Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

L ucas

I was in the training room in the bowels of Parc des Princes the morning after I had punished Alice with the butt plug, getting a massage. I had done my best to keep myself from thinking about my naughty little slut’s gorgeous backside more than once every five minutes in the intervening hours, but even in sleep I had seen the bewitching sight of the lovely Alice helplessly coming with the plug in her bottom over and over.

Today’s practice would help, I told myself—I had never yet had a girl who had distracted me from the game I loved. On the other hand, I couldn’t say I felt completely certain; I had also never felt such mingled tenderness and sheer sexual aggression toward another girl.

I lay face down on the massage table, Hervé’s strong hands working the knots out of my shoulders. The familiar scent of liniment and sweaty athletic gear filled my nostrils, grounding me in the present moment. I tried to focus on the sensation of tense muscles loosening under Hervé’s expert touch, pushing thoughts of Alice to the back of my mind.

The door to the training room swung open, and I heard the familiar voices of Leo and Tomas enter, their footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. From my position on the table, partially obscured by a privacy screen, they didn’t notice me.

“Did you see the article in Le Parisien this morning?” Leo asked, his voice tinged with excitement. “About Lucas and that girl?”

I tensed slightly, but Hervé’s hands continued their steady rhythm on my back.

“Of course I saw it,” Tomas replied. “It’s all anyone’s talking about. Who do you think she is?”

“Some university student, apparently,” Leo said. “The article said Lucas is sponsoring her studies or something.”

I could hear the skepticism in Tomas’s voice. “Right, ‘sponsoring.’ Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Leo chuckled. “Come on, you know how Lucas is. Remember that model from last year? The one he had eating out of his hand after just a week?”

Leo laughed, a knowing glint in his eye. “Oh, I remember her. What was her name? Chloé? Camille?”

“Claire,” Tomas supplied, shaking his head with a wry smile. “And she was absolutely smitten. Followed Lucas around like a lovesick puppy for weeks.”

“Until he got bored and moved on,” Leo added, his tone a mix of admiration and disbelief. “I swear, I don’t know how he does it. The women just fall at his feet.”

Tomas nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “But this one seems different, doesn’t she? I mean, a university student? That’s not his usual type.”

Leo’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Maybe our Lucas is looking to expand his horizons. Broaden his intellectual pursuits, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tomas rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Leo defended, holding up his hands. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’re not curious about what she’s like in bed.”

“Leo!” Tomas hissed, glancing around as if worried someone might overhear. But his expression betrayed his own curiosity.

Leo leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I bet she’s a wildcat in the sack. Those quiet, bookish types always are. Probably lets Lucas do all sorts of kinky shit to her.”

Tomas shifted uncomfortably, but his eyes betrayed his interest. “You think? I mean, she looked so… innocent in that photo.”

“That’s exactly it,” Leo insisted, warming to his topic. “She’s probably never been with a guy like Lucas before. Can you imagine? Going from shy little university student to being fucked six ways from Sunday by Lucas fucking Moreau?”

“Jesus, Leo,” Tomas muttered, but he was grinning now. “You’ve put way too much thought into this.”

Leo shrugged, unrepentant. “What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.” He paused, a wicked glint in his eye. “Besides, you know how Lucas is. Remember that time in Ibiza, when we walked in on him with those two Swedish twins?”

Tomas groaned, covering his face with his hands. “God, don’t remind me. I still can’t look at handcuffs the same way.”

“Exactly,” Leo said triumphantly. “So you know he’s probably got that poor girl tied up right now, begging for his cock.”

“Or his whip,” Tomas added, then immediately looked shocked at his own boldness.

I cleared my throat.

Leo and Tomas whirled around at the sound, their faces draining of color as they caught sight of me on the massage table. Hervé, still working on my shoulders, chuckled softly.

“Oh, shit,” Leo breathed, his eyes wide with horror. “Lucas, we didn’t… I mean, we weren’t…”

Tomas jumped in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We’re so sorry, Lucas. We had no idea you were here. That was completely inappropriate and disrespectful.”

I slowly sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the table. Hervé handed me a towel, which I draped across my lap. I fixed Leo and Tomas with a steady gaze, enjoying their discomfort for a moment before speaking.

“You know,” I said, my voice deceptively calm, “my mother always told me that eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves.”

Leo’s face flushed a deep red. “God, Lucas, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean any of that. Well, I mean, I did, but I shouldn’t have said it. It’s none of our business.”

Tomas nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. We were way out of line. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

I held up a hand, silencing their frantic apologies. “Relax, boys. I’m not angry.” I felt a small smile play at the corners of my mouth.

I leaned back on the massage table, studying my teammates’ anxious faces. The air in the training room felt thick with tension, the scent of liniment and sweat mingling with the nervous energy radiating from Leo and Tomas.

“Come here,” I said, gesturing for them to approach. They shuffled forward hesitantly, exchanging wary glances. I could see the muscles in their jaws working as they clenched their teeth, bracing for whatever punishment they imagined was coming.

“You’re right, you know,” I said softly, my eyes flickering between them. “Alice is… different.”

Leo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Tomas tilted his head curiously. Even Hervé, who had been pretending to busy himself with arranging massage oils, paused to listen.

“Different how?” Leo ventured, his natural curiosity overcoming his caution.

I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing Alice’s face. The way her cheeks flushed when I praised her, the defiant spark in her eyes just before she submitted to my will. The soft curve of her lips, the delicate arch of her neck. When I opened my eyes again, I found all three men watching me intently.

“She’s intelligent,” I began, my voice taking on a warmth I rarely allowed others to hear. “Not just book-smart, though she certainly is that. She has a quick wit, a sharp mind. She challenges me in ways I didn’t expect.”

Leo glanced at the other two, then back at me.

“It’s… serious, then?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“It may be,” I told them.

Alice

I sat in the seminar room, my wavy chestnut hair pulled back in a messy bun. The soft fabric of my skirt brushed against my thighs, a constant reminder of the plug nestled in my sensitive bottom. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t send jolts of sensation through my body with every movement. The cool wood of the chair pressed against my bare skin, Lucas’ command to forgo panties echoing in my mind.

Professor Durand’s voice droned on about the social hierarchy of fourteenth-century peasant communities, but I found it nearly impossible to focus. Lucas Moreau had shattered my usual determined concentration, replacing it with an acute awareness of every sensation in my body. The plug seemed to throb in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of my submission to the man who kept me.

I bit my lip, desperately trying to keep my expression neutral as another wave of arousal washed over me. My thighs clenched involuntarily, and I had to stifle a gasp as the movement caused the plug to shift inside me. Heat flooded my cheeks as I imagined what my classmates would think if they knew what was hidden beneath my demure exterior.

A sudden movement to my left caught my attention. Louise Montreuil, one of my fellow students, was staring at me intently, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Her sleek bob framed her angular face, giving her a sharp, sophisticated look that always made me feel slightly frumpy in comparison.

Professor Durand called for la pause— the mid-seminar break. As I reached into my bag for the end of a baguette I’d brought for a snack, I saw that Louise’s eyes had remained fixed on me.

I tried to avoid that dark gaze as I pulled out my piece of beloved, perfect Parisian bread, but I could feel her eyes boring into me. The crackle of the paper bag seemed deafening in the quiet room as students began to file out for the break. I took a small bite, the usually delicious bread tasting like sawdust in my dry mouth.

“So.” Louise’s crisp voice cut through the air, making me jump slightly. “You’re the one.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her piercing gaze. “I’m sorry?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Louise’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Don’t play coy, Alice. I saw the photos in Le Parisien this morning. You and Lucas Moreau, looking quite cozy for the cameras.”

Heat flooded my cheeks as I recalled the encounter with the paparazzi. I shifted in my seat, acutely aware of the plug inside me, a secret reminder of just how ‘cozy’ Lucas and I had become.

“It’s not… We’re not…” I stammered, unsure how to explain my complicated relationship with Lucas.

Louise leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Listen, I know it must be exciting. A famous footballer, all that money and attention. But trust me, you’re making a huge mistake.”

I blinked, taken aback by her blunt assessment. “What do you mean?”

Louise’s dark eyes flashed with an odd mixture of emotions—concern and disdain somehow keeping company in a single glance. She leaned in closer, her sleek bob swinging forward as she lowered her voice. “Alice, you can’t be serious. Everyone knows that of all the chauvinistic male athletes out there, Lucas Moreau is the worst.”

I felt my cheeks flush, a prickle of defensiveness rising in my chest. “That’s not true,” I protested weakly, even as I realized how little I actually knew about Lucas’ public persona. Football news was hard to come by in America, and I’d been far more focused on my studies than on following European sports stars.

Louise’s perfectly arched eyebrow rose skeptically. “Oh? And I suppose you know him so well after what, a few days?” She shook her head, her voice taking on a tone of exasperated concern. “He’s well known for his archaic views on gender roles. The man practically thinks women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.”

I squirmed in my seat, the plug shifting inside me as I moved. The physical reminder of my submission to Lucas sent a confusing mixture of arousal and shame coursing through me. “That’s not fair,” I argued, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. “Lucas is… he’s…” I trailed off, unsure how to defend a man I was still getting to know.

Louise’s lips curled into a sneer. “He’s what? Charming? Handsome?” She switched to English to drive her point home. “Drrrreamy?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out her sleek smartphone, its glossy screen reflecting the fluorescent lights of the seminar room. With quick, decisive movements, she tapped and swiped until she found what she was looking for.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the phone in front of my face. “Read this and tell me again how ‘unfair’ I’m being.”

I blinked, trying to focus on the screen that was suddenly inches from my nose. The headline of the article blazed across the top: Lucas Moreau: Football’s Last True Gentleman?

Beneath it was a photo of Lucas, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit, his ice-blue eyes piercing even through the digital image.

As I began to read, I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. The article was a profile of Lucas, discussing his career, his charity work, and his personal life. But it was a quote about halfway down the page that made my breath catch in my throat:

“I’m old-fashioned when it comes to relationships,” Lucas had, it seemed, told the reporter. “I look forward to a traditional marriage one day, where my wife follows my lead, and I can care for her the way a husband should care for a wife. In today’s world, I think we’ve lost sight of the natural order of things.”