Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  I arch my back and thrust my chest out towards him, gasping as his mouth sucks at my sensitive nipples; “Th- that’s all you’ve been waiting five years to do?” I moan out, biting my lip as my hands running up the muscles of his arm. He answers with his hand sliding up the inside of thigh, and I whimper as he pushes my conservative skirt up around my waist as his fingers find my heat.

  “No, Princess,” He says with heat in his voice as he brings his head up to stare into my eyes; “That is far from the only thing I’ve wanted to do to you for the last five fucking years.”

  He growls as his fingers slide beneath the edge of my soaking wet panties and slide through my folds. “God, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he husks into my lips, and I gasp, my hands clutching at his arm muscles as he pushes a finger inside. I kiss him with a ferocity as I feel him curl his finger inside of me, stroking that special place just inside and making me whimper and moan for him. No one has ever spoken to me like that before, and the barbaric animalism of it has me desperate for more.

  “Take off your shirt for me,” he says thickly, punctuating his words with a curl of his finger.

  “Jesus, are you always this bossy?” I say with a grin as I begin to pull the torn blouse from my shoulders.

  “Bossy?” He pulls back from lips with hungry grin on his face; “Princess, I have not even begun to show you bossy.”

  I gasp as he pulls his fingers from my center and spins me around suddenly, pushing me right up against the stone railing.

  “Bend over,” He growls out deeply, sending a chill down my spine.

  “What? Hudson-”

  “I said bend over.”

  And I’m doing it. I’m holding onto the stone and bending over for him, arching my ass out towards him and almost not even being able to handle how much it turns me on that he’s bossing me around like this. I’m not one to take orders, but listening to him has me wetter than anything. His hands on are on my hips, pushing my skirt up around my waist as he hooks his fingers into the waist of my panties. I shiver as he yanks them down over my ass, pulling them off my hips and down to my knees as he kneels behind me. But my surprise quickly turns to pleasure though as I feel his mouth on my pussy. I moan and grab tightly to the railing as his tongue pushes deep inside of me, and I can feel the reverberations through my whole body as he growls into me.

  He licks and eats me like a starving man, his hands grabbing tightly to my ass and pulling me against his face as he slides his tongue through my wetness. When he wraps his lips around my clit and flicks his tongue across it, it takes everything I have not to scream out over the whole estate. My hand is sliding across my breasts, pulling on my nipples as I whimper and moan and push myself back against his tongue. I know somewhere deep inside that we shouldn’t be doing this, or that someone could walk in and see us. But when he sucks my clit hard between his lips and slides a finger deep inside me, us not doing this is very quickly the very last thing on my mind.

  I want all of him; right here where we came so close before. I want to feel him slide that hard cock deep inside of me and fuck me right here, and I want to cry out his name without a care in the world about who hears as I come for him. I try to pull away from him, to draw off the sensation and wait, but his strong hands hold me firmly in place and his tongue and his finger only get more insistent. And when I hear him moan into my pussy, as if the sheer act of tasting me is so erotic to him that he can’t help but let go, it’s too much, and I explode. I bite down hard on my hand, the pain lancing through me almost heightening the pleasure as I come against his mouth. And as the white moon shines down on us hidden away on our terrace, I fucking scream his name into my hand as my whole body just shatters with the pure release.

  15

  Hudson

  P A S T

  “This is fucking impossible.” I slam the laptop shut, my eyes blurred from the rows and rows of spreadsheets I’ve been staring at.

  “What’s impossible?” Bryce looks at me coolly from across the office; always so calm, always so precise with his emotions in a way that I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to be.

  “This,” I say, flipping the bird to the laptop in front of me.

  Bryce chuckles; “Mind over machine, Hudso-”

  “I’m not a fucking accountant, man.” I growl at him, standing to walk over towards the big windows looking out over the river that bears my name; or the opposite, I guess. “I mean we’re soldiers, Bryce. This?” I turn, pulling at the lapels of a suit that costs more than I used to spend on food in a year as I shake my head at him; “This isn’t us man. What the fuck was he thinking putting us in charge of shit like this?”

  Bryce is quiet, looking at me pointedly in that zen way he does that’d be infuriating if he wasn’t my brother; “No one ever said you were an accountant, Hudson.”

  “Ok, then what do you call looking at numbers all fucking da-”

  “I call it problem solving.”

  I arch my brow at him; “Excuse me?”

  “Problem solving. You’re not ‘being an accountant’, Hud, you’re looking for problems and finding solutions, which is what you’re good at.”

  I laugh; “You’ve met me, right?” I shake my head; “Dude, I am the problem most of the time.”

  “Ok, who figured out how to get us past that roadblock on the Chinese border?”

  I roll my eyes; “It’s called bribing, Bry-”

  “Who got us out of that detention center in Cairo after all that shit went down where they were going to sell us to the State Department?”

  “Oh, you mean the shit that went down because of me?”

  He rolls his eyes; “Somalia, Angola, the DRC; dude, you’ve saved our butts like two dozen times, and it’s because you know how to think your way out of a box.”

  “Bryce, you’re don’t know what you’re-”

  “Oh fuck off, Hudson.” He stands and walks over to the window; “When will you just admit to yourself that you’re a whole new man, and that the fuck-up you were died back there in the desert?” He looks at me with cool, stony eyes; “And when will you just learn how to take a fucking compliment, man?”

  P R E S E N T

  We’re back inside the house camped out on opposites sides of the sofa in the library looking out over the moon-lit grounds of her father’s house. If I had my way, she’d be on my lap, and preferably naked, instead of four feet away across the giant expanse of couch. But I know she’s right that we need to maintain distance; I know what this can’t look like. Of course, being this close to her when I can still taste her on my tongue is driving me nine different shades of crazy, and I shift again uncomfortably as my cock presses rock hard against my pants.

  She’s glowing in the im moonlight streaming in through the windows; her whole face lighting up in a way I’ve seen so rarely since walking back into her life as she grins at me from the other end of the sofa; “So, is that what you do to all the young female politicians that Archer Holdings funds?”

  “Oh, absolutely” I say with a totally straight face; “Although most of them don’t try and yank my hair out by the roots when they come on my tongue.”

  I can see the shade of red her face goes even from here, and even through the white light of the moon as she rolls her eyes; “Dick.”

  “Oh, is that what you were after?” I’m teasing her, but I shrug and start to reach for my zipper.

  “Hudson!” She hisses, her eyes darting to the wide open library doorway before her concerned look drops back to me and she sees the smirk on my face. “Asshole,” she says with a wry grin. She swings her feet up into the couch as she turns to face me; “So that’s how you used to get all those girls you’d parade around with? Just whip out the fishing rod and see what bites?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.” The banter is making me grin, and I can see her roll her eyes as she tries to hide the flash of smile on her face. “Of course, it helps to have a big rod.” I say with a sly wink, and I love seeing her face instantly
get even redder as she buries it in her hands.

  “Well, I wouldn’t know.” She says primly; mock sophistication in her voice.

  I arch an eyebrow at her and she bites her lips and rolls her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about walking in on me in the bathroom; “I mean I wouldn’t know what it feels like.”

  “But you’re dying to, right?”

  My hand slides over her foot and up to her calf, and I can hear her sharp intake of breath; “Mayb-”

  “There you are!” Reagan jerks her feet away from me at the sound of Donald’s voice behind us as if she’d just had them in hot coals. I frown as I see her relaxed body instantly stiffen back to formal, political Reagan.

  “Goddamnit Reagan,” Donald grumbles, storming into the room towards us; “It is not ok to just walk away from mingling with those types of people like that; it sends a bad message.” He glares at me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to suss out why it is Reagan is here alone with me in the dark library.

  Good thing you didn’t come knocking fifteen minutes ago, dick, I think to myself.

  “What, ‘those type of people’ like Chet Kennedy?” Reagan rolls her eyes as she stands and smooths out her skirt; “I have far more important things to worry about than what dipshits like him think of m-”

  “Dammit we talked about this Reagan!” Donald fumes; “I don’t care if Chet Kennedy is literally Adolf Hitler; he tests amazingly well with your target demographic.”

  I can see her tensing up, the laid-back and relaxed Reagan of five minutes ago gone as she frowns; “So, what, are you trying to pimp me out for ratings, Donald?”

  “You better believe it.”

  She stares at him for a second before she shakes her head in disgust; “Fuck you.” She whirls on her heel and storms out of the room.

  “Jesus, Donald,” I mutter, standing as well and glowering at him; “I mean she hates the guy-”

  “You know, Hudson,” Donald interrupts, his eyes narrowing at me; “I see what you’re doing, and you’re not going to ruin this for me.”

  I furrow my brow; “For you?”

  “For the campaign.” He mutters, but I know what he means, and it puts me instantly on edge; “We both want the same thing for the campaign, Hudson.”

  “For Reagan, you mean.”

  He shrugs; “A campaign is a campaign; I’d have figured a big important business man like yourself would understand that,” he says with a sneer. “Reagan makes a great figurehead for that campaign, but it’s the run that’s important here.”

  “You mean it doesn’t matter if she wins or not, as long as the campaign is good?” My voice starts to rise as I shake my head in disgust at him. Because then you become the next wizard campaign manager for putting a twenty three year old girl up for a New York Senate seat and running a ‘good campaign’, even if she doesn’t win.

  “I don’t expect one of William’s army buddies to understand.”

  “Marines, dick.”

  Donald shakes his head; “Regardless, it’s nothing you’d understand. If Archer Holdings wants to finance the campaign, that’s great. And if they think you need to somehow protect her like some sort of bodyguard, fine, I’m even ok with that too.” He frowns and takes another step towards me before he sticks his finger out and pokes me in the chest; “But if you think there’s anything else for you here, I’m here to tell you that you are sorely mistaken.”

  “Fuck you, Donald.”

  “Look, you’re here to protect an investment, right?” He frowns at me again; “So do your fucking job. ‘Protect the investment’ doesn’t mean suddenly deciding you know more about running a candidate than I do, ok?”

  “You’re pushing her too hard.”

  “She’ll adapt and she’ll mold into what she needs to be.”

  I shake my head at him and his mechanical robot answers; “Jesus, Donald; are you fucking serious?”

  “Hudson, this isn’t the first time I’ve helped a trust-fund kid play politics you know.”

  I can feel my temper start to rage inside, my hands clutching at my side; “We both know she’s a lot more than that.”

  Donald just shrugs; “Look, I get it. She’s beautiful, charismatic, magnetic; she’s William’s daughter - I mean really Hudson, I get why you’re following her around like you are.” For a moment I bristle; suddenly wondering if Donald actually knows what’s going on between Reagan and I. “I mean I’m glad you’ve decided to be her friend like you’ve been-” whew, guess not “- and that’s exactly the kind of attraction we’re working for her target demographic.” He looks at me shrewdly; “Don’t fool yourself though, Reagan has an angle here, and that angle is to get elected, not be your pal.”

  “Donald, the only one playing shadow angles here is you.” I growl, feeling my jaw tense.

  He shrugs; “Look, you want to help her? Keep her locked down; keep her focused on what she needs to do.” He starts to walk out of the room before he pauses and turns at the door; “Stick to the plan, Hudson.” And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in this dark library full of ghosts and questions and my own shattered thoughts.

  16

  Reagan

  P A S T

  “Well I think it’s awesome,” Chelsea says, sipping on her coffee.

  “Thanks. I mean it’s just a low-level position for the campaign, but he’s a pretty strong incumbent, so it’ll be great experience to work for his office.”

  Chelsea grins, “Dad would’ve loved that you’re getting into politics you know.”

  “Not why I’m doing it, but fine.” I mutter.

  Chelsea huffs and slaps her hand down hard on the bench we’re camped out on in Central Park; “Ok, honestly, when are you going to let all of that go?”

  I scowl and look away from her; “What does it matter?”

  “It matters because it’s not healthy to keep letting it eat away at you like that! Ok, fine, we get it! Dad worked a lot, and he missed some stuff, and you’re mad about it!”

  “Are you not?” I snap at her.

  “We all have regrets, Reagan, but no, I’m not mad at him for working hard, or for Mom dying so young.”

  I look away again, wordless and angry.

  “He did what he could-”

  “Well it wasn’t good enough, now was it!?”

  Chelsea’s face tightens as she holds my furious look and shakes her head; “He’s dead, Reagan; you think you can get around to forgiving him now anyways?”

  P R E S E N T

  Donald is talking about polling points, or something to do with “provisional budgeting,” but I’m honestly not even hearing a word he says. It’s hardly been a handful of hours since what happened back at the house in Greenwich, and while we might be back in the City, my mind is still right back there on that balcony, watching my breath crystalize in the chill of the air as Hudson’s hot mouth devours me-

  “Reagan!”

  I snap out of my fantasy to see Donald shaking his head and snapping his fingers at me, Erika tut-tuting behind him like some sort of angry schoolmarm.

  “I need you to be here, Reagan,” He huffs, his face red; “If you’d rather daydream though, let me know now and I’ll quit wasting my time with this damn campaign.”

  I want to snap at him, but in all honestly, I know he’s right. We are way too deep into this campaign for me to be slacking off like this and letting myself be carried away by distractions. Fuck, is that what he is? I mean everything that we said back there at the house was so nakedly honest, and so real, and God did it feel real when his tongue slid into my pussy like that. But, Goddamnit, no! How fucking stupid am I to get involved with Hudson Banks of all freaking people! Never mind the past; the fact that he works for my largest campaign contributor, which I’m already going to get shit for sharing the same name with, is another huge blaring warning sign! I can’t even imagine the shit-storm my run would find itself in if the papers got ahold of the juicy tidbit that I was fucking my campaign contributor!


  Well, not fucking yet. Yet; which means there’s still time to end this. I can stop this train wreck now right here before it goes any further; before the risk gets any bigger to the campaign, and to me. There’s too much at stake here, and it’s just not worth it.

  Now, if I could just convince myself of that.

  “I’m here, I’m sorry Donald.” I let the air out through pursed lips; “Honestly, I think I’m just tired and worn out from the day. You guys mind if we break here so I can go take a shower?”

  Donald grumbles but nods as I stand; “Just be ready to hit this tomorrow, ok? You’ve got that interview in the morning, the other one later after lunch, and then the gala event with Congressman Kennedy in the evening.”

  “I will.” Because tomorrow, I’m nipping this in the bud with Hudson and putting an end to the distractions.

  “Ooo! Don’t forget to use that facial scrub I got you! Reagan!” Erika say something else about cucumbers and tea-tree oil as I roll my eyes and leave them in the conference room.

  The hotel we’re staying at in Midtown is exactly the kind of campaign expense I don’t particularly enjoy, even though I know it’s all part of the pageantry of the race. I’ve tried to tell Donald a million times that it’s ridiculous for me to be staying here, seeing as I live barely ten blocks away, but he’s insisted that at this point in my campaign, I need a “headquarters”.

  Right; what I need is a stiff drink to give me the courage to figure out what I’m going to say to Hudson. I pause for just a second outside his door, almost tempted to knock on it and just rip the band-aid off right then, but I stop myself, of course. Tightening the fist I was about to pound on his door with, I walk into my own room and close the door mercifully behind me.

  I feel a shiver as I strip off my clothes in the bathroom, still feeling the lingering graces of his touch on my body as I turn on the water. I still have no idea what I'm going to say to him, but I'm bracing myself to do it anyways; it’s the only realistic thing to do at this point.