by Alexis Angel
I watch his fine ass exit the bathroom, grabbing a robe and heading toward the kitchen. Making a mental note, I determine to take the world's quickest bath and get in there for breakfast, pronto. The robe is nice, but I think I'd like to peel it off and sit on his lap. I crave the feel of my skin against his.
The water finishes draining, and I take a super quick shower, not wanting to lounge in the top without a cock to bounce on. What can I say, I'm spoiled now.
I slip into my own robe and follow the scent of eggs to the kitchen.
"Do I get to kiss the cook?" Gah, I can be so cheesy. But with Sanders, I can't help but be affectionate. And he thrives with the reciprocation of the attention that he gives me, so that's all right in my book.
"Of course. I wouldn't dream of otherwise," Sanders glides over, using his spatula to put eggs on the plate's put on the kitchen island.
I circle my arms around his middle and squeeze tight to him. I kiss his chest and listen to his heart for just a moment. This is the man that I will cherish forever. This heartbeat I'm hearing now matters to me as much as my own. I release him so that his own eggs, and own eggs, will not get cold.
He spatulas more onto his plate and places the skillet onto an unused burner. We sit down at the bar stools at the island and I grab a carafe of orange juice. It has been long enough since I brushed my teeth that I'm not about to experience that gross thing that happens when orange juice and toothpaste fight over flavor. I pour myself a glass and look into Sanders's eyes across the island.
“What are you thinking about Stacy?” Sanders asks. There’s a lightness in his voice that pleases me. He doesn’t have the conflict in his voice or on his face.
That’s what I’m thinking about. I’m having the same experience. The stress and confusion is over.
“I’m thinking that you are like coming home every time I look at you. I am so happy that we worked everything out. I never want to be without you again. I never want us lost, like we were before.” I hear my voice catch in my throat and I didn’t realize how I was going to pull into that question with so much weight.
“Me too,” Sanders says. He doesn’t have to run his mouth like me for me to understand that he understands me.
I didn’t always believe in this idea of soul mates. I mean, in my line of work, we tend to make fun of things more than we actually believe them. Comedy draws on real life, though. And everything that might have seemed strange to me before about all the gooey emotional romantic stuff that falls off my tongue now? I get it.
Some things just work. You don’t think they will. Everything tries to pull them apart and keeps them from working.
But love? Real love? It slams into your soul and you have to act on it, grab it, guard it, and keep it for you forever. You hold onto to what’s real. Sanders and I are the most real thing I’ve ever seen. No joke.
49
Stacy
“Have you ever killed a man with your bare hands?”
“Stacy, I --”
“Oh, oh, and have you ever jumped out from a plane?”
“I don’t think that --”
“And secret missions? Do you go on secrets missions?”
Leaning into me, Sanders does the only sensible thing he could possible do and shuts me up by pressing his lips against mine. I smile as we kiss, feeling the taste of his lips and tongue, and nibble gently at his lower lip.
“I’m making too many questions, I know,” I chuckle, looking into his eyes and laying my hand on top of his.
“Not at all,” Sanders replies, smiling softly. “I just don’t know if I can answer so many questions at once.”
We’re sitting in Central Park, a picnic towel resting over the grass in front of us. It’s been a week since I found out about Sanders’ true identity, and it feels good to be out of the house, you know? When we left the studio that day, Sanders drove me back to my apartment and we barely left ever since. We’ve been terribly busy, if you can imagine that. The dirty, sweaty kind of busy.
What? It’s not like I can restrain myself, you know? Don’t tell me you’d do any differently if you had the most perfect man you have ever met telling you that he loves you, his cock hard and ready to unleash a storm of pleasure all over your body... You’d never leave the house, that much I can guarantee you.
Even now, sitting just a few feet across from him, I have to take deep breaths from time to time just so I can keep myself in check. I just want to jump on top of him, rip his shirt out and kiss my way down his hard abs until I brush my lips against his hard and extremely thick -- ahem, and here I go again. See, I told you: it’s really hard to restrain myself. I’m trying, though.
“What? You’re looking at me all weird,” Sanders laughs, and I bite on my lower lip, staring at him and feeling my thong becoming all damp and messy.
“I just can’t wait to get back to the apartment,” I say, my voice already heavy with anticipation.
“We’ve barely left,” he laughs, plucking a tiny slice of cheese from one of the plates in the towel and bringing it to his mouth. He grabs another and then gives it to me; I take it between my teeth even though I’m not hungry. Well, I’m not hungry for food - I sure as hell wouldn’t mind having his cock for lunch.
Jesus, what the hell happened to me, right? I liked men before, of course, but ever since Sanders and I crossed paths that I have turned into some kind of sex addict. Seriously, I don’t think a minute goes by without me thinking of his naked body and his huge cock. It’s like I’m having the best dream anyone could ever have, except that it’s real.
But don’t think it’s all about the sex. There’s more to it than that. Now that I know who Sanders really is, and that he was by my side to protect me all along… Well, it turns all this from a wet dream into a fairy tale of sorts.
Back when I was in college, I used to have these crushes on the hottest men in my classes, and I thought that I knew what love was. As I grew up, the notion of love kinda started to fade away. Now, I realize that I’ve been a fool along - I never had a clue about what love truly is, and I sure as hell was an idiot to give up on it altogether. But now that Sanders is by my side I’ve found that not everything nice and sweet about life is a mirage; love is real… Very, very real.
“I love you, Sanders,” I whisper at him, feeling Central Park’s gentle breeze whip at my hair. He gazes into my eyes for a few heartbeats, and then caresses my face with the back of his hand, his fingers settling on my chin.
“I love you too.” With that he leans into me, gently brushing his lips on my own. Our tongues dance around one another, and that damp spot in my thong starts to grow and grow until there’s a wet mess between my thighs. Unable to control myself, I place one hand on his knee and let my fingers trail up all the way to his crotch; I’m not surprised when I find a bulging shape there, his cock already hard and standing at attention.
“Back to the apartment?” I ask him, my lips curling upward into a mischievous grin.
“Back to the apartment,” he agrees. It takes us just a few seconds to pack everything up and be on our way, walking in a rush out of Central Park. Around us the world keeps on turning; happy couples, kids, joggers, and all manners of people passes us by, New York City feeling as alive as I’ve ever felt it.
I reach for his hand with mine and lace my fingers on his. He squeezes, and I squeeze right back; we exchange a timid glance, and then hurry our step.
You know what’s the best part in all of this? This isn’t just lust or love. It’s something that goes way deeper than that. Somehow, even though our relationship has just started, I can tell that we’re not going to drift away from each other anytime soon - or ever. The bond we have is everlasting and, whatever the world may throw in our way, what we have simply won’t break.
I can see it all unfolding in front of my eyes, too. A marriage, kids, a small cabin in the woods where we can hide from New York’s busyness… Just like something out of a fairy tale.
And, hell, I deserve
it. After all, every girl deserves her happy ending.
Fiona Vs. Football Player
50
Fiona
“Oh my God, look at that one!” Christine is waving furiously, pointing at one of the guys on the field. I place my hand over my eyes, narrowing them into slits and trying to see the man Christine is pointing to.
“Which one? There are hot guys everywhere, Chris,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. I don’t know what it is about football players, but they just look so hot and indecent. The kind of men you don’t want to tell your mom about ... but exactly the kind of men you want to climb in through your bedroom window.
To be honest, I’m not a big football fan; Christine is. When I look down at the field, I barely have any idea what’s happening. All I see are hot men running around and crashing into each other, their corded muscles rippling on impact, and that’s just fine with me.
“Look!” Christine punches my shoulder without even bothering to look down at me. She’s standing up now, pointing frantically at one of the men standing close to us in one of those wonky formations right on the 50-yard line. That’s right, we’re this close to the action, right behind the platoon of photographers snapping photos of these hot pieces of—ahem, of the players. Ashley hooked us up with tickets, just one of the perks of having a man who’s a billionaire.
“Oh, I see him!” I squeal, finally realizing who Christine is pointing to—Danny Manning, the New York Nailers quarterback. You’ve heard of him, right? He was the Nailers' first pick two years ago, and now he’s on the fast track to earning his team its first Super Bowl ring in like ten years, which totally makes sense considering he’s the hottest piece of ass in the league.
“God, just look at that…” Christine trails off, finally sitting down. Her mouth is hanging slightly opening, and I don’t even want to think about the kind of stuff she’s probably imagining right now. Not that I can blame her. There’s a lot of indecency going on inside my mind as well. But, hey, I’m single.
“Uh-uh, Chris, stop it. You already have Professor Hung just for yourself, leave a few men on the table, will you?”
“Looking isn’t sinning, that’s what my mom always said,” she simply shrugs, and I know she means it. She turned into a hopeless romantic after she started dating Anders Trask, her former college professor. He’s hot as hell and, according to the ‘rumors’ (well, we egg Christine on to tell us all the dirty details), he’s also huge; I don’t have to explain that last one, do I?
“I don’t know about your mom, Chris, but I’d be down for some sinning with Danny…” I mutter, unblinking as I watch him position himself behind the offensive line. He has just instructed his team on some play, and now he's trotted to his position, his hands on his knees as he bends over.
When the ball flies into his hands, he’s on the move. He takes two steps back, sidesteps a linebacker with a graceful movement of his hips, and then cocks his arm back. The whole stadium seems to drown in silence as the ball leaves his hands and flies in an arch. There’s a roar as the ball finds its way straight into the hands of the Nailers’ wide receiver on the other end of the field, and the whole crowd goes insane as he dives into the end zone.
I know this happened because of the gigantic screen right in front of me, but in reality, my eyes have never left Danny Manning. Sweet Jesus, just watching him is enough to make my insides clench. He moves with a powerful dexterity, the muscles in his body working in perfect symmetry. And it’s quite a thing to witness; unlike some of the other players, Manning is all built on lean muscle, his skin stretched tight over his hard muscles. And I’m only talking about the parts that I can see… Just imagine how he must look under all that gear.
That’s when I notice it; Danny Manning’s looking straight at me. His whole team is celebrating a much-needed touchdown, and he’s just standing in the middle of the field, one hand on his hip and staring straight at me. Right now, I don’t know if my blood is flowing straight to my face or to between my thighs. I just stare back at him, completely dumbfounded, and only when he looks away do I realize that I was holding my breath.
“Oh. My. GOD!” Christine yelps, grabbing my arm and shaking me. “He was looking at you! Danny Manning was looking at you!”
“He was,” I smile, suddenly feeling light headed. My eyes follow him as he sets up another play. “Look at him, Chris. He looks so… So… So fuckable!” I cry out, that warmness between my thighs turning into an uncomfortable wet feeling.
“Totally,” Christine agrees as Danny runs close to the sidelines, just a few feet away from us. “How big do you think he is?”
“I don’t know… But I wouldn’t mind finding out.” He runs past us again, and I turn my neck, following after him and devouring him with my eyes. By now, I completely forgot about the game. I don’t even know who’s winning—and who cares, really?
“You know, Chris,” I say, turning to her and looking away from Danny for the first time in a long while. “I’d totally fuck him if I had the chan--” The words get lost in my throat as I hear a few of the photographers close to us crying out. I turn to see what all the commotion is about, and I do it just in time to see a tall Nailers player crashing through the line of photographers and stumbling toward us, the ball clutched tight to his chest.
It’s Danny Manning, and I’m right in his way.
51
Danny
Three passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. I’m on fire, baby.
“Alright, guys,” I tell the team as they form a circle around me. “We’re gonna go with a flag play. Get me the ball and I’ll throw it far and wide. Just make sure you catch it,” I tell Anderson, the wide receiver, rapping my knuckles against his helmet. He grunts in response and then we’re back in formation.
By the time the balls gets to my hands, I’m ready to go. I take two steps back and, watching one of the Miami MILFs’ linebackers rush toward me, I sidestep him. I scan the field quickly and, the moment I see Anderson closing in on the end zone, I draw my arm back and just shoot the ball in an arch. I can feel everyone's eyes in this stadium following the ball’s trajectory, but a fraction of a second before it left my hands I already knew where it was going to land: right where Anderson is now. I smile as he grabs the ball and makes a run for it. There’s nothing the MILFs' defense can do now; by the time Anderson is a few feet away from the end zone, he jumps forward and crashes after the line.
Touchdown! And now that makes it four passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. Yeah, this year I’m going to smash every single team on my road to victory, and I won’t stop until I’m carrying this year’s Super Bowl trophy in my arms. What? I’m not being cocky; I just live to win, babe, whether you like it or not.
I start to run toward the end zone, ready to join in as my whole team celebrates another six points, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. There are two girls sitting by the 50-yard line, close to the reporters, and the blonde one is looking straight at me. Has she even seen the touchdown? She’s probably the only person in the whole stadium paying zero attention to the game.
Her eyes find mine and, in a fraction of a second, her whole face turns comically red. She looks cute, actually—bright eyes and an easy smile, not a trace of those faux high-maintenance qualities I’m so tired of. She looks like the perfect girl next door.
Okay, fuck. Enough of this. I have a game to win, I can’t be thinking of women right now. I turn my attention away from her and head down the field, mentally gearing up for the next play as our kicker snags one more point by kicking the ball between the uprights. But when I walk past the girls I can’t help but overhear a few snippets of their conversation, and they’re sure as hell not talking about football. Did I hear the word fuckable?
I try to keep my head in the game for the next plays, but that girl has made a home out of my mind and I can’t focus right now. I’ve already made a fumble, and that’s my first one in the entire season. Fuck. And these two gir
ls keep on talking about everything except the game. Now that my brain has been tuned to their voices, it seems that I can’t stop myself from hearing what they’re saying.
“How big do you think he is?” I hear the blonde girl’s friend ask, and I’m pretty sure they’re talking about me. Momentarily forgetting where I am, I turn my eyes toward the girls and that’s when someone screams my name; I turn just in time to see the ball flying toward me, and I somehow manage to catch it. Except it’s too late now; two of the MILFs' linebackers are already coming toward me, one coming from the right and the other from the left, and they’re more than ready to steamroll me. Lucky for me, my body acts on muscle memory alone, and I take a fast step back; then I make a quick turn to the right, and the linebackers crash against each other.
There’s a loud ooh and then a relieved aah coming from the crowd, and I jump back into action. It’s time to finish off these pussies for good. I start running down the field as fast as I can, trying to see a clear line of pass while trying to survive a whole team that wants to stomp me down. I’m running past the 50-yard-line, just a few feet away from the sidelines, when I notice that Anderson's open on the far end of the field. I cock my arm, ready to make another glorious winning pass, when a bright voice shoots a hole in my concentration.
“I’d totally fuck him if I had the chance,” I hear her say, and I instinctively know it’s that blonde girl from before. Fuck, I lost the moment and Anderson is down on the ground now. And to top it all, there’s a lineman headed straight for me, and another two blocking my path to the right. When I hear one of the MILFs' players coming from the right, completely blindsiding me, I try and pivot to the left to avoid a sack.
“Oh, crap!” I hear one of the photographers cry out, but by then it’s already too late. I step off of the field, crashing through the line and the photographers, and stumbling my way off of the field like a raging tornado. I’m heading straight to that blonde girl and her friend, but I can’t stop my trajectory now. Step out of the way, ladies—incoming.