Fourth and Long

by Michele M. Rakes

  “Why you gotta fucking doubt me?” Jacks snaps. His eyes are hard. They’re bloodshot. I remember he’s still concussed and not cleared to play this weekend.

  The living room’s a disaster. Dishes are piled atop the coffee table. I’m sure the kitchen’s a mess too. Jacks doesn’t live this way. I can’t believe Doc let him stay home alone. Usually we ask family to stay with the concussed person. Dumb-ass, Jackson has no family.

  What the hell? How can this guy fall through the cracks? How many people have failed him? I know I’m failing him.

  “Jacks, how are you getting to and from the facility?”

  “Doc’s been picking me up and bringing me home.”

  “Why’s he leaving you alone?”

  “I tell him you’re coming to keep me company and that you leave early in the morning to go home.”

  Shit, I don’t know what to say. “Jacks, you can’t be alone.”

  Nothing. No response from him. The man stands there, looking at me like I’m a stranger in his living room, and he doesn’t know why I’m here.

  “I know what it’s like to be in love,” I say. “If you can’t get this guy out of your system—”

  “I don’t love Branson. I’ve never loved him. It’s just sex. It’s always just sex.” Agitation seethes through each word.

  “Is it just sex between us?” I ask.

  Again, Jacks doesn’t say a word. I’m at a loss. There seems to be no way to get through his wall. “I don’t want secrets between us,” I say. “I get the feeling you keep a lot of them.”

  “There’re things I don’t want to talk about. Things you don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me about Orlando. I’ll leave your other secrets alone. I promise.”

  Jacks drags his hands through his hair. The minute it takes for him to make up his mind seems like an hour to me. The sigh is the first hint of any pent-up emotion. “Sit down?”

  I pace in front of the fireplace. “I’m not sure I can.”

  My reflection in the window catches my eye. The darkness turns the pane into a mirror. Jackson slumps on the couch with his legs sprawled wide. I glance at his package, so prominent in the tight, pale denim. Damn, I can’t get enough of him.

  He rubs his forehead. “I went for a jog the morning after the preseason game.”

  “The one against the Pirates? After we kicked their asses?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Anyway, Branson’s sitting in his car across the street, so I jog over. He wants to buy me breakfast. Needs to talk, I guess, or so he says.” Jacks shuts his mouth. His jaw’s working. He’s grinding his teeth together.

  “Let me get this straight. After I talked you through jacking off, you had sex with Branson?”

  With a sharp jerk of his head, Jacks looks at me briefly. He nods. He’s still not talking, staring at the flames in the fireplace instead. Pictures of his mother and grandfather grace the mantle next to their miniature urns.

  “Well?”

  “Just give me a fucking minute. Is that so much to ask?”

  I’m stunned. Jacks has never lost his cool like this, on or off the field. His anger sets me back. Shit’s got to be bad. In two strides, I’m at the couch, but I stop just short of sitting. After waffling a second, I change my mind and sit carefully next to him.

  Jacks scoots to the edge, creating distance between us. I’m confused. The emotional pit deepens, yet my irritation gets the better of me. “What’s so hard for you to admit? Just say, ‘I fucked Terry Branson,’ and promise me it won’t happen again!”

  “Because I didn’t fuck Terry Branson!” Jacks kicks the heavy coffee table over on its side. The stacks of dishes scatter across the hardwood floor in pieces as he jumps up, moving away from me. “I told him no. Told him to get the fuck off me. He threatened to snap my knee. Fix it so I couldn’t play anymore.”

  “He what?”

  “He threatened permanent damage.”

  “Damage? He threatened to damage you?” Breathe, I tell myself, but I can’t control my rage. “You don’t call what he did damage?”

  “I don’t call it anything. I tried to forget it ever happened.”

  “Forget it? Forget—you can’t forget this, Jacks.” The harsh reality seeps into my heart. Contempt. This is an insult. Branson pissed all over what we had built, because we beat him. Because I sacked him and called him out.

  Shit, it took me days to calm down when I thought Branson was his lover. This is something completely different. Unable to sit still, I pace the room like my heart’s just been slammed into a cage.

  My indignation at my lover being used in such a fashion fuels this sensation of…disrespect. Branson has disparaged us, our whole team, by what he did to Jacks. I’m trapped in a small-minded prison, and there’s no escape. Not until I let my fury boil over and I can no longer reason with myself will I get any relief from this pain in my gut.

  My valve blows, releasing everything I’ve pent up. “What the fuck? How…how could you… What the goddamn hell?”

  I know it’s wrong to yell at Jacks, but fuck, how can he let this happen? His reflection is in the darkened window. I want to shake him. I need to obliterate Terry Branson. “He’s a piece of shit. Goddamn it, Jacks. We’re new, so fresh. We finally made it to each other and then this?”

  Jacks bites his tongue, back to not saying a word. Shame reflects in his eyes. Terry Branson’s fucking destroying us. All I can imagine is Branson’s hands all over my Jacks. On his cock. Buried inside him.

  “Did he kiss you?” I ask.

  Jacks looks at me like I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have, but I need to know.

  “Did he kiss you?” I ask, screaming at him, all the pain in my belly coming up to force the words from my mouth.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll fucking annihilate him.” I cross the room, snatch Jacks up and squeeze his arms. My fingers dig into his hard muscle. “Did you like it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Did you fucking like it?” I ask, shaking him.

  “No. Get off me.”

  “I’ll make Branson pay.” That arrogant son of a bitch. Jacks stares at me. I know he won’t flinch. My man’s not a pussy, yet my attack comes from deep inside my hurt. “How could you let him do that to you, boy?”

  “I didn’t let him do shit.”

  “He fucked you. Was that before or after you didn’t let him do shit?”

  His fist comes from nowhere and smashes my crass mouth, knocking me over the coffee table.

  “I fought him, okay? I was crammed into the passenger seat with him crushing me. Where could I go? What the fuck was I supposed to do? My leg wasn’t braced—”

  Jacks stands over me, his fist clenching and releasing in time with his harsh exhale.

  “You should’ve knocked him out,” I say.

  “You don’t think I tried?”

  “Did you? Did you try, Jacks?” I stand and wipe a bit of blood from my lip.

  “You want to know what I tried? I tried to pretend it was you.”

  “Me?” Jacks wanted it to be me?

  Oh God. Through my rage, I see what I’m doing to him. I’m cruel. A punk. I reach for him, but he struggles against me as I pull him into my arms. With my forehead pressed to his, I close my eyes, and I loosen the grip on my anger. “I’d never hurt you like that. Never in a million goddamn years.”

  “You blame me.” Jacks’s anger is scathing. He stiffens in my arms.

  “I know.” I pull back, only a little, just enough to look him in the eye. “That’s not fair. I just—I can’t get it out of my head. His filthy hands all over you. The insolence. The fucking prick made you into his bitch because we beat his punk ass on the football field.”

  “How do you think I feel? I’m the one who had to be his bitch. I couldn’t get away. Inside my head, all I could think of was you. How I was going to pretend everything was okay on the phone.”

  I kiss his forehead crinkled with anger and shame, trying to soothe him. My
lips are gentle. Each eyelid shutters his resentment away as I kiss one and then the other. His nose. Then his lips. I delve tenderly. After few soft murmurs, he opens for me. There’s hesitation. Fear of my derision. Mistrust. I don’t blame him. The pit of my stomach sours, knowing I judged him too harshly by my fucked-up standards of masculinity. As his lover, I should’ve directed my madness at Branson, not at him.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper.

  “Could’ve fooled me. I’m not the prick here. I didn’t cheat on you. We weren’t even together. Most importantly, I didn’t want Terry-fucking-Branson to touch me! I didn’t want to be touched.” Tears appear, hot and fast, as Jacks tries to hold himself together. “I never wanted him to touch me.”

  What’s wrong here? The man is breaking down in my arms, but this feels like something more than Branson. With so many secrets and his unwillingness to talk about himself, I feel like I will never truly know him. I want to know every part of him. Fucked-up part is, I want to know it all now. “Jacks—”

  No. I stop myself. This isn’t the time to pry. I made a promise to leave his secrets alone. I care for him too much to continue the hurt. My problem is, I’m in love with a man without truly knowing him. Not like I knew Kane, who told me everything I wanted to know about him. All I had to do was ask. I want to know all of Jacks. From his innermost thoughts to his past and his future with me. Unfortunately, Jacks buries his secrets far too close to his heart. If I open him up to explore those mysteries, just to satisfy my curiosity, and wind up truly damaging him, the emotional hemorrhage could be the end of both of us.

  “I don’t blame you. I’d never blame you. I just went a little crazy, you know? The thought of him taking from you—taking what you willingly gave to me. Forgive a brother for going insane over a punk-ass quarterback touching his man?”

  His blue eyes are drenched with tears, drowning in them, but he refuses to let them fall.

  “I’m not a good person. Men have been here before you. If that bothers you—”

  “I don’t care. Not like you think. Branson…” Shit, I have trouble even saying the word. “He raped you.”

  Jacks flinches. “No. I gave in. I gave up. I chose the path of least resistance. Like you said, I should’ve fought him harder. I should’ve knocked him out.” The words tumble over each other as they come from his mouth so fast it’s hard for me to understand them all.

  “You did what you had to do to play football. A means to an end. The bastard knew he could manipulate you. I’ve known a lot of guys who love football, but I’ve never known anyone who needs it as much as you.” I brush the blond hairs caught up in his lashes from his face. The strands are wet with the tears he’s fighting.

  “I’m not sure I could be as strong as you, bro. To take that fucking prick in order to survive. I don’t blame you, Jacks. You’re just the one in my way. The guy I was willing to knock down to get to Terry Branson. Believe you me, I’m gonna pick that guy apart on the field. And afterward, I’m gonna tear him apart bit by bit, one fingernail, one toenail, one goddamn hair at a time until he’s screaming for mercy.”

  Jacks looks away, closing his eyes, and I miss them. “Do you forgive me for lying?”

  “I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness.”

  “Do you want to go upstairs?” He looks at me. His vibrant blue eyes stun me speechless for a second.

  “I–I don’t know. Can your concussed brain handle it?”

  “I don’t need my brain for you to fuck me.”

  With a smile, I lean in to whisper, letting my hot breath blow into his ear. “No, but I need your mind to make love to you.”

  “You’re a cheesy bastard,” he says, laughing. His smile raises my spirits.

  With a hand just as gnarled from playing football as mine, I lead him to the loft. He’s shy now. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. “How about we just snuggle?”

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  How can he want sex? After what he just told me? I don’t think I have it in me to take advantage of him in such a way. I run my hand along his arm, trying to soothe him, and it does little to settle his agitation. “I think it would be better if we didn’t fool around.”

  Jacks walks backward, pulling me along until his knees touch the bed frame. “I need to know you can still touch me.”

  Oh damn. What if I can’t? What if all I see is Terry Branson? “I won’t abandon you.”

  “Bullshit,” he says, and strips his hands from mine. “It’s still there, between us, and you’ll never be able to touch me again. We’ve had fucking sex since Orlando. Why is now so different?”

  God, he’s slipping away from me too soon. Am I ready to give him up so easily? Gently, I peel his shirt off and drop it onto the floor. The feel of his skin beneath my fingers as I grip his dense waist magnifies my desire, but I’m afraid of hurting him. I pull him closer. His arms slide around my neck in such an intimate pose, and he looks up at me with those dark blue eyes.

  “Talk to me,” he whispers. “Tell me something dirty.”

  My resolve is shot. “Hmm, boy. I love a man with strong, tight abdominals.” I run my fingers over his ridges. Does Jacks like to play games? Is my man kinky? What does Jacks like most? How about a little role-play? “You must work out a lot.”

  His hand slides up my neck to palm the base of my skull. “I’m no stranger to a gym,” he whispers. Those soft lips are so close to mine, but I resist.

  “Shit, I’d like to fuck you in a gym. All those mirrors so I can see your fine, white ass taking my big, black dick.”

  Lord have mercy, I hope I’m doing this right. My seduction seems to be working. Jacks is so turned on, his fingers dig into my skin, and his short nails leave tiny grooves. In the back of my mind, Terry Branson is spying on us, like he watches from the sidelines. I twist the thought to my advantage. Branson is definitely an alpha. An old-school quarterback. If Jacks likes football players so much, I can give him what he needs, and more. I want him to trust me again. I feel like I’ve lost something precious. I have to get it back.

  “Keep talking, Irus.”

  I pick Jacks up, turning from the bed to thrust his back against the wall, and he wraps his legs around me. I growl. He likes it, I think. His cock rubs my belly, straining at his button fly. I rip it open to get at his dick. I watch his face. The intensity, his emotion, is all on display. He’s such an open lover. Again, I think about his secrets. How can he be so closed and open at the same time?

  Reality cracks down on my nugget, and I realize Jacks lives his life in moments. On the field. In the locker room. Whoever is talking to him at the time is the one who gets his undivided attention. It’s why people like him. He makes time for everyone. So much easier for him to ignore himself that way.

  Jacks is an unselfish lover too. I’m gonna change that right now. I lower him to his feet. He starts to say something, but I silence him with a kiss.

  “You taste so good.” I trail my tongue down his throat. “I love your body, Jacks. Salty. Sweet. Tangy. I can’t ever get enough of you.”

  His chest rises and falls with unrestrained lust. I move lower still, leaving a hot trail of kisses to his nipples. My tongue circles one of the hardened nubs. I bite down. His hands clamp onto my head, fingers twisting in my dreads, and he holds me to him. My hand works his cock. A thin trail of fluid sticks to my fingers. I play with the droplet, smearing it around, making his hips jerk.

  I take my traveling tongue down to his belly button, fucking his sweet hole, licking the fine blond hairs leading me ever lower. God, he smells fucking tasty. My mouth waters in anticipation. I want his cock in my throat. The tease is in the temptation. I deny myself a little longer, making my boy here impatient, thrusting his cock with enthusiasm.

  “Damn, you a needy lover, boy.”

  “You’re a cock-tease,” he says, panting as I play with his balls.

  “They’re heavy. You got some sac, boy.” I don’t wait for an answ
er, engulfing his nuts, taking one and then the other. Sucking just hard enough to make him gasp.

  “Shit!” he cries out, his hand still tangled in my dreads. “I need you, Irus.”

  Fuck me.

  I just about nut hearing those words. He’s got me so twisted up. I devour his cock next. The spice of my man hits my tongue like a drug. I take him all the way down. He makes me choke, but I get over it, sliding his dick in and out of my throat.

  His legs are wobbly. I shove his hips against the wall, holding him as I slide his cock farther down my throat, eating him alive.

  Oh Lord, the sounds of him coming undone.

  “I’m gonna come soon if you keep this up.”

  I pull away, a long thread of his juice, a tendril in midair, lands on my chin. “I want to taste you.” I lick my lips and pitch my voice low, remembering how receptive he is to me. “Come in my mouth, boy.”

  I’m on him as he grinds his teeth, snarling through his orgasm. The first spurt hits my tongue. He’s savory. Hot, sweet, and sour, with only a hint of bitterness. Kane’s the only other man I’ve tasted. The only man I’ve sucked off, before Jacks. A taste I love, but I expect it’s because I love Jacks already. The smell of him is overwhelming. Like a sudden fetish. I need more, but he only has so much to give.

  I stand up, kissing Jacks in a rush, sharing his flavor. Jacks groans, lapping at my tongue, spreading his seed. I’ve never met a man so consumed by sex. So turned on and willing to do nearly anything. The same single-minded intensity he has with football.

  “Fuck me, Irus. I need you.”

  “No.” Worried eyes flick to mine. I see the fear. “It’s time you learn the difference between fucking and making love.”

  I lead him to the bed. “Lie down on your back.”

  Jacks does as I instruct him. I strip off his jeans. Slowly, I remove my clothes, giving my man a show. With the lube from the bedside, I stand over him, stroking my cock, working him up. As I spread Jacks’s thighs, he pushes on my belly with his palm, holding me at bay.

  “No! Branson barebacked me. Tested negative the first time. I don’t want to put you at risk.”

  “Baby, I just swallowed your cum. I’m in this with you. I’m not going anywhere.”