First & Long

by Jesse Jordan

  “That's it baby... oh god you make me feel so good... rub your pussy for me while you suck this big cock that you need. Warm your body up for me,” Lincoln says in a low, urgent voice as I bob up and down on his shaft. I've never been able to take all of him, I don't think any woman could, but I give him as much as I can, letting the head of his cock slide down my tongue all the way to the back of my throat and cutting off the air for a moment while I look up at him with loving desire in my eyes before drawing him out, swirling my tongue around the thick head and doing it all again.

  Lincoln brushes my hair out of my face, watching raptly as I slide a hand underneath my skirt and tug my panties to the side, massaging my pussy and rubbing my wetness between my lips before slipping it over my clit. I moan around Lincoln's cock, humming as he grabs my hair and starts thrusting, fucking my face and taking over.

  Maybe that is what makes me different than the women in Lincoln's past. I'm not afraid of Lincoln at all as his awesome strength and physical presence as he feeds me his cock, thrusting in and out and looking at me with total control and total awareness of me. I feel safe with him, and when I start to gag he pulls back, letting his cock pop out of my mouth. “That's just what I needed. Now... fuck me.”

  I get up and go over to my desk, bending over and pulling my skirt up. My pussy aches and quivers in the cool air of my office as Lincoln gets behind me, rubbing the head of his cock between my lips until, with one smooth motion that I didn't think was possible, fills me all the way up. We both gasp, our moans starting in synch as we realize what's just happened, and he freezes inside me. “I... I didn't know that was fucking possible. One stroke all the way to the hilt. Amazing.”

  “You know what this means, right?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. “I'm yours forever, there's no way another man could ever replace you now.”

  “And I'm yours forever too,” Lincoln growls, grabbing my waist. “We don't have a lot of time.”

  “Don't need much... now. Tonight though you're cleaning me with your tongue,” I chuckle, my breath ripped from my chest as Lincoln pulls back. He pauses, the head of his cock only inside me before he thrusts hard and fast. This isn't the time for slow lovemaking, as thrilling as that is. This isn't even the time for sex... this is the time for raw fucking, and that's exactly what Lincoln does. His hips pound against my ass as his cock thrusts in and out of me at nearly blinding speed. Each stroke of his cock explodes deep within me, my eyes rolling up as wave upon wave of pleasure ripples outward, the waves overlapping each other and coursing up my spinal column to shatter in my brain.

  My fingernails dig into the antique oak of my desk as Lincoln's cock drives me wild, sweat dotting my forehead as I feel him swell. This is the man that I love, unrestrained and totally uncontrolled except by his own will and the love for me in his own heart. There's no way I could stop him if he wanted to take things too far, but he doesn't, and I don't want him to. He smacks my ass, the sharp sound making me squeal in joy as my pussy grips his cock, urging him to fuck me harder, deeper, make me his more and more. “Fuck Lincoln... breed your woman....”

  “I... fuck I'm...!” Lincoln gasps, and I feel his cock surge inside me. My pussy clenches around him, and with a restrained primal roar, Lincoln comes, the hot spurts of his cock inside me pushing me over the edge. My eyes roll back in my skull as I cry out his name in a tortured rasp, unable to breathe it's so intense. I feel him, all of him, and I love him.

  We stay frozen in position for what seems like an eternity caught between heartbeats, and when it's over I sag to my desk, sobbing softly. “My god baby... you make me so happy... I'm sorry I didn't tell you....”

  Lincoln gathers me in his arms, stroking my hair and kissing my lips tenderly. “It's okay. I should have talked with you earlier... but it doesn't matter now. I'm yours, you're mine... and we're going to stay this way.”

  “We are,” I promise him, squeezing my pussy tight to keep him inside me. I chuckle happily. “I think I've got a quart of your cum inside me right now.”

  “Nah, just a pint... quart's take at least two orgasms,” Lincoln jokes back. “You going to be okay with that?”

  “Yeah... it's a black skirt, and I've got an emergency panty liner in my desk somewhere if I need it,” I reassure him. “Besides, even if it does show... I don't really give a fuck. Just tells the world that I'm taken.”

  “Good point,” Lincoln says. He lets go, and gives me another heartstopping kiss before stepping back. “Now, I've got something I need to do. My woman says I need to go kick some ass... so I've got some asses to kick.”

  I pat him on the cheek, nodding. “Go do it, Monster. And pick me up after practice... I'm buying the takeout tonight.”

  Chapter 22

  Lincoln

  I hate the feeling of wearing thermal gear underneath my pads. It's just one of those things that I just have never gotten used to, the feeling of that turtleneck instead of just a compression shirt. But, it's only fifteen degrees outside right now, and since I can't wear sleeves (blockers love having anything they can get ahold of to tug and yank me around), a double thick thermal sleeveless it is.

  “For fuck's sake, I hope the snow stops,” Nick Sedgwick says as we stretch and warm up. “There's no way the offense is going to click if it doesn't.”

  “Then we take care of it for them,” I respond, slapping his shoulder pads. “Come on, you always wanted to be a football hero.”

  Nick shakes his head, laughing. “You know, since coming back you've got a fire in your belly that I haven't seen before. I thought you were playing hard the first half of the season... I'm afraid for these guys today.”

  “What can I say?” I joke, looking around. “I fucking hate cheese and beer.”

  “Hey, I love a good IPA... so them's fighting words,” Nick jokes. We get through the rest of our stretches and warmups before heading back to the locker room, it's just too damn cold to try and stay loose outside. Walking up the tunnel towards the locker room, I stop, letting Nick continue on. Nick gives me a glance, then sees why, and nods. “How's it goin', Miss Porter?”

  “Good, Nick. Yourself?” Samantha asks, looking beautiful in a Knights polar parka, boots, and what I hope are lined jeans. “Enjoying the weather?”

  “Neither snow nor rain nor three hundred pound giants with bad attitudes will stay this linebacker from the swift completion of his appointed ass whippings,” Nick says solemnly, tossing off a mock salute. “You gonna have fun watching from up in the owner's box?”

  “Oh, I'm not going to be in the box,” Samantha says. “I'm going to be field level. Save me a spot on the warming bench, if you don't mind?”

  Nick grins, nodding. “Deal. If you make sure my Gatorade stays warm. Nasty shit, but it keeps the worst of the cold out.”

  I clear my throat and Nick chuckles, turning to go into the locker room. Alone, I look at Samantha, who blushes a little. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “I think you know why,” I reply, stepping closer. “You really shouldn't feel obligated to be field level.”

  “Hey, this is my ass on the line too. You guys are must win for the next four weeks... and I'm going to cheer my man on if I want to.”

  It's my turn to give a little mock salute, smirking. “Yes ma'am.”

  Samantha shakes her head, chuckling before lifting her beautiful eyes to look at me. “Lincoln? Just go out there and show these people your Monster. Do that... and the brats are on me.”

  I blow her a little kiss and head into the locker room, where the offense is gathered at their end of the room talking over their game plan, while the defense is on the other. Most of the guys are staying warm, jogging in place some and keeping their bodies loose. Nick's talking with Coach Petersen, nodding as they look over Petersen's tablet. “Hey, sorry for the delay.”

  “No problem,” Nick says, while Coach gives me a look that tells me there is a problem, but this isn't the time. “Coach just wanted to make sure we were good on the aud
ible signals.”

  We review the plans then do the same with the rest of the defense. I can see it in the guys' eyes, and as Coach steps away I decide to speak up. “Listen up defense... I know a lot of you guys have played in cold weather before. But fields like this... they're intimidating. The wind's cold, the crowd's going to be hot, and we're going to be in enemy territory the whole damn night. I faced the same thing in Chicago too many times. Out there, you quick guys are going to find that your feet aren't going to grip as well, that your muscles aren't going to fire quite so fast. The brain's going to be willing, but the reaction times aren't going to be there. Accept it, and you'll do better. Remember, every guy on the field is going to be feeling the same way. Just play to the best of your abilities, watch your footing... and we'll come out of this ready to head down to Houston next week to enjoy something above freezing.”

  The defense chuckles, and I smile. “Okay then. Stay loose, stay warm, and let's go kick some ass.”

  The huddle breaks and I leave, going to find Coach Petersen. He's in the trainer's room, chatting with one of them about making sure the hypothermia prevention stuff is ready, and I wait patiently while he finishes up. When he's done, I give him a wave. “Hey, Coach?”

  “Yeah Lincoln?” Coach asks, raising an eyebrow. “What's on your mind?”

  I come closer, glancing around to make sure we've got some privacy. “Depends, Coach. Seems to me something's on your mind. Wanna spill?”

  Petersen sighs, and jerks his head towards the door. I follow him out into the hallway, where other than a single security guard we're alone. “Yeah... is your head in the game, Lincoln?”

  “My head, Coach?” I ask, surprised. “No offense, but I'm totally focused on kicking these guys' ass and getting a win for the Knights. That's my only goal.”

  “Not showing off for....” Coach stops, and looks around before stepping closer. “Not showing off for other teams? Or for your girlfriend?”

  I shake my head, relieved that someone's willing to just be up front with me about it. “Samantha challenged me to do one thing. Lead this team to the playoffs. I don't give a rat's ass about any other team but the Knights right now.”

  Coach looks up, probably asking the heavens for divine guidance. I don't know if he gets a reply, but after a moment he nods, sighing. “Okay. Listen, Red's giving me grief about having you in the starting lineup, but he knows that you're the best defender we've got. Don't go out there and prove me a damned idiot, okay?”

  I nod, giving Coach a grin. “Coach... Steve, you do that well enough all on your own.”

  Coach's jaw drops, I don't think he expected me to give him a zinger back, but after a second he laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess I do. Alright Lincoln, show me what a motivated you can do.”

  The boos rain down around me as the clock ticks down the final seconds and the Knights swarm the field, elated over the win. More than one guy claps me on the shoulder, and I see Samantha giving me a double fisted cheer as I jog out to shake hands with the other team. “Good game,” I tell the guy I've been harassing all night. “You fought hard.”

  “Not hard enough, but thanks,” he replies, shaking his head in shock. “Six sacks... man, I'm glad I've got another two years on my contract after this game or else I might be out of a job next month. How the fuck did you do it?”

  “Just had a good game,” I reply. “I look forward to next time... I bet you'll have a few new tricks for me.”

  He chuckles and we clap shoulders before jogging off in opposite directions. I see the other team's quarterback, rubbing his neck, and he gives me a nod of respect. “You okay?”

  “Yeah... nothing about ten pounds of Tylenol and two hours in the hot tub won't help with,” he says, looking at the scoreboard. “Six sacks... is that a record?”

  “Team record, but the league record seven,” I reply. “Someone told me that during the fourth quarter after number six. Guess they wanted to jinx me.”

  The quarterback laughs, and offers his hand. “I can't say I'm looking forward to next time, but good game.”

  We shake and I head toward the locker room area. I'm stopped about halfway there to do an interview with a network reporter who looks like she'd much rather be just about anywhere other than the middle of the early evening with a wind chill below zero, so I give her some canned answers, and let her wrap things up quickly. “If you'll excuse me, I think I might just lose a toe if I stay out here much longer,” I joke as I head off.

  Just as I hit the tunnel, the local fans too exhausted to really boo much more, I see Joe Crenshaw waiting for me. Considering the weather, he had a good game, throwing for three touchdowns and would have had another if not for a dropped pass because of the cold. Not that he doesn't still deserve a receipt for what he did to Samantha.

  “Hey Watson,” Joe growls, letting me slow to a stop. “Had enough glory out there today?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask incredulously. “You had a good game, and you're whining to me?”

  “You were glory chasing, you greedy asshole,” Joe hisses. “I saw you call those audibles, you were changing plays to keep all the attention on you.”

  “I called them because the other team was adjusting to our plays... you of all people should understand that,” I reply, restraining the urge to grab him by the shoulder pads and jack him against the wall. Finally, I make a decision. There's being on the same team, and there's teammates. Joe Crenshaw and I can interact on the same team... but there's no chance in hell we'll ever be teammates. So I won't let him worry me. “You know what? I don't give a fuck what you think. You play your offense, I'll play defense, and if we stay out of each other's way this team'll get to the playoffs just fine. But don't talk to me outside the field... ever.”

  I head towards the locker room, and as I reach the door I hear Joe call after me. “You know Watson, a lot of people are going to get tired of your QB hurting, glory hunting ways real damn quick. You better watch your ass, son. It's got a target on it.”

  I stop, and turn to look at Joe, who's obviously pissed but won't say the real reason why. There's other people around, and he doesn't want to come off like the jealous butt hurt punk that he is. “Tell anyone who wants a piece of my ass,” I growl, pointing at him, “I'm not a hard man to find. By the way, stay out of the shower for the next twenty minutes... I don't want to see your ass until I'm done.”

  Chapter 23

  Samantha

  The clock on my computer passes eleven o'clock, and I feel hopeful that this day might become tomorrow without the rumors I've been hearing about all day coming to pass. I look over at the TV, which is tuned to SportsTonite, of course.

  “With only an hour to go until the trade deadline, we've seen a relatively quiet day,” the anchor says, while behind him a giant clock ticks down past fifty nine minutes to go. “Of course, all of that could change if the rumors that have been swirling for most of the day are true. In what could be one of the biggest deals of the decade, the word out of New England is that they're looking at trading with the Knights for the very man who ripped them for one of the scariest hits of the season, Lincoln Watson. To get him, New England's willing to trade not only a young linebacker and defensive tackle, but rumors are they'll throw in a defensive back AND their leading running back. Which begs the question... will the Knights agree to such a deal?”

  “I think the bigger question is if New England's that crazy,” the other anchor interjects. “Listen, I get it. Their franchise quarterback's forty, and while they've always been a sort of 'plug and play' team, they want to send one of the greatest of all time out with another ring on his finger. But this smacks of mortgaging their tomorrow to get today's success.”

  “But that's been New England's style for a long time,” the anchor replies. “Over the past few years they always seem to have trades lined up that leaves everyone wondering if this is the trade that chops out enough of their foundation that they collapse like a house of c
ards... and every year they keep bringing out a team that rips apart the competition. In fact, this year the only team to give New England problems was the Knights... at least until Lincoln Watson got thrown out of the game. So is this a case of if you can't beat 'em, have 'em join you?”

  The door to my office opens and Red comes in, his face gleeful. I reach for the remote to the TV, cutting off the talking heads mid-word. “What do you have, Red?”

  “I just got off the phone with New England,” Red says. “They're willing to give up a linebacker, their nickel package d-back, their running back and their second round draft pick in next year's draft... in return for Lincoln Watson and a conditional fourth round pick on our side. Here's the paperwork, you need to sign this.”

  I look the papers over, it's a standard league form informing the league office of a trade. I check the names, they're the ones I'd been hearing rumors about, thanks to a relatively clueless executive assistant at New England who called me when Red was conducting practice. “I see. And did you inform Lincoln about this?”

  “Until your signature's on the paper, there's nothing to inform him about,” Red replies, obviously uncomfortable about this last hurdle. “You know that.”

  I nod, then check one thing on the paper. Instead of responding to Red, I reach for my desk phone, putting it on speaker as I dial the phone number underneath the signature block for New England's GM. “Bill Lindell. What can I do for you, Red?”

  “Sorry Bill, it's not Coach Hallifax. It's Samantha Porter.”

  Red looks like he's about to throw a fit, but keeps his lip buttoned, he doesn't want this internal power struggle to become public. Thankfully, New England's GM doesn't know that much, hopefully. “What can I do for you, Miss Porter? Did we forget some of the paperwork on the deal?”