Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance (14 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

Hannibal

Man, talk about an awkward situation.

There was Manfred Schuacher, standing stark naked, with his hands on his hips. He was absolutely shameless in his nudity.

And even Hannibal admitted that the German was in fantastic shape – his pale body ripped and muscular. From between his legs hung a sizeable cock that even somebody with Hannibal’s skin color would be proud of.

But him standing there like that? This was making Baller
really
uncomfortable.

“Y-yo,” Hannibal blindly snatched for a spare towel. “Y-you need one of these, bro?”

He knew Europeans tended to be a bit more…
open-minded
about things. But he sure as hell hoped this wasn’t Schumacher coming onto him.

But then there was a discreet cough from the other end of the locker room, and Hannibal realized he’d read the situation all wrong.

As he turned and looked, Baller’s eyes widened even further.

Standing in the doorway, demure and pretty, was Schumacher’s beautiful English girlfriend, Sally, in her light autumn dress.

“Oh,
shit
,” Hannibal covered himself with a towel. “Fuck, I didn’t see you there.” He backed up towards the showers. “I can wait in there until you guys are…”

Are what? Done? What was she even
doing
in the men’s locker room.

“
Nein
,
nein
,” Schumacher grinned. “Don’t go anywhere.” He turned to his girlfriend. “Come in here,
meine kleine
Foxy.”

Sally primly trotted into the changing room, and stood beside Schumacher. The German’s arm curled around her waist.

“Look at him,
der schöne amerikanisch
,” he purred, gesturing towards a self-conscious Hannibal. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Yes,” Sally cocked her head on one side, as if examining a painting rather than a real, live human being. “I suppose he is.”

“You’ve never had
eine schwarze
before,” Schumacher leaned over, and kissed Sally’s neck. She batted him away, almost as if she was irritated. “The contrast of his skin on yours would be…”

The German left that sentence unfinished, but the fact that his cock was swelling to erection told Hannibal all he needed to know.

“Listen,” the big, black fighter stammered, grabbing his clothes. “I think I’ll get out of here and leave you two alone…”

“No, please,” in her crisp English accent, the pretty girl stepped up and placed one slender, white hand on Hannibal’s broad, black chest. “Don’t go.”

Hannibal gasped. Her hand was scalding hot on his skin.

She looked up into Hannibal’s eyes. Her own eyes were green and smoldering, and when she bit her bottom lip it was almost impossible to stop blood rushing to his own cock.

“Stay,
Herr
Alexander,” Schumacher was standing there now with a sizeable erection, his eyes flashing dangerously. “She is here for
your
benefit.” His crooked smirk widened. “I know I am paying you, but I thought perhaps some additional
reward
would not go unappreciated.”

Hannibal gulped dryly.

He looked back down into Sally’s eyes. She was still staring up at him, one hand still on his chest. Then, her other palm pressed against his firm stomach, and slid down towards the towel wrapped around his waist.

Hannibal’s heart pounded, and butterflies churned in his stomach.

“It’s alright, really,” Sally murmured in that deliciously posh accent of hers. “Manny likes to watch, you know.”

And then her fingers slid inside the towel, and it fell from around Hannibal’s waist into a crumpled heap around his ankles.

“Oh, fuuuck,” Hannibal groaned.

Sally’s eyes flashed. She smiled mischievously, and her hand slid lower, until her fingers were slithering through Hannibal’s neatly trimmed pubic hair.

And then her fingers curled around his cock.

“Oh,
shit
.”

Immediately, Hannibal’s dick began growing firmer.

“I’ve never had one this big before,” Sally purred, stroking Hannibal’s stiffening cock. “I’m not even sure I’ll be able to fit it in my little mouth…”

And then she slowly started to sink to her knees…

“Oh, fuck, no,” the moment she broke eye contact, it was like the spell had been broken, too.

Hannibal staggered back, his cock rearing like a black baton from between his legs.

“No, no,” he stammered, grabbing a towel to cover himself. “Y-you don’t need to do this, Ms. Fox.”

“I don’t
need
to, Mr. Alexander,” she said primly. “I
want
to.”

“Yeah, but…” Hannibal’s heart was racing. He gulped. “Look, it’s not that I don’t
want
to.” His enormous erection was probably proof of that. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Schumacher demanded. “You don’t think my woman is.. is
pretty
enough?”

“She’s fucking
beautiful
,” Hannibal admitted. “It’s just…” He took a shuddering breath. “It’s just I started seeing a girl I like a few days ago and…” He gulped. “And, well, I don’t think she’d appreciate me doing
this
.”

Schumacher was silent. Sally Fox, on the other hand, merely nodded and raised herself up to her feet again.

“Zis girl,” Schumacher eventually shrugged. “She would never need to know.”

“No,” Hannibal nodded. “But
I
would know. And…” He shook his head. “And I don’t want to be that kind of guy. Not any more.”

Schumacher snorted.

“Very well.” And then he turned to Sally, who was looking a little crestfallen. “Don’t worry,
Liebling
. We will find you
ein schöner schwarzen Schwanz
before we go, I promise.”

“Thank you, Manny.”

“Now leave us men to dress.”

“Yes, dear.”

And with that, the beautiful English girl clip-clopped on her heels out of the locker room.

For a moment there was an awkward silence between the two men. Eventually Schumacher broke it.

“I hope you’re not… offended,
Herr
Alexander.”

“No, no,” Hannibal waved his hands dismissively. “Shit, your girlfriend is beautiful, and I’m not one to judge what gets you cats off.” Then he snorted nostalgically. “Shit, if you’d have put me in that situation a couple of weeks ago, I’d probably even have gone along with it.”

“Vell,” Schumacher snorted with a wry smile. “I’m sorry I missed that opportunity.” Then he tossed Hannibal a fresh towel. “Now let’s get washed up. If I can’t offer you my girlfriend, perhaps I can offer you lunch, instead.”

And that was one threesome Hannibal was happy to be a part of.

Chapter Forty-Four

Hannibal

On Friday night, Hannibal parked his Bentley in front of his old house, on that tree-lined suburban street, and sighed.

Peering out through the windscreen, he looked at the old brick and faded wood, and the bowed tree in the front yard.

He’d grown up there. He and Jules and learned to ride bikes on the sidewalk outside that house, and could remember that tree in front from before it was taller than the house.

And yet now, at that moment, he felt like a stranger there.

With a sigh, the big man clambered out of the car and grabbed a bag from the back seat. Trader Joe’s had yielded a six dollar bottle of Rioja that even his father would be impressed with, and a bouquet of flowers for Kristen’s mom that didn’t cost so much he’d feel like he was betraying his own mom by giving them to her.

And then, with butterflies churning in his stomach, he walked down the driveway and knocked on the door.

Immediately, Buttons and Popcorn started yapping wildly from the other side of the big, oak door – and as soon as they did, Hannibal heard Kristen laughing through the door: “That’ll be Hannibal, dad.”

Hannibal felt a brief flash of anger. He’d never even
think
of calling his stepmother ‘mom.’ It was weird to hear Kristen call Cornell ‘dad.’

But by the time the door opened, he’d shaken it off, and he greeted Kristen with a big smile.

“Hey, you,” she embraced him eagerly, and hung on just a little bit longer than they would have done in previous years. Then, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, Kristen planted a quick kiss on Hannibal’s lips and guided him inside.

The house was warm, and the air was rich with the delicious smell of dinner. As Hannibal walked into the kitchen, he was greeted with a cheery wave from Kristen’s mom, Susie, who was dressed in a neat, black apron and stirring a huge pan of buttered mashed potatoes.

Jules was there too, looking lanky and uncomfortable at the kitchen table as he tried to engage his dad in conversation. As soon as Hannibal came in, he leapt up and gave him a ‘homie handshake’ and a slap on the back, murmuring: “Good to see, you, blood.”

Hannibal awkwardly patted him on the back. They’d seen each other every day for over a week. He didn’t know what made tonight so special!

But when it came to the next face to come bearing down at him… Well, that was a different kettle of fish.

With his grey-black afro looking particularly wild, and his horn-rimmed glasses slightly crooked, Cornell Alexander hefted his rotund form from behind the table, and offered his eldest son his hand.

“Pleased you could make it, son.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Pops.”

And then, almost forgetting it, Baller handed over the wine.

Cornell glanced at the bottle for a second – a
2010 Gran Reserva
– and nodded his approval.

“And these flowers are for her… I mean,
Susie
.” And at the sound of her name, Kristen’s mom wheeled around like a younger, prettier Paula Deen and crushed Hannibal to her bosom.

Crushed between her breasts, it was the first time he’d considered tapping out since his fight with James MacDonald.

“Now sit down, sit down,” she flustered, finding a vase for the lilies. “I made your father’s favorite, pork chops and mashed potato.” And then she winked lovingly at Cornell. “And I know exactly how he likes them.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Hannibal

Two hours later, Cornell Alexander and his eldest son sat on the back patio, smoking cigars.

Cornell had been smoking Topper Ebony cigars since he was in his early twenties, and perhaps the few occasions that Hannibal felt like he and his dad had ever really connected were the rare occasions when he’d crack open that richly-smelling box and pull out two of the Connecticut-made cigars for the both of them to enjoy.

“Dinner was good,” Hannibal murmured, as he breathed rich smoke from his nostrils.

Cornell snorted.

“Don’t tell your stepmother,” he admitted, buoyed by three glasses of Rioja, “but the only time I miss your mother is porkchop night.” He sighed. “Your mom could cook a mean porkchop.”

“She still can,” Hannibal shrugged. It was the first meal he’d requested after coming home.

That neatly killed off conversation for a couple of minutes – but you don’t need much conversation when you have a good cigar.

Eventually, though, Cornell asked: “So what’s next?”

Hannibal turned to him.

“What do you mean?”

“For you,” Cornell explained. “I mean, you got kicked out of the fighting game, right?” He took a puff from his cigar. “Kristen’s got your old room, but if you need a place to stay for a while…”

“Pops, I’m going back into the league,” Hannibal said coolly. “I was suspended, it wasn’t a ban.” He puffed his own cigar. “I’m considering it a time-out. Maybe I needed one.”

“Sounds like you need a
longer
one,” Cornell grumbled. “How long’s it gonna last next time? Six months? Less?” He narrowed his eyes. “How old are you gonna be when that butcher’s shop finally spits you back out? Thirty? With no college degree, no job and no future.” He snorted, smoke billowing from his flared nostrils. “I thought I raised you smarter than that.”

“Oh, in this family there’s plenty of dumb to go around,” Hannibal growled back. “But I’ll make you a deal, Pops. As long as I’m here, I’m gonna keep Jules in school. Whatever he intends to do with his life, I’m gonna make sure he always has that to fall back on.”

“And what will
you
fall back on, Hannibal?”

The fighter looked his father dead in the eye, and crushed his cigar butt into the concrete patio.

“I’ve already done my falling, Dad,” he explained. “In fact, I think God, or whoever it was who brought me back here, did it to help me get my head back in the game.” He clambered stiffly to his feet. “Because if there’s one thing the past few weeks have taught me about ‘falling back,’ it’s that when you’re on the ground, the fight ain’t over. It ain’t ever over until you tap out.”

And then, as he headed back inside, he called over his shoulder: “And I’m
done
tapping out.”