Jenna 8.
I must be fucking stupid or crazy or…or…
on the verge of love. I am so pissed at Andres right now and myself.
He tricked me! Dicknotized me and convinced me and my traitorous pussy to date him.
I’m not so cum drunk I’m willing to date in public, but I’m apparently intoxicated enough with him to see where this goes in private.
He’d like to announce to the world that I’m his girlfriend and a part of me finds that endlessly adorable and endearing and I want to smack myself and then him.
Obviously, I’m conflicted.
I was adamant after he showed up at my place Sunday, that I will not be in the limelight.
He’s retired and a scout, so it’s not like he’s a current player on his way to the Super Bowl, but Andres Abbott isn’t a man you forget.
And the tabloids and papers still keep tabs on him, especially given his food company and philanthropic nature.
I don’t want to be picked apart by the masses.
I don’t want to be compared to previous women he’s dated.
I just want to date Andres and get to know the man, not the legend, and see where life takes us.
Honestly, I think he agreed because of what happened to Phia.
So many things in life can be good for us in moderation.
Football isn’t the exception. People have made it a part of their identity, the lynch pin for their supposed happiness and invested too much time, money, and mental real estate to what is essentially a game.
It’s supposed to be fun. It is not supposed to showcase the greed and arrogance humans are capable of, nor the homicidal tendencies.
People are ugly. We are. Animals with opposable thumbs. Many of us manage to remain civil and display the ability to engage in thinking higher than our basest instincts.
And some people are named Fred Heacock.
Andres fucked me to within an inch of my life before he drove back to Pittsburgh on Monday and wouldn’t let me cum until I promised to drive down this weekend to visit him.
He wants me in his home, in his city, in his bed and the illogical part of me is damn happy to be there.
It’s a bye week, so there’s no game and I’m looking forward to getting away from the university for a bit.
And a large part of me, mostly my heart and vag, want to be in his space, surrounded by him, overwhelmed by the man that is larger than life in so many ways.
Ugh.
Following the GPS, I turn into his neighborhood in Fox Chapel and my jaw drops to my lap.
Expansive doesn’t begin to describe the homes I pass.
This is a level of wealth I am not familiar with.
My tummy churns in trepidation. Andres Abbott fucks like a God, but he is way out of my league.
If I wasn’t good enough to eat with players and coaches, I’m definitely not cut out to schmooze with the types of people who own these monstrosities.
Fuck.
I gulp, pulling up his long driveway. A long and full tree line blocks the view of his home until I’m about halfway up.
“Holy shit.” I’ll admit, Andres’ house isn’t nearly as ostentatious as the others, but it’s still pretty fucking big.
Everything about that man is supersized.
Light brick, old style terracotta roof, front yard big enough to host a football game, and a 6-car garage attached at the far side of the house.
It’s beautiful. The yard impeccably maintained.
I don’t belong here. I take a deep centering breath that does nothing to quell my nerves and step out of my car. I’ll hang out for a while, he’ll see I’m not fit for this type of lifestyle and then I’ll drive the 5 hours back to my cozy little home and bury myself under gobs of blankets and cry.
I pop open the back of my SUV to retrieve my bag.
I don’t know why, I’m not going to be here long enough to need them.
As I step around the back of my car, I’m instantly swept up into a bear hug, lips sucking on the tender skin of my throat.
His spicy masculine scent fills my lungs and my body relaxes marginally.
“Prickles. I’m so fucking happy you’re here.
” I hum, carding my fingers through his hair, reveling in the warmth of his embrace.
“Come on.” Without putting me down, he shifts me to his hip, grabs my suitcase out of the open trunk and shuts it.
He does it all effortlessly. I run my hands over his broad rounded shoulders, down his defined biceps, and shamelessly rub my pussy against his hip while I pepper his face with kisses.
It's been 4 days since we’ve seen each other but it feels like weeks. I’m suddenly starving for this man and I don’t want to wait to have him. If I’m going to be kicked out, better get to the goods first.
Inside his surprisingly welcoming foyer, I barely notice the staircase behind me, or the living room to one side and the office to the other.
Instead, I focus on the swelling in his lounge pants.
He puts me down, intending to kiss me, but I dodge his lips and drop to my knees.
The elastic band is easy to drag down, his cock springing free, a little wet at the tip.
I lick my lips, then open wide and swallow him to the back of my throat without preamble.
“Jesus!” he groans, his hand lifting his shirt out of the way for a better view.
I feel his tight grip in my hair at the back of my head.
I slobber down the length, pull back and use my hand to stroke him as I look up at him.
He’s wrecked, tortured, and so handsome.
His blue eyes dark, cheeks flushed slightly, chest heaving beneath his t-shirt. “Jenna? What are you—”
“Feed me your cock. I’m hungry.”
“Motherfucker!” I chuckle as I part my lips once again and wait for him to thrust forward.
When he does, his groan of pleasure is so erotic, my pussy gushes in response.
Answering a mating call. I relax my throat and encourage him with impatient noises and my hands on his tight ass to fuck my throat.
“God, Jen! You’re incredible! Fuck. Yes! So good. Take it all.”
I feel his cock throb and swell. I release him, stroking him with my hand and lifting his shaft up so I can lick his balls.
They’re so firm, ready to explode. I love how they roll over my tongue, heavy, pulling taut in preparation.
When I know he’s on the verge, I pull his cock down and into my mouth.
Two rough thrusts and he cums down my throat, dribbling on my tongue as he sags over me on the floor.
His labored breathing fills the empty space and then a low chuckle.
I arch my neck to look up at him and find him staring at me in wonder.
One hand cups my cheek, his thumb running over my cheekbone, wiping away the tears that leaked while I deep-throated him.
“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” He says and I try to pay attention to the reverent tone of his voice, try to hold on to the positivity of his statement.
I’ve heard that before and it wasn’t said with the same affection he intends it now.
It was an insult. I like how Andres looks at me, speaks to me, talks about me…
like I’m something special. Tears fill my eyes again but this time from the overwhelming emotion that crushes my chest. “Come here, Prickles, let me hold you.”
I nod numbly, letting him help me from my knees, only now noticing the discomfort of the hardwood floors beneath me. He tugs me up into his arms, and holds me like a child, rubbing his hand up and down my back as he walks into his living room and sits down in a comfortable, well-used recliner.
“Your house is comfy.”
His laughter rumbles against my chest, I smile, burrowing deeper into his hold. “Were you expecting a sterile mausoleum?”
“Yup.” No point in denying it.
His arms tighten around my back, his cheek resting on top of my head. “Jenna, I think you’re gonna find that I may have money, but I am far from the wealthy elite you’re expecting.”
“Don’t get too sanctimonious, your house is gigantic and on a huge plot of land in an exclusive neighborhood.”
He laughs again, his lips pressing into my hair.
“I do, for security reasons and because I have family that visit often. I’d also like…
” he trails off and I lift my head to see his expression.
It’s hesitant, pensive. I kiss his lips softly, then pull back with an encouraging smile.
“I bought it because I was hoping my wife and I could fill it one day with children. Maybe a dog or cat.”
“You were married?” I whisper, my stomach curdling at the thought.
He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “I haven’t asked her yet.”
“What the fuck, Andres?” He holds me hostage, not letting me jump from his lap. I hit his shoulders, but he just laughs.
“I just met her. You have to give these things time. I bought it for my future.”
“Your future?”
“Yeah.” His grin grows, toothy and bright, his eyes alight with mischievous joy. “Welcome home, Future.”
“You are delulu!” I deflate against him, all my ire and hurt morphing into unfamiliar peace. “ Time. I need time .” My voice is just above a whisper, the need in my tone unmistakable.
“I know you do, Prickles.” Standing with zero effort, he cradles me in his arms and ascends a carpeted staircase.
We enter a master suite that blows me away.
I meant what I said, his home is surprisingly comfy.
Warm colors, soft worn furniture. He throws me on the massive California king bed, then grips the waistband of my leggings and tugs them and my thong down my legs.
“Hello, friend.” He speaks directly to my vagina, petting my clit in greeting.
I lay down, close my eyes and giggle while he has an entire conversation with it.
“You’re right, I have not greeted you properly.
I apologize for my rudeness.” I glance down my body and find him looking at me with a smirk.
“One of my good friends from my playing days was from an Inuit tribe in Alaska. He would greet me by rubbing his nose along mine.” He leans down and rubs his nose against my clit.
I moan and laugh at the same time. “I think I like this better.”
Me too.