Blitzed by the Brit: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (18 page)

“My dad didn’t give us privacy so we could load the dishwasher,” I reply. I stand behind her, and scoop up her huge breasts in my hands, giving them a gentle squeeze as I kiss her on the neck.

“You have to be kidding. I’m the size of a whale.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while. Besides, you know the saying in England—any hole’s a goal.”

“Well, when you put it like that….”

She kisses me and my mind flashes back to the first time I kissed her in the library. A lot’s changed since then, and all for the better.

I don’t have a crush on her anymore; I’m in love with her instead.

I don’t have one child; I have two with a third on the way.

I still can’t cook shepherd’s pies, but I do a mean fish and chips.

T
HE END

S
orry Kristi
, I can’t make it. You’re on your own.

A wave of panic washed over me as I stood outside the client’s building and read the message from my boss. I was on my own? The only thing I’d done on my own since starting my internship at Goodson, Mitchell, & Price was make the coffee, and everyone had bitched about that.

There’s too much milk.

There’s not enough milk.

I said two teaspoons of sugar, not one.

Leona didn’t even trust interns to take proper notes in meetings, so she always had at least two of us doing it. “That way if one of you fucks up, hopefully the other will have picked up the slack.”

Did I mention how much I was enjoying my summer? At this rate, I couldn’t wait for my final year of college to start. Working sounded great when you were studying for exams at two in the morning, but in reality… yeah, the real world kind of sucked.

I typed out a panicked reply to Leona’s email. If it was possible to hear terror through typed words, then I felt sure my email had that in spades.

Maybe we should call off the meeting and do it another day? I’m not qualified to handle such an important client by myself
.

After all, clients didn’t come much more important than Barton Fenner. A first round draft pick, and hotly tipped to be a star quarterback for the next ten years. Plus the media loved him; mainly because he generated headlines. Not always positive headlines, but headlines none the less.

Barton’s agent hired my firm to look after him, and I’d been put on the team. We’d hoped for an easy beginning; Barton wasn’t supposed to be in the first team at all this year, but then, well, the phrase ‘shit hit the fan’ springs to mind.

The team’s first choice quarterback, Milton Pattern, picked up an injury in training and ruled himself out until Christmas. Barton was now the team’s first choice quarterback, and tonight he was celebrating his promotion in the only way he knew how.

I didn’t know jack shit about football, but if Barton was half as entertaining on the field as he was at parties, then he would earn his inflated salary.

Pictures of Barton appeared on social media within minutes of the party kicking off. The pictures were innocent enough at first, but he started getting visibly more and more wasted. The more he drunk, the more skin he showed. The same could also be said of the bimbos draped over him.

Leona had called me on my cell while I’d been sat at home in my pajamas watching television. She insisted we get to the party as soon as possible. An “emergency” as she described it, although I doubted it quite qualified for flashing red and blue light and siren treatment.

I made it to Barton’s apartment within twenty minutes of Leona’s call, but then she had bailed, and left me standing outside by myself. An intern, in charge of the ‘new hotness.’ All I had to do was stop him making an ass of himself at his party. I was basically his babysitter.

A reply from Leona came through.

You’ll have to handle it. We don’t have a choice. Just keep the cameras off him if possible. I have every faith in you.

Oh
now
she had faith in me. This morning, she’d asked me to tell her the time, and then double-checked my answer.

At least I had a chance to prove myself. That was the main goal of this internship. That, and not fucking up. One of those was likely to happen tonight.

I took a deep breath and counted to ten, before stepping through the front entrance of Barton’s apartment building in downtown San Francisco. The building was unremarkable; I’d walked past it hundreds of times before without giving it a second thought. Now, it was intimidating. This was the building in which Barton Fenner lived and partied. The value of properties here was about to go through the roof.

I walked to the elevator confidently, trying to look like I belonged, and pressed the button for the top floor. I pulled out my phone and looked through the photos on Twitter. In just the last ten minutes, ten new photos had popped up under the hashtag #BartonMVP.

In the latest picture, he had lipstick marks on his cheeks. Give it another hour and he’d have lipstick on other parts of his body.

I heard the music while the elevator was still three floors away from Barton’s. I thought my eardrums were about to explode when the doors slid opened. Barton hadn’t bothered hiring any security to watch the door, which partly explained why so many women off the street had managed to get in and share photos online.

In three years of college, I’d never been to a single frat party. I’d never regretted missing out—until now. If I’d accepted some of the infrequent invites that had come my way, I might have been better prepared for what I saw when I walked inside Barton’s apartment.

Men paraded around in wife-beaters, or with shirts wide open, while the women wore either bikinis or tops that covered roughly the same amount. Sure, it was the middle of summer, but it was San Francisco, for Christ’s sake, not a beach in Los Angeles.

From nowhere, a splash of beer landed on my hand and sleeve, ruining the one expensive outfit I owned. I reserved this suit for client meetings, but I was horrendously overdressed for this one. When I turned in the direction of the beer-spilling culprit, I saw a man pressing a woman up against the wall and kissing her neck, while she moaned loud enough for me to hear it over the music. Then I saw why. He had his hand between her legs, and was furiously working his fingers inside her. Right in the middle of the party. In full view of everyone.

Gross.

The rest of the party almost looked tame by comparison. Almost. Guys and girls, or quite often girls and girls, drank shots from each other’s bodies without any regard to the mess they were making. I pitied the poor cleaner who had to tidy up after this bunch in the morning.

“Damn, girl, who let you walk around fully clothed?”

An arm appeared from behind me and grabbed me around the stomach. I smelt cheap beer, as he leaned in and pressed his groin against my ass.

“Get off me,” I snarled, using both hands to push his arm away.

“Alright, calm down, sweetheart. You need to get a drink into you. A stiff drink and a stiff—”

“Leave her alone, Doug,” another man said, appearing alongside me.

“Whatever, man,” Doug muttered as he disappeared.

“Sorry about him,” the man said. “Had too much to drink. Much like everyone else here. My name’s Clyde.”

I shook Clyde’s hand as if we were at a respectable business meeting instead of in the middle of a party fit for the last days of Rome.

“Nice to meet you Clyde. I’m Kristi.” He carried an air of authority and confidence about him, even though he was smaller than nearly everyone here. I knew that not all football players were big, but this guy looked more like he might be Barton’s accountant than his teammate.

“You looking for Barton?” Clyde asked. I nodded. “You his image consultant?”

“Yes,” I replied. Perhaps that was a bit of a white lie, but ‘intern’ was never a word that conveyed confidence to clients. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t; it was more out of hope than anything. You’ve arrived not a moment too soon. He’s in the kitchen making drinks.” Clyde pointed towards the far corner of the apartment.

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you. If you can get him through this night, you’re a hero in my book.”

I pushed my way through couples kissing, grinding up against each other, and doing God only knows what else, until I made my way to the kitchen.

Clyde was right; I’d come just in time.

Barton stood by the refrigerator, completely shirtless, and surrounded by a flock of eager young women, all desperate to get their faces in a selfie with the soon to be legendary quarterback. Selfies that would soon appear online.

Barton didn’t seem bothered by the attention. He smiled for the photos, and freely grabbed a handful of each girl’s ass as they posed for their photo.

“Barton Fenner?” I called out.

Barton ignored me and so did all the girls. One of them spilled her drink down Barton’s chest, and quickly started licking it off to jealous looks from all the other women.

I shuffled awkwardly, as I realized that I’d been staring at his chest for a little too long, and now some of the other women were starting to notice me. I did stand out somewhat. I wore more clothing than the five women in the kitchen combined.

Two of the women stood either side of Barton, and leaned in to lick his cheeks, while another girl took a photo. This is what I had to deal with. This was the man I had to keep under control.

Barton wasn’t the type of man who would be bossed around by an intern. Or anyone for that matter. This might be a long summer.

L
ife was good
.

I’d only come in here to get another drink. I’d be lucky to get out of the kitchen without having my dick sucked dry.

I hadn’t even played a single professional game yet, and already I was being talked about as the next big thing. That kind of pressure might get to some people, but I thrived on it. Especially when the hype came with plentiful helpings of pussy.

Summer training had just started, but I had more than enough energy to party and screw in the evening, and then throw a ball around during the day. Besides, after the last quarterback got injured during training, the club kept me in bubble wrap during the day. If I wanted to stay up all night fucking some nice piece of ass, then no one was going to argue.

No one except my coach Gordon Harter, perhaps. He had a stick up his ass about me behaving myself, and not bringing the team into disrepute. The only thing that would bring the team into disrepute was having another shit season like the last one. As long as I got the job done on the field, he’d keep quiet.

Talking of getting the job done….

A blonde and brunette slid up either side of me and licked my face slowly and seductively, in a way that left their true intentions in absolutely no doubt. It wasn’t my face they wanted to be licking.

“We come as a package deal,” Blonde whispered in my ear. “Reckon you can handle both of us?”

My cock twitched in response, as Brunette ran her hand down my now sticky chest until she reached the belt of my jeans. I squeezed both their asses firmly, letting my fingers wander between their thighs as I did so. Tight and firm, just how I liked them.

There were five women in here now, and all of them were desperate to get a piece of me. Another blonde woman had better tits than this one, but taking two of them at once definitely held some appeal. I hadn’t had a threesome this week, and it seemed like a nice way to round out the night.

“You’re at the front of the line, ladies,” I replied.

Blonde lent in and kissed me firmly on the lips, opening my mouth with her tongue and sliding it inside mine. Her breasts pressed against my chest as her hand took hold of my cock—or as much of my cock that fit in her hand—and gave it a firm squeeze. She pulled her mouth away slowly, and Brunette came in to do the same. Just before Brunette kissed me, I saw a sixth woman in the room.

Standing by the doorway was a young woman trying to look a lot older than she was. She wore a tight knee-length skirt, a white blouse, and a cheap suit jacket over the top. Unlike the other women in here, she was staring at my face, not my chest or the bulge in my pants.

Brunette kissed me, but this time I kept my eyes open enough to check out this mystery woman. She folded her arms across her chest as if she was angry with me, but she couldn’t maintain eye contact and ended up looking down at the floor.

There were so many people crammed into my apartment that there was barely room to move, but this woman was giving off a serious ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe right now. If she didn’t look so young, I’d be having serious flashbacks to my fifth grade teacher.

“Barton Fenner?” the serious looking woman asked when she saw the two ladies had finished trying to seduce me.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied. Not many people had to ask who I was these days. I looked away from her to address the crowd gathered around me. “Ladies, get those beautiful behinds in the living room. I’ll be with you shortly. Especially you,” I added, smacking Blonde firmly on the ass.

A chorus of disappointed groans filled the kitchen, but eventually they all piled out and left me alone with the stern looking woman. She wore her clothes well, but they weren’t expensive. Probably a college student then. A college student in a suit. That meant she was likely interning somewhere, although what company sent its interns to parties on a Friday night?

Then I remembered what Milton had promised for tonight.
I can’t make it, but I’ll send you a little treat.

Here was my little treat, all wrapped up in a suit and sensible panties. I couldn’t deny that I wanted to see what lay underneath. She was a little fuller-figured than most of the girls here—although that wasn’t exactly difficult—but she carried it well.

“Did Milton send you?” I asked. “His idea of a ‘treat’ is to send me virgins to break in, but to be honest, I’m not really in the mood for going gentle tonight.”

She glared at me and tried to look angry, but the red coloring creeping into her cheeks was from embarrassment, not anger. I could always tell. I’d made enough women angry over the years—after a while you began to recognize the signs.

The girl dropped her arms to her side, but stood up straight and gave me a much better view of her breasts. They weren’t half bad. Not bad at all. Good, in fact. Good enough to eat. There were at least twenty pairs of breasts in this apartment that were so minimally covered up that they might as well just be let out of their cage. For some reason, the only pair I wanted to see was the one not on display. What was it Mom had always said when she’d been alive?
You only want what you can’t have
. She might have been on to something with that one.

“No, Milton didn’t send me,” she replied. “And I’m not a… nevermind.”

I reluctantly tore my eyes from her tits and looked into hers. She was almost visibly straining not to look down at my chest, so at least we were both as bad as each other.

“So why are you here?” I asked. “Not that I’m complaining, it’s just this doesn’t look like your kind of party.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she replied. “I’m Kristi Ward from Goodson, Mitchell, & Price.” That name rung a bell. My agent had mentioned them; they were a PR agency or something like that. “Leona Goodson sent me to keep an eye on you tonight.”

“Wow. You’re being paid to look at me. You have the best job in the world. Most women would do that job for free.”

She exhaled loudly. “This is certainly priceless, you’re right about that.”

“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?” I asked.

“You should be detecting a lot more than a hint.”

“Well, you just haven’t seen the full package yet. If you think this chest is a work of art, you should see what I’m packing below.”

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, but not before turning an even deeper shade of red. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and walked back into the crowd, heading for the door. The second she’d left, more women thrust themselves in front of me. Some of them I’d already kissed, but some were new. As the drink flowed, the chicks started wanting a lot more than just a kiss. Hands wandered down to my crotch, and my hand was placed between hot, eager thighs.

Who needed a threesome when I could just have all these women together? If I dropped my pants they’d all fight to be the first to suck my dick, and with a snap of the fingers they would all drop their panties and show me the goods.

Then there was Kristi. She clearly liked what was on display, but had already made up her mind that she hated me too much to drop to her knees for me. She’d probably be too stuck up to suck dick anyway. Kristi would be one of those girls who licked the tip a bit and then called it a day.

Despite all that, I pushed the group of easy lays out of the way and followed Kristi as she headed for the exit. Mom had been right, no doubt about it. I always wanted what I couldn’t have, and right now the only woman I wanted was Kristi.