Chapter 20
The hour glass shape of a woman was made for one thing and one thing only. Spooning.
It’s nearly ten o’clock the next morning and I’ve been tucked in bed, holding onto Belle Ryan all night.
I don’t think a woman’s body has ever felt this good pressed up against me.
Maybe it’s because I’ve fucked her so many times now and it’s a completely new experience for me.
Regardless, I’m enjoying it while it lasts.
I feel Belle begin to stir in my arms and I reflexively tighten my grip on her, my morning erection pressed up against her supple arse.
“If you’re going for accidental anal, I’m going to throat punch you.” Belle’s morning voice is deep and throaty.
I shake with laughter. “I’m not going for accidental anal, I promise.
Actually, I was just lying here realising I had no idea how fantastic spooning was.
I’ve been converted. The way your arse rests perfectly on my dick and how the dip of your waist is like a nice resting spot for my arm…
The warmth of you against the warmth of me.
Fuck me, it’s utter heaven. People should talk about spooning more. It feeds the soul or some shit.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“An hour maybe?”
“Did you mean to speak all of that out loud just now?”
“Yes, why?”
“Okay, well, maybe just…don’t.” She chuckles in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Tanner Harris?”
Ignoring her snipe, I nuzzle into her neck. “He’s still here, woman. Want to play hide the sausage?” I flex my hips into her back.
“Bloody hell, I’ve just woken up to you moaning on and on about how spooning feeds your soul. What more could you possibly ask of life?”
“I need you to feed the beast.” I nibble her ear and add, “The beast is my cock.”
Her laugh is the only sound uttered until I’m balls deep in her and her giggles turn to cries of sexual perfection.
As I dress for the match, I can’t help but wonder what life was like for my mum and dad when they used to live here in Manchester with all of us.
Dad was a star defender for Man U. Mum was home raising the five of us.
They had a posh flat here where we all lived for most of the season, and then they had a big brick mansion in Chigwell just outside of London.
Gareth once told me that our mum preferred life in London so she refused to make Manchester our year-round home.
Truthfully, it’s one of the very few things I’ve ever got Gareth to reveal about our mother.
Neither he nor Dad like to talk about her.
Vi knows a bit because she found boxes of her old poems and pored through them, gifting us several of them right around the time she started up with Hayden.
It helped give us a window into who she was, but I still have a million questions about her.
I was three years old when she got sick.
I don’t remember a lot of what happened.
The only thing I know is that our dad immediately broke his contract with Man U, sold our Manchester flat, and took us all back to Chigwell.
It was a big to-do with the press because it was such a huge loss for United.
Gareth was eight years old when we moved. Booker was one and Vi was four. The time around our mum’s death was ugly. Our dad did not do well for many years, refusing help from pretty much everyone. He was content to stow us away in that mansion, only letting us out for school and nothing more.
But somehow, Bethnal Green F.C. got through the door, and that’s when things began to turn around for our family.
Needless to say, an appreciation for the sport of football is highly coveted in my world.
It brought our family back together and made us who we are today.
Lord knows what might have happened to us otherwise.
Belle comes out of the loo wearing a tight, faded red Man U tee. It shows off her large tits, but she still looks comfortable enough to do some serious cheering.
I give her jean clad arse a hardy smack. “You look good.”
“You’re going neutral I see,” she states, eyeing my dark grey T-shirt and jeans.
“It’s good business. I can’t show favouritism. A footballing family feud ends in bloodshed.”
“Am I okay in this? I didn’t even think about the photos we might be in today.”
I nod. “If you’re a United fan, you’re a United fan. No need to hide it for your fake boyfriend.”
Her eyes tighten imperceptibly and I wonder if I misspoke. Or maybe she’s getting tired of the circus our lives have become.
“Have I said thank you recently for doing all of this?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not just for you, Tanner. I need it, too.”
“Right,” I reply with a frown. “I keep forgetting that part. Shall we be off then?”
Old Trafford is an imposing stadium with a rich, historical ambience to it. It’s no Tower Park, but Mancunians practically piss themselves once they get inside. Seventy-five thousand fans all mash together drunk, loud, and proud, setting the tone for the whole day.
Belle and I find our seats in one of the sponsored upper level sections with several of the other WAGs—the wives and girlfriends of the players. It’s not where I would have preferred to sit, but it’s a sold out match and these are the seats Gareth had for us.
“Tanner Harris?” A woman says my name like it’s a song. I turn to see a blonde, big-titted WAG sitting behind me with several like-faced ladies. “Hi! I’m Sasha, Benny’s wife. Ladies, this is another one of those Harris Brothers. The one I told you about.”
“Oh my God, one’s hotter than the next. How is that possible?” a woman beside Sasha croons. “I’m Billy’s girlfriend. We live near Gareth’s house.”
Another woman pipes in, “Gareth said you were coming with your little friend to the match. So nice you could make it.” The woman reaches out and touches my shoulder for no apparent reason other than to squeeze the girth of it.
I hear Belle huff beside me and immediately wrap an arm around her, inserting her between me and the ladies. “This is my girlfriend, Dr. Belle Ryan. She saves babies.”
The women all look down at Belle, inspecting her attire.
She’s kitted out like a proper football fan.
Her dark hair is in a high ponytail and she has a Devils tattoo on one cheek that she bought at a stand outside.
The WAGs look like they were dressed by Gareth’s personal shopper, designer money dripping all over them.
Belle chuckles next to me and murmurs in my ear, “Real subtle, Harris.”
“You can call me Belle.” She smiles politely, but the women barely look at her.
“But Dr. Ryan is more respectful,” I add. “Enjoy the match.”
I turn around and pull Belle down into her seat, encasing her in my protective arm.
“Bitchy WAGs, can’t handle any fresh meat stepping in?” she asks.
“They look at you like a wannabe WAG,” I reply. “It’s my fault. My reputation puts a target on your back.”
She cuts her dark eyes at me. “And what will you be like when this is all over?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean when you and I are done. Will you go back to how you were before?”
I frown, not having given it much thought. “I suppose a version of that, yes. Not as bad as before, of course. My contract won’t allow it.”
Her brows lift. “I see.” She turns toward the field and stands as the team song begins playing.
“You all right?” I ask in her ear.
She nods and sings loudly with a bright, toothy smile on her face the whole time.
Frowning, I turn my attention to the pitch and listen closely as both of my brothers’ names are announced.
Goosebumps prickle my skin when I hear the crowd chanting the Harris name at a deafening volume.
This is Gareth’s home turf and he’s served this team well as a defender for quite some time now. He deserves this.
Cam and Gareth find each other on the pitch before the kickoff.
Camden says something in Gareth’s ear, and Gareth laughs and socks him in the stomach.
The two part ways with big smiles. Cam’s a striker; Gareth’s a defender.
The odds are certainly in their favour for colliding again before the end of the match, but nothing can tear away the immense sense of pride I have watching them down there right now.
A cameraman shows up in our section, no doubt having been tipped off by Santino that Belle and I are up here. When he makes it completely obvious he’s shooting us, I throw an arm around Belle’s shoulders and chant right along with her even though our section is a bit sedate.
Belle seems clueless about the cameraman as she screams something vile at the ref. I laugh heartily, feeling like I could just as easily be sitting next to Vi. Vi’s voice carries more than my dad’s at our Tower Park matches. It’s like my ears are hardwired to the tone of her voice.
After watching Belle’s enthusiasm for several minutes, I lean into her ear. “I need to make you a Bethnal fan before this is all said and done.”
She frowns at me like I’m speaking a different language. “I already am! I’ve been to several of your matches. My love for football is multi levelled.” She laughs and trains her eyes back on the pitch.
“So you’ve seen me play?” I ask, not ready to let this go.
“Of course! I live in Bethnal Green. How could I have not been to Tower Park?”
This shocks me. “So what did you think?” I ask, needing some level of approval from her before I can allow us to enjoy the match.