Grid Iron Bad Boy: A Football Romance (10 page)

W
e stumble
off the elevator and down my apartment hallway to my door. I push Chelsea back against the doorframe with a soft thud, pinning her there with my hips, keeping her captive with my kisses trailing down her soft neck. I wrangle my keys out of my wet clothes and manage to get the door open. We practically fall in through the open door, braided together by our arms, legs and tongues.

I kick the door shut with my heel and drop the keys to the floor. I kick off my shoes and quickly peel my soaked shirt from my skin. It hits my hardwood with a sloppy th-wap. I couldn’t give two shits about that floor right now though. My only focus is her.

Looking over Chelsea’s dress I realize I don’t have the patience to unbutton it. I restrain myself from decimating her dress by ripping the buttons open until they pop and fly off of her in every direction. Instead, I reach down to the hem, letting my fingers trail up over her firm thighs and tug it up over her body until it joins my wet shirt on the floor.

Standing in front of me is the kind of exquisite beauty that men have been trying to capture in paintings and art since we first decided to draw on cave walls.

Chelsea lowers her gaze as my eyes slowly travel her body. She looks like a bronze statue. Her purple bra and panties teasing me as it hides her generous curves beneath.

I step in toward her and walk her back against my front hall wall. My hand slips behind her back and makes quick work of her bra strap. She watches me as I pull the straps down her smooth arms and lean down, letting my lips surround her dark nipple. A small shiver runs through her as I swirl my tongue over her pebbled nub. I suck her nipple into my mouth and she groans out loud. My hand travels down her belly, until my fingers meet the fabric of her panties. I slide my hand under the lace, lightly brushing my fingertips over her trimmed hair. I move my mouth to her other breast and my middle finger plunges between her lower lips greeting me with her wet warmth. I push my finger inside her, surprised by how tight she feels with just one. I can’t wait to feel her pussy squeezing down on my cock again as I stretch her out to her limit.

I slip my finger deep inside her and suck her nipple into my mouth and Chelsea throws her head back and cries out loudly. If there’s anyone in the apartment hallway right now, they know I’m doing my job right. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear her inside their own places. I fucking love how loud she gets. It’s so unlike her to let loose. To give in. It’s amazing to bring this out in her. She’s a naughty girl. My naughty girl. I love that she hides that side of her from everyone but me.

I pull my hand back out from her underwear and abandon her nipple, standing up tall. Chelsea groans again, but this time it’s in protest. She opens her mouth, but before I let her speak, I slide my hands under her ass and lift her off her feet.

“Ah! What are you doing?” She squeals, but I can hear in her voice that she loves it.

I don’t answer her with words. Instead I plop her down onto my island and look down at her body like the dessert I’m about to devour. “I guess I felt like having a midnight snack,” I shrug. I guide her backward onto my countertop until she’s lying out before me. “Put your arms up,” I instruct her and she complies. Her hands travel up over her face until her fingers are wrapped around the cool granite of my counter. My eyes dart over the beauty lying out before me until they stop at the purple fabric taunting me between her thighs. I clutch her lace panties in my fist and relentlessly yank them down her legs until they reach her high-heeled feet. With some little flutters of her toes, Chelsea manages to kick them off.

I slide my fingers under the fat flesh of her ass and pull her hips up toward me until I can smell her desire under my nose. Chelsea twists until she manages to get her feet under her on the countertop, still clinging onto the far edge of my island for support. I spread her pussy open with my thumbs and lick her from her asshole to her clit, holding her tight in my hands so she can’t squirm or twist away. I let my tongue dance over her sensitive nub while she writhes in my hands, her cries filling my apartment. I hold her tight, my fingers pressing hard into her ass as I open my mouth wide and flatten my tongue against her clit before fluttering the tip of my tongue against her furiously.

Chelsea is chasing her pleasure with her hips, trying to push herself flatter against my mouth. Her thighs are shaking and her ass is tense, I know I’m gonna make her cum soon. I keep holding her, owning her, tasting her until her ecstasy overwhelms her. “Ohhh! Cameron. Holy fuck!” She cries out as her sweet nectar floods my tongue. I watch as she wrenches her eyes shut and rolls her head back against my countertop while I lap up her juices. I pull my head back, but keep her hips hoisted up as I enjoy the view of her writhing in front of me.

Finally, she stops quivering and she opens her eyes wide, like she’s just woken up from a deep sleep in an unfamiliar bed. Before she has a chance to say a word, I circle my fingers over her hips and flip her over on my counter so she’s face down and her legs are dangling over the side.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you sweetheart?” I almost growl. She’s got me harder than the granite countertop I’ve got her bent over.

“Yes,” her tiptoes reach my floor and she opens her stance for me, making room between her legs.

“How do you want me to fuck you, Chelsea?” I press her.

“Rough, I want it rough,” her breathing is labored, like the very idea is almost enough to make her cum again.

“You’re my dirty girl, aren’t you?” I give her plump ass a sharp smack and she yelps.

“Yes, I am.”

I pull my wallet out of my wet jeans and quickly find the foil packet I’m looking for. I make quick work of tugging it free and toss my wallet to the floor. I give Chelsea another sharp smack on the ass, this time on the other cheek and she gives me a deep, guttural moan.

I yank open my belt and pull my pants open, exposing my cock. The condom is quickly slipped down my shaft and with my jeans around my ankles, I step between Chelsea’s legs.

I reach down to her head and smooth my hand over her hair until it reaches the back. Then I grab a fistful and pull her head up from the counter as I sink my thick cock into her tight little pussy.

“Oh. My. Fuck!” She cries out to my ceiling as I fuck her hard. I can feel her pussy stretching out to accommodate me as her muscles inside work to milk my cock.

“Is this what you wanted?” I lean forward and whisper into her ear.

“Y-yes,” she can barely get the word out. She puts her hands down on the counter and pulls her head forward a bit so the fistful of hair I’ve got wrapped around my hand is pulled even tighter. Damn, she is dirty. She isn’t fucking around when she says she wants me to go rough on her.

Sliding my free hand up her neck, I circle my hand with just a little pressure, just under her jaw. Chelsea groans and I can feel the vibrations on my hand from her vocal chords.

I slam my cock into her over and over, pressing her firm against the counter with my hips as I hold her in place by her hair and throat. Chelsea suddenly squeezes around my cock so tight, it takes me by surprise.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it baby, make me cum.” I grunt as I keep fucking her with wild abandon. My orgasm rips through me like a tidal wave as I spurt my seed into the latex barrier between us. Little tremors run through me and my hands drop from her neck and hair as I gasp for breath. She’s got me so worked up I’m fucking panting.

With my fingers around the base of the condom, I pull my cock from her and quickly slip the rubber off and walk a few steps over to the trash can where I throw it away.

Chelsea has braced herself against my countertop and her legs are wobbling like a new fawn that was just born. She doesn’t look like she can take two steps on those shaky legs, not that her high heels are helping much.

I walk over to her and slip my hand under the back of her legs while my other arm braces her neck and easily lift her off the floor. She lets her shoes slip from her feet and clatter underneath us and I walk her down the hall to my bedroom.

“That,” she sighs, “that was amazing.” She looks up at me from under her eyelashes and I give her a quick kiss on the forehead.

“I’m glad,” I murmur. “Because there’s a lot more where that came from,” I toss her gently down onto my bed and crawl up beside her.

T
he guys finish
up their footwork drills as I throw the ball far down the field of the Mile High Stadium. I can’t believe how many Broncos games I’ve watched unfold on this very grass. It doesn’t feel real to be pursuing my dream inside the same walls that they live theirs.

I try to muster my enthusiasm, build it up, fucking send it into the stratosphere. However, my luster is dulled from our last loss. As I soak in the scene on the field, I can see that I’m not alone. The whole team is dragging ass today. That last loss really stomped on our balls.

Finally, Coach Silver blows his whistle and sends us on our way to get ready for the game. Warm up is over and it’s hard to have a good feeling about the impending showdown with Colorado State when we can’t even pretend to have it together for practice.

I lightly jog toward my guys, following them to the locker room, when the coach blows his whistle sharply.

“Armstrong! C’mere for a sec, will ya?” He waves me over to his side. I stop on a dime and join him as the rest of my team half-heartedly shuffles inside.

“Coach?” I search his deeply wrinkled face for a clue. For some indication of what he wants.

“How do you find the energy today? With the guys, I mean? You feel like you guys are ready to take the cup?” He wipes the back of his freckled hand over his brow and squints through the bright sun to look up into my face.

Are we ready to take the cup? What a joke. Every year we take on our arch rivals, the Colorado State Rams, in the Rocky Mountain Showdown. Normally it’s the most amped up you’ll see us. It’s hands down one of the best “away” games we ever get to play. With half the audience cheering for us as loudly as they’re cheering for our opponents, there’s no Seahawks “extra player” on this field. The fact that the Centennial Cup is on the line usually ups the ante a bit.

Not this year.

Not today.

“I’ve seen it worse,” I lie. “The guys will pull though. I think that last loss just stuck it to us, you know?” I pull off my helmet and tuck it under my arm.

Coach Silver looks at me and then squints down toward the exit my guys disappeared through like he’s deep in thought. After a second it gets uncomfortable.

“Uh, Coach? Is that all you wanted?”

His green eyes snap back up from whatever world he just disappeared into and meet mine. “No, no. That’s not it.” He grabs the brim of his cap and flips his hat off his head, pushing back his thinning hair before replacing it.

I wait for him to continue.

“Listen,” he finally says, “when you first joined this team, you were just a kid. Sure, sure,” he holds up his hands to silence my unspoken protest, “you were fucking older than the other freshmen. I know you lived a whole life out there,” he waves his hand vaguely, “but to me, on this field, in this game, you were just a kid.”

“OK Coach,” I push my shaggy hair back from my face and try to follow the bouncing ball. So far, I have no idea where this is going.

“The guy standing across from me right now, he ain’t a kid no more. I’ve watched you grow up over these past four years, Armstrong. You’re a man now. A man who’s got more NFL scouts sniffin’ his ass than a new bitch at a dog shelter,” he chuckles dryly. “And it’s well-fucking-deserved too. I’m proud of you.” He claps his hand against my padded shoulder and his face cracks into a smile.

“Thanks,” I smile back. Pride is swelling up in my chest like hot air expanding a balloon.

“Don’t thank me. I just gave you the tools. You’re the one who put in the hours learning how to master them. Now listen, normally you know I go do the pre-game speech, right?”

I nod in response.

“Right, but today I think you’re gonna give that speech. It’s better coming from you. You’re at the pinnacle of your college career, Armstrong. You’ve earned it.” He pulls the brim of his cap, tugging his hat down further on his head.

“Seriously?” I’m not sure what to say. “Thanks,” I finally manage to find the word.

“Stop thanking me for shit that you’ve earned,” he shrugs me off. “Look Armstrong, I know how you served in the army before all this. I know you weren’t ever a general over there,” he laughs.

“No, that was my father,” I admit.

“Yes, but what I’m saying is right here, right now, you’re the field general, OK? Those men in there, they’re your guys. They’re looking to follow your lead. You need to rally your troops and pull this out for us.” He slaps his hands together.

“Yes, Coach!” I bark back.

“You got this, Armstrong. Now go fire up your guys and hand Colorado State their asses in a sling,” he slaps my shoulder and I nod. Jogging down the field, I make my way to the players’ exit and navigate my way inside the concrete walls. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the lacking sunlight as I get my bearings.

I find the door to our locker room and stride through it. Inside, the team is finishing up getting their padding clipped on and their laces tied up. The room is filled with the usual buzz of activity before any of our games, but it’s like it’s under water. The movements are less crisp; the energy is less convincing.

“Listen up!” I fill the room with my voice, “Gather ‘round and take a knee. I have a few words I want to say before we head out there today,” I stand tall and bark my orders.

The guys shuffle around me, a few with confused looks on their faces. Eventually I have the entire team surrounding me, all supporting themselves on one knee and looking up at me to continue.

I clear my throat and my mind. This isn’t the kind of speech you give from your head. It’s one you give with your heart. “Alright! Every single one of you knows why we’re here today. You know what we’re expected to do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

Their enthusiasm is underwhelming to say the least.

“Well, let me tell you right now, if this is how you plan to play this game, if this is how you intend to face off with the Rams, you might as well just hand them the cup now and we can all call it a day.”

“What the fuck, man?” I hear a voice from the grumblings around me.

“Listen to me!” I roar, my voice reverberates from the lockers around us and hopefully imprints on their hearts. “I think you all know by now that before I joined this team, I fought with the army over in Afghanistan, right?”

“Yeah, man.”

I see others nodding their heads at me.

“I did five years in the military and let me tell you, it wasn’t all that different from being on this team. You get to know those guys like brothers, you travel around with them, you learn who they really are under pressure. There’s more in common than you think. And when I went to war, I shit you not, it was a lot like heading into these fucking games here.”

I can see some skepticism on the faces looking back at me. At least I have all of their attention. The eyes of the room are all on me.

“When we were over there, do you think every day was a victory? That every task was a success? No! It wasn’t! There were days when we were getting our asses handed to us. But let me tell you this, if we had a bad day or a bad week and then we moved on with it hanging over our heads, it didn’t get better. We had to put it out of our minds, live to fight another fucking day, boys.” I swallow hard as the memories of my time in the desert flood back.

“Many of you know, when I was in Afghanistan, my company came under ambush. We lost men that day. We lost that battle. I know what it’s like to bleed into the dirt for something you believe in and still lose. I’ve been there.” I grip my helmet tight under my arm and focus on the guys in front of me, pushing away the faces of the men we lost so long ago.

“Let me tell you this. If you don’t get up, even when you’re broken and beaten down, if you don’t keep pushing, then you’ve already lost. Not just the one battle, you lost at life. It’s over because you gave up. You quit. Is that any way to go out?”

“No!” A few of my guys yell back.

“Is that anyway to fucking go out? To quit!” I yell louder.

“No!” The room echoes with their voices.

“You never quit. You never even understand the concept. You push that shit out of your minds, you hear me? This battle might not be in the desert, it might not be for freedom, but it fucking matters. And we WILL NOT quit, we will not falter, we will not even doubt that we can win until it is taken from us. Until it is over and we’ve bled on that field out there. Until we’ve left it all out there, honestly, with nothing left to give. Even then, even then boys, we won’t quit. Will we?”

“No!” The lockers shake with our voices.

“So get up, get your fucking game faces on and show this crowd, this school and this state what we look like in battle. Show them a game played with integrity and with heart and I’ll show you a game we’ll fucking win. Let’s go! Let’s go!” I wave my hand in a circle, like I’m trying to sweep them back up onto their feet.

“Fuck yeah!”

“We got this!”

“No such thing as quit!”  They yell as they rise to their feet and smash their helmets down onto their heads.

We march out the doors together like soldiers in battle. The sun glints in my eyes and I have to squeeze them almost shut so it doesn’t blind me. As I jog with my men around me, I search the stands. The smile on my face hurts it’s so broad, when I see Chelsea sitting in the crowd.

The cup, the girl, the life I’ve always wanted. It’s all mine for the grabbing.

We got this.

I’ve got this.