After The Match 3

The gym was dark and echoing, all the noise of the match gone, like it had never happened. I slipped in through the side door barefoot, the soles of my feet silent against the floor. The air still smelled like rubber and sweat. My bag was in the corner near the mats, forgotten in the rush of winning.

I didn't expect anyone else.

Then I saw her.

Alexis.

Sitting alone in the far end, legs wide, elbows on her knees, her jersey untucked and damp, head down like she'd been waiting, or maybe just hadn't moved. The light from the hallway caught the side of her face. Still. Blank. That same unreadable expression I'd hated since year one.

She looked up.

Didn't smile.

I kept walking. Straight to my bag. Tried not to flinch.

-- Forgot something?

Her voice was low. Unhurried. Like it didn't matter if I answered.

I didn't.

I grabbed my strap, slung it over my shoulder, started to turn.

-- Guess the short girl's team had better lungs tonight.

That stopped me.

I turned my head.

-- Maybe the tall girl's team should stop relying on intimidation and start learning to cover the left line.

I saw her jaw shift slightly.

No smile. No frown. Just a look.

Then she stood up.

Slow.

All legs and shoulders, unhurried like she had all the time in the world to crush me.

I stayed still.

She walked forward -- measured, steady -- like each step was part of some inner rhythm only she could hear. I backed away, not because I was scared, but because something in her movement felt like weather. Like standing still would mean getting struck.

My back hit the wall.

Alexis stopped just short of me. Her body a shadow in the low light. Close. Close enough to feel her heat. To hear the soft breath between her lips.

Neither of us spoke.

Through the gym doors I heard a voice.

A guard.

-- Nobody left in the building, right?

-- No one. Lock it up.

Then the metal clack of the front gate.

A heavy deadbolt sliding into place.

His footsteps faded into nothing.

I didn't move.

Neither did she.

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

Not anger. Not smirk. Just that steady pressure of her stare -- like her pupils knew how to pin someone.

Then she stepped closer.

Her hands reached my shoulders. Not gentle. Not rough. Just decided.

She turned me.

Fast. Firm.

I gasped as my chest hit the cold wall. Not pain -- just shock. The flat slap of skin on tile. My breath hitched. Her knee slid between mine, nudging me open. Her thigh pressed against my leg, forcing me to widen without a word.

Her hands moved to my hips.

Then lower.

I felt the zipper on my skirt slide down.

One smooth motion.

Her fingers barely brushed my skin.

I made a sound.

Not a moan -- just something between breath and tension.

The room stayed dark. But the moon through the high windows fell directly across me.

I knew what she saw.

My back arched slightly.

I could feel the air on my thighs, the stretch of my white thong with that stupid little black lace pattern. The fabric was already clinging between my legs. I didn't check. I didn't need to.

She hadn't said a word.

But she saw it.

She knew.

And I bit my lip. Hard.

Afraid to breathe.

Afraid to beg.

Her fingers didn't rush.

They slid down the backs of my thighs with the kind of pressure that made it impossible to stay still -- heavy, slow, claiming. I clenched my hands against the wall. I could hear the way my skin sounded under her touch. Damp. Warm. Too real.

She grabbed the sides of my thong -- front and back -- and pulled.

Not just tugged.

Pulled.

It bit into me. The fabric snapped up between my cheeks and crushed forward at the same time. I whimpered, sharp and broken, my knees jerking inward instinctively. Her hands were solid against me, thumbs digging into my hips as she held the stretch. I could feel the lace dragging across every part of me -- too thin, too tight, too much.

And still, she said nothing.

Her breathing hadn't changed.

I was soaked, I knew I was. I could feel the heat, the slickness, the way the fabric had no more resistance left. If she noticed -- and she had to -- she didn't show it. Her face stayed out of view, her hands the only thing speaking.

One let go.

The other slid lower.

Palmed my ass. Firm, rough, fingers spreading, squeezing like I wasn't a person, just something under her control. My body twitched into her grip. I hated that she didn't react. Hated how calm she was while I felt like I was vibrating out of myself.

She turned me again.

Back to face her.

Her hand stayed on the front of my thong, still pulling -- not down, not up, just holding that tension like a leash. Her other hand rose, cupped the side of my face, fingers cool from the air, palm warm from me. I looked up into her eyes.

Still no expression.

Just watching me. Like a mirror without a reflection.

I couldn't hold the look.

I tried.

But my mouth trembled.

My thighs were shaking. My breathing came in thin gasps. I wanted to say something, but I didn't even know what. I was dripping -- I could feel it. The thong was useless now, more a wet ribbon than underwear. My nipples were hard under the fabric of my jersey, and I was aching.

She leaned forward.

Our mouths met at the same time.

But this time she kissed me deep.

Not soft, not testing. Full lips, parting mine. Her tongue slid against mine without hesitation, without invitation -- like it belonged there. I kissed her back because I had no other choice. My body did it before I could think.

My hand curled behind her neck, my fingers clawing slightly at her hair. I moaned into her mouth, raw and too loud. She swallowed it. Swallowed me.

Then -- without breaking the kiss -- she pushed me.

Back, toward the mats.

I stumbled once, her hands still on me, still holding me up. The kiss didn't end. She walked me back like she owned my steps, and I followed, knees jelly, lungs burning, mouth open against hers.

I hit the mat with the back of my legs and dropped.

She followed me down.

Her body over mine, weight against my hips, her leg sliding between mine again -- not gently. She kissed me harder now, tongue deeper, her hand pinning my wrist above my head.

I let her.

I wanted more.

Her thigh pressed against me just right and I couldn't stop myself -- I rocked against it. Once. Then again. She didn't stop me. She didn't help, either. Just let me grind like I needed her to feel how desperate I was.

I gasped into her mouth.

She finally moved her hand.

Slid down my body.

Under my jersey.

Up my ribs.

Between my breasts.

No hesitation.

And still, not a single word.

She didn't give me time to brace.

Her hand slid under my sports bra, and her fingers found me. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just exact. My breath caught sharp in my throat. Her palm cupped me like I was hers. Not something she was allowed to touch -- something she already owned.

I arched into it. Moaned into her mouth. My hand grabbed at her shoulder, trying to hold on to anything. She didn't slow. Didn't change rhythm. Her lips stayed locked to mine, our tongues tangled in a rhythm that felt ancient, primal, filthy.

I couldn't think.

Her body pressed down on me -- thigh lodged between mine, weight holding me open. Her knee ground upward once and I cried out through the kiss. A small sound, embarrassing and real. She didn't pause. Just kept going. Her mouth dragged down to my jaw, then to my neck -- hot breath, wet lips, then teeth. She bit. I flinched. My eyes fluttered.

I whispered her name, but it came out like a whimper. Like I'd forgotten what words were for.

And then she stopped kissing me.

Just pulled back.

Looked down at me.

Her hand still under my bra. My thong clinging, soaked and twisted. My legs wide. My chest heaving.

She stared at me the same way she had before any match -- like she was studying a pattern. Like she was trying to find the weakness in my defense.

Except now, I had none left.

I reached up without thinking. My fingers found her jaw, my thumb brushed her cheekbone. She didn't move. She didn't blink. Her eyes didn't ask permission -- they never had.

I sat up. Slowly.

She shifted, leaning back onto her elbows.

I knelt between her legs.

The moonlight hit her full now -- skin damp with sweat, tank top sticking to her ribs, shorts low on her hips. Her stomach rose and fell with steady, deep breaths. She was so still. So absolutely in control of her body, like nothing we'd done had moved her at all.

I stood.

Still straddling her legs. I reached down. Grabbed my thong.

And pulled it down.

She watched.

I stepped one foot out, then the other. My bare legs were slick with sweat and something more. I didn't care. I kicked the thong to the side, across the empty gym. The sound of it sliding across the floor echoed like a whisper.

I climbed back onto her.

One knee, then the other.

Over her chest.

Up her body.

High enough that I was kneeling with my thighs bracketing her head.

She didn't flinch.

Didn't reach for me.

Just looked up.

I hovered. My hands on her abs, body shaking slightly. My heart was pounding so hard it made my vision pulse. Her breath ghosted against my thighs. My skin tightened, everything pulling inward. I was so close. So wet I could feel it on the inside of my knees.

Then I lowered.

Carefully.

Her lips touched me.

I choked on air. My hand flew to her shoulder, then to her hair, gripping instinctively. Her tongue didn't tease. It searched. Pressure, angle, exactness. My hips jolted. I moaned. Louder than I meant to. I couldn't stop. My fingers buried deeper in her hair.

I rolled my hips once.

Then again.

Then I gave in.

She held my thighs firmly, like she was steadying me for something deeper. Her mouth moved in slow circles, then firmer strokes. I couldn't hold back anymore. My body moved on its own -- riding her, grinding, desperate.

I gasped.

Cried out.

Clenched.

Everything twisted.

And then I broke.

It hit like a snap. A quake through my spine, my thighs, my chest. My vision went white. My mouth dropped open and no sound came. My whole body arched. I came hard -- breathless, shaking, full-body collapse. Her hands held me up until I slumped forward, falling into her.

We stayed like that.

Sticky. Wet. Breathless.

I rolled off her slowly. Onto my side. My chest against the mat. My eyes half-closed.

She didn't speak.

Neither did I.

She lay beside me, one arm across her stomach, the other bent beneath her head. Her face as still as ever. But her breath had changed. Slower. Heavier.

The gym was silent again.

I curled in beside her. My head resting near her shoulder. The mat was cold. The air smelled like us. I closed my eyes.

And without a word --

without ever speaking --

we fell asleep.

the crackle of air

(Written and edited by AlexisVriting)