Offense & Defense: A MMF Sports Romance Read online

  I kiss all the way down his body and run my tongue up and down Barry’s shaft. I take the tip of his cock in my mouth and watch his eyes roll back in his head.

  When I met him yesterday at the bar, Barry was your typical alpha male. He thought he was bad. He told me about his motorcycle. He angled himself so I could see his profile. His massive body. He told me how he was a CEO for some financial services firm.

  Then he asked me what I did.

  I told him I owned a football team.

  That’s when he realized who and what I was.

  By the time we fucked, he knew who was boss.

  Barry’s hard now. It didn't take too long at all. Just a quick simple few licks up and down his shaft as my hands cupped his balls. I run my tongue up and down the tip of his cock before taking the head in my mouth.

  “Oh fuck, Julianna,” he moans as I lift my face and move my body up, coming up to him and angling my pussy on top of his dick.

  Julianna. Not ‘baby’ or ‘babe’.

  Damn right, he better call me by my name. Tell me who’s boss now, bitch. I slide his dick into me and gasp. It fills me up and he moans out loud. I’m silent and I start pumping myself on him. Fuck, it feels good to fuck.

  I love sex. I love having sex. And I love loving to have sex. As long as someone isn’t trying to steal someone else’s significant other, I think people should have as much sex as they want. And God help any man that tries to tell me that I need to be pure and virginal because that’s a woman’s place in society. Fucking men have been going around fucking everything forever. No one calls them sluts. No one shames them. I swear whenever someone ever tries that with me, I destroy them. It’s happened before. It’ll happen again.

  Barry takes his hands and grabs my ass. Good. I like my ass getting squeezed. I bite my lip and shuck myself on his pole a few more times. I bring my hand to my breast and start twisting my left nipple.

  God, that’s good. I close my eyes and focus on the pleasure, taking one of Barry’s hands and placing it on my other breast.

  Barry’s breathing heavy, but I’m about there. I speed up my thrusts on Barry.

  Barry tries to get up and get me on my back, but I open my eyes and make sure my hand pushes him back down.

  “No way, hon,” I tell him. “I’m late for work this morning already. So, me first.”

  The look of resigned defeat in his eyes does something for me. I don’t know what. This normal alpha male. Made submissive by my body. My pussy taming his cock. He’s never going to look at another girl the same way. But I’ll be done with him after this morning.

  Just his subservient eyes are enough to push me over the edge. I close my eyes as my orgasm washes over me. I feel the tightening of my pussy as it clenches around his cock and the explosions go off across my body. I’m hot and then I’m cold and all of a sudden I’m floating in a sea of bliss. It crests over me and I feel tiny pinpricks of fire from every pore until my mind goes completely blank.

  When I open my eyes, I’m breathing heaving and a trickle of sweat is coursing down by boobs. I look at him and give a few final up and down strokes with my body before getting off of him. He’s lying there, looking at me.

  I get out of bed and walk to the shower.

  “Hey,” he calls out. “What about me?”

  Crap. This is the part I always hate. Not because of what I’m about to say. But because he’s going to be so damn childish about it.

  I turn around.

  “Sorry, hon,” I say, trying to act sympathetic. “I have an early morning meeting; can you take care of it yourself?”

  “You what?” he asks, incredulous.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m in a rush, but if your feelings are hurt, I can say I have a headache, or whatever,” I reply, not really talking to him anymore but walking to the intercom next to my bed. I push it and the building concierge comes on the speaker. Because I live in the penthouse, I have a dedicated concierge downstairs in reception. That’s luxury in New York City for you.

  “Sammy,” I say into the speaker, “Can you please call me an Uber? Maybe have it here in ten minutes?” I ask.

  “Sure thing, Ms. H!” Sammy says into the speaker.

  I hang up and turn to Barry. He’s looking at me like I smacked him with a dead fish.

  “The car’s on its way,” I tell him. “I’ll give you a call when I’m free, okay?”

  I head to bed quickly and give him a quick kiss on the lips.

  “It was nice to meet you, Barry,” I say and get off the bed heading to the shower.

  The last thing I hear as I walk into my shower is Barry saying, as if in a daze, “It’s Bill.”

  Fuck. I should have gone with my gut. But I shrug.

  Plenty of fish in the sea.

  An hour later my limo pulls up to the Meadowlands stadium and offices of the New York Nailers. It’s 8 am. I’m half an hour late and not happy.

  For one, I usually spend the first half hour of the day from 7:30 am to 8 am centering myself for the day ahead.

  But the bigger reason is that I’m going to have a meeting at 8 am with the head coach for the Nailers. Coach Karl.

  The man who replaced my father.

  That’s right. My father who gave thirty years of his life coaching the New York Nailers in some capacity or another. Who started from the bottom and eventually became Head Coach. And at the twilight of his career who was replaced by his best friend, Karl Stoffer. Who died watching his team going to the Super Bowl that same year. The same coach who never had a Super Bowl title and then built the greatest team in his career only to see his dreams snatched away from him.

  So what did his daughter do?

  When she grew old enough, and wealthy enough, she bought the team.

  I didn’t fire Coach Karl. I wanted to slowly torture him, day by day. For now, that meant putting up with him. But I wasn't going to make life easy for the fucker either.

  I call my secretary, Trudy, and tell her to move my meeting with Coach Karl to later on in the day. I don’t care when she tells me that the Coach is waiting outside my office or that he came in early from home just for this meeting that I insisted be in the morning.

  I don’t value his time.

  I don’t value him.

  Instead, I decide to plow into some work for the next three hours until the most exciting set of meetings that I have that day.

  A face to face sit down with Colt Stackford and then Ethan Blake.

  I can’t wait.

  I thought 11:30 am couldn't get here soon enough, but all of a sudden I’m sitting across a desk from Colt Stackford.

  The man has the smirk that’s driving me insane.

  I just had sex this morning. But then, why am I salivating over his Greek god body, that fills out his Armani tailored suit?

  I take a moment to look him up and down. He's got a handsome, to die for face. Blonde hair that’s perfectly coiffed. His jaw is chiseled and his face is lean. Hungry. His eyes are icy blue and deep. They hold something dark. That face sits on top of an elegant neck and one of the most fantastic specimens of human male I have ever seen. Shoulders so broad that they could stop a truck. A chest that you can tell has pecs the size of wooden boards. Washboard abs. A tall, 6 foot 4-inch sculpture of perfection. With a bulge in his trousers that hints at a package sends tingles to my pussy

  That’s right. I may want to fuck him. Or not. But it’s my decision. And right now, I am definitely leaning for fucking his brains out.

  Control yourself, Julianna! I tell myself as I get up and walk around my desk.

  “We both know that I’m going to be the most valuable asset this team has, Ms. Heaton,” he says to me, smirking again.

  So fucking full of himself. So cocky.

  “I don’t fucking care, Colt,” I say sternly. All of a sudden, it’s like I poured ice water down his shirt. He starts and looks up at me.

  “The New York Nailers only have a salary cap for one of you fuck-ups,” I say swe
etly. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to choose between you and Ethan Blake.”

  Colt’s silent. I doubt he’s ever been this quiet for this long in his life.

  “Now tell me, if I only have $30 million dollars in my salary cap and you and Ethan both cost me $40 million together, I’m in a bit of trouble, aren’t I?” I ask, sitting against my desk, just six inches from his marvelous body.

  I’m wearing a black pencil skirt and a purple silk blouse. I have on my pearls and my gold hoop earrings. And my heels. My six-inch black heels.

  I like to dress sexy for work. From my thong to my blouse - everything is there to accentuate my curves. My tits. My ass. My legs. My entire body.

  And it works now on Colt, as he stands up and walks to me.

  “You’ll pick me,” he says softly, taking two steps closer.

  My heart rate starts to increase with each step he takes closer to me. I can smell him. His musk. It’s cologne. And sweat. And man.

  My brain starts to feel intoxicated as I stand up to meet him.

  “You think you can tell me what to do?” I ask, my eyes flashing at him. I wonder if he truly can.

  “I can tell anyone what to do,” he says. Innuendo is running wild between us. “I’m Colt fucking Stackford. QB1 for the NFL.”

  “That doesn’t mean shit to me, hon,” I say with a smile. If that’s the most he’s got, then he’s got another thing coming.

  And that’s when he surprises me.

  “It’s Colt,” he says. “Not ‘hon’”.

  He’s an inch away from me. “And it doesn't mean anything to you because you’ve never been to a rodeo like this, babe.”

  My nostrils flare. It’s not even lunch time and my panties are fucking wet. But I like the dance.

  “It’s Julianna,” I say. “Not ‘babe’”.

  He smiles at me. His perfect teeth flash as he lowers his head. I want him to kiss me. Fuck, I could take him on this desk right now.

  His face is centimeters from mine. My eyelids start to droop.

  And that’s when the buzzer to my phone rings and Trudy’s voice comes on.

  “Ms. Heaton, Ethan Blake is here for your 11:45 meeting.”

  Fuck.

  I should have given the both of them more than 15 minutes each for their meetings.

  Colt senses that the moment’s gone as well and he pulls away. He looks at me as he takes a few steps back and starts walking to the door. “I’ll be waiting for your decision, Ms. Heaton,” he says, and I wonder which decision he’s referring to. “I’m a patient man.”

  “I’ll be watching you,” I say, my blood rushing to my brain. “Let’s hope you don’t disappoint me.”

  He smirks and turns around. I look at his perfect ass as he opens the door and heads out.

  I sigh. I need to cool myself down. I try to clear my head and look out the window towards the stadium. My stadium.

  That’s when the doorway darkens and I turn to see dark brown hair on a ruggedly handsome, outdoorsman of a face. With slight dimples, deep brown, soulful eyes. And the most gorgeous frame I’ve ever seen.

  Ethan Blake.

  Fuck.

  This decision is going to be hard.

  4

  Ethan

  I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore than I already did. Boy, was I wrong. Only, this time, Colt Stackford got me kicked out from the Dallas Devils and shipped away to the New York Nailers. I had a clear path towards the Super Bowl before this, but now… Now we’re both headed for a team going through major changes.

  Honestly, this whole thing feels a whole lot like losing. And if there’s anything that I hate more than losing, it’s losing because of Colt.

  Sure, I ran my mouth more than I should have on that television show, back on the SportsNation studio, but what else could I do? Sit there in silence as if I was Colt’s goddamn sidekick? Yeah, I guess that’s what he would have liked me to do. Fuck that - I wasn’t going to let him take credit for what me and the rest of the team did. Sure, he might be the best QB in the whole league, but that doesn’t mean he wins games by himself. I’d like to see him try and take his foolish risks on offense if I wasn’t running the whole damn defense.

  Well, fuck it. The Dallas Devils are part of the past now, anyway. There’s nothing else for me to do than to look forward and make the best of my situation now. The NY Nailers are the future and, if it’s up to me, they’re going to pull through. In fact, if I have anything to do about it, we’re still contenders for the Super Bowl. See that? It’s called staying positive You learn that growing up around the Stackford family. Especially Colt.

  As far as I’m concerned, Colt should be shitting his pants now. There’s only space in the team for one of us, and he doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against me. He might be one of the best QBs I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean he’s the best player. That idiot cares more about women and booze than keeping his head on the game - talent will only take him so far. That’s the one constant about the Nationwide Football League that’s gotten me as far as it has so far. Hard work pays off. While he’s busy partying his life away and trying to score as much pussy as he can, I’m busy grinding away and improving my game.

  See, for me, it’s all about the game. I don’t care about money, fame, women or whatever. Those things are nice, sure, but what I really care about is winning. Everything else is just a bonus. If the Nailers’ new owner has half a brain, she’ll make the right decision and keep me on the team.

  It’s that mindset that makes me park my car inside the Nailers stadium - my new home - and make my way towards the main offices with a smile on my face. I take an elevator and stroll into the administrative floor, making a beeline towards the young secretary sitting behind a desk too large for her. She tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, her eyes widening as she sees me enter the room.

  I can almost hear the lewd thoughts cruising inside her head. Almost too shamelessly, she looks me up and down; licking her lips in an unconscious way, she straightens her back and smiles, desire making her pupils larger. It seems that I can’t walk inside a room without having every single woman there mentally undressing me.

  I’m used to it by now, though. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love women as much as Colt does - I just don’t need to make a goddamn fuss about it. I like to keep things quiet. It’s better for the girl too. So when she finds out that I’ll never love her like I love the game, it’s a lot easier for her to move on without making a scene. The last thing I need in my life is to become tabloid fodder.

  “I’m here for the meeting with the owner,” I tell the receptionist, smiling as politely as I can.

  “Uhm - yes, yes. The 11:45 meeting,” she mutters, her eyes never leaving mine. She picks up her desk phone and, pressing a button, talks into it. “Ms. Heaton, Ethan Blake is here for your 11:45 meeting.” Someone on the other side of the line replies and, with an exaggerated smile, she tells me that Ms. Heaton will see me in a moment.

  “Thank you,” I nod slightly, adjusting the cuffs on my tailored Hugo Boss suit. Be sharp, look sharp - that’s my motto. I really don’t care about the office politics that happen behind the scenes, and I’m not dumb enough to get side-lined because of it. If making a good first impression helps, so be it.

  I don’t have to wait long - only one minute after the secretary’s call, the door to Heaton’s office swings open. A sixth sense turns my head by instinct, and I realize that a particular someone had already met with the owner.

  “Oh, you actually bothered to show up,” Colt tells me with a smirk. My hand curls into a first and I have to restrain myself so that I don’t knock him out again. “You don’t stand a chance here, buddy,” he scoffs at me, patting me on the chest. “You should start looking for a new team, you know?”

  I look at him with raw, seething hatred.

  He smirks. “Hear water boy spot is still open though, if you want it,” he says.

  “Oh, you
’re in for a surprise, Colt,” I say with a smile. “If I were you, I’d start packing.” I walk past him and that obnoxious grin of his. As usual, the bastard thinks he can stroll in here and own the whole fucking joint with his bravado. I always hated that arrogance of his.

  Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Colt has no idea about the hard work necessary to get to the top. Oh, I’m not badmouthing him - I know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve known him for a long, long time…

  My dad worked for Colt’s father, on his ranch, so we go way back. We even started playing football at around the same time. And, as if being born with more money than he could comprehend wasn’t bad enough, Colt was also a football prodigy. The moment I saw him on the field, his eyes scanning the turf as he prepared to throw the ball, I knew he was born to be a quarterback.

  That was in 6th grade.

  I never had anything handed to me like that. My parents worked all their life, making just enough to pay the mortgage and put food on the table. And, unlike Colt, I wasn’t a natural on the field. I was awkward and clumsy, and that made me the butt of Colt’s jokes whenever he crushed me on the scrimmage.

  I worked harder than everyone else, combined. I woke up at 5 am and lifted weights and then went running. And soon enough, little Colt was losing in the scrimmages.

  But that’s what made me fall in love with football - the game doesn’t lie or cheat; it doesn’t care if you’re poor or rich. If you’re good enough, you win. If you work harder than everyone else, you win. That’s it. And back then, Colt was better and deserved to win… I accepted that. What he didn’t know was that I became obsessed with winning.

  Colt was a quarterback, so it was only natural that I gravitated towards being a QB’s nemesis - the defensive end. I trained every hour that I could, I watched plays on the Internet until I could decode them. Hell, I even dreamt of football.

  And I learned that my success scared Colt. On and off the field.

  “Why are you always trying to do better than me?” Colt asked during recess one day as a bunch of us tossed around the football.