Rivals, page 31
I snicker as I glance down at my still throbbing-hard cock, out and proudly standing tall from my unzipped jeans.
I’ve literally never had a problem getting hard before. But shit am I hard as fucking stone right now. And all it took in order to get the picture I wanted to send her was a quick flashback to the night before. All it took was picturing that tight little body riding me, the taste of her sweet pussy still on my tongue as I wrapped my lips around a puffy little pink nipple. The feeling of her supple, curvy and tight ass gripped tight in my large hands and her whimpering moans pouring like honey in my ears.
I mean, fuck, that got me so hard in roughly one second that I couldn’t not take it out and snap a picture of it for her, however juvenile a move.
And here I am, still hard as a fucking iron bar as I relive the night before in flashes. Part of me knows I need to let this shit go. I mean, I just told her I’m going to sign, which means London Jacobs is officially off-limits in a major way. Part of me rolls its eyes at the rest of me, knowing it was just a one-night thing like the hundreds I’ve had before.
Nothing special, nothing groundbreaking. Just a willing girl, a bunch of drinks, and another notch on the bedpost.
Nothing else.
I frown in the darkness of my living room, mulling the thought over in my alcohol-fueled thoughts.
Yeah, I’ve had plenty of one-night things with plenty of other girls. And it’s the same dance every time: drinks, me flashing that grin that’s dropped panties for me ever since I can remember, some more drinks, a lingering touch, a kiss or two, and bam - she’s on her back on my bed with her legs spread, begging me to fuck her however I want.
This one played out different, and I think that’s why it’s sticking in my head. This time around, there was no slack-jawed, starry-eyed girl with her mouth practically hanging open for me.
With London, shit was different, and I know it.
She met me head-to-head with that whole back and forth dance. She gave the attitude and sass back as good as I laid it on her, and she didn’t take a bit of my bullshit. Sure, it ended the same way, with my cock driving inside her slick pussy, but it’s the lead-up that felt like nothing else.
Hell, who am I kidding, it’s the everything that felt like nothing else.
It was the perfect synchronicity, the ease in which we fit together, the knowing I’d had to work for it with her.
Hell, it was the cold, all-business shoulder afterwards. It’s the fact that here I am hours later with my fucking dick out, texting her like a tool.
And fuck-all if I can help it.
I eye my still-hard cock, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m reaching down in the darkness and wrapping my hand around the base of it.
Fuck yeah.
I growl, hissing as I slowly bring my hand up and down the throbbing shaft, my lower ab muscles clenching as I stroke. And in my head, all I’m doing is replaying the previous night.
And there’s no stopping this.
Whipping my t-shirt off, I groan as I sink back on my couch, reaching down to hook my jeans a little further down and pull my balls from the confines of my boxers as well. I lay back on the couch, grunting as I stroke my cock with one hand and roll my balls in the other.
“I’m not completely safe yet. It's still a long walk to my bed."
I close my eyes, picturing the look on her face as I pulled the clothes from her tight little body. I groan as I stroke my dick, replaying her soft, gasping moans as my tongue found her center and as her hands clawed at my hair.
I’m throbbing in my hands as I remember her perfect tits bouncing slightly as she rode me up and down, clinging and gripping to every inch of me as I fucked her deep.
I can feel the blood roaring like fire in my ears as I remember the way her legs clamped around me, pulling me in, begging me to go harder and deeper and faster before shattering for me. I can feel my whole body tense, every muscle from my arms to my chest to my abs clenching as I remember her face when I emptied inside of her.
Her face as she came, holding me like she might blow away.
I loudly roar in the empty darkness of my living room as my balls jump and my cock throbs in my stroking hand. Every muscle clenches as the cum pumps from the tip, coating my hand and dripping hot across my abs.
I gasp, finding my breath as I slow and then stop my stroking hand.
What the fuck.
I shake my head and groan out a chuckle as I let my head drop back to the sofa again.
I just left three hot, willing girls to come home and jerk off alone in the darkness to the memory of a one-night-stand. To the memory of a girl I fucked once.
…Who might be my new boss’s daughter.
What the fuck is happening to me?
17
London
“So, we got him.”
My dad looks sharply up to see me standing in the doorway to his office.
“Hey, hotshot!” He grins broadly, but as he jolts up from his desk, his face sours as he grimaces and suddenly grabs at his shoulder.
“Whoa! Easy, Dad!” I’m across his office in a second, helping him ease back into his chair as he waves me off.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, honey.”
I scowl at him. “Are you taking your meds?”
“Jeez, what are you, my damn nurse?”
“Yeah, I am.”
He grins and chuckles, shaking his head as he gestures to the chair across the desk from him.
“Sit.”
“Dad,” I furrow my brow at him. “Meds?”
“Oh relax, I’m takin’ em!”
He holds up an orange plastic prescription bottle from the desk and shakes it dramatically as he rolls his eyes. After a little scare and some stern words from his doctor concerning his cholesterol levels, Dad’s been on some new medication, which he hates.
Of course, I think he hates the fact that his doctors cut him off from barbecue more than whatever pills he has to swallow.
“Honey, I just stood up too fast after eating is all,” he mutters.
“Yeah? What’d you eat, Dad?”
Historically, my father’s office-breakfasts contain no less than three servings of bacon, an inhuman amount of cheese, and something fried.
He makes a face. “Had one of them green smoothies you keep pushing on me.”
I grin. “That’s good!”
“Taste like a horse’s asshole.”
I snort a laugh as my dad grins.
“Or so I’ve heard,” he says with another grin. “So, what’s the update, hotshot?”
I sit back in the chair across the desk from him as he steeples his fingers.
“Well, we got him.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Signed?”
I shake my head. “No, not yet. He’s going to though.”
“How much?”
I make a wincing face and my dad groans.
“This is going to cost us a damn fortune, isn’t it.”
I nod slowly, grabbing my coffee off his desk.
“Yeah, well, we knew that.”
Dad mutters, looking to his computer screen and clicking around before he swears under his breath.
“Hell, London, I don’t know about this.”
“Dad, I didn’t know about this, but you sent me after him.”
To scout and recruit him, not sleep with him.
I quickly sip my still-hot coffee to wash the blush from my face.
“London, you gave him the very top limit of our budget.”
I shrug, shaking my head. “Dad, that’s how we’re going to get him. That’s probably the only way we’re going to get him.”
Not because I slept with him, I think quickly. No, that has no bearing on why he’s decided to come to the Bulls.
“We didn’t get him yet; he hasn’t officially signed anything.”
I wave my hand. “He’s in, trust me. He’ll sign. It’ll all work out.”
Dad sits back in his chair and looks at me. “And how do you know that?”
“I’ve got a good feeling.”
Dad laughs heartily and I frown.
“What?”
He chuckles. “You’re not a feelings type of gal, London.” He eyes me. “You do facts and figures and you ignore those ‘little feelings’ you always make fun of me for having.”
I start to protest but he shakes his head.
“No-no, that’s why you’re so damn good at this job. You don’t let the ‘feelings’ get in the way of hard numbers.”
I look at my coffee. “Well, this one’s different.”
“London,” Dad sighs. “We can’t afford him.”
“We can. It’s tight, but we can.”
He shakes his head, wincing as he glances back at his computer screen.
“I don’t know about this, honey.”
He turns to look at me again, but a flicker of pain crosses his face.
“Dad?!” I’m standing abruptly but he shakes his head, waving me off.
“Nah, it’s okay, honey.” He opens a desk drawer and pulls out bottle of antacids. “This whole preseason is giving me a goddamn ulcer is all.” He looks up at me wryly.
“Look, if you’re sure about this, I trust you. Let’s make it happen.”
I stand and move behind his desk, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head.
“I swear, this is going to work out, Dad. I’ve got it under control.”
Like you had it under control when you let hormones and alcohol get the better of you and practically dragged Holden into your hotel room?
My dad smiles and pats my arm. I glance up and furrow my brow at the myriad of news site windows open on his computer screen – most, if not all, of them plastered with Holden’s face and name.
One in particular - a particularly gruesome news photo of a tricked-out pickup truck wrapped around a tree - catches my eye.
“What’s that?”
Dad shakes his head. “That’s the reason your golden boy went off the rails last season, if I were to bet.”
I frown as I peer closer at the first few lines of the article beneath the horrible crash picture.
“Brandon Mills,” Dad says. “Rattlesnakes wide receiver and a damn good one too.” He sighs.
“He was out partying it up last season and decided to drive himself home.” He shakes his head at the pictures. “A goddamn waste of good talent.”
I cringe a little more at the picture of shattered glass and twisted steel.
“He and Holden were close, apparently. Actually, story is they were at the same party and our guy dodged a bullet by missing a ride home with Brandon here.”
I’m suddenly remembering the things I said to him in that first meeting.
“I had a lot of shit going on.”
“Busy social life or not, you still played an awful season.”
The thought makes me cringe at my own insensitivity, not to mention the fact that I should have known that walking in there.
Dad clicks onto another window, and suddenly a whole new crop of pictures pop up with Holden all over them.
Holden and a lot of different girls.
“Oh.” Dad glances up and sees the frown on my face. He waves a hand at the screen. “And that’s our new boy’s track record.”
He shakes his head. “He doesn’t come clean, that’s for damn sure.”
“Yeah, well we know-” I trail off as I start to read the headlines and start seeing a dizzying array of pictures.
Holden shirtless with bottles of booze in both hands, a grin on his face. Holden with girls hanging off his arms, or touching him, or laughing in bikinis on some yacht while he sprays champagne everywhere.
The one with his arms around two girls, both kissing his cheeks with their hands dangerously low on his bare abs.
I narrow my eyes, feeling my teeth clench and a fiery feeling rising in my stomach.
Oh don’t be ridiculous. What are you, jealous?
I growl to myself, thinking about what happened in Denver.
Great, I’m just like every other star-fucking groupie trying to bang a famous football guy.
“Anyway, if you think he’s worth it.”
I’m trying to swallow the tightness in my throat when my dad’s words shake me from my thoughts.
I scowl.
“Well, he’s not that good,” I mutter.
Dad chuckles. “Hey, you don’t have to play hard ball with me London, you already sold me on ‘im.”
I glare at the screen again, trying not to feel like a silly little idiot for being jealous of the notorious man-whore I had a no-strings-attached one-night-fling with.
Dad shrugs. “Well, let’s get him down here for a visit. We’ll show him around, seal it, and nail down this contract.”
I say nothing as my dad pats my arm and turns back to his work.
“He could be what this team needs, London.”
Well he’s certainly not what I need…
As I go about my work for the day, I say it again to myself about half a dozen times.
Just to be sure.
18
Holden
A week after my dinner with London, I’m touching down in Houston.
After signing autographs for the whole cabin crew and both captains, Randy and I finally exit the plane.
“Look, just play it cool, okay?”
Randy’s fiddling with his suitcase handle as we make our way up the gangway to go meet Archie Jacobs.
“He’s old school, Holden. ‘Yes sir’, ‘no sir’, and all that shit. Show a little respect, and this’ll go a lot smoother, alright?”
I roll my eyes as I turn and stop him. “Randy, I’m not going to my first fucking prom here, alright? This isn’t a date.”
I start to look away and continue on up the gangway but he scowls as he grabs my arm and pokes a finger at my chest.
“Speaking of dates and of you being goddamn respectful…” He narrows his eyes at me. “You’ve been awfully fucking cagey about your little dinner date with Archie’s daughter, you know.”
I cough and shrug as casually as I possibly can.
“Cagey?” I roll my eyes again, patting Randy on the shoulder. “You’re dreaming shit up, man. It was just a dinner.”
“It’s never just a dinner when it’s you and some chick.”
I sigh, forcing the repeat daydreams I’ve been having for the last week of London Jacobs’s flawless, nude body riding my cock out of my head and hoping the semi in my pants goes away before I step foot out of the gangway.
“Randy, buddy,” I shrug again. “Nothing happened. And besides, she’s not ‘some chick’, she’s my new boss, remember?”
“Yeah, that would be my point,” Randy says pointedly, arching a brow at me. “I know you, Holden.”
“Nothing happened, alright?” I turn before Randy can grill me anymore and make my way up the gangway.
Time to face the music and see the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my fucking head for the last week.
There’s a whole welcoming committee waiting outside the arrivals gate for us. Out front is Archie Jacobs himself in a pinstripe, three-piece suit and a ten-gallon hat on his head - every inch the old-school Texan he’s supposed to be. Hell, if not for airport security kicking him out for it, he’d probably have a cigar in his mouth and a six-shooter tucked into his pants.
Behind him is a whole gang of other guys in suits - most likely lawyers, team managers, and probably a board member or two.
Hey, no pressure, right?
But I’m only skimming over them before my eyes suddenly land on the blue-eyed, auburn-haired girl standing coolly and almost sullenly behind them all.
Fuck, she looks good.
I don’t want her to look good. I want her to have somehow gotten atrociously unattractive in the last week - maybe been afflicted by some sort of skin disorder or something.
No such luck. Because London Jacobs looks fucking good.
Archie is sticking his hand out, and I’m gripping it and shaking it, I think. But I’m hardly concentrating on what he’s saying, or even on the words coming out of my own mouth, because she’s right there, holding my gaze and commanding all of my goddamn attention.
Shit, this isn’t good.
That cowgirl hat is back on her head, and she's wearing a low-cut, V-neck blouse, tight black pants that make her ass look mouthwateringly good, and a huge, smug grin on her face.
She dressed up for this; she dressed up for me.
I like that.
I like that she looks fucking good, and I like that she did it for me, even if it’s most likely just to tease.
I’m going around the group, mechanically shaking hands and smiling at the more eager guys who’re “super stoked” I’m considering the Bulls. But then I get to London, and there’s a moment where we both just freeze - neither of us knowing how or when to put our hands out.
Hell, the last time we touched, it was my teeth on her neck, my hands on her ass, and my cock balls deep in that sweet pussy as she came like a hurricane.
…It’s a stark contrast to a shaken hand at a business introduction in the middle of an airport.
She puts her hand out first, suddenly forcing a smile to her face. My hand slides into hers, and there’s one more frozen second where we both lock eyes - the lingering electricity from our previous encounter sizzling through that touch.
But London only shakes my hand formally and quickly before she yanks her hand back, her fingers curling as the hand drops to her side.
“Well, son,” Archie pats me on the shoulder, beaming that big Texan smile at me.
“Let’s show you the stadium, shall we?”
We ride in different cars back to the stadium.
I get the distinct impression that it’s no accident.
On the way over, I chat with some of the suits, talking stats and records and season predictions. I’m usually great with “shop talk” like this, especially in a group of guys who’re all looking up at me like I’m the alpha dog in the room. Shit, I’m in my damn element in situations like that.
