Wintering (7)
The next day, Hong In-soo headed out with his agent to meet Jose Bravo and scout some places to live. I took Yuko to the villa.
The villa... honestly, it was way better than our house. The views were stunning, but the high walls made it feel private—though you had to climb up to the roof to really take them in. The yard had a barbecue setup, and a small pond teemed with fish darting around busily. Inside was top-notch too. There were so many rooms it felt embarrassing for just the two of us, a massive kitchen, separate toilet and shower, and a bathtub big enough for three or four people with room to spare. There was even a game room with a pool table and consoles, plus a mini home theater.
It seemed perfect for a few days of fun. Yuko clearly loved it. Watching her explore every corner with childlike glee was pretty damn cute.
"Wanna eat first?"
It was only 4 p.m.—a bit early for dinner—but firing up the charcoal and grilling would take time, so we needed to prep.
Yuko grinned at me and shook her head.
"Before that..."
She sidled up, her hand slipping toward my belt. It unbuckled, and my pants slid down. With a sly smile, she dropped to her knees and savored my cock, still soft. Blood rushed south, hardening me fast. Her mouth turned into a vacuum, sucking harder as I stiffened.
In the wide living room, the wet sounds of her blowing me echoed, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the garden view added a thrilling edge.
"...Get up."
I pulled her up roughly, spun her around, and yanked down her skirt.
"H-here?"
"Why not? You don't like it?"
"No... it's not that..."
"You started the teasing."
I tugged her panties aside and rubbed my cock against her pussy. One of Yuko's best features: she got wet without much foreplay. The entrance was tight at first, but experience made it easier now—though the grip and bounce were still perfect. A flawless fit.
Schluck!
"...Ahh!"
Her delicate moan echoed through the room.
Slap, slap!
Our thighs collided, the friction mixing with her cries, filling the villa.
"...My... knees hurt..."
Face-down on the hardwood, she glanced back with pleading eyes. I nodded, scooped her up effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I kept pistoning in that position.
Staring into her half-lidded eyes, I pounded harder until climax neared. Sensing it, she unwrapped her legs and knelt again.
Spurt, spurt!
I unloaded everything into her mouth. She swirled the thick white load with her tongue, swallowed, and proudly showed me her empty mouth. Then she beamed, stood, and snuggled into my arms.
Time had slipped to nearly 5 p.m.
The dinner table was loaded. I grilled meat and seafood over charcoal while Yuko whipped up stir-fries and soup in the kitchen. With the chilly weather outside, we ate at the living room table.
Yuko's cooking was surprisingly killer—probably from making meals for her dad since her mom passed. We paired it with the fine wine Vanessa had stocked and chatted away.
As the buzz hit, Yuko asked out of the blue:
"Hey... can I ask something?"
"Sure. What?"
"Are you... really switching teams?"
"...!"
Rumors had been swirling, but nothing confirmed I'd definitely move. Just speculation.
"Why ask that all of a sudden?"
I hedged. She tapped her phone screen.
"While you were grilling, I saw the news."
"News?"
Had it leaked already? If so, Borja Navas must've fed it to his reporter buddies on purpose.
"Says you're going to Germany..."
I grabbed my phone. Yeah, unread texts had piled up—including from AD Alcorcon teammates.
I checked SNS, heading straight to Sergio Suarez's account. He was Borja's hype man, top-tier credible in Spain.
Borja's PR campaign had kicked off. Here it comes, I thought.
If I left for Germany, Madrid connections—including Yuko—would fade into distance.
"Ah, if it's too soon to say, no worries."
She laughed tipsily, but I caught the bitterness underneath. She hid it well. We were just sex partners, not lovers.
I glanced at her. No harm sharing the gist—she wouldn't blab. Our meetups were secret: only Borja Navas, Vanessa, and Elena knew.
"Probably... yeah, I'll be leaving."
"...I see."
"But Germany isn't locked in. Leaving's almost certain, but where? No clue yet. Transfer window hasn't opened."
"When does it?"
"January 1st."
"New Year's, huh..."
She nodded slowly, sipped her wine, and asked:
"Any Spanish clubs reached out?"
"Yeah."
"Bad offers?"
"Gotta negotiate to know."
"Can you say which?"
"A Madrid club."
Her face lit up a bit.
"Nothing set yet, right?"
"Nope."
"...No chance of staying at Alcorcon?"
"Probably not."
Silence fell. I mulled our relationship. We'd miss each other if apart. She looked like my ideal type Jeong Ha-yoon, big tits, fulfilled every fantasy, sweet, great cook. Conversations flowed—no awkward mismatches.
But maybe she bent over backward to fit me.
Did I want her as a girlfriend?
"..."
No easy answer. She was attractive—no doubt. If I were still a nobody player, I'd date her in a heartbeat.
But soccer trumped romance now. Achieve my goals first, then find a lifelong partner.
This no-strings fun—pure pleasure without responsibility—beat girlfriend vibes for me.
Facing that truth made looking at her hard. She wanted more, even if she never pushed.
Couldn't deny it stung to end things. Selfishly, I'd love taking her along. But locking her as a fuck buddy? Not right.
Still...
"Hey, Yuko."
"Yeah?"
"What if... hypothetically..."
I swallowed dryly.
"...If I said Germany or England, would you come with?"
She stared, then giggled.
"Is this a proposal?"
"N-no... just wondering if you'd wanna experience another European country..."
I braced for disappointment, but she seemed thrilled I'd even suggest it. Hard to tell if genuine.
"Can't you just travel?"
"...True."
Silence again. She drained her glass and spoke softly.
"I'd be lonely without you. But... you have that precious dream. How could I hold you back?"
"..."
"Don't wanna be baggage. You'd hate that."
She smiled warmly.
"If you find someone you truly love, we stop meeting. But if not, we can see each other sometimes, right?"
"Yeah."
"I like this setup. If it burdens you, I'd be heartbroken."
"Ah..."
"And it's not like you're going to the moon or Mars. Germany or England? I could visit."
She added:
"Promise me this: if you fall for someone real, end it clean with me."
She left unsaid her hope it'd be her. I nodded solemnly. Of course—that was proper.
"Booze is magic. Words I'd choke on sober just flow."
She poured the last of the wine, stood wobbling, and said:
"I'm heading to bed. But don't come right away—wait ten minutes. Don't be too late, or I might crash."
"...Got it."
That night, we fucked passionately till dawn. No talk—just devouring each other's bodies, lost in ecstasy.
Knowing it wasn't goodbye, yet we acted like it was. Blame the alcohol.
The next day, we pretended that talk never happened. Business as usual.
But beyond our bond, a ceiling had formed—one we couldn't break through.
It was always there... now sharper, clearer than ever.