Blitzed

by Lauren Landish

  "No, honey," she calls, "but if I could get a little help from a certain granddaughter of mine, I think we can get these plates out on the table in under three minutes. What do you say, Laurie?"

  “Coming!” Laurie calls, going into the kitchen area. It's not totally cut off. I can see over the kitchen island as Mom scoops up plates of spaghetti, but only from her shoulders up.

  "Whatever it is, it smells great, Ms.—sorry, Patricia," Troy says, sitting down next to me. "What am I in line for anyway?"

  "Whitney's favorite when she was in high school, linguini with a tomato and Italian sausage sauce. Laurie here has helped me tweak it to make it more authentic, but still American enough for our taste buds. You don't mind having a lot of carbs before a game, right?"

  Troy shakes his head and gives me a look, and the warmth inside me is definitely not due to the ambient air. We both want each other, but we know we need to get the air cleared with Mom first. "No, Patricia, that sounds great. Do me a favor, though. If you have any plans for dessert, hold off, please? I can handle the pasta, but if I load up on ice cream or cake or something like that, I tend to crash down from the sugar high and then I'm sluggish in the morning."

  "What do you eat on game days?" Laurie asks as she emerges with the first plate, which she carefully sets in her place next to me before going back into the kitchen area. "You know, to play so well."

  "No secret formula," Troy says, and he reaches over to take my hand, the touch of just our fingers thrilling me. "I like to eat a lot of vegetables, some beans for the slow energy, and a few eggs with breakfast. Nothing too heavy or fatty for an early game. Do you like eggs, Laurie?"

  "I do, Daddy,” Laurie says, and I see Mom look up before snorting and shaking her head, smiling as she hears Troy being called Daddy again. "But beans? Ewww."

  "I just need to introduce you to the team catering staff," Troy says, giving Laurie a kiss on the forehead when she comes out with his plate. "They make a black bean salad that is so delicious I bet even you'd like it."

  "I don't know," Laurie says, and Mom comes out with the other two plates, setting one in front of me before sitting down. As soon as she sits down, Laurie folds her hands, and Troy follows suit, while Laurie says grace in her sweet little voice. "Okay, let's eat!"

  We had a great dinner, Mom and Troy seeming to bond after apologizing to one another. Now, Mom and Laurie are in the living room having dessert and watching a Disney movie.

  We sneak our way to my bedroom, and as soon as we’re inside, our passion and desire give way. “You were kind, insightful . . . there's a reason I love you," I say in between kisses. "And a reason you’re the perfect man for me."

  Troy smiles and brings his hand up to cup my breast, stroking my nipple through my bra with his thumb. Sparks cascade through my body with every rotation of his thumb, and I'm soon breathless, desperate with need. "Troy."

  "I want you so badly, but we don't have time," Troy says, still not moving as his hand keeps up its amazing ministrations. "And I'm sorry, I didn't plan for this. I don't have a condom on me."

  "Then I get to engage in a fantasy," I say with a smile, getting down on my knees. "Think you can reciprocate if I go first?"

  Troy smiles and strokes my hair while I undo his zipper and ease his cock out of his pants. He's already mostly hard, and the feeling as I suck him in and feel him expand is sexy and powerful. I pull him all the way into my mouth and swallow his cock, licking and sucking along the shaft until I reach the flared mushroom tip, so soft and velvety on my lips. Flicking my tongue over the tip, I’m once again treated to the tangy sweetness of his precum, which I let savor in my mouth while I pump him with my fist. “How many times did you dream about his?”

  "You don't know how many times," Troy whispers while I make love to his cock with my lips and tongue. I swallow him again, all the way until my nose is buried at the base of his cock, the tip gagging me, but I don't care. I swallow it anyway until I can take no more, pulling out and bobbing my head back and forth, swallowing him over and over. Troy puts his hand on my head and I pull him out, looking up lovingly.

  “Fuck my mouth.”

  Troy nods and guides himself into my mouth again, his hips thrusting his cock in and out, over and over as I lick and suck as best I can. I feel so at his mercy, but still safe and secure, and I'm so aroused I can't believe it. Troy's trembling, and I reach up to massage his balls, feeling them grow tight and ready against his body. Troy pulls back, leaving the head of his cock in my mouth as he explodes, and I seal my mouth around his cockhead, making sure not a precious drop is spilled. After I’m sure I got every last drop, I reach for a Kleenex to spit it out.

  "Time for my dessert," Troy says, nudging me over to the bed.

  Pushing my skirt up over my hips to expose my panties, he licks his lips. "I love you in these," he murmurs, his lips now fastening on the flesh of my ass and kissing. "You don't know how sexy your backside is."

  "Careful, or you may get to take another virginity of mine," I half-moan, and Troy stops. I look back and nod. "Yeah. And yes, it's yours too . . . but some other night."

  Troy smiles and kisses my ass again, nudging my feet apart enough that I give him full access to my ass and pussy. His right hand reaches between my legs, rubbing in soft little circles as his lips move over my ass and I bend over the bed.

  My breath catches when Troy pulls my panties to the side, and suddenly, his long, strong finger is stroking between my pussy lips, gathering moisture before sliding in deep, my groan barely held behind my lips as he curls his finger inside me. His mouth descends again, and I feel his breath warm and enticing over my skin, a hunger filling me. Troy lets his tongue come out, flicking over me the same way that I had done to his cock.

  Troy seems to read my mind as he begins to pump his finger in and out of me while his tongue does its magic, and I have to just clutch at the bedsheets to not scream out, it feels so fucking good. I’m finally starting to relax, and suddenly, I feel the snake of Troy's tongue inside me, his finger rubbing my clit.

  I'm assaulted with pleasure, and I'm lost in a haze of passion, my body unable to comprehend what I'm feeling other than amazing waves of pleasure. My body convulses, and I'm coming, clenching and drawing him in more, Troy burying his face as deep as he can while his finger massages me. I ride the wave, the orgasm rolling and building as he alternates his tongue, his finger, and his thumb on me until I'm sobbing quietly, unable to take more.

  "I love you," I reply as soon as I’m able to catch my breath. "By the way, I meant to say it at dinner, but I have some good news."

  "Oh?"

  "I got that job with Colette's mom I was telling you about. And a few of my clients have agreed to stay with me, and not with Lorenzo. We're going to be doing well."

  "Good," Troy says, wiping at his face. "So would it be out of place for me to drop off a few tickets for next week's game? You know, for the three of you."

  “That would be great.”

  Troy and I wash up, then go into the living room, holding hands, flushed from our quick tryst and still smiling. Laurie smiles from her position in Mom's lap while Woody and Buzz run onscreen. "See, Grandma? I told you they were being kissy."

  Troy can't help it, and neither can I as we start laughing, and even Mom joins in while I sit in Troy's lap for the rest of the movie, just bonding as a family.

  Chapter 22

  Troy

  "I'll be honest with you, Tom, perhaps the brightest point so far in the Hawks dismal start to the season is the play of Troy Wood."

  I wish Laurie would shut off the morning sports programs. I'm aching from the collisions last night, but lying on the couch in my sweat shorts and a t-shirt, I'm too happy and pleased to care. After all, I'm on my couch in the living room, and for the first time in my life, my daughter is eating breakfast in my living room with me.

  I was shocked and elated the night before when, getting home from the stadium, I found Whitney and Laurie both waiting outs
ide. "Daddy!"

  "Baby girl, what are you doing here?" I ask, surprised. "I mean, I'm happy, but . . . Whitney?"

  "Laurie asked, and I agreed that if you were okay with it, maybe the two of us could have a sleepover at her daddy's house," Whitney said, and so we did. Whitney even joined me in bed, although she knew that I was too sore and exhausted to do much more than curl up, hold her in her pale mint silk pajamas, and go to sleep. Now, lying on the couch, I’m slowly trying to recover enough to get up and do something.

  "Wood's play on any other team would be considered inspirational, and certainly leadership material," the talking head on the TV rattles on, Laurie eating up the replays of the highlights of the game. "I mean, nine tackles, a sack and enough punishing hits to any receiver who entered his zone that the only time the Bolts threw over the middle was when he was out of the game. Frankly, if it wasn't for the fact that Troy Wood only played about half of the defensive downs for the Hawks, he would’ve reached Madden-like numbers. So let me ask you, if Troy Wood keeps this up, are we looking at a potential defensive player of the year?"

  Even I raise my head at that, blinking in surprise. I know I'm having a great start to my season, but player of the year? "It's hard to tell. We’ve been around the League for a long time. I mean, I was retired before Troy was even born. We both know it’s a little early to be talking about that, but he’s certainly well on his way if he keeps it up.”

  "True. And of course, if the offense can start to string together some series and keep the defense off the field, it'll give them the ability to not spend nearly forty minutes on the field on a weekly basis."

  Forty minutes, nearly two-thirds of the game. Jesus, no wonder I feel like I've been in a series of car accidents. "Laurie, I know you like the replays, but can you turn it down, baby girl? It makes me embarrassed to listen to these guys make me sound so awesome."

  "But you are awesome, Daddy," Laurie says, still turning down the television and watching every second of it as if she knows everything they’re saying. "Mama says so too."

  I hear the shower in the back turn off, and I smile, knowing that if it weren’t for the pain in my body, I'd be back there with Whitney if only to look at her. Still, the idea of her luscious body under the warm spray of my shower sends a little twitch down below, and I find the energy to at least push myself up to a sitting position on the couch. "That may be, but do you know what having a big head means?"

  “It means you need a bigger helmet?"

  I can't help it. Her innocence makes me smile. The point of view when you are five. "Not quite. No, having a big head means when you start thinking you’re more awesome than you really are. You start to forget there are always things you can do better.”

  "What's—" Laurie starts, but before she can finish her next question— she seems to have a million of them every time we're together, and I find that I'm more patient with them than I thought I'd be—there's a knock at the door, and she pops to her feet, already running to the door. "I got it!"

  I get up while Laurie opens the door, stopping halfway up when I hear Laurie's voice. "Wood residence, can I—"

  "So you're the little parasite," a slurry, drunken voice says, and suddenly, Laurie is running back to me, her eyes wide with fright, and she leaps into my arms, yelling in fear. In the back of the house, I hear Whitney drop her comb and her bare feet running on the carpet, emerging from the back still only half-dressed, stopping when my father staggers his way down the hall. "Hey, sugar tits."

  "What—who?"

  I cross the living room, putting myself between Dad and Whitney, and hand Laurie to her. "Go to the bedroom and call the cops. It's my father.”

  I'm surprisingly calm saying this, and Whitney nods, her eyes full of concern and fright, but holding our daughter, she finds the courage and strength to retreat at least semi-calmly while Laurie cries on her shoulder. I turn around, not saying anything until the door closes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

  "I came for some more help," Dad slurs, and at this distance, I can smell it. He reeks, and his clothes are filthy, encrusted with what looks like puke and maybe some blood. "For my medicine."

  "You need to get the hell out of here before the cops show up,” I say, trying to maintain my calm. "Get out, and don't you ever come back.”

  "This is my fucking house, and you are my fucking son, you worthless piece of shit!" Dad yells, trying to bully me. Maybe it worked when I was in high school, but this is now, and I have a woman and a daughter whom I have to protect. "You bring them in, give them the good life because she gives you some anchor baby, and leave me in the cold? Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit!” Now that he’s back drunk again, he’s back to his favorite line—you worthless piece of shit.

  "Randall. Leave. Now," I say again, my voice going hard. "You and me? We're done. You may have contributed some DNA and a last name to me, but you aren't my father. You never have been. I should have known better. Now get out."

  Dad swings drunkenly, and I catch his arm, twisting it behind him in a little self-defense move I remember from a freshman PE class I took at Clement, and grab him by the scruff of the neck and the wrist. Lifting him up to his tiptoes, I escort him to the door, which is still standing open. Reaching the front lawn, I literally throw him out of the house, where he lands in a heap on the lawn.

  "For eighteen years, you made me feel like I wasn't worthy of love or affection. You made me feel like shit!" I yell, and I notice on the periphery of my vision that the neighbors have come out again, and behind me, I can feel Whitney standing in the doorway, Laurie still holding onto her mother's leg. "You beat me—you nearly killed me! And now you come trying to mooch off me again, scaring my daughter and the woman I love? Get lost!”

  The cops pull up while he’s still holding his arm and sobbing on the lawn, drunkenly screaming curses at me and claiming that I'd crippled him. Maybe he does have a broken wrist or a dislocated shoulder. I don't know, nor do I care. It’s with a certain sense of ironic satisfaction that I see that the cop who gets out is George Walters, and he already has his handcuffs ready. "We got a call of a disturbance, Troy. What's going on?"

  "He frightened my daughter and verbally assaulted Whitney before taking a swing at me. I threw this piece of . . . this person out of my house," I say, correcting myself. "This time, I'm pressing charges."

  George nods and rolls Dad over, ignoring his cries of protest as he hooks him up and yanks him to his feet, hauling him over to his cruiser before pushing him into the back. George closes the door, then comes back over. “It's not that I don't believe you, but if Randy claims otherwise, I'm going to have to arrest you too. This is technically a domestic violence case."

  "No, George," Whitney speaks up, and I turn my head to see Whitney holding up her phone. "I got the swing and part of it on video."

  George nods, and Whitney pops out a data card that she passes over. "The selfie generation sometimes has benefits," George says with a smile. "All right then. Troy, I would like you to come down to the station still, to make a statement. Miss Nelson, you don't have to, but you can if you want.”

  "What I'd like most is to calm my daughter down," Whitney says, stroking Laurie's hair. She’s stopped crying, and when I kneel, she lets go of her mother's leg to come to me, and I hold her tightly, tenderly kissing her forehead.

  "Shh, it's okay, Laurie. I'll always protect you."

  "That man scared me." Laurie is looking at me, her blue eyes so large and still shimmering in tears. "I thought he'd hurt me or hurt you."

  "Never again," I promise her, kissing her again. "Besides, if all of the Bolts can't hurt me, what chance does one old man like that have against me?"

  Laurie smiles at my little joke and hugs me again, and I hold her close, closing my eyes to let myself just feel her close and safe. When she lets go, I get to my feet and pull Whitney in for a hug. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," Whitney says, kissing my cheek. "But I think I'll take Laurie back to Mom's p
lace. You've got a statement to make, and I have work this afternoon."

  I nod and stroke my hand through her beautiful auburn hair. "Okay. I need to call the Hawks too—team policy. Maybe afterward, we can have dinner as a family?"

  "I'd like that. Give me a call later.”

  "I will. I love you."

  "I love you too."

  It didn't take as long as I thought it would to wrap things up at the station. Being a celebrity, apparently, I was interviewed by the Chief of Police, who showed me the video after I gave my verbal statement, and one of the other cops was quickly transcribing it for us. "So why didn't you just kick his ass?"

  "Come on, Chief, I'm a professional athlete. If I threw a punch at him, I'd be here for possibly killing him. Second, the League frowns on players getting into fights, regardless of whether we're provoked. And most important, my daughter and Whitney were in the house. I’ll be a better father than Randall was to me."

  The Chief nods and reaches over, switching off the tape. "Okay. Well, hang out here for a moment while Bert finishes up the transcribed statement. I've already had the Hawks contact me—I'll give them a call back and tell them that you're totally blameless for this. You were at home, and we've got you on video trying to de-escalate, and you acted with more restraint than I think I would have."

  "Oh, I'll still need to talk with Coach tomorrow, but thanks. It'll smooth things over a lot."

  I sign the transcribed statement and leave the station, which is co-located with City Hall. Silver Lake Falls is still one of those towns that is small enough that such things are common. I'm surprised when I see Coach Jackson standing outside, apparently waiting for me when I walk out. "Don't you have practice this afternoon, Coach?"

  "I can get back for that," he replies, his hands in his pockets. He's dressed as a history teacher right now, and I can't help but smile at the little stain of yellow chalk dust on his sleeve. Coach is one of the only teachers who still has a real chalkboard in his room and still likes to use it. "I've got Mrs. Gibbs covering my last period class. They've just got a video today anyway."