Broken By A King: The King Brothers #3

by Lang Blakeney, Lisa

  "The meeting is at ten."

  "I'll be there at nine. Eight thirty if you're making omelets."

  "Nine it is. I'll text you the address."

  "No need. I already have it." He grins while patting the cell phone in his pocket. "Gotta go take a few pics now, and congrats on everything. I guess you're one step closer to meeting all of your five year goals, Freshman."

  "Thanks," I say proudly.

  His congratulations sounded sincere, so I guess I can put off questioning why the adorable creeper already has my home address, and why I'm smiling to myself that he does.

  Nineteen

  SABRINA

  It's like a scene out of a sitcom. Me and Ariana Grande are singing our little hearts out in the shower and the doorbell rings. I turn down Ariana just to be sure that it's the bell I heard when I hear it ring again.

  "Ugh!"

  It can't be him.

  It's only eight freaking o'clock.

  "Give me a second," I holler running to the door wrapped in a towel.

  There's nothing but a huge mass of muscle in a green military-styled jacket blocking the peephole of my door. I'd know those pectorals anywhere, and they belong to the one person I'm trying to avoid ever seeing me naked again.

  "Morning!" He spreads his arms out as if I was really going to give him a hug hello.

  "Why are you here all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? We agreed to nine." I say waiting for him to walk in. I notice he has a bag of groceries in his hand. "And hurry up and close the door. It's freezing."

  After shutting the door, Saint stands completely still and rakes his eyes completely up and down my body. I inadvertently start to shiver. Trying my best to ignore the fact that every time he looks at me, he makes me feel like the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen.

  "Not a morning person?" he asks. His voice raspier than normal.

  "Not really."

  "I thought I'd make breakfast. A little protein to start the day, and then we'll go kick that meeting's ass."

  I turn to head back to my bathroom. I'm dripping wet.

  "Fix something for yourself. I'm going to finish what I started."

  "Sabrina."

  Saint says my name a lot, but he has never said my name like this.

  Thick with want.

  Heavy with need.

  He's always playing around, teasing me, but right this second, I think he's deadly serious and if he is ... then I'm in big trouble.

  "Take off your towel. I want to look at you. All of you."

  I can't move. There's a war waging inside of me. My body wants to follow every one of his directives and I think I probably have for a long time now; but my mind is reminding me that he is a client, an over-indulged athlete, and a womanizer. He and I can be nothing more. Should be nothing more.

  "Turn around now," he demands.

  I reluctantly turn to face him.

  "I just want to look at you. That's all. Open your towel for me, and remind me of what every mouth watering inch of you looks like."

  Still not opening the towel.

  "I've seen your body before, Sabrina. The image has been etched in my memory for three years. I just want a refresher and to take a look at how you've filled out in all the right places."

  I take a deep breath and slowly untuck the towel from the top of my breasts and hold it open. My entire body is on display. It's not that I don't like my body; I do, and it's not that I think I'm unattractive. It just feels strange for a man to request to see it; that is until I look up and see the steely desire burning in Saint's eyes.

  Now it feels extraordinarily sexy.

  "Beautiful."

  He drops the bag of groceries on the countertop and proceeds to take off his jacket. I watch with rapt attention as he deliberately takes it off slowly for my benefit. He smiles. I guess there's no hiding that I find him attractive.

  After kicking off his shoes, he asks, "Now can you drop the towel completely on the floor for me, Sabrina?"

  I take another deep breath of courage and do it. It's not that I'm a virgin or anything, but my sexual experiences have been limited to lots of lights off, missionary-styled relations. This exhibitionist stuff ... I'm not used to.

  "Now turn around and face the table. Good girl. What a perfect ass you have, Sabrina. I can't wait to have it. Now turn back around for me."

  My cheeks are burning.

  This is way out of my comfort zone.

  He walks towards me and holds his palm on the side of my face, using his thumb to brush gently back and forth across my cheek. He tilts my head up.

  "Now I want you to relax. There's no rush. We've got at least an hour before we need to go. So take a few deep breaths for me, and hop on top of this table with your legs spread and your arms behind your back supporting you."

  "Saint I–"

  "Shh, I like to watch. Not to listen."

  I close my mouth, slide my bare ass all the way on the table, and stare at my closed legs. Willing them to open, but they won't.

  "Do I have permission to help you, Sabrina?"

  "Umm–"

  "I promised you I would just watch, but if I'm going to help you, I'm going to have to touch you a little."

  "Okay," I hesitate.

  "Do you trust me?"

  "I think so."

  He walks over, pushes one of the chairs out of the way, and settles on his knees in front of me. He places his strong hands on my thighs and slowly pulls them apart. Almost rolling his eyes towards the back of his head when he does.

  "Fuck," he groans. "You're already soaking wet."

  His hands stay on my thighs as he waits for me to lean back and support myself on the table. Once I do he lets go, stands up, and steps back.

  "I've never seen anything or anyone more magnificent than you, Miss White."

  I crack a small smile, because I believe him. I believe Saint when he tells that I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

  "Do you masturbate, Sabrina?"

  "Um, yes."

  "With your hands or a vibrator?"

  "A vibrator."

  "I'd like for you to try with your hands today. I want to make you feel good, but I promised not to touch you. So you're going to have to do all the work today, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "I'm going to talk to you a little to help you get started."

  I don't say anything else. My nerves starting to get the best of me.

  "The key to bringing yourself to climax by your own hand is to imagine that it's my hand doing the work, because essentially it is. I'd start by stroking you softly back and forth across your clit. Lightly. Not a lot of pressure. Just enough so you know that I'm there. That's it. Keep a rhythm going."

  I follow Saint's instructions, but I can't get out of my own head. I'm just going through the motions. I stop for a second in frustration. I want to be this carefree, sexual person with him. I can only imagine what types of women he's used to, but maybe that's half of the problem. I'm overthinking everything when it comes to him.

  He notices me struggling.

  "I'm going to come a little closer to you. Back where I was. On my knees in front of you. All right?"

  "All right."

  "Put your hand back on my pussy."

  Oh my God.

  "That's it. Back and forth over your clit, Sabrina."

  He starts blowing softly between my legs.

  "Good. Now move a little faster. That's it, baby. It's getting so juicy now, I can't wait to fucking taste my pussy."

  His possessive words set my skin on fire. There's nothing more that I would like than Saint between my legs, eating me until I scream his name for the whole block to hear.

  "I think you'd like that wouldn't you?"

  My skin is hot and my breathing rapid.

  I'm starting to feel a deep pressure winding inside of me.

  The more he talks, the faster I move my fingers, the higher I go.

  "You'd love it if I spread your cunt apart
and licked you from front to back right on this fucking table wouldn't you?"

  His filthy words have sent me to the precipice.

  I just need one little push.

  "Saint–" I beg.

  "If you want me to give you what you need you're going to have use your words, Sabrina."

  "What words!?" I pant in desperation.

  "Ask me nicely. Say Saint can you please eat my pussy."

  "Ughhh–" I groan. He's doing this on purpose.

  "Ughhh?" He laughs mimicking me. "Those aren't the words that are going to get you to come all over my face. Now ask me correctly."

  At this point all modesty has gone out the window. I'm sweating. My hips are bucking up to meet my hand. I'm basically finger fucking myself while Saint watches.

  He starts kissing the insides of my thighs.

  "Tell me what I need to hear."

  "Can you please–" I exhale roughly.

  "Yes?"

  "Eat–"

  "Keep going."

  "My pussy."

  Saint almost snarls as he pulls me forward to the edge of the table, spreads my legs wide, and starts devouring me.

  I've never felt so out of control.

  My hips are thrashing.

  I hold onto his hair desperately.

  And then I scream.

  My whole body contracts.

  And then releases.

  Contracts again.

  And then releases.

  I almost think it must be someone else's pleas for mercy, because I don't even recognize my own voice.

  Tears are welling in my eyes from the release of endorphins in my bloodstream, and I almost panic. I can't let him see me cry for God's sake. He'll think I'm a nut job.

  "Sabrina." His bass heavy voice calls out to me.

  I open my eyes and look down at this magnificent beast, still on his knees, licking his glistening lips, and watching me closely.

  "In front of me you can do anything. Say anything. Don't hide from me. Ever."

  "I don't know why–"

  "I know why. I know exactly why."

  Saint stands up and pulls his long sleeved tee over his head while he watches me intensely.

  "You need to understand while rules are in place for a reason, often there are going to be times when you have to break a few."

  He unbuckles his leather belt and lets it clunk to the floor.

  "I said I wasn't going to touch you. That all I was going to do was look at you. And watch. But I'm going to break that rule. I still want to watch, but this time it's going to be watching you bounce up and down on my dick until you come just like that again. That shit was fucking epic."

  "Saint–"

  "And that's another thing." His pants drop to the floor. "You talk too much."

  Saint seems to take delight in the fact that my eyes widen when I see the enormous bulge bursting through his pair of black fitted boxers.

  "I thought you knew why they call me the Gunslinger." He taunts while he slides his boxers down to the floor.

  "No," I say with a dry swallow.

  "You thought it was actually about football?"

  "Yes," I manage to eek out.

  "No baby, it's because I'm packing a weapon down here, and I never miss my mark. I will fuck you long, and I will fuck you deep, and I guarantee to make you come hard every single time. Great thing about that is we both win the game."

  I don't know how to explain this; things are moving fast between us in slow motion. Saint reaches around me, and sends everything that was on my dining table to the floor with a crash. He slides me over, lays his back on the center of the table, and then straddles me across his thighs.

  I watch in obvious wonder at his cock.

  It's thick and wide and looks as powerful as the rest of him. It's brick hard and is bobbing up and down almost angrily. My mouth waters just imagining what it must taste like.

  "You like what you see?" he asks with his usual bravado.

  "Yes."

  "If you want it, you need to claim it. Mount up and take it."

  I've had sex maybe twice in my life on top. Both times it was a dismal failure. One guy's penis kept slipping out. I'm sure it was my fault, something about the motion of my ocean, but I never cared enough to keep trying. So I certainly have no idea how to climb up on top of this weapon of mass destruction and make it feel good for either of us.

  "Get out of your head, Sabrina."

  "I can't."

  I start motioning to get off of him and the table, but I'm trying to figure out the best way without breaking my neck.

  "Wait–" He grabs my ass. "If you're not ready, then you can watch me. There's no way I can go to the Wolf meeting like this right?"

  "I guess not," I say suspiciously.

  Saint keeps his left hand on my ass and hip, and uses the right to start stroking his cock. Just watching him pleasure himself like this is turning me on all over again. I lean over and kiss the scar on his lip while whispering his name.

  "Saint."

  He strokes himself a little faster.

  "Fuck, Sabrina. I love it when you say my name. Hell, when you say anything like that."

  I sit back up and use my hands to trace the ink on the arms that's holding me still.

  He likes that too and starts stroking himself even harder.

  I grab his hand and lift it off my hip and slide my body down where I can watch him stroke himself even more closely.

  He likes that as well.

  Feeling more confident and bolder, I bend my head down and lower my mouth onto his cock. This I have some experience with. It takes me a second to get used to the girth of his penis, but I just start slowly and use my tongue to swirl and lick some of the pre-cum that was already leaking. It turns me on to give head, and I moan in appreciation of the taste.

  He especially likes that.

  I motion to replace his hard working hand with mine, and I continue the rhythm of his strokes without missing a beat.

  His dick still enveloped in my mouth.

  His hands now tightly gripping my hair.

  Holding on as I bob my head up and down.

  I get little warning when he blows.

  "Goddamn it, Sabrina!"

  He softens slightly in my mouth as I swallow every drop, and then sit up with a wide grin on my face.

  "Did you like that?" I ask already knowing that he loved every minute of it.

  "Fuck Wolf Athletics," Saint growls.

  "We can't do that," I argue.

  "Quiet, Freshman. I rescheduled that meeting long before I even rang your doorbell."

  This man's arrogance continues to shock me.

  "So spread 'em. I'm going back in. We'll start with my fingers and then we'll work our way up to the big gun."

  Twenty

  SAINT

  The roar of the stadium seems louder today.

  The stakes are higher.

  We're in Texas.

  The Nighthawk's longtime division rival.

  Everyone is playing pretty badly in our entire conference so far, including us, but that's a good thing. That means that everything is still up for grabs including the division title and a playoff spot.

  Sabrina doesn't think I listen to her, but I actually believe she's one of the smartest women that I know, and her questions about my leadership of the team made me pause.

  Do I celebrate too much?

  Was I disconnected from my teammates?

  Do they struggle to see me as their leader?

  So the last two games I've been in my teammates faces. Getting them laughing. Getting them angry. Getting them to feel something. Anything but complacency. Anything to start earning back their trust and motivate them to play for something bigger than their paychecks.

  It's about twenty minutes before kick off, and I plan on turning things up even hotter for this game in particular for several reasons.

  If we win it will send a message to the teams on the rest of our play schedule that
we're focused, serious, and a legitimate threat. Second, this game represents a long standing rivalry that gets high television ratings every time we play, and I would hate for half of the nation to see us lose. And last and more importantly because Sabrina will be watching in person, and I want to be a winner in front of my girl.

  I check in with the team assistant, Brad to find out her estimated time of arrival. I treated her and a few close friends to some seats in one of the box suites. She should have landed by now.

  "Hey Brad, you did what I asked right?"

  "Absolutely, Saint. The driver should have picked up her group, and they should be on their way to the stadium. They'll be in the East box suite. That was cool of you to invite the people she works with."

  "People she works with?"

  "At least I think they're her coworkers," he says reluctant to say any more.

  I text Sabrina quickly before the Nighthawks are called onto the field.

  Me: Are you here yet?

  Freshman: In the van on the way there.

  Me: Who did you bring?

  Freshman: People from work.

  That wasn't our agreement.

  Me: Don't you have any other friends?

  Freshman: Don't you have a game to get ready for?

  Me: Who exactly did you bring, Sabrina.

  Freshman: Marisol, Kate, Samuel and Jason. You happy?

  Me: You've really got some balls.

  Freshman: They make up the sports division. I had to invite them.

  Me: No you didn't, but we'll talk about it later.

  Freshman: Have a good game, Gunslinger:)

  She's learning fast that it drives me crazy when she calls me that. It makes me hard and horny, because between she and I it has absolutely nothing to do with football.

  Me: P.S. What are you wearing?

  * * *

  Today's game is probably going to go down as one of the most exciting of the season. It was a good old-fashioned shoot out between me and Anderson, the other team's veteran quarterback. First time he's been back on the field since a major back injury, and he looked twenty-one years old again if you ask me. I'm pretty sure he went to that back surgeon in Germany that everyone says is a miracle worker.

  It was a three-point game up until the very last minute in the fourth quarter. Texans were up. I knew I needed to make something happen, but it was going to be hard, because the Texan defense had been blitzing me all fucking day.