by Hannah Ford
She bent down and sucked the head of his cock into her mouth, tasting his flesh, and the heat of his excitement for her, as she stroked his enormous shaft. He was engorged and hot and slick already.
“Fuck,” he moaned, throwing his head back against the pillow.
Moments later, she stopped sucking him and climbed on top of his dick, straddling him, still in her skirt.
Her skirt rode up her thighs as she sat down on him, the tip of his cock pressing against her folds, meeting some resistance, and then beautifully sliding in with a wet sound as Faith sighed with pleasure.
Chase moaned from deep in his throat as his hands grabbed her hips.
“I’m in deep, baby,” he said.
It was true. His cock had already filled her up, and she was wrapped around him now, locked into him, and she felt him stirring inside her.
“You feel so good,” she told him, and her juices were pouring down, making the transition smooth as she lifted up and then sat down again, riding his dick.
At first, she was moving slowly, allowing herself time to accommodate his hugeness. Looking down at him, she saw his muscles flexing and interwoven like some incredibly complex 3-D painting of a god.
He thrust his hips up and stabbed his throbbing cock inside her now, and she moaned, letting his hands control her hips, grinding against him.
They were so wet that there were now slapping sounds as their flesh met again and again, and he thrust into her rhythmically, more quickly.
“Work that ass against me,” he told her.
She swiveled herself on his cock, felt him rocking into her, then out, then in again. She was building—the intensity and speed was building.
“Oh fuck,” she cried out, knowing what was happening was going to be big.
Explosive.
“Come on, ride my cock with that wet fucking pussy,” he told her. “Come on, now. Don’t fucking stop, girl.”
She did as she was told, working her hips, her ass, allowing him to stuff her and penetrate her more deeply than she thought possible.
She stretched for him, allowing him to push further in, to expand inside her as he fucked her dripping hole, entered her tunnel, his body glistening with sweat. His hands slid down to her thighs, and then up again, his thumbs pressing into her pussy from the sides.
There was a buzzing in her body, like she’d been taken over, like she was almost leaving her body and watching herself from above.
He was fucking her so perfectly, and he was building, knowing just what she needed, his strong and competent hands working her with the precision he used when handling the football.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she said, as he rhythmically stabbed her pussy with his slick, hard manhood.
“Come for me,” he told her.
Instantly, she did, and the fury of it was so sudden and overwhelming that she was caught off guard by it. She cried out, almost as if in pain—but it wasn’t pain.
It was exquisite, beautiful climax—her pussy clenching onto him with everything inside her, and she shouted again as she felt a stream of her juices pouring over him, and he started to come with her.
His thrusts were overpowering and explosive, and she felt him shooting his seed deep inside, mingling with her body’s lubrication.
“I’m coming too,” he whispered, as he fucked her continuously.
They came together, and it went on like that for minutes, somehow. In the end, Faith lost track of time, lost track even of herself.
She didn’t know who was who or what was what.
It was bliss.
He was her man.
He was her love.
He was her drug.
* * *
Stillness. The softness of his breathing, his chest rising and falling, his arms encircling her, holding her in his protective embrace.
It was like a cocoon, a womb.
It was all she’d ever needed and everything she’d never known was possible.
Faith smiled, cozying closer to him, smelling him, knowing she was safe and taken care of in this moment.
Chase Winters, she thought, her mind still marveling at what was possible, what had actually come true in her life.
This man was on the cover of magazines, he was in commercials and he was watched and loved by millions and millions of people.
Women adored him. He could’ve been with anyone—anyone at all. He could’ve been sleeping right now with some gorgeous movie star or pop star, or model.
And yet he was here, in this room, with her and her alone. He’d trusted her and now he was holding her, making Faith his priority.
It was a real privilege to be in this position. And she snuggled into his warm body, his muscular embrace, and knew that this felt right.
How could it feel so right now, and then be so hard, so impossible at other times?
Faith didn’t know, but she also didn’t want to spoil this moment. In the quiet stillness of the night, lying intertwined with Chase, she had a sense of possibility.
Maybe someday this would be normal.
Maybe someday they would sleep like this every night, and wake up everyday together.
No, she told herself. You can’t get your hopes up about being with him forever.
A man like Chase can’t do that sort of thing. A life like his is beyond complicated, and a long-term relationship will be impossible for him. He’s got so many options, so many temptations and stresses.
You can’t ever hope to have him for the rest of your life. That would be a mistake, and you’d be setting yourself up for tremendous disappointment when he inevitably loses interest and moves on to the next girl.
She spun towards him and watched the side of his face in profile. He looked so peaceful, so calm, so perfect.
She kissed his chest and he stirred, and sighed, and then his eyes fluttered open. When he saw her, the first thing he did was smile. “You okay?” he said.
“Yes,” she said nodding, moving closer again as he held her tightly. “I am right now.”
“Stay close to me, baby,” he said, and then drifted back to sleep again.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply enjoy what was happening now without worrying and fretting about the future.
It felt like just a few seconds had passed and she’d drifted off, only to be snapped awake as he pulled away from her and sat up, clearing his throat, throwing his powerful legs over the side of the bed.
“You all right?” she croaked.
“Time to get up,” he murmured.
She glanced blearily at the nightstand clock and saw that it was just past five in the morning.
“This early?”
“Just go back to sleep, Faith.” He stood up and stretched and she could hear his joints cracking and he turned his head back and forth, as if trying to work out the kinks.
It occurred to her just how much abuse Chase put himself through on a daily basis. His life consisted mainly of getting smashed into by men as big or bigger than himself.
She’d heard it compared to being in a minor car accident on almost every single play. These men were so big and so fast that the impact they made on each other would be felt for years to come.
Chase got down on the carpeted floor and proceeded to run through a long series of sit-ups, pushups and stretches.
Faith eventually did drift back to sleep again, because his routine went on and on and on. It was soothing in its own way.
When she woke up again, the room was empty. She glanced at the clock and it read seven a.m. She got up and ran into the other room, almost panicked that he might’ve left her there.
Instead, she found him sitting at the table by the window and reading a newspaper.
He glanced up at her.
She smiled, laughing a little. “You’re reading.”
“What—did you think I’m illiterate?”
“No, I just…I don’t know. Are you reading the sports page?”
He made a face. “Duh. Me only
read sports. Me dumb jock.”
“Come on,” she laughed. “I just thought—“
He flipped the paper around to show her what he was reading. It was an article about extremists taking over a town in Syria. He dropped the paper back to the table and picked up his mug. “I find it soothing to read the paper the morning before a game. The less it has to do with football, the better. I made coffee,” he said, getting up and walking to the kitchenette. “I’m gonna have a refill. You want some?”
“Sure,” she said, walking over to the table and sitting down. She looked out the window over towards the stadium.
It was empty now, but soon it would be packed to capacity and Chase would be performing.
It gave her stomach a jolt, and she felt butterflies. She wondered how much more intense the nerves must be for Chase.
But he didn’t seem anxious. If anything, he seemed calmer now.
He poured them both cups of coffee and then carried the two mugs to the table, sliding one towards her before sitting down again.
“You seem happy,” she said.
He shrugged. “It’s better on game day. I want to do it, I want to get out there and do my job.”
“Yeah,” she said, understanding what he meant a little bit. She lifted her mug and sipped from it. The warmth spread out over her stomach.
Things were silent between them for a long moment.
She thought about what had gone on the previous night between them and Monique and Velcro. Faith looked at him and wondered what had happened when he’d given Monique her cell phone back.
But she didn’t want to ask.
Chase saw her expression and smiled. “You seem lost in thought,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You thinking about what we did last night before bed?”
She laughed. “Yes,” she lied.
He licked his lips. “If I didn’t have a game to play, I’d do it again right now, girl. Believe that.”
“I believe it.” She tried to smile, but it faltered as she thought about the fact that something was between them now. She’d lied about her thoughts, because she’d been afraid to bring up last night.
A sick feeling wormed its way into her belly and didn’t leave.
She had a horrible sense that whatever had happened that Chase didn’t want to discuss—it was only just the beginning.
* * *
This was like déjà vu, Faith decided.
She was back in the VIP section of the stadium, just like the day she’d met Chase for the first time.
Only now she was here as his personal guest, although nobody around her seemed aware of that fact.
There were a few groups of people sharing the VIP box with her. They seemed to be business people from local companies that had season tickets.
Most of them were loud and boisterous, yelling stuff as they swilled beer and high-fived and talked about players and stats and seemed to occasionally be trying to impress her or get her attention.
Then again, maybe it was just her imagination that they were trying to get her attention.
It didn’t really matter. She didn’t care a bit about any of them, she only cared about the game and Chase.
The game was about to start and she’d never been so nervous for anything in all her life.
Her phone buzzed again and again. She’d stopped bothering to even look at her cell because since early morning, people had been texting and even calling her almost nonstop.
The texts were from friends and family and people she’d hadn’t spoken to in months or years. They were all saying good look or “tell Chase we love him” or “is what I’ve been hearing true? Are you with Chase at the game?” and stuff like that.
About an hour ago, her father had called, drunk, and left two long and rambling voicemails about how proud he’d always been of her, and in the last one he’d started to sob. Then her mother could be heard shouting at him in the background and he’d gone from sobbing to screaming profanities at Faith’s mother, and then the message had been cut off.
So now she was ignoring her constantly buzzing phone, and choosing to watch the field, as both teams took it.
The men around her were already cheering and clapping.
Some of them were making bets about how many yards Chase would throw for, and how many sacks Miami would get.
It was known, of course, that Miami had one of the best defenses, and with Chase having struggled last game—some people were of the opinion that he’d do even worse today.
Faith didn’t know the answer. All she could do now was hope and pray and try not to throw up from nervousness.
Miami took the field to kick off to New England, and the kickoff was routine, run back to the twenty-four yard line. Chase and the offense ran onto the field as the whole arena shook with cheers and clapping.
Music blared over the speakers. It had the feeling of a playoff game—the mood was raucous and excited.
Her hands clasped together in prayer, Faith took a few deep breaths and tried to calm her fast breathing. She was practically hyperventilating.
Remember that Chase said he wanted to get out there and play. He was ready to go. This is his time.
On the first play, Chase handed off to a running back that only got a few yards.
Second play in, Chase cocked his arm to throw.
“Velcro’s open!” someone cried out from behind her.
Faith looked and saw that Velcro Jones was, indeed, open and running across the middle of the field.
Chase pumped once but didn’t release the ball, and instead rolled out of the pocket and scrambled for a few yards.
The crowd went wild, cheering, because at least he’d gained yardage. Against Miami, that was better than the alternative.
On third down and four, Chase threw a short pass to one of his receivers and the player was able to get a first down before being tackled.
Everyone was celebrating, and Faith felt her early nerves start to calm. Chase was looking confident and sure of himself, and he hadn’t made a mistake yet.
On the next series of downs, they ran the ball three times with some success and then Chase threw yet another short pass for a first down.
People were cheering wildly, and Faith licked her lips, trying to maintain composure.
“Winters is strong,” a drunken fan nearby kept repeating, over and over. “Winters is so strong.”
New England marched down the field, mostly by running the ball up the middle. Chase scrambled a couple more times for short yardage and completed another few passes, none of them to Velcro.
Some of the fans had started to remark on the fact that his best receiver had been open on several occasions and Chase had failed to attempt a pass to him.
It was slightly unusual, but only Faith had an inkling of why it might be happening.
Please, no, she thought. Don’t take it out on him, Chase. Don’t do that—you’re going to hurt yourself and the team just to prove a point to him.
New England made their way to the thirty-yard line and then it happened. Chase dropped back to pass and Velcro ran a long pass route downfield.
“He’s open!” people were screaming all around her.
Faith clenched her hands into fists and closed her eyes. She couldn’t even watch.
Please, she thought. Please just throw the ball to him.
And then she heard a tremendous gasp of disappointment come up from the crowd. Faith opened her eyes.
The play was over, but on the big screen, they were showing the replay. Chase had thrown the ball way over Velcro’s head and out of bounds. It hadn’t even been close.
The fans nearby were irate at how badly Chase had missed, and some of them were saying he’d choked.
Oh, God, Faith thought, feeling legitimately sickened inside now.
I should’ve talked to him about it this morning. I knew something was wrong but I was afraid to try and bring it up. And now look at what’s happening.
He’s sabotaging the game ov
er some argument. He’s seriously going to screw up his entire season over a drunken quarrel.
Eventually, New England had to settle for a field goal.
The crowd cheered, but now the atmosphere was somewhat muted. The fans in the box with her were murmuring to one another, and as people drank more, some of the animosity was coming out.
“The guy’s getting paid like he’s Joe Montana, and he’s playing like some third-stringer from Notre Dame,” someone said nearby.
“But why won’t he throw to Velcro Jones?” someone else said.
“He did throw to him—“
“You call that a throw?”
And the conversation continued, as Miami took the field on offense and proceeded to eat up the clock, slowly running the ball, getting four or five yards at a time, and grinding New England’s defense down.
They eventually scored a touchdown on a pass from five yards outside the goal line, and went ahead 7-3.
In the second quarter, Chase and the New England offense played even worse. The running game was starting to falter, and as Chase threw more passes, his accuracy seemed to get worse.
And of course, he wasn’t throwing to his best receiver, and the crowd seemed to be getting more and more anxious because of it. Scattered boos could now be heard in various pockets of the stadium.
The half ended with the score still at 7-3, as both teams had appeared to struggle to get much going on offense.
During halftime, Faith left the box and wandered the bowels of the stadium, watching fans stand in line to use the bathroom, to buy hot dogs and pretzels and pizza and beer.
She felt lost, like a ghost, slightly numb to it all.
She wondered what Chase was thinking right now, what he was doing this very second. What were the coaches saying to the team?
Was Velcro going to tell Chase to get it together and throw him the ball?
Having no idea of what might be happening behind the scenes, Faith found herself conjuring up all sorts of bizarre fantasies.
But more than anything, she wished she could talk to him. More than that, she just wanted Chase to be okay.
Would he be okay if things continued on this way?