotional uncertainty."
"He was."
"He is driving normal bebe.â
"He's driving like the car has disappointed him."
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Maybe his car is difficult."
"All cars are difficult if you lack courage."
"You brake like you have personal argument with death."
"I brake with ambition."
"You brake late."
"Ambitiously late."
Alexia shook her head, but her hand covered Jay's on her thigh for a brief second before the light changed. It was not enough. It was exactly enough. Jay looked out of the window to hide the way it landed.
The words were still there, waiting.
I love you.
Not frantic now. Not throwing themselves against her ribs. The morning had softened them, given them somewhere to rest. They sat under her skin with warmth and nerves, terrifying but no longer shapeless. Jay could feel them when Alexia corrected her commentary on traffic. When Alexia lifted her coffee to her mouth. When the sunlight caught the edge of her cheek. When her thumb brushed once over Jay's knuckles before returning to the wheel.
Alexia glanced at her again as they turned into the training ground. "Your head is busy no?â
Jay smiled faintly. "Employment hub. Too many workers. Unsafe conditions."
"Should I worry?"
"No." Jay looked at her then, really looked, and the answer became truer as she said it. "Not right now."
Alexia's face softened.
She parked.
For one quiet second neither of them moved. The training ground spread out beyond the windscreen, players arriving, staff crossing the lot, the day already pulling at them. Jay's hand still rested on Alexia's thigh. Alexia's fingers rested over hers. It would have been easy to lean in and kiss her. It would have been easy to say something stupid. It would have been terrifyingly easy to say the real thing.
Alexia saved her and ruined her at the same time by lifting Jay's hand and kissing her knuckles.
"Come," she said. "Before Lucy sees us and becomes unbearable.â
Jay's mouth curved. "Too late. Lucy was born unbearable."
They stepped out of the car with bags over their shoulders and coffee still in their hands. The training ground air smelled of warm concrete, cut grass, and whatever protein shake Pina had started drinking that week, which Jay privately believed had been invented by someone with unresolved anger towards fruit. The moment Jay shut the passenger door, Lucy looked up from near the entrance.
Of course she did.
Lucy had the instincts of a world class defender and the personal boundaries of a tabloid columnist when it came to Jay's romantic problems. She was leaning against the wall with her coffee in one hand, boot bag at her feet, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. Ona stood beside her, calm and half focused on her phone, radiating the peaceful energy of someone who had not yet been dragged fully into Lucy's morning harassment.
Lucy's eyes moved from Alexia's damp hair to Jay's damp hair, then to the fact that Alexia was wearing a hoodie Jay was absolutely certain had once belonged to her. Her expression became deeply entertained.
Jay pointed at her before she could speak. "No."
Lucy lifted both hands. "I haven't said anything."
"You inhaled suspiciously."
âI'm allowed oxygen."
"Not with that face."
Alexia glanced between them, already amused despite herself. "What face?"
"The face she makes before she becomes a legal problem," Jay said.
Lucy looked wounded. "I was going to say good morning."
"No, you weren't."
"I might have."
"You were going to say something about our hair."
Lucy paused.
Jay smiled. "See?"
Ona looked up from her phone, eyes moving lazily over both of them. "Your hair is both wet."
Jay turned to her, betrayed. "Not you as well."
Ona shrugged. "It is wet."
"We showered," Alexia said, perfectly calm.
Lucy's eyebrows lifted. "Together?"
"No," Alexia said.
Jay, unfortunately, said, "Under protest," at the exact same time.
Lucy's face lit up.
Alexia closed her eyes.
Ona laughed softly and looked back at her phone as if deciding this was above her pay grade.
Jay adjusted the strap of her bag. "To be clear, I protested the separation, not hygiene."
"Important clarification," Lucy said solemnly.
"Thank you."
Alexia muttered something in Spanish that sounded affectionate enough for Jay to risk being pleased and threatening enough for Lucy to wisely step aside when Alexia started walking towards the entrance.
Jay followed, because of course she did.
The changing room was already loud when they entered, full of the familiar pre training chaos Jay had come to recognise as its own ecosystem. Mapi was digging through her bag with increasing violence, apparently searching for tape she had definitely packed and probably lost. Patri was sitting on the bench eating a banana with the detached calm of someone who knew exactly where Mapi's tape was and had chosen spiritual distance. Pina was laughing at something on Vicky's phone. Cata was telling a story too loudly. Ingrid was tying her boots with the composed patience of a woman who had accepted that Mapi's missing items were now part of her life.
Jay dropped her bag at her locker and sat. Alexia sat beside her close enough that their knees touched, then bent to pull up her sock. Jay tried not to look.
Failed.
Alexia did not lift her head. "Jay."
"I was looking at the sock."
"The sock?"
"Very athletic garment."
Alexia's mouth curved. "You are bad liar."
"I'm an excellent liar. You're just annoyingly perceptive."
"Only with you."
That landed quietly and thoroughly enough that Jay had to look down at her boots. Alexia said things like that sometimes, carelessly or maybe not carelessly at all, small truths dropped into ordinary rooms as if they did not make Jay's pulse rearrange itself. Only with you. Not dramatic. Not a declaration. Still enough.
Alexia got called away by Irene a minute later, something about the meeting after training, some captain thing with logistics and media schedules and the kind of responsibility Jay thought should come with hazard pay. Alexia squeezed Jay's shoulder as she stood, casual enough for anyone else, intimate enough that Jay felt the pressure of each finger after she had moved away.
Jay watched her go.
Lucy appeared beside her locker only once Alexia was safely across the room.
That, at least, was an improvement.
Jay did not look up. "If you value your life, choose your words like they're penalty takers."
Lucy sat on the bench beside her instead of crouching in front of her, which meant she was either attempting subtlety or preparing a more organised attack. "Relax. She can't hear."
"She has supernatural emotional hearing."
"She's talking to Irene."
"She can sense disturbance in me through concrete."
Lucy glanced across the room at Alexia, then lowered her voice. "Did you say it?"
Jay's fingers stopped on her laces.
There it was.
Not shouted. Not teased across a car park. Not served up for Alexia to hear. Just Lucy, close and quiet, asking because she had seen enough to know the question had weight.
Jay stared down at her boot.
"No."
Lucy did not laugh.
That was how Jay knew it mattered.
"What happened?"
Jay pulled the lace too tight, winced, and loosened it again. "Chicken."
Lucy blinked. "Sorry?"
"First attempt. Her mum called about Sunday lunch. Chicken became involved. Emotionally hostile bird."
Lucy closed her eyes.
Jay pointed one lace end at her. "Do not."
"I'm not."
"You are internally laughing."
"I'm internally moved."
"You are a liar."
Lucy's shoulders shook once.
Jay looked flatly at her until she got control of herself.
"Sorry," Lucy whispered. "It's just very you."
"That is not comforting."
"It sort of is." Lucy leaned back against the lockers, still keeping her voice low. "You and Alexia having a massive emotional moment and itâs interrupted is, unfortunately, exactly right."
Jay looked over at Alexia again. She was listening to Irene with her arms folded, face serious, nodding at something. Her hair was still slightly damp near the temples. Jay's hoodie sat loose on her shoulders. The sight of her should not have hurt, but it did in the sweetest, most unbearable way.
"I'm getting closer," Jay said.
Lucy's expression softened. "Yeah?"
Jay nodded, not trusting herself with more.
Lucy followed her gaze to Alexia and then looked back at Jay. "You look closer."
"That sounds like something a haunted woman says in a film."
"You do. You used to look like you were one bad feeling away from sprinting through a wall. Now you look like you're considering using a door."
Jay stared at her.
Lucy shrugged. "Growth."
"That was almost profound."
"I know. Don't tell anyone."
Jay huffed a laugh and looked back down at her boots.
Lucy nudged her foot gently. "You don't have to make it perfect."
"Maybe because you keep trying to make it perfect."
"I'm not."
Lucy looked at her.
Jay sighed. "Fine. Maybe a bit."
"A bit?"
"I may have briefly considered whether the lighting in Alexia's bedroom was emotionally supportive."
Lucy's face did several things at once.
Jay narrowed her eyes. "Do not laugh."
"I am not laughing."
"You look medically strained."
Lucy inhaled carefully through her nose. "The lighting?"
"It was a private thought."
âI'm sure it was."
"Luce."
Lucy recovered, but her eyes stayed kind. "Jay, she's in love with you in changing room lighting. I promise it will do."
The words struck harder than Jay expected.
She looked down immediately.
Lucy's voice softened. "Sorry. Too much?"
Jay shook her head. "No."
Around them, the room kept moving. Mapi shouted that Patri was a thief. Patri said she was a visionary. Pina asked if anyone had seen her shin pads while wearing one of them. Someone laughed so hard a bottle fell over. It should have been impossible to feel exposed inside so much noise, but Jay did.
"I don't know how to believe it," she said quietly.
Lucy did not answer too quickly. That, too, was an improvement.
"I know," Lucy said after a moment. "But you don't have to believe all of it before you say it. You just have to trust enough of her to let her answer."
Jay swallowed.
Alexia glanced over then, as if she really had sensed something. Her gaze found Jay's across the room, the seriousness easing from her face the moment their eyes met. She gave Jay a tiny questioning look.
You okay?
Jay's chest warmed.
She nodded once.
Alexia's mouth softened.
Lucy sighed beside her. "Yeah. She has no idea."
Jay kicked her lightly. "Shut up."
"I said it quietly."
"You thought it loudly."
Lucy grinned, but she stood before Alexia could come back and investigate. "Come on. Warm up. Before you start proposing to the sock."
Jay looked up sharply. "I was looking at the sock for tactical reasons."
"Sure."
"Footwear matters."
"Deeply emotional footwear."
Jay threw a roll of tape at her. Lucy caught it one handed and walked away laughing.
Alexia returned a moment later and sat beside Jay again. "What did Lucy want?"
Jay tied her boots with exaggerated concentration. "To be irritating in a controlled environment."
Alexia studied her for a second, clearly aware this was not the whole truth but choosing not to chase it. That patience did something dangerous to Jay. It would have been easier if Alexia demanded everything. Easier to resist, easier to joke, easier to run. But Alexia did not drag truth out of her. She waited close enough that truth started wanting to come on its own.
Alexia reached down and adjusted the fold of Jay's sock.
Jay stared at her.
"What?" Alexia asked.
"You're touching the athletic garment."
"You put it on wrong."
"It's a sock."
"It was twisted."
"My sock had character."
"Your sock had chaos."
Jay leaned closer. "You're very controlling before training."
Alexia's eyes flicked to her mouth and back. "You like it bebe.â
Jay's breath caught despite herself.
Alexia's smile became small and private.
Then she stood. "Come. Football."
Jay watched her walk away, and the words moved again, warm and patient beneath her ribs.
Not now.
But soon.
Training was waiting, and for once Jay was almost grateful for it. The pitch gave her body something to do with the feeling. The first touch of the ball quietened the sharpest edges of her mind. Movement organised her. Passing lanes, pressing triggers, the timing of runs, the blessed clarity of muscle and breath and grass beneath boots. She could be a footballer here. Not a woman standing at the edge of the biggest words she had ever tried to say. Just a striker, powerful and quick and hungry, built for the moment between the defender's mistake and the goalkeeper's dread.
For most of the session, it worked.
Jay ran hard. Pressed smart. Finished cleanly. She was quick enough that Irene swore at her in three languages during a transition drill, which Jay took as a compliment. She bullied centre backs, linked play, laughed when Mapi claimed Jay's shoulder challenge had contained "English violence", and scored twice in finishing practice with the kind of cold precision that made Jonatan nod once from the touchline.
Then Alexia started passing.
That was when things became emotionally irresponsible.
There was no need for Alexia to be that good. Jay had said this before and meant it every time. Some players passed to move the ball. Alexia passed as if she had read the future and found the most elegant way to embarrass it. She received under pressure, scanned once, and played through spaces most people had not noticed existed yet. She did it with the outside of her foot, with the inside, first time, disguised, clipped, driven, weighted. It should have been illegal to love someone and also have them feed you passes like that. It created a conflict of interest.
The first one Jay buried.
The second too.
The third, she should have scored.
She did not.
Because Alexia received between Patri and Ingrid, turned with one touch, and sent a pass between two defenders into Jay's stride with such perfect weight that it felt less like football and more like a private message.
Jay took one touch.
Forgot to shoot properly.
The goalkeeper saved easily.
There was a short, stunned silence.
Then Lucy, from the other side of the pitch, shouted, "ROMEO, SHOOT THE BALL."
The whole team laughed.
Jay turned slowly. "That pass had emotional consequences."
Alexia stood with her hands on her hips, trying very hard to look annoyed and failing. "You missed."
"You surprised me with art."
"This is football."
"Exactly. Art with hamstrings."
Mapi clapped from behind them. "I agree with Jay."
Alexia pointed at Mapi. "You never agree with Jay."
"I agree when she is praising you. It is usually correct and very dramatic."
Jay jogged backwards, grinning now because Alexia's cheeks had warmed and it was the best thing that had happened all session. "Captain, for the record, if you keep passing like that, I cannot be held responsible for my emotional or technical decisions."
Alexia's eyes narrowed, but her mouth almost smiled. "Next time, score."
Jay touched two fingers to her forehead in salute. "Anything for you."
Lucy groaned loud enough for staff to hear.
Jay scored the next one.
Of course she did.
Alexia assisted it, because fate had a sense of humour. Jay timed the run properly this time, cut between defenders, took the pass first time and buried it low into the corner. Clean. Sharp. Beautiful. The kind of goal that made the whole pitch shift with satisfaction.
She turned immediately towards Alexia.
Alexia was already smiling.
Not the public smile.
The private one.
Proud.
Jay's chest filled.
I love you, she thought, and this time the thought did not scare her as much as it had before. It still scared her. Of course it did. But the fear no longer had the whole room to itself.
She jogged over, trying to look normal, and failed because Alexia opened her arms slightly and Jay walked straight into her space like gravity had been reassigned. Their hands touched, only briefly, professional enough if you were generous and blind. Alexia's fingers squeezed once.
"Better," Alexia said.
Jay leaned closer. "Your praise means everything to me."
"You are ridiculous."
"You started it with the pass."
"I started nothing."
"You personally attacked my composure."
Alexia's eyes moved over Jay's face, softer now. "You have composure?"
"Occasionally. In storage."
Alexia laughed.
Jay nearly said it right there on the pitch, sweaty and breathless and surrounded by teammates.
She did not.
This time, it was not because she panicked.
It was because Alexia deserved to hear it somewhere no one could shout "gay" from behind a cone.
Pina would. Jay knew she would.
After training, Alexia had a meeting.
Jay knew because Alexia told her with the kind of apologetic grimace that meant it was not quick and everyone involved was going to suffer. They were walking towards the changing rooms, boots dirty, shirts sticking lightly to their backs, bodies still carrying the heat of the session. Alexia had her water bottle in one hand and her bag over the other shoulder, and even tired she looked composed in a way Jay found offensive.
"Media review," Alexia said. "Then sponsorship discussion. Then a call with comms."
Jay made a face. "That sounds like three meetings wearing one big coat."
"SĂ."
"Illegal."
"I know."
"I can get you out of it."
Alexia glanced at her. "No."
"You haven't heard my plan."
"I have lived with your plans."
"Strong word, lived."
"You once suggested we fake a power cut to avoid a team dinner."
"It would have worked."
Alexia laughed and took a drink, but the tiredness stayed behind her eyes. Jay saw it and felt the immediate urge to take the whole afternoon out of Alexia's hands and fight it in a car park.
"What time will you finish?" Jay asked.
Alexia blew out a breath. "Maybe six."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe seven."
"Maybe is doing a lot of emotional damage here."
Alexia's mouth softened. She stepped closer, fingers catching briefly at the strap of Jay's bag. "You go home."
Jay frowned. "Rude."
âYou shower. Eat. Rest."
"Administrative girlfriend."
"You like."
"I do," Jay admitted. "Annoyingly."
Alexia's gaze warmed, and for a second the corridor around them became irrelevant. Players moved past. Someone shouted for tape. Staff carried equipment. Lucy laughed at something near the door. But Alexia's attention was on Jay with that calm, full weight that made Jay feel chosen in a way she still did not know how to receive without making jokes.
"Text me after?" Jay asked.
"SĂ."
"And during, if you need me to fake an emergency."
"What emergency?"
"Mapi locked in a cupboard. Pina trapped in a bib. Lucy forced to spend six minutes without giving an opinion."
Alexia smiled. "The last one is impossible."
"Exactly. No one would question the panic."
Alexia shook her head, then reached up and adjusted Jay's collar even though it did not need adjusting. Her fingers lingered near Jay's throat, close to the red tattoo there, close enough that Jay's breath changed before she could stop it.
Alexia noticed.
Her face softened further.
"Go home, guapa," she said quietly. "I call you later."
Jay wanted to say it then.
Again.
Standing in a training ground corridor with wet hair and aching legs and Alexia's hand near her throat. It would have been ridiculous. It would have been too exposed. It would have been them.
But one of the media staff appeared at the far end of the corridor and called Alexia's name.
The moment shifted.
Alexia's jaw tightened, just slightly.
Jay smiled because it was either that or resent a woman with a clipboard for interrupting her emotional development. "Your three meetings in a coat are calling."
Alexia made a small, unhappy sound.
Jay leaned in and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, brief enough to be public and warm enough to be theirs. "Go. Be terrifying in Spanish."
Alexia's eyes flicked over her face. "You will eat?"
"Yes."
"Real food."
"Define real."
"Jay."
"Fine. Yes. Real food."
Alexia kissed her once, quick and soft, then walked away towards the meeting.
Jay watched her go until Lucy appeared beside her, this time mercifully silent for three whole seconds.
Jay did not look at her. "Say nothing."
Lucy lifted both hands.
A beat passed.
Then she said, "I'm proud of you for not saying it in front of the woman with the clipboard."
Jay turned slowly.
Lucy stepped back. "That was supportive."
"That was surveillance."
"It can be both."
Jay pointed towards the changing rooms. "Go shower."
âYou first."
"I need a minute."
Lucy's face softened.
This time she did not push.
And because of that, Jay let herself stand there a moment longer, watching the corridor where Alexia had disappeared, feeling the words wait inside her like something alive.
synopsis - what starts as a relaxing day out on the mediterranean turns into the perfect birthday celebration, making alexia realise there couldn't have been a better gift than spending it with you. (wc - 1.8k)
ŕź notes - happy birthday to anyone who didn't receive a gift from me
ŕź warnings - oral, scissoring, public (?) sex
ŕź read more - masterlist
the sun hung high over the mediterranean, casting a golden shimmer across the calm water.Â
your new yacht- the one youâd gifted alexia for her birthday drifted lazily, anchored far from any shore or prying eyes. the deck was wide and open, luxurious cushions spread out in the center like an invitation.Â
alexia lay on her back, stretched out in nothing but a tiny black bikini bottom, her toned body glistening with a light sheen of sunscreen and sea spray. her dark hair fanned out around her, a few strands dancing in the warm wind of the sea.
you were beside her, propped on one elbow, tracing lazy patterns across her bare stomach with your fingertips. the two of you had spent the morning christening the boat in every way that mattered- laughter, champagne, sun on skin. now it was quiet, just the gentle lap of waves against the hull and the occasional creak of the yacht.
alexia turned her head toward you, a soft, content smile playing on her lips. âthis is perfect, amorâ she murmured, voice low and warm. âyou spoil me too much.â
You leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone. âyou deserve it. happy birthday, ale.â
she hummed in response, her hand sliding up your arm, pulling you closer. the kiss started soft- lips brushing, tasting the salt on each otherâs skin. but it deepened quickly, the way it always did with her.Â
her tongue teased yours, a quiet moan vibrating between you as your hand wandered lower, cupping her breast and thumbing over her nipple until it peaked under your touch.
alexia arched into you, her body responding instantly. you shifted, moving over her, settling your weight between her parted thighs. the bikini bottom was already damp, and you could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric.Â
you kissed down her neck, sucking lightly at the spot that always made her shiver, then lower, trailing your mouth over her chest. you took one nipple between your lips, swirling your tongue while your hand kneaded the other.
âmm⌠amor,â she breathed, fingers threading through your hair. the wind picked up for a moment, tousling your hair into a messy tangle. you didnât care. you wanted her to see you like this- flushed, eager, completely hers.
you continued downward, kissing along the defined lines of her abs, nipping at her hip bone. alexiaâs breathing grew heavier, her hips shifting restlessly beneath you.Â
you hooked your fingers into the sides of her bikini and peeled it down her long legs, tossing it aside. she was bare and glistening already, her pussy flushed and inviting in the bright sunlight.
you settled fully between her thighs, pushing them wider apart. for a moment you just looked at her- the way her chest rose and fell, the flush creeping across her cheeks, those dark eyes watching you with hungry anticipation.
then you lowered your head.
your first lick was slow, deliberate, dragging the flat of your tongue from her entrance up to her clit. alexia gasped sharply, her hand tightening in your messy hair.Â
you did it again, savoring her taste- warm, sweet, addictive. you circled her clit with the tip of your tongue before sucking it gently between your lips.
âjoder⌠thatâs it amor,â she moaned, her head tipping back against the cushion.Â
her thighs trembled on either side of your face as you worked her open with long, languid strokes. you pushed your tongue inside her, fucking her with it slowly, then pulled back to focus on her swollen clit again.
you glanced up at her through your lashes, eyes wide and bright, locked onto hers. the messy strands of your hair whipped across your forehead in the breeze, but you didnât break eye contact.Â
alexia looked down at you, lips parted, cheeks flushed deeper. the sight of you between her legs- eyes pretty and focused only on her pleasure made her moan louder.
you slipped two fingers into her, curling them upward as your mouth sealed around her clit, sucking rhythmically. alexiaâs hips bucked, grinding against your face. you let her, encouraging it with a low hum that vibrated through her core.
âdios mio, your eyes⌠like that,â she panted, voice breaking. âdonât stop looking at me.â
you didnât. you kept your gaze fixed upward, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face while you devoured her. your fingers pumped steadily, curling against that spot inside her that made her thighs shake. your tongue flicked fast and firm over her clit, then slowed to broad, wet strokes that had her dripping down your chin.
the boat rocked gently beneath you, the motion adding to the rhythm. sunlight warmed your back as you ate her out with devotion- messy, hungry, completely lost in her. your free hand gripped her thigh, holding her open while you worked her closer to the edge.
alexiaâs moans grew louder, unrestrained. her fingers tugged at your hair, not guiding, just holding on as her body tensed. âiâm- joder, Iâm so closeâŚâ
you doubled down, sucking harder on her clit, fingers thrusting deeper and faster. your eyes stayed locked on hers, pretty and intense, letting her see exactly how much you loved this- loved her spread out on the deck you bought her, coming apart under your mouth in the open air.
she came with a sharp cry, back arching hard off the cushions, thighs clamping around your head. her pussy clenched rhythmically around your fingers as you kept licking her through it, gentler now but no less devoted.Â
you drank down every drop, savouring the way she shuddered and gasped your name like it was the only word she knew.
even as the orgasm faded, you stayed between her legs, pressing soft, soothing kisses to her sensitive folds, looking up at her with those same pretty eyes. your hair was even messier now, wild from the breeze and her fingers.
alexiaâs chest heaved as she came down, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across her face. she tugged you up gently, pulling you into a deep, filthy kiss that tasted of her.
for a while you just lay there together, skin to skin, letting the sun warm you both. your fingers traced idle circles on her stomach while hers ran through your wind-tousled hair, smoothing the messy strands the breeze kept playing with.Â
the boat creaked softly beneath you. everything felt perfect- peaceful, intimate, and still buzzing with heat.
but the longer you lay there pressed against her, the more you felt it: the aching need between your own legs.Â
you were soaked.Â
the taste of her, the sounds sheâd made, the sight of her coming on your tongue- it had left you dripping, your bottoms ruined and your thighs slick.Â
you shifted restlessly, pressing your hips against her thigh, and Alexia noticed immediately.
a knowing smirk curved her lips. âalready?â she teased, voice low. her hand slid down your back and cupped your ass, squeezing. âshow me.â
you didnât need to be told twice. you rolled on top of her, straddling her hips for a moment before shifting higher. alexiaâs eyes darkened with fresh hunger as she looked up at you- flushed cheeks, messy hair, nipples hard and obvious in the bright sunlight.
you peeled off your own bikini bottoms and tossed them aside, revealing just how wet you were. your pussy glistened, slick coating your folds and inner thighs. alexiaâs breath hitched at the sight.
âfuck, amor⌠look at you,â she murmured, hands gripping your hips.
you moved into position, carefully sliding one of her legs over yours until your soaked cunts pressed together.Â
the first contact made you both moan- hot, slick, and perfect. you rocked your hips slowly at first, grinding your clit directly against hers. the wet sounds of your pussies sliding together filled the open deck, obscene and loud in the quiet sea air.
alexiaâs hands guided your movements, pulling you down harder against her. âbuena chica⌠just like that,â she gasped, her own hips rolling up to meet you.
you leaned forward, bracing your hands on either side of her head so your bodies were flush together. your messy hair fell around both of you like a curtain as you started grinding with more purpose.Â
the friction was electric. every roll of your hips dragged your swollen clit over hers, mixing your wetness until you were both slippery and shining.
the boatâs gentle rocking added to the rhythm, helping you find a steady, delicious pace.Â
you scissored harder, panting into her mouth as you kissed her sloppily. breasts pressed together, nipples brushing with every movement. the heat between your joined pussies was intense- slick, hot, and getting wetter by the second.
âgod, youâre so fucking wet,â alexia groaned against your lips, one hand sliding up to tangle in your messy hair. she tugged lightly, making you moan louder as you ground down on her. your clits rubbed perfectly with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure racing through both of you.
you sat up a little, changing the angle so you could watch where you were connected.Â
the sight was filthy: your glistening pussies mashed together, lips sliding and kissing with every roll of your hips. alexiaâs eyes followed yours, her mouth falling open in a silent moan as she watched too.
you picked up the pace, riding her with short, urgent snaps of your hips. the wet, rhythmic slap of skin and the squelch of your combined arousal echoed across the deck.Â
sweat and sea spray mixed on your skin. your messy hair stuck to your neck and shoulders now, but you didnât care- all you cared about was the building pressure, the way alexiaâs clit throbbed against yours, the way her hands gripped your ass and pulled you down harder.
âiâm close again,â she gasped, voice breaking beautifully. âdonât stop amor. donât⌠joder, right there-â
you leaned down, pressing your forehead to hers, eyes locked as you quickened your pace. your messy strands brushed her face with every thrust. the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped.
you came first, crying out as your pussy clenched and gushed against hers. the orgasm crashed through you hard, hips stuttering but still grinding, prolonging the pleasure.Â
alexia followed right after, moaning your name loud enough that it probably carried across the water. her thighs shook, nails digging into your hips as she came, her slick mixing with yours in a messy, beautiful flood.
you kept moving through it, slower now, riding out the aftershocks together. the ocean breeze cooled your overheated skin as you finally collapsed on top of her, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat and cum.
alexia wrapped her arms around you, kissing the top of your head, then your messy hair, then your lips.
âbest birthday ever,â she whispered with a breathless laugh.
you smiled against her neck, the yacht rocking gently beneath your tangled bodies, the sun still shining bright overhead.
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
ellievsbear
vaporwave
blakekathryn
