Seven Deadly Sinners: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Dark Angel

  Take two of the most notorious bad boys of pro football and add one bad girl. The game will never be the same.

  Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford rule the gridiron each week - amazing audiences with their record breaking conquests both on and off the field. But underneath it all simmers a deep seeded rivalry...

  Until it explodes.

  Now, with their careers on the line, the one person in the entire league who can save them may be more of a badas$ than both of them combined. Curvy Julianna Heaton, the youngest team owner in the league, chews up bad boys for breakfast and spits them out before lunch.

  But is there room for both of them in her…lineup?

  As Ethan and Colt compete for the ultimate prize, a tantalizing new possibility presents itself - one that will change their lives forever, if it doesn't destroy them all first.

  Come cheer for this sizzling standalone MMF bisexual ménage romance - filled with brooding bad boy alpha males and the one woman who can tame them! No cliffhangers, but it’s a scorcher with super-steamy scenes of MF, MM, and MMF. Happily Ever After? You know it. As an thank you, also included is a bonus Victoria Cabot billionaire romance

  Colt

  “Oh baby,” Monica moans as she looks back at me as the streets of Dallas zip past us. “You’re fucking me so good.”

  I just grunt and slap her ass. She groans lewdly.

  I look over to the driver for a second.

  Good, I think with some relief. The divider in the limo is sealed off and the driver can’t hear her. She’s moaning like a whore and I fucking love it.

  “You like that?” I ask with a nasty sneer of pride.

  My 12-inch cock is sliding in and out of her, making a wet sucking noise as it ravages her pussy. Her pussy’s far from tight. But then again, I could fucking tell she was a dirty slut when she came up to me after the game.

  “Hey baby,” she said to me, wearing a Dallas Devils jersey that was two sizes too small and a pair of skinny jeans that showed off the whale-tail of her thong. “My boyfriend’s gone home from the game early and taken the car. Mind giving me a lift back into the city?”

  Ten minutes later, her clothes were scattered through the interior of the limo as the car made its way back to the city.

  “Oh yeah, fuck me harder, baby,” Monica groans and as she does I speed up my strokes. I grab both of her ass cheeks and scoot closer. The natural bumping of the car as it goes down the highway adds the extra friction to the fuck. It stimulates my cock like nothing else.

  “Fuck,” she says as I reach over and roughly grab her tit. I fucking love groupies. They don’t want any commitments. They don’t want to try and rescue you. Don’t want you to be a nice guy. They don't want anything more than a nasty fuck.

  We’ve been fucking for a bit and my goal is to cum by the time we hit the city. I speed up my thrusts and really start nailing her, holding her by her dark hair, and pulling it back roughly.

  She goes insane as her orgasm rips through her. Like a woman possessed by a demon, she starts bucking like a bronco. Her face falls into the seat and while she was on all fours before, now her legs are just jutting her ass out at me.

  Just watching her pass out from cumming is enough for me. Her slut body has declared me the winner in this game of fuck. I’m the fucking king. I run my hands down her body and feel my balls tingling.

  “I’m going to cum,” I growl, but Monica is already in the throes of another orgasm and an aftershock of an orgasm all cascading into one. She can’t even hear me, she's so far up in orbit.

  My balls tighten up and I feel the familiar electric seizures go through my body. My eyes roll up in my head and I can feel my cock convulse. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two.

  Fuck.

  I shoot out rope after rope of thick gooey cum into the condom that’s sheathing my cock.

  “Aargh,” I growl, and speed up my strokes, brushing the underside of my fucking cock against her swollen lips, sending shivers up and down my shaft up and up my spine. My body shivers and I open my eyes and exhale.

  Fuck, that was just what I fucking needed to unwind. A willing slut to bend over and take my cock. A pussy to pound after a 32 - 12 win over the Toronto Trojans is just what the doctor ordered.

  I pull my cock out and take off my condom. Monica rolls over onto her back, her legs still spread wide open. This bitch has no fucking shame at all. She looks at my condom full of cum and her eyes go wide.

  “Jesus, Colt,” she says. “You cum so much! Is that all for me?”

  I look over at her and shrug. Her eyes are glinting, thinking her body got me off so good and she’s a special snowflake. Truth is, I usually cum more. I cum in fucking quarts. My body is a fucking machine. No, it’s a fucking temple. A temple to sex. As the starting quarterback for the Dallas Devils and the best quarterback in the entire Nationwide Football League, it better be too - I didn’t play football from the age of eight to not have a fucking cut, ripped physique that Apollo would envy. To have a chiseled face and sculpted jaw that make mothers swoon even after they find out I nailed their daughters. A powerful frame with so much testosterone that fathers look up to me even after I’ve defiled their daughters. But so much testosterone has some side effects. And they’re all fucking good. Consequence number one - I have testicles the size of tennis balls and a 12-inch fucking monster cock. That’s fucking right. One foot of pussy pleasing power.

  Consequence number two? I like to fuck. All the fucking time. All women. All shapes. All sizes. I’d fuck you if you wanted, too. I’d fucking eat you out until you fucking screamed so loud that only the birds would be able to hear you. But I wouldn’t be done yet. Then I’d use my fingers and stroke your fucking G-spot and make you squeal. You’d be begging for mercy by the time you came. And then and only then, after a two-orgasm appetizer would I stick my fucking cock into your pussy.

  And you would be fucking ruined for other men, baby.

  Trust me.

  I grab Monica’s thong and use it to wipe my cock clean. It’s all gooey when I’m done and Monica looks at me in shock. Fuck, she’s not going to want to wear this.

  I shrug and open the window to the limo and wrap the thong around the condom, creating a bullet and chuck it out with force. Probably should have put it in a bag or something because I see it splatter over the windshield of a police car. Whatever. They got some of Colt Stackford’s cum on their windshield. They could scrape it off and sell it on eBay, that shit is so fucking valuable.

  But there must have been someone in the car because the police car opens on the driver’s side as the limo turns the corner. The last thing I see looking out the window is a uniformed police officer picking up the condom that’s now leaking cum and splattered on his windshield and looking my way as he makes a face. I laugh.

  Too bad we’ve turned the corner. Oh yeah, and too bad I’m fucking untouchable.

  “Stop the car,” I tell the driver, putting on my boxer briefs and jeans.

  “Where are you going?” Monica asks me as I put on my clothes. She’s still naked.

  I look at her. “It’s not me, babe,” I say, using the same lines as with every other woman who’s been to the back of the limo before her. “I gotta go, and I can’t have you come with me.”

  She looks at me and realizes this is where she gets off.

  What?

  Don’t look at me like that. I’m not putting her in danger. The subway is right there. The bus too. It’s a nice part of town.

  “Okay,” she says hesitantly. I watch her put on her clothes and I make sure she does it fast because all of a sudden I see the cum-car cop rounding the corner and begin walking towards the limo.

  “I only got a minute, babe,” I tell her. “And then you got to get out, no matter what you’re wearing.”

  Not wanting to be naked on the street, she puts as much of her jeans as possible and slips her jersey back on. She can’t find her bra, but I don’t offer to help her.

  “Call me, okay?” she
says as she leans for the kiss and I instead move and open the door on my side for her, moving away with the agility of a cat and using her momentum to propel her outside.

  “You got it, Monica,” I say smoothly, giving her my million-dollar smile.

  “Mona,” she says. “My name is Mona and do you even have my number?”

  But I can’t hear her. My door’s closed and I’m drinking some 200-year-old scotch as the car starts up again speeding towards the SportsNation studios. Alcohol. That’s what the doctor ordered after you fuck a slut.

  The last thing I see is cum-car cop running up to Monica/Mona. But the limo has already left them in the dust.

  Oh well.

  * * *

  I walk through the SportsNation studio with my bottle of scotch. I don’t fucking care as people stop to stare at me. I’m Colt Stackford, QB1 of the Dallas fucking Devils. We’ve had an undefeated first 3 games and today we crushed the Toronto Trojans like a foot crushes a bug.

  I walk up to where they’re going to be filming me and pause as a hair and makeup person touches up my face. Some tiny Indian chick. Yeah, I’d fuck her too, although it looks like she has a mustache. But she doesn’t spend much time on me - most likely because I’m already fucking handsome. With my sculpted jaw, broad fucking shoulders, and made for GQ face.

  “You ready?” the host, Jessica McSwain asks me as I sit down. I nod. “You can’t have the bottle, Colt,” she says arching her eyebrows.

  I shrug and put it down on the floor underneath the table. Camera’s won’t pick it up.

  Jessica fucking McSwain. Now there is a hot piece of ass that I’d tap if given half the chance. But she’s already married and if that’s one thing I won’t do, it’s break up a happy marriage. Broken or sad marriage? Fuck yeah. Happy marriage? No.

  The lights dim and then come back on and in less than a minute we’re live.

  “Hello, and welcome to SportsNation Highlights,” Jessica starts, talking into the camera. “I’m joined by a few guests tonight as we recap this epic day in sports history. Let’s go to my first guest – the starting Quarterback for the Dallas Devils - Colt Stackford.”

  I can see the camera swing to me as I say hello.

  “Colt,” Jessica says addressing me in a professional manner. “Super job today on the field. Absolutely outstanding and thanks for being here.”

  I nod. It’s the same line over and over that these anchors have when they’re trying to kiss your ass.

  “What can you tell us about your performance today?” she asks.

  I shrug and smile into the camera. That million-dollar smile. The smile that makes panties drop across America. The bodies that gets pussies wet.

  “We had a good strategy. I executed brilliantly. Good support for my plays. Put it all together,” I say and pause for dramatic effect. “And we crush everything in our path.”

  “Very nice,” Jessica says, but I know she’s too smart to buy into everything I said 100%. “But are you saying it was all you who carried the team then?”

  I laugh. I thought she was smart. Maybe not. “32 points, Jessica,” I say looking at her. “We put 32 points on the damn board. You’ don’t get that without a quarterback who does running plays. You only get that with Colt Stackford.”

  “So let’s welcome our next guest then,” Jessica says and all of a sudden I’m startled. Who else would they want on their fucking show if they already had me? “He leads the NFL in QB sacks and turnovers and plays the other half of the Dallas Devils front lines. Please welcome Ethan Blake.”

  The camera pans and the audience claps as Ethan comes out from backstage and all of a sudden I am fucking pissed off. No fucking way I would have done this spot if they told me that motherfucker was going to be here.

  The audience is still clapping and another thought races through my head. When was there ever a fucking audience and how did I not recognize them? Fucking Christ, I must have had more scotch than I realized.

  Ethan sits down on the other side of Jessica and she smiles sweetly at him. Fuck her. I’m the fucking guest of honor.

  “Ethan, thanks for being on,” Jessica says as Ethan smiles at her. If I have a million dollar smile that fucker has a billion-dollar smile. I fucking hate him. Since we were fucking kids. But I don't say anything and let Jessica continue. “As someone who leads the defense for the Dallas Devils, what do you say when Colt says the entirety of the win was on him?”

  Ethan takes a second and then smiles his sneaky and slimy fucking smile. “Well, listen, Jessica,” Ethan says with hate dripping from his words. “Colt’s a child. You have to let children say whatever they want and then let them run free. But as they do that, you have to make sure you’re around to clean up the mess and from time to time make them feel like the center of attention.”

  Jessica looks at me for my response but I don’t even acknowledge her. This shit is between me and Ethan now. “When you learn how to fucking throw, maybe you can say some of those things,” I say directly to him. There’s no fucking camera that I’m talking for anymore. Now it’s just me and Ethan. “Until then, you’re just someone who couldn’t get a job on the offensive line. You might as well go back to high school wrestling.”

  Ethan’s eyes flash and I know I’ve gotten under his skin. “If it weren’t for the defense, you wouldn't even get your chances to throw that ball, Colt,” he says evenly. “But I don’t expect someone who’s had everything handed to them to realize when he’s getting opportunities. That QB job suits you just right.”

  Fuck him. What the fuck does he think he knows?

  “I don’t care what you say, you’ll always be Number Two,” I say.

  “And you’ll always be Rosebud,” he snaps back at me. “You get out of line and I’ll be the one snapping you in place.”

  Rosebud.

  Oh, fuck. He didn’t go there. Not bringing that name up from elementary school on national fucking television.

  I don’t even know what compels me but I jump out of my chair. Ethan, true to his word at least, stands up also.

  “You don’t know anything about me!” I yell at him.

  At some point, Jessica’s slid her chair back and is telling us to calm down. But no one listens to her. The cameras must be loving this because no one stops the broadcast.

  “I don’t need to know much to know you're a silver spooned, candy-ass, fucking pretty boy, Colt!” Ethan yells back.

  That’s when I punch him.

  Don’t get me fucking wrong. Ethan’s a big guy. He’s my height. He’s got a cut, ripped body and giant fucking muscles. If I didn’t hate him, I’d respect him.

  But my punch lands on his face and I see blood burst from his lip and all of a sudden he hits me back. I feel the wind go out of my lungs and I double over.

  But not before I sweep my legs and trip him.

  But he gets his hands on me and carries me down.

  We don’t realize that there’s a bank of cameras across from the table and we both go flying into it.

  Imagine a QB and his defensive end coming at you both - 500 pounds of muscle. It’s no wonder that the camera men are running away into the audience. Fucking pussies.

  That’s when we crash into the equipment. I feel pokes and stabs of metal as they enter my flesh but I’m trying to punch Ethan. He’s got me by my neck. I knee him in the stomach.

  He slams a hand hard into my eye.

  Ouch. That’s going to leave a hurt for sure.

  Security comes and tries to get us apart, but Ethan and I brush them off like flies. They go crashing in two different directions.

  That’s when the real cops burst in. Uniformed officers and even SWAT.

  The audience is fucking screaming.

  “There’s the fucker right there,” a cop yells as he points out to me.

  Fuck. It’s cum-car cop.

  The cops draw their guns, cocking them.

  The studio looks like a war zone. Broken glass is everywhere and the audience is
in chaos, running to the doors.

  Finally, I see two security guards and a police officer come up behind Ethan and I smile in triumph. He’s going to get what he deserves and he doesn’t even realize. One of the men pulls out a TASER. This is going to be good.

  Just as I’m about to crow, I feel 1000 volts of electricity go through me.

  Fuck!

  Ethan drops to the floor, too. They must have gotten us both…

  Whatever. When I wake up, I’ll kick his ass all over again.

  SportsNation

  SportsNation Highlights

  Hello, and welcome to SportsNation Highlights. I’m your host, Suzy Fren.

  One word can only describe the mood of the nation before we head into the week’s lineup. That word: Wow. If you didn’t get a chance to tune in to our show on Sunday, boy did you miss out.

  That’s right. It took the NFL only one day to place both Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford on a paid suspension as they reviewed their on-air actions. What on air actions are we talking about?

  Cut to clip of Colt punching Ethan in the face.

  This Monday, NFL Commissioner Bo Horton announced that both the quarterback and defensive end were being suspended after their on-air fight and arrest. And then to add yet another twist to the unfolding drama, we reported a whirlwind of activity between the Dallas Devils as they tried to get rid of their toxic players. Why would they do that, you ask?

  Cut to clip of Bo Horton at a press conference.

  “It’s not outside the possibility that the League could end up either fining these players for their despicable behavior or their team for allowing something like this to take place. This is a breakdown in discipline. And it’s something I’m going to stop if it’s the last thing I do. And as Commissioner, I promise you, if these two get in trouble ever again – if they so much as litter – this League is going to throw the book at them as well as any team that decides to employ them.”

  Cut back to the clip of Suzy Fren.

  That’s right. You heard it here. The Dallas Devils have decided that Colt and Ethan are such liabilities that they’re better off without the top quarterback and defensive player in the league. And so a late night secret trade was announced yesterday evening – between the Dallas Devils and New York Nailers. The Nailers gave up third string kicker, Boris Johnson and received both Ethan and Colt.