Page 16 of Last Line of Defense

I smile very slowly, without taking my eyes off hers for even a millimeter.

“May I ask if you touch every player on the roster like this, or am I getting special treatment?”

I can see perfectly the exact struggle raging in her dark eyes: the fierce internal battle, the urgent need not to give in to temptation, not to cross that professional red line, not to allow herself the luxury of turning all of this into something real. And, honestly, I promise you that never in my life have I found anything sexier or more attractive than watching a woman trying with all her desperate might not to kiss me.

Clara pulls her hand away from my hip as if my clothes were burning and takes a step back as she stands up, barely regaining control of her body.

“We’re done for today,” she says, her voice sounding too firm and forced to be natural. “You can go straight to the locker room to take a shower.”

I sit up very slowly on the mat, leaning on my forearms with complete calm, and savor her visible discomfort to the fullest. I cast a quick sideways glance toward the windows overlooking the outdoor field, silently calculating exactly how long it will take my first-team teammates to finish their sets and arrive in droves at the communal shower area.

I stand up nimbly, locking eyes with her with a thoroughly roguish smile.

“So why don’t we go and enjoy it together?” I ask, referring to the shower in a deliberately ambiguous, provocative, and dangerous way.

Absolute silence spreads between us like a slap in the face. Perfect. Brilliant. The phrase hangs in the air of the room with all the malice in the world. It’s not just a cheap provocation on my part. It’s pure curiosity. It’s real desire burning inside me. It’s the deeply irresponsible need to know what the hell Clara Valle would do if she finally stopped hiding like a coward behind her impeccable and boring medical professionalism.

She doesn’t answer me at all. I see her fingers clench around the tablet too tightly, turning her knuckles white. The line of her jaw tenses just a little, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest gives her away long before she can utter a single word to chase me out of there.

6

After Hours

Clara

Alicia’s suggestion hangs between us in the treatment room like an electric spark suspended in the air. Sharing a shower isn’t just some absurd suggestion that slipped out of her mouth; it’s a massive door bursting open onto a dangerous abyss where my strict professionalism and my wildest desires collide with brutal force. I can feel the heat rising in waves up my neck, my cheeks flushing, and my pulse racing alarmingly until it becomes a dull drumbeat rumbling in my ears.

For too many days now, I’ve been building up tension with this woman that’s no longer just physical. Every damn brush of contact during our rehab sessions, every meaningful glance we exchange, and every suggestive hint has been weaving an invisible yet indestructible web around my willpower. And now she’s right there, offering me a wild paradise.

One part of me—the responsible Clara, the head physical therapist devoted body and soul to her work at Ravenhill FC—is desperately screaming at me to turn around and walk out of the room before my whole world comes crashing down. The other part—the flesh-and-blood woman who hasn’t had a proper fuck in far too long—madly longs to sink her fingers into her skin, grab her by the hair, and drown all this frustration consuming my insides in her body. Alicia Puertas isn’t just an exceptional, top-tier soccer player; she’s chaos personified. A kind of chaos charged with an animal magnetism that traps me and prevents me from going about my business as usual.

She takes a small step, moving a little closer to me, and her rapid breathing hits my lips directly.

“What’s up, Doc?” she asks in a hoarse whisper, without taking her eyes off mine for even a millimeter. “Don’t you like a little madness?”

Her eyes—a deep, beautiful green flecked with golden specks—are so incredibly close to mine that I can make out the faint redness of her eyelids from exhaustion, the pure gleam of defiance, and the urgent need lighting them up. My gaze drifts without my permission down the elegant line of her throat, where her racing pulse beats visibly beneath her skin, and drops even lower, lingering on the perfect curve of her shoulders, sculpted by daily exercise.

Desire hits me in the pit of my stomach with tremendous force, tightening my sex with a desperation that frightens me. I can picture her perfectly right now, her strong hands pressed against the cold tiles, hot water streaming down her sculpted back while I devour her sex hungrily, savoring her inch by inch until my entire mouth is filled with her as she comes. The thought is so vivid and intense that a shiver of pure electricity races up and down my spine.

I mentally count the minutes frantically, calculating the actual risk down to the second—the exact amount of time we have left before anyone might notice our absence from the premises. My professional defenses crumble for a few seconds. The one hesitating is no longer Clara the professional; she’s simply Clara, the woman who’s been fighting the insane urge for days to devour this woman’s mouth and wipe that mischievous, playful smile off her lips in one fell swoop.

“Fifteen minutes,” I finally blurt out, standing my ground and barely moving a centimeter away from her.

Alicia suddenly raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised by my response, and a slow, roguish, brazen smile spreads across her perfect lips.

“Fifteen minutes—that’s all?” she repeats aloud, savoring the number with obvious delight in her eyes. “Just that, Doctor? Well, I thought you’d give me a lot more time to really enjoy you…”

I stare at her intently, without blinking, allowing myself—for the first time in months—to freely reveal the pure fire consuming me from within.

“More time? Does the big star not think she’s capable of reaching orgasm in fifteen minutes? Or is that too much of a challenge for a world-class player like you?”

The direct challenge ignites something wild in her eyes. I can clearly see her breathing deepen and her pupils dilate in an instant. She doesn’t answer me with words; she doesn’t need to. She grabs my hand firmly and pulls me decisively toward the back hallway that leads directly to the medical team’s private, restricted showers. And as soon as we’re completely out of sight of any prying eyes, she pushes me back against the wall and devours my mouth without hesitation.

The initial shock and urgency of the moment draw a stifled moan from me that disappears against her lips. I entwine my tongue with hers with a hunger that frightens me; I suck and savor her with complete awareness of what I’m doing. I know perfectly well that this is a monumental mistake—possibly one I’ll regret in a matter of hours once I come to my senses. But right now, I don’t care; only she has the power to tear away the unbearable tension I’m carrying inside, the one that’s keeping me from thinking clearly.

The kiss is a veritable wildfire. Alicia devours my mouth with that chaotic, impulsive, selfish hunger that defines her so well; her tongue is demanding, her teeth grazing my lower lip forcefully as if she wanted to leave her mark etched into me forever. My hands rise on pure instinct toward the nape of her neck, tangling firmly in her damp hair and pulling her toward me with fury. The hallway is completely deserted at this hour, but the tremendous risk of being discovered by anyone pounds in my chest. Fifteen minutes. We only have fifteen minutes to satisfy everything I’ve been silently building up for days.

“You’re completely irresponsible, Alicia,” I whisper directly against her full lips as we pull apart by barely a millimeter to catch our breath.