Perfect Game
Sports Romance
★★★★★
★ Evangeline Fox ★
★★★★★
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Pregnant by the Quarterback
Megan sat down and tried to straighten her face. She'd been smiling for the last hour, every few minutes having to deal with her face starting to cramp. It hurt bad, and she was tired of it, but she couldn't afford to just lose her job because of a few discomforts that came along with the territory.
A girl came up to check her hair while Dan started counting her into the segment.
"Five, four, three…" He mouthed the words two and one as he counted them down on his fingers. Then he flashed her a thumbs up sign and smiled at her, and she smiled back at the camera, straining again.
"I'm Megan Thomas with Six Sports; we're here with Tim Jacobs, quarterback for the Denver Broncos, who just threw the game-winning pass in the final minutes of a close-fought Superbowl. Tim, how are you feeling now?"
He opened his mouth and started to answer. Megan didn't hear what he said, because someone came into the room with his cock out and she completely blanked. The camera cut as soon as they realized what was going on, but not before Tim broke eye contact with Megan and stood to shout "What the fuck, Clay?"
Megan blinked and tried to keep herself under control. It wasn't as if she'd never seen anything like this before, and pranks were nothing new. As a reporter, never mind as a woman, it was something she'd had to deal with plenty of times.
Clay Redding was the tight end, and where Tim had thrown the pass, Clay was the one catching. Jacobs had star material written all over him, and there wasn't anyone in the NFL who didn't know it. It left Clay in an uncomfortable shadow that nobody had managed to see his way out of, but the truth was, he was nearly as talented. A big, brawny man who still managed to show a six-pack in spite of his size.
She'd liked him from the moment she saw him on TV, right up until she'd met him in person. He was full of piss and vinegar from being passed over in the first round for Tim, and barely made it into the third round pick, so even though the boys had gone through college together, had brought the US Navy team to impressively unlikely glory – together.
Clay had every right to be put on the same level as Tim. He worked as hard, was born with as much talent, but he didn't have the look, and that was enough to keep him off television cameras. Megan sympathized with him.
But that didn't mean it affected how she did her job, and he made it harder to do that job, and that was all it took to set her off against him. She furrowed her brow.
"We're trying to film here, can you take that somewhere else?"
"What, you don't like it?" Redding wagged his cock back and forth at her, laughing. He'd been into the champagne a little early; she could see it in the redness of his face.
The other thing she could see, the thing she couldn't help but see, was how big it was. It seemed like an elephant's trunk. Jesus, could that thing even fit into a woman? She put up a hand to shield her eyes, but the image was burned into her memory.
Tim got up and snarled at him. "Clay, get the fuck out of here. Don't you have a lick of sense in your head?"
The coach was behind the camera, and he looked like he was going to have a meltdown. What in the blue blazes was this idiot thinking? Had he even considered, for half a second, what sort of hell this shit could bring down on the team?
Never mind the sexual harassment lawsuit it could bring, just the idea of how bad it could hurt the team made the veins in the side of his head throb painfully. Tim started to walk towards Clay, his shoulders dropping into an angry, aggressive stance.
Megan realized, all of a sudden, that even though they were in Football and they were on the same team, both of these men could have just as easily seen success in a boxing ring. They were huge, heavily muscled, and had fists as big as her head.
The second thing she realized, something she'd never realized in her previous interviews with them, was that they hated each other. Something more than just being passed over for a few post-game interviews.
Tim balled up one huge fist, ready for trouble, and she could see Clay's huge frame straining to be ready for what was coming. Tim put up a hand on Clay's chest and started to push. Clay rolled his shoulder back and let the hand slip past, and his hand moved, quick as a rattlesnake's strike.
Tim looked like he didn't feel the fist hit his gut, but followed the push with his right with a heavy left hand that made an awful cracking sound as it smashed into Clay's jaw. He looked at Tim, at Megan, at Coach Green, and then in strange slow-motion, he stumbled back through the door and fell onto his ass. Tim's shoulders came back and his neck straightened. He took a deep breath. Then he shut the door and flipped the lock.
"I'm real sorry about that, ma'am. Did you want to continue?"
Coach Green cut in first.
"On behalf of the entire team, I'm so sorry about Mr. Redding's unacceptable behavior."
Megan shook her head and put on her stage smile. "Please, Coach. It'd take more than that to shake me up."
But that wasn't entirely true. She was shaken up, but not from the fight. Not even from Clay Redding's unsettlingly large…equipment. But somewhere deep down in her, she had realized that she'd gotten used to these giants being around her, gotten used to two-hundred-fifty pound men who could crush her head in one hand.
Seeing them fight had reinstilled her understanding of their size, of their power. These men weren't just anyone, and they weren't just everyday men. It would be fairer, more accurate, to call them what they were: Gods.
She shivered as Tim sat down, seeing him again for the first time. He'd changed from his pads and uniform into one of the T-shirts that the team sold outside the stadium. It was easier to give them merchandise to wear than to make them stay in uniform all the time. The shirt was huge, and it still stretched in the chest to encompass the thick slab of meat on his back.
He had a square jaw, and in most ways he looked every bit the picture of a powerful man…except in his face. There, he looked more like a movie star, and Megan knew that if he'd been around in the '90s then he would have been in several without a doubt. These days, people seemed to look on using athletes as movie stars as tacky, but he knew how to handle himself on set pretty well. He might be able to make it, if that was what he wanted.
He smiled at her, and Megan smiled back. It was only after his face changed, shifted to a look of confusion, that she remembered the camera pointed at them. She shook her head to shake the cobwebs out and looked back at Dan to confirm that she was paying attention once more.
"Okay, let's do this again," she said, and he started to count.
Fifteen minutes later, she'd asked all her questions, gotten shots with everyone – even Clay, who had put his pants back on, and hid the right side of his face from the camera without looking like he was trying to. She was gathering her things when Tim walked up.
"Hey, I'm real sorry about what happened earlier, some of these guys, they can be pretty unprofessional sometimes."
"Did Coach ask you to come make apologies for him?" She smiled to let him know that it was a joke, and that she wasn't too upset about it. Already forgotten.
"Oh, no, he told me to get you the hell out of the building," he answered calmly, and barked out a laugh. "I figured I'd give you an escort, though, just in case you were sore about it, or worried about him waylaying you on th
e way out."
He winked, and waved over her shoulder at Clay, who had clearly heard the comment and went red in the ears, but didn't respond.
Tim looked as comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans as he did at press dinners wearing a suit and tie, as comfortable as he looked in a uniform. He carried himself in a way that made him always seem calm, controlled. Like he was in charge of the whole place.
"You reporters, you eat, right? Or do you have to go back to do some more work now?"
"No, my editor should handle most of the stuff. We've already got the footage headed over there from the van, so I'm pretty much free. Why, did you want to join me for something? Because you know, I could just go on my own, no big deal." She gave him a sideways look and a grin.
They both knew he was good looking, and they both knew he was available. No girl would turn down a date with him, and Megan wasn't an exception.
"Well, if you're not interested…" Megan bumped into him with her shoulder and he made an exaggerated show of stumbling over himself. "I get it, I get it. Do you have a ride, or should I go pick up a car?"
Then twenty minutes later, she was sitting in a restaurant with the man. Everything seemed to be going in a blur. What on earth had she done to deserve this? He was nice, attentive…and at the same time, she realized, he was like a magnet for attention. It was a big place, and the crowd was loud enough inside that they she'd been able to hear them from the lobby.
But when Tim Jacobs walked in, the place shut up. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, and she knew that in all likelihood, she'd have been reporting on this if it was anyone other than her. A big star like that shows up with some nobody, a sports reporter, out to dinner? Lord, what a scoop.
Then they were back in the car, and they were joking together. Before she knew what was happening, she was in her apartment, and he was pouring a couple of beers he'd found in the fridge.
"This one's for me, and this one is…also for me. Did you want one?"
Megan smiled against her own better judgment. She knew better than to be flirting, better than to be moving towards Tim. Better than to press her body against him. She was at her most fertile time right now, and with the way she wanted him, she knew that it wouldn't be safe.
No, it'd be hard and fast and violent and she'd be screaming for him to go harder and to slow down all at the same time. She'd be going wild for him, and he would put a baby in her. She'd barely managed to make it this far, and a baby would absolutely kill her chances of being an anchor.
She kissed him anyways, pressed her lips against his and smiled when she felt the predatory instinct coming out of him, like she'd seen with Clay. But this was different, somehow. He had been pure sex then, too, she thought. Every ounce of him a man. And yet, now, there was something more, and it finally hit home that when she did it, and she knew now that she would do it, that he would want to put a baby in her.
"Stop," she breathed.
"What's wrong," he asked, pressing his forehead against hers. She could control this, she thought. He was an animal, but he was a man before that, and he could cage the animal. Control it. When she said stop, he would stop.
"Nothing," she said. She'd tell him not to cum in her, and then he wouldn't. Regardless of what he wanted deep down, she knew that she could trust him. She pressed her lips against his once more, and then they weren't kissing so sweetly any more. A mishmash of teeth and tongues and lips began, a duel that men and women had started thousands of years ago.
Her hands moved and explored the hard muscles under his clothes. She knew what he looked like with his shirt off; even when she was announced in advance, not everyone put their shirts back on when a reporter came into the locker room for an interview. How he felt put a finer point on it. He wasn't just big, or muscular. From here she could feel his strength.
When he cupped one breast in his hand, she learned something else: he could control that strength, could put it towards whatever he wanted to put it towards. Or be gentle, when that suited him better.
He put his hands under her arms, and then like a child, he lifted her up, hoisted her, and set her on the counter. Her feet dangled, and he pushed a thick hand between her knees and started to push them apart.
She lifted her butt to help him slide her jeans off her hips, and then they were off, and across the room from her. Somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't important, because then his hands were roaming her legs. Up and down her thighs, dancing dangerously close to her without ever touching that fire between her legs. Without ever quenching her need.
She wanted him to touch her, wanted him to bring her to the brink of pleasure and then push her over the edge. But more than that, she wanted to let him take it slow, to let him move at his own pace. He would move on when he was ready, and until then…
Megan let the delicious agony of waiting slide over her, laying back on the marble counter top that was cold against her. She could feel his fingers hooking into the sides of her panties, and sliding them off. So gentle, it was easy to forget how massive, how powerful he was. But she couldn't forget, not after the day she'd had.
She felt his lips on her knee, planting a soft kiss that, like everything else he had done, stood in stark contrast to the man he was on the field. He kissed his way up her thigh, and then…she gasped.
A jolt of electricity, hot and hard and so right went up her spine, straight to the pleasure center of her brain. She went stiff. He smiled against her mound and pulled her clit into his mouth, squeezing it gently between his lips. He sucked gently, and she reached down to grab a fistful of hair.
She could feel a finger rubbing idly up and down her lips, and then, as he licked her, she felt him press one inside. Then another, and she felt the light behind her eyes grow brighter, and brighter, and then explode into a burning supernova of pleasure. When she could see again, could sit up, Tim was already rubbing himself against her.
"Fuck me. Fuck me hard, baby."
He reached out one massive hand and cupped her cheek, rubbing her face with his thumb. He leaned down and put a kiss on her lips, chaste and sweet and yet not what she wanted.
"Please, I need it."
"You've got it," he said, and then he lined himself up with her, and pushed inside.
He was inside her in the space of an instant, and time seemed to stop. He was big, bigger than anyone she'd been with, but she hadn't been prepared for the feeling of fullness inside her. Of stretching, just barely, to the brink without going over. She needed this, more of this.
"Don't stop," she breathed out.
He pulled out and pushed back in, her vision already starting to blur again. She didn't need to see, she realized. She needed…what she needed was…
She blinked and tried to regain her composure, but then he filled her again, and whatever her thought had been, it was gone, lost to a sea of mindless pleasure. She wanted him, wanted him to fuck her forever. Whatever her concerns had been, whatever she had wanted before, none of that mattered. All that mattered to her now was the feeling, the need.
She felt so full, needed that feeling of fullness just to keep going, but in another way, she realized, she was so empty, and she knew just how to have him keep her full.
"Oh, please don't stop. Cum in me, baby."
"Are you sure?" He didn't slow, still plowing into her with hard, long strokes.
"I need it," she mewed, the lights behind her eyes already beginning to brighten as she neared the brink of orgasm a second time.
Tim groaned and pushed into her hard. She could feel his rhythm quickening. He was close, she knew, and she wanted him to go over the edge. She would give anything for it, she realized. As long as she could keep feeling like this as long as possible. Then he pushed in, hard, and warmth spread throughout her belly as he came, long, thick spurts that she could feel intensely, deep inside her.
She could feel him spasming inside her, could feel his cock still moving as he started to soften, and she lost herself in another orgasm. She laid he
r head back, laid there on the marble counter top.
Her hair was a mess, she knew. She didn't have an excuse for her behavior, and for all she knew she'd be fired for this. She knew, just from the feeling of him moving through her, inside her, that she was pregnant. She had to be.
But somehow, it all seemed right. For the first time in a long time, Megan felt right.
Oops! He Knocked Me Up!
I love basketball. Is that weird, for a girl to like basketball? There's constant action. Football has a lot of down time with time outs, and hockey can get really violent, but basketball is the perfect medium between the two.
Plus, the players are almost all so hot. Tall men! What's not to love about them?
My favorite player, Jamal Summers, is this hot golden god. The way he runs down the court, and how he looks with sweat running down his muscles... wonderful. I'd die for a man like that.
Instead...
I look to my right, and there's my boyfriend. Aaron. I've been with him for 2 years. At first he was romantic, even sweet sometimes, but as he got comfortable he got mean. Not only that, but he let himself go. Since he doesn't have to try to find a girlfriend anymore, his once hard body is now a soft mushy pile of gross.
The sound of shoes against the lacquered floor catches my attention, and I'd rather be looking down at the court anyway. For my birthday, Aaron bought tickets to one of the biggest games. Our team is playing our biggest rival. And so far? We're winning.
I turn my head just in time to see Jamal run past one of the rival players and slam dunk the basketball. He lands and turns to our side of the stadium, roaring in celebration. One more point for us!
Technically the other team could catch up but, well, it's not likely.
At half time, the stadium plays some pop music. I dance a bit while Aaron drinks his beer and stares at his cell phone. Aaron isn't as much of a basketball fan as I am.
“Are you having fun?” I ask, smiling and hoping he'll at least pretend he is.
Perfect Game_Sports Romance Page 1