Royal Flush

by Ella Goode

  I giggle against his mouth. “Let it go, Deuce. You’re keeping the name,” I say through my laughter.

  “As long as you take my last name.” He uses his soft and sweet tone that he reserves only for me.

  “Deal,” I agree, knowing it’s the best one I’ll ever make. He was a wild card that I opted to play, but in the end, we both won.

  Epilogue

  Carter

  “Don’t forget you have the press briefing in five,” Trainer Kay reminds me after handing me a towel. Training camp has just started and we’re supposed to do some song and dance for the sports journalists, but I’m going home.

  “No can do,” I reply, wiping the black from under my eyes. “The wife is trying out a new recipe and I promised I’d be home to eat it.”

  “Is that your new slang for sex?” jokes the new backup.

  As if I’d joke about something like that. I give him a killer look. “No. She went to a class with her mom on how to make gnocchi—you know, the potato pasta tube things—and they’re making it at home for the first time.” I don’t share that this is the third anniversary of Mallory’s mom being clean and sober. It was rough at first, but a few treatment centers later, it looks like this sobriety is going to stick.

  “And you’re skipping a press briefing for that? That’s like a twenty-five G fine!”

  I shrug. To this kid who just got out of college and only has a few hundred thousand from his signing bonus in his bank account, maybe it does seem like a lot, but it’s worth it to me to eat with my wife and her mom.

  “Don’t argue with him, kid. He practically pays the commish’s salary with his fines. How many was it last year?” asks our all-pro center, Alonso.

  “Five hundred and seventy-five,” shouts Fast from across the room. We always played well together. I lobbied hard for him to be brought in. I know he’s the missing puzzle piece for our Super Bowl dreams. We haven’t one won in the last two years, which fucking sucks. But this off season, we got stacked with talent and I have every confidence we’re going to steamroll our way to the Lombardi Trophy.

  “That’s more than my salary,” mumbles another newbie.

  I toss the towel into the makeshift locker behind me and get to my feet. “You’ll make the cut, dude, and then you’ll get some nice bonuses from all the games we win this year. That’s what y’all should be worried about.”

  The PR dude, Dennis Cross, gives me a dirty scowl when I duck out of the locker room a few minutes later, my bag slung over one shoulder and keys at the ready in my free hand. I shake my head and cut him off before he can get out another sentence about how I’m breaking the rules and setting a bad example for the rookies. “My family is number one and always has been. I’ll be here tomorrow and so will the reporters and the cameras.” They’re here every day.

  “Not the same reporters.”

  “Then they’ll have to come back or write a different story. Tell your mom she looked pretty in the press box today. Orange is a good color on her.”

  Dennis’ mood instantly changes. “Thanks. I’ll pass that on.”

  I clamp him on the shoulder and leave. The minute I’m in my car—a lipstick-red Lambo—I call my girl. “On my way home,” I announce.

  “You got off early then? You weren’t sure this morning.”

  “Nah, I was sure. You were the one who kept pointing to the schedule saying that my afternoon was booked.”

  “So you’re skipping out on the mandatory press conference, are you?”

  “Guilty.” I wave to the two cops sitting inside their car watching our training facility parking lot. I gave them autographed footballs the first day at the suggestion of Mallory. “You’d be proud of me.”

  “I always am.”

  “Not about football but I was a real human today.”

  “Is that so?” She sounds like she’s smiling, which makes me smile.

  “Yeah. I gave a compliment to the PR dude.”

  “Dennis, honey, his name is Dennis. And good for you.”

  “I should get a special prize when I get home,” I say. Being nice is still an effort for me, but I try because it makes Mallory happy.

  “You are getting a special prize. It’s called homemade gnocchi.”

  “I was thinking of maybe dessert—something spicy, hot, and—"

  “My mom is standing right next to me!” she screeches. I hear the dial tone seconds later.

  I lean my head back against the seat rest and blow out a sigh. I love that Mallory’s mom is finally sober and I love that she’s living close to us so Mallory can see her every day, but I also want to have phone sex with my girl as much as I want. The ride home will be boring without having Mallory talk me through how she’s going to slide my sweatpants over my ass, pull my dick out and then suck my soul through it. I manage to make it home, though, and Mallory greets me at the door with a kiss.

  “I missed you, baby,” I tell her. My hands clamp around her hips and naturally drive her toward the nearest flat surface which, in the entryway of our penthouse apartment, is the wall. She’s just as eager. Her legs come up around my waist and she rubs her cloth-covered pussy over my already hard cock. Our tongues tangle as her fingers dig into my skull. I might’ve taken her then and there as I have dozens of times before but somehow I manage to keep my head. Reluctantly, I start to set her down. She clings to me, though, and forces my mouth back to hers.

  I give in and kiss her back, tasting every corner of her inner mouth, licking the top of her tongue and biting her plush lower lip. One of her hands drops to push the waistband of my sweats down far enough that she can palm my aching cock.

  “Baby, baby,” I mumble against her mouth, “what about your mama?”

  “She said she had a headache and went to lie down.”

  “At her place?” I bought her mom an apartment three floors below us.

  “Yeah.” Mallory flicks her wrist and the pressure on the tip of my sensitive cock nearly brings me to my knees.

  “Wh-what about the gnocchi?”

  “It’s chilling. We have time.”

  “Oh, thank God.” I start walking toward the bedroom, one hand under her ass and the other tangling in her long hair. “I’ve been thinking about your hot cunt all day long.”

  “I can tell,” she teases and gives me another long stroke. I stumble but manage to right myself without dropping her.

  “You’re acting like a smartass right now,” I warn.

  “Oh no, what are you going to do? Spank me?” she teases. Her fingers find my balls. My eyes cross and my breath stops. She knows my body so well, but, then again, I know hers too. I know she loves it when I smack her ass until it’s cherry red. I know she loves it when I’m bottoming out in her while her face is planted in a pillow. I know she likes her clit sucked, her G-spot stroked, her neck bitten and her asshole eaten out. I know that she likes her coffee black and her sundaes with extra whip cream, no cherries, please, because those are disgusting. And to know her is to love her. I can’t imagine my life without her. I was a dick before I met Mallory because I didn’t know what love was. Now I do.

  I drop her on the bed, kicking off my sweatpants and pulling off my shirt. She quickly sheds her own clothes and I’m inside of her before she can take another breath.

  “I thought I was getting a red ass,” she teases breathlessly.

  “I’m an athlete, baby. I can last for more than one round.” I withdraw and shove into her hard, sending her skittering across the mattress.

  She moans and digs her fingernails into my thighs. “You better make it quick. Mom’s nap isn’t going to last.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I can already feel the orgasm building. It doesn’t take long with her. I only have to look at her and I get hard. Once I’m inside of her, control flies right out the window. I reach between us and pinch her little clit. “You first, though.” She always comes first. I stroke her long and hard, reveling in how her hot glove squeezes every inch of me. She grows wetter with
each pass. Her nails dig in harder and her breath becomes shorter. I lift both of her legs and fold them back so I can pound her juicy pussy hole with all the power and speed she needs to get off.

  She throws her head back and screams out her pleasure. At the sound of her cry of release, I sever the cords of my own self-control and pour my seed into her. This time we’re going to make a baby.

  I let her legs fall on either side of me and carefully lie down next to her so that my dick stays ensconced in her hot cunt.

  “Thank you for waiting,” she whispers as she brushes my sweaty hair off my forehead.

  “It wasn’t a chore. I had you all to myself. Maybe I don’t want to share you with some snot-nosed brat,” I joke.

  She ignores my sarcasm and snuggles close enough to press a kiss against my neck. “I know you wanted a kid right away, even when you were playing college ball, but it made sense to wait and then there was my mom but now it’s all taken care of. It’s time for us to have a family.”

  My heart thumps madly. She’s not wrong. Like I know her, she knows me, too. But I don’t want to pressure her so I say carefully, “I want what you want.”

  “I want us to have a baby.”

  My dick hardens instantly. “How soon did you say your mom was returning?”

  A smirk covers Mallory’s lips. “You have twenty minutes.”

  “I can make a dozen babies in that time. Get ready to ride me.” I flip over on my back, pulling her with me. “Hop on my dick and make us a baby.”

  “What about my spanking?” she pouts.

  I whack her ass hard. She yelps. “Okay! Okay!”

  My laughter turns into a groan of pleasure as her cunt swallows me up once again. That’s life with Mallory, though, one part laughter, one part pleasure, and one hundred parts love.

  Two of a Kind

  When money is tight and your family relies on you, the rules don’t apply. For Brad, hacking is not only a way of life but it puts food on his table and sends his brilliant sister to a private school. Nighttime, secret fights funds the gaps like special tennis shoes or expensive school uniforms. His work doesn’t leave much time for average activities like school and dating. Ordinarily, a rich, privileged girl needing tutoring would only piss him off.

  But Melody is no ordinary girl. She’s gorgeous, funny, and every particle of Brad’s body wants her. There’s no law he won’t break, no rule that he won’t step on, no person—not even her Senator father—who will prevent Brad from claiming her. They belong together. They’re two of a kind.

  Chapter One

  Brad

  “Hey Brad, got a minute?” a voice says behind me.

  I pretend to search inside my nearly empty locker for something in hopes that the person behind me will go away.

  “Brad? A minute?”

  Ever since I helped Carter Franklin, I’ve had jocks up on my ass every other week asking for favors. He’s on my shit list and if I ever see him step outside the line, I’m taking him down.

  “Hey Brad. Did you hear me?”

  “Maybe he has head phones on, Mark.”

  A finger jabs me in the shoulder. “You got headphones on? Can you hear me?”

  I back away from the locker and slam the door closed. “I heard you the first three times.”

  Mark Stein blinks at me in confusion as if I spoke Arabic to him or maybe just English. He’s not super bright, which is likely why he’s harassing me today. I’d bet my last dollar that he needs a grade changed. This is why I don’t come to school. There are too many dumbasses who are always on my dick wanting idiotic things. I can’t wait to be free of this hellhole.

  “Then why didn’t you say something?”

  I shoulder my backpack and move past him. He steps in my path because he’s a football player and Carter Franklin has trained all these animals to think that they run this school.

  “Because I was ignoring you, my dude. Take a social clue. When someone doesn’t respond to you, it’s because they have no interest in talking to you.” I wait for Mark to move because I’m not engaging in some weird-ass two step that he seems to think is going to end well for him.

  Mark puffs out his bloated chest and pushes his chin in the air. “You should have an interest in talking to me.”

  I look down at the top of his head where I can clearly see a thinning spot starting to form in the middle of his crown. Maybe his premature pattern baldness is why he’s such a prick. Nah.

  “I don’t though.”

  The warning bell chimes and the gawkers start drifting away to their classrooms. Mark doesn’t move. Carter walks by, takes a look at the two of us, and shakes his head.

  “Dumbass,” he mutters as he passes. He’s holding hands with the girl who pretends to be his cousin. Or maybe they aren’t pretending anymore. I can’t remember all the soap opera events that go down in this stupid school. “Don’t mess with him.”

  “You heard him. Don’t mess with me.” Mark chuckles. He folds his beefy arms across his chest. I try to remember what position he plays and whether he’s always been this big or whether he’s gotten out of shape.

  “He’s talking to you.” Carter is one of the few people that know what I do.

  “I’m talking to you,” Carter yells.

  But Mark misses yet another clue because he’s dumb and maybe had his head bashed in a few too many times on the football field. “Yeah, so listen, Brad. I have a little project and I’ve picked you to take care of it.”

  I scratch my neck. I can take care of this two ways and after a brief internal struggle, I opt for the non-violent one. “How much money do you have?”

  Mark’s menacing grimace transforms immediately into a smug grin. “I knew you’d come around, man. Okay, how’s $500?”

  I bark out a laugh. “You have to be fucking kidding me.” I don’t turn my computer on for less than ten grand. Does he think I run a charity? I’m done with this fool. I push him out of the way and move on.

  He stumbles back in surprise, not sure how he, a Michelin Stay Puft Marshmallow man, could have gotten moved by someone who doesn’t look like he’s eating steroids for breakfast. “Wait, what? What do you mean? I’m not kidding. I have it right here.”

  He bounds after me, pulling his wallet out of his jeans and opening it up. I don’t bother to look. “It’s not even enough to make me click my mouse.”

  “It’s just a grade,” he protests.

  Bingo. “Hacking into a school mainframe”--which I’ve done literally hundreds of times and it’s so easy that sometimes I get mad--”is punishable by up to two years in prison so I’m not going in to change the grade of some dumb jock who spent fifth period jerking off in the locker room instead of going to his bio lab for that amount of money.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see his round face turn red. “Fine then. How much do you want? Eight bills? Ten?”

  I stop and pivot to face him. He nearly falls on his face to avoid running into me. “Half a million.”

  His jaw drops. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money.” Mark’s dad owns a few car dealerships so he’s probably right. Five grand might be easy for him. Fifty would be doable but he’d have to steal some money from his dad’s till. A half a million would require the sale of one of the businesses and he doesn’t have the power or pull to do that. That’s one reason I rarely do business with my classmates. They don’t have anything I want.

  “Then too bad. Your grades aren’t changing.” The tardy bell rings but Mark doesn’t notice. I resume my path toward AP Trig, a class that I can do in my sleep. Mark hops beside me.

  “I’ve got connections. I can get you lots of things. Chicks, weed. You name it, I can get it for you.”

  “A half million.”

  “Fucking listen to me.” Mark grabs my shoulder and tries to swing me around.

  Maybe it’s because I had a bad morning or maybe it’s because I’m late fo
r class but something inside me snaps. My arm comes up and my fist lands square against Mark’s jaw. His head cracks to the side and blood and saliva come streaming out of his mouth as a tooth gets knocked loose. He sways for a second, surprise all over his face, and then he crumples to the ground--out like a doused candle.

  The door to the AP Stats room swings open. Leaning against the threshold is Carter. Behind him, the entire class is lined up. He peers down at the fallen Mark and shakes his head. “I told you not to mess with Brad.”

  Chapter Two

  Melody

  “You okay?” Ally asks as she takes a seat next to me in AP Anatomy and Physiology. We partnered up earlier in the year. She’s saved my ass a few times. I sucked at anatomy and physiology but I worked hard to try and keep up. Nothing less than an A would appease my parents, who want me to get As for two different reasons. My mom, so that I can grow up and be a strong successful woman and own some giant company that makes all the money in the world. She wants me to be independent. My father, on the other hand, wants me to make the grades because appearance is everything to him. He wants to be able to say that his daughter was valedictorian. I just want the hell out of this place. But what I want doesn’t matter.

  “Just bored,” I admit. She nudges my shoulder.

  “You totally miss football season, don’t you?”

  “I don’t like football,” I tell her for the hundredth time. She made me go with her to all the games before her boyfriend was the star receiver. It isn’t the sport so much that fascinates me but watching them play is almost like an art. I’m not sure Carter or Ally’s boyfriend, Owen, would call it an art but it is. The two of them played so well on the field together. It is fascinating to watch. I’m not sure they even know how in tune they are with each other but every Friday night they have a dance of their own. They dance their butts down the field to victory.