Second Down Love: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Kara Hart

  “At least let me walk you home,” I say. Shit, is she really going to make me beg like a pathetic loser? I mean, I like pussy as much as the next guy, but I’m not about to grovel on my hands and knees for it.

  She sighs, looking all around. Maybe she’s looking for someone she knows, or maybe she’s waiting for a cop to walk by, so she can tell ‘em what I did. I don’t give a shit. I want her in my mouth. I need to bury my cock deep inside her.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” My eyes follow the edge of her dress and every so often the wind blows it upwards, teasing me and exposing more flesh. I’m practically drooling.

  “Sure it is. It’s a great idea. These streets are dangerous as sin,” I mutter. “And by the way, I know for a fact you didn’t tell anyone about me. If you did, I might be dead by now.”

  “That’s why it’s not such a good idea,” she says. “You could get caught.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take, woman.” Her tits are perky and natural, just the way I like him. Her dress covers them elegantly and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to rip the fabric to shreds.

  “I can see that,” she laughs. “Listen. Are you crazy or something? Like, honestly. I’m a part of the Luciotti family. Does that name ring and bells for you? You could get massacred.”

  “Some might say I’m crazy. Maybe they’re right. Who knows? But I highly doubt the Luciotti family has enough brains and brawn to take a man like me down. You don’t know who I am, little girl.”

  Little girl. Those words sting. I can tell. I just want to drive the point home. I want her to realize who she’s dealing with before she falls head over heels in love with me. Okay, maybe I’m going into this like a cocky son of a bitch, but there hasn’t been one woman who’s turned me down yet. I doubt she’ll be the first.

  “Then, tell me. Who are you?” she asks. “And don’t call me little girl. It’s gross and insulting.”

  “My apologies,” I bow. “My name’s Hunter. Hunter Scapoli.”

  “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” She asks with enough sass to lay me out flat. She taps her foot impatiently when I smile. She’s brave. Nobody talks to me like she does. And, damn, does it turn me on.

  “Doubt it. Not many people know who I am. Most think I’m dead. I’d like to keep it that way,” I say. “It’s easier to get things done when you’re a ghost.”

  She laughs to herself, shaking her head. “Spooky,” she begins to walk, but motions me to come with. “Come on, ghost-man. Walk me home.”

  “Come with me. This way.” I say, leading her down a secondary alleyway. These streets are my home now. I know every way to go. I have at least three different escape routes per avenue, and because my warehouse is in a central location, they all lead back home.

  “So now that you’re taking me through some really sketchy alleyways, can you at least alleviate my fears that you’re not just some creep leading me to my doom?” she asks. “Like, what family are you working for exactly?”

  “What family do you think I’m working for?” I eye her, walking fast, until we hit a busy street. We cross it and enter another back alley. Soon, we’re walking behind a neighborhood of dilapidated buildings, complete with burned out windows and graffiti of ticking watches that say ur time is up son.

  “They all think you’re with New York. With Michael Tucciano. I don’t think they’re right though.” Smart woman.

  As we walk, we come across a group of five or six drug slingers. They rob a young man and take off running in the opposite direction. What happened to my city? My beautiful city of Detroit, the one I grew up in. I have all sorts of memories here, and none of them are particularly good.

  They’re my memories to hold. They paint a different picture of Detroit. It wasn’t long before the city collapsed. They say the city is getting better, but I hardly see a change. It’ll be a decade before it can thrive again. But that depends on the people pressing those buttons.

  “New York?” I look at her cautiously. There’s nothing more dangerous than a woman with connections to the underworld. Then again, there’s nothing more fun. “Do I sound like I’m from New York to you?”

  She laughs and gives me the side eye. She doesn’t know what to make of me. She’s full of fear and curiosity, two things that don’t mix well together. “No, I guess you don’t. Then again, you don’t look like you’re one of the New York boys, either.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Should I take offense to that?” I ask her. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing walking this woman home. I’ve got a million hits out on my head. Anyone who has half a brain would have let her go. Me, however… well, she’s just too fucking hot to pass up.

  I can’t stop imagining her voice, soft and breathy in my ear. Take me. Right here. Now. Rip my fucking panties off with your teeth. I imagine taking her right in this alley, fucking in a heat of passion. I want to take a belt to her ass. I want her to ride me until she screams with pleasure. I want her to writhe and moan as I shoot my cum all over her sex-slicked body.

  I shake those images away. Being alone for the past three months has made me horny as hell. I have to remember to act like a gentleman.

  “Those New Yorkers,” she says. “They’re all glitter and gold. I take one look at you and I can tell where you come from. I just don’t know who you’re serving. That part I can’t figure out.”

  “Glitter and gold, huh? Maybe it’s best you don’t figure things out,” I warn her. “It’s not smart to get involved in these kinds of politics.”

  “You’re right. I don’t really give a damn what gang you’re with. I hate the whole scene,” she sighs. I can tell we’ve hit a nerve. “It’s such bullshit, completely built on top of false ideology. I mean, you guys are all like killing each other left and right. And then you go home and you pray below your crosses and kiss your wife’s cheek. It’s totally insane. You know that, right?”

  “Woman, you’re preaching to the choir,” I say. “You’re right. It is bullshit. So what’re you going to do about it?”

  We’re near her house now and I know in a couple of minutes I’ll have to say goodbye. That’ll be it. We’ll go our separate ways. I’m not sure what I thought I’d gain by helping her out back there, but whatever I thought I’d get never came to fruition. Anyway, I can always find another strip club. I can find another broad.

  “You know, I’m not going to do shit about it,” she laughs. “Really. I plan to finish out law school. I’m going to stay in San Francisco and I’m going to build a life. I guess I’ll spend out my days defending innocent people hurt by the system.”

  I nod and pull out a cigarette from my pocket. I roll it around in my fingers, but don’t light it out of courtesy. “A lawyer? You? Well, that makes sense. You’re too intelligent for one of those low-level jobs,” I say. “They’ll try and use you though. That’s what they do. They use and they use, until you’re all used up. Then they throw you in the gutter.” She creases her forehead in thought. Maybe I’ve said too much.

  “What do you mean they’ll use me? Who will?” she asks.

  “Your Detroit friends. Ricky and the lot,” I say. “I know those guys well. You’re better off never talking to them again.”

  “Oh yeah?” She skips ahead of me and turns around to face me. “You think I’m scared of them?”

  “No, I suppose not,” I mutter. “That’s exactly why they’ll use you. All I’m saying is err on the side of caution.”

  “Why do you care about helping me so much?” she asks. There it is. The big question. Why am I even here with her right now? Someone could see me. Someone could be holding a rifle to my head, right at this very moment. “What’s your deal?”

  She’s stopped walking and is facing me like no other woman has before. I walk up to her slowly, eyeing her up and down. Does she know who she’s dealing with? Does she know I’m a killer? “I killed that man. Tony Maccione,” I say, under my breath. The streets
are quiet. There’s only the sound of us, except for the noises of children playing in the distance.

  “I know that,” she says, lightly. I can sense that she’s starting to feel the fear trickle in. Maybe she’s questioning herself, and wondering why the hell she took the beaten path with a guy like me.

  “I don’t know why I’m helping you,” I admit. “I’ve never helped anyone in my life. I’m a snake, don’t you see? I belong in the shadows.”

  “Do you always speak in riddles?” she asks. “It’s kind of weird, you know.”

  I smile slightly. “Today could be my last day on this earth,” I say. “So I took a chance. I followed you.”

  “Don’t you know how fucking creepy that is?” she asks me. I’m standing close to her now. I can practically feel her. Her breath quickens. When she breathes in, her tits press against her shirt and I can’t help but stare directly at them.

  “Judge me all you want,” I tell her. “It’s like I said. Today could be my last day here. Carpé diem, right? This is me seizing the day.”

  She swallows hard when I say the word, “seize,” and I wonder just how wet she is right now. She’s practically trembling against me.

  “I don’t care about helping you,” I say. I can see her house in the distance. “I care about fucking you. I care about taking you behind this trashcan, ripping those black panties off, and stuffing my face between those dripping legs. I care about making you cum, over and over again, until you beg me to stop because the pleasure is too strong for you to handle.” I gulp down hard and I realize our bodies are touching. Shit. If anything were to happen, now would be my chance.

  I move my hand over her tits, thinking about all of the ways I would rip the seam to set them free. God, they look incredible. My cock presses against my suit pants. It’s getting harder and thicker by the second.

  “Don’t,” she whispers, shaking. “Just don’t.” She closes her eyes and I pull my hand back. Be a gentleman, I think to myself. I take a step back.

  I quickly turn around and walk away from the scene. She’s left standing at the exit of the alleyway to her house. “It was nice talking to you. See you on the other side,” I mutter, about to turn the corner.

  “Wait,” she calls out. I stop, but I don’t turn around. I just want to hear those words: Stay. Come to my house. Peel back my panties and fuck my brains out.

  Of course, that’s just a fantasy I’ve built up in my head. I’m a crazy person, right? I’m a nobody who’s hell bent on killing everyone before going out in a blaze of glory.

  “Will I see you again?” she asks.

  “If you want to,” I say.

  She hesitates. I have no fucking idea what’s going on in her head right now. She says “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I’m not sure yet.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask her. “I never got it.”

  “Bianca,” she says.

  “Maybe I’ll see you soon, Bianca. Then again, maybe you won’t. We’ll have to see.” I turn the corner and I don’t look back.

  Bianca. Shit. I’m destined to be thinking about that ass and those tits all night.

  Bianca

  Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Did that really just happen? Did he really just try and fuck me back there?

  I take a few deep breaths and feel the rush of adrenaline and excitement flood my body. My heart is going crazy, beating like a hummingbird’s. I run straight into my room and slam the door, pressing my back against the wood.

  “Holy shit!” I whisper to myself.

  Part of me thinks he’s a total pig. Just another made man, looking for another side chick or gumad. Then again, he did kind of save my ass back there. At least he got my purse back.

  I think to myself, that’s what chauvinists do though! They save you so they can get some kind of hold on you. He’s not a nice guy. He’s a killer. Stay away.

  But the way he was looking at me, the way his eyes widened as he stood near me, was proof he desired me more than anything else in the world. At least, those are the delusions that run through my mind.

  Don’t. It was probably in my best interest that I told him to back off, but that didn’t keep me from fantasizing about the whole encounter. I will never actually get together with him. I don’t get with men like him. It’s fucking hot to fantasize about though.

  I lock my door and squeeze out of my dress. I look down and run my hand across my pussy. I’m soaking wet. Fuck. I fall into bed and close my eyes, running my fingers over my wetness.

  I imagine him, tapping on my window. I don’t open it for him, so he breaks it open himself. I don’t say a word as he crawls into my bedroom. It’s night and he blends into the darkness. He’s in between my legs now, forcing them open with his big hands.

  He slips his tongue around my clit, swirling it around my lips. When his mouth is around me, he slides two fingers in and rhythmically eats me. He sucks on my lips and clit like no other man has before. He's hungry for me. It's like he's been dreaming about this for years. He's drinking water in a dry desert, soaking up what's left.

  I'm pressing his head against my core, forcing as much pressure as I can against me. When he's finished with me, he picks me up and sets me on his cock. I sit on him, moving my hips from side to side. “Cum all over my shaft. I want to feel your wetness,” he says with those threatening eyes. I smile and grind downwards.

  He's inside me, deep. I can feel his head hit just the right point of my g-spot. Our breathing folds in and out, bouncing off the walls of my room. “Don't wake my parents,” I say.

  But he doesn't give a fuck. He holds me down and pounds away. Then he shoots his cum inside of me, pushing it in as deep as it can go. He falls back to his knees, to finish what he started. That's when I cum.

  My knees buckle and my toes curl in. It's my fantasy and it’s left me squirming and wet. I rub my fingers around my clit slide my dildo inside. It vibrates wildly and I cum. I cum so hard that I have to sit up to try and get ahold of my body. “Fuck!” I scream, immediately covering my mouth out of fear that one of my family members can hear me.

  I sink back under my bed sheets, put my pillow over my face, and scream. What's wrong with me? Do I really want a guy like him to sneak into my room and have his way with me?

  He told me he wanted to stuff his face in between my legs. He said he wanted to take me behind a dumpster and leave me soaking. In all of my life, I've never had a man say something like that to me. My ex sure as hell never did. It was so fucking dirty.

  Outside my window, it's still afternoon. I clean myself off in the shower and put on some pajama pants. Okay, I tell myself, what happened in there is just fantasy. That's it. None of it's actually real. If I see him again, I'll just tell him to leave me alone. That's it. No harm done, right?

  There's a knock on my door and the sound of Dad’s voice. “Honey, you in there? You okay? I heard a loud yell or something.”

  Oh, God. Please tell me my dad did not just hear me... I open the door and peek my head out. “I dropped my curling iron,” I lie, “but I’m fine. It almost hit my toe.”

  “Oh,” he says, “sorry sweetie. Hey, you busy? You want to get lunch or something? I think I have to get out of this house for a bit.”

  “Sure. Let me just put something on,” I say, closing the door and taking a deep breath. That was… awkward. Still, I never pass on a chance to bond with my dad. It’s been a long time since I’ve even been home, and I can tell he’s been lonely lately.

  “Alright, Dad.” I open the door and walk out into the living room. “You ready?”

  “Ready as ever,” he says, grabbing the keys to his brand new Tesla car. Yeah, he is definitely going through his mid-life crisis. Lucky for him, he’s a single guy with a slew of money behind him.

  We jump in the car and he puts on a pair of old sunglasses, turning on the radio. “Let’s do this!” he yells, looking at me while smiling. On the stereo is AC/DC and with each guitar strum, he bangs his head.

  “Dad, w
ill you watch the road?” I whisper at him.

  “What’s the matter? You hate AC/DC?” he laughs and cuts through a gas station to avoid a light.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I say, holding on to the handle above my door. We zip through another corner and the car skids loudly. “Come on!” I yell, but I can’t help but smile. He’s laughing loudly, enjoying the fact that his daughter is having fun with him for once in his life.

  When he sees the small burger shack ahead, he pulls off into the dirt and comes to a halt. “Here we go,” he declares. “The best burger in all of Detroit.”

  “Man, I haven’t been here in ages,” I say, getting out of the car. I walk slowly with my dad up to the wooden shack and smile. “Remember when we used to always come here Friday night?”

  “Damn right I do,” my dad says. “I used to look forward to it all week.”

  It’s cute, the way my dad reminisces. I totally forgot about this place, but there are memories here. It’s the small things in this city that really make me want to come back sometimes. Even though the city is half vacant or destroyed, there are things on the outside that call to me. Simple things, like this this burger shack.

  “Two cheeseburgers, and an extra-large fry for us to share,” Dad says to the cook at the window. The guy nods amidst a plume of smoke. He throws two patties on the grill.

  “Don’t forget the milkshakes!” I yell. “Chocolate please.”

  “Ah, I almost forgot!” My dad smiles and pays at the register. It’s not long before our food is hot and ready to eat. We sit down on a bench outside and enjoy the view.

  “So, what’s up? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years. How’s school?” He takes a big bite from his burger and chases it down with the shake.

  I’m already halfway through my food, devouring every bit of it. That booze earlier left me starving. I swallow and say “It’s good. I’m halfway done at least. It’s a little weird going back to school at my age though.”

  He shrugs. “It’s less weird than going back when you’re 40 like I did. But finishing school becomes easier with age,” he says.