First & Long

by Jesse Jordan

  The ref, who just got done signaling the touchdown, waves his arms over his head and calls for the injury timeout. I jog off, unworried. Sure, I let my full strength out, but it was a clean hit, nobody can fault me for it. I meet Nick on the sidelines, embracing him. “That's what I'm talking about, brother!”

  “You keep this up, I'm going to be the league defensive player of the week, not you,” Nick jokes, and I laugh.

  “Don't care... as long as we win.”

  With their fastest receiver out and their strategy shattered, Houston doesn't know what to do. I keep up the pressure, not getting a sack but providing plenty of harassment on the Houston quarterback, who spends the rest of the fourth quarter scrambling to avoid me hunting him down.

  I lead the defense onto the field as the last seconds tick away, shaking hands with the Houston coaches and players. Out of the corner of my eye I see Reggie, one of my old college teammates who plays backup wide receiver for Houston. “Hey Reg, good game. Gave me a hell of a scare there for a bit.”

  “You gave me a hell of a scare,” Reggie says, chuckling. “It was supposed to be me going in that pick six... if Coach had gone with the plan, you'd have had to cut me in half the way you did Keshawn.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my suspicions peaked. Reggie's a good guy, always played the game straight up, but there's people who aren't.

  “Just weird, man. All week long, starting on Tuesday, we'd had our plans. Man, the meetings this week on adjustments and audibles had my head spinning, but our rotations of players were set. Then, you guys started throwing everything but the kitchen sink at us in the third quarter, and our OC got worried. Started muttering to himself that all he knew was bullshit... something about bad info.”

  I nod, faking a casual shrug. “Scouts and tape review isn't everything. I guess our halftime adjustments worked. See you around.”

  I head for the locker room, and as I do I see Joe Crenshaw shaking hands with an obviously upset Houston offensive coordinator. The OC says something to Joe, poking him in the chest. Joe shrugs and says something in return, but I'm too far away and the stadium's still too noisy to hear it. Still, I can see it on their faces, and my suspicions feel confirmed.

  Okay, Joe... if that's how you want to play it. The only question is... what's your connection to the Houston offensive coordinator?

  Chapter 25

  Samantha

  It's after midnight when Lincoln and I get back to my apartment, his steps slow and measured as he sets his sports bag down. “One nice thing about being a football player,” he groans as he sits down on the couch and slides his shoes off, “I don't have to worry about what to wear to work tomorrow.”

  “And you can sleep in tomorrow morning,” I reassure him. “How're the shoulders?”

  “Like the rest of my body after games... everything feels like I just got into a dozen car accidents. Oh, wait... I read somewhere that that's exactly what my body did the equivalent of today. So yeah, a little sore.”

  I help Lincoln adjust himself and get him a cup of milk and a couple of Tylenol. “You sure you don't want something stronger?”

  “Nah, I just need sleep and about an hour long hot shower tomorrow morning,” Lincoln reassures me. He gives me a small smile, looking me over. “Trust me, just having you in the same bed as me helps. I sleep better, I wake up more refreshed, and knowing why the hell I'm doing all this is just a few inches away from me wearing some silk pajamas certainly gives me perspective.”

  “Well, I've got another way to help too,” I say. “If you can make it to the bedroom?”

  “Honey, I'm far too tired for that,” Lincoln says, but still gets to his feet. “You're more beautiful than ever, but I don't think there's even any blood flow down there right now.”

  “It could be worse,” I tease, taking his hand. “A week ago I was sort of worried you'd have gotten frostbite down there.”

  Lincoln chuckles, shaking his head. “Lined underwear. Helps. Stinky as hell after the game, but that's why someone invented Irish Spring.”

  I lead him to the bedroom, where I help Lincoln down in the middle of my bed. I've upgraded my sheets, the cold winter weather allowing me to go with warmer flannel instead of cool cotton, and Lincoln sighs happily. “You know, I was worried at first... the way we've been, I was expecting you'd have satin sheets in here.”

  “Nah, silk cords and handcuffs,” I joke. “Problem is finding handcuffs big enough to fit your wrists.”

  Lincoln chuckles, and lifts his arms, letting me strip him out of his clothing. He's so exhausted, but at the first touch of my fingers on his skin he smiles softly. “I played my ass off for you today.”

  “I know, I could see it. And you were sexier than ever in giving up the glory so that the team could win,” I reply, easing his pants down. “Now, lay there, and try not to fall asleep just yet.”

  I go into my bathroom, where I find the warming massage lotion that I bought last week. It isn't as hot as any of the liniments that Lincoln can get in the trainer's room, but it's not meant to be. Instead, it's meant to ease his muscles enough that he can sleep peacefully, and something he could use on me if we want to. I uncap it, inhaling the wonderful light aroma before stripping nude myself. I've got plenty of pajamas, but I don't want them to get covered in oil.

  When I come back into the bedroom, Lincoln's eyes light up when he sees me. “You certainly know how to make sure I don't fall asleep.”

  “Very funny,” I joke, even as I feel a blush creep over my chest. “Turn over, I'll start with your back.”

  Lincoln does as I ask, and I climb onto the bed, kneeling next to him. Warming some of the oil in my hands, I start with his neck and shoulders, which are rock hard and stiff. I try to get in there, but I can't quite get the angle, and get frustrated as my hair keeps falling in my face. Finally, with a grunt of frustration, I reach over to my nightstand and grab a scrunchie that I keep there for morning yoga and climb onto Lincoln's back, straddling his butt.

  Lincoln chuckles, wiggling his tight glutes. “You know, if you wanted this, you should have just asked. You already know it's not my thing, but I'd let you explore.”

  “Not your thing... yeah right,” I joke as I press down into his muscles with all my body weight. “Admit it, Lincoln. Deep down inside, you just want to be my little bitch boy. Now open up and squeal for me, boy.”

  Lincoln laughs softly, the laughter helping his body relax as I work over his shoulders and back. Sure, Lincoln's got a chest and abs that are carved out of wood, but his back is more important, and I give all of the muscles attention, working down until I'm sliding down his legs. My pussy rubs against his hamstring and another thrill goes through me, warmth radiating up from my hips to mix with the love in my heart. It's late, we should be sleeping, but right now the only thing I want to do is spend all night using my hands and body to help him relax.

  “Okay... turn over,” I say after I'm done, my voice raspy and hoarse with desire. My nipples are tight and aching, my pussy leaking I'm so turned on, but I promised Lincoln a massage, not an athletic fuck. I lift my hips enough to let him do as I ask, my mouth going dry as I see his cock, already half hard and stiffening more. “I don't think I should give that a massage with this oil.”

  “That might be a bad idea,” Lincoln says, smiling gently. “How about you work on my shoulders and chest instead? Downstairs can take care of itself.”

  I nod, tearing my eyes away from his cock and straddling his waist. I moan lightly as I feel him touch my ass, he's already so hard. I swallow again and pour some oil directly on his chest, rubbing the thick slabs of muscle until he's glistening in the bedroom light. My pussy feels like it's on fire as I work over his shoulders and pecs, massaging his arms before reaching down and giving his nipple an oily tweak. Lincoln gasps, but grins. “Hey! Masseuse abuse!”

  “Shut up or else you don't get a happy ending,” I joke, sliding back. I don't mean to, but I'm so aroused that my pussy pushes against
his cock and he slips in, both of us freezing. It feels so good, I keep going, rubbing his arms and stomach with oil while letting his cock push deeper inside me. “Mmmm... guess you do get that happy ending.”

  “We both do,” Lincoln says, reaching up and cupping my left breast. His fingers are oily too, and feeling them slide over my hard nipple is amazing. It's a slow, languid dream as I feel Lincoln slowly push deeper and deeper as my hips roll back and forth, drawing him into me. I lean down, kissing him tenderly and covering my body in oil as well as all pretense of a massage is abandoned. Instead, slow, tender kisses mix with gentle caresses, our fingers exploring each other's skins as he fills me up. I can feel his body try to stroke into me, but I shake my head, brushing my nipples against his chest. “You relax, my love. I'll make you feel good and give us what we both want before sleep.”

  I sit up, taking Lincoln's hands and placing them on my breasts as I start riding him, grinding my clit against the base of his cock in between lifting up and descending. Lincoln supports me, his fingers and hands turning my breasts electric with tingling pleasure that shoots from side to side before joining the fiery delight growing inside my pussy and clit.

  Lincoln's eyes draw me in, and I know that I could spend the rest of my life like this, impaled on his huge cock while love courses between us like the tides of the ocean, flowing back and forth in time with my rolling hips and pulsing, squeezing pussy. I speed up, my ass clapping a little as I drop down onto his hips, smacking against his thighs. “Mmm... seems I've gained some ass recently.”

  “All the better for me to hold onto,” Lincoln jokes, letting go of my breasts to reach down and cup my twin globes. I moan as he squeezes, guiding me as he starts to thrust upward too. It's not as hard as he normally can but that's not what's needed, and together we build the wave between us until my pussy's throbbing, clenching around his cock as our moans fill the air. I lean down again, kissing Lincoln and letting him roll me onto my back, spreading my legs so that he can have full access to my body.

  Lincoln's deep growl of desire tells me all I need to know, and I hold on as his hips take over, driving his cock into me quickly. My breath is taken away as he pounds me, my breasts shaking as I stare up into his eyes. “Please, please, please,” I find myself repeating over and over, yowling happily as my pussy explodes into fireworks. “I'm so close.”

  Lincoln nods, and somehow speeds up, sending me catapulting into an intense orgasm that makes my body and my soul cry out in joy. I feel Lincoln stiffen, the drive into me one more time before he also comes, my pussy tightening around his cock as he fills me with his wonderful seed. I hold him tight, wrapping my legs around Lincoln and telling him without words that he's my perfect man, the man that I want in my arms forever.

  Slowly, in between soft kisses and whispers of tenderness and commitment, I feel Lincoln soften and slip out of me. “Awww... I know it was impossible, but part of me was hoping for another cyborg-like double orgasm.”

  Lincoln chuckles, brushing a strand of hair that's worked its way loose out of my face. “Me too. You just have to change your name to Sarah Connor.”

  “Very funny,” I reply before yawning. “Then again, instead of a double dose of sex, maybe spoons would be better?”

  “We're going to have to change the sheets tomorrow,” Lincoln notes, shifting so I can lay in his arms. “Flannel and oil may not be a good idea.”

  “Next time I'll get an air mattress, give you a full on oil body massage.”

  Lincoln chuckles, wrapping me in his arms. “You watch too much porn. Thought I took care of all your desires.”

  I hum, kissing his hand before cuddling in and laying my head in that perfect point where his arm's under my neck but my head's on a pillow. “You do. But some of my exes left me... searching for more. Then I met you, and I don't need anything else.”

  “You say the sweetest things,” Lincoln replies, kissing the back of my neck. “But I think we can still get an air mattress for Christmas. Only a few days away, you know.”

  “I know. I have what I want already though. Love.”

  Lincoln hums, and we snuggle in close, content as sleep creeps over us and sends me into a dreamland filled with gentle aromas, warm touches, and Lincoln. It's almost as good as the real thing.

  Almost.

  Chapter 26

  Lincoln

  “Last full contact drills of the regular season boys, let's get ready for Sunday. We just got notification, they're bumping the game up to prime time. We're the game of the week, baby!”

  Coach Petersen's excited, and it's infectious as the defense gets ready. In the few days since the last game, there's been a growing tension between the offense and defense, and while some people might think it's a bad thing, I'm ready to tear some heads off. For the past two days, I've been exchanging looks with Joe Crenshaw, who's gotten more and more pissed as accolades for the defense's performance on Sunday pour in.

  The team goes through group warmups, Red looking agitated as the defense and offense just can't seem to do things together. We've even lined up facing each other, Joe across from me as we stretch our hamstrings. “You plan on trying to start calling your own exercises too now?” Joe asks as Coach Petersen calls out the stretch cadence. “Or are you just being the gloryhound bitch still?”

  “I'm not the one who sold out his own team,” I growl in a low voice, looking into Joe's eyes as we switch stretches. “I know it was you, Joe.”

  “I didn't do shit,” Joe says, standing up and glaring at me. “Who the fuck are you-”

  “I know,” I repeat, getting in his face but keeping my voice low. “Only someone from our own team could have given Houston our defensive schemes last Sunday. And their quarterbacks coach just happens to be your old offensive coordinator in college. Did you think someone wouldn't figure it out?”

  Joe turns and walks off, earning a yell from Coach Petersen, but I wave him off and follow, grabbing Joe's shoulderpads as soon as we're near the sidelines. “Admit it, motherfucker. You wanted me to look bad so much you sold out the entire fucking team to Houston just so the defense would look stupid.”

  “And?” Joe asks, jabbing a finger in my chest. “You can't prove a goddamn thing, bitch. The beauty of electronics and encrypted e-mails. No way the league would be able to pin it on me.”

  “No... but I still know. And Red's going to know too,” I growl. Joe laughs, and I quirk my head. “What?”

  “Who do you think gave me the defensive schemes?” Joe asks. “Face it, I've got that old man wrapped around my finger, have for years. He's so fucking out of touch that he's desperate for a quarterback he can put in the Hall of Fame like he had back in the eighties, and he knows I'm the best chance he's got for him to do that again. He won't do shit to me. Now, get the fuck out of my face before you get yourself suspended for the last game.”

  Joe pushes past me and heads back to stretches, laughing sarcastically. I look up in the stands, where I see Samantha, bundled up in team warmup gear watching. I give her a small nod, which she returns. I'd shared my suspicions with her yesterday, but this is a lot more than I ever anticipated. A dirty player, that's one thing. A dirty head coach too?

  No, this needs a little more justice. I go over to my spot and grab my helmet, buckling it up as offense and defense break into separate groups to run through positional drills. I work with the scout team offensive line, keeping the contact light at first as we run through schemes.

  “Hey Monster, what was that with you and Joe?” Coach Petersen asks as I rotate out and let the second string get some reps in. “Walking away from stretches? Not cool.”

  “It was about Sunday,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “Listen... today, during full team contact drills, work me in against the first team offense.”

  “You're not going to do anything stupid I hope?” Petersen asks, shaking his head when I smirk. “You're so going to get me fired.”

  “Coach, if what I was just told ever is proven, all the c
oaching staff would be fired... and banned for life from coaching anything bigger than high school ball,” I tell him. “Let me handle it my way, and the league never gets a whiff of this. It'll be over with today.”

  Petersen looks me in the eyes, then nods. “Okay. For some crazy reason, I'll trust you. Do what you need to do.”

  Positional drills continue, and when we take our first water break Coach Petersen goes over to talk with Red. Red listens, and I don't know what sort of bullshit story Coach Petersen spins him, but Red nods, and blows his whistle.

  “Listen up!” Red yells as everyone gathers around. “It seems we've got a bit of a rivalry developing here between first team offense and first team defense. So let's settle it. First team offense, first team defense, on the ball!”

  The defense huddles up, and I look around at my teammates, who are all looking at me like I'm insane. “This your idea?” Nick asks. My response of a grin tells him all he needs to know, and he shakes his head. “Okay then, it's your call.”

  “Stack trips forty bandit, man to man,” I tell the huddle, calling my own number. “I've got a message to send.”

  The huddle breaks and I line up. Ironically, this is the first time since training camp that I've gone head to head with our starting left tackle, Othello Newton. 'Thello assumes his stance, his hands ready. “You gon' be in for a long day, Gloryhound.”

  I shake my head, saying nothing. 'Thello's a good lineman, fiercely loyal to his team and his quarterback and willing to do just about anything to protect him. Tall, strong, and with a quick first step, he's one of the best left tackles in the league. Even if I told him what Joe told me, he wouldn't believe me without hard proof.

  I don't want to embarrass him, but I have to. As soon as the ball snaps I pop him with a strong slap move to his outside shoulder, going full game intensity and letting my full strength out. 'Thello doesn't expect it, I think he's probably expecting us to go about ninety percent like we did last time the starting lineups went against each other... but I'm not here to help 'Thello get better. I'm here to give retribution, and as I rip past him I see Joe standing in the pocket, unconcerned in his orange jersey. It isn't until it's too late that he realizes I'm not stopping, but he can't do a thing as I put my helmet right in the middle of his chest and lift him high into the air, my arms around his legs before driving him as hard as I can to the turf.