by B. B. Hamel
“To good views,” I said.
“Cheers.”
We clinked, drank, and then I sat down. She sat next to me.
“Will I ever find out how you erased that picture from the internet?” she asked me after a short silence.
“Probably not.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Definitely not.”
She sighed. “What sort of bad things are you involved with, Bull?”
I smirked at her, sitting close. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m afraid of you,” she admitted.
“Good,” I said. “I want you to be afraid. Makes it feel better when you finally give yourself over to me.”
“What makes you think that will happen?”
“I can see it in your eyes. Every time you look at me, you look like you can’t decide whether you want to hit me or suck my cock.”
“I definitely don’t want to suck your cock,” she said.
“You do.” I finished my glass and poured another, topping hers off. “Maybe you don’t put it in those terms, but you do.”
“I guess you’d know. You’ve been with a million girls.”
“Not exactly a million,” I said, “but close.”
“So that’s all you do then? Sleep with random women and play football?”
I finished off my glass and tossed it aside. She sipped hers, cocking her head. I moved closer to her, staring at those beautiful eyes of hers, that pretty fucking face. I could see those lips wrapped around my cock, slowly sucking me dry.
“What else is there for a man who lives like I do?” I asked. “It’ll all be over for me sooner than you think.”
“Maybe, but you can do good with your position.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Everybody.”
“Everybody likes the villain story better. The media doesn’t talk about my charity.”
She paused, surprised. “You have a charity?”
I laughed, enjoying her shock. “I raise money for gambling addiction centers all over America. I’ve raised millions of dollars for them.”
“Really?”
“Really. I watched my father gamble himself into poverty and then drink himself into an early grave. I know a thing or two about addiction.”
She went quiet for a second, and I smirked at her, moving closer. Our legs were touching, and I saw her glance at me out of the corner of her eye. I could practically taste her nervous excitement.
“So the media doesn’t report on it. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Like I said, they don’t like that story. They’re only interested in my partying and my playing.”
“Maybe you are more than you seem.”
“Maybe.” I took her chin and tipped her face toward me. “Want to find out?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I think I do.”
“You might not like it.”
“I already don’t.”
I kissed her hard, and she kissed me back, wrapping her arms around my neck.
7
Charlotte
This wasn’t the Bull I thought I knew.
He was still cocky and dirty and an asshole, but there was that other level to him. Ryan had mentioned it, and now I felt like I was finally seeing it.
Bull gave money to charity, and he seemed to have some sort of code of honor, although it seemed totally barbaric.
And he was such a good kisser. Amazing chills went down my spine as Bull kissed me. I couldn’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his thick hair as I kissed him back, our lips moving together, our tongues rolling into each other’s mouths.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was in the most secluded spot imaginable with Bull, and I was actually learning things about him. I’d had no clue about his father’s gambling debts; that was something completely new that I didn’t think anyone was aware of.
I wanted to think more about my article, but I found myself getting lost in Bull’s kiss. Some small part of me wanted to pull back, knew I should cut if off before it went too far, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to stop when all I wanted was more.
He began to kiss my neck, and I heard myself let out a soft moan.
“I want that pussy right here, right above the city,” he whispered in my ear.
“Bull,” I gasped. I felt his hands slowly push my dress up along my hips. “I can’t sleep with you.”
“Who said anything about fucking?” he asked. His fingers found my soaking pussy, and part of me wished I weren’t so damn wet. Now he knew what I really wanted.
“Then what?”
“I want to taste that pussy.”
“Bull!” I gasped as his fingers deftly pulled my panties down. I stared at him as he grinned at me and then kissed me again, pressing me down onto the blanket.
His hands were shockingly skilled and gentle as his slowly found my soaking pussy. He rolled my clit with his thumb, making me squirm with pleasure, before he pressed his fingers deep inside me.
I gasped. His hands and fingers were big, like everything else on him. He pressed them deep and slowly fucked me like that with his fingers, and I kissed him feverishly.
“Shit,” I gasped as he pulled back, kissing my neck again. “Oh shit, Bull. I shouldn’t do it.”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, “otherwise I’m taking what I want.”
I moaned as he kissed down my throat, lingering on my exposed chest before slowly sliding down me.
He spread my legs open wide, and I felt so damn exposed. The city was spread out next to us as he admired my soaking pussy, a wicked grin on his face.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re just so fucking gorgeous,” he said. “I want to get a look at this dripping pussy before I suck that clit until you scream.”
“Bull!” I moaned, and he slid his fingers inside me. I gasped as he slowly lowered his mouth against my clit.
Explosive pleasure rocked my body as he began to suck and lick my clit, his fingers slowly sliding in and out of me. I couldn’t believe Bull Dixon’s mouth was slowly licking my soaking clit as his fingers worked my tight pussy, but I wasn’t going to stop it.
I was too far gone. I knew he had me exactly where he wanted me, and that thought made me so angry, but that anger only made it that much hotter as he worked my clit and fucked my pussy with his fingers.
He spread me wide, working me, and I couldn’t help but reach down and press his mouth against my pussy as pleasure rocked through my body. I’d never experienced this before, never had a man go down on my pussy like this before, but he was incredible. He sucked and licked me like he was starving for my pussy.
He moved back, his fingers continuing to fuck me deep. “Oh fuck, Bull,” I moaned. “Oh my god.”
“You taste fucking delicious,” he said. “This tight little pussy is incredible. Fuck, girl, I’m so fucking hard, but sucking your clit and making you moan is exactly what I needed.”
I gasped as he went back at it, working my pussy, rubbing my clit. His free hand spread my legs even wider, and I felt so exposed out in the middle of nowhere as Bull licked my pussy, his thick fingers sliding in and out of my pussy.
I grasped his hair and began to work my hips, pressing his mouth against me harder. I could see the city to my right spread out in front of me, but all I wanted to look at was Bull’s mouth as he worked my little clit. I could feel pleasure rocketing through my core, riding up and down my spine, rolling through my body.
I pressed his mouth harder against me, working my hips, and he responded by fucking my pussy faster with his fingers. We both knew I was close, and he was working me faster, harder, trying to get me there. I could barely hold back, barely contain myself.
Slowly, the orgasm rolled over me. I lost whatever control I had left as my body slowly twitched with pleasure, the orgasm exploding through me, rolling through my body. He grinned up at me as he
kept fucking my pussy with his fingers, encouraging my orgasm with his mouth and tongue.
As slowly as it started, it ebbed and finished. I lay back, gasping, as he grinned at me, licking me off his fingers.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “I can’t believe I did that.”
He laughed. “You didn’t do shit. You just sat back and let me do all the work.”
“That’s what I mean. I can’t think straight right now.”
“Good,” he said. “That was what I wanted, just a fucking taste of you.”
“Shit, you got more than a taste.”
“You liked coming in my mouth?”
“Bull!”
“It’s just a question.”
I looked away, blushing. He handed me my panties and I slid them back on, though they were utterly useless.
He checked his watch. “We need to get back.”
“Already?”
“We’ve been out here for an hour.”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Very serious. We need to catch the car before he leaves us stranded.” He began to put away our things, and I got up to help him.
I couldn’t believe how long we’d been out here. I doubted he’d been going down on me that whole time, but still. Time had simply melted past while I was with Bull, and I didn’t know what that meant. Maybe I was having a good time with him?
I definitely had been having a good time when his mouth was between my legs, but that didn’t count.
We took our things and headed back down the path. I followed closely behind Bull as he led the way with his flashlight.
I kept thinking about what we had done back there. I couldn’t believe I’d let him go down on me so quickly, but as soon as he kissed me, I knew I was completely screwed. I wasn’t going to back down, not when Bull Dixon was touching my body. I couldn’t say no, even though I knew I was playing such a dangerous game.
What if he figured out who I was? I couldn’t even begin to imagine that. He’d be so angry, and Bull was not the kind of man I wanted to piss off. But still, I wasn’t going to just stop seeing him, not now.
I was going to keep telling myself that this was about the story, but maybe it was about something else. Maybe it was becoming about figuring this man out, and maybe it was about the way he could make my body feel.
Bull Dixon was going to give me his secrets, and then he was going to take more of what he wanted.
8
Bull
I was drenched in sweat as I started the next set. I lifted the barbells and got to work, lifting and grunting.
It was the summer off-season, but I never really took any time off. Being a pro player was a year-round job, even if I only played for part of the year. Truth was, I needed to keep my body in shape. I couldn’t afford to let myself slip even a little bit.
I was twenty-eight years old, and that was fucking ancient for the NFL. My position in particular was rough on a man’s body, and most guys retired in their early thirties. That meant I only had a few good years left, at best, and if I wanted to remain on top, I had to push myself. When I was younger, I could get away with working out less, but as my body aged, I found that I needed to push harder and harder.
I didn’t mind that so much. I liked working hard, liked putting in the time. There was something so satisfying about a good workout, especially when you’d left everything in the gym.
It was almost as good as sex. Almost. Nothing could come close to the way I’d felt sucking on Charley’s delicious little clit as she moaned my name over and over.
I finished my set and put the weights down, smiling to myself. I kept thinking about her, again and again. She seemed so nervous, so embarrassed, and so scared, which only made me want her that much more. It was like she was afraid of me or some shit, and I couldn’t exactly figure out why.
But she wasn’t that afraid. She wasn’t exactly running away from me, not when I was pulling her panties down over her beautiful thighs and putting my tongue between her legs. She stayed nice and still for that, right up until she was going to come. I could see the wildness in her, practically taste it dripping off her pussy.
I liked wild. That shit got my cock hard. I could have pushed that night and maybe felt what it was like to sink my thick cock between her legs, but I didn’t want to rush things. She seemed hesitant, and that was fine with me. I’d gotten what I wanted when she came all over my mouth.
“You look distracted.”
I looked over at Calvin and grinned. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re not fucking admiring yourself in the mirror like always.”
I laughed. “You cocky shit. I could crush you. You know that?”
“Of course I know that, but I’m the quarterback. You can’t touch me.”
I laughed with Calvin and lifted up my weights. “All right, no more fucking around.”
“Got it.”
I went back to work. Calvin Cross was the quarterback of the Chicago Bears, and although he didn’t play on the same side of the ball, he was my closest friend. Calvin was just a down-home good guy, a southern boy from South Carolina. He had those good manners and a winning smile that the PR team fucking loved.
He was the golden boy of the NFL. He had a squeaky clean reputation, and the PR firm worked hard to keep it that way. I knew Calvin liked to party as much as any other guy, but he was a good man at heart.
Which made our friendship that much stranger. He was the good guy, the golden boy, and I was the bad boy. We weren’t supposed to be friendly, let alone close, but that didn’t matter.
Like I kept telling Charley, the media liked their stories better than they liked the truth.
We finished the next set. Calvin was breathing deeply, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Work this hard. Fuck, man, you’re two years older than me and you’re kicking my ass.”
“I’m also bigger and stronger; don’t forget that.”
“Yeah, whatever, man.”
“Come on. It may be the off-season, but if you want to keep that fucking job of yours, we better keep at it.”
“Shit, man.” Calvin gave me his nice, perfect grin. “Nobody’s taking my spot. Did you read about the contract they offered me?”
“I read about it. That shit was all over the news.”
“I heard you did okay yourself.”
I grinned. “They offered me a few dollars, sure.”
Calvin had one of the biggest contracts in the whole league. Mine was a bit smaller, but still easily in the top ten. The coaching staff did not want to lose the two of us. That was for sure.
I didn’t blame them. Calvin and I had taken the Bears to the playoffs last year, both of us posting some career-high numbers. It was like we were unstoppable, but last year was last year. Now we had to post those numbers again, or even better ones.
We finished our next set, and it was time for a break. Calvin sat down on the bench and I took a long drink of water.
“Listen, man,” he said. “There’s a party at M.O.’s place tonight. You down?”
I frowned at him. “You’re going to that guy’s spot?”
“Yeah, brother. He throws some fucking sick parties.”
“Maybe. Mine are better.”
“Of course they are. But are you throwing something tonight?”
“Nah, man.”
“Then let’s go to his place.”
“Can’t,” I said, looking away.
“What do you mean you can’t? Shit, Bull, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you turn down a party.”
Calvin had a point. Why was I saying no? It wasn’t like I had any plans for the night.
But I knew what that party would be like. More drugs, more women. The same fucking party I’d been to a hundred different times, just in a new location. The same people would be there, and the same girls, or at least they all started to look alike after a while.
Truth
was, though, I just kept thinking about Charley. The real reason I didn’t feel like going to that party was because she wasn’t going to be there, and that freaked me the fuck out.
Since when did I give a shit if some girl was going to be at a party? That wasn’t my fucking style, and yet I couldn’t really deny it to myself.
At least I could deny it to Calvin.
“First time for everything,” I said.
“You feeling okay?”
I laughed, nodding. “I feel fucking fine.” I hoisted up a weight. “You ready?”
“No,” he said, standing up, “but let’s work this out anyway.”
We got back to it, working hard, lifting and doing some short sprints on the indoor track. When we were finally finished with the workout, we went into the locker room to shower off.
On the way out of the building, Calvin stopped and checked his phone. “Shit, man, it’s already three. You sure you don’t want to come tonight?”
“I’m good,” I said. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“All right, Bull. Be good then.”
“Later.”
He headed off, and I watched him go, annoyed with myself for skipping this party for no good fucking reason. I couldn’t go soft, not over some random girl.
Just as I started walking to my car, my phone started to ring. I pulled it out of my pocket and frowned at the number before answering.
“Hello?”
“Bull,” Rafa said. “How are you?”
“I was good until you called.”
He laughed, though he didn’t sound like he thought it was funny. “Listen, I’m calling about the other night.”
“Why else would you call?”
I hated getting messages from the mob like this, but I didn’t have any other choice. My damn life was so intertwined with their organization that I didn’t know where I started and where they stopped anymore.
That was all thanks to my father. When the old man died, my mom and I found out that the old piece of shit owed a lot of money to the mafia. When they came collecting, my mother couldn’t pay them back, so I took over my father’s debt and paid them back bit by bit over the years. My last payment came the day after I got my first NFL check in the mail. That should have been the end of it, but of course it wasn’t.