by Ryli Jordan
Copyright 2017 by Ryli Jordan - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Sacking the Virgin
A Bad Boy Footballer Romance
By
Ryli Jordan
TABLE OF CONTENTS
About the Author
About the Book
MAIN STORY
BONUS STORY 1
BONUS STORY 2
Book Reading Order
About the Author
Ryli is a daydreamer with real-life love experiences, but hasn’t found Mr. Right. That won’t stop her from trying! She pours her experiences into her books. Romance author, Ryli Jordan, writes steamy reads, with bad boy, alpha males, and sexy heroines. On any given night, when not writing about your next book boyfriend, Ryli can be found reading her Kindle, filled with love stories, hot romance, and "Happily-Ever-Afters."
She lives in the great state of Texas where everything is bigger… bigger love and bigger lust! She loves traveling with friends to tropical destinations and the occasional snowy spot in the mountains with her favorite caramel latte.
Ryli loves hearing from her fans and you can reach her at: [email protected] or tweet her at @author_ryli.
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About the Book
He was a hot NFL quarterback and I was a stone-cold virgin. When he made a forward pass to my tight end, I knew that it was game over for me.
When I got the job working for the Chicago Kings, I had no idea I’d be assigned to shadow Ben Price, the team’s hot-as-hell quarterback.
Ben’s almost as famous for his internet sex tapes with groupies as he is for throwing touchdowns.
The first time we meet he’s naked and ready to play, while I blush like the shy virgin that I am.
Then Ben pulls me into his game and I find myself playing in his world of sex, lies, and passion.
It might cost me everything, but there’s no place I’d rather be…
This is a standalone novella with bonus stories included. No cheating, no cliffhanger, and guaranteed HEA! Mature audiences only, 18 and older only.
MAIN STORY
Prologue - Marissa
“I’m so insanely jealous and so happy for you! My best friend is working for the Chicago f-ing Kings!,” Jessica says.
“I’m beyond ecstatic. This is my dream job!” I exclaim. Glancing down at my mixed drink with the fruit hinged on the side.
I still can’t fathom working there. As a little girl, my school took a field trip to the stadium to meet the team. Back then, I was such tomboy thinking I would be the first girl to be drafted to the NFL. I still remember scraping my knees on the concrete when Jimmy, the class bully, pushed me out of line. I envied the players practicing that day. And I vowed to myself that I would work hard and be right there with them one day. Lucky for me, I grew up to love volleyball even more than football. I never stopped loving football, there was always a special place in my heart for the game. Plus, I was a great catch for any guy - a woman who loved football. I was practically a unicorn amongst the shallow girls who would rather shop than watch.
“Nailing this job is going set my career trajectory,” I say looking at Jessica whose green eyes were just as wide as mine.
“Yep, you’ve always been a sports fanatic and cheers to you for landing this job. I'm jealous that you get to work amongst the muscular fine asses in the industry. Oh my lady, I wish I had your will power,” Jessica shakes her head and smiles.
“Oh it won’t be so hard. I’m a professional and I’m sure my office will be far away from the players and locker rooms.”
“Ok girlie, I can just smell the testosterone in the place. It’s going to be tough being around all those hot ballers. Don’t mind me…,” her voice trails off as she checks out a six-foot something, blue-eyed guy. Turning back to me she says, “You deserve it and no one is as professional as you are,” Jessica smiles.
That’s right, I do deserve it, I’ve worked hard, and earned my place at one of the best teams in the league as the fixer, aka image guru, aka media relations/journalist. Two years ago, I interned at a regional newspaper as their digital sports journalist. I loved it and the internship was paid so I felt like it was a real job. The Skybeam Courier had been a valuable learning experience and a place where I’d built lasting connections with other public relations professionals. The internship and the new job, where just two of the things I could now check off my list. The next check on my list would be a bit harder and I wasn’t sure how to approach it without being promiscuous.
Leave it to Jessica to read my mind and bring up the dreaded but necessary conversation.
“So is tonight the night the hole gets knocked in the Berlin Wall, or you swipe the v-card, or your monkey gets—”
“Jessica!” I giggle and blush. She can be so crass sometimes.
“Here? You are going to bring this up here? The loudest bar in the city?”
“Girl, yes! This is the perfect place to bring it up and the perfect time. We are here celebrating your new job and the guys are so gorge tonight.”
She was right about that point, the guys were beyond hot, but I hadn’t felt the twitch in my sex for anyone in a while and tonight was no different.
“Don’t count on your first-time to be amazing anyway,” Jessica says, “It’s awkward and will probably hurt a bit. But it should be special and someone you care about. You only get one first time.”
Well damn, that really puts the pressure on things. I look across the nightclub at some of the cute guys hanging out tonight. Maybe it’ll be one of them? Nah, I know I couldn’t have my first time be a one-night hook up. My parents gave me the talk when I was in high school and since then, they probably assumed I was sexually active and using protection. Little did they know, I hardly dated in high school or now. The opposite sex did hit on me and I had my fun, but I wasn’t as adventurous as Jessica.
Poor girl, I flashed back to when she told me about her first time and I definitely didn’t want that experience. We were juniors at Fairfield High. Jessica was dating this douche bag, 19 year old drop-out, that gave her crabs. Ewww! That put me off from sex so bad that I didn’t even kiss a guy again until graduation.
“Hey what ever happened to crab-boy, Jessica?” I ask.
“Shit, why are you bringing him up? I have no idea, after I got those itchy fuckers off me, I swear I never saw him again.”
We both laughed. It was so long ago and we were so young.
“Good thing it was only crabs and nothing else.”
“Right!” Jessica snorts, finishing off her drink and eyeing the bar for a space to get another. “Enough about me. Let’s get you laid in this decade- kay? You are hot, and confident. You just have to relax and loosen up.”
Shaking my head, “Sounds easy, but for whatever reason, it hasn’t happened,” I say.
I’m not desperate to have my most precious possession taken from m
e, but I also don’t want to be the 40 year old virgin. Yeah I am hot, and quite sexy, if I do say so myself. My curves have really kicked in since I’ve gained a few pounds. I know I’m wanted, I just haven’t been passionate about the guys I’ve kissed. I want my first time to be like Baby and Johnny in Dirty Dancing. I've even imagine my first time will be like fireworks and a volcano had a steamy, sparkling baby. In my mind, I’ve waited 23 years to get my cherry popped and I don’t want anything less than the best.
Chapter One – Marissa
I nervously smooth my hands down the front of my blouse, absently touching my hair to make sure that it's still pulled tightly back into its ponytail. First impressions can make or break you, I remind myself. Finally, I decide that that's enough primping and pull open the doors to my new work building, Stinson Stadium. I still can't believe I somehow netted this job as an assistant press agent for the Chicago Kings football team—it's a dream come true, and I'm only twenty-three and newly graduated!
So I really don't want to screw this up…
Head back and shoulders squared, I march into the building, and I manage to keep that air of confidence as I find the main press offices and open the door. It's the chaos that only a press office can have, with people moving left and right, darting amongst samples and cutouts and all sorts of representations of the team. I hesitantly approach the secretary, biting my lower lips even though I know I shouldn't be doing that when I've just applied lipgloss.
But before I can say anything, someone grabs my arm, tugging me along with them. It's a sharp-nosed man wearing thick glasses, and I recognize him instantly. This is Mark Carlson, the head of the Chicago Kings' PR department—and my new boss. I never expected that he would be the first person I'd meet when I came in; I'd thought I'd have to talk to a bunch of HR people and then would maybe get foisted off on the next most junior member of staff. But it looks like I'd be talking to the head honcho himself.
I feel a shudder of delight travel the length of my spine at the thought of working directly with him.
Mark tugs me into his office and shuts the door behind us, still jabbering away on his phone. He gestures me towards a seat, though, and I sit down, smiling pleasantly as I wait for him to wrap up his call.
When he does, he gives me a once-over and clucks his tongue a little, and I wonder just what the heck is wrong with what I'm wearing. It's just a cream-colored blouse with a pleated navy skirt, after all—and navy is one of the Kings' colors!
“You're going to get eaten alive, dressing like that,” he says, leaning back to perch on his desk, still eyeing me from head to toe.
I begin to feel a bit self-conscious, but that's nuts; I'm hardly showing any cleavage, and–
“I can tell from the look on your face that you haven't heard the rumors about our charming athletes,” Mark says, rolling his eyes a little. “I knew it was a good idea to snag you before I sent you down to Human Resources...” He leans forwards, giving me a piercing look. “If you want to quit after what I tell you, that's no problem. But I need to warn you before we get started that you are going to be working with football players here.”
“I know,” I say, confusing on my face and in my voice. “I mean, that's kind of what I was hoping for...” I'm not sure what he's expecting me to say.
Mark makes an impatient noise. “What I mean to say is, these guys… Well, most of them are pretty spoiled. They grew up basically having the world handed to them. In high school, they could have any girl that they wanted, and with the contracts they have, things have only further gone to their head. Do you realize the amount of money that they make? The whole world is at their beck and call.”
I laugh a little—surely he's exaggerating!—and shake my head. “Mr. Carlson—or should I call you Mark?—I'm really not worried about all of that,” I tell him honestly. “I mean, they've got millions of dollars—they could have–“
Mark doesn’t say anything to interrupt me, but his eyes say everything. “You do realize that with legs like that...” he begins.
I blush and tug again at the hem of my skirt. At his words, I can't help but wince. “If that's what–“
“You played volleyball in school, didn't you?” Mark interrupts, looking down at my resumé, which is sitting on his desk, with my headshot still attached in the upper right-hand corner.
“And soccer,” I say, “but that doesn't imply–“
“I'm not implying anything,” Mark says. “All I'm trying to remind you is that you are a very attractive woman, Marissa, and the Chicago Kings are going to be the least of your worries if you join the industry.” He shook his head. “You will, of course, have to keep up with the infamous Locker Room Quarterly, but I...honestly doubt your ability to go through with that without–“
I force a laugh and shake my head again. “Mark, I went to college. I know how–“
“They act like horny teenagers!” Mark cries, clearly fed up with the way I was apparently missing his point.
I stare at him for a long moment and then shrug purposefully. “I trust in my abilities,” I say slowly. “I trust that I can get a story without compromising my beliefs. And if you don't believe that, then perhaps I should be working here—but I think you're wrong.”
I square my shoulders and scowl at him. “I swear to you, I may not be the best, most experienced journalist that you've ever worked with, but I at least know enough to rustle up a story when it's the Chicago Kings that we're talking about. I've been seeing them in action since I was a young child—since when my father was taking me to see games, when I was curled up there in his lap. Trust me when I say–“
“Okay, okay,” Mark interrupts. He holds up both his hands to stall my protests, but he looks amused nonetheless. “Marissa, you have the job, if you want it. But there will be a clause in your contract stating that if there's ever any–“
“There won't be,” I say, even though I don't really know the full scope of what he's saying. Is he telling me that I'm not allowed to sleep with one of the Chicago Kings? As if they would ever sleep with me! Or maybe they would, from the way he's talking...
I don't know.
And that kind of excites me. It also terrifies me, if I'm being honest. See, I don't believe all that nonsense about saving yourself for marriage or anything like that, but I've never… Well. I've fooled around some, but the opportunity to take things all the way just never really presented itself. In school, I was always too focused on my grades so that I could eventually end up top of my class when I graduated—plus there was always volleyball and soccer. Then there were always internships and my dissertation project and all sorts of minor things as well. I knew that journalism was an incredibly competitive field to go into—and sports journalism even more so—and so I did everything I could to make sure I got the job that I wanted when I graduated.
And it appears that all my hard work has paid off.
I smile at Mark as he gives me directions down to HR and give a little wave as I leave his office. Our first meeting went well, I think—once I was able to convince him that I'm not about to let anything come between me and my future here with the Chicago Kings! I hope that once he starts seeing my work, he'll agree with me and I can progress further here.
I'm walking up the hallway, still smiling to myself, when I run into Ben Price walking around one of the corners.
Of course, he's immediately recognizable—I've seen his face everywhere in recent years, from advertisements to games to public service events. He's the face of the city, really, and he's also been voted handsomest bachelor, hottest young success, and a thousand other ego-stroking titles by a thousand different magazines and polls.
And I mean, it's not like I can argue with those polls. He's got swept-back black hair and these incredibly deep brown eyes. Of course, he's incredibly muscular, and his chiseled abs are probably up on the walls of half the teenaged girls in the country.
Those abs are in full display at the moment, since Ben Price is—I gulp—enti
rely, 100% naked as the day he was born, except for the towel he has draped around his neck, of all places.
I can't stop staring, even though I'm not even sure where I want to look first. Seeing those abs in person, that's enough to make me shudder with desire. But there's also...his penis. Oh my god, I can't believe I'm seeing Ben Price's penis.
And the man has no shame. He sees me staring and grins cockily at me, striking a bit of a pose, sticking out his hip. “Like what you see?”
He's leering at me, as though he really would like to take me to bed, just like Mark warned me. His eyes track down my long legs, and he practically licks his lips.
I know I can't act like a blushing, stammering female or else they really will eat me alive. So I drag my eyes back up to Ben's face and strike the same pose, tossing my hair a little. “Like what you see?” I retort.
Ben looks momentarily surprised, and then his eyes narrow with a clear hunger to them that wasn't there before. And oh man, I realize that I've probably just done a very bad thing: I've given the man a challenge, and he's one of the top athletes in the world—a challenge for him is something he must overcome.
I swallow hard, my bravado gone. I duck my head and bite my lower lip, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Look–“ I start to say.
“You're the new assistant press agent, aren't you?” Ben interrupts. “Marissa, was it?”
I look at him, bewildered. “How do you know that?” I ask.
Ben snorts. “We had a meeting about you,” he tells me. “We were told to behave ourselves around you. They showed us a picture of your face, but man, I never figured you'd have legs like that.”