by DJ Hunnam
"Like what?" I listened to her uneven breathing and watched her hand shake as she brought the cup to her mouth. "Why are you so nervous?"
"I'm not."
"Don't lie, Pip."
"Don't call me that," she said with a grimace.
I nudged her shoulder. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not a kid anymore." She clenched her cup so tight I thought she might crack the plastic.
"Relax. Why are you so wired?"
She watched me over the rim of her cup. "I guess I'm in awe of being alone with the MVP of the Stanford football team."
"I hope you don't think I brought you up here because I expect something." The thought had my cock stirring to life.
"Why did you bring me up here?"
Good fucking question.
"You looked overwhelmed downstairs. I thought you could use a breather from the crowd."
"Oh." The disappointment on her face was unmistakable. With leg bouncing, she downed the rest of her beer, eyes flashing with indecision. "What if I wanted something to happen?"
I reached over and turned my phone down, because I had to be sure I'd heard her right. "Wait. What are you saying?"
"I want you to have sex with me."
If her words were a lightning bolt, then my cock was a steel rod. I almost spewed my last sip of beer but managed to choke it down. After launching off the bed, I went straight to the window and pushed it open. Not even the cool breeze carrying the saline scent of San Francisco Bay could calm me. I dragged in several deep breaths, before turning around to face her.
"Erica, I'm not going to fuck you. You're my best friend's baby sister. I don't even see you that way," I lied.
"Based on that"—she pointed to the bulge in my pants—"I'd beg to differ."
I sighed and sat down on the window sill. "I am only a man. And you're beautiful."
"Then why not?"
"Your brother would kill me."
"He'll get over it."
"Are you drunk? Why do you suddenly want this?"
"No, I'm not drunk. And it's not sudden. I've always wanted you to be my first," Erica replied.
Fuck me.
"You're still a virgin?"
"Yes," she whispered, a becoming blush brightening her cheeks.
I paced in front of her. "How can that be? I thought you had that boyfriend last year?"
"We never got past second base. It wasn't for lack of trying on Steve's part. But it never felt right. After a few months, he broke up with me. He said he didn't want to be with a frigid bitch."
"Well, he's an asshole," I said with clenched fists. I'd beat the little punk if I ever saw him again. Erica was the furthest thing from frigid I could imagine. She was like a sun that burned so bright and hot I sometimes worried I might get singed.
"Yeah, he was." She remained perfectly still on the bed, watching me tear up the carpet.
"Your first time should be special, with someone you care about. Not in some dingy bedroom with two other people fucking next door."
After placing her cup on the nightstand, she stood and walked towards me. Her chin quivered and it took all of my self-restraint not to pull her into my arms. "I've been thinking about stuff. About what I want out of life. Going to Columbia or modeling for Hot Shot might be great opportunities, but what if I want to give this a chance, instead?" she asked, gesturing between us.
"There is no 'us,' Erica," I said.
"How can you say that? We've been texting for the last two years. The distance and my age made it impossible, but now we can explore this. I can move to California and be closer to you."
I sank my head into my hands so I didn't have to look at her. Had I led her to believe that I was interested in more than a friendship?
"Ah babe, that's not going to happen," I muttered.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't even know where I'll be a year from now. I'm horrible at dating, and the last thing I need is the complication of a relationship. With anyone."
"I care about you, Dante."
There was no way out without hurting her. Or worse, giving in. "I care about you too, but that doesn't change anything."
She ignored me and stepped closer until she stood inches away. I could see the few freckles that bridged the tip of her nose and the vein pulsing in her neck. The scent of her honeysuckle lip-gloss wafted up from her trembling bottom lip. Before I could stop her, she tugged one silky strap down her arm.
"Erica," I said with a groan.
With eyes lowered, she followed suit with the other strap, until the soft fabric bunched at her waist. The mounds of her breasts heaved in a strapless, flesh-colored bra and it took all of my self-restraint to close my eyes. I summoned images of my bald coach screaming and my sweaty teammates in the locker room showers.
"Dante, open your eyes."
"You're killing me here, babe," I said, my voice scratchy and raw.
She drew closer, pressing the swell of her breasts against my chest. Taller than the average girl, she lined up perfectly, her pelvis shimmying against my growing dick. I forced my eyes open and grabbed her by her upper arms with the intention of pushing her away.
"I want you," she said as she ran her moist tongue along the shell of my ear. "Give me a chance to show you how good it can be between us."
I wanted nothing more than to be buried balls deep in her, but I couldn't take the chance that she'd regret it, especially since I couldn't give her what she wanted, long-term. And if Damian ever found out, I would lose the most loyal friend I'd ever had.
"I don't feel the same." My dick screamed in outrage.
She pulled back and looked up at me. "Bullshit. You're harder than a rock."
"My body may want you, but I don't."
"Why not?"
"Because a lifetime of friendship with Damian is worth more than a few hours, or days, or even weeks with you." The words were harsh, but did their job. Her cheeks flushed as red as her hair and she stumbled back a few steps, eyes brimming with tears.
"You're an asshole," she choked out. I wanted to gather her into my arms and kiss away the rejection on her face, but I shoved my hands into my pockets, instead. She spun on her heels and ran to the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.
Fuck me and my stupid principles.
I collapsed to the ground and curled into a ball, unable to stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. The floor reeked of urine, but I was too upset to care. It would have hurt less if Dante had filleted me open, splayed my ribs, and ripped my heart from my chest.
I was a fool. A naive, little girl who had allowed her schoolgirl fantasies to overtake reality. All of the times I had envisioned this event, it had never ended quite so disastrously. Dante had squashed all of my adolescent daydreams in a matter of seconds.
And it stung.
"Erica, open the door." The muffled sound of Dante's voice startled me.
"Go away," I said, sucking back my sniffles.
"Let me in."
"No." I snatched some toilet paper and blotted at the smeared mascara under my eyes.
"Open the fucking door, or I'll break it down, Erica."
"Leave me alone. Please." I dragged myself off the ground and went to the sink to splash some water on my face. Several of his muttered curses drifted through the door. There was no way he was coming in. It would take him and several of his teammates to break down that solid, wood door.
The doorknob rattled. I almost laughed until I heard the ping of the lock giving way. The door swung open to reveal Dante in the doorway with a flatbed key in one hand. The grim look on his face betrayed his irritation, but I didn't care.
I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the fact my dress was still bunched at my waist. "Get out."
"Not until we figure this out," he said, taking a step closer.
"There's nothing to talk about. You made it pretty clear. You don't want me."
"It's not that. I don't want you to have any reg
rets, especially since I can't give you what you really want. And I don't want Damian to hate me."
"Can't I decide on this one thing? Have it be about me and not my brother?" Dante's eyes softened with his sigh.
"Erica..."
"Go, Dante." The pressure was starting to build again, and tears pricked my eyes.
"Please don't cry." He stalked forward, crowding me backward until my butt hit the porcelain sink. "I do want you."
Warmth, honey sweet, seeped into every pore of my body. Our labored breathing filled the air and Dante's eyes were dark pools of oil that threatened to swallow me whole. He leaned over and pressed his lips to the outer edge of my eye, the coarse stubble of his chin rubbing the delicate flesh raw.
With tender sweeps of his tongue, he sopped up the few tears that remained. He moved to the other side and performed the same ritual. I stood stock-still, staring at the breadth of his chest, afraid that if I moved he might stop. When he hovered over my lips, I drew in a sharp breath. The moment I had been dreaming about for the last four years was about to become a reality, but he merely placed soft kisses on the outer edge of my mouth, missing where I craved him most.
My nails dug into the nape of his neck as I forced his mouth against mine. Those soft, plush lips did not disappoint, but Dante stood rigid, refusing to touch me. I ran my tongue along his bottom lip and with a rumbling moan, he allowed me entry. The beer on his tongue intermingled with an intoxicating taste all his own and I grew heady with the need to ingest every last drop.
"Dante, please," I panted.
He pulled back and gazed down at me, the muscles in his shoulders tensed under my fingertips like he was on the brink of losing control. "What do you want? You want me to fuck you right here on the floor like an animal? Or maybe up against the wall, my cock buried so deep you scream?"
Holy shit. My stomach did a sweet somersault. "Whatever you want," I said, licking my lips.
He cursed and shook his head. "This isn't a fucking movie. The first time hurts. I'm good, but I'm not that good."
He was purposely trying to scare me and had a valid point, but all he had managed to do was turn me on. I was already soaked, and he hadn't even touched me. His eyes searched mine, while I tried to formulate a rational thought.
"Or would you like me to lift that dress and bury my face between your legs? Has anyone ever licked that pretty little pussy?"
I didn't know which aroused me more, his wicked words or the way he delivered them. He had rendered me speechless. "Erica, I asked you a question." He leaned down and nuzzled my ear, nibbling the tip until shivers cascaded down my spine. "Has anyone ever tasted you?"
"No," I whispered.
His eyes fluttered shut and he dragged in a deep breath, reopening them to pierce me with a possessiveness that surprised me. "Good. Because I've been thinking about it ever since I saw you in this dress. Do you want that?"
It was as if he had read my mind, but all I could manage was an incoherent mumble. With a chuckle, he lifted me up onto the counter pressing me back against the cold mirror.
His eyes landed on my breasts, and I swore my heart skipped a beat. He reached behind me and unfastened my bra, pulling the straps down until I was naked from the waist up. I gulped down any self-consciousness, because his eyes widened with appreciation, making me feel like the most well-endowed woman in the world.
"So, perfect," he said as he palmed one mound in his large hand. The tip, already rigid, grew even more so under the rough pad of his thumb. I arched upward and he leaned down, sucking and circling the tip with his hungry mouth, our movements in seemingly perfect synchronicity. The slickness of his mouth drove me crazy as he moved from side to side teasing each tip until they were so sensitive I cried out his name.
He dropped to his knees and forced my dress up. Licking his top lip, he stared between my legs like he was a wolf about to feast on his prey. He pulled my drenched panties down and discarded them on the floor.
"You're so beautiful."
He worshiped me with his eyes, his chest heaving as he stared at something no man had seen before. Before my nerves overtook me, he pressed his mouth over my slick seam. I bucked under him, consumed by the liquid hot sensation erupting between my legs. He grabbed my hips and held me in place, giving me a devilish grin from between my legs. He ran his tongue over my clit and flicked it repeatedly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"So, good," he moaned between tastes.
The sensations were so new and unbelievable that I couldn't keep my eyes open. My body felt suspended above itself, like I was about to take off on a magic carpet ride. Dante was the genie in the bottle and all three of my wishes came true when my violent orgasm ripped through me.
My hips flew off the counter, but he didn't stop teasing me, his tongue delving deeper, as spasm after spasm pulsed through me. It was the most intense orgasm of my life. I yelled out his name, writhing on the hard counter as he continued to torment me.
The couple next door pounded on the wall, their muffled shouts bringing me back down to earth. I grabbed Dante's head, holding it hostage between my legs, while I tried to regather my wits. His soft chuckle vibrated against my sensitive flesh, and I jolted under him.
"Oh, my God, they heard me scream your name."
"It's probably not the first time they've heard my name yelled in this house," Dante said with a smirk.
I punched his shoulder, but he just laughed. I was well aware of his reputation. It was one of the reasons I'd wanted him to be my first, but I didn't need him to throw it in my face.
Dante stood up and took in my disheveled state. The hard press of his cock was evident in his jeans, but when I reached out to touch him, he stepped back.
"Aren't you going to let me return the favor?"
"No," he said with a pained moan.
"Why not?"
"Have you ever given a blow job before?"
"No, but I've watched a few pornos," I said.
He laughed. "God, you're too perfect. As much as I'd like to see what you've learned, I'm not going to let you suck my dick."
"Do you want to get it over with, then?"
"I never said I was going to fuck you, Erica. Our first time is not going to be in this dirty bathroom with people listening next door."
"Then, let's go back to your place."
"No," he said with a shake of his head.
"You're a tease, Dante."
"If I were a tease, I would have brought you to the brink and then left you hanging. From what I could tell, you enjoyed that more than just a little."
I wanted to deny it, but I had never been a good liar. I slipped off the counter and yanked my underwear off the ground, forcing them up my legs. I tried to ignore the moisture coating them, while I scrambled to refasten my bra.
He watched me with a conflicted expression as I slipped the straps of my dress back into place. I needed privacy, and he didn't seem intent on leaving. I tried to push past him. "Move, Dante."
"Don't be mad. I know it hurts right now, but in the long run, you're going to thank me. I hope you don't regret what just happened."
"I don't," I whispered. And it was true. "Promise me you won't tell Damian."
"I promise."
I squeezed past him and walked out, doing my best not to stumble under the weight of my disappointment.
The Hit Heard Round the World
Raiders star wide-receiver, Dante Williams, has been severely injured during a pre-season game against the Cardinals. The legal, yet brutal hit, caused a concussion and apparent neck injury that has likely cost Williams his professional career.
The coaching and medical staff have neither confirmed nor denied this rumor. Anyone who has seen the footage knows the probability of Williams returning is about as likely as the Jets making it to the Super Bowl.
"Williams is an exceptional football player who has demonstrated that he can make things happen year after year. He has a positive impact on and off the field with his teammat
es that will be sorely missed while he is recovering," an assistant coach said yesterday after Williams was carted off the field.
Williams, who went as a first-round draft pick three years ago, is known for his flamboyance on and off the field. Last season he led the Raiders with ninety-one receptions for one thousand, three hundred twelve yards and twelve touchdowns.
While Williams could not be reached for comment, his mother, Ida, had this to say: "We're looking at different types of treatment. Whatever it takes, whether it be surgery or getting a second opinion, we want Dante back out there as soon as possible."
No matter what the future holds, we wish him a speedy recovery.
The shrill sound of my boss's ring-tone startled me awake. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and groaned. There was only one reason Allister would be calling me this early on a Monday morning. A big news story must have hit over the weekend.
"Hey, Allie, what's up?"
"Dante, where the fuck are you?" I could hear my foul-mouthed, pixie-haired boss rifling through shit on her desk.
"Good morning to you, too, sweetheart. How was your weekend?" I flopped onto my back and laughed when Allie cursed.
"Probably not as good as yours," she said with a knowing snort. I considered Allie one of my best friends. We'd met when I started at the Seattle Tribune a few years back. She'd taken me under her wing as the Editorial Director. Under her tutelage, I had steadily moved up and now managed all of our sports-related online content.
If she hadn't been my boss, I probably would have asked her out. Allister McCain was one hot, widowed mama. Her husband had died in a tragic car accident, years ago, when their son had only been a year old. Allie had never moved past it.
"I need you in here right away," she said.
"What's going on?"
"The Seahawks defensive back was pulled over on Saturday night. Again."
"Logan Carlisle?" I asked, sitting up.
"Yeah. And you're not going to believe what the motherfucker had in his backseat."
I scrubbed a hand down my face. Although I loved a juicy story, like any reporter would, I hated hearing about the demise of a friend and fellow athlete. "What?"
