Tackled by the Team

by Sierra Sparks

  He's panting, and he slides his cock halfway out of me. He squeezes my ass again.

  "I thought I was going to blow there," he says, exercising an insane amount of control.

  I like thinking that I almost brought him to the edge but that he's strong enough to withstand it.

  "Well, why didn't you?" I ask him.

  "Because I want you to blow me."

  "I guess I do owe you one..." I start to say, but he's pulling me up from the desk.

  He forces me to the floor and I like how rough and in charge he's being with me. But he didn't have to do it this way because I'm already ready and willing to do whatever he wants, to submit to his crazy amount of power over me.

  As he takes off the condom I'm down on my knees looking up at him, begging him to put his cock in my mouth, his cum down my throat, and whatever else he wants, anywhere else he wants it.

  Larson Campbell is my hero. Sure, he’s a real life American hero but he’s also my personal hero. His chiseled muscles, his hot tattoos, his huge cock are all mine.

  He rescued me from this shitty day and from my asshole ex. And for that he can do whatever the fuck he wants to me. And I know I'll enjoy it more than I ever thought possible.

  Chapter 20 – Larson

  I have Brynn right where I want her. Down on her knees, begging to eat my cock. I'm filled with a surge of power, which is good because I almost lost control while I was fucking that sweet pussy of hers.

  I almost came before she could do what she's doing now. That would have been such a fucking shame.

  She sucks the head of my cock while licking up and down its shaft. Then she licks the tip of it while moving her hand up and down the rest of it.

  "Oh, fuck yeah," I tell her, thoroughly loving everything she's doing. “Eat my cock like my little fucking office whore.”

  I tilt my hips so that my cock goes further into her mouth. She gobbles it up, so that I’m filling up her entire mouth. Then I put my hand on the back of her head and push it further towards me, so that my cock is all the way back in her mouth.

  She chokes a little bit, but she takes it like a champ, just as I knew she would. I wouldn't have come all the way to New York Fucking City if Brynn didn’t give good head.

  Sure, it's not the only thing I like about her, but it's a start. A fucking bare minimum requirement, and surprisingly hard to find, perhaps because my dick is ten inches long and plenty thick.

  So, Brynn definitely meets the minimum standard for one night stand or occasional booty call. But on top of that, it just so happens that she's also beautiful, smart, fun and funny. And ambitious too, I think, as I look up for a moment at all the fucking degrees hanging on the wall I was just fucking her up against.

  I didn't mean to get so serious so soon, but Brynn really is a fucking catch. She's the first woman I've opened up my heart to since everything happened.

  When I look down into her eager, sexy eyes, I'm almost overcome with a strange mixture of fear and lust. I have to look back up at her law degree to calm down.

  That's right, I think, as she bobs her head back and forth on my hard cock, she's mine. She's an up and coming lawyer at this swanky ass firm and I just spread her legs open wide and ate her pussy on her desk. And then I fucked her from behind until her wet pussy dripped its juices all over my big cock while she came.

  To top it all off, now she's on her hands and knees for me, eating my cock half naked so that anyone from this firm can just walk in and see her doing it. And they would know that she picked me. Out of all these rich cocky ass fuckers, she wanted her some Larson Campbell.

  She does a trick where it feels as if she's somehow not only sucking my cock but licking it at the same time. It feels so good I start to throb in her mouth.

  "You're making me come," I manage to tell her before shooting my load into her mouth.

  She eats it eagerly, sucking every last drop out and swallowing it like the good girl that she is.

  "Oh my God," I say, sitting down in her leather computer chair and pulling her on top of my lap. "That felt so fucking good. I've been waiting far too long for you to do that."

  "I know what you mean," she says, leaning her head against my chest. "You've got to come to New York more often. I need this on a daily basis."

  "Or maybe you should come to New Mexico," I tell her. "In fact, you should come for Thanksgiving."

  "For Thanksgiving?" she asks, turning her head up to look at me in that cute, surprised way of hers. "Are we that serious already?"

  "I'll be at Jensen and Riley's for their annual Thanksgiving feast," I tell her. "Which I've never even seen you at before."

  She sighs.

  "I know. Riley and I used to do that in law school. It's been so long. I'm always having to work..."

  "Well, maybe you can take off work," I suggest. "Or, if you can't do that, there's the Santa Ride. I'd like to officially invite you to be my guest to it."

  "The Santa Ride?" she asks, shaking her head to indicate she's never heard of it.

  "Sure, the Santa Ride. Happens every year. The Desert Dog’s gift to the community and to children. And I bet you thought we were just a ragtag group of dirty outlaw bikers."

  "What?" she asks.

  "Oh come on, you can admit it. It's a common misconception. But we don't care. We just keep doing our thing."

  "But what is it?" she asks. “The Santa Ride?”

  "Every year we gather donations and gifts from the community for children in need," I tell her. "And then we go on a big group ride, stopping at each child's house and handing out the gifts. I guess you could call us the motorcycle Santas."

  "Really?" she asks, the formerly confused look on her face now changing to one of admiration. I'm glad she's proud of me. I knew she would like the idea. "That's so sweet."

  "I know. So, what do you say? Since you like the idea so much, why not participate?"

  She looks at me as if admitting I've got a point.

  "I'd love to," she says. "If I can take off work. It's really hard to do that around here though."

  "So I've heard," I say. "But do they let you have dinner?"

  The clock on the wall tells me it's after five o’clock.

  "Or do they keep you slaving away without even letting you eat?"

  "We can eat," she laughs. "In fact, I was going to suggest that, but then the whole thing with Steven happened, and then you had to pin me to the wall and do what you wanted with me."

  "I sure did," I tell her. "That was the number one task on my agenda for the day. I don't care what else we do, now that that's done. Except I want to do it again."

  I laugh, and so does she.

  "But seriously, I'm sorry about Steven," she says. "That was completely unexpected."

  "Yeah, what was up with him?" I ask.

  I wasn't going to say anything, or at least not yet. But since she brought up the fucking weasel's name, I have some follow up questions of my own to ask.

  "It's a long story," she says, sighing and biting her delicious looking bottom lip.

  "Why don't you tell me at dinner?" I ask, as we both hop up to get our coats.

  I know we're both hungry, and it makes sense to eat while I listen to her tell me what happened with Bozo-face. But I also need to get out of here before I start sucking on that lip of hers again, or we'll be here all night, doing nothing but fucking.

  Not that that would be a bad thing, but since I'm in the Big Fucking Apple for the first time in my life, I might as well explore something besides the inside of Brynn's office. And her glorious body, of course.

  Chapter 21 – Brynn

  I take Larson to the Argonaut, a diner down the street from my office. Although— or perhaps because— it's not super fancy, I think he'll like it. But I can see right away that I was only kind of right.

  "Ooooh, breakfast served 24 hours a day, very nice," he says, as we sit down at one of the Formica booths. "But what the hell? Where's the green chile?"

  He turns t
he menu over several different times, as if in disbelief and hoping that New Mexico's state vegetable and beloved flavoring to any dish is hidden somewhere in the fine print.

  "Larson," I laugh, although he looks at me as if not understanding why I'm laughing. "This is New York, not New Mexico. There's no green chile here."

  "No green chile?" he repeats.

  "You look even more horrified than you did when we saw those creepy clowns," I tell him.

  He shudders, but I'm not sure whether it's because of the mention of the clowns or still because of the lack of green chile.

  "What's been going on with them, anyway?" I ask him.

  "They're still doing stupid stuff around town, but it's nothing as big as what happened on Halloween night," he says. "I'm hoping that that's all over with and these are just copycat kids. But the Desert Dogs have still been keeping an eye out for the community’s sake, and nothing major has happened."

  "That's a relief."

  "But seriously," he insists. "No green chile? Really. How can you live here? It’s a travesty."

  "You know what? I do miss the food," I tell him.

  "Is that all you miss?"

  "Well, you of course," I admit. "And Riley."

  "And that's really all?" he asks.

  I look at him and realize I've been missing more than I care to admit, especially since having gone back to visit.

  "All right," I tell him, with a shrug. "I miss the weather, too, of course. The beautiful mountains. The open sky. Balloon Fiesta! The scenic view. The rugged, independent atmosphere. The laid back lifestyle."

  "Laid back, huh?" He raises his eyebrows at me from behind the menu. "Sounds dirty."

  "Oh whatever," I laugh. "You know what I mean. The pace is just so different. Out here there's always more work to be done, always chaos and stress. Out West it's just so much more relaxed peaceful."

  "Whattya havin'?" asks the waitress, who has rushed up to our table from seemingly out of nowhere. "I can bring it to ya in five minutes flat."

  "See?" Now I raise my own eyebrows at Larson, in a joking manner. "What'd I tell you?"

  "I'll have the sausage skillet," he tells the waitress. "Hold both the red and the green chile."

  "What?"

  She looks at him with a mixture of intrigue and annoyance that he's holding her up. He winks at her.

  "Never mind."

  We smile at each other.

  "I'll also have some coffee," he tells her. "And whatever the lady's having, of course."

  I order my favorite grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup and the waitress runs off to the hustle and bustle of the tables awaiting her service across the way.

  "You weren't kidding," he tells me. "Everyone here's always in a rush over something."

  "It's crazy," I agree. "But I guess I've gotten used to it because I didn't even notice it anymore, until I went back out there over Halloween. Sometimes I wonder what kind of effect it's going to have on Caleb."

  "What do you mean?" he asks.

  "Oh, you know, with everything being so dramatic instead of peaceful and serene. And a mom who has to work so much to afford to live out here, only because 'out here' is where the best jobs are. It's a vicious cycle, you know?"

  He just looks at me.

  "So, how's the little guy doing?" he asks. "What does he do all day while you're working in that fancy office?"

  I blush. I always feel a mix of guilt and pride when someone brings up how much I work as a single mother. I know I can afford all the best things in life for Caleb but I also know we don't get a lot of time to enjoy them together.

  "He's doing well," I tell him.

  But I don't add that he's missed Larson almost as much as I have. Every time he hears an engine roar outside— which, in our Brooklyn brownstone, is a lot— he looks up hopefully towards the front door and asks, 'Moto-cyc-le Man?'"

  "He has a nanny," I tell him. "Esmeralda. She even teaches him Spanish."

  "Oooh la la," Larson says. Then he laughs. "Oops. I guess that's French. Pardon my French when I meant to say something in Spanish."

  I laugh along with him.

  "It feels so good to laugh," I tell him. "I'm so glad you came today. I mean, I was already excited to see you, and any day would have been good..."

  I blush again, embarrassed for letting slip how much I've been wanting to see him.

  "...but today was definitely a bad day, so having you here really helps me not feel so down in the dumps."

  I finish my sentence, feeling a little less vulnerable now. It’s been a long time since I’ve opened myself up like this— literally and physically, or figuratively and emotionally.

  But I guess it’s time to get used to it. Because Larson makes me realize what life could be like with a supportive partner to share the load. And that’s something I’ve definitely never had before.

  Chapter 22 – Brynn

  Larson reaches his hand across the table and takes mine in it.

  The waitress brings us our drinks and says, "Now ain't you two just the cutest?"

  "We know, Darling," Larson says to her.

  Then once she jets away he turns back to me.

  "So, what happened with Steven earlier today?" he asks. "Or in general? Seems as if the two of you were having a very hush hush conversation."

  I lean back in the booth. I detect a note of jealousy mixed with both protection instincts and possessiveness in his voice and it's altogether rather sweet.

  "It's ridiculous."

  The waitress brings us our food, chanting, "Under five minutes, just as I promised! Domino's has nothing on us!" as she breezes in and out.

  I pause to tell her, “Thanks,” as does Larson. Then I continue.

  "Despite initially seeming supportive of the pregnancy, Steven never really wanted much of anything to do with Caleb. He whined about the responsibility as if he was the fucking baby and then finally ran away as if he was the fucking toddler.”

  I take a breath, trying not to get too worked up even though I’m still so mad at Steven about everything, for Caleb’s sake more than my own. I don’t normally even curse very much but this situation never fails to make me heated. Steven and I were never a stellar couple and it’s good we’re not together. But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have stuck around as a father in Caleb’s life.

  “I hadn’t heard anything from Steven in the longest time,” I continue, once I’ve calmed down a bit. “I had opened a child support case a while ago, not thinking anything much would ever come from it. It's not that we really need the money, you know? It's just, like, the principle of the matter."

  "Right," Larson agrees. "He needs to man up and pay his share. Caleb deserves the financial support of both of his parents, even if he doesn't have the emotional support of one of them, sadly."

  "Yeah."

  I blink away tears.

  I told myself I wouldn't cry.

  "I guess the child support enforcement division finally found him recently," I explain. "So now that he realizes he owes back and future child support, he's trying to act all sweet. Negotiate something with me outside of court."

  "Don't do it," Larson says quickly, squeezing my hand. "He's just trying to play you."

  "I know."

  I take another deep breath. Suddenly I don't feel like eating my favorite sandwich.

  "He brought a laptop full of figures and calculations. Any time I said anything other than 'maybe' or 'I'll think about it,' he would get really angry. As if he had the right to be angry about this situation.”

  I shake my head.

  "He told me he didn't know why he had to pay anything when I make so much money. Can you believe that? Like he shouldn't be half responsible for his son's living expenses. It's not like I tricked him into having a baby. He was all gung ho about it, until Caleb was born and he realized it meant he had to grow up, stop being a man child and start actually being a father..."

  "Brynn. It's okay."

  Larson's gentl
e pressure on my hand causes me to realize that I've been getting even more worked up than I’d thought.

  "Actually, I can believe it,” he continues. “From everything you've told me about Steven, and even from seeing his weasly little face, I can certainly believe he's still a man child who will try to do anything and everything to get out of his responsibilities."

  I look up at him, still sad but unable to stop a smile from appearing.

  "Weasly little face," I giggle. "Yeah, he does have one of those."

  "You didn't agree to anything, did you?" Larson asks.

  "No, I just told him I'd think about it, and that he should make an appointment to see me next time, instead of just dropping in like that. That's rude."

  "I like when he drops in like that," Larson says. "Because then he gets to see the big muscly man you're with, who won't put up with his shit."

  I laugh, so glad that Larson is here to cheer me up. And protect me. It's been a long time since I've felt like this. In fact, I don't know that I ever have. And I never thought that I would. Now that he's here, I want to savor every second. Except I still can’t wipe the meeting with Steven out of my mind.

  "The really shitty thing is that he’s trying to see Caleb more just to reduce his child support obligations," I tell Larson. "The calculation is based on time spent with each parent, so now he suddenly wants to see him more often. Which could be fine— even good, for Caleb— but he only wants the timesharing to look a certain way on paper for the courts because of the money and I doubt he’ll actually follow through. He doesn’t even bother to call Caleb on his birthday. But he is so intent on lowering his child support even if it means at least pretending to agree to see him every now and then. Worse, he even mentioned the threat of going for primary custody if I don’t give him the kind of deal that he wants."