I’d be happy to oblige.
My cock is aching to be buried balls deep inside her tight ass pussy, preferably while she licks the juices from blondie number one’s pretty pink snatch. Blondie—who I'll now refer to as B1—looks like she would be fine with that. Her hand is traveling up her twin’s skirt while her mouth locks onto heart tattoo’s mouth. My cock twitches against my stomach, ready and willing to have her lips around him instead.
Nothing turns me on more than watching two girls go at it—except for maybe watching three of them tear each other's clothes off. I love to sit back and watch. To see how each girl is going to react. Some get jealous, some outright refuse—at first, anyway—and then there are some, like the three tonight, that look to be down for anything. I wonder if I pull my dick free right now, who would jump at the chance to sit on it right here, right now?
If I was placing bets, I’d say B1. She seems like the type—extra slutty and vying for attention. I think she would get off on it, and by it, I don’t mean my cock. That’s a given. I mean, she seems like she would love the attention and the thrill of fucking in a crowded bar. Just my type of gal.
It’s just about time to take my pick and head to the house. I have big plans for tonight, and none of them involve sharing with Chris. From the look on his face, he has the same thought. I hold up two fingers, letting him know my pick while the three girls across from us strip and lick each other, oblivious to what’s going on around them. He shrugs his shoulders.
He doesn’t really care which girl he gets. As long as he’s able to get his dick wet tonight, he’s happy. I stand, just about to reach out and pull my pick—the brunette—away, when something across the room catches my eye. I’m searching the crowd when a loud commotion pulls my attention away from the beautiful women in front of me and the erotic display of attention they're showing each other. I glance around, looking for the source, and feel my blood run hot. Fucking Jordan.
It never fails. Every time we go out, he always ends up in a fight over something, usually defending some dumb bitch’s honor. I should have kept a closer eye on him. Fuck that. I’m no one's babysitter. I arrange my hardened cock so it’s more comfortable in my jeans before heading into the thick of things.
Jordan stands tall in the middle of at least another six dudes, all trying their best to get a piece of him. He swings, getting in a few good hits but taking just as many. I can’t get to him fast enough. No one attacks one of my teammates. Not on my watch. I may be a wealthy basketball star now, but I was raised on the streets of Atlanta. Taking and giving out ass whippings is what I'm good at.
Hell, I almost look forward to this shit.
Within minutes, I have two of them knocked out cold on the ground. Blood is rushing in my ears. I don’t hear the music anymore. I don’t hear anything other than my own pulse in my ears. My vision is reduced to a tunnel. I see what is directly in front of me. Four more ass wipes to go. I don’t even know what the hell I'm fighting for, and I don’t really care.
Another asshole grabs me from behind. I struggle to pull him away, but his grip is tight, and then someone hits me across the back of my head. Hard. A cheap shot. I fall to the ground, disoriented, before their voices cut through the fog in my mind and I understand what the hell is going on. The cavalry has arrived. I'm so fucked.
“On your knees, asshole. Stop resisting.” A booted heel is shoved into my back, sending me sprawling on the ground. My hands are pulled up tight behind my head, and the clink of handcuffs echoes in my ears as they're snapped down around my wrist.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This is not good. I cannot go to jail again. My career can't handle the scandal. It doesn't matter why I'm fighting or if I'm at fault. Rules are rules. I’ve already been given more chances than most, and that’s only because of the amount of pure talent racing through my veins. They won’t overlook this incident. They can’t. The league owners have already stepped in and given me an ultimatum: get my shit together and stay out of trouble, or become nothing—less than nothing. Forgotten. I knew they could make it happen. I’d seen it before. I just didn't think it would ever happen to me.
Fuck me.
“Officer, wait.” My ears perk up when I hear that voice. I strain against the cop’s hold. “Those guys didn’t start it. They were the ones helping,” she continues, and I have never heard sweeter words spoken in all my life. Her sweet voice cuts straight through me. I just pray that she’s talking about my team and not the other.
“What’s your name, Miss?” The officer holding me stands to face her, temporarily releasing me. I turn to see who has possibly saved me from going to jail tonight, and in turn, saved my entire career. My mouth runs dry. My chocolate goddess stands over me in four-inch heels and a dress of cream silk that does nothing to hide her sensual curves. My cock hardens immediately. She’s so fucking beautiful. I sit there on the cold, hard concrete floor, staring at her, unable to look away.
“Skila Parker,” she states, picking at the skin on her lip with her teeth. She’s nervous. I can tell. Is it because of me? I’d like to think it is. I’d like to think she interfered because she saw me and wanted the chance to help, and not just because I remind her of someone else. Maybe she feels as drawn to me as I do to her. Her name is on repeat in my mind.
Skila.
Sky.
My very own Midnight Sky, here to save me. I don't hear the rest of what she says to the cop. I can’t focus on anything other than her and the way her lips move as she speaks. My cock strains against the tight confines of my jeans. I mentally berate him. Now’s not the time to be sporting an erection, but he doesn’t care. My mind wanders to faraway places.
Well, not too far away.
Only about two miles from here, to my house, to my bedroom, where I’d pay anything to be able to take her and lay her against the dark purple sheets of my bed and fill her with every single inch of me. Her eyes dart over to mine, and I smile. I knew she was drawn to me. I can see a blush spreading across her cheeks.
She’s flushed. I like it.
She turns her back to me while she speaks to the cops on the scene, and I couldn’t be happier. Well-rounded, firm ass cheeks stare me in the face. My hand itches to reach forward and wrap around one of them. Fuck. I wanna wrap my hands around both of them while I spread her legs wide and devour her sweet pussy.
The other girls from earlier are long forgotten, replaced by a sexy chocolate goddess. I try to conjure up their image only to be met with the sight of long, milky-cocoa legs.
I want her. I need her. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. For the first time since the death of my brother, I feel something pumping through my veins other than grief. I feel interest. I feel desire. My heart sputters to life in my chest. It’s been so long since I felt anything other than pain and heartache. It feels good.
She will be mine.
A cop releases my teammates and me after a few more minutes, with strict orders to vacate the premises. They don’t question us at all, not even to verify stories. Apparently, Skila's statement is enough to warrant our release. I can’t wait to thank her. My mind races with the many ways I plan to do just that.
“Come on, Kip, let's ditch this place,” Chris says as he slaps me on the back and mumbles something about taking his bitches home. Two of the three girls from earlier are latched onto his side, begging me come with them, but the thought no longer appeals to me.
“You go on, bro. I’ll let you have the fun tonight.” He laughs and shakes his head. He knows as well as I do that if I chose to, I could take both the girls on his arms right now, but I don’t. Neither of them are what I'm looking for now.
“All right, man. Have it your way.”
I say my goodbyes and turn in search of my Midnight Sky, only to find an empty space where she once stood. I don’t hesitate. Now is my only chance. I just pray I’m not too late. Running across the dance floor, I ignore the shouts of angry customers in my pursuit. I only have one thing on my mind right now, and if I don’t hurry, she’ll get away.
Chapter Two
Skila
I’ve got to get the hell out of here.
We haven't even been here thirty minutes, and I’ve already made a fool of myself by making out with a complete stranger. And then, when I finally get away from that, I get back to Lisa, and a fight breaks out. I feel like a cheap whore and a cheater, even though I don’t technically have a man and haven’t for a while now. I was totally all over some guy because I thought he looked like my ex. It was to be expected, I guess, considering the circumstances, but still. I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be back at home, eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and watching reruns of Friends.
Lisa begged me for over an hour to join her for a night out on the town. I didn't want to. I was tired as hell and just wanted to curl on the couch and relax, but she was doing me a favor by letting me use her extra bedroom until I found a place of my own, and I felt obligated to say yes. Now, I wish I had just told her I wasn't feeling well.
It's not really a lie. I feel like shit. I have for a couple of weeks now. My stomach has been in knots over this move. Every day, I question myself again and again, wondering if it was the right decision. I had a good job in Atlanta and a nice apartment, and I was close to my brothers and nana, but damn, I was sick of all of it. I wanted a change—new scenery and a fresh start.