by Lane Hart
The most disturbing part of the entire ordeal is that I can't look away or force my feet to retreat. The man is a machine! His tight, completely tan ass clinches deliciously with each of his powerful thrusts. Holding her down with a hand on her back, he's so forceful that he's rocking the huge piece of equipment against the wall. Watching him take her so…vigorously is really freaking hot.
How sad is it that in my nine years of being sexually active, I've only been with three men, none of which in this particular position? And none of which this...enthusiastically. Sex with my three ex-boyfriends was always slow and gentle. Also known as boring and completely unsatisfying. I'd lie on my back formulating the next day's to-do list while wishing they'd hurry up and finish already, so we could cuddle and go to sleep. God I'm pathetic. I may need to have a psychiatrist prescribe me some anti-depressants.
"You gonna miss my cock?" the virile man asks, his voice deep and sultry.
"Yes!" the girl underneath him cries out. "God yes!"
Okay, maybe he's in the military and getting ready to ship out. Now I feel bad about my initial judgment. This fine man is about to go overseas to serve our country, and he deserves one last, amazing romp.
Then he leans down to her ear, and says, "I won't tell anyone if you won't."
Maybe not military then. Who the heck knows?
Finally finding the strength to get my feet moving, I sneak out of the doorway and speed walk down the hallway to the elevator. I slam my palm against the down arrow impatiently a few times, like that will make it come any faster. Pressing my thumb and finger to my eyes, I try to force the previously witnessed pornographic movie from my mind without much success.
Chapter Two
Jake Young
I head home after it feels like I just signed my fucking life away. In a way I had, to Satan's goddamn daughter. I shiver again imagining how jacked up this chick is gonna be if she's biologically related to that that evil fucker. As soon as I heard Zack use the moniker Satan for the attorney I laughed and started using it, since it was so perfect. At least I got off one last time. In a way, I'd wanted him to catch me hammering my cock into his shy and sexy assistant on his copy machine. One last screw you motherfucker, but for Holly's sake, I guess it's a good thing he didn't.
I pull up in front of my newly constructed brick ranch house beside a cherry red BMW convertible sitting in the driveway. Great she's early. Ready to get this over with I climb out of my Challenger and make my way over to her vehicle. Satan's spawn has her back to me, pulling something out the backseat of her car. All I can tell is that she has long, jet black hair that flows down her back. The rest of her is hidden behind the open car door. She finally tugs a bag loose and shuts the door before turning around.
Fuck. Me.
The woman is actually...pretty. No, drop dead beautiful is more accurate. With big, innocent golden eyes, her pale skin glows and looks flawless against her dark hair. Wearing an old lady, black knee length skirt and conservative, long-sleeved crimson blouse, she looks like a naughty librarian, one with a helluva hourglass figure that should be flaunted instead of covered.
I can feel the corners of my lips curl up in appreciation at the same time her mouth falls open.
"Turn around," she says when she stops abruptly, five feet away from me.
"What?" I ask in confusion.
"Turn. Around," she repeats through clenched teeth, twirling a finger. Okay so maybe she just wants to see all my goods. I can handle that. As soon as my back is to her I hear her curse under her breath.
"Nice, huh? I know what you're thinking," I tell her as I turn back. "It's like you won the lottery, right?"
She scoffs, and her hand comes up to sweep her hair behind her shoulder like she's aggravated. Then the woman breezes right past me and heads for my front door. I follow her, because her ass is bangin'. I'd follow that ass all over town.
"So I'm guessing you're Addison?" I ask as I fit my key to the lock.
"No shit, Sherlock," she replies caustically. "And I already know you're a disgusting pig."
"Whoa!" I say, actually jerking back from the venom in her insult. Satan could've warned me he was going to tell her the whole damn story. "That gold-digger got exactly what she wanted and didn't have any complaints while Zack and I were fucking her seven ways to Sunday."
"Eww," she says right away. "I wasn't referring to that, but yes, I’ll add that to the list of things that make you a disgusting pig."
I open the door and scratch my closely shaved head as I step into the foyer, trying to figure out why she's such a bitch just meeting me. Ah fuck, she probably read about that girl from a few months ago.
"Look, I didn't know that little slut was only sixteen. She snuck in the club with a fake ID, and her tits were twice as big as yours."
"Oh. My. God. What the hell has my father gotten me into? You...ugh...you're just plain nasty." She visibly shudders away from me like I'm a giant cockroach scuttling across the floor instead of one of the best, and yes, also one of the hottest, according to the latest issue of Cosmo, wide receivers in the National Football League.
"What the fuck? You just met me two seconds ago and you think you know me?" I ask incredulously.
"I know you're a narcissistic asshole. You think you're God's gift to women, don't you? No wonder you need a babysitter," she says as she storms past me into the house like she owns the place. "And have you ever heard of a trash can? Jeez! It looks like an episode of Hoarders in here."
I glance around the living room at the empty soda cans, food containers, napkins, and water bottles. "Tomorrow's my cleaning day," I lie. The only thing tomorrow is will be game day. "But now that you're here, I'll let you take care of all that shit. You probably cook, too, right? I mean I am paying you a boatload of money."
"I don't think an entire fleet of Navy battleships filled up with money would be enough to put up with you," she says. Her small, button nose scrunches up like she smells shit. It's ridiculous how that makes her even cuter. "Why couldn't you have been Zack Bradford?"
Low. Fucking. Blow.
Every woman wants Zack. The star quarterback. The player who everyone blames when we lose and everyone worships when we win. I know because in high school I was that person. Ohio State recruited me to be their quarterback, but my freshman year the team went to shit. They threw me in a game after our third replacement wide-receiver broke his arm and couldn't finish the game. I caught some balls, everyone cheered and gave props to Adam Westford, Ohio's quarterback, and the rest is history.
So now I play with the most popular quarterback in the league, Zack Bradford. We've been best friends since his rookie year, and there's no better wingman. In fact, I’m almost certain he's the reason half of the women I fuck screw me in the first place - to try and weasel their way in for a chance to meet Zack and suck his famous cock.
Now that I'm feeling really damn defensive, I turn the tables on this snobby bitch. "Sorry, sweetheart. Even though Zack's a manwhore he wouldn't give you the time of day."
Direct hit!
Her red pouty lips open on a gasp before her eyes narrow at me. I feel a teeny, tiny bit bad when I'm pretty sure they even glisten.
"Where's my room?" she asks through clenched teeth.
"Any fucking one you want but mine," I tell her before I fall onto my leather chair and point the remote at the TV.
I don't see the woman the rest of the night. I refuse to admit that I'm disappointed by that fact. Fuck her and her holier-than-thou attitude. Actually, that sounds like a great idea. What better way to fuck over Satan than by literally fucking his frigid daughter.
Chapter Three
Addison
I wake up in an unfamiliar room, one that's comfortable enough but just...different, and mostly empty. I groan out loud when I realize I'm sleeping in a bed in that asshole's house. It's a beautiful home, but it’s a wonder the place hasn't been condemned for all the trash lying around. Living with that man for six weeks will require
some type of miracle.
On the bright side, if I catch him with any women I can single-handedly ruin his football career. Catch him like back in my dad's office when he was fucking a legal assistant. The idea of having that threat to hang over him gives me the push I need to get out of bed and take a shower.
My stomach starts growling while I'm drying my hair, so as soon as I finish getting ready I head for the kitchen. I find a single key laying on the counter, which I assume is a house key for me, and locate some fruit which is surprising since the pantry is basically empty. What the hell does he eat? Aren't athletes supposed to be all healthy and shit? Unfortunately, I end up having to wash a dirty plate and knife before I can use them. I’m slicing up a banana when my wonderful roommate joins me.
"Are you still a bitch this morning?" are the first lovely words out of his vulgar mouth.
"Are you still a nasty pervert?" I ask sweetly, turning around to face him.
Oh shit! The idiot man is standing in front of me totally and completely naked!
"What the hell?" I ask, slapping my hand over my eyes. Oh, but it's too late. The image of his large, free flying package is instantly branded into my brain. That and his abs of steel, complete with two symmetrical pelvic indentions serving as unnecessary directional arrows to guide your eyes straight down to his proud cock that clearly doesn't need the assist.
"I like airing my balls out. My house, my rules, so get over it. Or better yet, get naked, sweet tits," he says. The refrigerator door opens then closes.
"You do remember that I have the power to end your multi-million dollar football contract, right?" I ask.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Didn’t you read the stack of papers you signed yesterday? I'm basically a spy. You screw up and I get to terminate our contract, which means your contract with the Wildcats goes in the shredder."
"Goddamn it," he mutters.
"So, new house rule. You will cover your junk from now on. And you will keep this place trash free or I'll tell them all about you fucking Heather or Holly, whatever the hell her name was, yesterday on the freaking copy machine."
"You saw that?" he asks with pride.
"Yeah, I did."
"It's was pretty hot, right?"
I could call him disgusting, but I go with an insult to his masculinity instead as I turn back around to start peeling an apple. The arrogant bastard needs to realize he's not as sexy as he thinks he is…even if he is pretty damn sexy.
"It looked like you were in a hurry. Do you always finish so quickly? Cause I hate to tell you, stud, but women occasionally like to get off during sex, too."
I hear him scoff but don't see his reaction since I still can't look at his nakedness. "She got off."
"You sure about that, lover boy? Because nine out of ten women fake it. I know, I'm a psychiatrist." I make up the statistic off the top of my head, but he's probably too stupid to realize it.
"She wasn't faking her pussy squeezing the fuck out of my cock," he retorts.
"What do you know? I'm squeezing my pussy right now and I'm definitely not getting off. They're just muscles, dipshit," I tell him.
"I know what a woman feels like when she comes.” Suddenly I can feel and smell his warm, lemony scented breath against the back of my neck just as his palms smack down on the counter on either side of me. He’s totally naked, and now his penis is only inches away from my ass. “Here's an idea, how about I shove my cock into your pussy for research purposes? You know, to see if I can get you off. Uptight bitches always scream the loudest when my huge cock finally loosens them up," he says. I do not get aroused. I don't feel my pulse throbbing between my legs. It's just...been a while. Like more than a year. Or two.
"I know my pussy's good, but I don't think it's worth your multi-million dollar contract," I’m finally able to reply.
"What do you mean?" he asks hesitantly, as his arms fall away from beside my hips.
"You really should've read those papers you signed. If you touch me our contract is voided and you're kicked out of the league, right on your…bare ass. I hope you have a degree in communications or a backup plan of some sort."
"Your dad is a fucking asshole," he snaps, and the insult stings.
"My dad isn't the one who landed you in trouble with the team. You are an adolescent boy! How about you take a little responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everyone else?"
"God, you are such a bitch!" he says and I hear him stomp out of the room. "Be ready to go at eleven, cunt!"
"Agggghhh!" I groan to myself. I may end up killing that man before this bullshit is done and over with.
...
At five minutes to eleven I step into the living room to wait for Mr. Wonderful, arms crossed over my chest, still pissed at him. Then I wait some more.
"Jake?" I call out. Not getting a response, I walk down the hallway to investigate. His messy room is empty except for piles of clothes and more trash, his closet doors wide open. He's gone. The asshole left me!
I'm about to leave when I see his fine collection of jerseys hanging in the closet so temptingly. If I’m pretending to be his girlfriend I need to dress the part, right? I shuffle through the many options and decide on a black Wildcat's jersey with his number - eighty-six on both sides and Young written across the upper back in Carolina blue. I yank it off the hanger and slip it over my head, but of course it's huge, swallowing me whole. I tie a knot on the side of my waist to make it fit a little better. Never really much of a sports fan before, wearing his jersey actually gives me this strange high. It somehow makes me feel...special. I'm wearing an actual NFL player's jersey. Not one bought at a store but his. I'll never actually admit my giddiness over such a trivial thing to the big bastard.
Hopping into my Beemer, I put the top down since it's a beautiful September day, and cruise over to the stadium that's only a ten minute drive. I park a few miles away from the entrance and hike to the long ticket line that I have to stand in because the asshole wouldn't wait for me. I have no idea where I'm supposed to sit or what I need to do about a ticket if they’re sold out. I refuse to call my father to ask for his help. He doesn't need to know what an ass Jake Young is and give him even more hell. The egomaniac isn't worth it, and I can handle him on my own. I’m a pro at dealing with difficult people.
I finally get my turn at the ticket window and ask if they are holding any ticket for me at will call. Of course they’re not. When I explain that I'm Jake Young's "girlfriend" the gray-haired cashier actually snickers.
Well damn.
"What about bitch?" I say as a last resort, making the woman’s eyes widen. "I mean, are there any tickets under that name?"
She raises a mocking eyebrow but turns around and goes through her stack, coming up with one single ticket. That prick! Doesn't he know we're supposed to pretend to like each other? No, probably not, since he didn't read the freaking contract!
I graciously accept the ticket and walk around the big circular stadium, looking for section 112. Finding it, I buy a cup of beer and a slice of pizza at the nearest concession stand since I was so distracted earlier that I didn't fix anything more than fruit to eat. Walking down the cement stairs, I read the painted number on the ground, looking for row M, seat 15. I have to squeeze my ass by several fans’ faces to take my place in the tight, confined space. This is still a really awesome seat, not just on the lower level, but at the fifty yard line!
After carefully sitting my beer in the armrest cup holder, I dig hungrily into my slice of pizza. With a line of cheese hanging from the plate to my mouth my neighbor decides to become super chatty.
"You a fan of Jake's?" I cut my eyes over to my right and see a young, dark-haired guy staring at either my tits or the number on the jersey. The words “Jake is a gigantic jackass” are on my lips, but I remember the deal and all the money I get at the end.
"Oh yeah. Jake’s awesome. Huge fan. I'm his girlfriend." I nod and say as enthusiastically as p
ossible.
"Bullshit," the guy immediately responds.
"Excuse me?" I reply, swiping a napkin over my cheesy mouth, so that I can face off with him.
"You're lying. I know for a fact that Jake doesn't stay with a woman for more than a few hours, and he never sees the same one twice."
"Well, buddy, you don't ‘know’ him half as well as you think you do because he gave me this ticket. I'm his girlfriend, dammit!"
"Ha!" The man barks out a laugh and taps the similar looking dude next to him. "Josh, get this. This delusional chick says she's Jake's girlfriend." They both burst into laughter again, and I watch as the grapevine game continues down the entire row of Wildcat fans, each person reacting in the same amused way as the first.
"Laugh all you want, Chuckles, but it's true. I just moved in with Jake," I say, returning to my pizza.
"Now you're just talking gibberish, baby. But don't feel bad. You're not the first and definitely won't be the last woman who Jake tosses out quicker than yesterday's garbage."
"Actually, he doesn't throw anything out. His house is a mess! I've told him that shit's going to change. I'll be damned if I go around behind him like his maid to throw out all his Mountain Dew cans and Twix wrappers for him."
"Holy shit! You really have been to his house. He never lets chicks in his place," the guy says with a gaping mouth. He must be a die-hard fan if he knows all these details about my asshole roommate.
"Okay, fanboy, how do you know so much about Jake?" I ask.
"Because I've known him his whole life. I held him the day he was born. I'm his older brother, Jordan," he says, which causes me to inhale a piece of pizza crust and have to cough it back up. "Sitting beside me is his younger, older brother, Josh, and beside him is our baby brother, Jason. Jake hasn't mentioned his brothers to his girlfriend yet?"
I swallow my pizza. "Yes, he has," I lie and then I truthfully say, "But he didn't tell me what you looked like. And there hasn't been a whole lot of talking going on between us."
