Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’m about to have a viral vagina.
BLAIR
Beau leads me toward the limo, his big hand sweating and tugging mine. By the veins popping on his neck, by the clench of his jaw, he’s fighting every instinct to kill the shouting shithead with the Nikon.
I love Beau’s maturity. His restraint. It’s sexy. It’s powerful. He could write a check for that guy’s existence, or he could beat him into a coma. He’s too good for him.
But me?
Caution, meet the this-bitch-is-pissed wind.
I whip around, aiming my glare right at the guilty lens.
This little dick on two legs smells like you’d expect. Showers? They repulse him. Toothpaste? Who needs it? Getting laid? He’s never been so lucky.
I smile, beaming for his Nikon, twitching my nose for a cute effect.
“Why yes!” I answer. “Thank you for asking. Duncan Monroe is my father, so yes, I can bag any baller I like and make all the pretty blue Bronson babies I want.” Then I rake his short stature, from his greasy head to his gnarled toenails in dirty flip-flops. “But bless your shriveled little dick. With the way you smell, no one will help you empty your saggy blue balls.”
I kiss my middle finger for his lens.
Ruby laughs.
Colt chuckles.
Beau gently tugs me toward the open limo door, and victory tastes sweet in my mouth. Pride lifts my D cups high. Triumph guides my teetering high heels.
But…
They’re high heels made by men like the clicking dick. They serve their purpose. They make me an idiot. They make me trip, stumbling back in slow motion with my drawling, “Ahhhhhhhh, sssshhhhiiiitttt,” shout filling in the air.
In one plop, I’m on my ass. Thankfully, it’s padded. My fluffy cheeks do their job. They protect my assets, but my short dress decides to show my pride to the world.
My panties, that is.
Clicking shutters catch my kitty flash before Beau can scoop me up fast enough.
“Blair,” he rushes, lifting, practically cradling me. It’s so damn sweet, and making it worse, exposing all my lady goods to the lenses.
“Baby, are you okay?” But Beau’s just worried. He’s protecting me while Colt does, too.
Colt shoves the photographer away like he’s a cornerback, making him fall back on his ass, too, while Ruby stands over the guy. She twists her face, mocking him, “Ewww. You smell like you wanna be left alone.”
I want to laugh, but Beau hikes me like a football, tossing me gently inside the limo before he slides in behind me. Ruby then Colt join us before the chauffeur slams the door.
Beau brushes back my hair. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I answer.
“Where are you hurt?” He inspects my hands, looking for abrasions, then my wrists, as if he’ll find a protruding bone.
“On my pussy.”
“What?” He moves to lift my dress, but I shoo his hands away.
“I mean my panties,” I huff. “My panties aren’t fine.”
“Oh no!” Ruby gasps. “Girl, is it Aunt Flo? Do you have a tail flower? Did that dickhead start the Red Rage, The Blood Bath, The Estrogen Exodus, The?—”
“Jesus of the pink lady jizz.” Colt laughs. “You two are just alike. How many names you got for your period?”
Ruby shrugs, reaching into her clutch. “I’m always packin’ cotton. Whatdayaneed? Regular? Super Plus? A wad of tissues?”
“No.” I want to cry, but I start laughing. “No, I’m not flying the red flag. I’m wearing these.”
I might as well show them because I’m about to have a viral vagina. One no penicillin can cure.
And yes, dammit. I know that’s not how that medicine works, but wait til you see my injury.
Lifting my dress, I reveal what was meant for Beau and Colt tonight, not Instagram and ESPN.
My men tilt their heads like puppy dogs. You’d think I’d have them trained by now, but they’re slow to read my panties.
TOUCHDOWN
My white triangle reads in bold, black ink with a red football that also looks like women’s lips. I ordered a dozen pair from Etsy to get fucked, not be fucked.
“Uh-oh,” is what falls from Beau’s sexy lips.
“They’re Atlanta’s colors,” is all Colt can confirm.
“Well,” dismissively Ruby shrugs, “at least they don’t say ‘ball control’ or ‘huddle up boys’ or?—”
I laugh, recalling all the football terms I hear Beau and Colt shout at games on the flatscreen while I snicker, dying not to make the puns.
But now I toss ‘em out.
“Yeah,” I add, “or ‘man-to-man coverage,’” I’m crying, “or ‘in the pocket’ or ‘face mask’ or ‘smash mouth offense’ or?—”
“Quarterback sneak,” Colt jumps in, “or ‘running up the score’ or?—”
“Two-minute warning.” Beau’s laughing, too.
“Damn.” I swipe away tears and mascara. “I could put all those on panties and open an Etsy shop.”
“You should!” Ruby scoots to the edge of her seat. She’s across from me and beside Colt. He’s so big he makes her look like an elfin fairy with an evil plan.
“That’s how you’ll spin it,” Ruby says. “You’ll say you bought the funny panties since people make jokes about women who date ballers.” She pauses, finger in the air. “Ballers! There’s another pair we can sell. We can put it on boxers, too. But see what I mean? You can say you wore them as a joke, but since you fell, making fans fall in love with your touchdown panties, you’re opening an Etsy store and donating the money to charity. You’ll be fine.”
“But I’m not fine,” I sigh. “I’m fucked.”
“And it could backfire.” Beau wraps his arm around me. “This will go viral for a hot second, but we got this. Okay?”
My phone?
You can have it. I can’t watch my vagina go viral. From here on, I’m using messenger pigeons and learning Morse Code.
After we get home and say goodnight to Ruby, who bunks in one of Beau’s lavish guest bedrooms, my sense of humor fails me. The magnitude of my panty problem settles in.
So, my plan is to set up camp under the covers of Beau’s bed for the next three years.
Who needs sunlight and joy when you can get dragged down the pavement of public opinion online for years?
“I can’t believe I did that.”
I bang my head against the shower tile. Colt’s combing conditioner through my hair. Usually, it relaxes us, but not tonight. Even when Beau replaces the polished marble walls of his spa shower with the wall of his pecs for my doofus forehead, I can’t escape my panty predicament.
“It was cute,” Beau assures, brushing the back of his fingers across my cheek.
“It was dumb,” I argue. “I should know better, especially in a short dress. If it wasn’t that dickhead photographer, it could’ve been a gust of wind.”
“Now, that would’ve been sexy.” Colt caresses my shoulders. “So Marilyn Monroe, but Blair Monroe and way hotter.”
“Nah.” Beau kisses the tip of my nose. “It was hot and sexy. Do you know how many wish they had a woman like you? One who makes sex what it should be? Natural? Fun? Passionate and whatever? Blair,” he lifts my chin, “it’ll be okay.”
“You’re sweet, but you’re lying. You both are. This is about to get feral. Your fans will eat me alive.”
“No,” Beau brushes his lips over mine, “we eat you alive. No one else.”
“Y’all, I’m serious.” But I pull away, squeezing out of their muscle sandwich. “Your season hasn’t even started, and I’ve already ruined it. It’s all they’ll talk about. Watch. Every touchdown you make, they’ll throw panties on the field.”
“That’d be fucking awesome!” Colt laughs. “That’s way better than plastic bottles and cups. Or my favorite: used toilet paper.”
“See!” I cry. “That’s what I mean. Your fans are going to kill me, and you’ll be heckled. You’ll be mocked.”
“We’ll be winning.” Beau stays calm. “They’ll get over it.”
“Fine. They’ll love you but hate me.”
“Do you care?”
“No,” I answer Beau honestly. “After Amber’s one-star review shit, I have so many haters; stand in line. But it’s not fair to you.” I reach for his hand and Colt’s. “This is going to be your winning season. You guys are crushing it. You’re gonna win the Super Bowl.”
Looking back at Beau’s blue eyes, I see so much and tears bite at mine.
“You’ve worked so hard for this. All the years you got up early for practice. Then, you went to all your classes and stayed up late, studying in the library. You?—”
“And the only way you know that,” Beau interrupts, cupping my cheek, “is because you always saw me. The real me. Colt and I were fighting, Reese was a mess, and I was alone. I always felt alone unless I was with you. So I’m not letting fuckers mess with my woman.”
“Our woman,” Colt corrects him. He doesn’t sound mad. He sounds sincere.
I squeeze Colt’s hand, then cup Beau’s on my cheek. Steam billows around us. Water gently rains from the shower heads. Rivulets stream down our bodies. Colt’s long blond strands fall in golden wet ropes, and Beau’s brown waves drip like his trimmed beard.
“Yes, I’m yours,” I answer them. “But I should go. I’m not going to be a di?—”
“Don’t say it,” Beau growls. “Don’t say that word, ever, Blair. It’s not true. These have been the best weeks of my life with you two. So no one’s leaving. Not again. Walking out of those hotel rooms before the Super Bowl and then after our Valentine’s night felt so wrong, and nothing felt right until I got you back. Both of you.” He reaches, cupping Colt’s shoulder. “Yes, we started as some fake-girlfriend-temptation bet bullshit, but that didn’t last because we’re too real. And we feel it; we’re in this together.”
“Raven.” Colt grips my hand tighter. He towers over me. “Don’t ever go. Don’t leave us. I feel like my mom finally sent you to me and?—”
“That’s too sweet!” A burst of tears escapes with my blurt, “Y’all are being too sweet! Stop. You’ll always outnumber me, and a woman needs to win.”
Colt smiles. “Oh, you’ve won. I fold my boxers because of you, now. I put your peach lotion on my feet before bed, and you make me eat Icelandic yogurt with chia seeds and?—”
“It’s good for your poop,” I remind him.
“See?” He laughs. “You care about my ass more than I ever did.”
“So do I,” Beau teases Colt before he kisses my cheek. “See, baby? You’ve got us loving ass and each other in all kinds of ways, so your touchdown panties are going in my trophy room.”
I grin, narrowing my eyes. “Did you just call me a trophy?”
“Mm-hmm.” He smirks, all cute. “Blair Monroe, you’re our prize piece of ass, our championship cunt, our title titties, our?—”
“Say one more sexist word, and I’m calling the feminist police.”
“Please do,” Beau mocks. “Just make sure they dress in latex and bring rope because that’s Colt’s kink, and this is mine?—”
Beau whips me around, grabbing my hands at the same time. He’s too fast and trained. My wrists are pinned above my head, my palms pressed against the wet tile before I can protest.
“You’re staying right here, Blair,” Beau demands, his mouth steaming over my ear. I’m gasping with his chest pressed to my back. I’m suddenly turned on, and so is Beau. He’s getting hard, urging into his claim. “You’re staying right here with two NFL players who love you. Who’ll give your sweet pussy so many touchdowns, we’ll lick our creamy trophies as they drip down your thighs. Like this... ”
Beau keeps my wrists bound with his hand. “Colt,” he growls, “care to lick our trophy while I fuck it?”
“Make it drip in my mouth like champagne,” Colt taunts while he lowers. Spreading my thighs, he makes me sway my back, giving him enough room to kneel between my legs.
Beau can’t hold our position with his hand pinning my wrists to the wall, so he grabs my hips, demanding, “Stay just like this, Kitten. Keep your hands there and bend over. Open up your pussy for us to play with. We’re scoring touchdowns with you tonight, baby.”
I grin, loving him. Loving how Beau is turning my mortifying moment into a hot memory, and I love how Colt agrees. How he starts kissing my clit while Beau taunts us, “Grab my cock. Suck it while you tease her pussy with it, too.”
“Oh god,” I moan to Colt’s warm tongue, rolling over my clit before he presses, rubbing Beau’s hard, slick tip over it, too, sending sweet shivers through my flesh, moans crawling out of my throat.
Then Colt teases Beau’s crown into my entrance, making me ache for it before he takes it out, taking it into his mouth and sucking my arousal off his tip.
They drive me crazy. They make me feel so loved. They give me so much pleasure; who cares about pain? Who cares what others say when I have this?
“Yes, Colt,” Beau hisses, squeezing my fleshy hips. “Keep sticking my hard dick inside her pussy so you can take it out and suck off her cum.”
For minutes, they play with me and each other until Beau growls, grabbing my hips so hard, he’ll leave bruises. He loves kissing them afterward, and I do, too. I love the marks he leaves.
“She’s so wet for you,” Colt teases over my clit, sensing Beau’s urge. “So fucking sweet and open and ready. Take her. Fuck our little trophy.”
Colt guides Beau’s cock inside my cunt, and it’s ferocious how Beau starts pounding. I cry out, loving it while he praises, “So good, Blair. So good. So perfect and beautiful. You’re our sweet little trophy to fuck all night.”
Like a hammer, Beau fucks me hard while Colt’s mouth, with his tickling whiskers, tenderly sucks my clit. In seconds, I scream. Pleasure. Tension. Worry. My wanton lust. I release it all. It pours down my thighs, streaming with the shower from above.
I come so hard, with a deep grunt, I make Beau come, too. His cock is seated deep inside me. Then I feel him drag his length out. It jumps like he’s still coming, and Colt moans between my thighs.
In a haze, I open my eyes. I glance down at my shaking legs, at how Colt’s waiting, at how Beau gently demands, “Drip, Blair. Drip our cum into Colt’s mouth.”
With a wanton clench of my sex, I obey. I feel Colt’s husky moans. They’re primal, vibrating deep to my core while he buries his face where I’m so open for them, where Colt’s licking and slurping, giving and taking.
The taboo, the thrill, the sensation of it makes me come again and so fast, all in Colt’s mouth as he growls to it. Like my pussy, dripping with Beau’s cum mixed with mine, is a drug, and he needs it. It fuels him.
“Now,” Colt suddenly snarls. “She’s fucking mine. Give her to me.” In a switch that makes me dizzy, Colt rises while Beau falls.
Like he can read my body, Beau steadies my shaking thighs. I’m weak with desire and only want more, and Colt takes it. He drives in and buries himself where Beau just left me so open, raw, and ready for him.
“God! God! God!” I cry out. I belong. Where would I go but here? Where do I belong if not with them?
My clit, which Colt left lavished and tender, Beau takes it. He licks it while Colt thrusts into my cunt, making moans sing from my soul.
Where Beau stretched my cunt to take him, Colt’s length finds new spots to claim. They’re so different and perfectly matched. I’m aching and shouting for more.
“Yes, Raven. Keep screaming for us because you’re ours to fuck.” Colt reaches around, palming the weight of my breasts, swaying with his thrusts. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you our prize? Our dirty little trophy to use? We’ll make every touchdown, so we can come home and fuck this sweet pussy and ass every night. Say it.” Colt hammers his hips. “Say we won. Say you’re ours.”
“Yes!” I cry out. Calloused fingertips pinch my nipples. Whiskered lips suck my clit. A long cock pumps into my pussy. “Yes, fuck me,” I demand. “Turn me into your trophy to use. Fuck me like your little cum slut after every game you win.”
“Mmmm, yes, baby,” Beau moans against my nub. “Colt, let me taste her. Let me suck her cum off your dick.”
Colt grunts, pulling out to oblige, leaving me open and waiting. The smacking, slurping, and sucking sounds Beau gives us make me groan, and Colt growls, “Fuck yes, Beau. Yes, baby, suck that dick. Let me feel your beard on it. Yes, like that. Suck that sweet pussy cum off it before I fuck her more for you to clean up.”
White light fills my vision, my nerves, my heart. I groan, not believing our sex. Our pleasure. Our trust. Our bond. Our everything as Colt drives back inside me, and I brace for his power.
I want Colt.
I want Beau.
The sensation of taking dick and receiving tongue is maddening. It’s ecstasy with them. I come to it, falling into its depths. My knees buckle, but Beau holds my shaking thighs while Colt wraps his arm around my waist and the other around my chest.
He grabs me so hard, holding me so tight that my feet lift from the floor. In a whirl, I’m held, my back to Colt’s chest while he drives inside me, and Beau delivers. He licks my clit, then Colt’s cock, back and forth, right where we join.
“Oh fuck yes, take me,” Colt huffs. He fucks, Beau licks, and I coil tight, getting ready to come again. It’s almost too much, and I can’t stop it. “Take me. Take my cum. Take every drop.”
With a violent shudder, Colt’s coming, too.
He grunts, and I receive him. I’m panting and pulsing when Colt pulls out. I’m dripping over Beau’s waiting mouth. I’m groaning and shaking, coming on his creamy tongue, cleaning my pussy, grateful for our gift.
Our bodies become a wet tangle of huffing breath and kissing lips and limbs intertwined. We hold each other and shower in the aftermath until the hot water runs out, and Colt jokes about Beau not paying the gas bill.
Later, we’re curled in bed. I make them turn on the ceiling fan to full blast so I can lie between them. Still, they won’t stop melting me.
In the best way.
“I’m gonna do it,” Colt murmurs into my neck. “I’m gonna put a tattoo of a stack of books and a little gold trophy in my sleeve, right next to Beau’s birds. Because he’s my life,” Colt kisses my cheek, “and you’re my gift.”
“And I’m giving you something that’ll make you smile, and my fans love you, too.” Beau twirls my hair, curling his leg over mine. “I’m giving you your first book signing.”
I should be worried.
I should learn my lesson.
I should leave my touchdown panties collecting dust in the drawer.
But when I feel love like this?
Fuck that, and fuck me. I’m wearing a pair everyday.