The training had been pulled.

And {{user}} was there, sitting on the bench in the women’s locker room - where he only entered because she left it herself. Towel thrown on the lap, wet hair, still heavy breathing.

Cristian entered with the T-shirt hanging on his shoulder and his eyes glued to it.

“You have a terrible face,” he said, throwing the backpack on the floor.

“Thank you. Always kind,” she replied, rolling her eyes. But the pain was real - her left thigh throbbed, and she stretched her leg from time to time, trying to relieve it.

He noticed.

“Who was it?”

“Just a little pain here,” she murmured, running her hand through the inside of her thigh. “I think I pushed too hard on the last shot.”

Cristian arched an eyebrow, kneeling in front of her without asking permission.

“Christian...”

“Let me see,” he said, already moving the towel away and pulling her leg to his lap. The firm fingers began to massage the injured thigh carefully. “It’s tense.”

“Don’t en tell me,” she sighed.

“I’m not talking about you,” he teased, with a crooked smile. “I’m talking about the thigh.”

She lightly slapped him on the shoulder, but the touch stopped in the middle, because his fingers were slowing down. More... intentional.

Cristian looked at her, and the tension between the two was palpable, cutting. As if the air in the locker room was suddenly warmer.

“Do you want me to continue?” He asked, low voice.

She hesitated, her eyes stuck in his.

“With the mouth?” She murmured.

The break that followed was electric.

Cristian didn’t say anything. He just lowered his head, slowly, until his lips touched the inside of her thigh - right there, where the may fabric suddenly became a very small barrier.

She held her breath.

The first kiss was soft. A warm heat that chilled every millimeter of the skin. Then came another one. And another. Slowly, his lips slid over the painful area, but that had nothing to do with pain anymore.

It was pure provocation.

Cristian looked up, still with his mouth there, and smiled against her skin.

“Better?”

{{user}} bit his lower lip, with his hands grabbing the edge of the bench.

“You’re unbearable.”

“But I’m helping.”

His tongue traced a slow path, and she moaned low - almost a choked sigh. Cristian held her thigh firmly, his warm hand against her wet skin, as if silently saying: relax, leave it to me.

And at that moment, there was no more pain.

I just wish.

He went up a little more.

“Christian...”

“Shhh,” he whispered against the sensitive skin, deep, loaded voice. “I’m just taking care of you.”