Kroos's controller slipped in his sweaty palm as the final whistle blew on the screen. 3–3. A draw. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his eyes darting back to Fleur. She was watching him intently, her legs now primly crossed, the skirt smoothed down over her thighs. The casual exposure from earlier the glimpse of bare, smooth skin where panties should have been—felt like a fever dream now. Had she noticed his wandering gaze? The way his eyes had betrayed him, dipping lower and lower, fixated on the forbidden shadow between her legs? His stomach twisted. She must have. Why else would she have shifted like that, closing off the view so deliberately?
Fleur set her controller aside with a slow, deliberate motion, her almond-shaped eyes locking onto his. There was a spark there, something playful yet probing, cutting through the lingering sadness that usually clouded her gaze. "So," she said, her voice low and teasing, "what do you truly want, Kroos? If you win of course ."
He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes to stay on her face. "Um... some food? Yeah, I'm starving." The words tumbled out too quickly, too awkwardly. A lame deflection, but better than admitting the truth that his mind was replaying that accidental flash, the soft curve of her most intimate place, bare and inviting, stirring a heat in him he wasn't prepared for.
She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Food. Right." The game score blinked mockingly on the TV, and Kroos seized on it. "Anyway, it's 3–3. Tie means the bet's invalid, right? No winner, no loser."
Fleur's laugh was soft, almost musical, but it carried an edge. "Oh, no, Kroos. That's not how this works. A tie means we both lost. And losers still have to pay up." She uncrossed her legs just enough to shift closer on the couch, the fabric of her skirt whispering against the cushions. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken tension.
Kroos felt his cheeks burn, embarrassment flooding him. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. "Fine, whatever. What do you want me to do, then?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "I want you to tell the truth. About what you really want from me." As she spoke, she closed the gap between them, her body heat radiating through the thin space. Her caramel skin glowed under the room's soft lamp light, and her perfume something floral and intoxicating wrapped around him like a vice. Kroos's heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing. She was so close now, her thigh brushing against his, the same thigh that had been so casually exposed moments ago.
"I... food," he stammered again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seriously, that's it."
She laughed again, richer this time, her hand moving with deceptive slowness. It started innocently enough, resting on his knee, but then it crept upward, fingers tracing a light path along his thigh. Mischief danced in her eyes, dark and knowing. "Are you sure about that?" Her voice dropped to a husky murmur, her breath warm against his ear.
Kroos froze, every muscle in his body locking up as her hand continued its ascent. He could feel the stiffness building already, an involuntary reaction to her touch, her proximity. In his head, a whirlwind of thoughts spun: *This has to be a joke. She's messing with me for staring, for seeing what I shouldn't have. That bare pussy, so close, so teasing. What a cruel fucking joke.* But his body betrayed him. Her fingers brushed the growing bulge in his pants, light at first, then more insistent, stroking through the fabric with a rhythm that made his breath hitch.
He went rigid, unable to move, his dick hardening under her palm, pulsing with each deliberate caress. She didn't stop, her touch firming as she felt him respond, her nails grazing lightly over the outline, sending jolts of electricity through him. The room felt too hot, too small, the FIFA menu music a distant hum compared to the roar of blood in his ears. Fleur's eyes never left his face, watching his reactions with that same playful glint, but now laced with something deeper—hunger, maybe. Or challenge.
Her hand squeezed gently, coaxing a low, unintended groan from his throat. She leaned in closer, her full lips parting slightly, her breasts pressing against his arm as she whispered, "Come on, Kroos. Tell me the truth. Is this what you were thinking about? When your eyes kept wandering... lower?"
The words hit him like a punch, confirming his fear she had noticed. His mind flashed back to that moment: her leg stretched out, skirt hiked up, no panties in sight, just the smooth, inviting folds of her pussy, glistening faintly in the low light. The image burned in his brain, fueling the throbbing ache under her hand. She stroked faster now, her grip confident, thumb circling the tip through his jeans, making him twitch and swell even more.
But panic surged through the haze of arousal. This was Dirk's sister. This was wrong—hot, mind-blowingly hot, but wrong. With a Herculean effort, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her mid-stroke. "No okay, wait. I think... I'll just take the food." His voice cracked, eyes locking onto hers, burning with the desire he was desperately trying to shove down. He could see the disappointment flicker across her face, her hand lingering for a second before she pulled back, the warmth of her touch leaving him aching and exposed.
Fleur sat back, her expression shifting to something almost wistful, though the mischief hadn't fully faded. "Alright, if that's what you want. A sandwich it is." She stood up " oh I like eggplants in mine". her hips swaying as she headed toward the kitchen.
Kroos sat there, flabbergasted, his dick still hard and straining against his pants, the ghost of her touch pulsing through him. *Did that really just happen?* He ran a hand through his hair, trying to process. Fleur was beautiful—stunning, really—with her curvy yet slim figure, that glowing skin, those sad-but-sexy eyes. She must have forgotten how she looked, how she affected guys like him. Or maybe she hadn't. Maybe this was her way of dealing with whatever shadow Toby had left behind.
Dirk's words echoed in his mind from earlier that day: *You can't keep letting chances like that slip away. Next time, when something like that comes, you match the energy. Got it?*
Match the energy. Take the initiative. Yeah, screw it. This "joke" of hers had left him reeling, his body on fire, mind spinning with images of her bare pussy and the way she'd stroked him like she owned him. It would be unfair to let her play with his head like this and walk away unscathed. He might as well gain something from it push back, see where this led.
With a deep breath, Kroos pushed himself off the couch and followed her into the kitchen, his steps purposeful, the regret from earlier with Emma fading into the background. The night was far from over.