by Kara Hart
“Yeah, that’s what my manager told me,” he says. “You know, I’m starting to get the feeling that you all are just trying to make me feel better. It’s like I’m a sheep and I’m being driven to the slaughter. Is my career done or something? Tell me the truth, dammit.”
“Your career is far from being done,” I say, glancing at the small tuft of hair on his chest. I run my hand over his tight, muscular flesh and let my head rest on him. I stare at the fan and continue speaking. “Part of me wonders whether or not you should just continue the old you again.” I say those words, but I don’t mean it.
“You mean getting into fights? Fucking everything up for the league? You honestly want me to try that again?” The way he asks me makes me believe he’s being completely serious.
“Hell no. That would be career suicide,” I quickly reply back. “I just wish I knew what was going on. Everything just seems so weird. Like, how did all this drama even happen?” I already know the answer: me. It’s times like these that I wonder if me coming up here was the worst thing that could have ever happened. If I hadn’t, maybe Jackson would be doing just fine. Maybe it was me who ruined his whole trajectory. I really don’t know at this point.
I sigh. “Look, you’ll be fine. Have you talked to Coach Stern yet?”
“Yeah, I have,” he says, looking down at my hair. He runs his fingers through the wavy strands and breathes carefully. “He’s letting me play the Bowl. He has to, really. Without me, I really think we might lose. We’re playing the reigning champs, for Christ’s sake.”
Together, I feel like we’ve found our place. When I’m in bed with him, I feel as if everything is centered. I feel at peace. All of the bullshit that surrounds us in the outside world comes to a grinding halt. I turn around and throw my arms around his waist.
“Well, I believe in you,” I smile and let my head trail down to his lap. “And I want to show you just how much I believe in you.”
My hand grabs at the elastic of his basketball shorts, and I slowly pull them down, revealing his thick cock. “Fiona…” he whispers, but his protests fall very short.
“Shut up,” I whisper. “You deserve it, and you know it.” I slide my tongue over his cock, until it grows firm and powerful looking. My lips slowly slide over his flesh and he tilts his head back and nearly cries out with pleasure.
“Jesus, you’re too much,” he says. “I think you might be everything a guy wants and more.”
I love pleasing him. I love devoting myself to the act that’ll give him the most pleasure. Why? Because I know he’ll do the same for me. I have faith in him, even if it’s a bad idea.
He runs his hands over my shoulders, parting my long hair, and letting his fingers drag over my spine. When his palm reaches my ass, he squeezes down hard and smacks it. “Okay, now you’re making me really horny,” I tell him as my mouth slides back.
“That’s exactly what I wanted,” he says, with a sadistic smile on his face. I reach up and bite his bottom lip and he darts back. “Ow,” he winces and then smiles again. I spread my legs for him as he recovers.
“You want to play rough, baby?” He leans over me and grabs my cheeks, squeezing slightly.
“Yes,” I tell him. “The rougher, the better.”
He forces my legs open more, hands sliding down my upper thighs. He meets my pussy and slides three fingers inside me, curling them upwards, pressing against my g-spot and driving them in and out. My back instantly arches back as I feel the anticipation climbing.
He spreads my wetness over his cock. This, more than anything, turns me on. “Give it to me,” I whisper, as he mounts me. He slides his cock inside of me and upon first penetration, his mouth falls open.
“Yes, cum for me, baby. You deserve it. You’ve had such a rough day,” I coo at him. I want to make him feel great this time. I want to be everything he’s ever dreamed of having.
Hell, what is happening to me? I used to be such an independent soul. Now I’m begging him to cum for me?
I look up at his chiseled jaw, his thick and handsome hair, the perfect “V” on his pelvis, and I think to myself, oh yeah. That’s why. He’s impeccable.
“I want to cum right as you do, baby,” he says, leaning over and kissing me. His tongue practically falls to the back of my throat. It’s not long before his one hand is cupped against my breast, while the other is firmly gripping my hair.
“Yes,” I scream. “Harder. Deeper. This is your pussy.” He pounds me into literal oblivion. Everything seems to disappear slowly. Boom! My ears pop and a sweat begins to form on my forehead and chest. My eyes grow shaky and I lose my grip. I’m all his and can’t say a word.
Within seconds, I’m fully cumming. I’m losing myself and every few seconds, I can tell he’s about to as well. With a strained expression and glazed look, he cums inside me, while kissing me the whole time.
“If I keep doing this,” he says, “I’ll die. I’ll fucking die, I know it.” We both break out into heavy laughter.
“I like being around you,” he finally says, after our laughter dies down. “I don’t get why. I mean, you’re really annoying and want me to settle down, which I hate.”
“Shut up.” I push him away, jokingly. “You know I’m the best woman in the world. That’s why you stick with me.”
“No, it’s because you have the best pussy in the world, baby. I could care less about all the other stuff,” he says, laughing as I mess up his hair.
“Come on!” he screams. “I got a press conference tomorrow, remember?”
“Ugh, that’s right,” I remember. “About the stupid bar fight. There still hasn’t been any video footage. I think it’ll be a really easy conference. You won’t have to defend yourself all that much.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “I’m just getting tired. You know?”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t get too tired on me. You’ve got one more game left. Just hold out and play your best. Then you have some time to relax,” I say, jumping onto his lap and straddling him. His cock is already hard again. “It looks like you aren’t that tired.”
“That’s exactly my point,” he exclaims. “I just want to stay in bed with you. Am I crazy? Am I losing my damn mind?”
“Yes, you are in fact crazy,” I laugh, kissing down on his chest. “You can’t possibly like me that much.”
“What’re you talking about?” he asks me. “I think about you night and day. I’m bored of everything else. I just want to lay right here for the rest of my pitiful existence.”
I look down awkwardly, feeling those good old emotions start to creep in again. “You probably shouldn’t,” I tell him. It’s the truth. “You’ve got a lot of training to do before the big game. You better get at it.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think? I mean, everything’s going to work out in the end, I think.”
“Yeah, sure,” I tell him, pushing myself off his lap. I walk to the bathroom and run the shower. I step in after the water turns warm.
Jackson walks in after me and throws his arms up slightly. “What’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me all of the sudden?” he asks.
I turn the water up hotter and feel his towering body standing directly behind me. His hands wrap around my waist and I feel my eyes fall to the tiles below me. “Nothing’s wrong,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
What am I supposed to tell him? That I still have a huge hang-up about him? That I’m still worried he’ll leave me once he wins this Super Bowl. I keep telling myself that this is forever, but what will happen if it’s not? I don’t even want to think about what I would do then.
“You’re not fine,” he chuckles awkwardly. “Fiona, I know you. We may have been away from each other for a decade, but I still know when something’s wrong.”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, unable to look him in the eyes. “I guess I’m just scared. I mean, aren’t you?”
“I’ll win the game. I’m not
too scared about it,” he says, shaking his head.
“No, not the dumb game, Jackson. Everything else. You know? Me. You. This relationship?” My breath is steady and my heart, for once, isn’t hammering against my ribcage. No, it’s my mind that’s going crazy now. I can’t shake the feeling of uncertain doom. What if this all ends in a fiery car wreck? No, not literally. I get out of the shower and start toweling off, but he’s not far behind.
“Baby.” He kisses my cheek and with his index finger moves my chin towards him. He looks into my eyes and when I try to look away, he gets irritated. “Come on. Everything is going to work out. Jeez, first I worry and then you do. It’s like a chain reaction.”
“Well, there’s a lot going on right now.” I make a weird face and look away again. “And you have your mind on the game, which I don’t blame you for. Still, I feel like maybe this will change. Like, what’s going to happen after the Super Bowl? You’re going to get traded and you’ll have to do a gazillion commercials, and by the end of your break, you’ll be in like China or somewhere a million miles away, and—”
“Fiona, calm down!” he says, placing his hands over my shoulders. He starts to massage me and, fuck, it feels damn good. I hate it when men do this sort of thing. All the blame and grievances go right out the window. I guess that’s a good thing.
“I’m going to win this game,” he says, turning very serious. “But not at the expense of you. I’ve learned my lesson. Christ, I was like 18 then. This is my job now, not some dream. I’ve achieved that already. After I win, we’re going to go away with each other. Hell, we could go anywhere. Where do you want to go? China? Done. I’m taking you to China.”
“I don’t want to go to China,” I tell him. “That’s not what I was trying to say, crazy man.”
He pounces on me and begins tickling my brains out. “We can go anywhere!” he bellows. “The choices are endless.”
I jump out of his grasp, unable to breathe or bring my smile back to a grimace. “I’m being a baby, dammit,” I tell him. “But my fears aren’t stupid! They make sense and you know it. And I want to go to Disneyland with you. Can we do that?”
“I think there’s a Disneyland in China…” he mutters, trying not to laugh.
“Stop, Jackson.” I grab my jeans and slide them over my butt. He makes a sad face. “Well, that’s what you get for acting like a child. The butt goes away.”
“Awful. Just dreadful,” he says. “Well, I hear you. That’s all I can say, right? I’m on your side. Things can go bad in every relationship. It’s part of the risk of being with someone else. If you still don’t trust me, I understand. But I’m still going to keep fighting for you.”
“I like that,” I tell him. “Probably too much.”
“Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere,” he says.
And he actually doesn’t go anywhere. Tonight, he sleeps in my bed again.
This time, I’m the big spoon.
83
Jackson
I never want to leave that bed again. I never want to leave her body, her touch, her fiery eyes again. It’s starting to get out of control. Yet, she doesn’t believe me.
When I leave her house for the first time in days, it’s only because I have to train for the game. Even then, I still don’t see the point. Fuck training. Fuck football. And fuck Landon. Yeah, I said it. The whole thing is a circus that’s gotten too out of hand.
All I think about is her. Even right now, I’m texting her. What are you wearing?
Nothing. My ass is totally, one hundred percent, bare. Why? Do you miss it? Of course she gives me a reply that gets me half-hard in an instant. That’s what this girl does to me.
God yes, I reply back. I do a set of 18 bench presses and place the bar behind me. Normally, this was a favorite past time for Landon and me. It was that, and getting strippers, while downing copious amounts of alcohol. Those days were fun and all, but it’s time to grow up. I’m 28. Fiona is the biggest wake-up call in the world.
So why can’t I just admit what I know to be true: that I love her? Fuck, I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole entire life. When I look at her lips, I see heaven. When I look at the curves on her body, I’m just grateful she’s back in my life. I’ve missed the way she used to look at me, and now I have it again.
I never wanted to admit it, but I thought about her constantly after I left for college. I used to sit in my frat house and dream about her. What would my life be like if I kept her in it? Well, I’ve been given my second chance and I can’t blow it now.
Tell me how much you’ve missed this butt, she texts. I can just see her, standing naked in her bathroom. In my imagination, her tits are hanging free, ass pressed against the couch cushion. It takes a lot for me not to run into the nearest bathroom and jerk off to the thought of it.
I bet it’s so smooth, I text back. I want to kiss it all over. I want to devour you. I need that pussy, more than you know.
I thought we were talking about my ass, she replies with a red emoji face. Uh oh, I’ve angered the woman now.
Can’t a man worship both? I ask her.
So you worship me now? I guess I should feel good about that, huh? she replies.
I’m glued to my phone. I’m obsessed with seeing her text me back. Any word I can get from her feels amazing, so when I see those three dots appear in the text message box, I feel my heart actually skip a beat.
Woman, do not test me, I type out. I’ll fall to my knees for you any day.
I do the Sports Network show. Everything goes according to plan. “Did you hit him?” the host, Steven Cornish, asks me. I take a deep breath and try not to lose my cool. This is national television we’re talking about, and I know the world at this point is very weary of me.
“No,” I calmly state. “I did not. And it’s a little shocking that there’s so much talk about this. Me and Landon are perfectly fine. We’re friends and teammates. Sometimes things get a little heated, but I would never sock the guy.”
It’s a lie, of course, but I go through with it. There’s no footage, nothing being held over my head. As far as I know, he’s forgotten all about that one incident. What I should tell Steven is that he’s being a huge baby. All over my girl. It’s some weird, deep-seated resentment. Fuck it.
“So, you’re denying the multiple eye-witness accounts?” he grills.
I laugh and try and look as charming as possible. “What eye-witness accounts?” I ask him, pausing for several seconds. “Seriously, give me one. That’s right, they’re all players for the Black Wings, aren’t they?”
“Well, yes. Actually, they are,” he says. His right eyebrow rises with curiosity. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of conspiracy?”
“I never said that. All I’m saying is that some dudes like to talk some crap. It doesn’t mean it’s all true, does it?” I smile and sit back. The rest of the show goes at about the same pace. By the time it’s over, I feel bored and depleted.
You did great. Sorry about the hassle, Fiona texts me right after. I text back some heart-eyed emoji and head to my workout.
When I get to the gym, I see him. Landon. That son of a bitch. I try not to give him the time of day. Only, I’m forced to walk right by him since the weights are in the backside of the gym.
He nods his head at me as I pass by and I can just feel the tension in the room. Some of the guys working out look right at me, as if I’m going to move. “What’s up?” he asks me.
“Just preparing for the big game,” I tell him.
“Oh, they’re letting you play that? I didn’t think they let people like you onto the field,” he laughs. One of his buddies, some trainer from California pats his shoulder and laughs with him.
Ignore him, I keep telling myself. He wants you to rile you up as much as possible.
“What’s the matter, man? You’ve really lost your edge, huh,” he says, after I sit down and grab some weights. I try my best to ignore his words, but he won’t stop and
I need to train before the game next week.
“I haven’t lost shit,” I say. “I’m just getting better and better.”
“Better?” he laughs. “Is that what your mom said to you in Arizona? Shit, man. You’re getting too old. You’ve traded in your old self to settle down, haven’t you?”
“Fuck off, Landon,” I mutter under my breath. I do a rep of 24 squats and feel the burn rise in my hamstrings.
“What was that?” he asks me, dropping his weights on the ground. His trainer steps aside as Landon comes up to me. We’re standing face to face now and I feel my blood begin to fucking boil.
“Don’t test me,” I warn him. But, like I knew he would, he pushes on my chest. I don’t move. I stand straight and tall. I’m not going to take his shit anymore. If he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight.
“Pussy,” he practically spits the words at me. It’s strong, unlike him. Tough guys like me don’t need words to back them up. My actions speak much louder. “You’ve become a shell of your old self. Funny thing is, it’s all for some PR bitch. Some whore from Arizona. I can’t believe it. I really can’t.”
That gets to me. You can talk shit to me all you want, but bring my girl into this and all hell is going to break loose. “Fiona is a fucking queen. As for you… you’re nothing,” I hiss at him. “You hear me? Nothing. You’re an offensive guard. They’ll cycle you through the rotation in about 3 years, tops. Then, you’ll be forced to settle down. I know it’s your biggest fear, so soak up the sun while you can. You’re living through your golden days, boy.”
I add the “boy” at the end for good measure. I’m not going to be the one to back down this time. No, this time, I’m standing my ground. I can just picture the look on Fiona’s face right now. If she were here, it would be pure horror, mixed with a massive migraine.
