He shakes his head. “You don’t deserve the D yet. Earn it. Beg for it.”
He removes one hand from my throat and squeezes my nipple so damn hard that I think it might pop off. My eyes roll back in my head, and I let out a moan.
“You’re one deranged bitch.”
“You flatter me,” I croak out.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you ready to beg for it?”
I smile as I shake my head. I like this game.
He slaps my nipple harder than I’ve ever felt, and my pussy leaks in happiness.
“Say,please fuck me.”
I shake my head even though my pussy is weeping for him now.
He brings his arms under my knees before returning his hands to my neck. I’m beyond open and exposed to him in this position. I’m not sure I’ve done this with choking before. His long, muscular arms afford a few extra benefits.
I think he’s finally going to reenter me, but he continues running his cock through me as though he has all the time in the world. Bending his head, he bites my nipple with bruising force, and I swear I nearly come from everything he’s doing to my body.
I can’t take it anymore. I give in. “P…please. Fuck me.”
He immediately impales me with his monster cock and then proceeds to give me the pounding of a lifetime all morning until it’s time for me to get ready for my game.
EIGHTEEN
KENNEDY
I’ve been in my shower for more than thirty minutes with the temperature turned up as high as I can stand it. I’m sore.Reallyfucking sore. It’s making me a little nervous about my game today. I hope I can move like I need to.
I look down at my body. He marked me all over but did a nice job of limiting it to areas that will remain hidden by my basketball uniform. My breasts and ass took the brunt of it. I can’t help but smile, remembering what was undoubtedly the best sex of my life.
He was so overtly domineering in bed…once I poked the bear a little bit. It’s in complete contrast to his silly, laid-back demeanor. My fingers run over my red, raw nipples as I replay the morning inside my head.
Once again, he pulled countless orgasms from my body, over and over. He’s got talent. I’ll give him that.
He didn’t want to leave, but I kicked him out, knowing my body couldn’t possibly take any more sex, and I needed to get myself prepared to play today.
As he left, he thanked me for taking care of him in his time ofneed. I’m guessing that means this was a one-time thing, which is probably for the best. I hate that I’m sad at the notion of not having him again.
I blow-dry my hair and then style it into one of my perfect runway-ready ponytails. I then apply my makeup. I don’t overdo it for games, but a little foundation, mascara, and light lip gloss while on national television can’t hurt. I don’t want to look like Casper the Ghost.
They’re starting to photograph us when we walk into the stadium, so I’m doing my best to get creative with my gameday walk-in outfits. In fact, Daylen lost a bet to me before we left for Vegas, and I get to dress him for his opening day walk-in outfit. I shudder to think what he would have chosen for me to wear today if he had won. I’d probably be dressed in a 1950s dad lawn-mowing outfit. That or my gold bikini, which he mentioned countless times when we were drunk in Vegas.
I shimmy into expensive, high-end skinny jeans, which show off my figure nicely. I can’t help but smile as I grab the shirt I purchased to wear today. It’s a retro, fashionable, flattering one-of-a-kind version of Sulley’s college jersey. It has her school, number, and name on it. She has no idea about it. I can’t wait for her to see me wearing it.
Slipping into my stiletto heels, I leave my apartment and head to the stadium. As I enter, I’m accosted by photographers, all shouting questions at me about my outfit choice. I will no doubt be all over social media within the hour.
“Kennedy, why Sulley O’Shea’s jersey?” one of them stupidly asks.
I smile as I stand in front of our team’s step and repeat banner backdrop and pose for the flashes going off in my face. “Because she’s a superstar and my friend. I’m sick of the women in this league bashing her when they should be thanking her for bringing so much attention to the sport.”
It’s true. No one used to give a shit what we wore when wewalked into the stadiums. We never got this type of media attention before Sulley came into the picture.
I continue, “She should know her teammates have her back, even if the rest of the women in this league feel threatened by her. We love and support her wholeheartedly.”
I blow them a kiss as I ignore the remaining questions, pose for another minute, and then head into the locker room.
