Romance: Young Adult Romance: The Perfect Game (A Highschool Football Romance) (Bad Boy Nerd New Adult Romance)

by White, Stella

  When she got Jaxson to school, she called Ryan. He agreed to come over on his lunch break. She told him why she had been distant, and what had happened. He held her. She kissed him. They made love. Afterward they lay together. He had been gentle, caring, sweet and tender. It had been what she needed, but it had made her realize Ryan wasn’t the man she needed. Why couldn’t He look and act like Rocky, but make love to her like he did? Couldn’t a good guy be a little bad? Or a bad guy be a little tender? Was that too much to ask for?

  Ryan went back to work, and Jennifer knew she was going to break up with him. She needed a man who could keep her safe. She knew Ryan couldn’t. Sex had been the furthest thing from her mind as of late, but safety had been forefront on her mind. Somehow the two were mixing.

  Jennifer didn’t like confrontation, something she picked up by dating assholes. They were short tempered, and confrontation always led to fights, so she almost called Ryan when she knew he would be home from work. But she felt as though she owed the man more, so she went to see him after dropping Jaxson off with Barbara.

  “Hey hon,” Ryan said when he opened the door, but he must have seen something in her face because he sighed. “Uh-oh.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Go check in the mirror,” Ryan said glumly.

  “Listen, it’s not going to work.”

  “This afternoon…” Ryan said, but he trailed off, his words hanging in the air between them.

  “I know,” Jennifer said. “You’re the best guy I’ve ever dated,” she added. “That’s no joke. I’m being serious.”

  “Then why would it not work?”

  “Maybe I’m not good enough,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re too good.”

  “I’m too good to date?”

  Jennifer sighed. “This is hard, alright Ryan? Thank you for everything, you’re really something else, in a good way. You’re different than any man I’ve known.”

  “I can give you time,” Ryan said. “I know what happened, and this afternoon, maybe we shouldn’t have, but you started it, I would wait, I will wait.”

  “I don’t think you could keep me safe from that monster,” Jennifer finally said truthfully. “Maybe I need a monster of my own.”

  And with that, she left the man, his mouth hanging open behind her, as though he was about to say something else. She didn’t give him the chance.

  5

  Finally, almost three weeks after she had been raped on the barroom floor, Jennifer returned to Chuck’s. Brittany was behind the bar when she got there, and Andre was in the kitchen. He hugged her when he saw her.

  “If I would have been here,” he started, but Jennifer smiled and shook her head.

  “I know,” she said. “How’s the baby?”

  Andre grinned. His wife had given birth less than two weeks before. “Fit as a fiddle,” he said. “You got to come by and see him, alright?”

  “I will,” Jennifer said, and she went out behind the bar. Brittany gave her a hug too, but the younger woman didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet. Rose was at the bar, and she slid a shot across to Jennifer.

  “On me kiddo,” she said, and Jennifer took it, slamming the empty glass down on the bar when she was done. Her throat burned, but she started to laugh.

  That night Rocky came in with a couple of his biker club pals. He paid Jennifer no mind, and she thought it would stay that way, but just after midnight he approached the bar and leaned against it.

  “Can I talk to you?” He said.

  “I’m a little busy.”

  “No you ain’t, come talk to me,” he said and reached for her hand.

  “Out back,” she said with a sigh, not taking his hand, and then she disappeared into the kitchen, heading for the back door. Rocky went out the front and walked around the building.

  “What?” Jennifer asked when she saw him. She was leaning against the wall next to the back door.

  “I wanted to say sorry,” the biker said. “I was being an asshole.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m trying to apologize,” Rocky said, and she softened.

  “Alright,” Jennifer said. “I do appreciate what you did for me.”

  “I would do anything for you,” Rocky said, and then he laughed. “Good lord I sound like that dork you’re dating.”

  Jennifer laughed and shook her head. “I broke up with him a couple of days ago.”

  “How come?”

  Jennifer paused for a moment, and then she shrugged. “He wasn’t you.”

  Rocky tilted his head to the side and raised a brow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m an alright guy you know,” he said. Jennifer laughed.

  “No, you aren’t. How many times have you gone to prison?”

  “I’m an alright guy for having gone to prison a couple of times.”

  “You ever killed a man?”

  “No,” Rocky said. “But the night’s young. I will kill that asshole when I find him. He might be long gone, though; they were heading out when I found him the first time.”

  “Good riddance,” Jennifer said. “Let him go.”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “You better be there to protect me,” she said with a grin. Rocky stepped forward, and they kissed.

  He hung around Chuck’s that night, and then followed her home on his bike. She asked Barb to keep Jaxson overnight, and then they went into the bedroom.

  “Be gentle,” Jennifer said, as Rocky pulled his shirt over his head. “Can you?”

  “Of course, I can,” Rocky said, and they were kissing again. He broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt up and over her head, and then he was touching her back, his fingers moving up and down her spine, making her skin tingle. His touch was light and soft though his hands were that of a man’s, hard and calloused. She put her hands on his chest, felt his firm muscles there, and a warmth flowed through her crotch, soaking her panties.

  Their kisses were tender and slow; their tongues danced together. Slowly they laid upon the bed, Rocky holding himself over her. She reached down, pulled off his belt and unzipped his pants. He wriggled out of them, clad then in just his boxer shorts. Her fingers found their way through the flap at the front, and wrapped around his member, half hard then, but growing rigid against her palm and fingers.

  He tasted of beer, and cigarettes and Jennifer knew she was with the right man. The man she should be.

  He got her bra off, and his eager lips found her nipples, but she could tell he was taking it slow, being gentle, and it meant too much to her she smiled with her eyes closed and moaned in his ear. “Fuck me hard,” she said.

  “Thank God,” Rocky said. He ripped her panties down her leg, tossing them over the edge of the bed. His kisses on her breasts became bites, piercing nibbles on and around her nipples that soaked her pussy even more. He had a hand down there, two of his fingers working in and out of her, the pad of his thumb grinding gently against her clit.

  “Fuck me,” She moaned, and he did so. He pushed inside of her, working at a furious pace, their skin slapping together, her juices flowing. Her breathing grew labored, and he knew she was about to come, so Rocky leaned back, still fucking her but reaching down and rubbing her clit.

  “Shih!” Jennifer yelled as an orgasm rocked her, his massive cock thudding in and out of her tight pussy as it contracted around him. When she had come, he pulled out of her, standing and bending over to pick her up. He tossed her over his shoulder, her juices leaking from her snatch and running down her legs and onto his arms. They went to the living room like that, and he sat down on a chair next to the TV, and he pulled her into his lap, facing away from him.

  Jennifer braced herself with her hands on the arms of the chair, and her feet on the carpet, her legs together as she sat on his cock. It pushed into her tight snatch, and she brought herself back up, and then slammed down, riding him at a furious pace. He reached up and pulled her hair,
yanking her head back until she screamed. His other hand slapped her ass, big and round and bouncing on his lap.

  “Fuck me,” she screamed, over and over until he pushed her off of him and then down to her knees. He stepped in front of her, and she opened her mouth so he could fuck her face. He held her head still, letting his hips control the pace. She was choking, her eyes burned as tears slid down her cheeks.

  “Jerk me off onto your face,” he commanded, and Jennifer was being used once more. But the fact that he had been willing to be gentle, to go slow, it meant she was fine with it. She wanted him to use her for that; a woman should be used in the bedroom, at least sometimes. And sometimes a man should be used. Rocky was a man who was willing to go both ways. One wasn’t better than the other. She gripped him in her hand and jerked until he came, his thick white come sloshing across her lips, her face, and up into her air. When he was done, she smiled. She knew it was the beginning of a wonderful relationship.

  *****

  THE END

  MAFIA Romance – Bought By the Hitman

  1

  It was Saturday, and it was my first off day on a weekend in a really long time. I couldn’t remember having a Saturday off since I had started working for Mr. Black. That wasn’t his real name, of course; I was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in Russia with the last name of Black, and my boss was as Russian as they got. His accent was so thick it was hard to understand him sometimes.

  I was Russian in the sense that my great grandfather came over and built a life for himself. His name had been Pitor Anismov. He did pretty well for himself, the old guy. My own grandfather told me a lot of stories about him. Grandpa was Alan Anismov. Alan was as American a name as old Pitor could come up with. He wanted his son to be American. He hated Russia. It was cold; it was hard living. America represented something to him. An opportunity.

  Grandpa had two daughters. My mom, he named Rebecca, and her sister was Rose. Rose died when she was only five; I never met her. My mom married a guy named Mike Jones, and they got me, Peter Jones. Doesn’t sound very Russian, and it took me a while to convince Mr. Black that my family came from there. Having Russians, it was important to him.

  I was named after Pitor, but with the American spelling. When he came over, he made money any way he could. I’ve taken that up to. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, and a lot of things which could land me in jail, but hey, a job is a job. I keep my head down, steer clear of cops, and make sure the guys I rough up really have it coming to them.

  Mr. Black is a fair guy, believe it or not. He’s big and round, with a bald head and a fat stomach, but he calls it like he sees it, and he plays everyone straight. There’s something honorable about that, really. A criminal who tries to do right by his own ethics and moral code. I’m the same way. I won’t knock over some mom and pop shop unless they’re laundering money for another guy or something like that. My boss is the same way.

  But he works us a lot. I do this; I do that. I’m on call twenty-four seven. That’s why I was looking so forward to that Saturday.

  I slept in, having a weekend day off. I didn’t wake up until after noon. I lounged in bed for a bit, until my stomach was telling me I needed food, and then I got up. I was halfway through my second bowl of Frosted Flakes when my cell rang. I grabbed it and sighed. It was Mr. Black.

  “Peter my boy,” the old man grumbled. “I need you.”

  I knew better than to argue. “What can I do for you, Mr. Black?” I asked.

  He gave me an address and told me I was working security at nine that evening. I hung up and finished my cereal. Nine wasn’t so bad. Of course, if Mr. Black told me nine, he expected me there by eight thirty. I, at least, had the day. I went back to bed.

  By six, I climbed out of bed and slowly got ready after wolfing down a sandwich. By eight twenty I was parking across from the address I had been given. It was a place downtown, in a seedy looking neighborhood. The building was squat and wide, just one story, with no windows that I could see. All gray and closed off. The door was large and metal, and a man in a suit was loitering outside of it.

  I locked my car and made my way across the street. I realized I knew the man standing by the heavy door, and he nodded to me as I got closer. His name was Marco, and he worked for David Zinga, a Mexican arms dealer that Mr. Black was friendly with.

  “Marco,” I said, stopping for a minute to chat with the guy. He was smoking, and he took a long drag on the cigarette he held between two fingers before answering.

  “How goes it, Peter?” He asked, his voice low, like a tiger’s growl. He was a big guy, muscles upon muscles, with a scar running down one cheek.

  “All right. It was my day off,” I complained, and Marco laughed, but his eyes were sympathetic.

  “What’s a day off?” He asked, and it was my turn to laugh. I slapped him on the back and stepped inside. I expected the building to be dark, but it was well lit. There was a small hallway right at the entrance, with a door propped open at the end, and beyond that a large open room. Lights hung from the ceiling, buzzing softly as I passed underneath them. At the far end of the room was a small stage of sorts, a raised section of flooring which came up to my waist. There was a door there, built into the wall on the rear of the stage. A friend of mine stood there, another guy who worked for my boss, someone I had pulled a few jobs with. His name was Vlad, and he was about ten years older than my twenty-five. His last name was Nikitin, and he was like Mr. Black, right from the mother country. His accent wasn’t as pronounced however, he had apparently moved to America with his family when he was only three. He was tall and angular, with a long crooked nose that had been broken more than once.

  “Hey kid,” he said to me as I found the steps to the stage and moved up to greet my friend. He always called me kid.

  “Hey Vlad,” I said. “Mr. Black coming?”

  Vlad shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows,” he said. “I think a lot of big hitters will be here, though.”

  “What is this?” I asked. “Arms deal?”

  Vlad laughed and shook his head. “Not quite Kid,” he said. Then he nodded to the door which stood off to the side, leading from the stage. “Go check it out.”

  I looked at him, wondering if he was trying to get me in trouble. I was just working security. Mr. Black, and the others like him, they didn’t like us small timers getting our noses where they didn’t belong. I was muscle, plain and simple. I had my gun, in a shoulder holster under my suit jacket. Mr. Black always had us in shirts and ties.

  I made my way to the door at the back of the stage and then looked over my shoulder, back to Vlad. He laughed and waved me on. “It’s fine; just us grunts here so far.”

  I nodded and opened the door. It was dark in the back room, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. There were fewer lights here, their bulbs orange and slight instead of bright and yellow. In front of me, there was a cage, big enough for a man, but it was empty. I moved on.

  I found another cage, but this one wasn’t empty. It was six feet high and four feet wide, and two women stood in it, holding one another and crying. They looked young, both of them no older than twenty. They had fair skin and dark hair, and their eyes were dark and hard to see in the low light. They looked to me and shrunk away. It made me feel terrible. I was a bad guy, I did bad things, I knew that, but these two women, as scared as they obviously were, seeing me and reacting physically like that, it made my head swim with shame.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I said as I stepped by. Beyond that cage, there were others, each with one or two or sometimes three young women inside. I felt nauseous, and I hurried and turned back to the door, and rushed out onto the stage.

  Vlad saw me and he laughed. I felt a wave of anger roll through me. “First rodeo?” He asked.

  “What is this?”

  “What do you think kid, come on, you’ve done too many bad things to be naive.”

  I knew what it was of course. Those women were g
oing to be sold. Sold to rich weapons dealers and drug kingpin sold into their beds. Sex slaves. Young women, twenty, nineteen, God one had looked fifteen. I shook my head. I wanted to leave then and there, just walk out the door. And I would have if I hadn’t stopped and thought about what Mr. Black would do if I did. If I walked out of a job, there was a chance my legs would be broken. Broke legs was literally the best case scenario. I could also wake up at the bottom of a river; cement blocks strapped to my legs.

  I didn’t say anything to Vlad. I didn’t know what to say. I moved to the edge of the stage and sat for a moment. My adrenalin was pumping, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute. I had been calmer in gun fights. Something about those cages, those women, it really got me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat.

  Half an hour passed and men started streaming in. Not grunts like me, but rich guys. Mobsters, crime lords, all in expensive suits. Old guys, fat guys, one guy with a giant scar running from eye to chin that made Vlad’s look like a scrape a kid got falling off his tricycle. These guys were big time though I noticed none of them were good looking. They were the kind of guys who had to throw their money around to get chicks. And what was an easier way than just buying a woman outright? I tried not to think about what was about to happen around me, and stood off to the side of the stage. Vlad was at the other end, a few guys from different crews were dotted around the room. I didn’t expect trouble, in all it would be an easy job, if not for the fact that I was about to see women sold into sexual slavery.

  Mr. Black wasn’t there, and I was thankful for that, though if I was there, I knew he had his fat fingers into the pie somewhere, and he was profiting off the night. I tried to push it from my mind as the first woman was brought out.

  I was expecting them to pull the cages out, but they didn’t. A man brought a woman out, bound at the wrist with thick rope. She was beautiful, wearing a short dress with a plunging neckline. I guessed that she was thirty or a bit older, and then the bidding started.