Fair Play

by Mia Ford

  “What do you think?” I asked with my hands on my hips, turning from side to side.

  “I think that’s the one,” Dru said, giving me a thumbs-up. “Wedge your big tits in a bra for cleavage, put on some red lipstick and he won’t be able to resist you.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” I said with a smile. “Now, if I can just learn to walk in these shoes, I’ll be all set.”

  Kate

  Getting an interview with a major sports star is not as easy as one might think. I couldn’t just stroll into Kings Stadium and ask to speak to Sean Donovan. They weren’t going to page him to come to the front desk to meet me, no matter how hot I looked.

  There are protocols in place for interviewing anyone associated with the Kings. I would have been directed to the team’s media relations office, where I would have to submit a formal request for an interview and hope it was granted at some point in the future.

  I knew that would be a complete dead end.

  SIO was banned from the stadium. Word was that they had photos of every SIO journalist, including me, tacked to a wall like criminals in a police investigation. I was going to use a pretty good disguise, but I knew they would have sniffed me out sooner or later.

  The other tactic was to contact the player’s personal PR rep directly and request an interview. Sean’s PR rep was a hardnosed woman named Madge Sinclair, who guarded her clients with the tenacity of a pit bull.

  Madge might consider your request if you were lucky, or most likely, just dismiss it outright. If she thought an interview with you was beneficial to her client, and you represented a prestigious media outlet like Sports Illustrated or ESPN, you might be granted an interview under Madge’s watchful eye.

  That’s why no one had done an eyewitness exposé of Sean Donovan before. Madge controlled the media’s access to her bad boy client and personally monitored every interview.

  If you were granted an interview, which was like getting Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket, you were required to submit your questions in writing first for Madge’s approval.

  If she didn’t like a question, it was stricken from the list. Step over a line or go in a direction that made her client look bad, and Madge would end the interview immediately and blacklist you from ever talking to another of her clients.

  I knew I’d never get access to Sean Donovan if Madge Sinclair had anything to do with it.

  So, I would have to approach him directly without going through the proper channels.

  And the only way to do that was to somehow find him away from Kings Stadium and approach him there. It would be a little like tracking a lion in its natural habitat, knowing there was the risk of getting mauled.

  I knew Sean Donovan frequented a dance club on 10th Avenue called Maxie’s New York. The place was always teaming with celebrities and groupies, and was almost as hard to get into as Fort Knox.

  But, with the right look and the right credentials, maybe Katie Holmes, former Playboy Playmate turned serious journalist, just might be able to get inside.

  Kate

  It was nearly midnight when Dru and I stepped out of the cab in front of Maxie’s New York. The rumor was that the stars didn’t come out to play until after midnight; like late night vampires crawling from their coffins and crypts. Being famous must be exhausting. I was already trying not to yawn. It was a work night; and hours past my bedtime.

  I stood on the sidewalk and watched as hordes of young, scantily-dress party goers lined up at Maxie’s front door.

  There were two large bouncers at the door, serving as the guardians of the gate.

  They scanned the crowd like Terminators, selectively choosing who got in and who didn’t. Apparently, the shorter the dress and bigger the tits, the higher the chances of getting inside.

  The lucky few who got inside would party the night away. The rest would end up waiting on the sidewalk until they gave up and went home.

  “I’m not sure this was such a good idea,” I said, nodding at the line that was growing longer by the minute.

  Dru snorted a laugh. She said, “Don’t worry. I have a plan. Give me one of your Playboy cards.” I gave her a card from my clutch, along with a confused look.

  “Okay, wait here,” she said. She was wearing a pair of mirrored Rayban Aviators, even though it was pitch dark outside. She smiled at me from over the top of the glasses and held up a finger. “And give me a sexy little wave when I point at you.”

  “What?”

  “Just follow my lead,” she said. I watched her stroll up to one of the bouncers. Dru was wearing skin tight black leather pants and motorcycle boots. Up top, she had on a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. She had spiked her hair and had the Raybans covering her eyes. She reminded me of Joan Jett when she was young. She oozed attitude and shoved through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  I stood on the curb with my feet wedged into the stilettos, and my tits and ass squeezed into the tight red dress. I had obviously put on a couple of pounds since I had worn the dress, but Dru said I filled it out perfectly.

  I had teased out my red hair and let it fall naturally on my shoulders, and let Dru do my makeup using a YouTube video as her guide. I had cleavage that Dru said made her drool, and an ass like a Kardashian. I was the perfect package. Again, Dru’s words, not mine.

  I watched her hand the bouncer the forged business card. He squinted at the card for a moment, then leaned down so Dru could speak into her ear. She turned toward me and pointed a finger at me.

  The bouncer’s eyes followed her finger. I licked my lips and gave them a little wave. The bouncer handed Dru the card and gave her a nod. She waved me over.

  “Are we in?” I asked, taking Dru’s hand.

  “We are in,” Dru said with a smile.

  “Have a good time, Miss Holmes,” the bouncer said, stepping aside to let us pass as the crowd booed our preferential treatment. Someone yelled, “FUCK YOU, SLUT!” I took it as confirmation that my disguise was working. The other bouncer opened the door and gave us a little bow as we went inside.

  We were immediately assaulted with a wave of bass that felt like a concussion grenade going off. The music was so loud I could feel it vibrating through my entire body.

  We stood at the door for a moment, giving our eyes time to adjust to the darkness. The dancefloor was already packed. Hundreds of dancers jumped up and down and swayed to the driving beat.

  I held on tight to Dru’s hand and let her lead the way. She elbowed a path up to the bar and ordered a beer for herself, and a wine cooler for me.

  “Do you think he’s here?” I asked, tilting the wine cooler to my lips and surveying the crowd. I had never been to a New York dance club and boy, was I out of my element.

  I was starting to doubt my own plan when I spotted him, Sean Donovan, sitting at a table on a raised tier between four girls with boobs bigger than mine. The table was covered with empty beer bottles and shot glasses. A very large black man stood between the dancers and the VIP area where Sean was holding court.

  “There he is,” I said nervously. “What do I do?”

  Dru lifted the sunglasses to the top of her head and said, “You go over, you give him the card and flash him your tits, just like we planned.”

  “Got it. Give him the card and flash my tits. Wish me luck.”

  I took a long swig of the wine cooler, followed by a deep breath, and started making my way across the dance floor. It seemed to take forever, pushing my way through the crowd. When I finally emerged on the other side of the crowd, I nearly stumbled and fell into Sean’s bodyguard’s thick arms.

  “VIP area, Miss,” he said with a frown that almost made me pee my panties. “Step away.”

  I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat and held up the card. He glanced at it for a moment, then I saw his eyes widen when he saw the Playboy bunny logo.

  “I’m Katie Holmes,” I shouted in his ear. “I was a Playboy Playmate. I want to talk to Sean.”

/>   I hoped it didn’t sound as silly to him as it did to me. I gave him my best smile and stuck out my tits. His eyes immediately went from my face to my tits and lingered there for a moment. He looked at the card again and said, “Hang on.”

  I held my breath as he turned toward the table and handed my card to Sean. This was the closest I’d ever come to seeing Sean Donovan in person, and I was immediately struck at how good looking he was.

  His pictures didn’t do him justice.

  He had dark hair and dark eyes, a Kennedy jawline, and a smile that made me tingle when he looked past the bouncer to check me out. When he gave the bouncer a nod and waved me over, I felt my knees wobble a little; and I didn’t think it was from the shoes.

  “Girls, go dance,” Sean said, shooing the four groupies away. They didn’t argue. They scooted out of the booth and disappeared onto the dancefloor like good little fuck-bots.

  He lifted himself up and held out his hand, directing me to sit in the booth beside him.

  “Mr. Donovan, I’m…”

  “Katie Holmes,” he said with a smile. He let his eyes go around my face and cleavage for a moment. He licked his lips like a hungry animal. “You look so much different in person. What’s it like being married to Tom Cruise?”

  “Oh, no, I’m not the actress,” I said, shaking my head. Jesus, how stupid or drunk was this guy?

  “I’m joking,” he said, giving me a toothy grin. “You must get that a lot.”

  “Oh, yes.” I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Donovan, the reason why I wanted to—“

  “Sean,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Call me Sean. Hang on…”

  He surveyed the empty glasses and bottles on the table, then called out to the bodyguard. “Ron, get us another round of drinks, please. And something for yourself.”

  He turned his attention back to me. His eyes were red, but I didn’t think he was drunk. At least not yet. He put on a smile and said, “So, Katie Holmes, what can I do for you?”

  I leaned in to speak so he could hear me. As my lips neared his ear, I inhaled. He smelled amazing, a mix of sweaty musk and a cologne I didn’t recognize. I could see the thick muscles of his chest and shoulders beneath the fitted black shirt he wore.

  I said, “The reason I wanted to talk to you, Sean, was that I had an idea for a profile for our magazine.”

  “What issue were you in?” he asked. He put his arm on the back of the bench behind me. We were inches away from each other. I could feel the heat coming off his body.

  “What issue? Oh, well, I never made it into the magazine,” I said, putting on a pouty face.

  “So, there are no naked pictures of you on the web for me to pleasure myself to?” His eyebrows flexed. He bit into his bottom lip and gazed at my tits again. “That’s a shame. Maybe you could hook me up with some pics if I gave you my cell number.”

  I blinked at his audacity. I couldn’t believe the set of balls on this guy. I hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Um, sure, my number is on the card. Text me and I’ll send you something.”

  I did my best to give him a sexy look, which was hard because I had no experience looking sexy. I had no intention of sending him nude selfies, but I was sure Dru could find something online I could use. A woman with big tits and red pubes and her face blurred out…

  “Anyway, Sean, I want to do a profile of you for the magazine. Kind of a fly on the wall sort of thing. Follow you around for a few days to see how you live, work, and play; things you do for fun, that sort of thing.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why would you wanna do that?”

  “Well, because I think our readers would find it interesting.”

  He snorted a laugh. “I highly doubt it. You’ll probably end up boring your readers to death. I play football, I get drunk, I go home. Who the fuck wants to read about that?”

  “Lots of people would,” I said. I gazed into his eyes and ran my tongue slowly across my lips. I felt like an utter fool. I sucked at seduction.

  The music changed from the driving dance beat to a slow song: George Michaels’ Careless Whispers.

  “Oh, fuck, I love this song!” Sean grabbed my hand and literally dragged me onto the dance floor.

  “Mr. Donovan… Sean…”

  “Come on!”

  He didn’t give me time to speak as the dancers parted to let us through to the center of the dancefloor. He twirled me around a couple of times, then jerked me into him.

  He put his arm around my waist and pulled me so close it forced the breath from my lungs.

  My breasts heaved against his chest. I could feel the length and thickness of his cock pressing into crotch.

  He put his cheek next to mine and sighed happily in my ear. He ground his cock into me like a teenage boy at a high school dance. I resisted the urge to grind my hips into his. I wanted to seduce him into an interview. Not fuck him on the dance floor.

  He sighed into my ear, “You’re beautiful, Katie Holmes. Even more beautiful that the other one.”

  “Thank you,” I said, doing my best to follow his lead, even though I was born with two left feet. I wasn’t much of a dancer and I had never been held so tightly in all my life.

  I sort of… liked it.

  A lot…

  My brain told me to kick him in the balls and get the heck out of there, but my body was telling my brain to just shut the fuck up and let us have a little fun.

  It felt good being in his strong arms.

  My nipples grew plump against his chest. They ached to be free of the tight bra. They wanted to be squeezed between his fingers… Kissed by his lips.

  I could feel heat building in my twat. It started as a tiny spark the moment he took me into his arms. The tiny spark quickly ignited and spread through my body like wildfire. I could feel the heat rising through my stomach, spreading across my breasts, going up my neck, and burning thoughts of running away from my brain.

  His lips brushed my ear. His hot breath sent a warm shiver down my spine. A warm stream was flowing between my legs. I could feel my juices soaking into my panties. I could smell my tangy scent rising in the air.

  I heard him inhale deeply.

  He could smell my juices, too, just as clearly as a shark could smell blood in the water. He was circling me. He was the predator. I was his prey.

  Hang in there, girl, a little voice in my head whispered.

  If you want to dance with the devil, you must follow to his tune.

  It’s all part of the game.

  Keep playing along.

  You’re doing fine...

  We were dancing in sync now. I put my arms around his neck and rested my cheek on his shoulder. I turned my nose toward his neck and inhaled his scent. His musk was like an aphrodisiac. It made me want to do things to him I’d never done with any man before. It made me want to let him do things to me… anything he wanted… over and over and over again…

  I didn’t think about pushing my hips into his or pressing my lips to his sweaty neck. Both just happened. When he felt my lips on his skin, he rubbed his cock against my cunt and sent a series of shockwaves splintering through me.

  I held my breath and pressed my forehead to his shoulder. I was having an orgasm, in public, on the dancefloor, with a man I just met. Who the fuck was I? Oh yeah, I was Katie Holmes…

  He moaned as he felt me shudder against him.

  His cock was getting harder and my pussy was soaking my panties. I could feel the moisture trickling down the inside of my thigh. The practical side of my brain said: you should have worn thicker panties. The fun side, the side that didn’t come out to play very often, said fuck it, baby. Let it flow!

  My breath was gusty on his cheek.

  I could feel his lips at my ear.

  His tongue went around the rim of my ear and down the slope of my neck. His breath was hot on my neck. He was panting like a dog.

  I felt his muscles tense up against me. He dug his fingers into my ass and ground h
is cock into me faster, with a longer motion so the entire shaft rubbed against my cunt. I heard him moan in my ear. His body quaked. Holy shit. He was having an orgasm. This really was like being back at a high school dance with a horny teenage boy.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tight as he arched himself into me and exploded in his pants. I almost came again myself, the moment was so fucking hot.

  He held me into him until the spasms ended. His breathing in my ear slowed as he struggled to catch his breath.

  I pulled my head back to look him in the eye. When I did, he kissed me softly on the lips. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, full of heat and promise. I didn’t resist. I let him kiss me again, then I kissed him back. Our tongues swirled around inside my mouth.

  As we stood motionless now at the center of the dancefloor, it was as if everyone else had disappeared.

  All I could hear was George Michael in my ears and the feel of my heart beating in my chest. It was one of those rare moments a girl never forgets.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked breathlessly. His lips were at my ear again, his words sending shivers down my spine. “We can go back to my place and fuck all night long, just you and me.”

  His voice jarred me back to reality. I remembered that we were not alone. Nor was I the kind of girl to fall under a hot guy’s spell and fuck him the first night we meet. Grinding on the dancefloor was one thing. Fucking all night long was another. I shook my head and licked my lips, which were covered with his salty taste.

  “Um, I have a friend waiting on me,” I said, putting him at arm’s length. I squeezed my thighs together to keep myself from dripping on the floor. I felt drunk, dreamy-eyed, even though I’d had very little to drink. I cleared my throat and stepped away from him. I glanced down at the large wet spot on the front of his jeans.

  He gave me a pouty face. “A boyfriend?”

  “What? No, a coworker.” I looked around the room for Dru. She was still at the bar where I’d left her, talking intimately with a woman dressed similarly to herself. Dru was obviously no slouch in the one-night-stand department.