by Jenna Rose
“Oh, so that’s all you’re worried about!?” I shout back. “Your image!?”
“Fuck my image!” he replies. “I couldn’t care less what people think about me. I’m just so fucking sorry about what happened to you!”
“Sure you are!” I reply, doing my best not to cry. Why do I want to believe him so badly? Why does he sound like he’s sincere? He can’t be telling the truth…
“Red…” he says again, softer this time. “I hired a lawyer. We’re doing the best we can to get the video removed from as many sites as possible, and I released a statement apologizing for what happened and explaining that it was an accident. If it gets me blocked from the NFL then so be it.”
I want to believe him. Ever since that first and only night I spent with him I’ve wanted to believe that he was more than just a meathead, but he’s not making it easy.
“Why do you care, Blue?” I ask. “You’re a jock and I’m some art student…it’s not like we’d work out anyway.”
“That’s exactly why I want to fix this, Red! You’re not like me and that’s what I need in my life. I don’t need any more girls who fawn over me because I’m good at football or because I’m going to be rich one day…I need a girl like you who sets my soul on fire.”
Did he just say that? Yup, here come the waterworks. I can’t stop them. Tears pour from my face, and despite my better judgment, I slowly open the door. Blue’s right where he was a minute ago, and I can’t help but motion to him to stand up.
“Get up,” I tell him. “I can’t look at you down there.”
He wants to smile, but he only lets the hint of one curl around the edges of his lips before he gets up. He moves cautiously, like a hunter approaching a deer, but I let him. His scent hits me like a gavel, amplifying that deep feeling inside me. His gorgeous eyes lock me in place.
This is why I knew I didn’t want to see him; I knew I would feel like this…
“Red, listen to me,” he says as he reaches out and gently grabs my chin. I don’t pull away. I can’t, even though I know I should. “What happened to us…to you, is the biggest regret of my life. I’d do anything to go back in time and fix it, but I can’t. All I can do is apologize now and tell you that I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you—to be there for you from now on. All I need is another chance.”
His eyes are sincere. His scent envelopes me. This is unbearable.
“Will you give me one, Red?” he asks. “Get together with Blue and make some purple?”
His stupid joke makes me laugh. I fall forward and press my face into his chest, wetting his shirt with my tears. I don’t know if I’m making the right decision, but I’m making the only one I can make at this point.
“Okay…” I whisper softly.
Blue sighs a huge sigh of relief, and I feel the taut muscles of his chest go hard against my face. He reaches a hand up my neck and runs his fingers through my hair. We stand there for what seems like forever; he just waits for me to get my shit together, and then I look up at him, not knowing how we’re ever going to recover from this—but wanting to.
“Okay, Blue,” I tell him. “Let’s make some purple.”
His smile melts me as he wipes a tear from my cheek. “There’s just one thing I have to ask you,” he tells me.
“What’s that?”
“What’s your real name?”
I laugh. That wasn’t what I was expecting.
“Sherry,” I tell him. “Sherry Smith.”
“Sherry Smith,” he smiles. “I like Red better. Is it okay if I call you that?”
“So do I,” I laugh. “And yes, would you please?”
He replies with a kiss that runs through me like a calming wave. I want to collapse into his arms, and I will, but first, there’s something I have to tell him.
“Blue?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I have something I have to ask you too,” I say slowly. I bite my lip as he eagerly nods at me.
“Anything.”
“Are you ready to be a father?”
Epilogue
Three years later…
“You can’t keep doing that, Blue! I’m gonna—you’re gonna make me scream.”
“So scream,” my husband growls in my ear as he pumps me hard with his enormous cock. He has me bent over the bed doggy style, having caught me just as I came out of my evening shower, and is basically fucking my brains out.
Today was the first game of the playoffs, and they won. Blue threw 225 yards, which is a lot. I thought he’d be spent after the game, but obviously he still has some energy to spend on me.
“So scream,” he growls, gripping my hips tighter.
“We’ll wake up Violet!”
“Here,” he says, sliding a pillow against my face. “Scream into that, because I’m not stopping, baby.”
Violet, our two-year-old daughter, is sleeping in the next room and the last thing I want to do is wake her up to the sounds of her mommy and daddy getting it on. When we found out we were having a girl, we both instantly came up with the name. We said we were going to get together and make some purple, didn’t we?
“Fuck!” I moan into the pillow as Blue’s cock stretches me. With each thrust, his balls slap against my clit, edging me closer and closer towards orgasm. I reach back and grab them, causing him to groan with pleasure.
“Come on!” he grunts. “Do it for me. Do it for me! You know what I want.”
His words inflame me. His dirty talk is next level. He buries his cock inside me, tapping my cervix with his swollen head, causing me to cry out into the pillow. A few drips of his sweat land on my back and I go over the edge.
“That’s it,” he purrs as I come. “Come on my cock, baby. I love it.”
My body shakes as my climax rocks me. Blue pins me to the bed and holds his dick inside me as far as it will go and leaves it there until I’m finally coming down. He starts to move inside me again, but I twitch and leap off of him.
“Whoa there, big boy,” I whisper as I curl up into a fetal position on the bed, one hand on my poor little pussy. “So sensitive. You want to kill me?”
“Wouldn’t be a bad way to go,” he chuckles as he slides down beside me and wraps a strong arm around me. “But then I’d go broke having to hire a babysitter.”
“Jerk.” I smile with my eyes shut.
It’s been a rocky ride to get us here, but somehow we made it. Yes, my parents eventually did find out about my “sex tape.” Mom accepted my explanation first; it took Dad a couple of weeks to come to terms with it, but he did. Thankfully the talk around campus died down after about a month. I still get the occasional joke but I’ve gotten used to it by now. To be honest, I think it made me a stronger person.
The NFL was pissed off at Blue, but the Patriots ended up drafting him anyway. They did put a good behavior clause in his contract so that if anything like this happens again, he’s off the team.
I’m still in school, finishing up my last year. Co-parenting Violet with my husband playing sports and me going to school has been more than a challenge, but Blue bought us a gorgeous house with his first paycheck and converted the garage to a private art studio for me. Thankfully, my teachers let me work from home and I only have to go in to campus a few times a week.
Violet is a blessing. I love being a mom, and once I graduate, we’re going to have another. Blue, like any dad who plays sports, wants a boy to throw the ball around with. He told me (jokingly of course) that I better give him one, and I reminded him that it’s his swimmers that determine that.
Who would have thought that such a rocky start to a relationship would have resulted in something so perfect?
“Ready for some more?” Blue asks as he nibbles at my earlobe. I turn and open my eyes to his. They still get me—every single time.
I nod innocently while biting my lip, and Blue quickly spins me around and spreads my legs open. We both gasp as he enters me. I grab his neck and pull him down to me. We kiss, husband
and wife, lovers, and I can’t help but think that we were meant to be. Maybe his little joke about the universe wanting us to be together was true, and we just had to fight to make it happen. Maybe that’s what true love is—fighting for what you know to be true.
“God I love you,” I tell him as he makes love to me.
“Yeah, you’re pretty great too.” He smirks. I give him a playful slap on the cheek.
“Say it!”
“Say what?” he teases, driving his dick into me so hard it takes my breath away. I grab his perfect chin and squeeze his lips as I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze, keeping him from moving.
“Say it or you don’t get any more tonight,” I tell him.
“Like you’d be able to resist,” he replies, licking my lower lip. My eyes, hooded with lust, gaze up at him with the same fire I looked at him with three years ago. His hand slides across my cheek with a gentle caress.
“I love you, Sherry.”
My heart blooms and I kiss him. “I love you too, baby. But please, call me Red.”
The End
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2. First Round Knockout
Curves For the Boys Series
Jenna Rose
Contents
1. Jackson
2. Merrell
3. Jackson
4. Merrell
5. Jackson
6. Jackson
7. Merrell
8. Jackson
Epilogue
More Jenna Rose
1
Jackson
“Hope you’re ready for this, Blur. ‘Cause it’s gonna hurt.”
I flash Kenny a taunting smile just before he lunges at me. The kid’s cocky. It’s understandable though; he’s won his last 5 fights against some tough opponents, and now he thinks he’s gonna take me down. But he’s sorely mistaken.
Like all inexperienced fighters, Kenny thinks his same technique will work on everyone. He thinks he’s that good. But I’ve watched his fights and I know how he moves; I know what to expect. I’m ready for it.
I lean in for his right cross and lunge forward toward him. His left hand comes up for the follow-up strike, but I’m too close for him to get a good windup, and the blow glances off my ribs. It hurts a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t take. Definitely not enough to take me down.
My turn.
My right arm comes out, high and straight, and with both of his hands tied up from his strikes, he has no way of blocking it. He tries to duck, maneuver out of the way, but my body against his keeps him from moving smoothly, and I nail him straight in the nose.
He staggers back and I snatch his right arm with my left, then sweep his right leg with my foot, sending him to the mat. As he falls, I catch him with a jab, just to disorient him enough so I can get side control. And then I’ve got him in an arm bar and he’s tapping.
Just. Like. That.
“Hurt, huh?” I ask him before I let him up. “That tickled, Kenny.”
Two minutes later I’m in the showers, and five minutes after that I’m in the car. Most guys would be pleased with their victory, but to me, it’s bittersweet at best.
I’m a good fighter—maybe the best in New England—and have a championship fight at the Garden coming up that I know I can win. But I’m not going to. Why? Because I’m being paid to throw it. I’ve never thrown a fight before. I never thought I would. Be then she happened.
Tiffy, my ex-girlfriend. Well, my fiancée actually. We met after a fight, and I was suspicious that she might just want me for my money, but she played her game right; she took her time, made me wait, hooked me and didn’t let me go, and before I knew it, I was in love.
I gave her my grandma’s engagement ring, we got married in Rhode Island and moved in together. I bought us a house, spoiled her rotten, and then made the biggest mistake of my life; I let her manage my finances.
A week later, I woke up and she was gone, along with Chris, my ex-manager, and all my money. No, that’s not true; she left me 500 bucks. Maybe she wanted to pretend she wasn’t a completely terrible person, or maybe she just wanted to taunt me. I guess I’ll never know.
I’m ashamed to say it, but my fighting spirit broke after that. My support structure was gone, and every time I took a punch or gave one, I couldn’t stop wondering what I was doing it for. So when Micky came to me and offered me 500,000 to throw the fight, I said yes. And as I pull up to the Shoreside Theater and park, that’s all I have on my mind.
I used to come here a lot when I was a kid. We never had much and my parents fought a lot, so when I needed time alone I’d come sit here by the river and watch the waves. Sometimes I’d go inside and catch a movie and watch all the rich kids from Newton come out in their Polo shirts and white pants, laughing and having the time of their lives. As a poor kid from Southie, they were living lives I could only dream of. So even now, at 28 years old, I’ve been coming back here to sit and stare at the waves and wonder about what my life could have been if I’d made difference decisions along the way.
I sit by the river for hours, listening to the crowds leave the theater, talking about the movie they just saw, and only get up and head to my truck when the last show is getting out. It’s only a handful of people—a middle-aged couple, a group of three college guys, and then…
Holy shit.
The sight of the girl who walks out next takes my breath away. It’s like an angel just stepped out of the theater doors. Her brunette hair spills down her shoulders and reaches her waist. Her curves are out of this world. She has a little extra weight on her, but carries it like a fucking dream and her hips have me lusting to pump my dick inside her and fill her up. The thought of her moans as I fuck her has me instantly hard.
Her skirt clings to her with perfection, showing off her smooth thighs, and I start to wonder if she has any panties on underneath. My mouth starts to water as I think about lifting that thin fabric and burying my head between those thighs. She’s also a rich girl—the kind that would never have gone for me back in the day.
I’m off center. No girl has ever turned my head like this, and I brace myself against my truck as I watch her walk, moving like a runway model across the parking lot. My blood boils when I glance at the guy walking beside her, but I settle down when I realize he’s just her gay best friend.
How the fuck is this happening? After Tiffy, I thought I was done with women. But now I’m upside down over a girl I have only seen from a distance. I have to talk to her, but just as I start to make my way over to her, two men slide out from behind an SUV and approach her. I don’t even wait to react; these guys are bad news.
“Give us the purse and we might not hurt you,” one growls in a thick Southie accent. He stands in front of them as the other circles behind. The girl quickly scrambles for her phone, but he snatches it from her hand and smashes it against the pavement.
“The purse!” his friend barks. “Now!”
I’m moving quickly, as silently as I can, but they’re going to see me in a second. I’m right up on them.
“P—please don’t hurt me!” she whimpers, causing my blood to boil. My muscles are taut. Adrenaline flows through me like before every fight. The guy in front of her glances to his right and sees me coming, but it’s too late.
The bones of his nose break beneath my knuckles. He coughs and cries out, staggers backwards and topples over flat. He’s not a fighter—just a punk. I spin, expecting an attack from the other guy, but he’s already backing away. I put myself between him and the girl anyway; I’m not leaving anything to chance.
“One and only chance,”
I tell him as he glances at his fallen friend. “Leave now or end up just like him.”
It takes him no less than two seconds to decide. He turns and runs like the pussy he is.
When I turn around and face the girl, my whole world stops. Things move in slow motion as I stare into her light-brown eyes that grab me and don’t let go. She has the face of a goddess. I want to get down on my knees and worship between her thighs. How the fuck is she doing this to me?
“Are you all right?” I ask her. Her friend is shaking behind me, but he’ll be fine. I keep my eyes on her.
She turns to look back at her fallen attacker, but I gently turn her head away and pull her eyes back to me.
“Don’t look at him,” I tell her. “You don’t need to remember a piece of shit like him.”
“You—you saved me,” she stammers, her voice soft.
“What’s your name?” I ask her. I have to know.
“Merrell,” she replies.
“Merrell.” I nod back. Her name calms me, sinks into my chest like an antidote to my rage. “Merrell, I’m Jackson.”
She forces a smile, and I almost lose my shit. Never in my life have I been so smitten. Yeah, that’s what you call a first-round-knockout.
2
Merrell
“No, I wasn’t drinking, Mom,” I say for the fifth time this morning as I finish my Lucky Charms.
