Dirty Brawler: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (with bonus novel!)

by Teagan Kade

  “Sara? You don’t have to—”

  She looks up at me with those feline eyes and I know whatever she says will be gospel. “Just shut up and let me suck your cock.”

  My shirt is lifted away and her lips move down my chest and over my stomach. They press and depart, press and depart, only lingering, wet warmth in their wake.

  They move down lower, converging around my belly button. I tell her to keep going, not to stop, to never, ever stop.

  She fishes out my member, her fragile fingers wrapped around my shaft. I can feel her hot in-out breath against the head of it. She holds my cock in both hands and strokes it twice before taking it into her mouth.

  I can tell she’s enjoying it by the way her tongue rolls around and the soft purring that follows. It leaves her mouth wet, her tongue trailing down between my sensitive glans and over my shaft. She pulls a testicle into her mouth and massages the soft sphere gently, letting it pop out and in until my hands are on her head and my hips are jerking forward involuntarily.

  I cannot believe this is the same girl. Whatever she went through back in the US has washed all her inhibitions away.

  Guess you don’t know her as well as you thought.

  All for the better.

  She dribbles over my cock, absolutely soaks it with saliva and rolls her hand around it, the slobber gathering between her fingers and making loud smacking sounds every time she draws her fist down.

  I flinch and spasm. I’m sensitive, way, way too horny to survive this.

  She watches me with amusement, adds more pressure and takes some away, playing and teasing my cock and balls.

  I can’t even remember the last time I had a blowjob this good.

  My cock disappears into her throat, her muscles clamping and pressing around my member beautifully.

  My cock quivers, balls heavy and ready to release, but it’s too early. I need to draw this out, satisfy her first.

  I pull her up to her feet and plant my mouth hard against her. I taste myself on her lips, the soapy brine of my cock on the surface of her tongue as it curls up against the roof of my mouth.

  I throw her back onto the bed.

  She laughs, a schoolgirl, the mood light and fun and so far from my usual encounters with whichever girl wants her five minutes of fame.

  “Is this what you want?” Sara draws her legs up, her feet flat. Her butt rounds out and her thong is a red so vibrant it’s like someone’s trailed lipstick down the crack of her ass.

  I pull off my pants, tearing the wrapper from my wallet with my teeth and sheathing myself while she shakes and quivers in wait.

  I come forward, lift the strap of the thong away from Sara’s pussy and slip a finger inside to the second knuckle. It glides easily into her wetness, her heat churning around it.

  She lifts off the bed as I finger-fuck her, slippery arousal from her flushed sex running free from her hole.

  There’s gasping, moaning, but I cannot tell from which mouth it comes, only the slick, squelching sounds of my fingers filling her tight slot audible.

  I climb up her body, never letting my fingers leave her body. Sara’s hand moves between us to tighten around my cock.

  I kiss her neck, suck the easy skin there between my lips, her pulse rippling.

  I can’t take it anymore. I flip her over, pull her thong away until it’s stretched wide from her thigh, snapping with a sudden violence and whipping across to the wall. I hold her ass with both hands.

  This is it.

  Sara reaches behind herself and places my cock against her opening. “Please,” she begs.

  I place a hand on her back and sink myself inside her. We moan in unison, my cock sliding deep into her tight confines before I pull back and hammer forward again.

  Before long I’m up to my balls in the steamy grip of her hot sex, drawing myself back and driving forward hard, filling her to completion with every stroke.

  She draws away, spinning and taking me by the shoulders. She casts me onto my back and throws a leg over my body before settling down upon my member, the act hidden by the sheeny puddle of her dress.

  “Fuck,” she exhales, a hand on my chest for support as my cock plunges into her body.

  I fuck her harder and faster, my body swinging up from the bed to smash against her ass. I’ve been craving this for the longest time, neither of us holding back.

  I wipe her hair away from her cheeks, a fine sheen of sweat at her hairline, her nails clawing into my chest as she lifts and falls, her scent overpowering.

  We’re in the air-conditioning of the suite, but still there’s a strong convection of warmth cooking my core. My need, my want for her is so desperate my cock twitches in her folds already on the edge.

  I lift myself up and take her mouth again, one hand combing through her hair as I drive against her, heat and desire rolling off her in waves, her hole hot and willing.

  She closes her eyes, whimpering, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  Her thighs are hot, milky, and soft as they squeeze against me.

  I shift a hand under her dress and rub her clit in large, concentric circles.

  I try to suck in as much of this as I can, fill my memory for all time with this sensation as her muscles clench around me.

  “Please,” she breathes out, a genuine plea, “please don’t stop”.

  I have no intention to.

  I fuck her harder still, the two of us working together to come, a race to the top.

  My competitive streak takes over. I tweak the bud above her hole, her mouth caught in a war between pain and pleasure. That image almost makes my cock fire off, but I resist, drawing back and plunging over and over into her increasingly sloppy hole, her juices thickening around my length as she begins to move against me, her butt lifting upwards as I pound her ruthlessly.

  I huff and drive myself into her body, pistoning my cock into her sex with as much speed as I can muster.

  I press a little harder against her clit, her pubic bone grinding down against my chest and forcing her orgasm. She collapses onto me, biting into my shoulder as her entire body jerks and flaps by unseen forces. Her pussy contracts and opens in quick succession with her orgasm, squeezing until my balls literally ache with anticipation.

  Mouth against my hair, breath ragged, she squeezes her thighs around me, milking me with her pussy.

  “Come,” she says.

  All I can focus on is the exquisite snap of sensation that occurs when my cock gives in and I release, emptying myself inside her.

  It goes on and on, endlessly. Finally, she lifts herself from me, drawing up against my side. Her cheeks are burning and her eyes are glazed over in heat. Her chest heaves furiously, up and down. I look down at my cock, the condom streaked with our juices.

  “You’re still hard,” she notes, and I am, rock hard, in fact. It hasn’t happened in years. It stands tall and proud, throbbing for more.

  She looks at my cock quizzically as it swings there in air, twitching involuntarily. She reaches down and pulls the condom away, bending at the waist and extending her tongue, swiping a single drop of cum off the slit and locking her eyes with my own.

  My head drops back into the mattress.

  Andy Fortes, what have you gotten yourself into?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ITALY

  Sara

  Meet me out front in twenty.

  It’s a rather cryptic message from Andy. I’m smiling as I read it, the promise of more time together, more of that. Officially, Andy should be down at the track, but I don’t think Steven’s about to go chasing him. Their relationship continues to grow increasingly sour. It’s only a matter of time before things boil over completely.

  It’s hot and dry in Monza, the kind of weather that sucks the life from your lungs. It’s no wonder that by the afternoon the entire country seems to be asleep. I select a white and rose floral number, very Milan circa 2014. I forego underwear, the thought of Andy’s hands gripping my ass sending floaty tingles down m
y spine.

  He’s waiting outside the Hotel de la Ville leaning up against a red Ferrari. I don’t know much about cars, but everyone knows a stallion when they see one.

  “Funny looking Goodall,” I question from the top of the stairs.

  He looks over me approvingly and steps back to open the passenger door. “Fuck Goodall. Besides, it’s not my car.”

  I smile, slipping beside him and swinging into the passenger seat-slash-human bucket. There’s barely any padding and harnesses instead of seatbelts. I have to get so low to get in the thing that anyone within a mile radius probably gets a hell of a show. “Who does it belong to?”

  “Luigi.”

  “He just loaned you a Ferrari for the day?”

  Andy crouches down beside me, runs a hand over the top of my thigh. “Not just any Ferrari. An F40.”

  I draw a sharp intake of breath at his touch.

  “Besides,” he continues, “I’m doing him a favor”.

  My voice is choked up with arousal. “How’s that?”

  He winks. “I’m taking it home.”

  *

  I shouldn’t be surprised Luigi owns a property close to the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. It’s Tuscan in style, terracotta and open air.

  Andy pulls up to the front door and Luigi comes out surrounded by three Maltese terriers. It’s weird to see him not dressed in red, not that the pink polo he’s wearing is any less subtle.

  “Welcome,” he says, as we step out.

  The dogs yap and nip around my heels. I crouch down, stroking the back of their heads. “Who are these guys?”

  Luigi points. “Enzo, Enrico and Edmondo.”

  Andy embraces him. “Wow, you really take this Italian thing to the extreme, don’t you, my friend?”

  “We’re passionate people. You’ll see. Come.”

  I follow the boys inside.

  Luigi stops at a large table by the kitchen. There’s a document on it. “First, business. Your autograph, if you will.”

  Andy looks to me.

  I nod.

  He takes a pen off Luigi and signs. “What did I just get myself into? You’re not taking a kidney are you?”

  Luigi laughs. “No, only your soul. But remember, signing with Ferrari is all well and good, but the contract’s void if you don’t win the championship this season, capiche?”

  Andy nods. “I understand.”

  Luigi claps his hands together. “Now, l’uomo è ciò che mangia, a man is what he eats and I have yet to do so since breakfast an hour ago. Shall we?”

  I take his hand. “We shall.”

  *

  The antipasti is enough, not to mention umpteen glasses of wine. Luigi seems to have a story behind every one. We look out over his vineyard, a hobby he says hasn’t been terribly productive this season—much like his team.

  Andy looks oddly refined holding his wine glass, swishing it around just so. He looks through it. “It’s been a tough season. I won’t lie. Carl’s good, but I’m better.”

  “I know,” smiles Luigi, “but you can’t let him get ahead here or in Singapore. Monza is the quickest track on the calendar. Use it to your advantage.”

  Andy nods, taking it in.

  It’s a beautiful place. I could stay here forever, everything forgotten, Andy and I with a checkered rug under a tree on a hill, making love until the sun sets. Liv Tyler had the right idea. Watching Stealing Beauty was the first time I masturbated, dreaming of a dark Italian taking me on the grass. Andy may not be Italian, but he’s no less passionate, no less driven, though he is yet to take me on the grass…

  We get a town car back into Monza and can barely keep our hands off each other. We don’t even make it into my room before Andy’s hooking a finger into the waistband of my panties, his lips pressed hot against my neck, but my phone’s having a seizure.

  “Don’t,” he whispers, pressing me against the door. “Let it ring.”

  It goes again and I can’t take it. I glance down at the screen. “It’s my boss.”

  “She can wait,” Andy drones, hand cupping my mound, my clit pulsing.

  The elevator dings down the hall but Andy makes no attempt to stop.

  I squirm away, reluctantly, and swipe my card, moving through the gap in the doorway, using the door to shield myself. “Clearly, you’ve never met her.”

  Andy takes my hand before I close it. “Tomorrow?”

  I beam. “Win and I’ll let you take me wherever you want, however you want.”

  *

  Andy explained everything that night in Belgium. The cork that was once bottling him up has been let free. He’s becoming increasingly open, much to my surprise.

  I stand against the pit wall watching the teams prep their cars on the track. In his Ray Bans, hair slicked back, Andy is the epitome of a Formula One playboy.

  It’s bright and sunny out and we have umbrellas for shade.

  There was a certain level of trust extending on his behalf telling me about the thing with Ferrari. If I wanted to ruin Andy I could go to Steven, tell him all about it, but increasingly I’m finding myself siding with Andy, not that I didn’t trust him to begin with. He isn’t imagining the mutiny going on behind the scenes. It couldn’t be clearer, even to an outsider like me.

  “I’m Anna.”

  I turn, a little shocked to see one of the grid girls standing beside me, her hand out.

  I take it. “Um, Sara.”

  She’s chewing bubblegum, her black Lycra jumpsuit leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She speaks with an eastern European accent. “I have seen you at Goodall.”

  “I’m working PR, yes.”

  She nods to the track. “You could be out there. You have body for it.”

  “Not really my thing, sorry. No offense.”

  She laughs, pinching the jumpsuit. “It is like sauna in this thing, material riding your ass all day. I make more money doing porn.” She looks to Andy. “You are seeing him, yes?”

  “Andy?”

  “No need to be shamed. He is solid man.”

  I hate lying, but it has to be done.

  “I’m not,” I fumble. “I mean, no, we’re not dating.”

  “Why?” she says, completely blank.

  “Andy Fortes?” I laugh, sounding completely fake. “The guy’s a—” but I can’t bring myself to say it, to call him out to a fellow female.

  “A penis in racing suit. Yes, but he is not so bad.”

  I’m worried I’m going to get more information than I want here, a sexual tell-all from one of Andy’s former flames. She seems like the type.

  Anna puts her elbows on the wall, boobs spilling out of her top. “I would date him, yes, but he never let anyone close. No girl more than a day. He is not marriage man.”

  “You’ve… been with him?”

  Now she laughs. “Nyet. Nyet. He is probably good fuck, but I need long-term man, you know?”

  “You don’t think he can do long term?”

  She laughs harder. “Leopard does not shed spots. Nice to meet you, Sara,” pronouncing the ‘r’ like a ‘h’.

  She walks off, legs at least a mile long.

  A weird encounter to be sure.

  So, it’s getting around. Soon the press will be onto it and from there there’s no turning back. Either I make it official or quash it altogether.

  *

  Andy’s only ever lost once at Monza, but Carl makes twice. Andy’s mood changes, however, when I tell him I want to attend the after-party as a couple.

  I help him do up his bow-tie standing outside the party, held near the old track banking.

  He looks at me cautiously. “You’re sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah, let’s stir things up a bit.”

  “So it’s just for show then?”

  I wink. “Depends on how you play your cards.”

  “We talking poker or blackjack?”

  “Go fish.” I take his arm and a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

  We�
�re the talk of the party. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to so many people in my life. The guys nod knowingly at Andy, the girls try to place a voodoo curse on me as they nod and smile. “So happy for you two!” they beam, wishing they were in my place, and I’m kind of proud, weird as that is, to have Andy at my side.

  We’re walking to a bar made out of tires when Steven steps in front of Andy, hands in his pockets. His cheeks are red. He’s been drinking. “Nice racing today, Andy. Let’s hope you don’t come unstuck in Singapore. As they say, anything can happen.”

  Andy tightens beside me. I squeeze his arm. “Come on. Get me a drink.”

  I can see Andy’s still uptight as we sit at the bar. It’s clear that whatever working relationship Steven and Andy has is completely gone. I can’t see any way to repair it without someone getting hurt in the process. They’re not even trying to hide their animosity anymore.

  I hold his hand. “You’ve got to let these things go, Andy.”

  “That fucker is trying to undermine me. You can see it, can’t you?”

  I nod. “Yes, I can, but stewing away like this doesn’t do you any good. Focus on the racing. Forget about that pencildick.”

  “You’ve seen his dick?” Andy laughs.

  “I can’t imagine it’s much bigger that a gnat.”

  “An ant, more likely.”

  “Dental floss.”

  “Silly string.”

  We both laugh, like two teenagers who shouldn’t be at the bar on a school night.

  Steven leaves early and Stacey’s nowhere to be seen. It allows us a certain freedom. We have a good time. Who wouldn’t?

  “Take me back to the hotel,” I whisper into his ear. “It’s late.”

  “And the fun’s just beginning,” he whispers back, squeezing my ass.

  From the marble Jacuzzi to the bed and even the kitchen bench, our little romp around Andy’s hotel suite doesn’t stop until I can barely walk.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SINGAPORE

  Steven

  Work ethic—it’s something a guy like Andy Fortes will never understand. He’s got talent, it’s undeniable, but he also had the money behind him, the best mentors. I never had that at Goodall. I scraped and clawed my way to the top of the corporate ladder, and it got ugly. My family was loaded, but my father wouldn’t lend me a dime. I did it dirty and fucking ugly. I made enemies, but the friends I share this rarified air with are greater. That’s why I’m here, at the top. The last thing I’m going to do is let some cocky, wealthy dipshit like Andy Fortes fuck it all up for me. He’s going to go down like the dog he is and those bookies are going to cough up while I laugh in their face. I’m sure they’re doubting I can deliver. I’m Steven Jones. I always deliver.