Offense & Defense: A MMF Sports Romance

by Alexis Angel

  "Everyone line up!" I yell. "We're running the L Drill now."

  Colt volunteers to go first and immediately drops into his three-point stance at the first orange cone. "You're luck just ran out, Ethan!" he yells out. "Your fucking ass is getting smoked now." He digs his fists into the turf, and when I blow my whistle, he takes off in a surprisingly fast sprint, his back and chest glistening with sweat. His neck muscles pulse every time he swings his strong arms and shoulders. I watch as he runs 5 yards forward and 5 yards backward, and then as he sprints left and around the third cone for his final lap. "3.82 seconds!"

  Damn that was fast, I think. If he could run the L Drill in less than 4 seconds, I could imagine his powerful hips thrusting into me with equal speed. But I still need to see what Ethan can do.

  "Next up is Ethan!" I call out.

  I watched as he approached the starting cone, his brows furrowed in concentration. I can tell he wants this win. His biceps flare in anticipation as he places his hands down onto the turf. Instead of the turf, I imagine my body under him, and him placing his strong hands on top of my breasts, squeezing them. I blow my whistle again and watch him take off, sprinting between the cones with animalistic speed. I watch his tight ass muscles flex and strain into a left turn, and then finally relax as he reaches the starting cone. I watch his broad chest heave in and out with his deep, labored breaths. I watched his lips pucker and can imagine his lips locked on mine. I look down at the stopwatch. "3.82 seconds!" I call out.

  I watch Ethan's shoulders sag as Colt pumped his first into the air, "You see this Ethan? This is what victory looks like." He flexes his biceps, kissing each one for dramatic flare.

  “You didn’t win, you asshole,” Ethan snarls – disappointed in himself.

  Shit, they're tied.

  I had thought that the drills would settle the matter once and for all. I'll have to see who performs better in the scrimmage.

  "Everyone get into their teams!" I command, pointing to the field. "Offensive Skins on this side, and Defensive Shirts on that side. I'm giving you four downs. If the offense scores, they win this drill. If the defense holds them scoreless, they win. Everyone understand?

  I looked around at the team and see the players nodding in agreement. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to fuck the whole lot of them – letting them have their way with me as they take turns filling every hole. Then I see Ethan and Colt flex their muscles and my mind goes back to them. This is going to be fun, I say to myself. At the blow of my whistle, the scrimmage begins. I watch as Colt drops back from the offensive line, his wide receiver running out for a deep pass. Showboat. Of course, he’s going for a dramatic move. But just as Colt scans the field for an open receiver, Ethan brakes through the offensive linemen and throws his body on top of Colt's sweat-slick torso. Both men tumble down to the turf, and I watch as their muscles heave and tumble in one powerful motion.

  "How do you like them apples?" Ethan winks at Colt. "You're so predictable, rosebud."

  That’s it. Colt's chest flares as he picks himself up. "We'll see about that fucker," he mumbles back at Ethan.

  On the next snap, Colt's muscled arms grip the football as he swiftly drops back into the pocket. Agile on his feet, I watch as he scans the field. He must know that he only has a few seconds before Ethan comes at him. I know he has three seconds max—I can feel the clock ticking.

  Two seconds—maybe he’ll chance it and run the ball into the end zone himself? He has the arrogance of an angry bull. I don't doubt that he would try punching it in.

  One second—I can see Ethan advancing on his right side, and there are still no open receivers.

  Ethan is lunging in and only a foot in front of Colt. But wait—Colt locks eyes with a receiver 70 yards down the field.

  Would he risk throwing such a deep pass? What kind of question is that?. Of course he would. This is Colt Stackford we're talking about. I watch as he cocks his arm back, and with the expert precision he launches the ball into the air. It spirals in tight circles down the field—10 yards, 30 yards, 50 yards, and then 70 yards into the hands of his receiver. It bounces off of the receiver's chest, and I think it’s going to be a botched pass, but he regains control of the ball in the air, and seeing wide-open space, runs the ball into the end zone.

  "Fuck yes!" Colt yells out. "Perfect fucking touchdown!"

  There was no denying the win. Colt and Ethan tied on the drills with Ethan coming out on top, and then Colt led his team to victory in the scrimmage. There’s only one thing left for me to do. I give my shirt a slight downward tug to expose as much cleavage as possible and I walk up to him. With my high heels digging into the turf, I know I’m walking with a sultry looking saunter.

  "Bravo," I say, clapping my manicured hands as Colt looks at me with the eyes of a hungry savage. "Are you ready for your prize?"

  6

  Colt

  Is Julianna fucking surprised that I won that scrimmage? Of course, I'm ready to claim my prize. What kind of a question is that? Does she know that she’s dealing with the best QB the NFL has ever seen?

  "Look, honey," I say. "I'm Colt fucking Stackford. I was fucking born ready. You should know this, and if you don't, get used it." Women can't get enough of me. I know this and I can see that Julianna's no exception. She wants me. I can see it in her eyes. They’re just begging me to fuck her.

  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.

  7

  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.