Soccer Is Physical

Nina Elle dug her thumbs into the torn muscle above Mattie Borders’s knee, working slow circles until the skin flushed pink. The air tightened. Without a word she slid her palm higher, knuckles brushing the soft crotch of thin cotton shorts. Mattie’s breath hitched, but her hips tilted toward the pressure instead of away. Nina smiled against her own teeth, confident now. She peeled the shorts aside, fingers tracing bare, warm folds already slick. Mattie let out a shaky laugh, grabbed Nina’s wrist and pushed it deeper, grinding into the touch. The older woman answered with two fingers, sliding inside in one blunt thrust. Mattie’s head knocked back against the pillows, one hand knotted in Nina’s dark hair, pulling her down until hot breath and a wet tongue replaced fingers. Nina licked once, twice—slow, filthy, deliberate—then took Mattie’s clit between her lips and sucked like she meant to bruise. The younger girl’s thighs started to shake; she swore low, rolled her hips, drove herself against Nina’s mouth. Sweat beaded along Nina’s spine, slicked the small of her back, but she didn’t stop until Mattie arched hard, came silent and sudden, and then slumped, breathing like she’d been underwater too long.