First & Long

by Jesse Jordan

  “To hell with football for the moment,” I tell myself, choosing the brighter red lipstick and going for it. “He's sexy as hell, he obviously likes me... and he's more or less been a gentleman so far. Let's just have fun at Guiliani's.”

  I finish up my makeup just as my phone rings, and I see it's a text message from Lincoln. I grin, opening the message. 5 min. Upstairs or down?

  It's what I've come to like most about him. Lincoln wants me, I can see that in every glance and in the way we flirt with each other constantly. Not a single word passes our lips without there being layers upon layers of meaning, some clean and upfront, others sensual and dirty... and we're both doing it. Still, he's respectful of my boundaries, and he understands the pressure I'm under. Maybe it's because, like me, he's from a football family. I think for only a moment, then text back. Upstairs. 5 minutes, stud.

  I put my phone away and grab my purse, checking myself out. Those good jeans I got last summer that hug my ass without giving me a case of the butt floss? Check. Blue blouse that forms around my boobs without making me look like a total slut? Check. Hair pulled back in a semi-ponytail, not quite 'fuck off, I'm going to the gym,' but also not quite 'I'm letting it all hang free and flirty?' Check.

  “Well Samantha Porter, I guess it's time to see how Lincoln Watson dresses down.”

  I barely have the words out of my mouth when there's a knock on my apartment door. I open, my mouth going dry when I see Lincoln looking, again, like a million dollars. He smiles when he sees me, whistling lowly. “My oh my, you look good no matter what you're wearing.”

  “And you still look like a fashion model crossed with a pro wrestler,” I tease, stepping out and closing my door behind me. “The Rock's got nothing on you.”

  Lincoln grins, raising an eyebrow. “Well... he can do this better than I can. And he's got some sweeter tattoos.”

  “No tatts?” I ask as we head for the elevator. “You'll have to prove it, remember I've seen your arms.”

  Lincoln smirks, his smoldering eyes looking me up and down. “Just one... and you'll see it when the time's right. What about you?”

  “Two,” I admit. “And you'll have to be patient too. They're not in polite areas.”

  “Luckily for me then, I'm not always a polite person,” Lincoln returns, and I swear the temperature in the hallway just jumped up about ten degrees. I wonder if I'm even going to be able to get through this date without having hormonal overload, but before I can say anything the elevator opens and I'm sort of stuck. I get in, and for the rest of the ride to Guiliani's I'm mostly quiet. Lincoln lets me be until we're parking, stopping to look over. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I reply shakily, smiling. “I just... I know you had meetings today, but I'll be honest the executive work sucks sometimes.”

  I'm lying through my teeth, and I can tell Lincoln knows it, but he lets it slide for now. “Okay then. Let's enjoy dinner, and forget about executive work. How's the wine?”

  The wine, in fact, is excellent, and as we sip our second glass each I feel myself relaxing. “Thank you,” I say after draining my glass. “For earlier.”

  “For what?” he asks me, smiling a little. “If you can't tell, I'm nervous too. I know the risks here, Samantha. This is really my last chance to make an impact in pro football. If things go sour with the Knights, I'll be lucky to get even a training camp invite next year unless I want to go up to Canada to play for a couple of years. And guys my age, once they go up north... they don't come back down unless they're ready to retire or a team is desperate. So the fact that I've asked out the owner's daughter, potentially pissing off the team's only superstar as well as all the other risks of a dating situation gone bad... yeah, I'm nervous.”

  “You seem to handle it well,” I note with a small chuckle. “And here I was just thinking about my reputation.”

  “Something to worry about, for sure,” Lincoln replies. “It's gotta be tough being a female executive in pro football. Especially as a generational executive.”

  “You might be the only person I know who has an inkling of understanding,” I reply honestly. “Growing up, all I wanted to do was be involved with the Knights. But obviously I'm missing a few things to be an actual player.”

  “True... but you have a few other things that I happen to think make you much better looking,” Lincoln quips. “Listen, I've read a little on your father... not trying to pry, but-”

  “But it pays to be smart on this sort of thing,” I finish for him. “I totally understand. Dad... Dad, for all his charm and his business skill isn't exactly the easiest man to get along with. There's a reason all of his other adult children have more or less disowned him. He's the kind to chase a woman, but once he has her, his eyes quickly go wandering. God knows how many women he cheated on his wives with. I know that my current stepmother at least seems to have calmed him down some, or maybe it's age finally catching up with him. Also, I think having two more children when he was already in his sixties came as a shock to him. He even made sure they were his by DNA test... I have no idea how the marriage survived that one. But, my stepmother is either a really, really patient golddigger or she actually loves him. I'm hoping for the second, although she and I don't talk all that often.”

  “Why's that?” Lincoln asks. “I mean, if you want to tell.”

  “Nothing big really,” I reply honestly. “Just a matter of the closeness of our ages. She's only thirty three, I've got a brother older than her. We're polite to each other when I visit the mansion, but I want to make it on my own, and we're just not sure at what level we're supposed to gel. So we don't, but do it respectfully.”

  We change subjects, chatting and enjoying our meal. I'm surprised that Lincoln doesn't pack away more food, he gets only a regular veal parmagiana. “How do you maintain that body with so little food?”

  Lincoln looks down at his plate, and chuckles. “I actually do a lot of front-loading on my meals, and Mondays are low-food days. Tomorrow I'll drink a protein shake after the morning lifting session and another after practice. Actually, I give the Knights credit, your S&C team knows their stuff. Their in-season workout plan is great.”

  “The local city university runs a great program, it was something we gave money to them a while back and it's paid off,” I reply. “So you take it all very seriously.”

  “Have to,” Lincoln says. “You've got your family history to live up to, I've got mine. When both your uncle and your father were good players... hell, just Dad alone being in the Hall makes things tough. I won't complain, though. I mean, a lot of guys on the team, they never really knew their fathers. And almost all of them grew up with a lot less than I did. I'll admit I've been able to take advantage of my background a lot. When other guys were trying to figure out what to do in high school to get stronger, I already was picking the mind of the trainer my Dad was working with at the time. I had the best nutrition, the best routines, all of that.”

  “Sounds like you were spoiled,” I joke, and Lincoln laughs.

  “Oh, Mom made sure that never happened. She knew better than they did how quickly glory can be fleeting.”

  “Swimmer, right?”

  Lincoln nods. “Two hundred IM. But by the next Olympics, outside of a single time when the two hundred was swum she didn’t get a single mention, nobody knew her. She didn’t mind, she’d met Dad by then, and she was happy. She was the one who set up the rules around the house though, stuff like during high school I had to cook dinner for the family at least once a week, and I did the laundry too. I'm not saying I don't have a few quirks, but I'd say I do all right.”

  We finish up dinner, sharing a wonderful bowl of tiramisu that has just enough alcohol in it to give it that perfect edge. Lincoln feeds me the last bite, and I can feel his eyes glued on my mouth as I suck the spoon clean before running my tongue around it, moaning in pleasure. “Jesus Guiliani's has the best desserts. I'll be honest, it's why I chose this place.”

  “Yeah well... I think it's
made my list of favorite restaurants too,” Lincoln says, his voice a bit raspy. He clears his throat, and smiles. “So, where to now?”

  “Depends... do you have to be up early?” I ask. “While I would love to go out to a club or something, I know you need your sleep.”

  Lincoln thinks, then nods. “Okay... next time then, we skip the dinner and go straight to dancing. I'm sure the early bird clubbers won't mind me bouncing between their walkers. I heard they do disco night down at Club 54, and anyone who can do John Travolta's whole routine to Stayin' Alive is guaranteed to stay alive at least another week.”

  I crack up, his wicked sense of humor is just what I need. “Lincoln... come on, I promise to show you a few more dance moves than just what we did last time when we do hit the club.”

  “I happen to like the way you move,” Lincoln replies. Just like that, the tension's back in the air and I feel my hands trembling as Lincoln takes my hand, leading me back out to the car. As we get in I glance at the clock, it's barely nine but time seems to be swirling by so fast I can just almost understand what's going on. I don't notice that we get back to my place until we're in the elevator, and I'm aware of Lincoln's hand on the small of my back, right where it was when we danced last time.

  “Lincoln, I just wanted-”

  “Shhh,” Lincoln says, giving me a knowing look. “At least wait until we're at your doorway.”

  I nod, not able to take my eyes off of him as the elevator dings and he leads me down the hallway, stopping right outside my door. I fumble my keys out, dropping them on the carpet where they twinkle jauntily, daring me to pick them up with Lincoln so close. I bend over, only realizing as I pick them up that I'm on my knees in front of Lincoln, who's looking at me with that same burning intensity that takes my breath away. I jump up to my feet, jamming my keys in the lock and wrenching my door open. Turning to him, I feel my resistance melting away, so I hurry. “So anyways Lincoln I had a lovely night and-”

  Before I can even get the sentence halfway out he crushes my lips in a searing kiss, pulling me to him. Just like before, at the first touch of his skin on mine I'm helpless to resist him and I suddenly find myself kissing him back, our tongues swirling as he pushes me through the doorway. With a casual tap of his shoe he closes my door before I'm pushed against the wall, his lips hot on my neck.

  “Oh fuuuck...,” I moan as Lincoln kisses the curve of my neck, my pulse racing in my veins. “Lincoln... oh fuck that feels good but-”

  “If you want me to stop, I'll stop,” Lincoln purrs in my ear, bringing his hand up to rest on my breast. “But... for the past two weeks I've been dreaming of spreading your legs and licking your pussy until you come all over my face. If you've been thinking of the same thing... lead me to your bedroom. Or the couch, I can eat pussy just fine there too.”

  His dirty words melt away the last of my resistance and I nod, grabbing his hand from my breast and tugging him towards my bedroom. With my other hand I undo the button on my jeans, and I have the zipper kind of down when we step through the open doorway into my bedroom. My sheets are rumpled, I'm a horrible bedmaker, but I honestly don't care as Lincoln pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me from behind and cupping both my breasts. He squeezes them roughly but with enough caress to his grasp it sends heat racing up my spine as he kisses my neck and traces a tongue up to my ear.

  “Fuck you're the sexiest woman I've ever seen,” he growls, stroking my nipples with his thumbs. Reaching for the buttons on my shirt he starts undoing my buttons slowly, taking his time with his seduction. The contrast between his searing kisses and the almost teasing of his hands drives me wild and I push my hips back, gasping as I feel the thick root of his cock pressed against my ass. “And yes, those jeans have been driving me nuts for the past two hours.”

  “Mmmm... I'll remember to wear them again sometime,” I reply, reaching back and running my hand through his hair. He gets the last button done on my blouse and opens it, sliding one hand over my stomach and the other up and underneath the cup of my bra. Fireworks explode in my eyes as he pushes my bra up to find my left nipple, rolling it between his surprisingly quick fingers before tugging it lightly. “Fuck... Lincoln....”

  “Shh, foreplay is essential,” he purrs in my ear. “Now, let's see what those jeans take to get off.”

  He lets go of me and I hurl myself on my bed, turning over in midair to watch him. He stands at the foot of my bed like a conqueror, and again I'm reminded that this man was born in the wrong century. He's got the body and inherent violence of a gladiator, but the intelligence and quick mind of a philosopher... he's a warrior king, the likes of which the world hasn't seen since Charlemagne was holding together the remnants of the Roman Empire.

  I reach down, undoing the clasp on my bra and freeing my breasts before pushing the zipper on my jeans the rest of the way down. Lincoln undoes the laces on my short boots before sliding them off my feet, chewing his lip for a moment before leaving my socks on. “I always think leaving the socks on just seems... I dunno, kinkier,” he says as he reaches for the waistband of my jeans. I lift my hips and he slides them down before setting them aside, his chest heaving as he looks at me in my panties. “Holy fuck.”

  “Your turn, stud,” I purr, reaching out and rubbing my socked foot over the bulge in his crotch. “I definitely want to see that shirt gone.”

  Lincoln's hands are a lot faster, getting four buttons undone before he pulls the rest of his shirt up and over his head. I see his tattoo, a beautiful black set of wings underneath what looks like a Greek warrior's helmet, just below his chest on the left side. “Oh yeah... you were a Spartan in college.”

  “Yeah,” Lincoln says. “A lot of the guys got them, most over their hearts or on their arms. I decided here. What about you?”

  Purring, I turn over, showing him my ass. Sliding half my panties to the side, I show him the Knight helmet, just like the team logo. “Cheerleading initiation,” I chuckle, waving my cheeks from side to side. “Now... you said something about your tongue?”

  Lincoln growls and joins me on the bed, leaving his pants on he's so eager to pull me back into his arms. We kiss again, his hands roaming over the skin of my back and down to cup my ass, squeezing it and making me groan into his mouth. “God you've got skin like fine silk.”

  “And you've got the hands of a god,” I groan as he reaches down between my legs, cupping my pussy and starting to massage me. My hips jerk, I can't believe he feels so good. Every other lover I've ever had, their touch was pawing, aggressive, and too rough. They rubbed my pussy like it was part of a checklist before getting my panties off. Lincoln though, he's again strong but somehow gentle, his fingers almost barely brushing over the silky lace of my panties. Each touch creates ripples of pleasure that radiate outward from my pussy, filling my body with desire. My toes curl as he kisses down to my breast, licking and kissing me until he finds my nipple, where he bites down just enough to make my back arch. “Lincoln, fuuuuck....”

  Lincoln looks up at me, his eyes burning with intensity as he slides my panties to the side and strokes a finger between my soaked lips. A little shriek of pleasure tears from my chest as he gathers my wetness on his index finger before stroking up and finding my clit, rubbing in quick little circles and sending my body into spasms. He's not brutal, but instead his finger strokes me like a virtuoso, teasing my body along and bringing me higher and higher. His mouth switches breasts, my heart hammering under his lips as I run my hand through my hair and arch my back.

  Fuck, it's never been this good. I haven't had a lot of lovers, enough to say I'm not a nun but I'm not 'easy,' but it doesn't matter. Lincoln quickly obliterates them all from my memory with his skilled fingers and mouth, my brain overloaded by the sensations he's causing me. I cry out again as I feel him switch his hand up, his thumb rubbing my clit as he slides his middle finger inside me. I groan, he feels so good, and all I can think of is his cock stretching me open. “Lincoln... oh fuck baby you keep this up and-�
�

  “Anytime you want,” Lincoln reassures me, pumping his finger in and out of me. My body trembles, caught on the edge until Lincoln lets go of my my breast to kiss me deeply. The combination of his soul-claiming kiss and his thrusting finger sends me over the edge and I come, moaning incoherently into his mouth as I wrap my arms around his back, holding him close and feeling his chiseled muscles underneath my fingertips. Searing jolts of pleasure rocket from my pussy to my brain and back and I shake, my feet drumming on the bed as I buck against his hand. The world swims, and I swear I pass out for a while I'm so rocked by my orgasm.

  When I come back, Lincoln's looking down on me, his eyes still gleaming. He slowly pulls his finger from my pussy and licks it clean, growling lightly. “You're fucking delicious.”

  “Why thank you,” I chuckle, reaching down and cupping his cock. “And you've got a fucking monster in there. I can't wait to feel it. Why don't you take it out for me, so I can make sure you don't tear me in half with it?”

  I don't know what I said, but in an instant the look in Lincoln's eyes change. Desire is replaced by something else, and he pushes back, stumbling from my bed as he grabs his shirt off the floor. “What... I gotta...”

  “Where the fuck are you going?” I ask, wanting to chase after him but my legs are still too watery, the muscles refusing to listen to what my brain's trying to tell them. I sit up, reaching out for Lincoln but he almost runs for the door, fleeing my bedroom like his hair's on fire. I hear his shoes pounding on the hardwood floor as I find my feet. “Lincoln? What the hell's wrong?”

  “Nothing!” Lincoln calls. “Listen... I gotta go. I'll call you later.”