Pitbull: He plays hard on the field...He plays harder off it.

by Silvetti, Sam

  Pitbull

  By

  Sam Silvetti

  www.britishbadboys.com

  Email - sam@britishbadboys.com

  Copyright © 2016 by Sam Silvetti. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter One - Jack

  Chapter Two - Emily

  Chapter Three - Jack

  Chapter Four - Emily

  Chapter Five - Emily

  Chapter Six - Jack

  Chapter Seven - Emily

  Chapter Eight - Jack

  Chapter Nine - Emily

  Chapter Ten - Jack

  Chapter Eleven - Jack

  Chapter Twelve - Emily

  Chapter Thirteen - Emily

  Chapter Fourteen - Jack

  Chapter Fifteen - Emily

  Chapter Sixteen - Emily

  Chapter Seventeen - Emily

  Chapter Eighteen - Jack

  Chapter Nineteen - Emily

  Chapter Twenty - Jack

  Chapter Twenty-One - Emily

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Jack

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Emily

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Emily

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Jack

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Emily

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Emily

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Jack

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Emily

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Jack

  Fifteen minutes after my disciplinary hearing had finished, I was back at the hotel. I'd considered driving back to Budbury that evening, but I wanted a little time to myself, a little time to digest the punishment that the Rugby Football Union had meted out.

  After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I found myself in the almost empty hotel bar. It was still early evening, and I was sure it would get busier as the night went on.

  I ordered a beer with a whisky chaser and took a seat in a corner. The alcohol would either tame my anger or provide it with the fuel it required to amp itself up to the next level.

  It was better that the bar wasn't busy – I didn't want the temptation of pussy distracting me from my thoughts, and I didn't want to be recognised — although with my weeks' worth of stubble and my longer than usual hair, I'd managed to go the whole day without having to sign an autograph.

  I'd have my fame the next day though. The sports pages would be plastered with my photograph, that was a fucking certainty, and I wondered what moronic headlines the tabloids would run with. Probably something along the lines of 'The Pit Bull gets kennelled!' or, 'Rugby football union leashes the hound!'

  They'd thought they were clever when they'd first coined my nickname, but Pit Bulls were far from the vicious animals they were portrayed as. I was proud to be named after such a fine dog. They were just like me – calm until provoked, but when they were pushed just that little bit too far, it was time to back the fuck down.

  Danny Evans hadn't backed down, and thanks to him, I'd just been given a sixteen-week ban from playing rugby. He'd gouged my eyes when I was on the floor, and when I'd stood up to confront him he'd really pissed me off.

  I could still picture his piggy little eyes gazing out at me over his fat red cheeks as he'd mouthed the word cunt, and far more satisfying — I could still remember the sound of his pug nose cracking under my fist in a cloud of crimson as I knocked him out.

  The crowd had gone wild, and the referee even wilder. I'd have been sent off anyway, but calling the ref a fat blind bastard for missing the gouging incident hadn't helped.

  Fuck it. It was just the latest in a long string of fuck ups that had followed me throughout my career. I'd become known as the bad boy of rugby within my first year of playing professionally, and I doubted things would change before I retired from the game. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

  I took a long swig of beer and downed the whisky in one. Getting drunk, that was the way to deal with problems. The coach disagreed with my philosophy, but he wasn't there, and he didn't have to put up with the crap I did.

  I studied the line of black and white photographs that hung on the wall above me. London in the nineteen-seventies. The decade that I wished I'd played in. The time when players smoked and got drunk, as part of their team bonding sessions for fucks sake. The era in which fights were brushed under the carpet and put down to high spirits. The glory days, the days when men could be men on the field.

  With nostalgia for a time I hadn't even lived in making me feel depressed, I ordered another beer and whisky. The room was beginning to fill, so I picked up a complimentary newspaper from the pile on the bar and settled down to read and drink.

  By the time I'd got half way through the paper the bar had got busy. I glanced around the room and my bottom jaw almost hit the table. Jesus, it seemed like I would be tempted by pussy. Two girls were approaching the bar, both of them pretty, but one of them stunning.

  Long red wavy hair flowed down her shoulders and back. Not bright red from a bottle, but a naturally vibrant auburn red like the girls you saw in shampoo commercials. Her body was curvy and in perfect proportion, her tight dress showing off the ample bulge of her tits, and her hips just the right size for the glorious arse that wiggled behind her as she walked.

  My cock swelled, letting me know it agreed with my appraisal. I closed my eyes briefly and concentrated on not getting a stiffy. My teen years were a long time gone, but my cock had never caught up with the alleged maturity of the rest of my body. It was still as eager to perform as it had been when I'd first hit puberty. It was a blessing and a curse.

  With my rogue penis under control, I studied her again. She was younger than me — early to mid-twenties, I guessed. Five foot six or seven, and a size fourteen — maybe just touching a sixteen.

  With one of the flashes of inspiration I'd become accustomed to over the years, I knew I had to have her. I had to take her back to my room and twist that hair around my hand as I fucked her hard from behind. With hair as fiery red as hers, I was damned certain that her personality would be equally fiery, and a fiery personality usually translated into a girl who knew how to behave in the bedroom.

  She caught me looking, and gave the smallest and sweetest of smiles, before giving her attention to the barmaid.

  She'd only looked at me for a few short seconds, but those few seconds had taken my breath away, and given my cock a whole new lease of life. Even with a few metres between us, I'd been able to make out the intense bright green of her large almond shaped eyes, and been able to scrutinise her delicate features. The word elven leapt into my mind, and I wondered where the fuck it had come from. Elven? Was it even a word? Whether it was or not, was beside the point – it described her perfectly.

  Her face was small, the gentle oval shape tapering into an angular chin which sat below full lips and a wide mouth. But the eyes. It was the eyes that had spawned the word elven. Not elven like Santa's short, ruddy faced helpers, but elven like the women you saw in The Lord of the Rings films – mesmerisingly beautiful, and able to stop a man in his tracks.

  I had to fuck her. I had to look into those eyes as I pushed myself deep between her beautiful thighs, my hands cupping her buttocks as she shouted my name, begging me to make her come.

  My dick was a fraction o
ff fully erect, and I looked away from her to give it a chance at behaving. Nothing said quick, get the fuck out of here, like a man approaching a woman with a tent in his trousers. I imagined the headlines – Rugby ban is hard-on Pit Bull.

  The girls ordered their drinks and sat at a small round table. The red head with her back to me, her arse delightfully framed between the backrest and the upholstered cushion.

  I was a lot of things, but shy I was not. Nor was I sober. All thoughts of not being tempted by pussy had evaporated and been replaced by lust. I grabbed my beer and made my way towards their table, already adjusting my face so as my dimples sat just right. Shy? No. Vain? Maybe a little.

  Her friend saw me first and gave me a smile that I translated as saying 'I want you'. Well, sorry, darling. It's your friend I'm interested in.

  The red head wasn't aware of me approaching from behind her, and she jumped as I spoke. "Do you mind if I sit with you two for a while? It's boring in that corner on my own."

  She tilted her head upwards to look at me, and I saw the attraction in her eyes.

  Game on.

  Chapter Two

  ~Emily~

  The medical convention had bored me to tears, and I cursed myself for allowing Megan to persuade me to go with her. There was nothing that had helped me as a psychologist, but Megan had been taking notes, and nodding at the lecturers all day long.

  I was glad that I'd allowed her to persuade me to bring a dress to London with me though. It had been too long since I'd squeezed into something less comfortable than my work clothes and got drunk in a bar.

  The bar in question was only one floor below our hotel room, but it still felt like we were on a night out, and God knows, I needed a night out — if Megan was to be believed anyway.

  "Seven months," she'd reminded me. "It's been seven months since you came out with me. If you're not careful you'll be wearing a habit soon, and saying Hail Marys."

  It had been too long. I'd never thought of myself as the type of girl who'd become a hermit because of a man, but when David had left me, three months after proposing, my confidence had taken a hit and I'd found myself stuck at home on weekends while my friends were out getting drunk — and bedding possible future husbands.

  It may have only been a hotel bar, but at least I was out, and enjoying myself.

  We'd ordered a wine and I'd smiled at the absolute hunk in the corner, who'd returned it with a slight nod of his head and a twinkle in his eyes.

  Hunk wasn't a word I'd ever envisioned myself using, but that's exactly what he was. Even in his seated position, I could see he was tall, and big. He was older than me — perhaps in his thirties, and handsome too. With a chin full of light coloured stubble, and masculine features, he was head and shoulders above any other man in the bar.

  I'd only just taken my first sip of wine when I heard a deep voice to my left. "Do you mind if I sit with you two for a while? It's boring in that corner on my own."

  Megan answered the question which I was sure was meant for me. "Yes, sit down," she said, in the voice she used for men that normally ended up in her bed. "We'd love company. Wouldn't we, Emily?"

  I managed to drag my eyes from his face and realised I was blushing. "Yes," I said, "join us if you like."

  He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and placed it between us, a fraction closer to me than Megan, who was already adjusting her eyes and mouth into what her friends commonly referred to as her fuck me face.

  "So," said Megan, pushing her breasts in his general direction. "Are you staying at the hotel?"

  He licked his lips in a way that made me wiggle in my seat, and Megan sigh. "Yes, I'm on the first floor," he said, "what about you ladies?"

  "We're staying too," I said, trying to get a foot into the conversation.

  "In that case, how about I get myself a fresh beer and you girls a bottle of wine?"

  I glanced at my glass. It was almost empty. "If you're sure," I said.

  He gave me a smile that made my nipples tingle. "Oh, I'm sure," he said, "I'm Jack, by the way."

  "I'm Megan," said my flustered friend. "And that's Emily."

  That? Thanks Megan.

  Jack extended his hand towards me and I took it, feeling the hidden strength in his gentle grip. "I'm pleased to meet you, Emily," he said, "that's a lovely name."

  I think I actually batted my eyelashes and actually giggled. "Thank you, your name's nice too."

  Megan's hand flew across the table in a blur of flesh and a jingling of bangles. She grabbed Jack's free hand and held it for a moment. "Yes, Jack is a lovely name. It's a strong name."

  Jack laughed, and released his hands from ours. "You two entertain yourselves and I'll get the drinks," he said, rising from his seat, Megan's eyes following every inch of the long journey to his full height.

  We watched as he walked off to get the drinks, scything a path through the people that insisted on standing at the bar even after they'd been served. Women sneaked adoring glances at him and men gave their girlfriends and wives warning stares as they ogled him.

  Megan leaned across the table to make herself heard over the drone of conversations and the eclectic mix of music. Abba had been playing when we'd entered the bar, and as Megan opened her mouth to speak, Lady Ga Ga was singing about poker faces.

  "Oh. My. God!" said Megan, "Oh. My. Fucking. God."

  I had to agree. "I know. You don't see many men like that on their own in a bar," I said.

  Megan turned her head towards the bar where Jack was waiting patiently to be served. "Does he look familiar to you?" she said.

  His face had rung a bell in my head, but I was sure that if I'd seen him before I would have remembered.

  "I think he's just got one of those faces," I said.

  Jack caught me looking at him and winked. I turned away, my cheeks hot and my mouth dry. Megan's face dropped. "I knew it," she said.

  "You knew what?"

  "He's into you. Not me."

  Such a revelation coming from Megan was an event of massive proportions. Megan was the girl that got the man. She always had been. She was tall, slim, blond, and she possessed a pair of boobs that made men's mouths water. Well, they'd made one man's mouth water for sure. I'd seen it myself. He'd actually been salivating as he chatted her up, his eyes lingering on the vast expanse of fleshy cleavage that Megan had been showing off in a low cut dress.

  I'd long ago resigned myself to the fact that when men approached us, it was Megan they were interested in. I still had a sneaking suspicion that my ex-fiancee had first had his eye on Megan when he'd sauntered onto the dance floor and joined us as the countdown reached zero, and 2014 had begun. I was certain that I'd only got the new year's kiss because Megan had almost vomited eight hours' worth of cocktails over her little black dress.

  I smiled and tried to shrug off her suggestion. It was embarrassing. I knew I'd lost a huge amount of weight, but I still had a spare fourteen pounds that needed to be jettisoned. A man like Jack wouldn't have been interested in me, and I could live with that. I shook my head. "I highly doubt that, Megan," I said.

  Megan sneaked another look at him. "He's looking at you," she said, "and he's got that look in his eyes."

  "What look?"

  Megan rolled her eyes and narrowed her lips. She leaned closer. "That look… the look that says I want to fuck her."

  It was a good job that I'd swallowed my mouthful of wine because I snorted — a loud snort that made me shake. "He doesn't want to fuck me Megan. He just wants some company. Like he said, he was bored in that corner."

  "Emily, Emily, Emily," muttered Megan, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "How naive you've become since you met David. I remember a time, long long ago, when you were way more streetwise."

  "When I was like you, you mean," I smiled.

  "You mean sassy and bold, a woman who knows what she wants and then takes it?"

  "No," I said, "I mean… you know, I was a girl who…"

  "Played the
field? Did what most men do?" Megan opened her eyes wide and placed her hand over her open mouth in a convincing impression of a woman in shock. "You couldn't possibly mean a woman who…" She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. "… enjoys sex, and even has the aforementioned sex?"

  I smiled. "Something like that," I said, twisting the base of my wine glass on the table.

  "Well, Emily Slater — It's been over seven months since you last slept with a man. If you don't do it soon, the next man you meet will need a hammer and chisel to get between your legs. You know what they say happens if you don't use it."

  "Always the crude one, aren't you, Megan," I sighed, "it's in perfectly good working order, thank you very much."

  "So… give it some action tonight. With that absolute stud who keeps sneaking peeks at you."

  "Are you suggesting I have a one night stand?"

  "Correct!" laughed Megan, "that is exactly what I'm suggesting." She fixed me with an intense stare. "I know men, as you know. And I know that Jack is in the market for a one night stand too. You need to get back in the saddle, and if you don't saddle that absolute stallion and ride him until you're sore, then I absolutely will!"

  I blushed. I wasn't used to talking like that with anyone. Megan was right — it had been too long.

  "I can't," I said.

  "And why, pray tell, can't you?"

  "Well… just…"

  "Listen up and listen good," said Megan, really leaning in close to my face. "There's a condom machine in the ladies, and you heard what he said, his room is on the same floor as ours, so if you get cold feet you won't have far to go. I'm also absolutely sure that there's a saying… what happens in London, stays in London."

  "Vegas," I laughed.

  "Bah, Vegas, London… who cares? They're both cities of sin!"

  "That's what I mean, Megan. It's not a sin to have a one-night stand, but —"

  Megan gripped my hand and stared me deep in my eyes. "What was it you used to say… 'as long as it does you no damage, do what the hell you want, and don't feel judged by the constraints of societal expectations.'"