12 Days: A Dark Reverse Harem Christmas Romance

by Dark Angel

  She places her hands suggestively on her hips. I looked at her ass and wonder what it would be like to take her from behind. What would it be like to suck on her hard nipples? What did she sound like in the throes of fucking? There’s so much I want to know. But she speaks and stops my fantasizing. Her moist lips turn up into a smile and she says, "I see you can get good penetration in the backfield."

  Damn, this woman is something else. Hearing these words spill out of her mouth makes me so fucking hard. I’ve never had this before. A woman is toying with me. Well, two can play this game.

  "I've been known to find the hole and explode through it," I reply. I see her gazing at my massive quads as if she’s sizing me up. Did she just bite her lower lip as she was gazing at the sweat running down my abs and into my pants?

  She adjusts her blouse so that her tits are nearly spilling out, and continues to look at me. My God, her body is fucking amazing. She's hotter than any woman I've ever fucking seen in my life. And she’s got a whole lot of sass to go with the sexy. "Looks like you get it off just in time," she smiled again.

  Fuck, she’s got no shame. She’s not embarrassed at all. She’s starting to get me kind of intimidated. I’ve never seen an alpha-female before. I need to step up my fucking game.

  "It's all about ramming it in for a quick score, honey."

  "Quick isn't always best. Sometimes you need to keep pounding it up the middle, if you know what I mean," she says, keeping her eyes on me and licking her lips.

  "Especially when you find a tight end," I say, stealing a glance at the tight curves of her ass.

  I can no longer tell if we’re talking about football or fucking, but my cock is nearly ready to burst through the tight spandex of my football pants. I can tell that she notices too because I see her just straight up staring at my fucking crotch. That’s right. Staring. Forget what you know about female propriety. This woman apparently takes what she wants and doesn’t care who objects. I’m not sure if I'm able to take much more of this. It's time for me to claim my prize. Isn't that what this was all about? Fucking? But just as I’m about to say something, I see her turn her head and smile sweetly and wave. It’s fucking Ethan Blake. I grit my teeth. Can't that guy get a fucking life? Why is he always finding his way into mine?

  "So, your place at 8 tonight?" I ask. I figure I'd throw out a time to get things rolling, and distract her from Ethan.

  She laughed. Why is she laughing?

  "Not tonight,” she says as if she were talking to a child. “Let's meet after our next practice."

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  Didn't she just ask if I was ready to claim my prize? I'm ready right fucking now. Not ‘in a moment’. Not after our next practice. Now. What the fuck? I can't remember the last time a woman turned me down, but I've got to play it cool. After all, one of us is getting cut from this team, and it's fucking going to be Ethan, not me. I can't fuck this shit up.

  * * *

  I wait a full 24 hours.

  With helmet and pads in hand, I jog onto the field during our next practice. I can see Julianna standing on the side-lines wearing a dress that hugs her tight curves in all the right places. I can imagine myself fucking her long and hard, my hands gripping her hips. She's the kind of woman you don't come across often. Not only is she smoking hot, but there's something else too. She doesn't take shit from anyone. I like a woman who can hold her own. But I have to stay focused. I've got to land a spot on this team, and that comes down to kicking ass in today's practice.

  I heard the shrill pitch of the whistle. "Alright, boys!" Julianna yells. "We're running the same scrimmage! Shirts on defense vs. Skins on offense. Colt and Ethan are the team captains again. No helmets and no pads! We are playing touch football for this scrimmage. Everyone on the field!"

  That's right, of course she chose the offensive players to leave their shirts off... Who wouldn't want to see this temple to fucking sin with his shirt off? I slowly peel my jersey off, making sure that Julianna’s nearby. I flex my abs and biceps, and I catch her glancing at my shirtless torso, but she quickly looked away. I guess she was blinded by my perfect manhood. I'll admit, it's a lot for some women to handle.

  Oh, wait. Fuck. Her looking away wasn’t embarrassment. She’s staring at Ethan – he’s bent over in a huddle and she’s staring at his ass.

  "Huddle up!" I yell. My offense circles around me and I break down the play calling, step by step with the team. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Coach Karl approaches Julianna.

  "What's going on? I thought I was running my drills today?" he asks, markedly confused.

  "Look, Karl. If I wanted any shit from you, I'm convinced that I'd just need to squeeze your head. Sometimes I think you might have shit for brains. This is my team. What do you not understand about that?"

  "I'm not here to pick a fight, Julianna. I'm just here to coach my team," he says, a bit chastened.

  "My team, you mean. And call me Ms. Heaton. I think your time would be better spent with the water boy again this afternoon. Maybe you should go and prepare drinks for these players."

  "Julianna, if this is about your father—"

  "Spare me, Karl. This conversation is over," she says. She’s obviously not caring that everyone nearby can fucking hear her. She turns and walks 30 yards down the field. It’s obvious that Julianna and Karl have some prior beef, but I don't know where all the animosity came from. I wonder if they have a past with each other. It seems like they did. But then I see my linemen in formation and I realize that I needed to get my head back into this scrimmage.

  The ball is snapped and I drop back into the pocket. I make sure I’m light on my feet, bobbing, weaving, and dipping behind the defense. I use every muscle fiber to dodge the opposing team and I scan the field, but I’m not finding any of my receivers open. Where are they? Fuck, it looks like they’re all being double-teamed. Ethan is a sneaky fucking bastard. And then I feel it, a blow to my body that’s as if I was being hit by the grill of a Mack truck. I mean it. What the fuck is happening? And then I see. It’s Ethan.

  That fucking bastard. I'm sure he's trying to show off. It's his only chance of even making it on this team. I can see his icy blue eyes throwing sparks at me under his furrowed eyebrows. He’s biting down hard on his mouthpiece. If I would have had a clear shot to his face, and if I wasn't trying to win a spot on this team, I’d have liked to push my fist right through his mouth—mouthpiece or not. I have an almost uncontrollable urge to fight him. He came up on my blind side, hitting me in my ribs. Dirty fucking move, especially in a scrimmage game that is supposed to be touch football only. We were not wearing any helmets or pads. He could have given me a career-ending journey.

  Fuck him. We tumble to the ground like two wild animals, toppling over each other. Our thighs mash against one another, twisting and turning like some sort of strange, aggressive pretzel.

  When we stopped tumbling, Ethan is on top of me. I can still see his eyes flashing with anger and as blue as a lightening bolt in a storm. "Have you had enough?" he asks. "If you'd quit trying to showboat, I wouldn't have caught you in the pocket like this."

  "Fuck you," I say. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be in this league. And aren't you forgetting this is a two-hand touch scrimmage?"

  All he can say is, "I thought you needed some sense knocked into you.” He smirks at me but I can tell that my comment seems to hit him below the belt. I can see that he’s stunned, but honestly, I don’t give a shit. That motherfucker needs to hear the truth. He locks his eyes on mine without moving. I know it’s only for a few seconds, but it feels like forever. And then I feel something unexpected. My dick is hard. I try to shake it from my mind. It must be because of all this pent up aggression. Or maybe it's because Julianna's standing there on the side-lines wearing an outfit that makes me want to fuck the shit out of her. Yeah, that's definitely it. Julianna has been driving me wild all afternoon. But Ethan makes a strange face. His hands are on my bare chest and
it’s only for a second. If I’d been looking in the other direction, I would have missed it. But there’s no mistaking it now. He tenses his shoulders and then quickly dismounted.

  "Good job Ethan!" Julianna claps. "Way to nail him from behind. But remember, this is just touch football. There's no need for anyone to be injured over a scrimmage. Let's be smart about this, boys."

  It looks as if Ethan blushes for a second at that statement, but it makes my jealousy flare. No fucking way was I letting Ethan steal the spotlight. He's nobody. I'm Colt fucking Stackford. What does Julianna see in him anyways? Every time she talks to him, I can feel my temperature rising, and I'm blinded with bitter, green flames.

  Then I hear Julianna's voice again. "You look tired, Colt. Why don’t you come over here for a quick blow?"

  "Excuse me?" I ask, nearly choking. What did she just ask me? Did I hear that correctly?

  She smiles at me in a way that really makes my dick come alive. I jump against my pants, and then she says, "Get your mind out of the gutter, Stackford." But by the way she says, I knew she didn't mean that.

  "I meant the fan," she continues. "It's hot out. Why don't you come over here and stand in front of it for a minute?"

  I take her up on the offer and jog off the field. I stand near her, and notice how good she smells. My eyes trace the outlines of her hips, her ass, and her tits. I wonder if she’s just as feisty in bed as she is on the field.

  "You know Ethan got lucky on that play," I say to her. "A few more seconds—hell, just a few more inches, and he wouldn't have gotten that sack."

  "Yes, this is certainly a game of inches," she grins, looking straight at my cock. "And like I said earlier, when you get down in this area—"

  Wait, is she running her hand over her pussy? Fuck, she is hot. I want to fuck her so bad I can barely stand it. Play it cool Stackford,

  "In this area," she continues. "You just have to start pounding."

  Is she referring to her pussy or to the field? I’m losing track. Desire was coursing through my body and flooding my brain. I’m losing the ability to reason.

  "Ethan seems to have the gift of banging it in," she continues.

  That's it. Ethan isn't stealing the spotlight right now. No fucking way. "You may think that," I said, "But most holes close on him before he can even penetrate them," I say. Then I give her a shrug and run back to the huddle.

  Ethan

  Who does Colt think he is? Sure, he can throw a football, but given a half second more, I would have won that scrimmage and Colt would have been on the ground. Hands down. And as much as I try to ignore it, his showboating on and off the field gets under my skin. So what if he won? I've always told myself that if you want something bad enough, you go out there and get it. And that's exactly what I plan to do. Colt wouldn't know a thing about hard work. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has had just about everything handed to him, and that's always rubbed me wrong. Lucky bastard.

  I picture Julianna standing on the field during the scrimmage, her tight skirt hugging her tight curves, and her breasts nearly spilling out of her blouse begging me to touch them. That woman is perfect. Just thinking about her makes my pulse buck like a bull. I've never wanted a woman so badly in my life. I picture that decisive scrimmage game again, and remembered noticing that her heels were sinking into the turf as she walked across the field, causing her to wobble ever so slightly, and I wanted to help her—maybe be near enough to breath in her perfume and give her a hand, but ultimately decided against it. She didn't seem like the kind of woman who would want me to walk her across the field because of her shoes, like a child being ushered across a street. No, she was unlike any other woman I had ever met before. Sexy. Self-reliant. Confident. She knows what she wants. She may have picked Colt, but she doesn't realize that she made the wrong choice. And if she thinks I'm going to give up, she is mistaken.

  I pull my phone from the pocket of my recently tailored Armani suit and check the time. 7:16 pm. I realize I’m near Julianna's penthouse at the Time Warner Center and I decide to not waste another moment. I need to make a bold move. I walk across the street. A small florist shop is still open, its sign casting a neon glow, and I scan the buckets of flowers—blues, golds, whites, pinks, lavenders—peonies, carnations, orchids, tulips—the variety is dizzying. Then my eyes land on a far corner of the room, and I know I’ve made my decision. I buy the largest bouquet of flowers that they have available—an entire bundle of 100 long-stemmed red roses.

  "Go big or go home, right?" I tell the florist as he carefully wraps the heavy bundle in clear plastic paper.

  "She must be pretty special," he smiles.

  "One in a million."

  I realize that the bundle is so big I need to use both of my arms to carry it across three blocks across Columbus Circle to Julianna's place. But I know it was important that I make a lasting impression, and this should do it. So I walk in the direction of her building, and in a few minutes I see it. The Time Warner Center is a massive and iconic structure. It stands majestic and proud, nestled in the bustle of the city. I adjust my tie, take a deep breath, and enter the lobby. An older man is seated at the concierge desk. He quickly stands up and approaches me.

  "Can I help you, sir?" he asks.

  "I'm here to see Ms. Julianna Heaton."

  "Is she expecting you?"

  Shit. I didn't have an appointment. Should I say she's expecting me? Or should I be truthful? I decide that honesty was probably the best policy. And besides, I've never been a good liar.

  "I don't, but my name is Ethan Blake. I'm currently trying out for the defensive end position with the New York Nailers, and it's important that I see her this evening."

  "Wait a minute!" the man exclaim. "I know you! You're the guy from SportsNation! Yes! Yes! That's you—the guy who got knocked out by that other football player."

  I swear it seemed that no matter where I went, I couldn't get away from Colt Stackford. I’m sick of the tabloids buzzing about our fight, and I was even sicker of being reminded about it from strangers.

  "That's me, but listen," I say, changing the subject, "Could you let me up to visit Ms. Heaton? Like I said, it's important."

  "I can see that," he says with a whistle, looking down at the bundle of flowers in my arms. "I'm not usually permitted to let guests up without an appointment, but I'll make an exception this once … under one condition that is."

  Oh great. How did I find myself bartering with a concierge? "Sure, what's that?" I ask. He walks back to his desk and pulls out a New York Nailers hat.

  "Can you sign this? I'm a huge fan."

  * * *

  I take the elevator to the top floor and find myself in front of the grand double-door entrance of her penthouse. I straighten my suit coat and gather my nerves before knocking, and then lightly rap on the door with my knuckles. No answer.

  I wait and listen for movement, but don’t hear anything. I knock again, this time with a little more force. Did she leave? Could she have slipped out without the concierge noticing? I figure I’ll try knocking once more. If she doesn't answer, I'll leave. Here goes nothing...

  I think I hear someone coming to the door. Yes, she's home. The lock clicks and the door opens. There she is, I swear, a goddess in heels. Julianna stands in the doorway wearing a stunning, form-fitting red dress. She’s smelling amazing, and her blonde hair is cascading down to her shoulders. It's taking everything in me not to touch her—not to run my fingers against her cheek and through her hair. But my fantasy is stopped abruptly when she speaks.

  "Wh-what are you doing here?” she asks. “Did Sammy let you up?"

  "It's nice to see you too," I say, brushing aside her confusion. "I didn't catch the concierge's name downstairs."

  "I can't believe it. I told him to not let anyone up without an appointment."

  "It's not his fault,” I say, not wanting to get him in trouble. “I was pushy."

  Then I see her look at the bundle of flowers and
do something I didn't think she was capable of—she blushes. It only lasted for a moment, and then she shakes it off.

  "It's a bad time, Ethan. Let's talk at the office." She begins to close the door, but I place my shoe inside of the frame.

  "I'm not leaving," I say.

  This catches her off guard, and she stands there for a moment. We lock gazes. I can see a new intensity flare in the depths of her clear blue eyes. My pulse quickens as I step closer to her. This is my chance. I reach out my arm, but instead of touching her, I rest against the doorframe. I watch as her breath quickens and I think I can see a flush appear in her cheeks.

  Then I hear what sounds like the voice of another man. "I've just poured your wine, Julianna. Who’s at the door?" Yes, it’s definitely a man. Who was he? What was she doing with him? A middle-aged man in a business suit appears in the doorway. I guess he’s in his early 40s. His hair is beginning to thin, but I can tell that he combed it meticulously to hide this fact. He looks at me and then looks at the 100 long-stemmed roses in my arms and asks Julianna, "Who the hell is this?"

  Given all of the SportsNation hype, I’m a little surprised he didn't recognize me, but also relieved. Before I can answer, Julianna turned to him. "I think you should leave. I'm sorry to do this Matt, but—"

  "It's Mike—"

  "Sorry, Mike. Maybe another night?"

  The man can’t hardly believe that he’s being replaced, but he doesn’t argue, and just shakes his head. "There won't be another night," he says, his ego obviously crushed. He goes back to grab his keys, and then leaves for good.

  I watch as the elevator closes behind him, and then I turn to Julianna. "These are for you," I say, handing her the roses.

  She takes them in her arms and I can’t help but notice how closely her lipstick matches the deep red of the roses. Coincidence? Or fate? I’m entranced. The red dress. The deep-red plump lips. The scent of her perfume. The impossibly high heels. All of this heightens my senses, and I feel my cock twitch in my pants. It’s ready to burst through the confines of the material. Fuck, I want her so badly. I feel as if in that moment I'd do anything to have her. I step into her penthouse and she closes the door, locking it behind her. My shoes make a faint clicking sound against her brightly polished hardwood floors. Her place is huge with a wide-open floor plan and ceiling-to-floor windows that look out over Manhattan, with all of the lights of the city shimmering in the distance. I scan the darkness and think idly that the lights look like broken glass spilled across the skyline.