by Dark Angel
Twenty minutes later, when Danny manages another pass that leads to an easy touchdown, it seems that the whole stadium has gone insane. Some people are chanting ‘Super Bowl’, others are chanting ‘MVP’, but the majority has settled for screaming out ‘Manning’ at the top of their lungs. It’s insane.
I look at his giant image on the jumbotron, and I can’t help but remember how good it felt to be with him in his apartment… It’s all a bit surreal, isn’t it? One moment I’m watching a game, the next I’m fucking the best quarterback in the league.
By the time the game ends, the whole stadium is chanting Danny’s name as if he’s some kind of messiah; well, aside from the few Pounders’ fans in here, but even they're impressed by what Danny did on the field. The game ended 42-0 for the Nailers, which is not the kind of result you see every day, and more amazing than that is the fact that Danny was involved in every winning play. He was on fire… and now, so am I.
“I guess now you owe me,” Ashley laughs, turning to me and gently touching my arm.
“I guess I do,” I reply, already imagining all the things we’re going to do once we go back to his place. I take my cellphone out of my purse and, as I start writing him a text asking him where I should meet him, something crosses my mind. Why wait?
I jump out of my seat, my heart beating so fast I feel dizzy as I stand up. With both my hands on Ashley’s shoulders, I lean in and whisper into her ear. Her smile becomes wider and wider as I speak, and then she just laughs.
“You’re completely insane,” she chuckles, but she grabs what I want from inside her purse all the same and hands it to me.
“No way,” Becca laughs as she realizes what I have in my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re--”
“That’s right,” I grin, winking at the girls while Cody looks at me with one arched eyebrow and an amused smile.
“Time for me to go,” I tell them, turning on my heels and walking out of the skybox as quickly as I can. There’s a place I need to be in right now, and it simply can’t wait.
131
Danny
“How do you feel?”
“Do you believe you’re going to be this year’s MVP?”
“You think the Nailers will be this Super Bowl’s winner?”
The journalists surround me like a swarm of overly excited bees, firing question after question. “Alright, one at a time, folks,” I say, raising both hands up in the air and trying to calm them.
“How do you feel about the Nailers’ chances of winning this year’s Super Bowl?” A petite brunette with a fiery attitude asks right away in one single breath, shoving her red microphone just a few inches from my mouth.
“Pretty good, yeah. If we keep playing like this, it’s a sure thing,” I tell her without pausing to think. The media might think I’m a cocky bastard, but I’m usually right about these things. Besides, how can I not feel optimistic about our chances at a Super Bowl win? Did you see our last two games? We’re crushing everything and everyone.
“And about becoming MVP?” the brunette asks again, waving her microphone in front of me and pushing the other journalists to the side with her shoulders. For a girl as small as she is, she sure is determined.
“I don’t give a shit about becoming MVP,” I reply with a shrug. It’s the truth; I truly don’t care about getting patted on the back for being such a good boy. I care about winning, baby, and it’s all about the scoreboard. The only trophy I truly care about is the Super Bowl.
“But your performance these last few games have put you on the fast track toward it, according to the pundits,” she insists, and now the other journalists are trying to push her away. She holds her ground though, as if her heels are made of solid concrete.
“Maybe,” I tell her, “but you really shouldn’t be using my performance in the same sentence as ‘fast’.” That gets a laugh out of the swarm of journalists, and that makes her pause. She grows slightly flushed, her eyes widening as she looks at my lips. Yeah, I could take her for a spin if I wanted it to; unfortunately for her, there’s only one woman in my sight right now. Fuck, I can’t believe I just said that. What the hell’s happening to me?
“Danny, Danny,” an overweight guy calls out to me, pushing the brunette to the side and pushing his microphone toward me. “What’s your secret?”
“My secret? I’m Batman,” I tell him with a straight face, and that earns another round of laughs from everyone.
“You sure could be,” he continues without being taken aback, “your performance has been quite impressive. You’ve been one of the best players in the league since your debut, but this season you’ve taken things to a whole new level.”
“That’s true. I never settle, Oliver,” I tell him, reading the name on the press card he has hanging around his neck.
“What changed, though? This game in particular… The pundits say this might've been one of the best quarterback performances in decades, during regular season.”
I purse my lips, thinking about what he just said. I truly was on fire during the game, but what’s all this talk about being MVP, the Super Bowl, and my fucking performance? We’re just in the regular season, for fuck’s sake.
“Look, fellas,” I try to calm them down, but they’re having none of it. They keep waving their microphones at me as if they’re spears, and I start thinking that if I want to leave the stadium I might have to punch my way out. “Why don’t we talk about this after we win the Super Bowl?” I say, and that makes them go even crazier. Every single photographer starts snapping pictures of my million-dollar smile, and all the journalists start asking questions at the same time.
“Does your performance have any anything to do with the girl from the game against the MILFs?” The brunette pushes her way back into the inner circle, materializing out of nowhere and holding her mic as if it’s a sword. Calm the fuck down, girl.
“It does,” I tell her, knowing that’s going to make everyone even crazier. I really don’t want to throw Fiona at the wolves, but I figure they’ll never give up before finding out who she is; and, let me assure you, they will. These reporters are like cyborgs, hunting down whatever it is they want. And if they don’t get it, they might just make up whatever story they want. So, fuck it, I’ll give them the truth. “That woman’s the reason I won today. She has helped me keep my mind in the game.”
“And who is she, Danny? A girlfriend?” The brunette asks me, and I can tell that it pains her to say the world ‘girlfriend’. She probably thought I’d want to do a post-game ‘workout’ with her. And if it wasn’t for Fiona, I’d probably do it.
“She’s just a --” I trail off as I see a blonde head at the end of the large corridor, a woman in a short skirt, stilettos, and a red tight blouse walking toward us. Shit, what is she doing? If the press sees her here they’re going to eat her alive. “Alright, time to wrap this up,” I tell the journalists abruptly, somehow managing to walk past them. I nod at the security standing by the side, and they cordon off the angry mob before they can pull me back in.
I close the distance between Fiona and I as close as I can, and I can hear the wild shutter of the cameras behind me.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I ask her, placing one hand on her elbow and pulling her after me. I step inside the by now empty Nailers locker room, the first open door that I see, and close the door behind us.
“A friend of mine hooked me up,” she grins, dangling a press pass right in front of my nose. It reads Ashley, which I recognize as the wife of some big time New York billionaire.
“You’re trouble, Fiona,” I tell her.
“You have no idea.”
132
Fiona
There's another one over there, I point out the window at a photographer.
"You shouldn't point," Danny says to me. "It's rude."
I stick my tongue out at him.
I know! I just stuck my tongue out at Danny Manning! Of the New York Nailers!
And as I did s
o, there were like 40 flashbulbs that just went off, capturing the act. My sticking my tongue out has now been immortalized in the annals of Western culture. I'll probably show up on the Sports pages of the New York Daily Journal. As the woman behind the quarterback.
Yeah, I know I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here but can you blame me?
I'm sitting with a handsome hunk of man at Il Bolina, in Midtown on 53rd and 7th. The restaurant sat us next to the window - I think they knew this was going to happen, but to be completely honest, I didn't mind. I didn't really know the crush of reporters that was going to materialize out of nowhere on the edges of Times Square, but then again, I'm new to this world, ya know?
"I think you should wave and smile," Danny whispers in my ear.
Boom. Another fifty flashbulbs that captured him whispering in my ear. Maybe they'll have a tagline that says "Secret, Sexy Whispers" as they put us on the pages of the newspaper.
Oh my God, this is so awesome!
I raise my hand and wave at the press. A few of them wave back but a lot more snap pictures. The flashbulbs are stronger for me waving that Danny whispering, that's for sure. Again, I can picture the headline. "Beauty! And Modesty!"
Can you tell yet that it's gone a bit to my head? I mean just a lil' bit? No? Well, then this should probably help.
I lean over and take Danny's hand in mine and whisper into his ear. "I'm having a great night tonight, Danny," I tell him. "Thanks for taking me out."
I've never been so forward with a guy before! But then again, I need to find something to tell Danny, because the simple fact that I'm leaning over and whispering into his ear is making the photographers crazy. It's like 200 flashbulbs go off, snapping away pictures of me whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
He looks at me and smirks. "You're not shy, are you?" he asks me.
Another fifty flashbulbs.
I shake my head and bite my lip, coming closer to him. Do I really want to kiss him with an audience? What's that going to be? 300 flashbulbs?
"I'm not kissing you on camera, Fiona," Danny says to me, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not one of those athletes that looks to make bigger headlines off the field than on the field," he finishes.
That's okay. I can understand.
"But I've never even been on the field," I tell him. "So this is all new to me."
"And you're completely playing those guys," Danny says, gesturing briefly to the window. "Like a violin. You sure you've never done this before?"
I shake my head. Have I ever been in a situation where I've had to pretend that a gaggle of photographers outside the window didn't exist?
Uhm, that would be a no.
But have I ever crushed on a guy real hard that within the first ten minutes of sitting down to dinner I knew I was going to fuck him?
That's a big affirmative. And no, I'm not thinking of giving it up to him just because he's famous and has his own travelling press corps. I'm thinking of giving it up to him because he's cute and hot and looks like he has a giant cock.
Those are the normal reasons why girls should give it up to guys, right?
I lean over and pull Danny's face towards mine.
"Hey," I say to him. He looks at me and smiles.
I kiss him.
800 million flashbulbs.
So not why I was doing it.
But I'll take it!
That’s it.
I’ve decided.
Life with Danny Manning is going to be a fucking blast.
133
Fiona
I can’t believe that I actually pulled this off.
The security at the Nailers’ stadium is pretty tight, but I somehow managed to sneak inside the private areas just by waving Ashley’s press card as fast as I can and pretending that I was some big shot press officer.
I strolled down the corridors in awe as I passed by some of the players, tall muscled men just getting out of the shower. Who do I talk to about living down here? I can bring a tent.
Finding Danny wasn’t hard; I just needed to follow the noise. He was right in front of the conference room, hounded by a legion of journalists that wanted more than just his short post-game comments. I figure that tomorrow people will be talking about his performance for hours on end.
The moment Danny sees me walking down the corridor, he pushes his way out from the circle of journalists and heads toward me in a hurried pace. I stand in place, looking at him come as if I’ve never seen him before. God, he looks so deliciously handsome. How in the world have I slept in his bed? I should buy a lottery ticket, you know, just in case my luck keeps being this good.
Grabbing me by the arm, he pushes me inside a room, stunned by the fact that I somehow managed to pass security. I just take Ashley’s press credentials and wave them in front of his face. Oh, yeah, I’m a resourceful woman.
“You’re trouble, Fiona,” he tells me, his words sending a shiver down my spine. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of his deep rumbling voice.
“You have no idea,” I say, going up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his. When I pull back, my heart is racing at a thousand miles per hour. “Where are we?” I ask him, looking around the place we’re in. There are wide polished benches lining the walls, and there are numbered Nailers jerseys hanging in front of tall lockers over the benches. To my right, the room opens up into a large showering area without any stalls. For a moment, I imagine dozens of naked gorgeous men standing under the running water, and that pleasant warmness spreads to my pussy.
“Welcome to the Nailers’ locker room,” he smiles, and I can hear a note of pride in the way he says it.
“Lock the door,” I whisper at him, placing both my hands on his chest. What? I want to know how it feels to fuck in one of the most famous locker rooms in the US.
“You’re completely insane, did you know that?” he tells me, but turns the lock on the door all the same. Walking back to me, he places his hands on my hips and pushes my body until my back is against the tiled wall of the locker room.
“It’s your fault,” I purr, wasting no time and taking my hands to his crisp white shirt. With my eyes glued on his, I untuck his shirt and then start unbuttoning it. “You won the game, and you said yourself… You like a girl who keeps her promises.”
“That’s right,” he says, grabbing the hem of my blouse and pulling it over my head. His eyes become hungry as he glances at the upper curve of my breasts, and I just close my eyes as he leans into me and lays a kiss between my tits. Moving his lips up, he follows the contour of my chin and then presses his mouth against mine, parting my lips with his tongue.
Surrendering to his kiss, I let my hands fall to his waist and I put them to work, unbuckling his belt. I then open the top button on his pants and unzip his fly, my skin prickling as his hard cock strains against his boxer briefs and slaps the back of my hand. Turning my wrist, I flatten the palm of my hand against his cock and start rubbing on it, that sweet anticipation building inside of me.
“Missed my cock, babe?” he teases me, running one hand through my hair and tangling his long fingers in it. He makes me throw my head back and I gasp, tightening my fingers around his shaft so harshly I wouldn’t be surprised if he complained. Of course, he doesn’t; complaining is not part of his genetic composition.
“I sure did,” I purr, letting go of his cock and sliding my hand down his boxer briefs. I bite on my lower lip as I feel the warmness of his shaft against my fingertips, and I just grab his thick cock again, pushing both pants and boxer briefs down with my free hand. He takes the chance to kick off his shoes, and then steps out of his pants and boxers. Wanting him completely naked, I push his open shirt down his arms, and then take a moment to marvel at how perfect his body looks. Maybe it’s because he pushed himself to the limit during the game, but somehow his muscles look even more toned than before; the lines between his abs are carved deep on his stomach, and each perfect square feels like it’s made of concrete.
; “You know what I spent the whole game thinking of?” he asks me, a grin on his lips. “Looking down and seeing you on your knees, my cock sliding in between your lips…” he whispers against my ear, and that’s all it takes for me to go down.
“I’m a natural at motivation, it seems,” I tell him the moment my knees touch the floor. I place my hands on his legs and then move them up to his waist, closing in on his cock.
I move my fingertips over his skin, tracing the lines separating his ripped muscles and going down to his inner thighs, but always keep a dangerous distance between my hands and his cock. He’s looking at me with an untamable hunger in his eyes, and I can tell that he’s fighting against the urge to just grab my hands and place them on his cock. Not that I’d mind if he did that, but I’m actually enjoying the creases of anticipation growing on his face as I tease him hard.
“Patience is a virtue…” I say, smiling as I look up at him. “Isn’t that what you always say?”
“Fuck patience,” he groans, finally relenting and curling his fingers around my wrist. Wasting no time, he guides my hand toward his cock and I submit to his desire, grabbing his thick shaft. Giving up on my teasing ways, I start stroking him as fast as I can, moving my hand up and down the whole length of his shaft.
Using my free hand, I caress his balls, rolling them over my stretched fingers; still with my eyes locked on his, I start leaning in toward his cock. I tilt my head sideways and I reach for the side of his shaft with the tip of my tongue. Resting it against his warm skin, I run my tongue down to his balls and, there, I open my mouth and start sucking on one of them. I take it inside my mouth and, after lapping at it with my tongue, I move to the other one and do exactly the same.
Sliding my tongue back up his shaft, I only stop at the tip of his cock. I run my tongue in fast wide circles around it and, then, I finally lower myself and wrap my lips around his pulsing flesh. Doing it as slowly as I can, I roll my lips down his shaft until I can feel his cock pressed against the back of my throat; closing my eyes, I make one final effort and take the remaining inches inside of my mouth. To be honest, I have no idea how I’m doing this; his cock is so big that it should be physically impossible to have him all inside my mouth. I guess that, with Danny, the impossible becomes possible.
