The drive home was quiet. Streetlights slid across the windshield in slow yellow streaks, radio off, windows cracked just enough to let the night air carry the faint smell of chlorine from the stadium showers. Mia sat in the passenger seat with her legs tucked under her, still wearing the medal around her neck like she wasn't ready to let the win go. Her hand rested on Alex's thigh the whole way, casual at first, then firmer, thumb tracing lazy circles over the denim until he had to shift in his seat.
She didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
When they pulled into the driveway the house was dark except for the porch light. Their parents were out, some dinner thing downtown, and wouldn't be back until late. Mia got out first, medal glinting as she walked to the front door. She didn't wait for him to unlock it; just used her key and stepped inside like she owned the silence.
Alex followed. The door clicked shut behind him.
She turned in the hallway, hoodie already half-off one shoulder. Underneath she still had the sports bra from the meet, damp in places, clinging to her breasts. The shorts were the same ones she'd worn on the track, now wrinkled and carrying the faint scent of rubber and grass.
"Upstairs," she said. Voice low. "My room."
He nodded once.
Her room was the same as always, track trophies on the shelf, posters of sprinters taped crooked on the wall, bed unmade from that morning. She kicked the door shut with her heel, turned the lock. The click sounded louder than it should have.
She faced him. Pulled the hoodie off completely and dropped it on the floor. Sports bra next, reached back, unhooked, let it fall. Breasts spilled free, nipples still tight from the cool air and the adrenaline that hadn't quite left her system. She hooked her thumbs in the shorts, pushed them down her thighs, stepped out. Naked now except for the medal hanging between her breasts.
She walked to him slow. Stopped close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her skin.
"Strip."
He did. Shirt first, then jeans, boxers last. Cock already hard, eight inches standing thick and flushed. She looked down at it, then back up at his face. A slow smile curved her lips.
"Only I get this," she repeated, softer this time. Almost reverent. Her hand wrapped around him, firm grip, stroking once from base to tip. "Say it again."
"Only you."
She pushed him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of her bed. He sat. She climbed onto his lap immediately, knees bracketing his hips, weight settling down. She guided him to her entrance, still slick from earlier, from the shower, from everything, and sank down slow.
They both exhaled when he bottomed out.
She didn't move right away. Just sat there, full of him, walls fluttering around the stretch. Her hands braced on his shoulders. Nails dug in, small half-moons that would leave marks by morning.
"Fuck," she whispered. "You feel so good."
Then she started to ride.
Slow rolls at first, hips circling, grinding her clit against his pelvis on every downstroke. Breasts swayed gently with the motion, nipples brushing his chest. The medal swung between them, cool metal tapping his sternum. She leaned in, kissed him, deep, possessive, tongue sliding against his like she was claiming every inch.
He gripped her ass, firm, muscled, flexing under his palms with each rise and fall. Slapped once, sharp crack in the quiet room. She moaned into his mouth, pussy clenching hard.
"Again."
He did. Harder. Red handprint blooming on her tanned skin. She rode faster, hips snapping now, breasts bouncing freely. Sweat started to bead on her collarbone, trickling down between her breasts. The medal bounced against his chest with every thrust.
She broke the kiss, forehead resting against his. Breathing ragged.
"Fill me," she demanded. "Want to feel it again. Want to sleep with you leaking out of me."
The words hit like a spark. He thrust up to meet her, hard, deep, taking over the rhythm. She braced her hands on his chest, head thrown back, ponytail loose and wild. Her abs flexed visibly with each grind, sharp ridges tightening under her skin.
She came first, sudden, violent, walls spasming around him, milking hard. A choked cry escaped her, muffled against his shoulder as she bit down. The pain mixed with the pleasure, pushed him over.
He buried himself deep, hips locked against hers, and came, thick pulses flooding her, spilling out around his cock as she kept grinding through her aftershocks. She shuddered on top of him, drawing out every drop, pussy still fluttering weakly.
They stayed locked together for a long minute, her forehead against his neck, both of them breathing hard. The room smelled of sex and sweat and her citrus shampoo.
She lifted her head eventually. Looked down at where they were joined, then back at his face. A slow, satisfied smile.
"You lost the bet," she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we both came."
"Doesn't count." She clenched around him once, deliberate, making him groan. "Winner's rules. You do whatever I say tonight. Starting now."
She climbed off slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. A thin trail of their combined mess leaked down her inner thigh. She didn't wipe it. Just stood there, legs slightly apart, letting him see.
She reached down, scooped a little with two fingers, brought them to his lips.
"Clean them."
He did. Tasted salt and her and him. She watched, eyes dark.
"Good boy."
She turned, walked to her dresser. Pulled out one of his old team tees, too big on her, but she slipped it on anyway. The hem barely covered her ass. She didn't bother with anything underneath.
"Lie down."
He did. She climbed onto the bed, straddled his chest, then scooted up until her knees framed his head.
"Eat me."
She lowered herself onto his mouth. Still dripping, his cum mixed with her wetness. He licked slow, long stripes, tasting everything. She moaned, hands bracing on the headboard, hips rocking gently.
"Deeper."
He obeyed. Tongue sliding inside her, lapping at the mess he'd left. She shuddered, thighs trembling around his ears. The medal dangled against his forehead, cool metal with every roll of her hips.
She came again, quieter this time, a soft gasp, walls pulsing against his tongue. She stayed there until the aftershocks faded, then slid down his body until she was straddling his hips again.
She guided him back inside, easy this time, slick and open. Rode slow, lazy rolls, no rush. Her hands braced on his chest, nails scraping lightly.
"Only I get this," she whispered again. "Only I get to ride you. Only I get to feel you come inside me. Every time. Say it."
"Only you."
She leaned down, kissed him, slow, deep, tasting herself on his tongue.
"Good."
She kept riding, unhurried now, building slow. When he started to tense she sped up just enough, hips snapping, breasts bouncing under the tee. She clenched around him on purpose, milking until he couldn't hold back.
He came again, deep inside her, hips jerking up to meet hers. She followed seconds later, soft cry muffled against his neck.
They collapsed together. She stayed on top, full of him, head on his chest. The medal pressed cold against his skin.
She didn't move for a long time.
Eventually she lifted her head. Looked at him, eyes soft for once, no challenge.
"Tomorrow," she said quietly. "Run again. Loser wears the medal. Naked. All night."
He smiled slow. "Deal."
She kissed him once, gentle this time, then rolled off him. Curled against his side, leg thrown over his hip, hand resting possessively on his softening cock.
"Sleep," she murmured.
He did.
The rivalry wasn't gone.
It had just learned how to breathe between rounds.