AllFreeNovel
Share Us
???
Catching you mumbling in the moss with my twin
RUBY
Girl, you got a one-track beaver
No, I got a proud beaver with boundaries and hearing you make mouth music with my twin is one
RUBY
I’m NOT dining at the Y with your sister, bish
But you’re having a moresome with her
Don’t lie
RUBY
See you at The Mercier lobby bar. 8 ish
Ifeel buzzed. I feel like I rolled the perfect life in a piece of paper and smoked it.
I’m high on happiness and horniness, bouncing in my heels, waiting in the wide corridor outside the locker room for my winning men to emerge. For them to hurry the hell up so we can celebrate.
Our bags are packed. They’re waiting in a stretch limo parked outside. I met our driver. I asked him to order pizza. It’s waiting in the limo, too.
Pizza is Colt’s celebration meal, while Beau likes to celebrate with Glenlivet whisky.
Me? My lips are shining with oral pleasure lip gloss in Strawberry Wine flavor.
Don’t use the cherry stuff. He’ll think his dick is on fire.
But my men love the little tingle and lots of drool I create when I wrap my pleasing glossy strawberry lips around their winning cocks, pressed together, congratulating them with a dual, creamy knob job.
That should take up our time in the limo.
Now, for our one-hour flight to Charleston? Is that long enough to join the mile-high club?
There’s only one way to find out.
Players wave at me as they leave. Their wives and girlfriends do, too. Reporters try getting my comment, but all I’ll say is, “I’m so proud of the team.”
But a particularly snarky reporter corners me as I wait, asking, “Are you eloping with Bronson tonight?”
I want to smile and answer, “No, we’re on our way to an NFL orgy.” But answering, “We’re celebrating the win with friends,” feels equally evasive and erotic.
Am I feeling cute, wearing a demure knee-length shell pink dress that Colt bought me from Christian Dior? Yes. Am I wearing the gold, non-piercing labia ring that Beau gave me, too? With little bells on it. Is it hidden by my surprise panties that say “Place Beard Here”? You can bet your I’m-the-bottom dollar tonight.
I can’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt from it until Malik Goodwin steps out of the locker room. He sees me waiting and pulls me aside, whispering, “Something’s wrong with our boy.”
My face falls. My heart drops. “What do you mean?”
I like Malik. He and his wife, Brianna, come over a lot for steaks and beers. They’re fun.
“I mean, Bronson’s not talking,” Malik answers. “Not to us. Not to reporters. It’s not like him. I mean, we just won, but he looks like he lost. Like he lost everything.”
“Is he okay? Did he get hurt?”
