Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
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Authors: Christina Clark
Table of Contents
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Kingsley
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Kingsley
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Tackled by the KING
— Full Novel —
Written by: Christina Clark
Copyright © 2016
Disclaimer.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chapter One:
Kingsley
They call me the King.
Mom always told me not to let it get to my head, but when everyone you meet worships you like you're royalty, that's damn near impossible. My head's so big I'm surprised I'm still walking around upright, and I'm not even sorry. I'm at the absolute prime of my life, and I've got everything a man could ever want, and then some. I hadn't even hit 30 yet, and I had more than 20 mil just sitting in the bank – the 17 mil contract and roughly 20 mil in endorsements I just signed not included. Anyone who isn't living under a rock knows my name; I get free shit I could afford in my sleep; and if you lived on my forecast, it rains pussy all day, everyday.
On top of all that, I can honestly say that I love what I do. Football isn't just my life – it's all I know. I'm Kingsley Kelly, the all-star quarterback of the Detroit Daggers, the same bad motherfucker that led our boys to the Super Bowl and nabbed us that Vince Lombardi 3 years in a row, and I'm just 5 seasons in. I live by Caesar's words: I come, I see, and I conquer whatever comes my way – be it the field, ambition, or an exquisite piece of forbidden ass. I take what I want when I want it, and no one can stop me.
After all, they call me The King for a reason.
XXX
I cocked my head to the right, combing the knots out of Ivanka's hair as I gazed down at her. To say she was beautiful wouldn't cut it. She had one of those delicate faces that belonged in a French painting and the never ending legs of a Bond girl. And to see her delicate face distorted, begging me to relieve her, made her all the more intoxicating.
“You know I can't stand it when you tease me...” Her usually strong, commanding voice was reduced to a throaty whimper.
“I know.”
My fingers were numb from the melting ice cube in my hand. I pressed the dribbling cube against her white nightgown. Ivanka's light nipple was visible through the soaked cotton. I charmed the bud of her tasty nipple with the ice cube, watching it rise as I rubbed it in slow circles.
I took my sweet time, taking turns with her other nipple. She gasped, grabbing hold of my wrist and squeezing. But I didn't stop. If anything, I go even faster. I pushed my other hand between her thighs, diddling her fuzzy snatch and coating my fingers with her sticky cunt juice.
“Looks like you're just about ready for me,” I mumbled, my mouth slacking in a grin.
“Just take me already, King. I can't take anymore of this...” Ivanka groaned. She dragged her pointed black nails down my chest, leaving pink claw marks.
My grin stretched wider as I closed my fist over the dwindling ice cube, now just half the size. I sat her up straight and pulled her nightgown over her head before shoving her back down on the bed. Her tits were small but perky, fitting the palm of my hand. I pinched her nipples with the gaps of my fingers, kissing and licking down her flat stomach.
With her legs hooked over my shoulders, I lowered my head between Ivanka's thighs. I pulled her legs further apart, keeping my eyes glued to the glistening pink of her stretching cunt. The pungent scent of her womanhood breathed at me. I inhaled deeply, grunting as I smeared what was left of the ice cube against her cunt. Within seconds of coming into contact with her hot, sticky folds, the ice melted, fusing with the growing stain on the bed sheets. Ivanka was struggling to keep her eyes open, her long blonde lashes fluttering.
“Oh – oh God, that's – that's cold...”
“Shh. Hold still.”
I spit into my hand and lubed up, eagerly ramming myself into her. Ivanka's freshly iced cunt greeted the upper-half of my cock with a brief, refreshing blast. I pumped in and out of her, the back of her calves slapping against my chest. Gripping her waist with one hand, I dipped the other under her to caress her supple ass cheeks. She twisted her head against her pillow, mussing up her golden hair as she held onto her wobbling tits.
Finding my pace, I reached towards the nightstand and scooped out another block of ice from the bucket. Ivanka's drooping eyes widened approvingly. She took a deep, shuddering breath and arched her back off the bed. I flicked my tongue across the ice cube a couple of times, warming up the edge before gliding it across her clit. I drove myself in and out of her cunt faster, taking a break from groping her cheeks to toy with her asshole.
“King, don't you dare stop – I'm – I'm getting close –”
Ivanka snatched the ice cube from my fingers, taking over. I kept fucking her, clenching to keep myself from nutting before she got her fix. With her eyes squeezed shut, Ivanka moved the ice between her ass cheeks and tended to her clit at the same time.
The sting of my sweat was starting to weigh my own eyelids down, but when Ivanka's phone started screeching, they popped right back open.
“What –” I glanced at Ivanka's charging phone on the nightstand.
“Don't mind that,” Ivanka snapped. “Focus –”
I slowed down, my face darkening as I squinted at Ivanka's ringing phone. A picture of a half-naked tool flexing his weak ass pecs for the camera flashed on the screen. I pulled out of her, running my tongue across my teeth angrily.
“Wait, what do you think you're doing?” Ivanka sat up and reached over to reject the call. She slumped against the headboard, crossing her arms.
“Cramp,” I grumbled, turning away from her.
“That's never stopped you before.” Ivanka pouted, lifting her leg to prod at me with her toe. “So why don't you tell me what's really got your panties in a bunch?”
“Yeah, it ain't exactly easy to finish when another one of your booty calls is blowing up your phone. What grown man still takes pictures in the gym, anyway?”
“What – are you talking about Tony?” said Ivanka incredulously. She wrinkled her nose. “I am over him – 20-year-olds always wear too much cologne. I've been hoping to get rid of him, but the boy can't take a hint.”
“Right,” I fumed, reaching for a glass of water.
“Come on, King. Are you really going to let something as trivial as Tony ruin our night?”
Ivanka snuck up behind me and draped her arms over my shoulders. My back went rigid at the feel of her hair tickling the back of my neck, my cock stirring as she pressed her tits up against me. My mind flashed to the pair of bubble butt brunettes gobbling on my balls in the shower this morning. I swallowed and bowed my head, slapped in the face by my own hypocrisy.
“You're right,” I started softly, turning around to face her. “I'm –”
Our ears perked at the sound of tires crunching up the driveway. Ivanka scrambled off the bed, standing on her tiptoes as she peered out the window. I rose to my feet, my heart dropping as the color drained from her face.
“Shit, it's Sam!”
“Wasn't he supposed to be at that convention in Las Vegas all week? It's only Thursday –”
But when we heard that front door slam, we knew shit had hit the fan.
“
Darling? I'm home!”
“Apparently not.” Ivanka scanned the room quickly before dropping to her knees. She pulled up the bed skirt, gesturing frantically at me for me to get under the bed. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and hide already!”
