𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙎𝙤 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 ―𝐣𝐬𝐩

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐈'𝐦 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Martha
(Mature content)

As I stand at the doorway of the locker room, I feel my heart race. The noise of the bustling wind outside fades away, and there's only one sound left—the faint hum of the locker room and the echo of my own breath. I grip my broomstick, reminding myself that this will be quick. It's in and out. Fingers crossed he is finally alone in here.

With a tentative knock, I step inside, scanning the room. Everyone seems to have cleared out after practice—everyone except him. James sits on one of the benches, leaning back, hair damp from practice, and a half-smirk crosses his face as he notices me.

"Hey, Aurum," he greets, his tone teasing and a little cocky as he watches me step in.

"Hi, Potter." I reply, hoping he can't see how much he's flustering me. James Potter, shirtless, with a silver cross pendant hanging against his chest, his lean muscles still tensed from practice. He's wearing that damn smirk, his shorts hanging low enough to show off a tattoo I'd noticed before but tried to ignore—the one right below his hipbone: "follow your brain. your heart is fucking stupid." I wonder what possessed him to write that permanently on his skin.

Ignoring his gaze, I shove my broom into my locker, already feeling my face heat up. "Just came to grab my bag. We need to talk," I say, keeping my voice steady as I pull my Louis Vuitton gym bag out and toss my water bottle into it, half-distracted, trying to keep my cool.

"Yeah? What about?" he questions, eyebrow raised.

I tie my golden hair back, clutching my bag, already rehearsing what I need to say. But as I take a step back, my foot catches on the edge of the bench, and before I know it, I'm stumbling forward—right into his lap. My bag drops with a heavy thud to the floor, and suddenly I'm inches from his face, his hands gripping my thighs to steady me.

"Careful, Martha." His voice is soft, low, and his hands are warm on my legs. He doesn't move them, and for a moment, I'm hyper-aware of every inch of space between us—which is practically nothing. I'm straddling him, my hands splayed on his bare shoulders. The air feels thick, and I can barely breathe.

His gaze flicks down to my lips. "You okay?"

I nod, but it's like my brain has shut down. The closeness, the warmth radiating off his skin, the feel of his hands on my thighs—it's overwhelming. Before I can process it, he tilts his head, leaning in slowly, and then his lips meet mine. It's soft at first, just a gentle brush, but then it deepens, and I melt, kissing him back. Because honestly, why not? We've done this plenty of times by now and I'm just a girl, it's logical that I'd like kissing a hot guy, okay? Don't judge me for it. You'd do the same. His lips part mine, and I feel his tongue brush against my upper lip, coaxing me into a slow rhythm.

As his hand slides up my thigh, his fingers slip beneath the edge of my shorts, resting just below the lace trim. His mouth moves down to my neck, leaving light, electric kisses along my skin that leave me breathless. I've never felt anything like this—my heartbeat thunders, and my hands find his hair, his wild damp messy chestnut brown hair, fingers tangling as he continues to kiss my neck.

"What did you want to talk about?" he murmurs, his voice rough against my skin. His hand slides to cup my waist, his other moving to my lower back, holding me tight against him. "I'd rather continue this though, but ball's in your court angel."

I swallow hard, breathless. "I... I think I'd... like that."

He lets out a low chuckle, his hands gripping my waist as he shifts, pressing himself against me. His hands move to cup my ass, a move I was not expecting, aligning the apex of my thighs perfectly with his dick. I can feel him, hard through the fabric of his thin shorts, and I let out a soft gasp. My cheeks burn, but he just gives me that half-smile, watching my reaction as he moves his hips up, guiding me into a slow, rhythmic grind against him.