by B. B. Hamel
Thrust, rub, fucking me hard, holding me tight. He controls me, moving a little faster, just a little faster, his fingers still rolling along my swollen clit. I pant and moan his name, David, David, the promise of his cock driving me forward as sweat beads along my pale skin. His muscular arms hold me tight and, oh, god, I’m so close, I know I’m so close, I can hardly hold back as he continues to fuck me faster, harder.
I need it. I need it so badly. I push back down along his shaft and buck. He fucks me hard then, fucks me like an animal, takes me like I need. He grinds into me from behind, rips into my pussy and I pant his name again and again as the orgasm builds and builds before releasing all through my skin like static electricity discharging in a burst of pleasure and light and need.
It tears through me and I moan low and loud. He covers my mouth and doesn’t slow down, his breath hot in my ear. He fucks me through my orgasm, fucks me hard, and I came on every inch of his massive, thick shaft.
As it begins to finish, he slows down, then slides himself out. “On your knees,” he growls.
I turn, drop to my knees, and lick his cock top to bottom. I pant, sweating, licking his cock clean. I taste my cum on him and moan as I suck him faster, licking the tip of his massive cock, barely able to fit much more in my mouth. I stroke him hard with both my hands and he growls, grabbing my hair.
He comes in my mouth moments later, a hot burst of seed. I swallow him, taking it all, not letting any go to waste. I moan as I do it, so lost, so out of my mind. He finishes on my tongue, in my throat, and lets out a groan of satisfaction as I lick him clean then stand.
He kisses me, slow and deep, holding me tight. We stay like that for a while, I don’t know how long, I don’t think I’m capable of knowing. It doesn’t matter to me. There’s only David, his massive body, his perfect cock, his incredible smell and taste.
“You’re mine,” he whispers in my ear. “And I promise I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you will,” I whisper back.
And in this moment, I know it’s true.
11
David
I blow my whistle and stride out onto the grass. The smell of ocean water almost overpowers the musk of sweating men as the pile of bodies in front of me detangles itself. The guys pull each other up, patting helmets, slapping hands. “Break it up,” I shout. “Back into line.” They hustle to obey, men reforming into their set positions like a well-trained army. That’s how I think of them sometimes, my soldiers out at war, and I want to make sure they’re prepared before each battle.
It’s a nice day with a cool breeze, and I blow my whistle again. The two lines hit each other, offense and defense, and I watch as the battle unfolds. I take note of the defensive center losing too much ground, the left tackle turning but too slowly, and I can see it all happening in my mind, like water running downhill.
I blow my whistle and break it up before they can end up on the ground again. I bark a few orders, get them set up into individual drills, then head back over to the sidelines to check my clipboard and my notes.
Practice is a well-oiled machine, or at least it is now that I work here. Before, it was more haphazard. Coach Hardy would assign drills as he saw fit, but there was no consensus between the position coaches on what everyone was supposed to do. Those first few practices were a mess, and I couldn’t believe that Hardy had let it get so bad.
But it makes sense to me now. I look over, craning my neck to spot Coach Hardy sitting in the stands with a pair of binoculars, watching every move, but doing nothing. That was his trademark move. He’d sit in the stands and stare down from above, like he was some kind of chess master moving his pieces around the board. Except he said nothing, did nothing, and let the position coaches fight amongst themselves. At least until I showed up and took over.
Now, practice is structured. Everyone knows what they’re doing and when they’re doing it. The guys are all working on complementary skills, with the goal being that they develop not only as individuals, but also as a cohesive unit.
My little army.
I blow my whistle again after another twenty minutes. “Break!” I bark out. The guys jog over to get water as I stand off to the side. I catch sight of Erik, his helmet off, joking with some of the offensive guys. They all hang on his every word, mostly because they know that having a good relationship with him will get them the ball more often. The more they get the ball, the more chances they have to prove themselves to NFL scouts.
That’s how Erik can hold so much power. Everyone wants something from him, everyone thinks he can get them to the next place. Either the guys want more touches, or the coaching staff wants a win. So long as he keeps delivering, the guy’s untouchable.
Almost, at least.
“You look intense today.”
I glance over at Frank. “Just putting on my coach face.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Gotta mean mug for the kids sometimes, let them know who’s boss.”
I nod once and my eyes wander over to the bleachers. I spot Hardy talking with one of his assistants. Then he stands up and starts to leave. He heads down the steps and disappears into the tunnel.
“There he goes,” Frank says. “The fuck’s he doing?”
“Who knows,” I say. “He hasn’t actually run a practice in a while.”
“True enough. But he’s always up there watching.” Frank tilts his head and cracks his neck. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering if you still got that kid on your squad, what’s his name… Bobby? Tommy?”
“Shit, you mean Billy?” he asks. “That redneck moron. We’re letting him go at the end of this week.”
“But he’s still here?”
Frank shrugs. “Sure, he’s here.”
“I want you to do something for me.”
Frank gives me a look. “This have something to do with what we talked about the other night?”
“Yes,” I say. “It sure as fuck does.”
He groans. “Look—”
“All you need to do is let Billy play in the next drill,” I say. “We’re doing a little offense versus defense. You know how that goes.”
“David—”
“Look, whatever happens will be on me. Nobody will look at you twice.”
“Billy’s a loose cannon. The kid’s fast and strong but dumb as hell.”
“I know that,” I say. “I’m counting on it.”
He gives me a look and lets out a breath. He shakes his head. “Anything bad happens and I’m blowing it all back on you.”
“Good. Make sure you do.” I clap his back and walk off, blowing my whistle and barking orders.
It’s a change in the regular scheduled practice, and some of the position coaches give me an odd look. They’re not used to curve balls from me, but that might be a good thing.
Hardy’s gone for the time being. I’ve got a short little window here to make a move, and I’m taking it.
The offense lines up on one side of the ball and defense takes the other. I bark out the offensive play and smile at the frown Erik gives me. It’s a screen pass, which means the offensive line is going to let the defenders get past them. Erik’s job is to run a little bit then dump the ball off to another offensive guy before the defenders get to him. In most instances, it’s pretty innocuous.
But I’m stacking the deck my way.
“Line up,” I bark and the guys fall in. Erik gives me another look and I smile back. Billy’s right up in the center of the field, practically growling like a dog. I want that kid angry, I want him real mad. Frank gives me a little smile like he knows what I’m up to.
I blow the whistle. Erik calls out then hikes the ball. He takes it, drops back, and the offensive line rushes past the defenders.
Normally in practice, the defense plays a little easy, at least with the QB. Erik’s got a red jersey on, which means he’s not supposed to take any hits. But Billy, he’s a dumb motherfucker. I’d never play a kid
like that during a drill like this, much less call a damn screen pass for him.
And he reacts the way I knew he would. Erik stumbles backwards as the defensive line pulls up, but Billy doesn’t. He sprints at Erik, the big, stupid idiot bearing down on the QB. I watch with delight as Erik dumps the ball off, missing his pass, but too late.
Billy smashes into him, leveling him about as hard as he’d ever get hit. Erik slams into the ground and bounces off it before curling up into a ball on the field.
Coaches blows his whistle and the guys shove Billy away. There’s chaos as the guys and the coaches all scream at Billy, and the poor idiot backs off like he doesn’t realize what the hell he did. I force myself not to smile and glance over at Frank, who shakes his head and walks away from the field.
I have to admit, that felt really, really good.
Erik’s slow to get up. But once he’s on his feet, he only gives me a flat stare then returns to his position. I call the next play as Billy’s taken off the field and is replaced by the normal starter.
Practice goes on. Erik’s a little slower than normal, a little sluggish, but he keeps it up. I watch him carefully, looking for any sign of injury. Part of me hopes that hit just knocked some damn sense into him, but I doubt it.
At the end of practice, the guys do their normal jog around the field, drink some water, then head inside. Erik walks past me and gives me a look, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if he’s waiting until we’re in private, or if he doesn’t realize that I set that up. Either way, I don’t think I care.
I’m just happy he got clobbered, the little fuck. I know it won’t change anything, but it was a start.
I head into the locker room, talking with the QB coach, when Hardy barks my name from his office. “Duty calls,” I say, and Jeffries laughs as I head over to Hardy’s office.
“Yes, sir?” I ask.
He gives me a look. “Shut the door.”
I nod and close it behind me. “What can I do for you, Hardy?”
“Heard Erik took a hit today.”
“That idiot Billy whatever went a little wild during practice,” I say casually.
“Billy, huh,” Hardy says. “That’s the boy we’re cutting, right?”
“That’s right,” I say. “I wanted another look at him. Needless to say, that look didn’t go well.”
“Seems odd you’d want to call a screen play,” Hardy says. “That’s not a big part of our playbook.”
“Still something we gotta practice,” I say.
He gives me a long look and doesn’t speak. I stand there, staring right back at him. I want him to know that I set that up, that I did it on purpose. I’m not even a little ashamed. Erik deserves much worse.
“I know you don’t like that boy,” Hardy says, his voice quiet. “But he’s our damn meal ticket. You see that, don’t you?”
“I see a disrespectful little fuck that needs to be knocked down a few pegs.”
“Yeah, and I see millions of dollars, better recruits, and some national attention. I see the future of this program.”
“Not worth it,” I say.
He barks a laugh. “How long have you been with us, David?”
“Three years,” I say. “Three years and I’ve helped turn this team around.”
“You’re right,” Hardy agrees. “You’ve done some good work here. I’ll admit that before you, we were floundering. But don’t for a second start to think you’re more important than you are. That boy’s going to win games, not you.”
I grunt and shake my head. “I hear what you’re saying. But I don’t think winning games is worth selling our soul.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t here all those years when we had absolutely nothing. When we lost most games, when we were forgotten, mocked, ignored. I can’t go back to that, David. That asshole out there is our ticket forward and don’t you forget it.”
I stare at him for a long time, feeling my anger rise like a wave. I want to tell him to go fuck off, I want to quit and walk away. But I know that if I give in to my rage and do what feels good, I’ll be letting Chloe down, and I can’t have that.
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Don’t hang him out to dry again,” Coach says. “That kid gets injured and you’re finished. Do you hear me, David?”
“I hear you.” I turn and leave his office, seething with anger. I skip my usual process of talking to the guys and head to my own office. I shut the door, sit behind the desk, and glare at the wall.
That should’ve made me feel better. And for a second, when Erik’s ass was on the fucking ground, I did feel good. But that only lasted for the briefest of moments, and now everything is back to being fucked.
Hardy just made it very clear where I stand. In the scheme of things, I’m expendable, but Erik is not. He didn’t come out and say it so explicitly last time, but now he’s not holding back. I can’t use the team to get back at him anymore, not if I want to keep this job and stay in a position to watch over Chloe.
No, I’m going to have to come up with some other way to knock Erik down.
That selfish little bastard’s going to make my life much more difficult.
12
Chloe
I take the long way home after tutoring. Even though campus is beautiful and everyone’s outside sitting in the grass, the way the sun slants through the trees sideways makes my skin crawl. I swear people are staring at me, and I catch more than one girl turn to her friend and whisper something.
I want to go over and shake them, scream in their face.
The buildings loom like giants, ready to stomp down on me at any second. I pass near the little hidden fountain and slip through the bushes to sit down at the bench, but I find another couple already there, making out in the grass. I slowly back away, trying not to disturb them too much, my stomach flipping over on itself.
Everything feels like it’s been infected, broken, and tarnished.
Before Erik came into my life, I loved CU. I loved the ocean, the sunlight, the sidewalks. I loved the classical architecture and the way my voice echoes in the library. Everything about CU felt idyllic and comfortable, and I never wanted to leave campus. I spent all my time here, walking around, sitting at benches, trying not to find a reason to go back to my apartment.
Now though, it seems like everywhere I look, Erik’s ghost is always haunting me. He turned what felt like a safe, perfect place into a hellscape.
I manage to avoid the thickest crowds of students as I skirt along the outer section of campus. I turn right at the light and find my apartment up ahead. I take the stairs two at a time get inside, and lock the door behind me. I feel like I’m out of breath, like my heart’s hammering in my chest, like someone just chased me and won’t let me go.
“Hey, Chloe.”
I let out a scream and jump. Sara stares at me, her eyes wide. She’s wearing torn jeans and a gray t-shirt. “Shit, sorry,” she says.
“Sorry,” I say in response, my heart racing so fast I might pass out. “Fuck. You scared me.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, just fine. You just scared me.”
Sara frowns at me as I pull myself together and head into the apartment. I toss my bag down in the corner, take off my shoes and grab a glass of water. I drink it down, chugging the cool tap water, trying to get myself under control. I’m jumping at ghosts now, and it’s definitely not a good thing.
“So, uh,” Sara says, leaning up against a counter. “Look, this probably isn’t the best time, but…” She trails off.
“What’s up?” I ask her.
She pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She opens it up and holds it out. “Found another one.”
My face stares back at me.
“Oh,” I say, feeling dumb.
I thought we’d gotten all of them. I spent so much time with David combing through campus that day, grabbing every single copy, but some must’ve blown away. I want to scream and run
away, but Sara’s frowning at me, and I can tell she’s concerned. Besides, she already saw it, so it’s not like I’m going to hide anything from her.
“I found this in a bush outside of the dining hall,” she says. “This stupid bitch was showing another one to her stupid asshole boyfriend. I took it from them and ripped it up.”
I smile a little. “Thanks.”
“Chloe, I know you don’t want to talk about it. But you can tell me what it is.” She shakes the paper at me.
I flinch away. “Do you really want to know?”
“Come on,” she says.
“Erik Pacific. That football asshole.”
She goes quiet for a long moment. “This is serious, Chloe,” she says.
“I know.” I can’t meet her eye. I feel so embarrassed, so ashamed. It’s not like this is my fault, it’s not like I asked Erik to do it. But for some reason, I feel like I’m to blame.
“This is, like, criminal-level harassment,” she says. “Didn’t you go to the police or something?”
I shake my head. “David and I tried to pick them all up. I thought we got them all, but…” I trail off.
“Guess not.” She shakes her head. “Sweetie, I’m serious. We have to do something about this. If Erik’s harassing you, doing shit like this, we can’t let him get away with it.”
“I know. David’s trying to help.”
“Can’t he, like, kick the kid off the football team?”
I feel my hand start to shake. I have to put the glass down on the counter and steady myself against it. “He went to the head coach, but they… didn’t do anything. I guess they pretty much told him that they’re not going to punish Erik at all because he’s too valuable or something.”
“Fuck that,” Sara says. “Are you kidding me?”
“That’s what David said. He’s pretty upset about it too.”
“Then he should quit,” she says.
