Hungry CEO

by Charlize Starr

That night at home, after an amazing meal we cook together, and after David is tucked into bed, Anthony and I can’t stop touching each other. I can’t stop kissing him, this wonderful man, my best friend, my husband.

  “I love you so much,” Anthony says, sliding his hands up my back. As always, I feel like I’m melting under his touches, and I arch up under them, moving even closer to him in bed.

  “I love you,” I say, kissing him over and over. I wonder if it will always feel this magical, feel so much like everything got so much better for me because Anthony came home. I run my hand up his chest, under his shirt, feeling his muscles, and feel sure that it always will.

  I slide my hand lower, toward his pants, and Anthony groans. I need him tonight, need him right now. I pull even closer to him, gasping as he moves his hands lower too, over my ass, cupping and squeezing. He rolls over us a little, so he’s on top of me, leaning over me, kissing me firmly and making me bite back a moan.

  Our clothes are completely discarded a minute later, and he’s inside me, making me cry out with every movement of his hips. I’ll never get tired of how it feels to be with Anthony like this, to have him fuck me like this, to feel filled with him, to come with his hands and strokes, to make him come, to feel him come inside me. It’s a high I think I could chase for the rest of my life. The best sensations I’ve ever known.

  Everything about Anthony is the best I’ve ever known. Every moment we spend together is the best I’ve ever had. I don’t know what would have happened if we’d stayed in touch when we were kids, or if we’d admitted our crushes on each other when we were teenagers. Maybe it would have been this perfect, or maybe we weren’t ready then. I don’t know, but I’m glad it happened the way it did. It gave us David. It gave us a story of how we got together that I’ll want to tell over and over.

  Everything leads us to this moment, right now, naked and sweating and both building up higher and higher in a beautiful bed, in a beautiful house, in our beautiful life together.

  I clutch him as I come, shouting his name and shaking, grateful for everything we have together.

  Falling asleep wrapped in him a little while later, all I think is that this is where I belong, that right here in Anthony’s arms is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  *****

  THE END

  Quarterback Daddy

  Description

  If I win, and I always win, I get an animalistic rush that can only be satiated by a woman’s body. And there she is, waiting to interview me.

  Erica

  I wasn’t attending the NFL game to see Kyle Murphy, like everyone else. I was there because I had a job to do. I had an interview to take, and I was willing to do anything to get it.

  Chiseled body, six-pack abs, permanent obnoxious smile. He decided to undress in front of me, in the locker room. And then he invited me to watch him take a shower.

  And I was floored. All self-control was out of the window. He was going to have me, and I was willing to abandon all professional ethics for the sake of the interview I wanted.

  But then everyone found out. And I was left with a secret that not even he can find out.

  Kyle

  I get an adrenaline rush after I win a game. An instant, animalistic instinct that can only be satiated by a woman’s body.

  So I was lucky that Erica Lee, a fresh-faced young reporter was waiting for me after the game.

  But unlike all my other fans, she was a tough nut to crack.

  When I succeeded, it was like nothing else. I had to have her again. I wanted more.

  So when my manager said I needed a pretend girlfriend to clear my name, I knew exactly whom I wanted...

  Chapter One - Erica

  I have been chasing news stories for the past year. Nobody thought I could do it – a girl trying to make it big as a sports journalist? But I was determined to prove them all wrong, especially my dad, who always wanted a son but got me instead.

  So when I was called into my editor’s office the other day, you can imagine how on edge I was. The worst thing that could happen was my being demoted to write fluff human interest stories without a byline. The best thing that could happen was that I got to cover the next NFL game.

  What ended up happening was that my editor gave me an assignment that was so good that I hadn’t even dreamt of it. Kyle Murphy. I was supposed to interview Kyle Murphy.

  Before anything else, I should let you in on who Kyle Murphy is. As you can predict, he is an NFL superstar. Why else would I even be interested? He was being touted as the next big thing. He might have been only twenty-four years old, but he wasn’t green to the game. He had been picked up, touted at the tender age of eighteen and he had been making a splash ever since. Teams had fought over him, and he obviously took up the most pricy offer. Because that is who Kyle Murphy was.

  I hadn’t ever met him in person, but I had formed a pretty accurate impression of him. I had interviewed and hung around enough footballers to know exactly how much the fame got to their heads. But with Kyle Murphy, it was a completely different level.

  The guy looked like a Greek God, for starters. His body was pure muscle. It was hard to miss the layers of chiseled and well-sculpted sinew under his jersey while he played. His face was sharp, his jaw square, his eyes a piercing emerald green, and his lips flawlessly pink and juicy. His hair was dark, and he kept it short in a buzz cut so that it never interfered with his game.

  So, Kyle Murphy’s stardom wasn’t all just about his prowess on the field. It was also about how irresistibly gorgeous he looked. This contributed to all the media attention he got. He was never seen without a beautiful model or film star hanging from his arm and he always left them heartbroken. Kyle Murphy was known as a serial non-committer and I could never understand why these women kept trying. It was like they couldn’t help themselves.

  Men wanted to be like him and women wanted to tame him. That was the legend of Kyle Murphy. I had always watched from the sidelines, interested in his success story. Never before did I have the opportunity to actually meet him in person, interview him. He was larger than life – too high profile for me to actually meet. But, finally, here I was. For some reason my editor had thought I was ready to report on him and I was sure not going to mess it up.

  So, during the game I stood in the middle of the hallway near the locker room. I could watch on the large screen TV that had been fixed at the entrance, so I wasn’t really missing out on the action. My plan was to intercept him on his way back to the locker room after the game. Kyle Murphy was notorious for not keeping his word with reporters for interviews. He could very well change his mind. Then what was I supposed to do? Become a failure? I was determined to get this interview. It was my job and I was going to do it well.

  But the whole time I stood watching the game, my brain was split in half. I could see him on the screen, taking his team to victory. He moved swiftly on the field, the cameras always remained focused on him. Even with his helmet on, even when he was being tackled, Kyle Murphy had an obnoxious smile on his face. The cameras captured the sparkle in his eye, the way his body cut through the wind as he ran.

  I was watching him. That is to say, I was watching the team win. I couldn’t help but think about my dad and the look of sheer surprise he would have on his face when my interview was printed the next morning. He’d see my name, my official mugshot at the top above the article and the realization would sink in: his daughter had interviewed Kyle Murphy, the model son he wished he had. He would be in disbelief for the first few minutes that it was actually his daughter, and then he might regret all the words he had thrown at me. He might regret the passive aggressiveness he had tortured my mother with, blaming her for not presenting him with a son, for not being able to have any more children after me.

  Kyle Murphy represented more than just a lucky break for me. He was going to give me the opportunity to prove to my dad that I was capable of anything. That even though I was a girl, I was way closer to the NFL tha
n any son of his might have ever gotten.

  The game had come to an end, and I could see Kyle Murphy on the screen being lauded by the crowd. Some of his teammates had lifted him up on their shoulders. He had yanked the helmet off his face, smiling and laughing for the camera. Kyle Murphy was celebrating and I was silently celebrating too, hoping that he wouldn’t forget that he had an interview to give.

  Chapter Two - Kyle

  That fresh after-victory feeling overcame me when I walked off the field and back towards the locker room. I have to admit – it was the biggest thrill. It was why I played the game, why I trained every day of the week, every week of the month. I pushed my body to the limit, I worked hard to stay fit and on top of the game, to be the best… because I love to win.

  To hear the crowd cheer was a high, an adrenaline rush, and a reminder of all the good things in my life. Most importantly, a reminder of all the panties that were going to drop tonight. A game always charged me up for a good fuck. I needed to feel the smooth flesh of the inside of a woman’s thigh immediately after a game.

  If I won, and I always won, it immediately turned me on. I don’t know how to describe it other than that it was an instant, animalistic instinct to fuck.

  We had won again, my teammates thumping my back as we walked back towards the locker room. I was already scanning the cheering crowd, eyeing the people who had gathered at the entryway.

  I noticed the handful of women, fans who were screaming my name. Tight asses, delicious cleavage, flowing hair, big eyes, smooth necks. Those were the first things I noticed. I was like a wolf on the prowl. I knew I could have any of them – all I had to do was give them a look.

  I smiled at a few of them, and I could see it in their eyes as I passed by. They were desperate for me. I had read the papers this morning: a recent poll had revealed that I was named as “The Sexiest Man in America”. It had made me laugh that morning. Now, after the game was over, after we had run and the adrenaline was pumping through my veins, I wanted a prize. An actual prize.

  One of the girls who was screaming my name, whose palm I lightly grazed before walking away, had licked her lips when our eyes met. She wanted me. I could imagine her panties getting wet. She was going to tell all her friends that I had looked at her. It made me smile. Maybe there was some way I could get her into the locker room, into my shower, bend her over and get it over with. That was the only way I could relax, the only way I could calm my nerves and enjoy the rest of the celebration with my teammates. I needed to fuck.

  Then I walked into the hallway, my teammates flanking me on either side. We were like an entourage, a convoy of the most eligible bachelors in the country, who had just won another game.

  But my focus had shifted already. I had seen her standing at the entrance of the locker room, and I decided almost instantly that she was going to be my catch for the night. She would do.

  She could have been a reporter, or a lawyer, or an architect. The bottom line was she looked nothing like my usual screaming fans. This girl had straight glossy blonde hair that was neatly parted on the side, it was cut sharply at her shoulders. She immediately looked low maintenance, like she had barely spent any time doing her hair. She was wearing a pair of black tailored trousers and I instantly thought, “Who wears trousers to an NFL game?”

  A white shirt was tucked in at the waist, and that waist was small, and the buttons on her shirt were slightly parted to accommodate for those big juicy breasts. A lanyard hung around her neck, and that was when I made up my mind. I knew she was a reporter even before she stuck her hand out in front of me.

  “Kyle Murphy.” She said my name like she was informing me of it - like I might have been clueless of my name before she instructed me. I looked into her eyes. They were large, blue eyes, yet focused – like she was on a mission. She was serious about what she was about to say.

  I hadn’t slowed my pace (neither had those around me) and she walked beside us, keeping her hand stuck out towards me.

  “I’m Erica Lee from The Statesman,” she continued. This time I smirked at her. But unlike all my other fans, she was a tough nut to crack. I still hadn’t seen her smile or blush.

  “Hello, Erica Lee,” I said and decided to shake her hand. Physical contact might get the ball rolling. Our hands met and I was instantly aware of how small and slender her hand was in mine, but I shook it nonetheless with a strong jerk. I was almost afraid that I had broken her arm.

  But she looked unaffected.

  “I have an interview with you. Your manager confirmed it with us this morning,” she continued, and I raised my eyebrow. Honestly, I couldn’t remember. I didn’t pay attention to half of the things that Lewis said to me, and especially not on game day! But the very fact that she was here, so close to our locker room, meant that she had been given access. It was obvious that Lewis had allowed her to try to get an interview with me.

  She was still not smiling, and I was still walking. I walked straight into the locker room and she followed me. “Mr. Murphy,” she said after a few seconds of silence. Her voice was sharp, authoritative. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to me like this.

  My interest in her had lain in what lay underneath those trousers and that white tucked-in shirt. But she looked like she meant business, and I wasn’t sure if that annoyed me or interested me more.

  Chapter Three - Erica

  “An interview?” he asked me. He had suddenly stopped in front of a locker, clearly his. I could feel my neck burning as I tried to maintain my composure. Men had started to strip right in front of me. They were all either lost in their own locker room world, or they were doing it purposely because they could see that a young, nervous girl was in the locker room with them.

  Friendly curses were being flung around, towels were being wrapped around waists. Some didn’t even bother to cover their dicks. A ritualistic shower was coming up, and I felt like all these men were putting on a show.

  Kyle Murphy was still fiddling around with his locker, thankfully he hadn’t started to strip yet.

  “Yes, your manager said that you were willing to give me an interview,” I reiterated as he smiled. I noticed the white set of perfectly sparkling teeth, those green eyes which laughed along with the rest of his face. He shook his head indulgently.

  “Lewis is a pain in the ass,” he said, and I could feel my hands start to get clammy. I was running out of things to say. I was getting a first-hand experience in exactly how charming Kyle Murphy could be.

  “Nonetheless, he has promised us your time,” I managed to say. I had to stick to the plan. I had to remain professional. A look bordering on annoyance took over Kyle’s face. He was probably irritated that I had said that, but I wasn’t going to budge. I was going to get this interview.

  “How long is this going to take?” he asked and I bit down on my lip.

  “Half an hour? Forty-five minutes?” I said, trying to make it sound convincing. My attention had started to waver, though. I could see that he had started to unlace his shoes, which meant he was going to take off his clothes very soon.

  “I don’t have that kind of time, Erica.” He remembered my name. He straightened his back and was back to smiling. Then I saw his eyes narrow as he glanced, in full view, directly at my breasts. I could feel my cheeks blushing.

  “But there was a promise made, and I only have a couple of quick questions.” I charged through. Nothing was going to faze me. This was my career. I had points to prove to my dad.

  “Quick questions?” He said it with a laugh.

  “Yes, just a few questions about the game, and…” I tried to frame the words as best as I could.

  “And about the recent poll in the papers?” he asked and I stuck up my chin. I could see the pride in his eyes. He was having fun with me, he was enjoying the attention. I could see that he had directly assumed that he was making me wet.

  He had started to roll up his jersey. It came sliding off his body. He bunched it up into a ba
ll and flung it into his open locker. I gulped as discreetly as I could manage to. His shoulders were broad and his smooth torso was sticky with sweat, his six-pack on full display. Instantly, I imagined my tongue running down the middle of his chest, all the way down his stomach and…

  “So is that what you want to ask me?” He interrupted my thoughts and I shook my head.

  “I’m not an entertainment reporter, Mr. Murphy,” I managed to say without fumbling.

  “Call me Kyle,” he said.

  “I’m a sports journalist, Kyle, so I’ll stick to the questions related to the game if that’s alright with you,” I said, instantly regretting it. I didn’t want to come across as arrogant. I knew Kyle Murphy wasn’t the kind of man to deal with arrogance well. Besides, he had probably already seen me drooling over his naked torso, so there was no denying that I was thinking about how sexy he was.

  He gave a sudden laugh, and then to my absolute shock started to remove the rest of his clothes. I gulped again, staring at him with widened eyes – at his nakedness, at that huge throbbing dick that already looked aroused. Or was it just the way it always looked?

  I snapped back my head to meet his eyes. I had to remain professional. I wasn’t going to allow myself to be like all those other women he so easily lured into bed. This interview wasn’t about how massively gorgeous Kyle Murphy looked naked.

  “Of course, Erica. You can ask me all the serious questions you like,” he said then, still smiling. He had already seen me looking, seen me blushing.

  I licked my lips and tried to force a weak smile on my face. “Let me just grab my notepad and I’ll have the questions ready for you,” I said, dragging my gaze away from him and shuffling through my tote for the things I needed.