Offense & Defense: A MMF Sports Romance

by Alexis Angel

“Glad you could make it,” I say, and her cheeks grow red before I’ve even finished speaking. I pull her chair back, acting like a true gentleman (no matter what the newspapers say, I can act like one), and then go back to my seat.

  “I don’t think you’ve left me another choice, you know? After you asked me out on live TV, I think I’d end up looking like an idiot if I turned you down,” she tells me with a confident smile. I can tell that she’s feigning her confidence; she’s trying hard not to look me in the eyes, and that tells me she’s a nervous wreck right now.

  “Who cares?” I shrug. “Looking good, looking bad… It’s all the same, Fiona. I don’t live my life according to what the media expects of me, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, finally looking straight at me. Her eyes are of a clear blue, a little piece of heaven hidden in her iris, and I almost forget that I’m on a date with her. I just prop my elbows up on the table and lose myself in how beautiful she looks. Forget about all these top models; they have nothing on this girl.

  “I hope that asking me out wasn’t just a marketing stunt or something like that,” she says with a smile, slowly looking more confident with each passing second.

  “Do you see any reporters around?” I ask her, waving my hand at the empty restaurant. “If I wanted to make a show out of this, I’d have wanted this place packed… But it’s not. And if I did all this for show, I wouldn’t have brought you this,” I grab the rose in front of me and hand it to her, the tip of my fingers brushing against the palm of her small hands as I do it, “where nobody can see me do it.”

  “Thank you,” she smiles, looking me straight in the eyes and finally feeling at ease. I’m used to girls being intimidated by me; I’m rich, world famous, and I look better than fucking Adonis himself. Not to mention the baseball bat I have dangling between my legs, but now's not the time to be bragging about stuff like that, is it?

  “Don’t mention it,” I tell her as the sole waiter in the restaurant comes up to us. I order the tasting menu, not even knowing what half of the stuff in there really is, and a bottle of French red wine.

  After we get the formalities out of the way—she’s a law student, I’m a quarterback, shit like that—and after we order a second bottle of red, her mood seems to improve considerably. While she started the evening as a shy girl completely star-struck by me, she’s now acting more confidently than most women I know.

  “You like to show off,” she teases me, talking about last night’s game. “Most of the stuff you do on the field is completely for show, isn’t it? Like, did you really have to somersault over that guy?”

  “Did you see his size? It was either that or be carried off to a graveyard after being hit by him.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” she continues, taking a long gulp out of her wine. “I bet that a guy your size could handle a tackle like that.”

  “A guy my size?” I ask her, arching one eyebrow and realizing that we’re changing gears in this conversation. For a petite girl she looks like she’s in control of the whole conversation. Which is good, for once in my life I can act like a fucking regular human being, instead of a cardboard star athlete. I know I shouldn’t be complaining about this (after all, most guys would kill to be in a situation such as mine), but being used by women as a human dildo gets old pretty quickly. Sure, most of them also try to put a collar on me, hell bent on parading me around like some kind of big prize, but I never allowed that to happen. I might earn a living like an athlete, but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb. Far from it, in fact: before playing in the League, I graduated with honors from Wharton. Don’t act all surprised, babe; I’m much more than just a piece of meat.

  “A guy your size,” she repeats, the grin on her face telling me she’s talking about more than just my height.

  “You know nothing about my size.” I finish my glass of wine and then just stare at her, allowing that electric feeling to settle around us. Fuck, remember when I told you that I wasn’t thinking about fucking her? Yeah, forget about that. Right now I want nothing more than to get her naked.

  “But I’m going to find out all about your size, aren't I?”

  “You were the one saying you’d fuck me if you had the chance,” I say, my grin widening as my heart starts pumping boiling blood to my cock. If this conversation keeps going in this direction, soon enough I’m going to have an erection so massive that I’m going to overturn the table.

  “A deal is a deal,” she shoots back.

  Touchdown, it seems.

  “Check, please!” I tell the waiter.

  Time to get out of here.

  56

  Fiona

  We leave the restaurant in a hurry. No wonder, though, after the conversation heated up, I knew how our night would end up: with my clothes on the floor.

  By the time we got out of the Time Warner Center building, Danny already had a valet waiting with his Aston Martin out front. A few heads turned as some people noticed whom the owner of the car was, and I had to wait while a few kids surrounded Danny, asking for autographs and selfies. I waited patiently by the car, anxious to be alone with him. I usually don’t do stuff like this, getting naked on the first date, but this is Danny Manning we’re talking about! And more than just being famous, he actually proved to be a perfect gentleman. I mean, what kind of guy bothers to bring a rose on the first date? That’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel. Sure, I prefer my novels hotter than what Jane Austen writes, but you won’t hear me complain about being swept off my feet by a perfect gentleman with manners straight out of the early 19th century.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him as he finally leaves his fans behind and opens the passenger door for me.

  “Trump Tower,” he replies, getting behind the wheel and revving up the engine. My insides burn up as he tells me our destination: from the Time Warner Center to Trump Tower is a quick drive, probably less than five minutes. Thank God.

  “I didn’t know you lived there,” I try and make small talk with him as we cruise through Manhattan’s heavy traffic.

  “Why would you? It’s not like I have billboards around town telling people where I live.” Fair point. “Besides, I rarely bring people over. “

  “By people, you mean … women?”

  He chuckles, the sound of his voice turning my pussy into a wet mess. Christ, I can’t wait to get out of the car and inside his pants.

  “Yeah, especially women. I don’t want to risk having a crazy stalker knowing where I live.”

  “And what if I’m a crazy stalker?” I tease him, placing one hand on his knee and sliding it up to between his legs. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but I just can’t control myself right now.

  “I guess that’s why they invented restraining orders,” he fires back at me, his grin widening as I place my open palm right on his crotch. His cock is already tenting his pants, and I guess he wasn’t joking when he told me I knew nothing about his size. It’s like he doesn’t have a cock between his thighs, but a lighthouse. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything this huge in my entire life.

  Thank God he stops in front of the Trump Tower in no time, or else I think I’d just go nuts and blow him right on the ride to his place. Don’t judge me; I have no idea what’s happening to me. I’m usually a well-behaved girl, I swear!

  “Take good care of it,” he tells the valet, handing him his car keys. I follow him inside the massive building like a lost pup. I’ve never been inside one of these luxury apartments, let alone fucked by a luxury kind of guy. I guess I really won the lottery yesterday. God bless Ashley, if it weren’t for her tickets I’d be home right now, my nose buried in a massive constitutional law tome.

  “Here it is,” Danny finally announces, sliding his magnetic key card through the slit and pushes the double doors to his apartment open. He takes a step back, allowing me to enter his place before he does, and I almost gasp as I step one foot inside. The place is gigantic!

  To my righ
t there’s a stairway that leads to an upper floor, and right in front of that there’s a living room bigger than my whole apartment. The decor is pretty modern, all the furniture having modern straight lines that compliment the stoic black and white colors of the walls.

  But I’m not here as a decorator, am I? I turn on my heels, my heart tightening up inside my chest as I finally accept what’s about to happen: I’m going to fuck Danny Manning, one of the most coveted bachelors in New York City.

  “Where’s the bedroom?” I ask him, not wanting to waste a single second.

  “Who needs a bed?” he asks, taking one step toward me and closing the distance between us. He leans in, and my eyelids droop by instinct. Our lips touch and it suddenly becomes real: I’m really kissing him. And, by God, he tastes delicious, just like a real man should. His lips fit on mine perfectly and, as he holds me by the hips, I suddenly can’t recall a kiss more perfect than this one.

  “I like a girl who keeps her promises,” he says, looking me in the eye.

  “That doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook,” I respond, resting my hands on his waist. “You’ll have to make it worth my while.”

  “Fiona,” he whispers, and a shiver goes up my spine as I hear my name rolling over his tongue, “you’re in good hands.” That much I can’t dispute; his big hands sure seem to fit perfectly on my curves.

  “I don’t doubt it… I just hope you’ll be using more than your hands,” I purr, moving one hand over his belt and suddenly flattening it against his crotch. A grin dawns on his face as he feels the pressure of my hand.

  “I’ll be using far more than just my hands,” he says, and I feel the shape under his pants hardening against my fingers. Whatever monstrosity he’s hiding between his pants, it keeps on growing and growing until my hand feels much smaller than it really is. “Surprised?” he asks, noticing the amazement that has taken over my face. “You shouldn’t be.”

  I’m at a loss for words, my brain busy with trying to comprehend how big he really is. At least ten inches—wait, no, he’s even bigger than that. Twelve? Oh, God, is he even human? I didn’t think that cocks as huge as his existed in the real world. I’m sorry, Christine, I doubt that Professor Hung can hold a candle to Danny.

  I curl my fingers around his thick shape, my heart tightening in my chest as I realize that not only is he big, he’s also insanely thick; it feels like he stuffed a large can of coke inside his pants. How in the world is such a cock going to fit inside my pussy? I can barely grab it using just one hand!

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says, reading the worry in my eyes. “Well, I’ll try.” He pushes me back then, one hand still on my waist and the other going to my nape, tangling his long fingers in my hair. He only stops when my back is against the wall, his body pressed against mine. I keep my hand on his crotch, my fingers tightly curled around his hard cock and—gasp—it seems even bigger than before now.

  “No,” I find myself saying, and he arches one eyebrow at that. “Don’t be gentle,” I continue, tightening my fingers around his cock and grinning wildly. I’m with Danny Manning right now; being gentle with him would just be a waste, don’t you think? I want him to be as wild and fierce as he’s on the field—perhaps even more.

  “If that’s what you want,” he whispers, yanking on my hair and forcing my head back, “then that’s what you’ll get.” He lays his mouth on my neck, kissing in a straight line until his lips are on mine again. Pushing his way inside my mouth with his tongue, his kiss grows fiercer and savage, the hand he has on my waist going down until it meets the hemline of my dress.

  Moving his hand under my dress, he slides it up until his fingers are brushing against my inner thighs, my pussy so wet that I can already feel my thong sticking to my skin. With a sudden movement, he flattens the palm of his hand right between my thighs, his long fingers pressing against my wetness as I gasp.

  “Oh, God,” I breathe out, throwing my head back against the wall and closing my eyes. He starts rubbing my pussy with slow teasing strokes, and my hips start moving by instinct, grinding against his open hand.

  “You’re a mess down here,” he whispers, leaning in and brushing his full lips against my ear. “I like that… I like that a lot.”

  “I bet you do,” I manage to say, a sudden burst of confidence filling me. “But you’ll like it even more.”

  “Is that so?” he whispers again, pressing harder against my pussy and making me gasp once more. “Now you’ve made me curious…” Trailing off, he takes his hand off of my pussy and starts kissing my neck. His lips go down to my cleavage and, grabbing at the straps of my dress, he pulls them down my arms. Pushing the fabric down, he only stops when my dress is bunched up around my waist.

  I reach for his hair and, grabbing it, I pull him into me. He doesn’t fight back, allowing his mouth to fly straight to between my tits. He kisses me in the valley between my breasts, sliding both his hands up my back until he finds the clasp of my bra. With a quick flick of his fingers, he unhooks it, and then pushes the straps down my arms.

  “Much better,” he grins, his eyes focused on my tits as he lets the bra float down to the floor. Without allowing me enough time for a response, he dives into me once more. His lips go over the curve of my right breast, closing in on my hard nipple. Using only his tongue, he starts circling it, driving me completely mad. I grab his hair fiercely, forcing him to move his mouth straight to my nipple but, this time, he resists me.

  “Patience is a virtue, you know?” he says, looking up at me with that maddening grin of his. Finally, though, he flicks his tongue against my hard rosy tip and I let out out one quivering moan. Moving fast now, he wraps his lips around my nipple and starts sucking harder, battering against my aching tip with the tip of his tongue. With his free hands he squeezes my right breast, my skin burning up as I succumb to the touch of his fingers. “You’re delicious,” he whispers, pulling back from my kiss and looking at me in the eye. “But I want to taste the main course,” he continues, slowly going down on his knees. My heart almost explodes as I realize what he has in mind.

  “It’s all yours,” I tell him, my voice heavy and full of lust. Without bothering to push my dress down, he slides his two hands under the fabric and then hikes it up to my waist. Without even giving me enough time to prepare myself for what’s about to happen, he just dives into me, and presses his open mouth against the drenched fabric of my thong.

  I arch my back and, without even knowing what the hell I’m doing, I lift one leg up and place it over his shoulder. With my pussy now perfectly angled, Danny starts sucking on me with such an eagerness that you’d say he’s the one who's star struck, not me. My skin prickles as I feel his lips on me, my thong the only barrier between us, and I can barely believe how good it feels.

  “More,” he whispers, and I have no idea if he’s talking to me or to himself. Either way, he takes his fingers to between my thighs and, grabbing at my thong, he flicks it to the side and bares my wet pussy.

  A shiver goes up my spine as he brushes his index finger over my drenched folds, and when he starts moving it up and down I can’t help but moan. My voice explodes in the silence of his apartment like a song of pleasure, and I thrust my hips against him, anxious to feel his fingers or his mouth on me. I’ve seen what he’s capable of when inside the field, now I want to know what other things he can do with his fingers and mouth… And with his cock, of course, but that comes later.

  “You really don’t know what patience means, do you?” he asks me, looking up at me with a teasing smile. I just bite on my lower lip, my eyes locked on his as I run my fingers through his hair, urging him to carry on. “Oh, well,” he chuckles, and then presses his open mouth against my pussy. I moan even louder than before as he sucks on my inner lips, using his tongue to lap at them.

  Using the leg I have over his shoulder to lock him in place, I start thrusting, rubbing my pussy against his mouth as he devours me. With my eyelids closed shut, I let my
consciousness be dragged down into a world of pure pleasure, each time he flicks his tongue against me feeling like lightning crashing down on me.

  He keeps going until I no longer know if I’m moaning or screaming, my voice just another constant in a sea of ecstasy.

  “It feels so good,” I tell him, still grabbing at his hair. The moment these words leave my mouth, he takes one hand to my pussy and presses his thumb over my clit, immediately moving it viciously in a circular motion. “Oh, fuck,” I breathe out, pleasure pooling inside my muscles. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to take this without—oh, Jesus, forget about that. I’m going to come, and it’s going to happen right now.

  Exhaling sharply, I let a wave of mind-bending ecstasy crash against both my mind and body, every single muscle in my body twitching and trembling as my nerve endings become overloaded.

  I start hissing through my gritted teeth, yanking on Danny’s hair and forcing me against my pussy so harshly that I don’t even know if he can breathe. Only when pleasure starts to subside do I let go of him, slowly placing my leg back on the floor. He pulls back from me and I force my eyelids open. I can’t help but grin as, looking down at him, I notice my fluids dripping down his chin. I reach for him and, with two fingers under his jaw, I make him get up until he’s on my level.

  “Like I said … Delicious,” he tells me, leaning in and crushing his mouth against mine. A violent shiver climbs up my spine as I taste my pussy in his mouth. Delicious, he says, and I can’t help but agree.

  “My turn,” I tell him, pulling back from our kiss and running my tongue between my lips. I place both my hands on his chest and push him back, driving him across the living room. Grabbing his arm, I force him to sit down in his oversized (really, must everything about Danny be this big) sofa and then climb on his lap, straddling him. With both hands on his shoulders, I pull his jacket down his arms and then start unbuttoning his shirt, patiently taking care of each button.