by Dark Angel
"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.
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.
"Go big or go home, right?" I tell the florist as he carefully wraps the heavy bundle in clear plastic paper.
<
br /> "She must be pretty special," he smiles.
"One in a million."
I realize that the bundle is so big I need to use both of my arms to carry it across three blocks across Columbus Circle to Julianna's place. But I know it was important that I make a lasting impression, and this should do it. So I walk in the direction of her building, and in a few minutes I see it. The Time Warner Center is a massive and iconic structure. It stands majestic and proud, nestled in the bustle of the city. I adjust my tie, take a deep breath, and enter the lobby. An older man is seated at the concierge desk. He quickly stands up and approaches me.
"Can I help you, sir?" he asks.
"I'm here to see Ms. Julianna Heaton."
"Is she expecting you?"
Shit. I didn't have an appointment. Should I say she's expecting me? Or should I be truthful? I decide that honesty was probably the best policy. And besides, I've never been a good liar.
"I don't, but my name is Ethan Blake. I'm currently trying out for the defensive end position with the New York Nailers, and it's important that I see her this evening."
"Wait a minute!" the man exclaim. "I know you! You're the guy from SportsNation! Yes! Yes! That's you—the guy who got knocked out by that other football player."
I swear it seemed that no matter where I went, I couldn't get away from Colt Stackford. I’m sick of the tabloids buzzing about our fight, and I was even sicker of being reminded about it from strangers.
"That's me, but listen," I say, changing the subject, "Could you let me up to visit Ms. Heaton? Like I said, it's important."
"I can see that," he says with a whistle, looking down at the bundle of flowers in my arms. "I'm not usually permitted to let guests up without an appointment, but I'll make an exception this once … under one condition that is."
Oh great. How did I find myself bartering with a concierge? "Sure, what's that?" I ask. He walks back to his desk and pulls out a New York Nailers hat.
"Can you sign this? I'm a huge fan."
* * *
I take the elevator to the top floor and find myself in front of the grand double-door entrance of her penthouse. I straighten my suit coat and gather my nerves before knocking, and then lightly rap on the door with my knuckles. No answer.
I wait and listen for movement, but don’t hear anything. I knock again, this time with a little more force. Did she leave? Could she have slipped out without the concierge noticing? I figure I’ll try knocking once more. If she doesn't answer, I'll leave. Here goes nothing...
I think I hear someone coming to the door. Yes, she's home. The lock clicks and the door opens. There she is, I swear, a goddess in heels. Julianna stands in the doorway wearing a stunning, form-fitting red dress. She’s smelling amazing, and her blonde hair is cascading down to her shoulders. It's taking everything in me not to touch her—not to run my fingers against her cheek and through her hair. But my fantasy is stopped abruptly when she speaks.
"Wh-what are you doing here?” she asks. “Did Sammy let you up?"
"It's nice to see you too," I say, brushing aside her confusion. "I didn't catch the concierge's name downstairs."
"I can't believe it. I told him to not let anyone up without an appointment."
"It's not his fault,” I say, not wanting to get him in trouble. “I was pushy."
Then I see her look at the bundle of flowers and do something I didn't think she was capable of—she blushes. It only lasted for a moment, and then she shakes it off.
"It's a bad time, Ethan. Let's talk at the office." She begins to close the door, but I place my shoe inside of the frame.
"I'm not leaving," I say.
This catches her off guard, and she stands there for a moment. We lock gazes. I can see a new intensity flare in the depths of her clear blue eyes. My pulse quickens as I step closer to her. This is my chance. I reach out my arm, but instead of touching her, I rest against the doorframe. I watch as her breath quickens and I think I can see a flush appear in her cheeks.
Then I hear what sounds like the voice of another man. "I've just poured your wine, Julianna. Who’s at the door?" Yes, it’s definitely a man. Who was he? What was she doing with him? A middle-aged man in a business suit appears in the doorway. I guess he’s in his early 40s. His hair is beginning to thin, but I can tell that he combed it meticulously to hide this fact. He looks at me and then looks at the 100 long-stemmed roses in my arms and asks Julianna, "Who the hell is this?"
Given all of the SportsNation hype, I’m a little surprised he didn't recognize me, but also relieved. Before I can answer, Julianna turned to him. "I think you should leave. I'm sorry to do this Matt, but—"
"It's Mike—"
"Sorry, Mike. Maybe another night?"
The man can’t hardly believe that he’s being replaced, but he doesn’t argue, and just shakes his head. "There won't be another night," he says, his ego obviously crushed. He goes back to grab his keys, and then leaves for good.
I watch as the elevator closes behind him, and then I turn to Julianna. "These are for you," I say, handing her the roses.
She takes them in her arms and I can’t help but notice how closely her lipstick matches the deep red of the roses. Coincidence? Or fate? I’m entranced. The red dress. The deep-red plump lips. The scent of her perfume. The impossibly high heels. All of this heightens my senses, and I feel my cock twitch in my pants. It’s ready to burst through the confines of the material. Fuck, I want her so badly. I feel as if in that moment I'd do anything to have her. I step into her penthouse and she closes the door, locking it behind her. My shoes make a faint clicking sound against her brightly polished hardwood floors. Her place is huge with a wide-open floor plan and ceiling-to-floor windows that look out over Manhattan, with all of the lights of the city shimmering in the distance. I scan the darkness and think idly that the lights look like broken glass spilled across the skyline.
"You get what you wanted?" she asks with the hint of a smile. She saunters over to the table, swinging her hips suggestively and places the flowers down. " It's just you and me,” she says with a wicked smile. “Whatever shall we do?"
I think for a moment, and without hesitation say, "Besides doing you, I don't know."
"That's bold," she replies, "but I like a man who knows what he wants."
This spurs me on. I step closer to her and touch her hair, and then her shoulders, one at a time. Her dress hangs just below her shoulders, so I touch the exposed skin. My other hand brushes against her thigh. "You're so beautiful," I say. "I can't stop thinking about you. Ever since our first meeting at your office, I knew I needed you."
"Well, aren't you just the bleeding heart romantic," she says dismissively. "The roses, the accolades—what's next?"
I place my hands on her face and look into her eyes, trying to break through her cold exterior. "I mean it. I've never met a woman like you before."
For some reason, that does it. I finally have her attention. I can see the pulse in her neck flutter and quicken. I lean in, slowly brushing my lips against hers, and then her lips part. She opens her mouth to take me in, our tongues mingling and exploring, and pressing against one another. The warmth of her tongue against mine is intoxicating. She bites my bottom lip and I run my fingers through her hair, breathing in her scent deeply. I grab a fistful of her blonde locks and use it to pull her head back, I expose her throat. I kiss her vulnerable neck, traveling with my mouth upwards until I’m back at her lips. I press my mouth into hers hard. My cock stiffens. I want to hold her breasts in my hands, I want to touch the small of her back and touch her perfect ass. I want to know what she feels like in the secret inner spaces of her thighs.
She pulls back and looks into my eyes. I think her gaze could melt me into a puddle at her feet. She then leans back in with her arms wrapped around my shoulders and whispered, "Would you like to stay here tonight?"
My heart thumps. I touch her hair, and whisper back into her ear, "Do you want me to?" I then run my tongue across t
he ridges of her ear and she shudders.
"My couch pulls out, but I don't," she says with a sinful, wicked grin.
Julianna
Ethan Blake - now this is a man that hates losing more than anything. On and off the field.
If it were anyone else showing up at my place, I’d be calling security in a heartbeat. But with Ethan… Let’s just say the moment I saw him I had to throw Matt - or Mike or whatever his name was - out. Opening the door and seeing Ethan’s soulful eyes, his strong frame towering over me, I knew I had to have him.
Colt won the scrimmage, yes, but Ethan has just pulled the rug out from under his feet. Having him so close to me, his lips on my skin, his chiseled muscles begging for me to touch them, I know who’s won the first round.
I want him. I want him really bad. And, like everything that I want, I’m going to have him.
Do you doubt me?
Good.
“Come here,” I whisper, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into me. He grins, delight and desire painting his face, and comes willingly. He rests his big hands on my waist and, the moment he leans into me and kisses me once more, I close my eyes and let go.
We’ve just kissed and I already know this is going to be good. For a man as imposing as him, he’s actually more than a good kisser. I tilt my head to the side, pulling him closer and pressing my mouth harder against his. I part my lips and slip my tongue inside his mouth, a whirlwind of lust dancing inside my head.
I exhale sharply as, still grabbing me by the waist, he pushes me back and pins me against the door. His fingers dart to my wrists and he lifts my arms up over my head.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw you,” he says, his brown eyes filled with desire. I have no doubt about what he just said - I’m pretty sure he actually thought of this the first time he laid eyes on me. Each word that tumbles out of his mouth makes me want him more, boiling blood traveling through my veins and raising hell between my thighs. My panties are drenched, my juices soaking them in a way that hasn’t happened for a long, long time. Sure, I have my urges and I sate them with a hefty dosage of men and sex whenever I want to, but this is something entirely different. This is raw desire in its purest and most violent form.
