Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (9 page)

Carrie's jagged breathing was beating down on my neck. I rubbed her slobbering cunt up and down, controlling the music of her moans with just my thumb to her clit. I pushed myself against her, inviting the unbelievable sensation of her soft melons grinding up against my chest.

As I continued to toy with her cunt, Carrie unbuttoned my slacks and steered my cock out of my boxers. She cupped her fingers around my chin and started nibbling on my lip, aiming my cock with her free hand. I retracted my hand and relaxed, the leather of the cushion crackling behind me.

The lips of Carrie's cunt stretched out over the head of my cock, slowly descending on my throbbing shaft...  

And that was all I remembered – the rest of the night was blacked out by the alcohol cooking in my system.

XXX

“Augh...”

I spat out a mouthful of hair, smacking my lips to get the taste out of my mouth. Lifting my arm off the warm body next to me, I geared my head to the left, turning away from the glare of sunlight shining straight in my eyes. But as I rolled around, I frowned at the sound of wrinkling leather underneath me.

My eyes fluttered open sluggishly, adjusting to my living room. Without moving from my spot, I reached over my head lazily and started feeling around until I felt my phone. Stifling a yawn with my fist, I clicked the power button on the side of my phone to unlock my screen. And that's when I saw it.

Right above the alert of 29 missed calls were the unmistakable digits of the clock –
12:22 PM.

Chapter Ten:
Kingsley

“Aw, shit!”

I reached for my shirt draped over the coffee table clumsily. Losing my balance, I rolled off the sofa and hit the ground. The sleeping figure on the sofa with her back to me started to stir. Her black hair unfurled, sweeping across her bare back.

“What's – what's going on?”

“Carrie?”

She sat up groggily, her nose wrinkling as she blinked around the room. I sat there in disbelief for a couple of seconds as it started to dawn on me. The mind-blowing events – or at least, what I remembered about it – last night wasn't just one of the best wet dreams I'd ever had. My eyes fell to the glorious orbs of her tits peeking out from behind her hair, remembering how soft they felt in my hands last night. But when I started getting a semi, I looked away, the seriousness of my quagmire coming back at me at full speed.

“What are you doing down there?” Carrie blew her hair out of her face and squinted out the window. The motorized blinds had done too good of a job, sealing the room in darkness from the glaring sunlight. “What time is it?”

“12:23,” I answered gruffly as I stumbled into my slacks.

“12:23?” Carrie repeated sleepily, but she cut herself off mid-yawn. She leaped off the sofa, her eyes bugging out in panic. “12:23?! Oh my god, you're –”

“I know!” I called out behind me as I sprinted to my bedroom.

I yanked open the door to my walk-in closet. My chest deflated in my relief. Sitting under my wall of special edition kicks was my gear bag, primed and ready to go.

“That's why you the man, Odell,” I mused. I got dressed, slung my gear bag over my shoulder, and headed back out the door.

When I got back to the living room, Carrie was about dressed. She stood in front of the foyer mirror, combing her hair with one hand and slipping her other arm into the sleeve of her red bomber jacket. I stepped into my shoes, unzipping my gear bag for a last minute check of my equipment. Finding the 3-legged toad pendant, I slipped the cord of my good luck charm over my head and tucked it inside my shirt.

“You mind if I hitch a ride with you?” Carrie strapped her heels back on, looking up at me hopefully. “Jamie's got my car. I took a cab over here last night.”

“Shit, I was hoping you had your car.” I swallowed, checking my phone for the time. “Fuck. 12:29. My car's in the shop getting detailed, and the Uber driver they arranged to pick me up at 11:50's long gone by now.”

“Well, you better pray to whatever god you pray to and hope we get a cab downstairs, then.”

I opened the front door, only to get hit by a second whammy staring me in the face. Farrah stood on the opposite end of the doorway, carrying a bag from the bagel place down the street in one hand and a bottle of red Powerade in the other.

“Morning, sleepyhead!”

She beamed at me, but when she spotted Carrie behind me, she stuck out her bottom lip.

“Farrah? What the hell are you doing here?” I blurted, my ears ringing. I did not have time to deal with this bullshit right now.

“I thought you might like a little breakfast before the big game –”

“How'd you even know where I live – scratch that. How'd you get past security?”

“Um,” Farrah faltered, dropping her guilty gaze to her feet. She unzipped her jacket to reveal an orange T-shirt that read, “Spick N' Span.” “I may have told the security guard I was starting out today as your new cleaning lady... What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me?”

“I don't even –”

“Of course he's happy to see you.” Carrie nudged me out of the way. “Did you happen to drive here by any chance?”

“And who are you?” Farrah asked Carrie snottily.

“Carrie Toussaint, a journalist from The Daily Dirt. I'm working with the team.”

“Oh. So you're just a reporter, then.” Farrah's face brightened. She paused, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You didn't spend the night here, did you?”

“No...?” Carrie's upward inflection was telling, but it seemed to go over Farrah's head.

“Okay.” Farrah flicked her head to the side. “Come on. My car's parked downstairs.”

Farrah, Carrie, and I sped down all 6 flights of steps in the emergency exit. We burst through the heavy doors of the building entrance. As Carrie and I rushed past a sleek Aston Martin painted in gleaming silver, Farrah called out to us from behind.

“Hey, guys. Where are you going?”

Farrah pushed down on the car remote in her fist. The bad boy beeped twice, unlocking its doors. Carrie and I exchanged high-brow looks of skepticism before retreating.

“Ride up front with me, won't you, my King?”

I obliged, ducking into the passenger's seat. Carrie slid into the backseat, whistling as she closed the door behind her. The car was pimped out with a full wine-red interior, from the leather seats to the tinted windows. Farrah dumped the breakfast and Powerade in my lap before strapping in. She gripped the gold covers of her steering wheel, revving up the engine.

“Sweet ride,” was all I could say. “How'd you even –”

“Oh. I get that a lot,” said Farrah, looking behind her to pull out of her spot. “My parents are loaded.”

“This car is amazing – or as kids these days say, goals.” Carrie's smile faded as she pointed out the clock on the dashboard. “Oh my god. It's 12:39, and the stadium's all the way across town.”

“Thanks. And don't you worry.” Farrah reached up to adjust the rearview mirrors. “We'll be there by 12:58.”

“Are you –”

I was thrown back in my seat as the car jetted forward, peeling out from the parking spot.

XXX

“Thanks,” I leaned into the doorway of the passenger's seat. “I owe you for this, Farrah. Big time.”

“I'd do anything for you, my King.” Farrah winked and blew a kiss at me. “Now go get 'em.”

I was feeling like shit on a stick with my pounding hangover, coupled with the reckless way Farrah burned rubber, but none of that mattered. Farrah had kept up her end of the deal. I had 3 minutes to spare. Carrie and I went our separate ways. As she made her way to the VIP suites, I cut through the South Tower towards the locker room.

I rammed my side into the door and stumbled into the room. The guys were in full gear, a sea of helmets only recognizable by their names and numbers on their uniforms. Coach whirled around to look at me, his teeth clenched and fury ablaze in his bulging eyes. Odell lifted the face mask of his helmet, shaking his head, but looking relieved. On the opposite end of the room, the vibes were just that. Val was visibly seething, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered at me.

“Coach, I know I fucked up, and I'm real sorry –”

The vein bulging out of Coach's temple looked like it was ready to explode. I stood in place, bracing myself. Coach glanced at the clock and looked back at me with a face screwed up in disgust.

“Goddammit, Kelly. That thin ice you're on is melting fast. This is your last chance. Now go get geared up before I change my fucking mind.”

Chapter Eleven:
Carrie

Kingsley's warm, wet tongue dragged across my collarbone. A soft zipping sound filled our ears as my fingernails scratched against the crocodile leather sofa. I shut my eyes, allowing the sensual tickle of his tongue to roam down my chest. Up until this point, I'd been rectifying my half-year long dry spell with my g-spot vibrator and hula beads that I skillfully hid from Jamie and Jackson. I'd been completely fine without it, but finally feeling a warm body next to mine and the dizzying tongue exploring my flesh seemed to unlock a thirst I'd been neglecting for so long.

Kingsley scooped up my breasts and pushed them together, burying his face in the supple cushion of my cleavage. I chewed on the tip of my tongue, fighting to keep still as he latched onto my right nipple. Despite his heavily inebriated state, Kingsley was sucking on and lapping at my nipple with more potent tenderness than the last 4 schmucks I went home with – and they were all sober.

“Christ, Carrie, your tits feel amazing,” Kingsley mumbled, surfacing to take a breath. He reached between my legs and glazed his fingers with my pussy juices. Coating my nipple with the sticky liquid, he pulled back his finger gingerly. The filmy liquid stretched, connecting his fingertip to my nipple. He peered up at me, his cool gray eyes piercing into mine as he watched me squirm.

“Don't fight it, Carrie. You like what I'm doing to you, don't you?”

I moaned throatily in reply, my toes curling as the heels of my feet skidded back and forth against the sofa.

“It's okay. You can admit it.”

Another shivering tingle crept up my arms at his cocky smirk. For all that was good and holy, I couldn't understand what he was doing to me. Kingsley eased my legs apart, inspecting the slimy wet lips of my cunt up close. He smacked his lips and stroked my heaving cunt, the soft growl coming from his throat almost animal.

“Fuck, you've got a beautiful pussy.” He spanked my mound three times, each a little harder than the last.

I felt my flushed cheeks go even redder, feeling both exposed and aroused by his remarks. He dipped his head between my legs, kissing the trembling inside of my thigh. I pressed my fingers against my clit, moistening myself for him.

“I gotta confess, I've been beating off in the shower the last couple of days, just fantasizing about what you'd look like underneath all those clothes...”

Kingsley guided the tip of his middle finger into my yearning slit slowly, calculating the expressive bliss unfolding across my face. I had to admit myself, though not out loud – imagining Kingsley railing me from behind had helped me achieve sexual fruition on more than one occasion, too. And for some mystifying reason, the fact that I couldn't stand his guts made the final release even sweeter.

Kingsley smiled, bending forward to catch the juices trickling down my thigh before it could leak onto the leather.

“Man, I've already busted a load twice and I'm still itching to fuck the shit out of you.”

“Enough talking,” I spoke up hoarsely. “Why don't you put that mouth to better use?”

I pushed him away gently with one leg and flipped myself over. My knees burrowed in to the sofa as I got on all fours, the leather still warm from my body. I gathered my hair over one side of my neck and looked over my shoulder, lowering my eyes seductively.

“Mm, that's an even better view...”

I reached behind me and spread my pussy lips apart, egging him on. He buried his face between my legs and started slurping me up, holding me still by my ankles. I thrust my hips backwards, grinding deeper into his face. Pinning his knees over the back of my legs, he pushed my ass cheeks apart and started toying with the sensitive peephole with his finger. At the same time, he ravaged my pulsing labia, his swirling tongue roaming between my lips.

Resting my head against the armrest of the sectional sofa, my eyes squeezed shut. I massaged my aching pearl and tugged on my pert nipple in sloppy, desperate rhythm. My jaw was hanging loose and my lips twisting and turning in soundless rhapsody.

When I felt 2 of Kingsley's fingers tearing through my cunt, my eyes popped right back open. I liberated my nipple and slipped a clump of my hair in my mouth, biting down to muffle my shaking moans. Every one of my orifices manipulated simultaneously was a knee-numbing sensation too much for me to handle.

I was about to explode any second, threatening to squirt on his face and down his chin –