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head a deep flushed pink, balls hanging low and full.

He stepped under the spray, letting the scalding water pound his abused muscles. Eyes closed, head tipped back, he soaped up slowly, deliberately, letting his hands glide over every ridge. That was when he felt the prickle of being watched. Two of the rowers, Kelsey and Mia, had slipped into the men’s side, hidden just around the tiled corner, eyes wide and hungry. They thought they were invisible in the steam.

Matteo smirked into the spray. He turned just enough to give them the show they wanted. One hand soaped his chest in lazy circles; the other dropped low, wrapping loosely around the thick base of his cock. He gave it a slow, lazy stroke once, twice, not getting hard, just letting the weight swing, letting the water sluice down the veined length so they could see every glistening inch. He flexed his glutes, let the muscles in his back ripple, and heard the tiny, involuntary moan that escaped one of them.

He never looked directly at them. Just gave them the exhibition they’d snuck in for, then rinsed and shut the water off with a decisive twist, leaving them flushed and breathless in the corner.

Towel knotted low on his hips, he padded into the locker room, every step sending fresh lightning through his lower back. He was pulling on a clean pair of gray Stanford Athletics sweats when the door banged open.

Matteo had just dropped his towel, cock still half-hard and heavy from the adrenaline, when the door slammed, and the lock clicked. He turned.

Judy filled the frame like a goddess on fire, five-ten of carved bronze muscle, ponytail swinging, eyes black with raw, desperate lust.

“Morales,” she growled, voice shaking with need. “I watched every fucking second. The way you destroyed that ERG… the power in your body… that thick cock swinging like it owns the room… I’ve been dripping since the third set. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I need you. Now.”

No teasing. No questions. She didn’t know his back was already a screaming wreck. She only knew he was magnificent, and she was starving.

She slammed him against the lockers with both hands. Metal crashed. Her mouth crashed into his, tongue thrusting deep, teeth sinking into his lip until he tasted copper. One powerful hand shoved into his sweats and seized his cock, stroking roughly from root to leaking head. “Get hard for me,” she snarled against his mouth. “I want every inch that teased the whole goddamn team.”

His cock surged instantly, swelling, thickening, veins rising until it throbbed angrily in her grip, nine thick inches of pure steel. Judy dropped to her knees and swallowed him to the root in one desperate plunge, throat convulsing, gagging wetly, spit running in rivers down his balls. She sucked him like a woman possessed, loud, sloppy, worshipful moaning around his length as if his taste alone could make her come.

Then she surged up, spun him, and ripped his sweats down.

“Hands on the lockers,” she ordered, voice ragged. “Work me harder than that machine.”

Matteo planted his hands. The deep arch she demanded lit his wrecked spine like a fuse. White-hot agony exploded from his sacrum up through every vertebra. His breath hitched, his eyes watering, but the raw hunger in her voice, pure, worshipful need, flooded him with something fiercer than pain. He arched harder, offering himself, needing to be the god she saw.

Judy shoved her shorts aside, lined up his dripping cock, and slammed backward. She took him balls-deep in one brutal stroke, her scorching, vice-tight pussy clamping down so hard stars burst behind his eyes. She fucked him savagely, ass slapping wetly, ponytail whipping, strong back rippling. “Yes fuck… give me that power,” she panted, voice breaking. “You’re so fucking deep, destroy me like you destroyed that machine.”

Every thrust jarred his spine. Pain tore through him, but the slick heat milking his cock, the desperate sounds ripping from her throat, the way she was coming undone because of him, fused into a single, blinding wave of ecstasy. He drove forward harder, hips snapping, chasing the high like a dying man.

Judy suddenly pulled off, spun, and leapt. “Lift me. Carry me. Now.”

He caught her powerful thighs. She locked her ankles behind his back, arms hooked over his shoulders. Full standing fuck her entire athletic weight hanging from him, forcing his lower back into a savage, hyperextended arch. The pain was excruciating, muscles seizing, vertebrae grinding, black spots exploding across his vision, but her pussy fluttered and squeezed around every inch, her full tits bouncing against his chest, her broken moans in his ear, “Oh god, Matteo, you’re splitting me open” ignited something feral and desperate in his soul. He roared through the agony, thrusting up into her with brutal, punishing power, sweat and tears mixing on his face. This was his proof. He was still unbreakable. Still, the one who could make a goddess beg.

She came with a shattered scream, walls rippling violently, squirting hot and messy down his abs. Her nails clawed bloody trails down his back as she shook apart in his arms.

Before he could breathe, she dropped her feet, shoved him backward onto the narrow wooden bench, and straddled him in reverse cowgirl. She planted her feet wide, squatted low, and impaled herself again, ass facing him, perfect glutes flexing as she rode him like she was trying to break his body and his soul. The position forced him to thrust upward violently, hips leaving the bench, lower back grinding against unforgiving wood in a hyperextended arch that felt like it would snap him in half.

Pain screamed. His vision tunneled. But the sight of her athletic ass swallowing every thick inch, the wet, filthy sounds of her cream coating his balls, the way she was using him, worshipping him, coming undone because of him, it was too much. Too perfect. Too necessary.

“Ride me… fuck take everything,” he snarled through gritted teeth, voice hoarse and cracked with emotion. His hands bruised her hips as he slammed her down harder, chasing the white-hot edge.

Judy reached back, spread her cheeks wider, and ground down one final time, shattering again, squirting in pulsing jets, walls milking him in rhythmic, greedy spasms. “Come for me, fill me, prove you’re the fucking king.”

The command detonated something deep inside him.

Matteo roared raw, broken, triumphant, a sound torn from the deepest part of his chest. His orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave, pleasure so intense it obliterated the pain for one blinding second. Heavy ropes of cum erupted deep inside her, flooding her until it backflowed in hot, sticky rivers down his balls and the bench. His entire body locked in the most savage orgasm of his life cock pulsing, spine on fire, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as wave after wave ripped through him. For those few heartbeats, he felt invincible.

Judy rode him through every brutal spasm, milking him dry, then finally lifted off with a wet, obscene sound. She stood over him on trembling legs, his cum running in thick white rivers down her thighs. She leaned down, kissed him slowly and filthily, tasting salt and desperation on his tongue.

“Morles, you’re a fucking god” she whispered, voice wrecked and reverent. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Then she fixed her shorts, sucked two fingers clean of their mixed release with a wicked, satisfied smile, and sauntered out, leaving the door swinging.

Matteo collapsed flat on the bench, chest heaving, body drenched in sweat and cum and tears. The second the door closed, the high crashed. The pain in his lower back returned like a sledgehammer screaming, locked, white-hot. He couldn’t sit up. Couldn’t breathe without agony lancing through him. The rage at Sadie, the desperate need to reclaim power, the cathartic release with Judy, all of it collapsed into a hollow, trembling vulnerability that hollowed out his chest.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, tears mixing with sweat on his temples, cock still twitching with aftershocks. Alone. Wrecked. Victorious and utterly defeated at once.

With shaking fingers, he grabbed his phone.

“Uber. Home.” he whimpered to Siri.

Even if home was enemy territory ruled by a tiny, calm-eyed conqueror who had already won.

He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to the cold metal beside the bench, and waited, heart still racing with the echo of his roar, body screaming, soul raw and exposed for the car that would drag him back into the chaos he could no longer escape.

The Uber ride home passed in a blur. Matteo slumped in the back seat, every muscle sore, his cock still aching in a good way. The house was too quiet.

He dragged himself inside, opened the fridge, and drank oat milk straight from the carton. Cold liquid ran down his chin. Then he heard it: the steady slap of skin, the wet sounds of sex, and a woman’s breathless moans.

The study door stood wide open.

Santiago had Sadie bent over the new study desk. Her tank top was pushed up, her breasts pressed flat, nipples dragging with each thrust. Her dark hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks. Her shorts and pink panties were around her ankles. Santiago, shirtless with his sweats at his knees, held her hips and moved with deep, possessive strokes, his pelvis smacking against her.

Sadie’s blue eyes were glassy and teary, her mouth open in a silent scream. “Tiago… fuck… right there… oh god…”god…”

Matteo stood frozen, too tired to move and too exhausted to look away. The scene added another wild memory to his already overwhelming day.

He didn’t interrupt.

He dragged himself upstairs, each step painful on his shaky legs. At the top, he grabbed the banister and shouted down, his voice still hoarse from calling out Judy’s name:

“New house rule! If you’re going to be naked. Fucking. Or fucking while naked… close the goddamn door!”

Then, because he couldn’t help himself: “And for fuck’s sake, use protection! I don’t want tiny Morales babies crawling around here in nine months!”

The sharp slam of the study door was the only answer.

Matteo took off his clothes and collapsed face-first onto his bed, his tired body sinking into the mattress. The faint scent of jasmine still lingered on his skin.

His last thought before falling asleep was simple, dirty, and a bit scary:

He wasn’t sure when, but he absolutely wanted more.

Judy Shepherd was going to ruin him so completely and he would be grateful for every moment.

The next morning the kitchen smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Matteo held onto the counter, sweat soaking his shirt. His gym shorts kept slipping. His breath was rough, and his muscles ached from Judy's workout. His arms shook as he tried to stay upright.

Sadie slammed the fridge door and stood in front of it, five-foot-three and angry in pink sleep shorts and a thin tank top. Her hair was wild. She pushed up her slipping glasses, the lenses catching the light as she glared at him. She held up the empty oat-milk carton between two fingers, making sure Matteo noticed.

"You know, Matteo," she said, her tone sharp. Closer now: "I used to think you were just a charming extroverted rowing-jock, harmless and fun. But this morning? Not a legend. Just a six-six participation trophy, one workout away from a cane and a nap."

Matteo's jaw tightened. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He winced hard. His core tightened around the deep bruise Judy left. His voice was raw and worn. "Over exertion." The words scraped out, tasting of salt and defeat. "High intensity. I'm...handling it."

Sadie laughed and leaned over the island. The air filled with her vanilla scent. She kept her eyes on him. "Handling it? Sweetheart, you can barely stand. Your arms are shaking. Your legs look ready to give out. You sound wrecked. Sounds like someone begged for mercy instead of rowing."

Heat crept up his neck. He flinched at the memory of Judy, pain shooting through him. "You don't know what you're talking about," Matteo rasped.

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about." Sadie straightened and crossed her arms under her chest, her tank riding up to show a bit of her stomach. "Here's how this goes, big man. You're taking that tired body to the store and getting two cartons of oat milk, full-fat, not that watery stuff you think is fine. Since you're suddenly the king of 'New House Rules,' here's mine: If you're too busy chasing whatever mystery girl has you limping like a prom-night virgin to check the fridge, you're old enough to learn what a sponge feels like. And while you're at it, you're doing my next two dish rotations. Every greasy pan, every sticky fork, every piece of Tupperware. Scrub them until your shaky arms actually do some work."

Matteo's fingers dug into the counter, tension running through his arms. Sadie moved quickly around the island, her anger clear. The scent of her shower lingered between them. "I'm going upstairs," she said, her voice sharp. She pointed at the counter as she passed. "If I come back and that carton is still on the counter, I'll text your coach and tell him you hurt yourself." She didn't look back as she marched to the stairs.

Her gaze moved down his body, pausing at the way his shorts tented slightly, her eyes noticing the tremble in his thighs. She looked back at his face, her expression full of scorn. "And Matteo?" she murmured. She leaned in so close her breath brushed his ear, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent sparks down his spine. "Next time you come home smelling like someone else and looking like you got wrecked, at least replace what you took. Or I'll make sure the whole coaching staff knows exactly why their golden boy can't walk straight." She turned on her heel and walked to the stairs. The sway of her hips was deliberate and punishing, pink shorts hugging the round curves Matteo had seen Santiago cling to only hours before. Her bare feet slapped against each step as she climbed, the sound echoing like a countdown. Moments later, the shower hissed on upstairs, water drumming a steady challenge.

Matteo let out a hard breath and dropped his forehead to the granite. His heart pounded. Every muscle ached. He was wrecked. In his mind, Judy’s smile replayed, her clothes slipping off and hinting at the rigorous workout she was about to give him.

It was Sadie's fury that had just set the rules, and the unwanted heat her sharp words stirred in his gut, right next to the ache Judy had left.

Matteo stayed still, gripping the counter for balance. He was shattered. His mind replayed Judy's shower. Her body had wrapped around him, her nails digging in. Her voice echoed: "Harder, baby… give me everything." The memory explained why his legs felt weak.

Santiago broke the silence. He stood in the doorway, identical to Matteo in height and build, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. He looked from the empty carton on the counter to Matteo's slumped posture and shaking arms, taking in the scene before he spoke.

"Matteo," Santiago asked, his concern sharpening his tone. "You look wrecked. What kind of 'training' makes you unable to handle Sadie?"

Matteo tried to laugh, but it came out rough. He gripped the counter, his torso slumping until his forehead nearly touched the granite. “I’m fine,” he lied, his legs shaking, Judy’s soreness deep in his muscles. “I just… found a new training routine. Very high-intensity program.” The words tasted like her skin: salt, jasmine, victory. Santiago grabbed his phone. He knew his twin wouldn’t make it to the store. "I’ll get the milk. And heavy-duty pain relief. If you’re still limping at dish time, Sadie will kill you."

About an hour later, the DoorDash order arrived. Two fresh cartons of oat milk chilled in the fridge, ready to end the argument and save Sadie’s morning cereal. There was a jar of Tiger Balm for Matteo’s aching back and thighs after Judy’s aggressive sex positions, and a bottle of Aleve to ease the full-body pain. Every breath felt like fire mixed with bliss.

Matteo slumped into a chair, feeling heavy. Upstairs, the shower hissed. Sadie's presence lingered in the air. He closed his eyes. Judy's moves replayed in his mind.

He was physically wrecked and mentally obsessed. Deep down, beneath the soreness and the new house rules, he knew the truth. The standoff in this kitchen was risky, but another encounter with Judy Shepherd was inevitable.

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