by Amy Brent
“Please, Alisha,” Sol said, brushing her other nipple with his hand. “Was it that bad the last time?”
“No,” she said. “But you’re talking about me having sex with someone else—I’m quite happy with Calvin, okay? You’ve seen to that already.”
“What if we told you that Calvin is okay with it?”
She felt her jaw drop open with surprise. “That doesn’t sound like Calvin at all,” she said. But then again, he had let three strangers touch her, and two of the cocks that had been inside her weren’t his. Sol was looking smugly, infuriatingly, amused again.
“As long as it’s one of us,” Mars said, sliding her dress up her leg. “You’ve got nothing on underneath,” he said, surprised.
“It’s laundry day,” Alisha muttered, turning red. Between that, and everything that Calvin had been doing to make her go wet and wild, she didn’t have anything clean that day. But it didn’t matter, so she’d told herself.
“Alisha,” Sol said, “just try this one thing, okay?”
“One thing,” she repeated.
Sol nodded. Altaire helped her to her feet, and said, “Feet shoulder-width apart, please.”
Sol pulled out a slender stick, with a little piece of stiff leather on the end. “What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s called a riding crop,” Sol said, slapping his own knee with the little patch of stiff leather. “In sex, it’s used to hit certain body parts, to elicit a certain reaction. Some of our clients find this pleasurable to watch—”
“—and some of them find it fun to do,” said Mars.
Sol dragged the crop over her breasts—and then he raised it suddenly and she flinched, bracing herself for the sting. She could imagine it falling on her nipple, the crisp smack as it hit her, the little shot of pain that would go through her. But the blow never fell—and much to her surprise the thought of getting hit made her wet.
So stepped up close to her and reached up her skirt, sliding two fingers into her cunt. “See, if you weren’t into this, you wouldn’t be wet,” he said, softly. “If the thought of you being taught how to take a fist didn’t excite you in the least you would have left at the beginning of this meeting, no matter what I’d asked. If the thought of getting your pussy hit with this stick really left you cold, you’d have closed your legs by now.”
Alisha didn’t know what to say. She didn’t quite know if what Sol was saying was really true, but it felt that way. “And yes,” Sol continued, “there’s the fact that you’re beautiful and we’d like to keep fucking you if we can.”
“We’re prepared to offer you forty percent,” said Mars.
“Forty percent?” she repeated. She was aware she sounded like an idiot.
“Of our profits, from the sessions that include you,” said Altaire. “You are, after all, the one who’s going to be putting up with men who couldn’t find a clit if you tattooed a little sign to it, saying, “I’m the clit!’”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring,” she said.
“But just think,” Altaire said. “You remember how unhappy you were with Calvin just two weeks ago? Just imagine being able to help other women like you—and help them feel what you do and love their men the way you love Calvin.”
Altaire always knew how to appeal to the best in her—but he did have a point: between the three of them they’d saved her relationship with Calvin. She could feel herself wavering. “Doesn’t every woman deserve a shot at happiness?” asked Sol.
“All right,” she agreed. “But first, do me a favor.”
“What’s that?
“Smack my pussy with that,” she said. “I want to know how it feels.”
THE END
Sports Secret Baby Romance
THE QUARTERBACK’S SECRET BABY
Chapter 1
Amanda nearly dropped a tray of dirty dishes when an old man pinched her ass as she walked by. She ground her teeth and shot him a glare, but she kept her mouth shut. She'd complained to the boss on more than one occasion about the behavior of the customers, but Spiro didn't care about anything but the restaurant's sales at the end of the day. If a customer kept coming back week after week and spending money, then he wanted that customer treated like gold.
Not that the assholes who treated her like a piece of meat ever tipped well. She'd be lucky if he left her a dollar on the table after he left. But Spiro only cared about the amount of money he made, not what his staff made.
She dropped the dirty dishes off in the back, then printed out the check for one of her other tables. She took the long way around to drop off the check, so she could avoid walking by the perv's table again. She also noticed the perv's drink needed to be refilled, but as far as she was concerned, he could wait. Maybe if she gave him bad service, he'd stop coming back. Spiro would complain about losing a customer, but Amanda had better things to do with her time than be manhandled by someone who didn't even tip.
She dropped off the check at the other table. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked, keeping her fake smile on her face.
“You can give me your phone number,” the man said, winking at her.
Amanda rolled her eyes. Max was one of her regulars, and while he never got handsy with her the way some of her other customers did, he was relentlessly hitting on her. But he was at least friendly about it, and he never took it the wrong way when she shot him down, so she tried to at least have some fun with it. “My phone's probably getting shut off next week, Max,” she said, giving him a playful smirk. “Tell you what, wait until I win the lottery, then we'll see.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You either make too many calls, or you're not being paid enough here.”
“Little of both,” Amanda said. “Mostly the latter.”
She flashed him a genuine smile as she took his empty plate. Max, at least, was a decent tipper.
She took a quick glance at her other tables. Aside from the perv needing a drink refill, it looked like everyone was doing fine. She'd have just enough time to slip out for a quick smoke.
She kept an eye out for Spiro as she cut back through the dish room and out the back door. The boss didn't much care for his employees smoking on the clock. But Spiro only paid her $2.13 per hour, which was the minimum wage when you earned the rest of your pay from tips, so she didn't really care what he thought. She ducked behind the dumpster, trying to ignore the smell as she pulled out her Parliament Menthols and lit one up. She never smoked at home, because she didn't want to expose her son to secondhand smoke, which meant she had to get her fill while she was at work.
While she was smoking, and dreading the next three hours of her shift, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw it was a text from her friend Michelle. She almost ignored it. Michelle had been a real party girl ever since high school, and had only gotten worse when she moved away for college. Whenever she stopped back in town during a school break, she wanted to go out drinking and cruising for guys. Amanda didn't have the time, between working two jobs and taking care of her son, for that kind of life. As much as she felt like a jerk for ignoring Michelle's texts half the time, she knew she just couldn't deal with being dragged out for a weekend of partying.
She read the text, already composing a response in her head. She needed to make a good excuse in order to get out of going drinking without hurting Michelle's feelings in the process. Though when she read the text, she nearly dropped her phone.
Hey, Mandy! You need to clear your plans for the weekend. I'm coming home, and guess what? I'M GETTING MARRIED!
Amanda was still staring at the text, trying to process it, when her phone buzzed again with another incoming text.
You'll be there, right? Promise you will! I need my bestie there as my maid of honor!
Amanda held her cigarette between her lips and typed out a response. She didn't see how she could get out of going to her friend's wedding, especially if Michelle wanted her to be maid of honor. Her head was spinning as she ty
ped out her response: Holy crap! Since when are you getting married? Why such short notice? Of course I'll be there.
Just before Amanda headed back in to check on her tables, she got another response from Michelle: Long story, I'll explain when I see you. But Blake only has this weekend available, so it has to be now. OMG! I'm so excited! See you soon!
Amanda tucked away her phone and went back to check on her tables. The man who'd pinched her started complaining about how he'd been waiting ten minutes to have his drink refilled. She muttered a completely insincere apology and went to fetch him a new Coke. Then she finished clearing off Max's table, and stopped, stunned, when she saw the tip that he'd left.
It was a $50 bill. She knew Max had decent money—at least, compared to the usual crowd that came into the diner—but he was never this generous. She immediately felt a surge of guilt about her lie about her phone being shut off. Her bills were tight, but not so tight that she couldn't keep up with them, albeit barely. Max must have taken her excuse to get out of giving him her phone number as a genuine plea.
She pocketed the money, trying not to feel guilty about it. Though she immediately felt better when the perv at the next table only left her seventy-eight cents. She'd earned Max's big tip, if only because she had to put up with so much shit from the rest of her customers.
When her shift was finally over, she took the bus home, then stopped by her neighbor's apartment to pick up her son, James. Mrs. Carter was a stay at home mom, and she watched James for free, in exchange for Amanda watching her son a few times a week so Mrs. Carter could run errands or have a night out with her husband.
“Come on, kiddo,” she said, taking James's hand. “Time for dinner.”
“But I don't wanna go,” James said, stomping his foot.
Mrs. Carter shot Amanda an apologetic smile. “He's been in a mood today.”
“I have not!” James protested, stomping his foot again.
“I'm sorry, kiddo,” Amanda said, scooping James up and holding him against her hip. “You can come back and play tomorrow.”
James made a frustrated sound as she carried him down the hall to their apartment. She set him down on the couch and did her best to clean the place up a bit before dinner. The apartment was eternally a mess, and she had long since given up on ever getting it truly clean. She just tried to maintain a certain level of disarray.
“What do you want for dinner?” she asked as she looked through the cabinets.
“Pizza.”
“We don't have pizza,” she said. She considered using Max's $50 to order out, and save herself the hassle of cooking, but she really needed to put it towards paying off her credit card. “How about pasta? That's Italian, too.”
James grumbled, but since he wasn't old enough to cook for himself, Amanda figured he could deal with her making whatever she wanted. She set the water to boil, then went into the living room to sit on the couch next to her son.
He'd turned the TV on, and the Monday night football game was playing. She frowned at the TV. “Hey, isn't there cartoons on?”
“No,” James said, pouting. “I wanna watch them play!”
Amanda sighed and leaned back against the couch. James loved playing and running outdoors, though she rarely got the chance to take him out anymore. She didn't want to deny him the chance to watch the game, even if watching it brought back painful memories for her.
James clutched his Nerf football to his chest as he watched the players running across the field. Amanda watched just one player in particular, the quarterback, Cole Reed. Michelle's brother.
She sighed and leaned forward, propping her chin in her hands. She usually didn't want to admit it, but Cole was another reason why she'd been avoiding Michelle so much over the years. When they'd been in high school, Cole had been in college, and already making a name for himself playing for his college football team. Amanda had crushed on him pretty hard, mooning over him whenever he came back to town during school breaks. She'd been pretty sure he'd barely known that she existed, and she was even more sure now that he'd completely forgotten her entire existence. After all, they had just had one night together. The night she gave him her virginity.
She glanced at James, the memories rushing back once more. She'd been a bit drunk, thanks to Cole and his college friends buying alcohol for Amanda and Michelle's high school graduation party. There had been dozens of kids there, including half of Cole's college football team who'd driven down for the party, and for the chance to score with some eager and willing high school girls. Amanda still didn't know if Cole had put the moves on her because she had been wearing a tight, low-cut dress that night, or because he'd been drunk enough to forget that she was his sister's best friend. And she hadn't cared what his reasons were. When he asked her to go upstairs, she'd been more than willing.
The rest of the night after that was a blur. She remembered that it had felt amazing, after the initial pain, of course. She remembered Cole's stamina, how he'd wanted to go at it again and again. She remembered getting down on her knees for him, when she was too sore to let him inside her again, and how rough and controlling he'd been with his hand on the back of her head, forcing her to swallow.
Most of all, she remembered that he'd been gone in the morning. She'd woken up, naked, sticky, and hung over, in his bed. After she'd gotten dressed and headed downstairs, Michelle had told her that Cole and his friends had driven back to their school. He hadn't even said goodbye.
And Amanda hadn't seen him since. Well, except for when she saw him on TV. And when she looked at James – yes, she saw that resemblance! She'd never told Cole that he was the father, and had never told Michelle that she was an aunt. After how humiliated she'd been that he'd used her as a one-night stand, she had never been able to bring herself to admit the truth. Not to anyone.
She could only hope that Cole wouldn't be at Michelle's wedding this weekend. It was hard for her to imagine him skipping his sister's wedding. But he hadn't been back home in years. After he'd been first draft pick right out of college, he'd been too absorbed in his success and fame to care about the town that he'd left behind. And she was certain that even if he did see her, he wouldn't even remember her name.
Chapter 2
Cole woke up to discover a naked woman draped across his body, drooling on his shoulder. He looked down at her, thinking that she definitely didn't look as hot now as she'd seemed last night. Maybe it was because he'd had a few beers after the game. Or maybe he'd been so high on the team's victory that he hadn't cared who he went to bed with.
He pulled himself away from the woman and got out of the hotel room bed. He searched for his pants, and by the time he found them, the woman was waking up. She sat up in the bed, the blanket falling away from her naked body. Now that he got a better look at her from the neck down, he saw the appeal. Though he wondered what it said about him that he couldn't quite look her in the eye.
“Hey,” she said, giving him a tired smile. “That was some night last night.”
“Yeah,” he said noncommittally. “I guess.”
Last night hadn't been anything special to him. Sure, he was always glad for the chance to score with one of the women that were always fawning all over him after a game. It was one of the perks of being the quarterback. But this woman hadn't left any more of an impression on him than any of the others had. Heck, he couldn't even remember her name.
She got out of bed while he was pulling on his pants. She sauntered over to him and draped her arms around his shoulders. “Why in such a rush?” she asked. “I thought we could have another go before breakfast.”
“Sorry, babe,” he said, pulling away. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. “I've got a flight to catch.”
She frowned at him. “What, off to another game?”
He snorted. “I wish. I have to head back home.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I see.”
He rolled his eyes. “It's not like that. My sister's getting married, an
d for some reason, she decided to do it back home in New Jersey. So I've got to catch a plane back to East Bumblefuck.”
“Whatever,” she said, waving her hands dismissively. “I should have known you were just another horny jock.”
She pulled on her dress and headed to the door with her shoes in one hand and her panties in the other. She glanced at him from the door as she was shoving her panties into her purse. “See you around,” she said. “I guess.”
Cole let out a long sigh, shaking his head. He could have been offended, but the girl had the right to be pissy with him. He hadn't taken the time to learn her name, or even buy her breakfast. He felt like a complete tool.
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his shoes and thinking about where he was in his life. Sure, he had a great sports career, and with it plenty of fame and plenty of money. And for the first couple of years, banging a different chick every night had been a great time. But after a while it was starting to get a bit stale. The sex was still physically good, but it was leaving him wanting something more.
He tried to think back over all the women he'd been with in the last few years. He found he couldn't remember any of their names. Not a single one.
He wracked his brain, trying to come up with a single name. The only one he could remember was...Amanda.
He leaned back on his elbows, staring at the ceiling. Amanda. That was a name he hadn't thought about in a long time. His sister's best friend. He was pretty sure she'd had a crush on him for years before they finally shared that one night together. He'd had a bit of a thing for her himself. But over the years, whenever Michelle had caught him staring at her friend, she'd made a point to tell him there was no way it would happen. She'd lectured him on more than one occasion, telling him she knew the reputation he'd developed, even back in college, and how she was not going to let her best friend become just another one of his conquests. He'd protested more than once that it wouldn't be like that...but then, he had probably been fooling himself.
