by Teagan Kade
He shakes his head. “I’m up for a bit of grand theft auto as much as the next guy, but you should know better than anyone that’s not the answer. I mean, it looks like the Feds are on board now, Morgan, David… You’ve got a whole network of support you didn’t have in Vegas and we’re going to make damn sure you’re treated right from here on out.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage.
He winks. “Thank me later when I book us into the Presidential Suite at the Bel-Air for some much-needed R&R.”
“But you’ve got your final game in a few days.”
“And you’re the team masseuse, are you not?”
I can’t help but smile. “I suppose so.”
He reaches down and slowly lifts me up in his arms. “Come on. Let’s blow this place. I’m sick of this damn parking lot and I’m betting you are too.”
*
I slump into a plush sofa. “I’m stuffed.”
Chance sits beside me. “So many questions.”
“I turned your phone off, by the way. It was ringing non-stop.”
Chance smiles, looking out the windows of our hotel suite. “Yes, the press will want their fill, but they can wait. They can all wait.”
“Even the team?”
“Even the team. Besides, didn’t you see that throw I made with the Coke bottle? I’m in fine form.”
The gash above his eye is healing nicely. It’s going to scar, but I kind of like that—a permanent reminder of what he did for me. “That you are.”
I look up to the high ceilings and chandelier dwarfing the room. “How much is this place a night?”
Chance doesn’t miss a beat. “About $15K, give or take, but they gave me a special, World’s Hottest Man rate.”
I’m not even going to touch that one. “Is that a grand piano over there?”
Chance follows my gaze. “Sure is, plus Spanish courtyard, professional kitchen, dining room, Jacuzzi…”
“I take it you’ve been here before then?”
“In a former life.”
“No wonder they give you a discount.”
“Obama hooked me up, actually.”
I raise my eyebrows. “President Obama hooked you up?”
“He’s a big Cats fan, and the Bel-Air is a big Obama fan, so it all worked out in the end.”
He pulls me on top of him. “So, First Lady of my heart, shall we christen that grand piano over there?”
“I can’t play.”
The smile that falls on his face says it all. “We’ll see about that.”
And it’s on.
As soon as Chance cleans himself up, we find our way over to the piano, a trail of clothes left in our wake.
Chance sits up on the keyboard, a dissonant chord following, and smiles.
He pulls me over him. I straddle him naked, his cock sliding between my folds, the piano continuing to ring out atonally. “This is insane.”
“It is, but we’re just going to have to make it work.”
“Does this work for you?”
I lift my hips and I grab his cock, positioning it against my hole and letting myself sink down on his member. He lets out an agonized groan, no doubt pleased to be back inside my wetness, the keys tinkling out of tune.
I nibble at his ear, licking my way down his neck, his shoulder, drifting lower and lower, my breasts brushing him on the way.
“You know,” I say, lips closing around a nipple and releasing, “you can spank me if you like.”
Chance’s head snaps back. “Spank you?
“I want to try it out. Nothing serious.”
“You do?”
I’m a little embarrassed to be admitting this, but it feels better out in the open. And yes, I am keen to explore my newfound sex goddess. After my run-in with death, I’m open to damn near anything.
Chance seems momentarily stunned. “We’ve been rough before, but you sure? You really want this?”
“Yeah,” I have to admit, “I think I do.” I purr. “Maybe it’s just the animal in me.”
Chance shifts from buttock to buttock on the piano. “Can we take it to the bedroom? This seemed like a good idea, but it’s really, really fucking uncomfortable.”
I laugh. “Sure. You can have me anywhere.”
We run to the bedroom hand in hand. He jumps onto the bed on his back. I jump over him, settling onto his cock.
I lower myself beside his head, sucking his earlobe between my lips and biting down on it playfully.
“Okay.” He responds by slapping me on the ass with one hand, keeping his fingers embedded in the soft flesh, lifting it away from my body and letting it fall back into position.
The sound of the blow is still ringing through my body as we kiss, more passionately than ever, the desperation sky-high. I lift myself up and down on his cock, his hips moving to meet me, our bodies slapping wetly together.
He slaps my other ass cheek. “How does that feel?”
I snap upwards, wincing. “Good.”
I rake my fingernails down his chest, hard enough to leave trails. He grits his teeth, lines of red coming to the surface of his skin.
He grabs my ass with both hands and rolls us over until he’s on top, turning me over onto my belly and pinning me below him.
He wraps my hair around his fist, pulling my head up sharply and beginning to hammer into my backside with powerful thrusts that rock the entire bed.
Every thrust is met with an expulsion of air from my mouth, the steady beating of my heart audible in my ears.
I’m driven across the bed with every stroke, the fingers of his free hand digging into my buttocks, spreading them, taking absolutely no prisoners this time around.
He pulls tighter on my hair and I gasp, surprised at how turned on I am by the pain.
“Spank me,” I beg him, “again.”
He responds by lifting his body away enough to drive an open palm into the side of my ass, my cheeks coming wetly together and a bloom of pain fanning out from the fleeting ghost of his fingers.
It feels so fucking good, so fucking amazing I can’t squeeze anything else into my head but the primal need to procreate, to help relieve him of his seed.
I whip my hair out of his hand, jumping forward away from his cock and rolling him onto his back. I straddle him, but this time I don’t allow him to enter me.
Instead, I take his angry cock in my hand, stiff and solid to the touch.
I roll my hand over its helmet. I lather his pre-cum around it, lubricating the head of his cock before pumping his shaft with both hands. He falls back and his mouth opens, eyes closed, an expletive on his lips.
“Let me be inside you,” he pleads.
“Not yet,” I smile.
“I’m not going to be able to hold it. I—”
As I’m fisting his member, marveling at how hot and rigid it is between my hands, I whisper, teasing. “That’s a shame. I was really looking forward to you coming inside me.”
I don’t know why I’m into this power play all of a sudden. All I know is that it feels great. “What if I sucked in a little bit?”
Without warning, I bob my head over his member, lips wrapping around the head. I run my hands up his shaft to meet my lips. I drive them down to the base of him, his entire cock filling my throat. Every time I do this he seizes my hips and rises. He’s sweating profusely, his manly musk all around us.
He holds me by the hair, lifting my head away. His cock sits against his chest wet with my saliva and his own hot juices unnaturally stiff.
“Please. Jesus, please,” he gasps.
The build and anticipation is great, but I know what he wants. I finally decide to give it to him.
I fold off from his body and kneel, lowering my head to the mattress and providing him with a beautiful view of my ass and open pussy. “Don’t be gentle.”
I cannot believe I am doing this, that I’m actually being this kinky. It feels great, amazing.
“I won’t,” he replies.
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The first stroke slams me into the headboard. I’m forced to place a hand against it to steady myself as he pummels me from behind.
He drives into me to the hilt. My mouth turns into a ring at the sensation.
“You’re so wet,” he confirms, as his cock glides easily out, driving forward again to be buried deep inside me. I roll my hips back to meet his thrust. It’s effortless, natural. This is how it’s meant to be.
Every thrust is accompanied by a wet slap that rings against the walls, a powerful ripple running through my frame every time.
He spanks me lightly while he fucks me, the force of his blows building until they’re raining down on my ass in a fury.
My pussy twitches against him in expectation. I focus on the feeling of him inside me, the mass of his hard body falling against me, seeking out new and uncharted areas of my body.
His fingers find my clit, circling, teasing me, his cock sliding in and out as I come. A silent scream of rapture claws at my throat, my body shaking and convulsing savagely from the force of the orgasm.
His own follows. He lurches forward. I’m dimly aware of his cum pumping hot into my body, pulsing and collecting there as my passage milks him of every last, pearly drop. He collapses against me, his cock coming free.
“Whoa,” he says. “That was something else.”
“Whoa,” I confirm, ass raw. “What do we do now?”
*
Even when Morgan got involved, the FBI’s official line on whether or not they used me as bait always resulted in a firm “no comment.” I got over it. I had to.
The press wanted their fill, and they got it, but Chance and Morgan shielded me from the worst of it, made sure I was paid and treated accordingly.
As for the two brothers, they’re unlikely to be seeing daylight in a long time. They testified, helping put more scumbags away back in Vegas. I’m not an idiot. I know they could come after me again, but they won’t, especially after the client who I originally turned down was found dead, throat slit from ear to ear.
“You seem a lot better.”
Chance shifts under my hands on the massage table. “Only because you’re a miracle worker.”
“Not many men are gifted with their own personal masseuse, you know.”
I can hear the din of the crowd roaring above, keen to get Super Bowl LI underway.
“Did I say I was complaining?” says Chance.
“You can say whatever you like. Your body tells me all I need.”
“How’s that?” he laughs.
I reach between his legs and take hold of his cock. It responds immediately in the bear trap of my fingers. “Like this.”
“And what’s it telling you?”
“That it wants some attention.”
“Before game time?”
I have to laugh. “And when has that ever stopped you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHANCE
Super Bowl—this is it, the pinnacle of American sports. Yeah, it’s become a little corporate—hasn’t everything?—but this is where heroes are made. I’m ready to forge my legacy. I’m ready to become the greatest quarterback of all time.
There’s less than twenty seconds on the clock and we’re down. Your average league player would fold under the pressure, but I have something they do not. I have fucking perspective. When you’ve been through the fucking hell I have, when you’ve faced down death, a pack of beefy guys in bright colors really isn’t a concern. All I have to do is run, and I’m really fucking good at running.
I collect the ball and pause to signal Sam in the stands. I know she’s watching, heart in her throat. Here’s your razzle-dazzle, baby.
Madness! I hear them thinking. You can’t stop and play lover-boy in the middle of a play, but when I’m with Sam it’s like I’ve got all the time in the world.
Game face, Adams.
I hunker down and start the play. At the end of a game like this I should be exhausted, but I’m elated, running on air. I see the defenders coming a mile away, find an open line like it was marked out with a fucking highlighter.
I feel fingers brushing the back of my shoes as another defender dives for the tackle, but not today, my friend, not today.
I breathe it in—the turf, the sweat, the alkaline burn of the lights as they bear down, the sound of one-hundred-thousand people on the edge of their seats, to say nothing of the millions glued to their televisions and radios, a nation frozen in wait.
That pressure should crush me, but instead it carries me right into the end zone.
I drive the ball home with a second left on the clock.
The stadium erupts. I’m driven to the ground by teammates. That’s three in a row, a feat I’m hoping will remain unmatched for some time. I mean, I’m twenty-six, but maybe it’s time to settle down a little before I do real damage.
David pulls his helmet off and slaps me on the back. “You had me worried there, Gunner.”
I wave it off. “We had it in the bag, but these people came out here for a show, didn’t they?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit. That was dodgy as shit and you know it.”
I look to where Sam is seated. “All I know is that I want to see Sam.”
He slaps me on the ass, the cheeky prick. “Off you go then. Don’t let me hold you back.”
I spin around and point at him as I run. “I hope your wife didn’t see that.”
“She knows which way I swing.”
“Does she?”
“Hey, what happens in the Corps…
“…Stays in the Corps,” I finish. I turn smiling and continue to run for the stands.
Morgan runs beside me puffing. “We won, asshole. You can stop running.”
“You’re out of shape, old man.”
But he’s still smiling. “Hell of a game, wouldn’t you say?”
“We can discuss my new salary tomorrow,” I tease.
I pick up the pace and he falls back. “We’ll see, son. We’ll see.”
As I approach, I see Sam still seated trying to remain as invisible as possible. I’ve tried my best to get the press to leave her alone following what happened, but it’s proven to be an impossible task, so fuck it. If you can’t hide it, flaunt it.
I stop at the wall and hold my hands up. “Come on down,” I beam.
She’s smiling. “I can’t.”
Her girlfriends from her old apartment block insist. “Go!” they plead, lifting her from her seat and helping her down over the barrier. “Go on.”
Sam slips and falls, but I catch her in my arms and place her on her feet. “Like I said, I’ve got you.”
We kiss, Sam settling into it and the roar growing around us as the kiss is shown on jumbo-tron. Horns go off. There’s screaming and catcalling, more people stopping to congratulate me, but I only have time for Sam.
I hold her face in my hands. Hidden by the curtain of her hair, I place my forehead against hers and breathe her in.
“You smell,” she says.
“Like man-sex, right?”
She looks at me quizzically. “I don’t think that came out quite like you meant it.”
“Maybe not, but I think there’s room for two in the shower back home.”
“Back home? What about your fans, your team? You should celebrate.”
“There’s only one person I want to celebrate with.”
She kisses me again before pushing me away. “Go on. Have some fun. I’ll be waiting.”
My teammates pick me up and start to carry me around the stadium.
Sam, the love of my life, stands there waving, her friends cheering above.
I’m on top of the world. Things finally feel together, like they should, like this is what happiness can be.
It’s a solid hour before the crowd starts to thin out and I can escape from the masses. I collect Sam and walk her hand-in-hand to the Mustang, helping her into the passenger seat.
I get in and suddenly the world
is quiet. There are no screaming fans in here, no drunken horn-blowing. It is, blissfully, just Sam and me.
“It’s really quiet in here, isn’t it?” she muses.
“Not for long.” I turn the key, the engine rumbling to life, eager to get home and into the shower, the bed, onto the kitchen table… wherever. “Where to?”
“How about Hawaii?” she replies.
I raise an eyebrow. “Hawaii? I don’t think Mustang’s waterproof, sorry.”
“No, I mean I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii, go to Oahu and Diamond Hill. It was the last place my parent’s visited before…”
I reach over and take her hand. “You want to go to Hawaii, we’ll go to Hawaii.” I start to drive off. “Just let me get some more gas first.”
ONE MONTH LATER
Huuuuuhhhhh. The ship’s horn blows, the sun bright overhead and the heatwave that gripped the city long gone to be replaced with its familiar, mild clime. It’s been perfection, actually, and no, I’m not just talking about the weather.
Sam spins around. “I can’t believe we’re about to set sail.”
“Wait until you see the suite.”
“Does it have a bed?”
“Considering what it cost, I sure as hell hope so.”
She presses up against me. “Good, because that’s all I need—you and somewhere to sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”
It’s hard to believe another season is over, not that my mind’s been that occupied with football given recent events.
“Everything okay?” Hand on my cheek, Sam turns me towards her.
I smile down into her almond face, glancing up at the cruise ship docked behind her. “A fourteen-night cruise to Hawaii with the hottest girl in the world? I’d say that’s okay.”
She kisses me, forced up onto her toes to do so. I return it, holding her waist, and really wish we weren’t here on the dock with a couple of thousand other passengers so I could have my way with her. Soon enough, my friend. Soon enough.
“Look at you two lovebirds.”
It’s David and his wife Sarah.
I break away and embrace him. Sam does likewise with Sarah, the two of them becoming close in the weeks gone by.
“Where are the girls?” I ask.
The two of them exchange a look only a married couple could come up with. “Thank god for grandparents,” Sarah replies, squeezing David’s hand.