Now this brunette I liked.
She wore a sexy black dress, something deserving of the Vegas strip, not the city of Ironfield. When she curled into my lap, the hem rose. I covered that exposed thigh with a hand.
Soft. Warm. She’d do for a night.
The brunette coo’ed, fake and practiced. She didn’t need to patronize me. I preferred a real moan. My fingers tucked inside her panties.
Shaved.
I liked that.
I tickled until I earned her genuine, sexy sigh, except my flirting pissed the blonde off. That wouldn’t do. I gave her a wink, and she settled down, leaning close enough to let me glance at her tits. She had a better rack than the brunette. The heart-shaped tattoo was familiar though…
Now I remembered. Last week, I saw her blowing Orlando, one of my linemen. It wasn’t unusual for the same girls to pass through the team. I had to admire her dedication. She worked her sweet-ass up from a lineman to the star of the offense. She wouldn’t stop until she fucked me—the team MVP.
She couldn’t get any better than me.
And she wouldn’t have a night better than what I’d offer.
The blonde licked her lips at me. The brunette wanted me to finger her. I studied both of their bodies.
“You girls might want to exchange names.” I tugged on the blonde’s dress strap. “Tonight, you’re gonna get to know each other real well.”
The brunette was into it, but I was pinching her clit. She’d do anything I said. I hoped the blonde liked brunettes or they wouldn’t have as much fun when I took both of them home. Then again, some resentment was sexy. It was entertaining when the girls got territorial. A little cat-scratching, back-biting, and hissing to stake their claim made the sex damn exciting.
Besides, everyone loved competition—especially me, especially when two big-titted women fought over my dick. A man didn’t get to the top of both his game and his women without encouraging healthy rivalry. And it was a good night to shoot for my personal best.
A threesome was fun, but it didn’t impress anyone anymore. A foursome though—entertaining three lovely ladies?—that sounded just right. I was in the business of making plays and memories.
Fortunately, another blonde roamed the room, searching for a lap to grind in or a cock to suck. I hauled her into the seat next to me.
“You.” I didn’t even ask her name. “Sit.”
Her voice was breathy. “Yes, sir.”
I’d never get tired of that. The new girl earned the scorn of both the brunette straddling my lap and the blonde at my side. I expected one of them to bolt, but even a third of my attention was enough of a thrill. They all stayed, staking their particular claim. The new blonde tested the limits of her halter-top and rubbed my bicep. The first blonde entwined her hand on my other arm. The brunette shimmied against my thighs.
“Girls…” I grinned as their fingers roamed over my chest. “It’s gonna be a damn good night.”
Bryon Washington sloshed his beer at me. The half-hearted toast was as much a congratulations as I’d get from my best friend and teammate. He smacked the waitress’s ass as she delivered another round of desserts. We hadn’t ordered them. She shifted from Bryon’s roaming touch.
“Compliments of the owner,” she said. “He’s a diehard Rivets fan.”
“Thanks, babe.” I remembered my manners even with three girls hanging over me. Wouldn’t my PR team be proud? “I’ll send him an autograph.”
She glanced over the table—covered in empty glasses, spilled beer, chicken bones, and a general mess. I doubt she wanted an autograph, probably just needed a night off after we trashed the place. At least she was cute. She could have gotten a ride all the way home if she played her cards right.
Bryon mourned her departure as she collected a tray of empty plates and escaped from the shouting and riotous laughter. He got over her rejection quick enough.
“You should share the wealth, Jack,” Bryon said, surveying my blondes. “A pretty boy like you don’t need three girls. It’ll look better if the team captain bangs only one lucky lady at a time.”
I didn’t care how it’d look, only how it’d feel. So far, the brunette stroking my hard-on through the denim promised a night to remember.
“Hoping I shuffle one off to you?” I asked.
Bryon winked at the brunette in her skin-tight, black dress and patted his lap. “You gotta maintain that gentlemanly image, Jack. Coach’s orders.”
“What gentlemanly image?” Like anyone had ever called me a gentleman. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I plan to show these lovely ladies a night on the town. They should be lucky to have Jack Carson as their tour-guide.”