Heartfire: A Second Chance Romance

by Joanna Blake

  He didn't do anything else for the longest time. Just rubbed me softly through my clothes. I wanted more pressure. I wanted him. I was already on the edge as he kissed my throat and breasts, suckling my hard nipples again and again.

  "Anything you want to tell me?"

  I moaned and he laughed, pulling my bra down to feast on my breasts. He kept the same maddeningly slow pace as he stroked me between my legs. I was rocking my hips against his hand but it was futile. He was going to keep me on the edge like this for hours. He was going to make me say it.

  It was going to be a very, very long night.

  Two Weeks Later

  Daniel

  Francesca stood in my bedroom in an ivory silk dress, looking like a statue. Her golden hair was loose, her tawny skin glowing, her deep blue eyes subtly lined, and her lips a dark red. She looked good enough to eat. In fact, I'd been trying to take her to bed and gobble her up. But she wanted to talk.

  Now of all times, she wanted to talk.

  "It's been four weeks. Hand it over."

  I grumbled as I pulled the chain over my head. Francesca may have admitted she loved me that night two weeks ago, but she was still a flight risk. The girl was as skittish as a foal.

  The past few weeks had been bliss. We rode together. Read the paper in bed. Argued and discussed things. And had mind boggling sex. Lots and lots of sex.

  I did not want the four weeks to be up. I did not want to give her the key. I wanted to marry her and make a baby with her. I still needed time to convince her. Or knock her up, whichever came first.

  But a deal was a deal.

  I dropped the key and the chain into her hands. She smiled at me coyly before walking to the door. I thought she was going to leave. Instead she bent over. It took me a moment to realize she had used the key to lock it.

  My mouth was open as she turned to face me. She slipped the chain over her neck as she started to pull her clothes off. My jaw dropped as she stripped for me, making me hard in an instant.

  "Now it's my turn to keep you locked inside."

  Relief flooded my chest.

  "You aren't leaving?"

  She shook her head slowly.

  "For how long?"

  She shrugged.

  "As long as you keep me satisfied."

  I grinned.

  "Woman, that is not going to be a problem."

  "If you say so."

  "I damn well do."

  She walked past me and lay down on the bed. I was still frozen in place as she crooked her finger at me.

  "Prove it Cowboy."

  I growled and climbed on top of her. I didn't need to be told twice. Like I said, I was not a stupid man.

  <<<<>>>>

  STOP!

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  PLAYER

  Joanna Blake

  Copyright © 2015 Joanna Blake

  Pincushion Press, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  For the boy that started it all.

  Chapters

  Chapter One - Comedown

  Chapter Two - Grown

  Chapter Three - Downtown

  Chapter Four - Turndown

  Chapter Five - Unknown

  Chapter Six - Knockdown

  Chapter Seven -Shutdown

  Chapter Eight - Disown

  Chapter Nine - Misthrown

  Chapter Ten - Letdown

  Chapter Eleven - Breakdown

  Chapter Twelve - Thrown

  Chapter Thirteen - Meltdown

  Chapter Fourteen - Countdown

  Chapter Fifteen - Cooldown

  Chapter Sixteen - Shakedown

  Chapter Seventeen - Misknown

  Chapter Eighteen - Teardown

  Chapter Nineteen - Showdown

  Chapter Twenty - Windblown

  Chapter Twenty One - Lockdown

  Chapter Twenty Two -Own

  Chapter Twenty Three - Crackdown

  Chapter Twenty Four - Touchdown

  Six Months Later

  Chapter One

  James

  "Yo' Fitz! Your turn man."

  I looked up to see Kyle grinning stupidly as the stripper finished grinding on him. The song was ending and Kyle had his hands all over the dancer's generous ass. The girl, Crystal something or other, was only wearing a g-string. Her tanned skin gleamed in the dim light.

  I drank deeply from my twenty-dollar beer. Thankfully drinks were free for the team. As were the lap dances. And anything else that might arise.

  Players frequently went home with the dancers from the club. I had myself more than once. The girls were severely hot and more than accommodating. Not to mention flexible.

  I shook my head. To be honest, I felt kind of disgusting the last time I woke up next to a girl whose makeup was smeared all over the pillow case. And the sheets. And my cock. When I was drunk, then yeah, I didn't mind so much. But after...

  Lately all the girls I boned made me feel that way. The strippers, the groupies, the co-eds. I'd even picked up a housewife at a bar just a week ago. Well, to be honest. She'd picked me up.

  But something about it was leaving me unsatisfied.

  More than unsatisfied.

  I felt fucking dirty.

  If I was honest, I preferred the natural look. Like that gorgeous brunette in my economy class. She might be a freshman, but she had all the right equipment. Huge green eyes, a cute nose, gorgeous lips, and the best tits I'd seen in my entire life.

  My God those tits could stop traffic. Not to mention her legs were about a mile long. They'd look nice wrapped around me as I drove in and out of her sweet little box.

  I adjusted my junk. I was hard just thinking about it.

  The dancer walked towards me with a question in her eyes.

  "I'll pass."

  I wasn't drunk enough to enjoy this tonight. Even after winning yet another game. I should be riding high but instead I just wanted to be alone.

  The thing was, I was hardly fucking ever alone.

  My teammates, the fans, girls. I was the center of attention. Non-stop.

  Growing up, I'd had the opposite problem. My mom had worked two jobs. Sometimes three. And we'd still been dirt poor.

  Fuck, poorer than that.

  Mud poor.

  If you'd ever seen the neighborhood I grew up in, it was probably on the news. Some reporter talking about crime rates. Or how depressed the south side of Chicago was. And how everyone who lived there was either a vandal or a hoodlum.

  Or both.

  I'd like to say that I hadn't been one of those criminals but that would be a lie. I'd jacked car stereos, bikes, anything. The only thing that had saved me from ending up in prison was football.

  The sport of kings.

  Look at me now. I was the top of the heap. The King of Kings.

  And I was still fucking covered in mud.

  Nadine

  "God Damnit!"

  I grabbed my shin where I'd banged it against the radiator by the front door. Trying to get out of the crappy apartment I was subletting was like running a fucking obstacle course. Never mind that I technically slept in the kitchen. My 'room' was a twin bed with a shower curtain that partitioned my section of the kitchen off.

  It was a big kitchen, but still, I knew it was pretty bad. To be honest, I was just grateful for a place to stow my stuff and sleep. It wasn't glamorous but it got the job done.

  I didn't exactly spend a lot of time there.

  Still, my current situation was better than whe
re I'd come from that was for sure. And as a student, I could hang out in the library or student commons. The free computer labs were a lifesaver. That's where I did all my work too.

  But I still ended up each night in home sweet shit hole.

  The hallway lightbulb had been burned out since I moved in. None of the four students who lived in the tiny one bedroom apartment cared enough to replace it. In fact, the only parts of the house that were clean were the kitchen and bathroom.

  Because I fucking cleaned them.

  Cleanliness is next to Godliness. That's what my mother always said. She'd said it with a bottle in one hand and a smoke in the other.

  And she slurred. Every time.

  It was hard to take a person seriously when they slurred.

  But I'd fucking well learned how to clean.

  I'd learned how to study too, even with the shouting and loud music that had come from downstairs.

  I was damned if I was going to end up like her.

  It was barely dawn as I headed out for my first job. I had a very tight schedule. It usually started with work-study that was arranged through the financial aid department. It paid shit but it was part of the program I was in. If I wanted the aid, I had to do their crap jobs.

  Then I had classes, with a few short breaks that I spent studying. I dozed off a lot in the school's library. Once I'd accidentally spent the night in there. Scared the shit out of the security guard in the morning, let me tell you.

  After school I headed to BB Smith's. It was a honky tonk rib place not far from campus. That's where I made the money that paid for my tuition and my cheap ass rent.

  Thankfully, the owner had taken a liking to me and gave me the night shifts five or six days a week. Otherwise I would be stuck working lunch or some shit. The tips came late at night when people got drunk and rowdy.

  My upbringing had more than prepared me to deal with that.

  A soft mewling sound got my attention as I left the building.

  I bent down to stroke the mangy cat that lived in the alley.

  "I didn't forget you, Honeysuckle."

  I pulled a can out of my bag and popped the top. Then I scratched behind her ears while she gobbled it down. I said goodbye, wondering like always if I would see her again.

  Somehow though, she always showed up.

  It was a rough life for a street cat.

  I could definitely relate.

  The scrappy little cat had a lot of personality. And her fur was so soft. She kept herself clean, even living on the streets like she did.

  I would have brought her inside but we weren't allowed pets. And I couldn't afford to go anywhere else. So I fed her and hoped for the best.

  We were all on our own in life anyway.

  Chapter Two

  James

  I stepped out of the shower, debating about whether to get a rub down. Daily massages were just one of the amenities they offered to the players. It definitely helped with recovery.

  But I was feeling restless today.

  I wasn't exactly sure why.

  Kyle and Pete came up and slapped my back.

  "Fucking A man. You slaughtered that ball today!"

  I nodded. I was used to praise. I took it as my due.

  "Thanks."

  "Let's get some fucking food man."

  I nodded.

  "Yeah, okay."

  "I want ribbbbbs!"

  Pete laughed as Kyle ran ahead, acting like a monkey. He yanked down Coleman's pants, pissing off the giant linebacker. Never a good idea.

  Nobody would mistake Kyle for a genius.

  "Let's get some barbecue motherfuckers!"

  I rolled my eyes and went to get changed. Nobody would dream of yanking my pants down. Not only because I was strong with lightning fast reflexes. Not only because I didn't have much of a sense of humor these days. Not just because I was the only one of these mother fuckers who'd ever really used a knife or held a gun.

  It was a sign of respect.

  You didn't fuck with the quarterback. It was a rule. Even if I'd been some second rate dip shit. Which, I was not.

  Far from it.

  I knew that only a handful of guys were going to make it to the pros when they left school. I'd been fielding offers since Freshman year. But fuck that, none of them had offered me enough money yet.

  And when you went pro, you best be ready.

  Otherwise you could get fucked up.

  Big time.

  I was four years in. I was even thinking about finishing up. Getting my degree. That would shut up the people back home who'd said I'd never amount to anything.

  Sometimes though, all I could think about was cashing in and getting out.

  "Who's driving?"

  I held up my hand and they followed me out to my SUV.

  It had been a gift from the college when I signed up to play for them. One of many, many gifts.

  Fuck, they even gave my mom a car.

  Sometimes it was good to be in demand.

  Even if I wanted everyone to shut the hell up about it.

  "Shotgun!"

  Kyle slid into the passenger seat and four other guys loaded into the back. It was laughable, seeing those huge guys all squished up together like that. That would never be me.

  I didn't ride in the back.

  Fuck that shit, I'd rather walk.

  I drove downtown to the cultural center. Not that it amounted to much, but there were a few decent restaurants down here. A team favorite was BB Smith's. I hadn't been there in a while though.

  The moment I stepped in the door I saw her.

  The hot little filly from economy. She was wearing a v-neck t-shirt that said the name of the restaurant, skintight jeans, sneakers and a cute little apron.

  Fuck if I didn't feel my balls swell up at the sight of her.

  The hostess walked over to us, carrying menus.

  "Welcome to BB Smith's. Can I seat you?"

  I jerked my head toward the filly. This was gonna be good. I actually might get my dick wet in some quality tang for once.

  "Put us in her section."

  Nadine

  I ran my hand over my lower back, wincing. I'd been on my feet all day, and this was my first real break. I leaned against the bar, sipping a Shirley Temple.

  I was so tired, I could barely feel anything.

  I closed my eyes and felt myself start to drift off. Standing up. Well, that had to be a first.

  Lana grabbed me suddenly, whispering in my ear.

  "He's here."

  I opened my eyes, supremely disinterested.

  "Who?"

  "The quarterback! Oh my God, the things I would do to him..."

  I rolled my eyes at Lana. She had a thing for the football players. Most of the girls on campus did. And off campus. It was a football town.

  Especially for Fitz.

  Everyone but me.

  I grimaced, turning to look his way. Dark hair, blue eyes, muscles upon muscles. And let's not forget the winning smile. And dimples.

  Fitz had really good dimples.

  A flood of memories overwhelmed me for a moment. Growing up South Side. His mother feeding me when my own couldn't be bothered. Which was more often than not.

  Hiding underneath their porch when things got too crazy at home.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick almost always found me though.

  She'd bring me inside, clean me up and make me something hot to eat.

  He'd been there, a lot of the time. He'd called me Brat usually. Pulled my pigtails once or twice and ignored me.

  I couldn't have ignored him if I tried.

  James 'Fitz' Fitzpatrick.

  Gorgeous. Strong. Popular.

  He'd been everything I was not. Well liked at school. Attractive. Talented. Not to say he'd been a model student. He's run wild all over South Side. But it hadn't mattered. No matter what kind of shit James Fitzpatrick got into, he always came up smelling like roses.

  I knew. Because I grew up right ne
xt door to him.

  In fact, I'd spent my entire adolescence madly in love with him. A fucking jock who barely knew I was alive. I'd worked hard to get him out of my head and my stupid, teenage heart.

  And now he was here, in my face.

  Fuck me.

  "You got a table."

  "Give it to Lana."

  "They asked for you."

  I stared at Jess, our hostess. She didn't have a clue what was going through my head. Guys asked for my section all the time. It was a sex thing, I knew. Around sixteen I'd sprouted boobs and since then I'd been beating off men with a stick. So I wasn't surprised.

  But this was different.

  This was Fitzy.

  Once again, fuck me.

  Chapter Three

  James

  "What can I get you?"

  I smiled charmingly at the waitress. I'd been watching her since we sat down. She'd taken her sweet ass time getting over here.

  Those long legs of hers had basically fucking strolled across the room. Almost like she was being dragged over. She hadn't even glanced our way as she tended to all her other tables.

  I noticed she hadn't bothered to introduce herself either. None of that chirpy waitress talk that I was used to. Zero feminine wiles.

  But damn, if she didn't look good.

  Grouchy, but good.

  Really, really good.

  I smiled at her, hoping to cut to the chase.

  "Hi sweetheart. What's your name?"

  She stared at me, a look of incredulity on her face.

  Then slowly, in the most condescending way possible, she lifted her finger and poked her chest.

  Right on her fucking name tag.

  Nadine.