Pitched Off- Leah Williamson

Chapter 12

Even though I may have just said that the details that she had just told me should be kept between her and I... it is important to note that I do not intend to keep it that way. After all, if she is making me experience, then I think it is only fair that everyone should have to experience this.

She as she moves one of her hands off the door, starting to pull her shirt up from the hem, I smile at her and take the soft fabric between my fingers, "Let me." I whisper.

And so it begins, with her whispering down my ear, her cashing in and me lifting her shirt off of her, revealing her toned stomach, and her lips only millimeters from mine as our breaths mix. I feel her heart rate as my hand softly places over her chest, with every beat of her heart in sync with mine as I grow more and more impatient, moving my hips forward seeking hers.

"Be patient." She says plastering a whisper of a kiss over my lips. "I have a few rules for you tonight, are you okay with that baby." I let out a slight groan at the nickname, assuring her that I was. "No touching yourself, that is only for me." She kisses me again, "Do what I say, when I say it." Another kiss, "And you will not make another sound until I tell you that you can."

In all my life I'd never imagined I'd be here, a professional footballer playing for the Arsenal. My hands tied behind the back of a chair, in nothing more than my underwear.

All while Leah Williamson, England captain and Arsenal star, is sat sideways on my lap, staring at me silently, breathing slowly. Her fingers trace the outline of my face down past my jaw, then down to my neck, then over my shoulder. Her head moves slowly closer to mine as she mumbles against my lips. "I want to make you wait."

My eyes follow her every movement as she stands up in front of me, slowly she unzips her pants, dropping them to the floor and allowing the material to pool by her ankles, next to the rest of the mix of our clothing.

Red, it's all red. Of course it is, she bleeds red. Signature Arsenal red, her red lace underwear no surprise, and covering next to nothing. Her blonde hair sitting in perfect waves around her face.

With her hands behind her back she unhooks her bra, tossing it behind her onto my lap. As her head turns over her shoulder I watch as she side-eyes me with a hint of a smirk on her face that I just about make out.

Just breathe Y/N. Breathe.

No matter how hard I try it is getting undeniably harder to breathe, the room gets warmer around me and I simply cannot think straight. With every degree it seems to get warmer, the rest of the room begins to blur until I can only focus on one thing. Her, just her.

My head falls back to look up at the ceiling, needing just a minute to calm myself down. Who do I thank for putting me here in this situation? God? Satan? Maybe I can even give myself a bit of a pat on the back. Or maybe I shouldn't be thanking anyone at all...

As my head drops back down to look at her my breath catches itself in my throat. She is leaned forward, her hand on my coffee table, keeping herself stable. Her other hand is reaching between her thighs, on full display for me as her fingers start to tease herself. Or perhaps it's me that she's teasing because with each soft groan that falls from her lips my hips roll. Desperate for any friction that I can get, but the chair provides none.

With her head facing the mirror I have set up against the wall across the room, my eyes follow the same direction, catching her reflection in the glass. Her eyes are closed and with every breathless moan her mouth falls open in the shape of an 'o'.

Her body is so close to mine, my legs only inches from her, if that, I get more and more desperate to get to taste her the more torturous this becomes.