“You better watch your fucking back, Jo-lene...We don't ever wanna ruin that sweet little face of yours, do we?”
Before I could even think of an answer, the limo door slammed shut, speeding away. I blinked, looking down at the blood-red stain seeping into the cold thighs of my leggings. Oh my god.
What have I gotten myself into?
The End of Book 1
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Bonus Book 3
Chapter One: Kingsley
They call me the King.
Mom always told me not to let it get to my head, but when everyone you meet worships you like you're royalty, that's damn near impossible. My head's so big I'm surprised I'm still walking around upright, and I'm not even sorry. I'm at the absolute prime of my life, and I've got everything a man could ever want, and then some. I hadn't even hit 30 yet, and I had more than 20 mil just sitting in the bank – the 17 mil contract and roughly 20 mil in endorsements I just signed not included. Anyone who isn't living under a rock knows my name; I get free shit I could afford in my sleep; and if you lived on my forecast, it rains pussy all day, everyday.
On top of all that, I can honestly say that I love what I do. Football isn't just my life – it's all I know. I'm Kingsley Kelly, the all-star quarterback of the Detroit Daggers, the same bad motherfucker that led our boys to the Super Bowl and nabbed us that Vince Lombardi 3 years in a row, and I'm just 5 seasons in. I live by Caesar's words: I come, I see, and I conquer whatever comes my way – be it the field, ambition, or an exquisite piece of forbidden ass. I take what I want when I want it, and no one can stop me.
After all, they call me The King for a reason.
XXX
I cocked my head to the right, combing the knots out of Ivanka's hair as I gazed down at her. To say she was beautiful wouldn't cut it. She had one of those delicate faces that belonged in a French painting and the never ending legs of a Bond girl. And to see her delicate face distorted, begging me to relieve her, made her all the more intoxicating.
“You know I can't stand it when you tease me...” Her usually strong, commanding voice was reduced to a throaty whimper.
“I know.”
My fingers were numb from the melting ice cube in my hand. I pressed the dribbling cube against her white nightgown. Ivanka's light nipple was visible through the soaked cotton. I charmed the bud of her tasty nipple with the ice cube, watching it rise as I rubbed it in slow circles.
I took my sweet time, taking turns with her other nipple. She gasped, grabbing hold of my wrist and squeezing. But I didn't stop. If anything, I go even faster. I pushed my other hand between her thighs, diddling her fuzzy snatch and coating my fingers with her sticky cunt juice.
“Looks like you're just about ready for me,” I mumbled, my mouth slacking in a grin.
“Just take me already, King. I can't take anymore of this...” Ivanka groaned. She dragged her pointed black nails down my chest, leaving pink claw marks.
My grin stretched wider as I closed my fist over the dwindling ice cube, now just half the size. I sat her up straight and pulled her nightgown over her head before shoving her back down on the bed. Her tits were small but perky, fitting the palm of my hand. I pinched her nipples with the gaps of my fingers, kissing and licking down her flat stomach.
With her legs hooked over my shoulders, I lowered my head between Ivanka's thighs. I pulled her legs further apart, keeping my eyes glued to the glistening pink of her stretching cunt. The pungent scent of her womanhood breathed at me. I inhaled deeply, grunting as I smeared what was left of the ice cube against her cunt. Within seconds of coming into contact with her hot, sticky folds, the ice melted, fusing with the growing stain on the bed sheets. Ivanka was struggling to keep her eyes open, her long blonde lashes fluttering.
“Oh – oh God, that's – that's cold...”
“Shh. Hold still.”
I spit into my hand and lubed up, eagerly ramming myself into her. Ivanka's freshly iced cunt greeted the upper-half of my cock with a brief, refreshing blast. I pumped in and out of her, the back of her calves slapping against my chest. Gripping her waist with one hand, I dipped the other under her to caress her supple ass cheeks. She twisted her head against her pillow, mussing up her golden hair as she held onto her wobbling tits.
Finding my pace, I reached towards the nightstand and scooped out another block of ice from the bucket. Ivanka's drooping eyes widened approvingly. She took a deep, shuddering breath and arched her back off the bed. I flicked my tongue across the ice cube a couple of times, warming up the edge before gliding it across her clit. I drove myself in and out of her cunt faster, taking a break from groping her cheeks to toy with her asshole.
“King, don't you dare stop – I'm – I'm getting close –”
Ivanka snatched the ice cube from my fingers, taking over. I kept fucking her, clenching to keep myself from nutting before she got her fix. With her eyes squeezed shut, Ivanka moved the ice between her ass cheeks and tended to her clit at the same time.
The sting of my sweat was starting to weigh my own eyelids down, but when Ivanka's phone started screeching, they popped right back open.
“What –” I glanced at Ivanka's charging phone on the nightstand.
“Don't mind that,” Ivanka snapped. “Focus –”
I slowed down, my face darkening as I squinted at Ivanka's ringing phone. A picture of a half-naked tool flexing his weak ass pecs for the camera flashed on the screen. I pulled out of her, running my tongue across my teeth angrily.
“Wait, what do you think you're doing?” Ivanka sat up and reached over to reject the call. She slumped against the headboard, crossing her arms.
“Cramp,” I grumbled, turning away from her.
“That's never stopped you before.” Ivanka pouted, lifting her leg to prod at me with her toe. “So why don't you tell me what's really got your panties in a bunch?”
“Yeah, it ain't exactly easy to finish when another one of your booty calls is blowing up your phone. What grown man still takes pictures in the gym, anyway?”
“What – are you talking about Tony?” said Ivanka incredulously. She wrinkled her nose. “I am over him – 20-year-olds always wear too much cologne. I've been hoping to get rid of him, but the boy can't take a hint.”
“Right,” I fumed, reaching for a glass of water.
“Come on, King. Are you really going to let something as trivial as Tony ruin our night?”
Ivanka snuck up behind me and draped her arms over my shoulders. My back went rigid at the feel of her hair tickling the back of my neck, my cock stirring as she pressed her tits up against me. My mind flashed to the pair of bubble butt brunettes gobbling on my balls in the shower this morning. I swallowed and bowed my head, slapped in the face by my own hypocrisy.
“You're right,” I started softly, turning around to face her. “I'm –”
Our ears perked at the sound of tires crunching up the driveway. Ivanka scrambled off the bed, standing on her tiptoes as she peered out the window. I rose to my feet, my heart dropping as the color drained from her face.
“Shit, it's Sam!”
“Wasn't he supposed to be at that convention in Las Vegas all week? It's only Thursday –”
But when we heard that front door slam, we knew shit had hit the fan.
“Darling? I'm home!”
“Apparently not.” Ivanka scanned the room quickly before dropping to her knees. She pulled up the bed skirt, gesturing frantically at me for me to get under the bed. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and hide already!”
I didn't need to be told twice.
I rolled under the bed, squeezing my bulky figure between the mattress and the cold floor. From a distance, I heard the wheezing staircase and a pair of feet thudding up the steps. Ivanka hopped back onto the bed, the springs of the mattress groaning in my ears. As she smoothed the cover
s, the door swung open.
Narrowing my eyes at the slit of the bed skirt, I could make out the short, porky figure of Sam Gunther on Ivanka's vanity mirror.
Gunther was a multi-billionaire, but that's the last thing you'd have guessed if you saw the dude. There was barbecue sauce all over his Hawaiian shirt, which were the only things that fit him, and all 3 of his chins were unshaven. On the other hand, the man was pushing 75, but he was redder than he was wrinkled, so he didn't look a day over 60.
I balled up my fists and held my breath, inching to the right and away from the slit. Sweat was leaking out of every pore, and my heart was going off like a ticking bomb in my ear. All I could do was pray to whatever god was listening.
If Gunther spotted me now, I might as well kiss this career goodbye. Ivanka and I had been doing this on and off for a little under 3 years now, so this was bound to happen sometime. In truth, I could only blame myself for coming this close to the edge of the grave – I dug it in the first place. This was what I got for sleeping with the wife of Sam Gunther, sole owner of the Detroit Daggers.
I wasn't exactly proud of boinking another man's wife, but Ivanka's always told me he's a prick-and-a-half, which makes it loads easier for me to stick my prick in his wife. And while we're at it, drop my load in her, too. Gunther had been the team owner for years, but I'd never personally met the man, save for a handful of times at season-end parties and award shows. He always hung around the bar and kept to himself, knocking back one bottle of Bombay Sapphire after the other. If the world worked right, Ivanka would have divorced the emotionally abusive degenerate years ago, but Gunther made her sign a prenup and forbade her from working.
Gunther set down his luggage and took a heavy step towards the bed.
“Hi, darling. You look nice tonight –”
“Why are you home so early?” Ivanka barked. The mattress creaked above me. “You said you were coming home on Sunday.”
“Yes, I did, darling, but I – ”
I couldn't even see Gunther, but I could feel the man deflating. My left eye started to twitch, the way it did when I smelled fish. Something wasn't right.
“But you what?” Ivanka demanded. Her lies were as smooth as her angelic hair. “I was getting ready to meet Antonia and them for a girls night out, and now I'm going to be late. Now instead of getting ready, we're here arguing –”
“No, no, no arguments here.” Gunther sounded resigned. “I'm sorry, darling, I should have called first. I can arrange for one of the choppers to bring you downtown if that's where you're going.”
“No,” Ivanka replied moodily. She sniffed. “You have done enough. Just leave me alone tonight and go sleep in the guest room. I won't be home until later, and I don't want to have to try and fall asleep with you snoring like a hundred trains next to me.”
“Of course, I wouldn't want you to lose any of your precious beauty sleep.” Gunther made a limp swat at humor, but it was just plain sad. “But darling, I came home early to surprise you. We haven't spent any time together in months, and I miss you. I've booked a trip for us to Milan tomorrow, just you and me –”
“Absolutely not. You did not think to consult me about this? I – I've already made plans with the girls – we are taking the jet to Jamaica for the weekend.”
“Ah, but darling, do you think you could reschedule?” The man's patience was admirable. “We haven't been intimate in more than half a year –”
Not gonna lie, if they couldn't see me, I'd be slithering out from under the bed and right on out of here.
“Can you blame me?” Ivanka snickered frostily. “Have you seen yourself?”
I blinked, gulping to relieve the scratch in my throat. My ears were ringing, disbelieving of what they'd just heard. Gunther said nothing.
“Well, alright, I'll be in the guest – hold on. Why are there 2 champagne glasses on the nightstand?”
I screwed my lips shut, bracing myself.
“Clarisse was doing my hair this morning and I offered her a drink. Is it a crime now to be polite to my guests?”
“No, I was just –”
“Will you please get out of the room now, Sam? I said I'm going to be late!”
“Of course. Sorry. Have fun tonight, darling.”
Gunther crossed the room to kiss Ivanka on the cheek.
“Okay, enough of that now. You smell like old pork.”
Gunther left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I waited as Gunther's footfall faded down the hallway and out of earshot. Ivanka pulled up the bed skirt, poking her head under the bed.
“He's gone.”
I slid out from under the bed and hoisted myself to my feet. Ivanka wiggled her shoulders, catching her falling straps under her arms. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and began crawling across the bed towards me.
“Now, where were we?”
“I, uh. I think I'm gonna hit the road.” I reached behind her and pulled out my clothes from under the covers.
“What? Why? I just got rid of Sam – he's not coming back for the rest of the night.”
“Maybe another night.”
I dressed myself, pocketing my phone and keys.
“Fine, go.” Ivanka tossed her hair over her shoulder huffily and kissed me on the cheek. She brushed her palm against my cock. “Call me when you finally grow a pair. And you better make this up to me.”
“Night.”
Before I was even halfway out of there, Ivanka was back on her phone.
Chapter Two: Carrie
6 strips of bacon sizzled in the pan as I brushed a coat of mascara onto my lashes. I leaned away from the oil splatter and flipped them over. While the bacon crisped, I pulled out the 3 rolls from the toaster oven and plopped them onto the plates on the counter, next to the fried eggs and potato hashes. I brushed my other set of lashes with mascara and glanced up at the clock on the wall.
My eyes rounded in panic, splotching my wet mascara all over my eyelids.
“Mother –”
“Good morning, Aunt Carrie.”
“Father,” I finished briskly, turning off the stove. “Good morning, Jackson!”
Jackson dawdled over and wrapped his arms around my legs, giving me a hug from behind. He opened the kitchen drawer, took out 3 sets of utensils, and began to set the table. I laid out the bacon on the plates and set them onto the place mats, ruffling Jackson's messy mop of black hair.
“Thank you for making us breakfast. It smells so good!”
“Not a problem, buddy. And thank you for setting the table.”
I scanned my nephew up and down, fighting a smile. It was pretty clear Jackson had taken it upon himself to make his own wardrobe choices today. He paired his Christmas sweater with the bottom half of his Red Power Ranger costume, and had even added a dinosaur sticker on his chest.
I picked up his Batman lunchbox and placed it next to him before pulling up the seat across from him.
“I didn't have time to pack you a hot lunch today, but I made you some cheddar and apple sandwiches and some fruit gummies for a snack.”
“That's okay. I like cheddar and apple sandwiches.” Jackson shrugged, digging into his plate.
I flipped up his hair, feeling his forehead with the back of my hand.
“You sure you're feeling okay today?”
“I feel great, Aunt Carrie. I don't have a fever anymore, and I want to go to school. I miss my friends. But I miss Sally the most.”
“Wow. And what's so special about Sally?”
“Sally shares her Oreos with me at snack time.” Jackson drank from his Batman glass, emerging with a milk mustache.
“So, you like this Sally, girl, huh?”
“I guess, but I like her Oreos more.”
“Gotcha.” I nodded, grinning. When my eyes landed on the untouched plate between us, the smile waned. “Where's your mom?”
“Mommy is in my room. I think she's still sleepin
g. She must be really tired.”
Over the years, Jamie had slowly moved herself into Jackson's room, even though she had a room of her own right next to his. Apart from grabbing some clean clothes, she could go for weeks without setting foot in her own room. Jamie camped out at Jackson's regularly, sleeping on a shabby cot next to her son's bed. But with her son's chronic asthma, pitiful immune system, and his recent susceptibility to seizures, it was understandable. The lengths Jamie went to ensure her son's well-being might seem extreme to some, but at the end of the day, it was commendable.
Still, Jamie could definitely work on routine and her social media addiction. My sister exhibited some pretty damning qualities of what older folks attributed to a stereotypical millennial. Jamie had gotten pregnant when she was only 16, dropping out of high school not long after. She spent the first 2 years of Jackson's life sneaking out of the house to go underage-partying with her loser friends and left newly legal me to run back and forth to Jackson's crib while pumping out my thesis. But when Jamie turned 18, a few months after Jackson's 2nd birthday, his health started deteriorating.
It was the wake-up call that finally got Jamie to yank her head out of her ass. She'd been inseparable from him since, presumably wallowing in guilt for neglecting her son for the first 2 years of his life. Thing was, with no high school diploma or any certification to her name, the best she could scrounge up was a dead end job at a fast food joint, barely making minimum wage. I picked up 90% of the bills and handled all of Jackson's medical expenses.
“She fell asleep with her phone on her face again. This morning, I took it off her and put it on the table, and I tried really, really hard to wake her up, but Mommy said she wanted to sleep some more.”
“That's okay, Jackson. Why don't you run upstairs and brush your teeth –”
“Oh my goodness! Jackson, honey, you look so cute!”
We were interrupted by a small flash to our left, followed by the irritating shutter noise of Jamie's phone camera.
Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance Page 32
