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“Fuck,” he groans, slowly pulling back. I look back over my shoulder, thinking that he’s done, but I’m wrong; he starts stroking himself, thick ropes of semen flying straight onto my back and crisscrossing over my skin. I let him cover my body with his seed and only when he’s done do I allow myself to collapse on the bed. Falling with my stomach down on the mattress, I let out a tired sigh.
What in the world just happened? I thought Danny was a man, not a god… But the way he handles himself and his cock tells me otherwise. He has the assets, and he has the skills. It doesn’t matter if he’s inside the field or inside the bedroom; the man is a born killer. It’s almost weird to think back to how charming he was back in the restaurant. Judging by the way he fucked me, you’d say he’d be more at ease among a pack of Vikings than in an upscale restaurant.
“That was amazing,” he whispers, lying down by my side. I open my eyes just to look at him, and there’s an easy smile on his lips. He looks handsome right now, his short hair plastered to his head from all the sweat covering his body. He really took it seriously when I told him to fuck me as hard as he could.
“It was way more than amazing,” I whisper back at him, making the effort to bridge the distance between our mouths just to feel his lips once more.
We stay like that for what seems like an eternity, just looking into each other’s eyes. There’s an afterglow to both of us and, by God, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good—and happy—ever before.
Danny Manning, the man who came crashing into my life. Literally.
57
Danny
Fuck, why the hell am I sore? I think to myself as the morning sun tumbles inside the room, making its way past the curtains and hitting me straight in the face. I sit up on the bed, kicking the sheets back, and I start smelling something … Eggs. What the hell?
Fiona, her name lights up in my mind like a neon sign, and the memories of last night flood me all at once. No wonder I’m sore today; I really gave it my all with her. It’s kinda ironic, really. I usually don’t wake up this sore after a tough game. Bruised and battered, sure, but not sore. That girl really is something else …
I even showered with her; can you believe that? Yeah, shampooed her hair and shit like that. And it felt fucking amazing. I have a feeling that if I keep her around much longer that stuff like that is going to happen more often. Fuck, I hope I don’t end up like these idiots.
I swing my legs out of the bed and go up to my feet, stretching. My back pops as I do it, like it does every morning, and I walk out of the room only in my boxer briefs. I head downstairs, following the smell of scrambled eggs and fried bacon, and Fiona doesn’t even notice me coming up behind her.
She’s standing in the kitchen, barefoot and wearing only her thong and my button-up shirt from last night. On her, it looks more like a dress than a shirt.
“‘G’morning,” I say, resting my hands on her hips and pressing my body against hers. I lay one kiss on her neck and she turns to me with an easy smile.
“G’morning,” she repeats with a purr, leaning in and softly brushing her lips against mine. Just tasting her mouth is enough for my cock to come back to life, and she notices it right away. “What’s this?” she asks me, sliding one hand down my stomach and curling her fingers around my growing shaft.
“No idea, ma’am.”
“Concealed carry? You gotta have a license for that, Mr. Manning,” she teases me, tightening her fingers around my cock. Fuck, I’ve been awake for only a few minutes and I’m already dying to be inside of her again. Every time I spend a night with a woman I usually kick them out the moment I wake up.
“I don’t have a license. But I can take my gun out, if that’s what you want,” I tell her, pulling her into me and pressing my lips on hers.
“Maybe,” she whispers, but then my toaster goes off with a ding! New item on my to-do list: throw that toaster out the window. “But breakfast first.”
“You can be my breakfast,” I say, helping her take the bacon out of the frying pan and placing it on the plate with the eggs.
“I think your coach would kill me if you left home with an empty stomach,” she laughs, sitting on the stools by the side of the counter. I sit across her, taking a distracted bite out of a piece of toast as my eyes wander to her breasts. The shirt she has on is too big for her and the top buttons are undone, so I have a nice view of the upper curves of her breasts. I have no idea how I’m going to eat with her looking like this in front of me.
“You know, this is the first time I’m having breakfast like this,” I say, having no idea about why I’m telling her this.
“And by ‘like this’ you mean…?”
“I usually don’t hang around women after fucking them,” I tell her bluntly. Sometimes it’s better to not be a pussy and just call things by their names.
“Uh, I’ll take it as a good sign the fact that you still haven’t kicked me out,” she says with a soft smile. Somehow she knows I won’t do that. Fuck, just look at her; what a change. When she got to the restaurant yesterday she was so nervous I actually thought she might pass out; and now here she is, having breakfast in my kitchen as if she owns the place. She’s a box full of surprises, that’s for sure.
“I might change my mind, you know,” I shoot back at her, but she remains unfazed. She thinks she has me hooked, and fuck, I think I really am hooked.
“That’d be a shame. Last night was really great,” she takes a bite out of her toast, acting so casually it almost seems like she has guys like me banging on her door. I mean, she deserves it, but I seriously doubt there are enough real men to go around.
“It was,” I agree, thinking back to how amazing it felt to have her naked body pressed against mine. “And I can’t wait to repeat it.”
“Well, if you want more of me, you better win your next game.” What’s this? Is she bribing me with sex? I like this;
I like a lot. We’re playing the Chicago Pounders next Sunday and, after what Fiona just said, they don’t have a chance. They’re to be steamrolled, even if I have to do it just by myself.
