His Virgin Bride

by Kara Hart

  “Well, don’t,” I kiss his cheek. “If you do, I might fall in love with you. And you know what that means.”

  He sighs, but keeps his eyes steady on me. “I’m not going to leave you. I promise,” he says.

  “How can I believe you? How do I know you’ll keep your promise?” I ask him.

  “You don’t, but you’ll have to have faith in me,” he says. “Look, I was young then. I made a ton of mistakes. I wanted fame so fucking bad, I was willing to throw away everything to get it. Not to mention, I just wanted to get away from my past. I wanted to forget my father. I needed to forgive my mother for just standing there when he…when he…” He sighs and looks away for a second, and I can sense his anger is getting the best of him.

  I kiss his lips and run my hand across his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jackson. You don’t need to explain it to me anymore. I understand. I still think you’re a prick for not telling me the honest truth, but I forgive you nonetheless. We’re older now. Much older,” I tell him. He kisses me back and smiles.

  “I’ve got a lot of learning to do, I guess,” he laughs. “But I’m doing better. I’ll apologize to Landon first thing at the game tomorrow. I swear.”

  “Fuck Landon,” I declare, getting out of bed and running to the bathroom to comb my hair. I see my naked body staring back at me and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Wait, what?” he asks.

  “Fuck Landon,” I repeat. “He’s more of an asshole than you are. He’s jealous of you and has nothing to show for it. Still, you can’t fight him. You can’t let him ruin your career.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “But what can I do? Let him rag on me?”

  “Actually yeah,” I tell him. “Let him rag on you. Let him talk shit. And then, when you head onto the field, you play the best damn game of your life. Your teammates will start to see the correlation of shittiness with Landon soon enough.”

  I do the unthinkable that night. I fall asleep in his bed with his arm placed strategically around me. Just like that, everything changes.

  Jackson

  The next game we play is in Portland, thank God. However, it’s not what I expect. At first glance, everything seems to be fairly normal. Only, right before the game, I realize what’s happening. They’re shutting me out.

  “Get in there, boys! Let’s show these idiots how it’s done!” my coach screams as we run onto the field. “Whoa, not so fast,” Coach grabs my jersey as I walk past him.

  “What’s up?” I jog lightly.

  “We need to talk,” he says. I run onto the field and head to the sidelines. We need to talk. This is never a good phrase to hear, on or off the field.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him. “You worried about the game or what? Dallas is pretty tough, but I think I can take them on. How’re we doing this, coach?”

  I glance to my left and Landon is off to the side, giving a short interview to a local sports station. The image burns a fire inside me, so I force myself to look away immediately.

  “I’m going to have you sit this one out,” the coach sighs and crosses his arms, standing in front of me. He sees me glancing at Landon and smirks a little. “That’s exactly the reason why.”

  “Because of Landon?!” I blurt out, nearly laughing myself. “Come on, Coach. You’re not serious. Are you?”

  “I’m very serious, son. And if you think you can just smile your way back on the field, you’re wrong about that,” he says, turning a bit angry. I back off with the smiling and listen intently. All I feel is that this is bullshit.

  “Sorry, Coach,” I say, sucking up my pride. “I’m listening to you. I promise. I’ll follow whatever orders you give me. I know we’ll win this and go to the Super Bowl under your guidance.”

  “Enough with the ass kissing, Jackson. I know you want to be on that field more than anything,” he says. The sound of the cheering, among the sounds of cleats hitting the field, always gets to me. I need to be out on that field, dammit! “But I think, for the team’s morale, I need to do this. It was wrong to keep you in the Arizona game. If it was any other player, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Coach, that’s because I’m the best in the league,” I whisper, making sure none of the other players or media can hear me. Cameras are turned to me and I know they’re saying shit on the Sports Network about how I’m getting talked down to about my past behavior. I can just see Fiona’s reaction. The hearts in her eyes are probably fading as I speak.

  “You need me in this game, Coach. The players need me. This game is huge. We need to win this if we want to go to the Championships,” I plead to him. I’m practically begging at this point. If the coach wants me to drop to my knees, I’ll do it. I swear.

  “The players may need your ball playing, but they sure as hell don’t want to be around you right now,” he says. “Look, I heard all about the little incident at the bar. I know you tried to swing at Landon.”

  This time, I throw my helmet down on the ground. I can’t stand for this bullshit. I can’t sit here and listen to the coach spit lies. I know it’s not his fault. I know Landon, or one of his goons, probably told the coach that I swung at him, but it’s not true. He swung at me, remember?

  “He swung at me,” I protest. “Ask Loke, coach. I’ve been good since that practice.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, son. Something happened at that bar. I’ve heard multiple accounts that you went nuts in there. Who am I supposed to believe? You? Or the other 5 people that don’t corroborate your story?”

  “Respectfully, this is bullshit!” I yell out, throwing my hands up into the air. All the cameras are on me now and I know I’ve made a big mistake.

  “Get the hell off my field,” the coach says.

  “Are you kidding me?” I scream back at him. “This is bullshit! It’s utter bullshit!” I turn to my right and find Landon smiling on the bench, just looking at this go down.

  “Fuck you, Landon! I know what you’re up to,” I scream at him. Security’s already on the sidelines to escort me off the field and I’m fucking pissed. It takes all of my energy not to swing at the one guy who grabs my arm to lead me out. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss at him, but he just pushes me hard into the catacombs of the arena.

  In the center of the arena, everything is quiet and muffled. The filtered sounds of cleats echo on the ceiling above me, as someone makes a play for the highlights reel on the field.

  Right now, it all hits home for me. I start to remember something back in high school. During one of our big games, I threw a punch at an opposing player. This hardly happened back then. If it did, you better believe you’d be sent to the Principal’s office to face expulsion. At least, that’s what they told you happened to everyone.

  Instead, nothing happened to me. I remember it like it was yesterday. There were the sounds of kazoos and wacky horns being blown for all the players, the stomping of the crowd’s feet, and the sounds of helmets bashing into one another, all in the name of football. That really lured me in and the next day, I got the offer to join a really great college team. They told me “Son, you could make it to the pros with your talent.”

  And I did. I made it. And now I’m standing here, in no-man’s land, underneath the arena. I start pacing and the guards simply walk away. “Go home,” one of the guys says to me. “It’ll work out by the Super Bowl.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I tell them both. “I’ll get on out of here.”

  They turn away from me and I walk in the direction of the exit. I circle around the building and come back through a side entrance. Of course, they let me in. Most of the staff has no idea what goes on during the game, so they move aside within seconds. I come back to the entrance of the field, but I don’t walk on.

  I just watch. If I can’t play the damn game, I need to at least watch it from the sidelines. I deserve that much, right? My eyes meet Landon’s back and I target him. “You bastard,” I mutter under my breath. It’s times like these that make me lose my co
ol.

  He’s sitting on the benches, laughing his ass of. But that smirk can’t last long. Once he’s sent onto the field, all hell breaks loose. Dallas seems to have made a comeback while I was gone. While we were neck and neck, we’re now losing by two touchdowns. I can see my coach’s face, turn bright as a tomato. I know a lot about the guy, and I can tell he’s pissed.

  “Looks like you made the wrong choice,” I whisper.

  Landon lives up to his name, Brickwall. He stands his ground and, I have to say, he does it really well. The defensive line is unable to shake him, letting the rest of our team through and the ball is ours. The coach’s face turns to a normal-looking color and everything is okay again.

  I turn and walk off the field. I’ve seen all I needed to see. At this point, I know my role. I’m the black sheep. I’ve always been the black sheep. When I made it to the pros, I realized I could go above and beyond what was considered “normal.” Now, I think it’s time to realize that my crown has been thrown into the wind. Landon’s won, and I’ve given up.

  Fiona

  “Okay, so you were kicked out of the game for talking back to the coach. Big deal,” I tell Jackson, who’s curled up in my bed with me, acting as the bigger spoon.

  “I’m just over all of the bullshit now,” he says. “I just want to play the damn game.”

  “At least your team won the damn game. I don’t know what coach Stern was thinking, but he was really being ballsy by throwing you off the field,” I try and reassure him. It’s all I can do, really. Normally, I’d be pissed. But there’s a new side to me now. I have to back him up. And I will, until he really fucks up.

  “Yeah, that’s what my manager told me,” he says. “You know, I’m starting to get the feeling that you all are just trying to make me feel better. It’s like I’m a sheep and I’m being driven to the slaughter. Is my career done or something? Tell me the truth, dammit.”

  “Your career is far from being done,” I say, glancing at the small tuft of hair on his chest. I run my hand over his tight, muscular flesh and let my head rest on him. I stare at the fan and continue speaking. “Part of me wonders whether or not you should just continue the old you again.” I say those words, but I don’t mean it.

  “You mean getting into fights? Fucking everything up for the league? You honestly want me to try that again?” The way he asks me makes me believe he’s being completely serious.

  “Hell no. That would be career suicide,” I quickly reply back. “I just wish I knew what was going on. Everything just seems so weird. Like, how did all this drama even happen?” I already know the answer: me. It’s times like these that I wonder if me coming up here was the worst thing that could have ever happened. If I hadn’t, maybe Jackson would be doing just fine. Maybe it was me who ruined his whole trajectory. I really don’t know at this point.

  I sigh. “Look, you’ll be fine. Have you talked to Coach Stern yet?”

  “Yeah, I have,” he says, looking down at my hair. He runs his fingers through the wavy strands and breathes carefully. “He’s letting me play the Bowl. He has to, really. Without me, I really think we might lose. We’re playing the reigning champs, for Christ’s sake.”

  Together, I feel like we’ve found our place. When I’m in bed with him, I feel as if everything is centered. I feel at peace. All of the bullshit that surrounds us in the outside world comes to a grinding halt. I turn around and throw my arms around his waist.

  “Well, I believe in you,” I smile and let my head trail down to his lap. “And I want to show you just how much I believe in you.”

  My hand grabs at the elastic of his basketball shorts, and I slowly pull them down, revealing his thick cock. “Fiona…” he whispers, but his protests fall very short.

  “Shut up,” I whisper. “You deserve it, and you know it.” I slide my tongue over his cock, until it grows firm and powerful looking. My lips slowly slide over his flesh and he tilts his head back and nearly cries out with pleasure.

  “Jesus, you’re too much,” he says. “I think you might be everything a guy wants and more.”

  I love pleasing him. I love devoting myself to the act that’ll give him the most pleasure. Why? Because I know he’ll do the same for me. I have faith in him, even if it’s a bad idea.

  He runs his hands over my shoulders, parting my long hair, and letting his fingers drag over my spine. When his palm reaches my ass, he squeezes down hard and smacks it. “Okay, now you’re making me really horny,” I tell him as my mouth slides back.

  “That’s exactly what I wanted,” he says, with a sadistic smile on his face. I reach up and bite his bottom lip and he darts back. “Ow,” he winces and then smiles again. I spread my legs for him as he recovers.

  “You want to play rough, baby?” He leans over me and grabs my cheeks, squeezing slightly.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “The rougher, the better.”

  He forces my legs open more, hands sliding down my upper thighs. He meets my pussy and slides three fingers inside me, curling them upwards, pressing against my g-spot and driving them in and out. My back instantly arches back as I feel the anticipation climbing.

  He spreads my wetness over his cock. This, more than anything, turns me on. “Give it to me,” I whisper, as he mounts me. He slides his cock inside of me and upon first penetration, his mouth falls open.

  “Yes, cum for me, baby. You deserve it. You’ve had such a rough day,” I coo at him. I want to make him feel great this time. I want to be everything he’s ever dreamed of having.

  Hell, what is happening to me? I used to be such an independent soul. Now I’m begging him to cum for me?

  I look up at his chiseled jaw, his thick and handsome hair, the perfect “V” on his pelvis, and I think to myself, oh yeah. That’s why. He’s impeccable.

  “I want to cum right as you do, baby,” he says, leaning over and kissing me. His tongue practically falls to the back of my throat. It’s not long before his one hand is cupped against my breast, while the other is firmly gripping my hair.

  “Yes,” I scream. “Harder. Deeper. This is your pussy.” He pounds me into literal oblivion. Everything seems to disappear slowly. Boom! My ears pop and a sweat begins to form on my forehead and chest. My eyes grow shaky and I lose my grip. I’m all his and can’t say a word.

  Within seconds, I’m fully cumming. I’m losing myself and every few seconds, I can tell he’s about to as well. With a strained expression and glazed look, he cums inside me, while kissing me the whole time.

  “If I keep doing this,” he says, “I’ll die. I’ll fucking die, I know it.” We both break out into heavy laughter.

  “I like being around you,” he finally says, after our laughter dies down. “I don’t get why. I mean, you’re really annoying and want me to settle down, which I hate.”

  “Shut up.” I push him away, jokingly. “You know I’m the best woman in the world. That’s why you stick with me.”

  “No, it’s because you have the best pussy in the world, baby. I could care less about all the other stuff,” he says, laughing as I mess up his hair.

  “Come on!” he screams. “I got a press conference tomorrow, remember?”

  “Ugh, that’s right,” I remember. “About the stupid bar fight. There still hasn’t been any video footage. I think it’ll be a really easy conference. You won’t have to defend yourself all that much.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “I’m just getting tired. You know?”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t get too tired on me. You’ve got one more game left. Just hold out and play your best. Then you have some time to relax,” I say, jumping onto his lap and straddling him. His cock is already hard again. “It looks like you aren’t that tired.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” he exclaims. “I just want to stay in bed with you. Am I crazy? Am I losing my damn mind?”

  “Yes, you are in fact crazy,” I laugh, kissing down on his chest. “You can’t possibly like me that much.”


  “What’re you talking about?” he asks me. “I think about you night and day. I’m bored of everything else. I just want to lay right here for the rest of my pitiful existence.”

  I look down awkwardly, feeling those good old emotions start to creep in again. “You probably shouldn’t,” I tell him. It’s the truth. “You’ve got a lot of training to do before the big game. You better get at it.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think? I mean, everything’s going to work out in the end, I think.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I tell him, pushing myself off his lap. I walk to the bathroom and run the shower. I step in after the water turns warm.

  Jackson walks in after me and throws his arms up slightly. “What’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me all of the sudden?” he asks.

  I turn the water up hotter and feel his towering body standing directly behind me. His hands wrap around my waist and I feel my eyes fall to the tiles below me. “Nothing’s wrong,” I lie. “I’m fine.”

  What am I supposed to tell him? That I still have a huge hang-up about him? That I’m still worried he’ll leave me once he wins this Super Bowl. I keep telling myself that this is forever, but what will happen if it’s not? I don’t even want to think about what I would do then.

  “You’re not fine,” he chuckles awkwardly. “Fiona, I know you. We may have been away from each other for a decade, but I still know when something’s wrong.”

  “I don’t know,” I sigh, unable to look him in the eyes. “I guess I’m just scared. I mean, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll win the game. I’m not too scared about it,” he says, shaking his head.

  “No, not the dumb game, Jackson. Everything else. You know? Me. You. This relationship?” My breath is steady and my heart, for once, isn’t hammering against my ribcage. No, it’s my mind that’s going crazy now. I can’t shake the feeling of uncertain doom. What if this all ends in a fiery car wreck? No, not literally. I get out of the shower and start toweling off, but he’s not far behind.