Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (37 page)

I press forward with new purpose, the tight aperture of her ass spreading around my shaft as my cock burrows into her slow and solid. Within moments I’m deep and snug inside the hot confines of her ass.

We both pause locked like this, panting and sweaty, my cock gripped so tight by her body I’m sure she could clench and cut it off at the root.

I thought anal would drive us apart, the taboo too much for someone seemingly so innocent, but I have never felt such intimacy.

“I’m so full,” she says, my pubes tickling the wet lips of her cunt below. There is no space between my organ and her ass, the two fused together tight.

I move, slowly at first until she’s urging me on with strange, nonsense cries, her bloated clit throbbing against my fingers and her orgasm rising hard and fast.

Soon I’m slamming into her ass. My strokes become rough and long, my powerful body hammering into her tiny frame and the ground around us protesting wetly.

Empty stands watch on, thunder sounding out above. The rain’s coming down so hard I can barely see, blinking away the wet, Scarlet’s body a blur as I pound into it.

I reach forward and pull her hair into a tight ponytail, use it to drive to the balls inside her. She grunts, pleads for me to fuck her harder.

My fingers work faster against the slippery berry of her clit and I draw tight, her core clenching tight ready to explode.

I slam into her, our bodies coming together wet and thunderous.

She comes, snaps. Her thighs shake and quiver and I can’t help but follow, my head suddenly vaporous as my release pours forth, spilling from my body with such power I waver in and out of consciousness. I swell and release inside her pulsing ass, groaning hard and gripping her tight, hilting myself and holding there as she shudders and clenches, my cock gripped and released over and over.

She cries again, a second wave overtaking the first, her climaxes merging together.

Finally, spent, she grows limp.

When we are both back in reality, when the pleasure becomes bearable, I ease out of her slowly, her open ass all heat and earthy arousal.

She collapses to the ground, rolling onto her back and breathing hard. I spread myself beside her slick body, the cold earth wet under my back. She conforms to my side, kisses me, the taste of her lips welcome.

We lie there for the longest time, bodies tangled together, my cock still pulsing from its fill.

I extend my tongue, catching the rain. She follows suit and we laugh. It’s like we’re teenagers again, sneaking down to the soccer field, but that was a dream—a dream no longer.

“You’re full of surprises, Scarlet Matthews.”

“You’re just full of it.”

I roll her on top of me, my cock hardening. I run a finger down her back, over her ass and into the deep crease of her sex. “Have you had enough yet?”

“Never,” she says. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“How about we hit the showers?” I offer.

She reaches down, fingers wrapping themselves around my cock. “I thought you’d never ask.”

SCARLET

It’s been one glorious week since that fateful night at Atlas. I wake up sore, but in a blissful, too-much-time-between-the-sheets kind of way. Jensen’s gone, but he told me that last night. He’ll be back into training now with the last game of the season coming up.

Won Ton’s wrestling a dirty pair of Jensen’s jocks across the room. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He stops, gives me a quizzical expression before getting right back into it. I actually found Jensen asleep on the sofa the other day, Won Ton curled up in his arm snoring away. I couldn’t get my phone out quick enough, had to capture the moment to make sure I wasn’t caught in a dream.

And there’s no other way to describe it, what we have. For so long I’ve dreamt of a relationship like this. At the end, living with Josh was purgatory, eggshells wherever I walked, but with Jensen, I’m free. I’m more than free. I’m out of control and it feels
so
damn good.

I stretch out, the tender ache between my legs casting my mind back to my most recent orgasm. I don’t think Jensen’s monster of a dick ever hibernates, always hard and at the ready for me. I’m doing things even the Kama Sutra would blush at, things I never even knew my body was capable of. “Wait ’til I show you my red room,” Jensen joked last night. When he pulled out the ropes I almost started to believe him.

It took me a while to work out why I’m willing to
go there
with Jensen, when I clearly wasn’t with Josh. It’s more than his cut body and infinite stamina. It’s the way he makes me want to live on the edge a little, to let go. It’s new,
real
new.

I take a quick shower, toweling off my hair when there’s a knock at the door. I consider opening it in the nude until I find it’s the postman on the other side of the peephole. I tie my dressing gown, Won Ton yapping around my feet as I open the door.

“Miss Matthews?”

It’s eye-scorchingly sunny out there. I retract back inside, squinting. “Yes.”

“Package for you, ma’am. Sign here, please.”

I sign the postman’s tablet thingy and take the parcel. I close the door and open a blind, looking to find a return address, but there’s nothing. The handwriting looks kind of familiar, but that’s about it.

“What have we got here, Won Ton? New scrubs? A hot read? Box of chocolates?”

‘Woof, woof!’ comes the reply.

I open the end and reach in. I pull out a local newspaper folded in half. It’s not exactly what I was expecting. We’ve had a couple of shots run this week, no longer worried about hiding our relationship or keeping our PDAs in check. We’re flaunting it now. The paper’s nothing special… until I flip to the front page.

I suck in a sharp breath, unable to release it.

A picture of Jensen takes up the entire front page, but that’s nothing new. He’s graced the front pages of many publications before—some a little more risqué than others. But this picture is different. He’s smiling, but slightly out of focus. What
is
in focus is the diamond ring he’s holding—simple band, pear-shaped solitaire. It’s like he’s thrusting it through the page to me. The headline reads ‘Will she say yes?’

Will
who
say yes?
I think stupidly before reading the first couple of lines and working out it’s me, of course.

Holy holy hell balls.
PDAs don’t come much bigger. Jensen Jetstream Collins is asking me to marry him.

I finally breathe, the paper trembling in my hands. “Whoa.”

“So?”

I almost fall over I spin around so fast. I’m half-collapsed, back against the door. He’s standing before me with the same ring extended.

“I thought you’d left for training?” I stammer.

He shrugs, still smiling. “Hid in the laundry a while. I folded some towels while I was waiting. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I, ah...”

He gets down on one knee. “Scarlet Sexy-Time Collins,” he starts.

I drop the paper and place my hands against the door to stop myself from sliding to the floor unconscious. “Are you sure?” I cut in.

He laughs, still pinching the ring between two fingers. “Am I sure? Of course I’m sure. I don’t get down on one knee for just anyone, you know.”

“But…” I actually cannot think of a reason he shouldn’t continue.

“Scarlet Sweet-Jesus-I’m-In-Love Collins,” he goes on, speaking over the top of me, “you have come into my life and turned it upside down. You’re the most beautiful person I know, inside and out, generous, kind and smarter than I could ever hope to be. You’ve always been there for me and I will always be there for you, no matter what. Oh, and you have a killer ass. So, what do you say? Will you marry this handsome devil?”

I cannot help but smile back, easing off the door and lifting him to his feet. I push the ring away and cup his face in my hand, looking up into those russet eyes that have been mine ever since we met.

Oprah-Walters sits on my shoulder, but she’s quiet. Is it ideal? Probably not. Too soon? Definitely, but who fucking cares?

I breathe in, brace myself for the fallout. “Yes.”

He picks me up and spins me around the room, Won Ton barking away like mad. We kiss, deep and tender, his arms strong around my back and I’m weightless, free and light.

He places me down, thumbing the bottom of his chin. “You kind of had me nervous there.”

I reach up and lock my hands around the back of his neck, standing on tippy toes to look into his eyes. “I thought Jetstream Jensen never got nervous?”

“You make me feel a lot of new things.”

“Ditto.”

I drop and pick up the paper. “What about this? I take it you know someone at the paper?”

“I do. Our good friend Angela Barnet.”

I look at the paper again, Angela’s name in the byline. I’m suddenly worried. “Should I read through for the hating?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No hating. We came to an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?”

“I agreed to give her the exclusive of a lifetime if she and her press pals backed off on the smear campaign.”

“And she actually said yes?”

“She did. Seems it’s the in thing with women in my life at the moment.”

I place my hand on his chest. “How could anyone say no?”

SCARLET

I hope this makeup is holding. I’m positive I’m glowing like a hot coal under it. The A-line I’m wearing is cutting me in half, my Jimmy Choos far from comfortable but allowing me the necessary height to match my husband-to-be.

The music starts and he’s there at the end of the aisle. I let out a small sigh of relief he didn’t come good with his threat of wearing his jersey to the wedding… or nothing at all. Now
that
would have been a first for the photographer.

He stands at the end of a carpet of pink roses in navy blue. I’ve never seen him in a suit before. To say he looks good is an understatement. He’s Harvey Specter and Don Draper rolled into one, a tailored manwich I want to hold and grope and make love to all night, but first we’ve got a wedding to get through.

Mrs. Collins takes his arm, already crying, my own mother no better, sobbing from the front row. Our fathers never showed, but we expected as much. Josh remains MIA. Jensen brushed it off initially, but they’re twins. I know it pains him the way they ended things, but like I told him, not everything can be controlled. Josh has his own life to live, even if it doesn’t involve us.

I’ve barely blinked and Jensen is standing before me smiling precisely like he did when Victory took the Cup. I was there, in the stands as always, cheering and wailing until I lost my voice. The Golden Boot for the Championship’s highest-scoring player remains in Won Ton’s bed. He’s taken a real liking to it. Expensive taste, it seems.

Even Angela’s here. I think I spy the slightest hint of jealousy on her face—and who wouldn’t be?

Won Ton gives a solid yelp from Mom’s lap, everyone laughing. I relax and focus on Jensen, on the man who I’m committed to spending my life with.

The officiant gives me a wink. “Dearly beloved, players and pimps alike…”

TWO YEARS LATER

It’s the wedding all over again. Everyone is here. Jensen’s new coach is standing by the door. He looks especially happy to be here, or maybe it’s the fact Angela Barnet is standing next to him looking rather keen. She’s barely left his side the whole party. She’s certainly redeemed herself. It was an easy decision to make her Jensen’s PR manager this season.

On the other side of the room is a motley collection of Jensen’s teammates from LA Galaxy. It’s been almost three months since we made the move out here to the coast of California, but it’s working out. Jensen’s got a great team, a coach who actually listens to him and doesn’t walk around with a constant scowl on his face. They’re going up against Victory next week, which should result in fireworks, but I’ve never known Jensen to back down from a fight. Once he wants something, he’ll stop at nothing to get it, even if it does take him ten years.

I watch him, my husband, crouching beside our child, now one. I can’t believe how fast time has gone. It seems like only yesterday I was giving birth, the nurses trying to bring Jensen to before the main event. One look between my legs and he hit the deck so hard he almost went through the floor. Naturally, I’ve never let him live it down. Every time he complains of a sore ankle or back I simply point down to my vagina and tilt my head. “Until you push a peach through a pinhole you’ve got nothing to complain about, mister.”

Someone hits the lights, a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ as the cake is brought out—a soccer ball in white and blue, Galaxy’s team colors. Little Arny claps his hands together in glee, his chubby cheeks lit up from the glow of the candles.

I wasn’t exactly for Arnet at first, but it’s grown on me. Now I couldn’t imagine him being anything else. “It means ‘little eagle’,” Jensen enthused to me, as we sat poring through baby name websites. At that stage I was so pregnant I couldn’t have cared less. I just wanted a cheeseburger.

Arny blows, the first candle flickering until Daddy comes to his aid and together they huff them out. I see him in Arny. I see myself too, in his golden hair and almond eyes. The first thing Jensen did when he picked him up in the hospital was inspect his package, much to my horror. “Yep, he’s mine,” he grinned to the nurses, all of whom were suitably star struck. I had to wait for him to sign autographs for over an hour before they started to stitch me up.

I thought sex would suffer after a natural birth, but if anything motherhood has made me hornier than ever, even now.

“You’re an amazing mother,” he told me one night when I was bawling my eyes out by Arny’s door, unable to get him to calm down. There have been tough times, I won’t lie, but he’s been there through it all and we’re stronger for it, stronger and happier having Arny in our lives.

Jensen looks to me, smiles, and then looks blankly into the center of the gathered faces. I know he’s looking for Josh, as silly as that is. We only found out yesterday Josh and Carolina fled New Jersey after a string of drug charges were filed against them. It’s been years since Jensen’s seen him, not a single shred of contact. Sometimes I find Jensen sitting up at night and I know no matter how much he denies it he’s thinking about him, about what he could have done differently.

But the past is the past. We have our own family now.

“Wave to Mommy!”

Jensen shakes Arny’s pincushion hand at me.

Polly lifts her camera up beside me. “Holy shit that is cutest thing I have ever seen.”

When we told her we were moving to LA, she replied, “I’ll come with, find myself a surfer boy,” easy as that. And she has, an ISA World Champion who treats her like a queen and even has Jensen on his toes whenever he’s around… like I’d ever need anything more.

“Go on,” says Polly, pushing at my back. “Get in there.”

“Go!” Mom shouts from the back.

“Fine,” I concede, weaving my way to Jensen and Arny.

A flash goes, a moment frozen in time.

Jensen picks Arny up in one hand and places the other on my belly. He takes it off, looking around. “Whoa, you feel that?” he announces. “Looks like my little girl’s going to be a superstar, too.”

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