Romance: Young Adult Romance: The Perfect Game (A Highschool Football Romance) (Bad Boy Nerd New Adult Romance)

by White, Stella

  3

  The next morning we got moving quickly. We drove a half hour with her dressed in the same dress she had on the night before, but we stopped at one of those big department stores and bought her a few outfits. She took me into the changing room with her, and tried on each outfit, teasing me when she undressed. She came to me in her bra and panties near the end, kissed me, and then dropped to her knees and blew me. Once again she sucked me dry and swallowed it all.

  Driving in the car with her, heading further away from the city, further away from Brighton Beach, life somehow began to feel normal. This woman, she seemed to love me, as crazy as it sounded. I had to keep reminding myself that she had been trained for that. She had been beaten probably and brainwashed to love whatever man bought her. I was sure she knew I wanted to help her, and maybe that made her love me even more. But driving, listening to the radio, having her grab my hand and hold onto it, it felt real, it felt like a better life than I should know.

  I had girlfriends, a lot of plastic bimbos drew to the money and danger. I was a real bad boy, and it attracted some very pretty girls. Beautiful even. But shallow, and fake. I had never married anyone, never come close. Just chicks I fucked, in and out of my bed, their beds, across the back of my couch.

  Chloe was different. Somehow. I almost forgot what I had done the night before. Buying her. Mr. Black was pissed; I knew it. He would want me dead. Driving with Chloe, I finally made up my mind. I would kill him first. And anyone else who stood in the way of me making sure Chloe was happy and getting her back home.

  We stopped in a town called Barley. It was four hours upstate from New York City. Small and charming, we were there just after lunch time. We stopped first at a small diner, both of us starving. We sat in a booth and ate hamburgers and fries, and sucked down milkshakes.

  There was a motel and a nicer hotel there, but we learned of cabins in some woods not far from the main road and drove there instead. I paid with cash of course and used a fake name. We went into the cabin together, and didn’t leave for three days, save a trip on the first day to a small grocery store down the road.

  We didn’t leave the bed much, day and night blending together in orgasmic bliss. Finally, as the Sun fell on the third day at the cabin, I showered and came out to tell Chloe I was leaving. I had expected us to be found by then, but I had been careful not to leave a trail, and I had done pretty well.

  “You’re going?” Chloe asked me before I could even speak. She was lying in bed, naked, the bedsheet covering her lower half, her magnificent breasts.

  “How did you know?” I asked her.

  “I can see it in your eyes. In the way, you stand.”

  “If I don’t go, there are men who will never leave you alone. Never. They’ll never let you get home.”

  The young woman nodded, and then she smiled sadly. She looked at me, and in the evening light that came streaming through the bedrooms windows, I could see tears filling her eyes.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” she said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m married,” she said, and my heart sank. “Back in Greece. I’m married. Less than a year before I was taken. We were on our honeymoon, we had to go late because of his job, we finally went. A cruise. We stopped… and I was taken, and… brought here… for this.”

  I nodded. “I can get you back to your husband. But I’m going to have to do this. I have to make sure these men, the men who brought you here, I have to make sure they can’t find you. Or us.”

  She nodded. She looked as though she had more to say, and I was sure I did too, but neither of us spoke. I filled a backpack I had bought at the local grocery store with the guns I had brought from my apartment and ammo. I took a bit of money, and then I faced her once more.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of days,” I said. “Don’t answer the door.”

  She stood, letting the sheet fall away, coming to me nude. She wrapped her arms around me, and we kissed. “Be safe,” she said, and I nodded. “Come back to me.” I nodded again, and then it was time to leave.

  I drove through the night back to the city. Mr. Black was first on my list. I knew where he would be; he owned a strip club in Brighton Beach, and he spent most nights there. I parked a block away and took time to prepare myself. I slid a handgun into the back of my waistband and pulled the backpack on. I had two larger guns in there, a shotgun fully loaded with extra shells, and a submachine gun with three extra clips. I climbed out of my car and took a deep breath.

  A fat bouncer named Reuben was working the door. He worked for the club, but not for Mr. Black, in the sense that he wasn’t a criminal, even if I was sure he was aware of what sort of man the guy who owned the club was. If he knew I was in trouble with my old boss, he didn’t show it.

  “Peter, what’s up?” The fat man asked.

  “Hey Reuben,” I said and shook his hand as I stepped by.

  “Boss man is upstairs if you need him,” he said, and I nodded.

  The inside of the club was pounding music and pink and blue lights. A skinny brunette with giant tits was dancing on the main stage, a ring of horny men sitting around it, flashing green bills as she came near. I passed by the bar, where Samantha, a good looking blonde who tended gave me a smile and a wave. I managed to smile back.

  Near the back of the club, there was a set of metal stairs, which led up to a second-floor office. I started up the steps and reached for the door handle. Just before I could open the door, someone pulled it open from the other side, and I found myself face to face with Vlad. His eyes widened in shock. Time seemed to slow down.

  “You idiot,” the man said to me. He had a gun on the inside of his jacket, I could see the handle sticking out a bit, but he didn’t go for it.

  “Get out of here,” I said a stern warning. I liked Vlad, and he was just a low life grunt, like me. Or at least, like I used to be. Then, standing on those stairs, I felt different. I wasn’t the man I had been just a week before. But my beef wasn’t with Vlad. He wasn’t the one in charge. I didn’t want to kill him, not if I didn’t have to.

  “He’s going to kill you, kid,” Vlad said to me, shaking his head. He looked at me, and I could see concern in his eyes.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I snarled. “Now get out. Don’t come back tonight.”

  Vlad seemed to weigh his choices mentally. Finally, he nodded and pressed his hand on my shoulder as he passed. I let out the breath I hadn’t been aware that I was holding, and opened the door.

  Mr. Black’s office was large and open, with some couches and chairs at one end, and his desk at the far end. I had my gun out of my pants before I had stepped all the way through the door. One man stood beside the door. A grunt, like me, but I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, so I beat him to the punch. I pressed the barrel of my handgun to his side and pulled the trigger. The bang was deafening, and the man fell. The music was so loud downstairs that I was sure no one in the club had heard anything.

  Mr. Black was at his desk, his cell phone to his ear. He looked across the room, and his eyes widened. Another man sat on a couch nearby, reading a magazine, an automatic rifle lying across his lap. He tossed the magazine aside and went to swing the rifle towards me, but I aimed and fired, and my bullet took him in the head, and he slumped to the side, dead.

  “This is not wise,” Mr. Black said as I stalked near him, my handgun trained at his head.

  “Keep your hands up,” I said. I knew he had a shotgun in a special slot constructed on the bottom side of his desk. He held his hands up.

  “So you fell for a woman. No harm, no foul. Bring her back; I can make it right.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t make that right. It isn’t right. I respected you. I thought you were better.”

  Mr. Black laughed. “You knew exactly what I was. You are a fool if you think I wouldn’t do anything I could to make a bit more money.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Worthy what
?”

  “You’re life.”

  “Come now boy,” Mr. Black laughed. “We both know you won’t kill me.”

  “I want to know who set it up? Who got you into it?”

  Mr. Black shook his head.

  “I won’t tell you a thing,” he said. I was standing next to him then, and I put my gun against his leg. “Idle threats,” he said. I pulled the trigger.

  He yelled out, reaching down and covering the ragged hole I had just blown into his thigh.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “David Ramos,” Mr. Black said. I knew the name. I put my gun to my old boss’ head and ended his wretched life.

  I went back out to my car, quickly. There was a chance no one would find Mr. Black or his two dead stooges until the end of the night when someone would go see why he hadn’t come out yet. That was if Vlad didn’t attempt to return sooner. I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

  I knew David Ramos. He lived in New York and had his fingers in every illicit thing you could think of, up and down the East coast. He was a big man, muscular and strong with a thick neck and biceps as big as my thigh. I didn’t care. I was going to kill him.

  I had to do some digging to find him, though. I hit up some old friends, guys in the business but who worked for other bosses. I found out I was on everyone’s lips. Mr. Black had put it out to find me and kill me. Ramos was backing him up. Ramos was the man in charge of the slavery ring, and he was embarrassed in front of the other bosses. He wanted me dead as much as Mr. Black had.

  It took some doing, but as the Sun was rising, I had him. I had tracked him down to a high-rise building in the center of times square. It would be tough; I knew that much. Ramos would have ten men, twenty even, protecting him. My boss had been big time, but Ramos made him look ridiculous. I got into an elevator on the ground floor, and headed for the penthouse apartment, at the very tip of the building. It was a long ride, and I got prepared for what I was about to do. There was a chance I wasn’t going to make it. I would fail. There was a chance, but I felt good about my odds. I had rage and anger on my side. I had Chloe. The elevator stopped, the doors slid open with a ding, and I thought of her as I lifted my shotgun up.

  4

  I had told Chloe that I would be a couple of days, but I returned to her almost twenty-four hours after I had left. She was in the living room, wearing one of my tee shirts and boy shorts which hugged her ass. I came in, my shirt splattered with blood, most of it not my own. I had a busted lip, and a bullet had grazed my arm, but I had given way worse than I had gotten.

  The young woman came to me as soon as I unlocked and opened the door, and she wrapped her arms around me. I thought she would speak, or I thought I would, but she pressed her lips to mine, and I kissed her instead, wincing as pain shot through my busted lip, but not willing to stop our kiss.

  My arms went around her, and when she was sure I was in a position to support her weight she lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped her legs around my waist. Her panty clad crotch was pressed against my own, and immediately my dick began to pulse and grow rigid.

  I thought about carrying her up the wooden stairs to the bedroom, but we never got that far. The Cabin was cozy, two small floors, but it was private enough, and I just took two steps to the couch before turning and sitting, so she was on my lap. She giggled as we kissed, and wriggled a bit, grinding against my manhood.

  My fingers pulled her shirt up and over her head, and I buried my face in her breasts as she was wearing no bra. My lips found a nipple, my tongue flicked it back and forth, my teeth nibbled softly. She groaned and moaned, her head tilted back.

  She climbed off me and lowered herself to her knees before me. Her fingers were slow, her move delicate as she unbuttoned my pants and pulled them off along with my shoes and socks. She left me in my boxer briefs for a moment, my cock hard and evident. She planted kisses on my inner thigh, then switched to the other.

  Finally, she gave my boy some attention, reaching a slender hand up the leg of my underwear and gripping my dick. She amused herself by sliding my cock out through the same leg of my boxer briefs, and then took me into her mouth.

  Chloe gave the best head in the world. I had already gotten to know that. She was perfect. She built to the right speed, applied the right pressure with her hand. She gripped me at the base of my cock and held me where she wanted me, her lips and tongue and mouth handling the rest. When I could almost take no more, I forced her to stop and moved her to the couch.

  I reached up and pulled her panties off. She was nude now, and she smiled as she watched me look up and down her body. I loved every inch of it. I sent my fingertips up and down, from her toes to her forehead. Then I used my hands to part her legs and buried my face in her pussy. She smelled great and tasted better. I lapped at her pink slit, and she gave me plenty to lap up, her pussy wet and warm.

  My cock was aching to be inside her, so I didn’t make him wait any longer. I got up off of my knees and then positioned her, so she was facing away from me, knees on the cushion of the couch, arms on the back. I slid into her tight pussy, pushing until I had nothing left to give, and then pulling back.

  “No one has had my ass,” she whispered, and looked to me over her shoulder. I didn’t need to be told twice. I pulled my slick cock from her, and then spread her ass cheeks with both hands. Her butthole was tight, and I rubbed the head of my cock against it until she opened up and I could slide in. If her pussy was tight, her asshole was like nothing I had ever felt. She groaned and bent her head forward, burying her face in the back of the couch. I knew she was in pain, but she reached between her legs and began rubbing her own clit, and I knew she was enjoying it as well.

  She came right before I did. Biting into the couch cushion and screaming. I had my hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them, groping them, leaving red lines in her tanned flesh. She must have known I was about to come, because she called to me once more, turning her head over her shoulder.

  “Come in my pussy,” she moaned. “Please.”

  Looking back, I wondered if she knew. Up to that point, I hadn’t come in her before. I had always pulled out, plastered her face, or sent stringy white strands of cum over her big tits. But now, I pulled my cock out of her ass and shoved forward into her pussy, just as my cock jumped, and I came. I threw my head back and arched my hips, and sent all I had into her. When I pulled out, she stayed like that for a minute, back to me, on the couch, and I saw a bit of my come leak from her gushing pussy.

  We went to sleep after that. We woke up in the morning, and we knew things had changed. We kissed, but we didn’t fuck, and we didn’t make love.

  “I’m safe?” She asked me over breakfast, simple bowls of cereal.

  I nodded.

  “Are you?”

  “I think so,” I said with a grin.

  “So I can go back?”

  I sighed and nodded.

  “I love you,” she said. “I do.”

  “I know,” I said. “I love you too. But… you don’t belong here. You aren’t mine.”

  Chloe smiled to me, it was sad and sweet and filled with longing. “I am yours. You bought me.”

  “Two days later I saw her off at an airport in Boston. She was headed home. I stood for a long time after she had gone, watching the planes land and take off through a large window which overlooked the tarmac. I knew I would never forget my bought bride.

  *****

  THE END

  STUDENT TEACHER Romance – Professor London

  ''Screw this lock,'' Peter said, taking the key out to make sure it wasn't bent. ''Screw this apartment, screw this area, screw the whole world.'' He put down the bottle of wine he'd bought a few minutes earlier and inserted the key again.

  ''Maybe if you put your weight against it,'' Marion said. He turned the key and at the same time rammed the door with his shoulder. The door flew open, and he fell into the apartment, landing in a drunken heap on the doormat.

  Mari
on picked up the bottle and stepped over him, anxious to open it and have another drink.

  ''Nice place,'' she said, already in the kitchen rummaging through the drawers to find a corkscrew.

  ''It's far from nice,'' Peter said. ''In fact, it's the worst place I have ever lived in.''

  Peter looked at the phone and saw a light flashing. He pressed the red button and listened.

  ''Peter, where the hell are you? Probably out with one of your little tramps, getting drunk. Do you know what today is? It's Max's birthday. Remember Max, he's your son. We didn't expect you to send a present, but you could have at least called him. You were a lousy husband, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised you turned out to be a lousy father.''

  Peter slumped against the wall next to the phone table and closed his eyes. How the hell did it come to this, he thought?

  ''Haven't you got a corkscrew?'' Marion shouted. Peter went into the kitchen and threw open a drawer. He pointed. Marion was relieved.

  Marion was one of the regulars at the Dragoon Inn, a pub on Grafton Way, in central London. She was a legal secretary by day and a drinker and flirt by night. She'd had her eye on Peter Flowers for some time. She was bored screwing lawyers and businessmen. She wanted to bed a different kind of man, and Peter answered that description. He was very different from her usual type. He never wore a suit, always black jeans, black shirt and gray jacket. She'd never seen him without his trilby, and she liked the fact his wrists were covered in tribal armbands.

  Peter had a variety of places to stop off at on his way home; the Dragoon was one of them. He went there a couple of times a week. Marion had first noticed him two weeks earlier. She'd made the first move. Sitting at the bar alone, mulling over why his marriage had failed so badly, he'd been grateful for her company. What's more, he was charmed by her wide eyes, blonde hair and the way she rubbed her breasts against his shoulder when she sat down.

  He didn't speak of interest rates, court rulings or the state of the national debt like most men in the Dragoon. He spoke to her about the new play at the Alhambra and about the latest book he was reading. A book about a divorced man and how his wife bled him for every cent she could. He told her he loved Rembrandt but not Picasso, and how long the queue usually was to get into the museum in Florence where Michelangelo's sculpture of David was housed.