“I’ve grown,” I teased him as I cupped my breasts and his mouth hung open.
“I noticed that first,” Justin stood up and walked over to me as he took me in. He cupped my face to kiss me, and I got lost in it before he slid his hand down to take mine. “I’m limited for a while.”
“I don’t care. You’re here.” We made our way to the bed, and he lay on his back as I removed his jeans and bent over him to taste his hard cock. I’d missed my chance before, and he sucked his breath in as I slid up and down his shaft.
“Jesus, Jen. That feels so fucking good.” I moved faster, and he was stopping me before too long as his hand crept between my legs. “I am coming inside of you tonight, every time. I’ve missed your sweet pussy.” His finger found my needy clit, and I moved against his hand as I felt the pressure in my body building. I knew that it wouldn’t take much, and he found a rhythm that had me crying out his name within a few moments as I got the orgasm that I’d been craving for months. “Oh, God. I love how you come for me.” I nodded weakly and looked into his eyes as a moan escaped my lips. “Take that off. I want to see you.”
I shimmied the nightgown over my head, and Justin slipped his hand up to cup my round breast with the extended nipple. “Holy shit. They’re beautiful.” I smiled and moved over his body as he stared into my eyes. “I can’t wait to fuck you properly.”
“Plenty of time for that,” I assured him as I leaned over his face and he took one if my nipples into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled as I rode his cock that was pressed under my wet center and felt him harden. “I think I can work some magic this way.”
“I wanted to see you riding me. There were going to be so many more times, Jen.” His eyes filled with emotion as I nodded and remembered the day that I left him. “I’ve never felt that broken before about anything except for sports. I was used to not caring for people too much, but I fell for you so fast.”
I lifted up and felt his head prodding my entrance before I slid over him and moaned. He filled me so completely, and Justin let out a sigh before he started to suck on my other nipple. Our lovemaking was different this time, but I was willing to get him anyway that I could before I was able to take care of him again, to heal him.
We made love like that twice before we lay and talked about everything naked in bed. There were so many words that needed to be said and so many emotions that had to be freed so we could move into something new. I felt so good as we laughed and even cried while we worked out everything that had gone wrong.
After that, I used ice on his injury and rubbed the rest of his body before he felt the need to give me another glorious release. He fed me before too long, assuring me that the baby needed food and even started planning a menu for me. It was ridiculous, and I loved him all the more for it.
The next day, I took him to meet Dad and Rosie, and we explained the situation. I could tell that Dad knew his reputation by the way his eyes flashed at the name, but we talked to him. He could see that Justin loved the baby and me and intended to stick around. We ended up going out to dinner where Justin had them laughing with some football stories. I knew how much he missed it, but he seemed content here. He got to meet my team, and they all took on their protective stance and pissed him off until they felt like he was the real deal.
Justin couldn't believe that none of them had hit on me as blatantly as he did when I was his therapist. I just laughed, because nobody could ever be like Justin McLeod.
He stayed with me in Boston until he went back to his doctor at home. I managed to get away that weekend, and we both cried when they suggested surgery, which he agreed to.
Justin was healed up by the time Melody Claire McLeod was born and we both cried right along with her as she was born. My parents were there; Coach Michaels showed up, and even some of Justin’s closest friends were waiting outside to see her. Everyone embraced the new Justin, and I fell more in love with him every day.
He was going back to football, and I easily agreed to join him back in Philadelphia as his fiancée and a stay at home mother to our daughter this time. We were going to get married soon and start our new life in full, and I couldn’t wait. I was so glad that we got our second chance.
*****
THE END
Quarterback Daddy
Description
If I win, and I always win, I get an animalistic rush that can only be satiated by a woman’s body. And there she is, waiting to interview me.
Erica
I wasn’t attending the NFL game to see Kyle Murphy, like everyone else. I was there because I had a job to do. I had an interview to take, and I was willing to do anything to get it.
Chiseled body, six-pack abs, permanent obnoxious smile. He decided to undress in front of me, in the locker room. And then he invited me to watch him take a shower.
And I was floored. All self-control was out of the window. He was going to have me, and I was willing to abandon all professional ethics for the sake of the interview I wanted.
But then everyone found out. And I was left with a secret that not even he can find out.
Kyle
I get an adrenaline rush after I win a game. An instant, animalistic instinct that can only be satiated by a woman’s body.
So I was lucky that Erica Lee, a fresh-faced young reporter was waiting for me after the game.
But unlike all my other fans, she was a tough nut to crack.
When I succeeded, it was like nothing else. I had to have her again. I wanted more.
So when my manager said I needed a pretend girlfriend to clear my name, I knew exactly whom I wanted...
Chapter One - Erica
I have been chasing news stories for the past year. Nobody thought I could do it – a girl trying to make it big as a sports journalist? But I was determined to prove them all wrong, especially my dad, who always wanted a son but got me instead.
So when I was called into my editor’s office the other day, you can imagine how on edge I was. The worst thing that could happen was my being demoted to write fluff human interest stories without a byline. The best thing that could happen was that I got to cover the next NFL game.
What ended up happening was that my editor gave me an assignment that was so good that I hadn’t even dreamt of it. Kyle Murphy. I was supposed to interview Kyle Murphy.
Before anything else, I should let you in on who Kyle Murphy is. As you can predict, he is an NFL superstar. Why else would I even be interested? He was being touted as the next big thing. He might have been only twenty-four years old, but he wasn’t green to the game. He had been picked up, touted at the tender age of eighteen and he had been making a splash ever since. Teams had fought over him, and he obviously took up the most pricy offer. Because that is who Kyle Murphy was.
I hadn’t ever met him in person, but I had formed a pretty accurate impression of him. I had interviewed and hung around enough footballers to know exactly how much the fame got to their heads. But with Kyle Murphy, it was a completely different level.
The guy looked like a Greek God, for starters. His body was pure muscle. It was hard to miss the layers of chiseled and well-sculpted sinew under his jersey while he played. His face was sharp, his jaw square, his eyes a piercing emerald green, and his lips flawlessly pink and juicy. His hair was dark, and he kept it short in a buzz cut so that it never interfered with his game.
So, Kyle Murphy’s stardom wasn’t all just about his prowess on the field. It was also about how irresistibly gorgeous he looked. This contributed to all the media attention he got. He was never seen without a beautiful model or film star hanging from his arm and he always left them heartbroken. Kyle Murphy was known as a serial non-committer and I could never understand why these women kept trying. It was like they couldn’t help themselves.
Men wanted to be like him and women wanted to tame him. That was the legend of Kyle Murphy. I had always watched from the sidelines, interested in his success story. Never before did I have the opportunity to ac
tually meet him in person, interview him. He was larger than life – too high profile for me to actually meet. But, finally, here I was. For some reason my editor had thought I was ready to report on him and I was sure not going to mess it up.
So, during the game I stood in the middle of the hallway near the locker room. I could watch on the large screen TV that had been fixed at the entrance, so I wasn’t really missing out on the action. My plan was to intercept him on his way back to the locker room after the game. Kyle Murphy was notorious for not keeping his word with reporters for interviews. He could very well change his mind. Then what was I supposed to do? Become a failure? I was determined to get this interview. It was my job and I was going to do it well.
But the whole time I stood watching the game, my brain was split in half. I could see him on the screen, taking his team to victory. He moved swiftly on the field, the cameras always remained focused on him. Even with his helmet on, even when he was being tackled, Kyle Murphy had an obnoxious smile on his face. The cameras captured the sparkle in his eye, the way his body cut through the wind as he ran.
I was watching him. That is to say, I was watching the team win. I couldn’t help but think about my dad and the look of sheer surprise he would have on his face when my interview was printed the next morning. He’d see my name, my official mugshot at the top above the article and the realization would sink in: his daughter had interviewed Kyle Murphy, the model son he wished he had. He would be in disbelief for the first few minutes that it was actually his daughter, and then he might regret all the words he had thrown at me. He might regret the passive aggressiveness he had tortured my mother with, blaming her for not presenting him with a son, for not being able to have any more children after me.
Kyle Murphy represented more than just a lucky break for me. He was going to give me the opportunity to prove to my dad that I was capable of anything. That even though I was a girl, I was way closer to the NFL than any son of his might have ever gotten.
The game had come to an end, and I could see Kyle Murphy on the screen being lauded by the crowd. Some of his teammates had lifted him up on their shoulders. He had yanked the helmet off his face, smiling and laughing for the camera. Kyle Murphy was celebrating and I was silently celebrating too, hoping that he wouldn’t forget that he had an interview to give.
Chapter Two - Kyle
That fresh after-victory feeling overcame me when I walked off the field and back towards the locker room. I have to admit – it was the biggest thrill. It was why I played the game, why I trained every day of the week, every week of the month. I pushed my body to the limit, I worked hard to stay fit and on top of the game, to be the best… because I love to win.
To hear the crowd cheer was a high, an adrenaline rush, and a reminder of all the good things in my life. Most importantly, a reminder of all the panties that were going to drop tonight. A game always charged me up for a good fuck. I needed to feel the smooth flesh of the inside of a woman’s thigh immediately after a game.
If I won, and I always won, it immediately turned me on. I don’t know how to describe it other than that it was an instant, animalistic instinct to fuck.
We had won again, my teammates thumping my back as we walked back towards the locker room. I was already scanning the cheering crowd, eyeing the people who had gathered at the entryway.
I noticed the handful of women, fans who were screaming my name. Tight asses, delicious cleavage, flowing hair, big eyes, smooth necks. Those were the first things I noticed. I was like a wolf on the prowl. I knew I could have any of them – all I had to do was give them a look.
I smiled at a few of them, and I could see it in their eyes as I passed by. They were desperate for me. I had read the papers this morning: a recent poll had revealed that I was named as “The Sexiest Man in America”. It had made me laugh that morning. Now, after the game was over, after we had run and the adrenaline was pumping through my veins, I wanted a prize. An actual prize.
One of the girls who was screaming my name, whose palm I lightly grazed before walking away, had licked her lips when our eyes met. She wanted me. I could imagine her panties getting wet. She was going to tell all her friends that I had looked at her. It made me smile. Maybe there was some way I could get her into the locker room, into my shower, bend her over and get it over with. That was the only way I could relax, the only way I could calm my nerves and enjoy the rest of the celebration with my teammates. I needed to fuck.
Then I walked into the hallway, my teammates flanking me on either side. We were like an entourage, a convoy of the most eligible bachelors in the country, who had just won another game.
But my focus had shifted already. I had seen her standing at the entrance of the locker room, and I decided almost instantly that she was going to be my catch for the night. She would do.
She could have been a reporter, or a lawyer, or an architect. The bottom line was she looked nothing like my usual screaming fans. This girl had straight glossy blonde hair that was neatly parted on the side, it was cut sharply at her shoulders. She immediately looked low maintenance, like she had barely spent any time doing her hair. She was wearing a pair of black tailored trousers and I instantly thought, “Who wears trousers to an NFL game?”
A white shirt was tucked in at the waist, and that waist was small, and the buttons on her shirt were slightly parted to accommodate for those big juicy breasts. A lanyard hung around her neck, and that was when I made up my mind. I knew she was a reporter even before she stuck her hand out in front of me.
“Kyle Murphy.” She said my name like she was informing me of it - like I might have been clueless of my name before she instructed me. I looked into her eyes. They were large, blue eyes, yet focused – like she was on a mission. She was serious about what she was about to say.
I hadn’t slowed my pace (neither had those around me) and she walked beside us, keeping her hand stuck out towards me.
“I’m Erica Lee from The Statesman,” she continued. This time I smirked at her. But unlike all my other fans, she was a tough nut to crack. I still hadn’t seen her smile or blush.
“Hello, Erica Lee,” I said and decided to shake her hand. Physical contact might get the ball rolling. Our hands met and I was instantly aware of how small and slender her hand was in mine, but I shook it nonetheless with a strong jerk. I was almost afraid that I had broken her arm.
But she looked unaffected.
“I have an interview with you. Your manager confirmed it with us this morning,” she continued, and I raised my eyebrow. Honestly, I couldn’t remember. I didn’t pay attention to half of the things that Lewis said to me, and especially not on game day! But the very fact that she was here, so close to our locker room, meant that she had been given access. It was obvious that Lewis had allowed her to try to get an interview with me.
She was still not smiling, and I was still walking. I walked straight into the locker room and she followed me. “Mr. Murphy,” she said after a few seconds of silence. Her voice was sharp, authoritative. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to me like this.
My interest in her had lain in what lay underneath those trousers and that white tucked-in shirt. But she looked like she meant business, and I wasn’t sure if that annoyed me or interested me more.
Chapter Three - Erica
“An interview?” he asked me. He had suddenly stopped in front of a locker, clearly his. I could feel my neck burning as I tried to maintain my composure. Men had started to strip right in front of me. They were all either lost in their own locker room world, or they were doing it purposely because they could see that a young, nervous girl was in the locker room with them.
Friendly curses were being flung around, towels were being wrapped around waists. Some didn’t even bother to cover their dicks. A ritualistic shower was coming up, and I felt like all these men were putting on a show.
Kyle Murphy was still fiddling around with his locker, thankfully he hadn’t started to st
rip yet.
“Yes, your manager said that you were willing to give me an interview,” I reiterated as he smiled. I noticed the white set of perfectly sparkling teeth, those green eyes which laughed along with the rest of his face. He shook his head indulgently.
“Lewis is a pain in the ass,” he said, and I could feel my hands start to get clammy. I was running out of things to say. I was getting a first-hand experience in exactly how charming Kyle Murphy could be.
“Nonetheless, he has promised us your time,” I managed to say. I had to stick to the plan. I had to remain professional. A look bordering on annoyance took over Kyle’s face. He was probably irritated that I had said that, but I wasn’t going to budge. I was going to get this interview.
“How long is this going to take?” he asked and I bit down on my lip.
“Half an hour? Forty-five minutes?” I said, trying to make it sound convincing. My attention had started to waver, though. I could see that he had started to unlace his shoes, which meant he was going to take off his clothes very soon.
“I don’t have that kind of time, Erica.” He remembered my name. He straightened his back and was back to smiling. Then I saw his eyes narrow as he glanced, in full view, directly at my breasts. I could feel my cheeks blushing.
“But there was a promise made, and I only have a couple of quick questions.” I charged through. Nothing was going to faze me. This was my career. I had points to prove to my dad.
“Quick questions?” He said it with a laugh.
“Yes, just a few questions about the game, and…” I tried to frame the words as best as I could.
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