by Jesse Jordan
I get up, looking at Joe's wide open eyes and gaping fish-like mouth as he gasps for air. “I've got a whole fucking practice ready for you.”
Whistles tear through the cold December air and the starting defense gets in between me and 'Thello, who looks like he's ready to tear my head off for blasting his quarterback. Red looks about the same as he gets in my face, punching me in the chest. “That's it! You're fucking suspended! What the fuck were you thinking-”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, balling my hand into his sweatshirt and shaking him around like a rag doll. “I know about it all.”
“What the hell are you-” Red starts, but shuts his mouth with a snap, looking at me and then at Joe before his eyes widen. “Wha-”
“You should have picked better,” I continue, not caring if the rest of the team hears me. “You sold out the defense, you went along with that motherfucker's plans to give our defensive scheme to Houston. You knew about it, and you not only did nothing, you helped!!”
The other players and coaches stop, stunned as the full meaning of my words sink in. Red looks around desperately, trying to find allies. “Steve?” he asks Coach Petersen, who just crosses his arms over his chest. “Mike? Pete? Othello? Come on Othello, he hurt your quarterback.”
Othello looks down at Joe, who's still groaning but has gotten to his knees at least. “I don't see my quarterback down there,” Othello says before turning his back and walking over to Tim Hightower, our second string quarterback. “My quarterback's right here.”
Seeing no allies but a lot of angry faces, Red throws his hands up in the air, his face fiery as he screams. “Fine, practice is canceled! In fact, the whole fucking game's off!”
Red stalks off, looking about twenty years older than he did at the start of practice, and I look around, realizing everyone's looking at me. “Coach Petersen, how about we take a ten minute break,” I reply, waving towards the water tables. “Just chill out guys, and when we come back, Coach Petersen's got the practice. We've got a fucking game to win Sunday.”
The players wander off, a few of the guys still looking lost, like their foundation just got shattered underneath them. I look at Joe, who's finally gotten to his feet and he looks at me with his eyes blazing. “I hate you.”
“I know,” I reply evenly. “And believe it or not Joe, I don't hate you. To hate someone you have to at least respect them. You... you're not a football player. You're not even a man.”
I walk off, but before I'm halfway to the table I see Mr. Porter crossing the field, making a beeline for me. “Lincoln! Lincoln Watson!”
I stop, seeing Samantha coming up behind him, and I turn to square my shoulders. “What can I do for you, Mr. Porter?”
“Do you mind explaining just what the fuck is going on?” he asks me, pointing across the field where Red's sitting on a bench, his face in his hands while Joe goes limping off in another, both of them moving away from the rest of the team. “I come out to see some practice before the biggest game this team's had in a generation... and I find our starting quarterback looking like he just got ran over by a truck, my head coach losing total control of the situation, and somehow you're standing in the middle of it looking like Leonidas commanding the troops instead of my coaches. What the everloving fuck is all this?”
I nod, gesturing towards Red and Joe. “Those two... they delivered last Sunday's defensive game plan to Houston. Crenshaw knows a coach there, Red gave him a copy of the schemes and signals. Joe admitted it to me.”
“Crenshaw... why?” Mr. Porter asks, looking like he's been punched in the gut. “And Red?”
“Crenshaw because he hates me,” I reply evenly. “Whether it's my success, or your daughter, or whatever... he hates me. Red... because he believes too much in Joe. And I suspect because he guessed the details about your arrangement with Samantha.”
“You know about that?” Mr. Porter asks, turning to look at Samantha, who's kept silent. “You told him?”
“Yes,” Samantha replies, stepping closer to me and taking my gloved hand. “I love him, Dad. It wasn't fair to not at least explain to him what our deal is.”
Mr. Porter thinks, then nods, sighing. “I guess the deal's off. There's no way I can expect the team to win on Sunday after a revolt against the head coach and starting quarterback, and I'm a fair man, Samantha.”
“The deal's not off,” I reply, giving Samantha's hand a squeeze. “Here's the situation, Mr. Porter. Joe's now hurt, we can put him on the injury report. Red's down with a sudden illness. There's no way we could ever prove that they did what they did, not without the Houston coaches fessing up or finding a paper trail... both of which I doubt exist. So Sunday, Coach Cooper calls the offense, Coach Petersen the defense. They can decide who's the official 'head coach,' I'd give the nod to Cooper though, the offense needs that shot of confidence with Tim Hightower taking over.”
“And you think you can win?” Mr. Porter asks, smiling a little when I nod. “You got a big set of balls on you, Lincoln.”
I glance at Samantha, who hides her little snicker. If only her father knew. “That I do, Mr. Porter. We'll get you that win... and Samantha's future is with this team. So's mine.”
Mr. Porter thinks, then nods. “Fine. But one thing.”
“What's that?” I ask, and Mr. Porter sticks out his hand.
“From now on... it's Vincent. I've spent nearly fifteen years, ever since I realized my little girl was becoming a woman, hoping to find a man who deserves her. Seems I have. And it's Vince around the house. I assume you're coming to Christmas dinner?”
I look over at Samantha, who nods happily. “I'm sure something can be arranged.”
Epilogue
Samantha
The summer heat beats down as I stand at the top of the stadium, watching Lincoln doing the last of his sprints up the stairs. He stripped off his t-shirt long ago, so I've been treated to a visual feast that has me glad I can take a half day today. “How many left?”
“One more!” he yells, reaching the top and giving me a grin before turning and walking down the steps. “I thought you were keeping up with me?”
“Yeah right!” I laugh, looking down at my own stomach, which is still streaming sweat. I've done my best to keep up with Lincoln this offseason, but there's no way I can do it all. Still, I'm in the best shape of my life... and I know Lincoln loves the way I look in a bikini, if his reaction during our trip to Bermuda says anything. Six glorious days, hundreds of tight bodies around, and all he could look at was me. It certainly helps. “Last one, stud!”
Lincoln get to the railing at the bottom and turns, taking the steps two at a time until he's standing next to me, his chest heaving and sweat trickling down his body to disappear into the ridges of his abs before being absorbed in the soft cotton of his workout shorts. I bite my lip, my mind flooded with lewd thoughts... but my office is being cleaned right now, we'll have to wait until we get home.
“By the way, I got an e-mail from the players association today,” I say as I force myself to think of anything other than Lincoln's body. “They're lodging an official protest over your new contract.”
“Why's that? They think I'm being paid too much?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, the exact opposite. I think the official line was Mr. Watson, considering his contributions to your franchise over the past year, is deserving of much more than just three times the league minimum, and one fifth his contemporaries. I wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that. What do you think?”
“I think making two million dollars a year to play football and be with you is more than enough,” Lincoln says, grinning. “Unless you're just into me for my big... bank account.”
“Yeah, that's it. Should I expect you to file a grievance over your salary?”
“Of course, Miss Team President,” Lincoln says, using my new title. Dad's said he'll stay on one more year to give our new head coach a bit of stability before he turns the reins totally over to me, but I get t
o make all the business decisions. It's fair, and it allows me to 'buy out' a lot of the team shares I need via my salary this year. “Although I'm not sure about training camp starting next week.”
“Why's that? I thought you loved training camp,” I ask, turning to face him. “Is it that you'll have to share a room with someone besides me?”
“No... sometimes men prefer the company of other men,” Lincoln jokes, making me laugh. “No... I'm looking forward to camp really. I mean, after last year's run, we've still got room to improve.”
“Oh yeah, getting to the conference championships before losing to the eventual champs,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “And let's not mention you making Defensive Player of the Year? Lincoln, we've got a new head coach and a new starting quarterback. You've lost three starters on defense, including Nick by the way. Let's face it, a lot of teams would consider this a rebuilding year. So yeah, tons of room for improvement.”
“I was thinking just that. You see, with this year being your father's last, I wanted to send him out on a high note... and as sort of a promise to him.”
“What's that?” I ask, and Lincoln shakes his head. “You're not going to tell me?”
“Well, not right here,” he says. He hops over the railing and down to the field, where he helps me down. “Come on, I have something to show you.”
Curious, I follow Lincoln to the middle of the field. There's no lines yet, no paint or Knights logo, that won't come for another month when we open our preseason home games here. Still, I can tell, and so can Lincoln when he stops, taking me in his arms and turning me around with him. “Can you feel it? This spot... where everything's pure.”
“No stress, no politics... everything's just the way it should be in the world,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Lincoln, I know. I feel the same love for it that you do. I... it's just one of the million reasons why I love you.”
“And I love you,” Lincoln says, stopping to look me in the eyes. “And it's why I couldn't think of a better place to do this.”
Lincoln reaches behind his back, and I realize he's got something in the small pocket that's sewn into the waistband of his shorts. My eyes go wide as he takes out a diamond ring, getting down on his knees and taking my hand. “Samantha Porter, you complete me. You give me your love, you give me everything a man could ever want. And I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, giving you everything I can to make you happy. So... would you honor me with your hand in marriage?”
I blink, then smile, nodding. “Of course I will. Lincoln... I love you. I want to have children with you and... oh, that's why you aren't happy about training camp next week.”
Lincoln nods, then laughs. “Well, we can delay the wedding until the offseason, or a bye week if you want.”
“To hell with that,” I grin, running my hand through his hair. “Here's what we're going to do. First, you're going to put that ring on my finger. Next, you and I are going to make love right here on the fifty yard line of the field and who gives a shit if someone sees us. I figure fourth or fifth, we'll tell Dad. Then tomorrow, we're going to find a justice of the peace, I think Dad knows one, and we're going to get married. Then I'm going to have to get all the damn programs and team PR stuff changed.”
“Really?” Lincoln asks, grinning. “Samantha Watson, Team President and Owner.”
“Samantha Watson?” I ask, laughing. “I was thinking that the starting defensive end for the Knights this season would be number ninety one... Lincoln Porter.”
Lincoln laughs, and pulls me down on top of him. “Tell you what... whoever orgasms first has to take the other's name. Deal?”
I grin, and reach down, slipping my hand inside his shorts to wrap my fingers around his cock. “Deal.”
Delivering His Heir
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Prologue
Rick
I don’t know the girl’s name, or that of her friend. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. “What are you doing in Greece?” she asks, sipping at the ouzo we’re sharing in the bar. “You do not look like a normal tourist.”
“I’m not,” I reply, looking at the two of them. They’re both beautiful, in that voluptuous, earthy way that Mediterranean women seem to have so naturally. While I’m sure in fifteen or twenty years they’re both going to be sporting stomachs as large as their already bountiful breasts, at this moment, they’re at the height of their sexiness, with long dark hair, curves that swell dramatically in all the right ways. “I’m here to celebrate.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” the second girl asks. She’s not drinking ouzo, but instead a gin and tonic. Not my drink, but certainly my kind of girl. Then again, I like just about every kind of girl, if she’s sexy as fuck, and this girl is.
“I got my first official PhD,” I reply, not mentioning that I also got my first payment on my most recent patent. I sold the rights to General Electric for a cool ten million dollars, and I already plan on it being the last invention that I sell off. The girls don’t need to know all this, though. “Thought I’d congratulate myself.”
“And how would you like to do that?” the first girl asks, giving me a sexy smile. “Buying us drinks like you have?”
“It’s a start,” I answer, sipping at my drink. “I was thinking drinks, a little dancing… and then maybe you ladies would like to join me in my hotel room?”
“Maybe? You don’t sound very confident,” the second girl says, and I laugh.
“Oh, I know I’m going to have someone in my bed tonight,” I tell her, grinning. “The only question we have to figure out is which one of you it’s going to be… or if it’s going to be both?”
The two girls look at each other, conversing with each other in quick Greek that’s beautiful to listen to, especially since neither of them realize that I speak Greek too. I knew I wanted to take this trip for a while, so I studied for the past year. It’s a fun language. “So what do you think?”
“He’s certainly sexy enough,” the other girl says. “And who knows, maybe he’s got something to back up his bluster. He’s certainly better than your boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” the first girl reminds her friend. “Especially after seeing this guy. I think I need to make a trip to America, if they’ve got men like this around.”
“Well, let’s find out if he can move,” her friend replies. “There’s that new discotheque a few blocks from here… we can at least find out if he can move.”
The two girls nod, and the first one looks at me. “Let’s go dancing, what do you say?”
“I say,” I reply, tossing back the rest of my drink, “that you ladies are going to have a lot of fun tonight.”
The dance club is packed, we’re nearly shoulder to shoulder but that’s no problem to me as the two girls and I dance. The heat of our bodies pressed against each other is erotic and intoxicating, and when I put my hand on the first girl’s ass, I’ve decided to call her Cassandra and her slightly taller friend Elaine, Cassandra moans lightly. Her nipples press against the thin fabric of her blouse as her dark eyes gleam in the neon laser lights and she bites her lip.
“You ready to get out of here?” I whisper in her ear in Greek. “Your friend’s already grabbed my cock once, I’m sure she can tell you… I can deliver on every fantasy you’ve ever had.”
Cassandra whimpers and nods, glancing over my shoulder at Elaine who I’m sure gives her a confirming nod. I seal the deal by pulling her to me, kissing her velvety lips hotly, my tongue invading her mouth and claiming her totally as mine for the night. Grinding my hard, thick cock against her, I let her get a preview of what we’re going to get up to before grabbing her hand. Cassandra grabs Elaine’s hand and we form a three person chain out to the taxi waiting outside. Pushing Elaine in front, I slide in between, sandwiching myself between the best seatmates in all of Europe. “The Hotel Leonidas.”
As soon as the cab pulls away I turn to
Elaine, kissing her just as hotly as I kissed Cassandra, running my hands over her heavy, teardrop shaped breasts until she’s gasping for air. Turning to Cassandra, I alternate kisses between the girls as I let them explore my body, their hands running over my chest. Cassandra is more daring, cupping my cock and massaging it through the fabric of my slacks. “I… I’ve never felt anything this big.”
“And you want it deep in you, don’t you?” I tease her lightly, watching her lick her lips. “Anywhere?”
She gulps at the implied threat, but nods. “Anywhere you want.”
The cab ride is an eternity it feels like, the driver twice nearly swerving off the narrow road as his eyes dart to his rearview mirror to watch as first Cassandra and Elaine kiss, tentatively at first before their lust riddled brains decide to roll with the situation, and later when I slide my hand up Elaine’s skirt to tease her soaked pussy through her panties.
The hotel’s quiet, but that’s just what I want as I get the girls upstairs. The bed’s big, I don’t know if it’s a king or whatever the European equivalent is but it doesn’t matter as we turn into a trio of writhing forms, stripping off our clothes. Cassandra’s arms get caught behind her back as she tries to shrug off her tight blouse and I take advantage, pushing her down onto the mattress and burying my face between her breasts, nipping and sucking on the lightly olive skin.