by Alexis Angel
“Why are you always trying to do better than me?” Colt asked during recess one day as a bunch of us tossed around the football.
Jesus. I didn’t know how to tell him. What was it I didn’t know how to tell him is what you’re wondering, huh?
I didn’t know how to tell him all I wanted was to be just like him - The Best.
I didn’t know how to tell him that I envied his life, but even then, at that age, when I saw him take it for granted or throw away opportunities, it seemed like a slap in the face to me. I would have killed for any of those chances Colt got - whether it was a doting mother, or a father who paid for extra one-on-one practice sessions with a retired football coach.
And that’s why I had to do better. For myself. For my father, who worked for his.
Instead, I defended myself. “What?” I asked with a sneer. “Afraid of competition? Are you a delicate rosebud?”
The kids around us snickered. They chanted ‘rosebud’ over and over.
I remember Colt and how he hated that name. Throughout the years, it was only me who remembered.
It consumed me. And same as him, football became central to me.
It became my life, it consumed me.
I paid the price — I sweated; I bled — and that’s how I became the best defensive end in the league. That’s why I’m a better player than Colt: while he relies on his talent alone, I’m a fucking machine. I deconstruct the game, learn it, and then destroy everything on my way.
“Bring it, then, cowboy,” Colt says with his smirk.
“You’re on, Rosebud,” I reply back, instantly knowing I’ve hit home.
Don’t get the impression that I have a clouded judgment, though. I know Colt’s an impressive player and, as tough as it is to be on the same team as him, we both need each other. But if there’s only one spot available…well, tough shit then. I know the cost of success and I won’t let anyone or anything take that away from me.
Oh, I’m going to enjoy the look on his face when they send him packing.
I enter Ms. Heaton’s office with my head held high, but I stop under the doorway as my eyes find the woman standing at the desk. Before I can even blink, all thoughts of Colt vanish from my mind.
I had already seen pictures of Julianna Heaton - who hasn’t? - but not one of them does justice to how beautiful she is. Forget about beautiful - she looks goddamn perfect. There’s a devilishness behind her eyes and, even though she doesn’t seem intimidated by my presence, she moves in such a feminine way that I can’t stop my head from starting to send blood rushing to my cock.
For a fraction of a second, I think of pinning her against the wall while slowly peeling off that purple blouse of hers down her shoulders. Then I’d part her legs and trace the contour of her thighs with the tip of my fingers. Christ, what am I doing? I need to keep a cool head. Focus, goddamnit.
“Come in,” she tells me, placing both her elbows on the long mahogany desk as she leans in. Two wide strides and I cross the distance between the door and the desk; I sit down on the chair in front of her, my eyes locked on hers. The look on her face tells me she’s not one to be messed with - Julianna Heaton knows what she wants and she knows how to get it.
“Well, here I am,” I say, leaning back against the chair. “I see that you’ve already met with Colt.” I don’t know why, but knowing that he was inside this very office, alone with her, pisses me off to no end. One look at her and I already know the bastard has devoured her with his eyes. Well, it’s understandable - I’m doing the exact same thing.
“Yes. And before you even say a thing, I know he’s going to be a piece of work, Ethan.” Her lips curl into a grin then, and she folds her arms over her chest. “But let’s get one thing straight - I don’t give a shit about any of that. I don’t care if he’s insane or a loose cannon. I don’t care who’s right or who’s wrong, or if you guys have an ax to grind. I care about who’s the best player and I care about making the NY Nailers a winning team.”
Straight to the point, no bullshitting. Hot, smart, and bold - I already like her. And the way my cock is twitching inside my pants tells me I’m liking her more than I should.
“Then you’re talking my language. I’m all about winning, Julianna.”
“Are you, Ethan?”
“Oh, you bet I am,” I say, leaning forwards as I say it. Her eyes never leave mine as I do it, a mischievous grin on her lips. “And I’ll prove it.”
“In the field, I hope,” she replies with a smirk. What does she mean by that? Oh, I can prove it somewhere else too, if that’s what she means. And, somehow, I know that it’s exactly what she means. She’s got some sass. Julianna continues, “But as you know, I can only keep one of you - either you or Colt will be leaving the team at the end of the season.”
“Then, that’ll be Colt,” I say without a trace of hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere if you care about the team.”
“You know, from my conversation with him, I’d say he’s quite confident about his chances,” she pauses for a full second before continuing. “Inside the field, I mean.” The way she says it makes it plain as day that Colt not only intends to dazzle her inside the field, but between the sheets as well.
I shouldn’t care about that - I seldom do - but this time it’s A goddamn different party. No way in hell am I going to stand by while Colt beds a woman like Julianna. No fucking way.
That arrogant bastard thinks he’s the best thing on Earth since sliced bread. A part of me is actually glad we’re both fighting for a spot on the team - this way I’m going to prove him, once and for all, who is the real winner.
“Colt’s confident about everything. He’ll tell you he can pilot the Space Shuttle if you ask him” I say with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean he’s right.”
“I will be the judge of that, not you,” she says firmly, ice behind her eyes. This one doesn’t fuck around. No wonder - she’s a woman, and she’s quite young for an NFL owner. If she was soft, she’d be devoured and spit out in a heartbeat. This is a good omen - the last thing I need is an owner unable to man up take charge of their own team.
“Then why did you call me up here?” I ask.
“I wanted to see you with my own eyes,” she pauses for a second, her eyes looking me up and down, making my cock twitch with eagerness. “I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with you two. You guys have an attitude, and that attitude is now my problem all of a fucking sudden,” she says, leaning into me with a menacing look. I have to exert all of my mental strength to stop myself from looking at her cleavage. If I don’t control myself, I’m going to be sporting a major hard-on pretty soon.
“It sure is,” I almost growl. “Colt’s a mess, and he’ll cause mayhem here.”
“I don’t care. If any of you causes me any trouble, you’ll both be in deep shit,” she says. “I’ll cut your balls off so quick your voice will go completely squeaky.”
I simply shrug. I don’t care about any of this politicking - it simply isn’t in my job description. I came to New York to crush everyone and everything on the field, and that’s what I’m going to do. Screw all the rest.
“If that’s all, I’ll be on my way,” I say, getting to my feet I have some training to do.” I push the chair back as I get up. Before she even has time to respond, I’m already on my way towards the door.
“Ethan…” She calls me. I stop in my tracks, looking back at her as she walks around her desk and towards me. Fuck, by the time I notice what I’m doing, I’m already walking in her direction. I don’t know what it is about her, but she has a pull on me I never experienced before. “I brought the two of you here so that the Nailers’ had a shot at a winning championship. Don’t let me down.”
What the hell am I doing? I take one more step towards her, her body so close I can even hear her soft breathing. I have to restrain myself from simply grabbing her and pressing my mouth against hers. She holds her ground, not moving an inch as a train of lewd thoughts race through my mind. There’s a gli
nt in her eyes, almost an invitation.
Fuck, I want her.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I win - it’s what I do.” Warm blood runs down from my head to between my legs. She’s so hot it should be illegal. I have no goddamn idea why I feel so drawn to her, but I just can’t stop my eyes from wandering down her face and towards her lips.
Right now, for the first time in many years, football is no longer a priority. The woman in front of me has just unseated my lifelong mistress.
I’ve always been rational and cold-blooded, even when dealing with women. But now, Julianna at arm’s reach, the scent of her perfume wrapping itself around my mind Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m leaning towards her as her eyelids droop.
We’re inches away from each other when the roar of an engine makes itself heard from outside. We look out the window just in time to see Colt’s sports car leaving the stadium, the rear tires skidding on the pavement as he makes the turn and swerves into oncoming traffic. He crosses a red light and before anyone even manages to honk at him, he’s gone.
Fucking unbelievable. Even when he’s not around, he manages to screw things up.
Julianna clears her throat and when I look back at her, she’s already turning on her heels and moving towards her desk. I watch her sway her ass as she walks. Fuck, I let the opportunity slip through my fingers. Somehow, this feels worse than losing a game.
“As I told Colt, I hope you don’t disappoint me.”
Hearing his name on her lips, the way it tumbles down her lips drives me crazy. No, I’m not going to let him have her.
“I won’t disappoint you,” I simply say, meaning it. “I’ll show you.”
She grins at me, almost as if she can read the hidden meaning of my words. I don’t merely intend her to show my worth as defensive end - no, I’m going to do better than that. Way better. I won’t stop until I have her in my arms, my lips on hers. Or my name isn’t Ethan Blake.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Colt wants her too, but fuck him. This time, I’m bringing the fight to his home court. He thinks he’s the absolute lady killer, right? I’ll show him.
Oh, this is going to be an interesting season.
Julianna
Walking toward the field, I can hear Coach Karl ripping into the team. "You mean to tell me that you're going to just let him run all over you like that? You play football to WIN GAMES! That was a horseshit performance. I don't care if you don't have any wins right now. On my team, you are here to fucking win!" He throws his sun visor onto the field, and I watch as a cloud of dirt swirls around his feet.
Guess he wasn’t having the best day. I shrugged. Not my problem. Early on, Coach Karl made it known that he didn't want me showing up to practices. I never paid him any mind. Who is he kidding?
This is my team.
These are my rules.
Karl’s whistle pierces through the afternoon breeze, and by the pitch of it, I can tell he’s irritated. I can also see that players are getting tired. They stand hunched over as they took their water break, sweat dripping into their eyes.
These men look damn good all sweaty.
They look like well-oiled machines with their rock-hard bodies. I straighten my tight black pencil skirt, fix my hair, make sure I have just the right amount of cleavage exposed, and scan the field.
Now don’t get me wrong. Just because I’m wearing a tight skirt with heels that showcases my ass, and just because I have some cleavage showing doesn’t mean that I’m doing this on purpose.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bad girl. That doesn’t mean I’m a slut. I won’t sleep with anyone that comes knocking.
But I’m not hiding my sexuality either.
Fuck that. Men have a problem by thinking I’m distracting. Let them be distracted. I’m just being me.
I exude sexuality and I love it. But my legs won’t open for anyone. I’ve never fucked anyone.
Not even after I bought the team and the most powerful sports columnist in New York came calling. Looking for an easy lay. But never mind him, for now.
As I near the 30-yard line, I hear a few of the players whistle in my direction. "Now, now boys," I say, waving a finger and smiling at them devilishly. "Don't you know that catcalls don't work on women?" In secret, I love the attention from all of those strong, hard bodies and hungry gazes looking on me, but I’m here for only two men—Colt and Ethan.
Noticing my arrival, Karl approaches me. "You know how I feel about you showing up like this," he says. "You're distracting the players. Just look at 'em. They can barely pick up their tongues from the turf."
"Spare me the drama, Karl,” I say. “I need to make an important decision. I'll be running today's drills."
"Isn't that my job?" Karl asks, visibly frustrated.
"Not today it isn't,” I reply – matching his gaze with a steely look of my own. “I think you're forgetting who owns this team.”.
"Jesus, lady. Give me a break. Don't you have some paperwork to push or a GM to harass?" Karl asks, frustrated.
"Why don't you go fetch some water for the team if you’re so disturbed, Karl?” I ask. “I'll be evaluating all of our players on the field, but two in particular—Colt Stackford and Ethan Blake. As you know, we can't keep them both. One will need to be cut from the team."
Karl shakes his head, but he knows better than to keep arguing with me so he walks off. I grab a whistle from the nearby table and place it around my neck. I blow into it with force, and it gives a shrill, commanding pitch. The players who’re not already distracted by my presence turn to me now. With helmets in hand, they huddle around me. I can feel their eyes on my tits and ass.
I love it.
"Listen up, boys. Practice is going to be handled a little differently today," I declare. I can see some players give one another confused looks and shrug their shoulders, and then, at the edge of the huddle I see the two men I’ve been looking for—two perfect bodies chiseled like Greek gods—Colt and Ethan. I can’t help but look right at their crotches and wonder if their cocks are as perfect as their tall, sculpted physiques. While it's true that we can't keep both players on the team, my plan today goes beyond analyzing them for their careers as potential New York Nailers—I need to size these men up to see who is going to be a better fuck.
That’s right. I have an ulterior motive. I’m not going to apologize for thinking with my clit. I don't have time for guessing games. Whoever is more athletic on the field will be better in between the sheets … or better at bending me over my marbled kitchen counter, or on top of my desk, or…
Fuck. I need to stay focused.
"I'll be analyzing your performance based on a few drills," I say. "You will be split into two teams—Shirts vs. Skins. Colt and Ethan will be the team captains."
"I'll lead the fucking Skins," Colt says and laughs, "No one needs to fucking see Ethan with his fucking shirt off." Without waiting for my approval, he takes off his jersey. I watch as it slides up, revealing his 8-pack abs that start at his groin and travel upwards to his ribs, creating a chiseled, muscular mountain range. I imagined running my fingers down his abs and plunging them down still further, until …
"Are you fucking sure it's worth matching us up?" Colt asks. "I mean, I'm going to smoke the fucking shit out of Ethan and I'd hate to embarrass him."
"Do you ever shut up?" Ethan asks. "Focus on the drills." He plants his hands firmly on his hips, and his biceps flare in irritation. I wonder what it would be like to be held by those strong arms.
"That's enough—Colt, you're the captain of the offensive teams, the Skins, and Ethan you're the captain of the Defense, the Shirts. Gather your teams and meet me on the field,” I say. “We're going to start with a few warm-up drills, and then we're going to scrimmage and we won't be using our pads—this will be touch football only boys," I said with a wink.
As instructed, both Ethan and Colt gather the players for their practice teams and the men meet on the field. I begin placing
a series of orange cones on the 50-yard line, bending down low enough to taunt the onlookers with a deep view down the crevice of my perfect breasts.
"Huddle up!" I shout. "We’re starting with the shuttle run." The men proceed to line up by the cones, and one by one, run through the drill. I watch as Colt stands in a three-point stance, supported by his massive quads as they stretched and quivered in anticipation under his tight pants. I can envision how large his cock must be, and if he wasn't wearing those tight pants, I bet it would stand at least a good 10 inches. I could use a good, thick cock right about now.
At the blow of my whistle, he lunges left for 5 yards, touching the turf with the tips of his fingers, and then lunges right before breaking into a sprint for 10 yards, and then lunges back to his starting point at the cones. I time him with my stopwatch.
"4.3 seconds!" I yell out. Colt winks at the team, and I watch as he takes deep breaths, causing thin rivulets of sweat to run down the ripples of his large chest.
"Fucking beat that girls!" Colt yells with enough swagger to fill a stadium.
Impressive, I think to myself, but I wonder if Ethan can beat that time. "Ethan you're up!"
Ethan jogs to the first cone and drops down into his three-point stance. I can tell he’s serious. I watched as he digs his cleats into the turf to get a good foothold. Then, at the blow of my whistle, I watch as his entire body springs into action—lunging left as his tight ass shudders under the rapid motion. He swings his arms forward to gather greater momentum, and I can't help but marvel at his strong shoulders. He sprints back, his chest heaving, and he pushes his hair and sweat back from his forehead, allowing me to get a good look at his eyes. I notice that they’re the color of a perfect summer sky. I look down at my stopwatch, "3.94 seconds!"
I’m a little surprised that Ethan won that drill, but it makes sense. Defensive ends have to be fast if they ever expect to sack quarterbacks. And Ethan was known as the QB Killer before coming to the Nailers. He’s never once used that moniker on his own – that’s not his style. He’s not the brash and cocky player like Colt. No, Ethan’s a silent alpha male. He’s calm and poised. He lets his actions speak for him. Nothing ruffles him. It’s sexy as all hell.