by Imani King
He unhurriedly pulls up my shirt, and the soft fabric stretches across my nipples underneath my skimpy bra, and the silky feeling makes them even more erect. Griff pulls the fabric away and takes each one in his mouth, his tongue and teeth gently playing on my stiff peaks. He reaches back and unhooks my bra, and it falls on the floor, forgotten. He kisses down the center of my chest and my hips begin rocking and bucking into him, pressing against his thigh, feeling the increasing tightness of his pants and the hardness of him, his stiffness against me, so eager and ready.
“Odell,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful. You’re mine, Odell.” My hands scramble down to his fly, like they’re moving of their own will, scrambling to finally free what is gathering strength under the fabric. With a rush soon his cock bounces free, and proudly stands - and my panties dampen in response, ready for him to plunge inside, to make his claims real. My hands take his length as he kisses her face and her hair, and I marvel at its hardness, its size, its clear desire.
But before he makes me his, I have to make him mine. I kneel and take him into my mouth, as far as I can, licking and sucking him, feeling the rose-petal soft flesh on his rock hard shaft. His hands tangle in my hair. His magnificent cock – soft skin and so, so hard - I slowly licked the tip of his quivering cock, tasting and savoring the salty sweetness. Again my hands are moving on their own, electric, fingertips reveling in each sensation as I feel the skin of his balls contract and move in response to my touch. Cock still in my mouth I look up at his face. A new expression is in his eyes – the first time I’ve seen him completely vulnerable, his eyes half closed and so unguarded, staring at me, fierce eyebrows knitted together, soft lips slightly pursed and mouth open.
I can’t keep my eyes off him as I slowly pull every inch of him into my mouth. I want him inside me every way possible. He cries out as my hands encircle his taut ass and pull him in even deeper. He’s sliding in and out, back and forth as I lick the tender skin, both of us rhythmically breathing along with the movement, faster and faster.
“Odell,” he says, stopping me. “You feel amazing, but I have to fuck you, baby,” and pulls me up, bending me over the bed, facing away from him. Now he’s kneeling on the ground, fingers gently spreading and opening my ass cheeks, thumb gently moving back and forth between my soft folds, then he slides it in a little, stroking me tentatively, then more insistently. Kissing the backs of my thighs, the spot where my legs meet, he takes my lips in his mouth. He licks and sucks around my slit, teasing, then takes my clit with his tongue, teasing and retreating, then lightly sucking. Before I realize it, I’m feeling the most delicate of pleasures as his tongue moves toward my rear, first encircling, then entering. I’m a bit shocked with myself – I’ve always been such a good girl – nobody has ever touched me there, and now he’s tasting me, fingering me, opening and licking me, and I love it.
After a gorgeous eternity he stands up and presses the head of his cock against my slit, pausing. “You want me Odell?” he asks. I can barely breathe.
“Yes, oh yes!” I manage to say. I feel like I need him inside me more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. Everything is pale is comparison. “Yes please,” I say, and he pushes inside me in one slick motion. My pussy drips as he moves his glistening cock inside me, his hips swiveling and his balls swinging against my clit. Griff grasps my hips and dominates my movements, taking control of me expertly. My breath comes back to me but nothing like words come from my mouth. I come once, and then again, stronger as his strong thighs push against my ass cheeks, slapping gently, quickly. When he leans over, he pinches my nipples lightly and the electricity goes straight to my clit and I come again. “Gryphon…” I scream as the ripples go through me. He only cries out in response, filling me with spurts of hot cum, dripping out of me, as he collapses on me and we lay there, breathing heavily.
I am his.
13
Odell
I order a piece of pie, but I find myself unable to touch it. Kent’s meeting me at the coffee shop to give me a full report, but I wish I could’ve put him off today, despite how much I want to get the information from him.
I’m not sure if I’m sick or if it’s just that nerve-wracking to deal with this stress. I’ve tried to stay on the down low this week while Kent’s investigating, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about Gryphon,what we are building, and how much could be lost if he gets charged with DV. And what it will mean to me if Sabrina Forbes is telling the truth and he did attack her. It all leaves me wondering if I will have the courage to leave Griff even as I fear I'm falling in love with him. My stomach is churning.
I need to know the truth and that’s why I’m here.
Despite Carlton’s espionage, neither Griff nor I have been able to ignore each other. We text pretty constantly when he’s not on the field and I’m not working, and we’ve been stealing as many nights together as we can. Through the pleasure, the thought of what could happen if things don’t work out for him, for us, lurks around the corners of our happiness.
Four possibilities exist: Griff is innocent, and he gets cleared of all charges—my dream scenario. Two: Griff is innocent and he doesn't get cleared. That’s my nightmare, because it feels as if I am the only one who is ultimately responsible for that. Not only does Griff go down, but the firm will put me under suspension. Three: Griff is guilty and gets off anyway; which would mean that I would have to face losing him as a lover and a boyfriend, just to save myself. And fourth: Griff is guilty and loses his job, and goes to jail. And, while my position at the firm wouldn’t be in any more jeopardy than it already is, I would lose my budding love affair with the most gorgeous, sweet lover I have ever had the pleasure to be with.
There is only one possibility that works for both of us.
My stomach churns, and I play with forkfuls of the pie, though the thought of eating it has lost all appeal. Even my coffee isn't going down easy. The only thing I can manage to drink is water. I lean back and rub my forehead, hoping I can avoid a trip to upchuck in the bathroom.
Kent walks in. Seeing him this week brings me right back to being a kid at my parent's parties; he used to stand in the corner, tall, wizened face, scotch in hand. He always looked more serious than the rest of them, and every once in a while he would engage me in conversation and I'd feel so grown up. Now I am grown up, and I know Kent can be my silver bullet, if I'm only right in my suspicions. He’ll do his best for me.
“Odell!” he says happily when we meet. The corners of his grey eyes crinkle into crows' feet at the delight of seeing me. I jump up and hug him, and he returns the embrace. “Every time I see you I just marvel at the woman you’ve become.” He said that last week too. What a sweetie.
“That's right,” I smile proudly. “All grown up.”
“I always knew you would make something of yourself,” he says as we sit. “Your parents must be very proud.
“I suppose they are,” I answer, a wry tone in my voice. “But you know how they are—they never show it.”
“Yes, they always have kept their cards close to their chest,” he replies musingly, before suddenly smiling. “Something a lot more people should do, if you ask a former Private Eye like myself.”
Kent puts his briefcase next to him and the server is over in a flash.
“I'll have what she's having,” he says before getting out a sheaf of papers.
The waitress looks hard at my plate.
“A coffee, and a piece of pie to mangle?” She grins. “Coming right up.”
“Pie no good?” he asks after she leaves.
“Oh no, it's lovely, I'm sure. I'm just too nervous to eat. My stomach's queasy.”
“Nervous, eh.” He just looks at me a moment and I don't know what he's thinking. Then he gets his briefcase from the vinyl seat beside him. “Ok, I've been able to get some pretty interesting info on your case. Your client, the famous footballer—I have to admit I am a fan of his—seems to have quite a spotted past. His parents did
not exactly provide him with a stable home life; in fact, he was in and out of foster care since he was a young kid. And of course, there was the tragedy with his mother and father. His mother was a victim of domestic abuse, and then she ended up shooting and killing his father. Yes Gryphon jJames had a very tough start in life.”
“Yes I know about a lot of it,” I say. My mind goes back to that night he told me everything he had to deal with growing up. The way his eyes looked, stormy and sad, with a touch of young boy in them. His face faraway and his lips closed tight before he spoke. But when he did, it was like he’d never stop, the words flooding out of him. I just wanted to hold him, to staunch the flow of pain somehow but I could only listen, and try to contain it. To be the one who could care for the real Gryphon James—not the ones who wanted to take him and use him for everything he had.
“In fact,” Kent says, jarring me from my thoughts, “it’s quite amazing that he been as successful as he has, considering everything he's been through. He hasn’t seemed to have gotten in any trouble at all since he was a young kid in high school. Just the regular stuff for a young man like him. He was on the up and up in college. Grades weren’t great, but not too bad. He lived in a big old mansion there, kind of like a frat house for the football royalty of the school. Kept mostly out of trouble and won a lot of games.”
I fight down another sip of coffee. “So has he ever been accused of such a thing before? Any fights with girlfriends?” I steel myself for the answer. This could be what makes or breaks my case; any whiff of wrongdoing and Gryphon will go down hard in the courts.
“That’s the question, isn’t it.” Kent opens his briefcase with a loud click. “Well, why don’t you read my full report, and if you have any questions, you can ask me.” He hands me a few papers and I take them, almost afraid to see what he’s found out.
My stomach contracts as I begin to read the first paragraph. I just want Kent to tell me if I lose, which one I’m going to have to say goodbye to—my job, or my boyfriend.
14
Gryphon
Coach blows his whistle. “Now I want you all to hear this!” he yells. “This goes for Gryphon James but it goes for each one of you too!” He stalks around the locker room, looking all one of us one at a time in the eye. “I don't want you overpaid assholes to be thinking about life outside of this arena,” he yells, “whether it's trouble you got into or some girl you got in trouble! When you are in here, your ass is mine! Hear that? Now get out on that field, and show me your stuff!”
We jog out to practice. ‘Girl we got in trouble.’ That's a new one. I wonder if he stayed up all night thinking of that clever turn of phrase? Coach can be such a dick, but I know it’s intended to keep us at our best. I shrug and lead the guys in our calisthenics as the coach struts around, continuing to yell. This is child's play for me, but it keeps the body running smooth, so I have to do it. My blood pumps slickly through my veins and my breathing strong and deep. I urge the players all to work harder, to push their bodies as far as I can. I think of Odell's body, how it changes when she's aroused, how her breasts get even sweeter and rounder, how swollen and wet she gets between her legs. Keep your mind on football, Griff, I tell myself. The other guys aren’t quite as fluid as me but I’m working on it. Coach cedes the practice to me.
“Ok we're changing it up!” I yell at the team. “Sprints! Fifty yards!” I take off as they try to catch me. Little do they suspect that I have to run to keep the blood from pooling in one of the most obvious of places, and the most useless here on the field—my cock.
I push myself to the limit, running like the wind, imagining I'm running away from all my problems, just like I always did. When I take off with that pigskin I am flying toward my future. It used to be money, fame, women as far as the eye can see, and then it was Sabrina and I. I almost stumble when I suddenly realize that a new future has appeared in front of my mind’s eye, and it's Odell in a wedding dress. Odell pregnant with my baby. Of course it's just in my mind, but it feels so real to me. I force myself to keep running, even though I’m shaken.
Is that what I want? The idea does scare me, but I’m excited at the same time. Me, Odell, together? With a baby?
“Keep running!” I yell as I fall back, ushering them through their paces.
“James!” yells the coach sharply.
“What is it?”
“Why aren't you running?” He’s pissed now. I think fast.
“Just wanted to set up the pylons for the next drill, sir!” I yell.
He looks at me suspiciously before he moves along. I throw some obstacles in the way. In my mind, each one comes to represent something in between me and Odell. The first, our parents. There's no way that anyone could accept my family's history and think that they won the genetic lottery, despite my physical gifts. But most of all, not parents who expect perfection like Odell’s seem to. Could she really go against them for me? Second, Sabrina Forbes and this lawsuit. If she hasn't already poisoned me for all my other relationships by doing her best to brand me as a woman beater, the person who's going to get the brunt of her bullshit will be my lawyer. Can Odell still love me if she hears all these terrible accusations? Third, the press. They're going to have a field day if I get with Odell and get charged. They will eat that story alive. We'll never get any privacy. Fourth. Odell is too smart. What would a lawyer want with a trailer-trash piece of shit like me? This last pylon I throw down harder than the others. Drake runs by, righting it.
“You ok man?” he asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “You go first, Drake! Around the pylons!”
He takes off around the pylons like a shot, showing off his skills. “You bitches can't catch me!” he shouts.
“That's what you think, motherfucker,” The running back yells.
“Language!” Coach yells. Like we're thirteen years old. We’re pro athletes for crying out loud.
But Coach is right about a lot of things, especially that my mind isn’t on the game. Everything is making me think of Odell, when my mind should be on ball playing. I've always I’ve always used work to escape my troubles. That’s why I’ve been able to practice till I fall over.
Suddenly it hits me: I know why I can’t escape my future. It's because in the past I was always running away from something, so it was easy to focus that energy, and what I was running toward was just a poor kid’s idea of success. Now all I want to do is run toward a new life—a life with Odell. When I am with her I feel like I am finally truly alive. Sinking into her embrace, taking her by the hand, and yes, fucking the living hell out of her, night after night. It's something that I didn't know that I needed but now it's everything, and my mind is desperately going back to the thought of her, and the bliss I feel when I’m with her, instead of using all my energy to kill it on the field.
I force myself to complete the agility drill as fast as I possibly can, but Drake still notices I'm a little off.
“Coach has his eye on your ass today,” he says, hiding his lips behind his hand. “Get it together, brother!'
“Worry about your own self,” I say with a wink, but in reality I'm pretty grateful for him looking out for me. Reminds me of my old Brooks University friends. At least I have one person on the team who’s got my back. Back in the day I could count on a few, Brando, Jackson, Mack. And a few other friends. We all had each other’s backs.
Now, the only one who does is my lawyer, and I may be falling in love with her. Just my luck.
The next sprints drill, I just pretend that Odell is at the end of the track, and I run it, but coach is right—I can’t risk doing badly. The whole reason I have a lawyer is to save my life, and that means my career. Football's always been my life, ever since I could hold a pigskin, and the Super Bowl has always been my dream..
No woman should mess with that. Ever. Not that witch Sabrina, and …not even my silly fantasies of Odell.
15
Odell
The day has come—I’m going to meet with t
hem all. Sabrina, her lawyer, Griff, Carlton, and me. It might prove to be not only the most monumental challenge in my professional career but also the biggest of my personal life. It’s all so complicated: to stand and present my case to the woman who is accusing the man I'm falling for, to the man who wants me out of my job, and to the man I desperately want to save all in one afternoon is enough to drive a person to drink. But today is not a day for Sandra's lunchtime Margaritas; today is a day for double espressos and killer focus.
I'm wearing my most kickass outfit: power pumps, my Louboutins with red soles, a black suit tailored perfectly for my curves, and a blouse that blooms with giant red poppies. My makeup and hair are perfect—except for that one damn strand that always falls in my face. Sometimes Griff pushes it away, and he laughs when it pops back. But I look good, and as a woman in my world—which is to say, a complete boy's club who probably only hired me so they could continue to discriminate against other women and people of color—it's important to look the part. And that means, sexy, but strong. Powerful. Intimidating.
Enough about packaging. The most important weapon in my arsenal is my full report from Kent. With its contents, I may just be able to bring this Sabrina to her knees. If I'm honest, nothing would please me more.