Irus Beaumont, cornerback for the Highlanders, has an issue with his nemesis: wideout for the Pirates, Jackson McCoy. Partly jealous over Jackson’s skill and ability to scrub coverage, Irus also struggles against an unbearable attraction to the receiver. Firmly ensconced in the closet, Irus also has a no football player rule, leaving his desires for Jackson unfulfilled. Anti-gay sentiment in the league keeps Irus closeted, even though he’d rather be out and proud.
When Jackson McCoy suffers a gay bashing at the hands of his team mates after winning the national championship, he finds himself traded to the Highlanders. Spring training brings out Jackson’s competitive nature, eliciting the aggression of his new team’s cornerback, Irus Beaumont.
In practice, Irus hurts Jackson badly. The injury places Jackson on the reserve roster. Jacks has plenty of time to contemplate his life, career, and his attraction to the sexy cornerback. Off to Orlando for the best rehab where guilt inspires Irus to call him every evening, Jackson can’t stop thinking about Irus, or what the season holds for his team.
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Michele Micheal Rakes lives in a small town in the shadow of a big mountain. She works as a surgical technologist assisting in the removal of tonsils and testicles. She has three grown children, two psychotic Egyptian Mau’s, a husband with hair down to his ass, two Harley’s, and a ferret named Teeny Tiny Ferret Feet (husband insists her name Little Feet, we all know he’s wrong).
R – Rated
The facility’s empty. Everyone has gone home except Harold, one of the equipment guys. I’m running routes, working out using the jugs machine, and Harold loads it for me.
“Jackson, go home. It’s late,” Coach Bryant says.
The loss tonight only drives me to work harder to get back on the field. “Can’t, Coach. I’m almost done anyway.”
Coach looks contemplative. “All right, don’t overdo it. Harold, keep an eye on him.”
“Will do, Coach.”
We work out for a while longer before Harold calls it quits. Probably for the best. The workout was good, but now I’m regretting it because my muscles are tightening up. Must’ve been the tension from this evening, running up and down the sidelines, chasing after Coach.
Time to cool down and ease my sore muscles. First the ice bath. Next is heat. Nothing like feeling my nuts shrivel. I’m soaking in the whirlpool when the cramp hits worse than any of the cramps in Orlando. The back of my head hits the tub as I jerk in reflex, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. Someone grabs me. I open my eyes. Two big, black, football-gnarled hands yank me from the tub. Irusthrows me to the ground. I hit the floor hard, my leg slung painfully over Irus’s shoulder. Those strong thumbs zero in on my pain.
A wide palm stings my naked ass.
“That’s not my name, boy.”
God, does he know I’m lusting after him? Does he realize how good his hand feels on my ass?
“Breathe,” he orders.
I grit my teeth to a fresh wave of agony.
My leg drips water on his nice suit. The one he wore to the airport after the miserable loss.
“Jackson, what’re you—”
“They’re gonna cut me if I can’t perform.”
Yeah, that shut him up. He hurt me. Took me out of the game. Now we’re losing. What’s he gonna say? Sorry?
“Don’t be a fool, Jacks. We couldn’t put you in tonight. Coach doesn’t want to risk your getting hurt again. Quit taking on all the guilt. It’s my fault. All of it’s my fault.”
The cramp eases. His wonderful hands slide up and down my thigh. I’m naked. Open. Exposed. I sit up, but he doesn’t give me an inch. Our noses touch. I smell the whiskey. A hint of his expensive cologne. My dick wants his hands. The head brushes my belly, so fucking hard, and he can see his full effect on me.
His fast hands knot in my hair, holding me immobile, and his lips collide withmine. All his weight crushes me to the floor as his tongue explores my mouth. I wrap my wet legs around his hips, dragging him to me.
Isn’t exploration violent? God, I hope so. I need it hard. Let him inside. Expose all of me. Irus is all I want.“Fuck me,” I whisper between sloppy kisses. I’m still afraid, even as his tongue dances down my throat to lavish my hollow, his lips skimming my clavicle.
His hands flex in my hair. He pulls away. I feel a loss more intense than the game tonight. “Not here,” he says. His voice is tight, angry, but in control.
“Take me home, Irus.”
“My place is closer.”
The idea scares me, going home with a teammate again, but this is Irus. The man who, down deep in my soul, I know I need. I feel safer, though, more comfortable in my own home. I’ve been away so long. The idea of Irus in my bed, washing away the memories of Terry Branson, makes me insistent.
“Can we go to my house?” The long ride will give Irus a chance to back out. The thought kills me, but I should be fair to the man. Give him a chance to prevent a mistake.
Irus kisses me. The taste of whiskey nowhere near as repulsive as it had been on Terry’s lips. He’s different. So unlike Terry. I trust Irus. He groans into my mouth as he grinds against my hard dick. The length of his shaft pressed to mine.
“I’m getting you wet,” I whisper.
He takes my mouth again. Harder.
God, I want him out of his clothes. The image of him in nothing but his jock pops into my head. His cock so long and thick. The memory of those dark curls dancing their way up his belly teases me. I reach for him, rubbing his shaft through the soft material of his trousers. He looks good. I bet he tastes even better. I want to suck his cock. I’m breathless with need.
“I’ll take you home, Jackson.” He removes my hand from his dick. “Let me get under control. It’s a long drive.”