Blindsided

by Shey Stahl

  She’s not wearing any panties so I don’t have to worry about that, but the moment I catch the scent of her pussy already drenched in anticipation for what I might do to her, I lower my mouth to her cunt. Flattening my tongue, I keep my eyes on hers for the reaction and lick her once until the tip of my tongue hits the barbell in the hood of her clit.

  Ember writhes beneath my hold on her and arches her back. I have to hold her in place as I take the barbell between my teeth and tug with the slightest bit of pressure. I slide my finger along her cunt, the image making me so fucking hard I have to shift my hips against the mattress. I nearly come right there. No lie. Her pussy juices are like liquid kryptonite and I’m fucking hooked.

  Ember lets out a lengthy moan, her hands on my shoulders. For good measure, I add another finger and suck her clit into my mouth, so warm and wet, making her cry out. “You taste good,” I mumble around a mouthful of pussy.

  I’ll admit, I haven’t been with a woman who had a pierced clit. And even if I had, I doubt I would have paid much attention to it. Now I’m pretty much obsessed. I’d like to say Ember’s on the same page as me because her hands fist my hair, holding my head down between her legs.

  I pull away, needing a breather, but then I hear the goddamn door open. Ember yanks the blankets up over my head in one swift movement.

  Damn it. I could have sworn I locked it. Apparently, by the sound of Haisley’s voice in the room, I did not do this.

  “I can’t find my school uniform,” Haisley tells Ember. “Why are you in Uncle Landon’s room?”

  “I uh… it’s in your bedroom. I hung it up in your closet,” Ember tells her and then slaps the pillow over her waist, right where my head is and I nail my chin against her pubic bone.

  Have you ever been suffocated by blankets? It’s not fun. And that’s exactly what happens to me. While Haisley and Ember have a goddamn conversation about where the uniform is or isn’t, I might die because of lack of oxygen.

  Two can play at this game. With some effort, I lift my head and clamp my mouth on her pussy.

  “Maybe you should go check your closet.” Ember’s voice wavers with each word.

  Haisley catches on. “Are you okay? Why is there a pillow on your stomach? Where’s Uncle Landon?”

  The bed dips and Haisley sits down. I assume. I don’t fucking know. All I know is I can’t breathe very well. But, I will say, if I die between her legs, you’re not getting any complaints from me.

  Ember shifts underneath my hands that are still on her ass, trying to roll over, but I don’t allow her any movement. “He’s uh… in the shower. I was just about to get up.”

  “Yeah, but why are you in his bed? Did you have a sleepover?”

  “Haisley honey, go get dressed for school,” Ember says, her voice trembling as I carefully suck her clit into my mouth.

  If she’s going to suffocate me with the blanket, I’m going to keep her right where I want her—on the edge of insanity. And I do. During a three-minute conversation, I’m guessing here, I get her off by the way her body trembles and her breathing. I kinda check out because I have no idea when Haisley left nor do I comprehend how inappropriate that probably was. I shouldn’t have done that, should I? Does it go against a code of ethics?

  Needing to breathe, I draw back from her about the time she rips the blanket and pillow off my head.

  Finally, a breath! I look up at her. Her eyes are half closed, dazed, and her hair is falling in her face. “Did you come?”

  She nods and scoots up so she’s propped against the headboard.

  I draw in a couple deep breaths and sit up, my cock hard as a rock. It fucking hurts and it’s throbbing. “I nearly died.”

  “That’s dramatic.”

  I blink slowly. If I were to look in a mirror, I swear to God I probably look as if I ran a marathon. I can literally feel the burn in my cheeks. “You were suffocating me.”

  Ember rolls her eyes and swings herself around to the side of the bed. “I was not.” Standing, she walks over to the closet door and pulls on a pair of shorts.

  “Where are you going?” I gesture rather dramatically to my dick and its hardness that’s not going away. “You have something to take care of.”

  “I have to go help Haisley find her uniform.”

  If my cock could frown, he would. Poor fucker. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” I swear, scrubbing my hands down my face, my blood pounding between my ears. “Meet me in the shower?”

  A smile tugs at her lips and I can’t read the significance of it. “Sure.”

  And then she leaves.

  Guess who does not meet me in the shower?

  Before these kids were in my life, my morning was spent on a very tight schedule. Everything was planned out, and I kept to my routine, even in the off-season. I’m a creature of habit. Not anymore. My mornings are unpredictable. Look at what happened this morning.

  I’ve learned you’ve gotta be prepared for anything. And I do mean anything. Like nearly suffocating. Death by pussy. It’s not a bad way to go, but like I said, prepared for anything.

  There I am—after my shower—where sadly, Ember did not join me like she promised. I was tempted to take care of the problem myself, but no, I didn’t. I’m dressed for practice and a little on edge because I didn’t get any this morning.

  “Promise breaker,” I whisper in her ear as she’s pouring her coffee with one hand and digging through the basket of protein bars on the counter.

  Fuck, she’s hot this morning. Or maybe I’m just overly horny. She’s wearing a black shirt and while the color matches her hair, I like seeing her in lilac tops. They bring out the blue in her eyes. She’s perfect in any shade, but I prefer her wild and me between her thighs. Preferably when I can breathe though.

  My stare drags down her chest to her shirt, which is tight against her perfect tits, tits I had in my mouth last night. My heart beats faster, but it’s her heat next to me, the way our shoulders subtly touch… that’s what warms my body. I can’t get enough of this girl and for the first time in probably forever, I don’t want to go to practice. I want to spend days in bed with her, exploring her inked body and every single spot that makes her moan.

  Calm down. This isn’t helping your problem, man.

  When she has the protein bar she wants—the chocolate mint ones she’s constantly stealing from me—she offers me a smile. “Sorry, forgot.”

  Unimpressed, I raise an eyebrow. “How did you forget?”

  Ripping open the protein bar, she shrugs, completely unaffected by me. “I just did.”

  She’s maddening.

  Adler comes barreling into the kitchen, his backpack on his shoulder and his hair spiked. “Can I go to the Music of Pop Culture after school?”

  I think he’s talking to Ember or even Cat, but Adler’s looking at me, isn’t he?

  I set my coffee cup on the counter and stare at his spiky hair. “What?”

  “The music place.” He pauses, waves his hand in my face and practically smacks me. “Can I go?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Ember kicks me right in the goddamn shin like she’s a child. I hate being kicked in the shin, about as much as I hate being kneed in the balls.

  Rubbing my shin, I glare at her. First, she doesn’t join me in the shower, and now, she’s kicking me? What the fuck. “Why did you do that?”

  Ember gestures with a lift of her eyes to Adler. “He’s nine. He shouldn’t go by himself.”

  “Oh, right.” I turn to Adler. “No, you can’t go.”

  A frown twists his lips, and then he adds to the ‘pissed-off kid’ impersonation and crosses his arms. “Why not?”

  I laugh and reach for the football on the counter. “Because you’re nine.”

  Beside me, Cat stares at Ember’s lips as she applies some kind of cream. It must be some kind of medicated lip gloss, but all it really does is make the big-ass blister on her lip look like she sucked her lips into a bottle for a couple hours.


  “Your lips look like Kylie Jenner’s,” Cat notes. “Did you get lip implants?”

  Being around Cat is like being around Dory from Finding Nemo.

  I snicker like I’m the funniest fucker around and mouth off with, “Her ass looks like hers, too.”

  It earns me a slap to the back of the head. “Shut up. There are kids present.”

  Adler smiles and takes the football from my hand, tossing it up in the air and nearly knocking Nalani off the counter. Yes, she’s on the counter again trying to reach the cookies. “Technically, I turn ten in a couple days. That’s one year closer to being a man.”

  “Technically, you’re still nine,” I point out, stealing the football back and reaching one hand out to steady Nalani as she attempts to open said cookie jar she retrieved. I look to Ember and hand her Nalani.

  Ember takes her. Nalani offers her a bite of the soggy cookie she’s already had in her mouth. Kindly, Ember denies it. “No thank you, sweets.” Then her eyes land on mine. She stares at me, her cell phone in her other hand. Swallowing hard, she breaks our eye contact and drops her eyes to her phone. She looks good with a kid on her hip, doesn’t she? You tell anyone I said that and I’ll fuckin’ deny it. “You have practice today, and then you have to make an appearance at the children’s hospital. Also, you have an interview with People magazine, and then you need to call Elliott because I think he has an endorsement deal he wants to talk to you about.”

  I nod, mentally noting everything I’m going to forget the moment I walk out the door.

  Kasen walks into the kitchen carrying Haisley on his back and takes Nalani off Ember’s hip. “Come on, guys, time to go!” he says to the kids who scramble around the kitchen. They’re everywhere, bags and lunches in hand and strangely, it’s organized. There are no cries not to go, and though they’re certainly not jumping up and down to head to school, they’re not giving Kasen a hard time like they were for me.

  Turns out having a man-nanny is pretty great. I imagine tonight will go just as smoothly. The kids will do their homework, argue with each other and I’ll attempt to defuse the situation—probably make it worse—and Ember will rationalize with everyone and de-escalate the situation.

  And after the kids are in bed, Ember will sneak into my room, and we’ll talk about her paintings. That means we will fuck and I will paint her with my seed. You’re not laughing at that one, are you? Didn’t think so. But goddamn, we are going to fuck. On the floor, bed, against walls, up against the dresser… in the shower, really anywhere I can get her to do it, we will fuck.

  Football players are human, more or less, but we all have our own thing that relaxes us. Some play video games, some party, some drink, some play golf. Me?

  I knit.

  Do you believe me?

  Didn’t think so, and yeah, I’m fuckin’ with you.

  I like to fuck, and I want to with Ember.

  “You’re going to let me inside you later,” I tell her as I leave twenty minutes later for practice.

  She laughs like it’s funny, her paints in hand as she heads back to the guest house. “Is that so?”

  “Yep. And just so we’re clear,” I gesture to Kasen chasing Nalani around the kitchen, trying to get her shirt back on. “The only dick you’re on is mine now. Are we clear?”

  She pauses at the back door, a softened expression on her face. “That’s oddly sweet coming from you.”

  I smile and kiss her cheek. “I thought so too. We have a deal, right?”

  This one earns me an eye roll as she opens the door. “I suppose so.”

  Goddamn her. She makes me so fucking insane. “That’s not the answer I’m looking for,” I say to the now closed door.

  She’s infuriating. You know what’s sexy though? A woman with smartass comebacks and a taste for adventure. A woman with hips to grab onto, confident, and one who knows her worth. She may not think she’s good enough for me, but she’s fucking perfect.

  Intentional Grounding – A penalty when a quarterback intentionally throws the ball in a place where none of his receivers can catch it or in an area without any receivers in an attempt to avoid being tackled for a loss of yardage. In addition, for this play to be a penalty, he must have thrown the ball while being in the tackle box and the ball must make it to at least the line of scrimmage. The penalty is 10 yards and a loss of a down.

  Once at the training facility, my phone is ringing off the hook with calls from Harper. She’s my agent in case you forgot. Harper. Sometimes—and though she’s constantly threatening to quit over this—I like to avoid her calls just to see how many times she’ll call before calling Ember. I do this for two reasons. To piss Harper off and to get Ember to call me.

  When the ringing stops, I dig out my phone and check the messages. There’s like a hundred of them. Not really, but there might as well be.

  Remember last night in my car while I was sucking on Ember’s tits, and that guy snapped a picture? Remember how Ember wouldn’t let me get out and kick the motherfucker’s ass for taking it?

  Yeah, well, she should have because guess what’s plastered all over every tabloid this morning?

  That picture.

  Now, I don’t see the problem with this because it’s not like you can tell who the woman my mouth is attached to is. For all anyone else knows, it’s Alessa.

  And herein lies the problem. Alessa. The one posting shit all over Twitter and Instagram this morning about how shocked she is that I would cheat on her. It’s such a girl fucking thing to do. Twist it around to make it look like I fucked around on her when, if I wanted, I could dig up all kinds of dirt on her and those Abercrombie sunglass wearing motherfuckers she’s constantly hanging on at the shoots. But I don’t because I don’t give a shit who she’s boning.

  What I care about is the fact that Ember’s covered in tattoos and it’s pretty damn clear in the photograph the woman has tattoos on her arm. Alessa has none. Not a single mark on her golden skin.

  Opening Twitter, I scroll through the tweets to find the ones Alessa posted.

  Tension rolls through my shoulders, my grip on my phone tightening. Hardly an upgrade? That’s entertaining. I’ll admit, Ember’s not exactly what you see on the runway like Alessa and her posse of friends, but that’s just it. She’s better. Never one to wear makeup as she doesn’t need it; Ember’s natural. And I’ve seen Alessa without makeup. It’s fucking scary.

  This might possibly be a bad idea, but I type out a reply.

  I promptly delete the Tweet before sending because if I think I have drama on my hands now, instigating her on social media will only make it worse. I know this from experience.

  It’s when I’m inside the locker room when I realize the implications this presents for me. And then I notice more pictures on the tabloid’s website. Ones of the kids and Ember out in the city. Ones of Kasen taking the kids to school and I can only assume they’re recent. It’s not the first time I’ve been the center of the paparazzi’s shitshow, but this is a first for Ember and sadly, the kids they took pictures of this morning being dropped off at school.

  I step into the hall to call Harper. She answers on the first ring.

  “I’m taking care of it,” she assures me. “Ember’s already working on setting up security for the kids.”

  Though it’s a relief she’s doing that without being told, I knew she would. Whether Ember wants to admit it or not, she’s good at what she does for me and always looks out for me, and now those kids.

  The Players Association offers us discounted personal security packages. That’s the level of stalking we’re at in the NFL. I thought bodyguards were only for rock stars like my brother, until we won the Super Bowl and my name became a household one in Seattle. Now, as you’ve seen, I can’t even go out for a night without my photograph popping up everywhere.

  And then she drops the ball hammer on me with, “I think you need to make a statement.”

  “Why?” I’ve never been one to explain myself to the
media. It’s none of their business what’s going on in my personal life. I’ll talk for hours about my career and football as a sport, but they start asking questions about anything personal, I shut them down immediately. And I’ve never once been quoted stating I’m in a relationship with someone, so why should I have to explain myself when it ends?

  “Are you seeing Ember now? You realize how this looks, right?”

  “I don’t give a shit how it looks. Why would it matter if I am? My personal life is none of anyone’s concern, including yours.” I know what you’re thinking, that’s harsh. In my defense, it’s not. Do you tell your maid what’s going on in your life?

  Again, I know what you’re thinking. Landon, I don’t have a maid. And two, Harper’s not your maid, she’s your PR Rep. Okay, fine. Do you tell that dude at Edward Jones everything about your life?

  And again for the third time, it’s not the same scenario, I get it, but in a way, it is. I should not have to, and I won’t explain myself. When my sister Jenna died, I was a rookie quarterback in the biggest season of my life leading my team to the Super Bowl that year. I never once commented on her death to anyone and still haven’t aside from Ember and Revel. Sure, Komonde’s gotten a few things out of me, but the media? Never. Which is why I didn’t make a statement about Grant dying, or the fact that I have custody of his five kids. Why is that anyone’s concern?

  Harper hangs up on me, and I call Ember, only to have the call go to voice mail. That could mean she’s either not talking to me or is painting and completely shut the world out now. I don’t have time to track anyone else down because I’m already running to the training room where I’m required to report to the team physician’s office for a physical and neuro exam.

  Rushing back inside the locker room, you know my current mood. The guys in the locker room, they sense it by the way I’m slamming my shit. Usually my leadership and personality for this team are the same off the field as it is on the field—intense when it needs to be, and the rest of the time, I’m somewhat mellow, believe it or not.