CHAPTER EIGHT
Colt
It was un-fucking believable. We’d headed to the strip club as part of our “make it rain” tradition. The belief is making it rain for strippers brings good luck, you’ll demolish the opposition in the next game.
And it’s pretty fucking awesome. Guys like Harry, who’s as big as a refrigerator, standing onstage, showering the girls with dollar bills, hundreds if not thousands in cash, intent on upping his karma.
Or Mikey, who uses fifties, his own personal interpretation of the tradition. But whatever it is, we do it before each game, picking a joint where the girls are willing and hot, the money stream flowing like continuous lava.
And the Donkey is one of our favorites. We knew the blue light was coming, we’ve done it before, witnessed all sorts of shenanigans. Last time Mikey did two girls at once, and that was a mistake … he blew his load so hard he could barely make it onto the field the next day.
But fuck, what happened last night was totally unexpected. The stripper had been gorgeous, her body curvy, those flanks golden and gleaming in the low light. And the mask, the red lips, it turned us on, I could feel my body temperature soaring with each twist of her hips.
But something about her had seemed familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, I was in the throes of pleasure, but the back of my brain was whirring, logging each move, each sinuous glide, something about her was different.
It wasn’t until I had her legs up on my shoulders, taking a deep whiff, that I knew. And it struck Cain at the same time, as soon as his tongue touched her backside. Because it was our sister, Karlie, she was the masked dancer.
I’d frozen in shock, and it was a good thing I did because my muscles automatically clamped as Karlie began squirming, desperate to get up.
“Colt, Cain!” she’d gasped from between my legs. But I hadn’t let her say more.
“Still,” I’d commanded, all the while breathing in those delicious aromas, the personal scent I’d recognize anywhere.
And we’d done our part, sure. We hadn’t banged her, but we’d made the most out of a blue light, letting that little pussy get exposed, putting on a show in front of the guys. And afterwards, we’d deposited her backstage, giving her a sweet kiss on the lips in front of the other girls.
“See ya,” I ground out, my body still hard.
“Later,” added Cain, his hand swiping between her legs one last time.
And the girl had looked at us mutely from behind the mask, her eyes pleading with us to not say anything, not now, not in front of everyone.
So we’d stayed silent, headed back out to the crowd to the slaps of our teammates, their guffaws and hoots congratulating us.
“You did that girl good,” jawed one dude, he’d literally eaten three steaks at dinner earlier.
“Oh yeah,” added Pat, another massive guy. “And look what I’ve got,” he said, holding up the pink ball. It dangled wetly, almost five inches across, still dripping with her personal juices.
But Cain and I played it cool.
“Oh yeah, we’ll be killing it tomorrow night,” I said nonchalantly. “What are we out? Two thou? Three?”
“At least three,” chortled Jimmy, our equipment manager. “It’s gonna be a blowout tomorrow, Ravens gonna get it.”
And so we suited up the next day, our confidence on high. The team was pumped and stoked, the testosterone level on max, each guy ready to do some serious damage.
Jimmy ran over with a bunch of equipment under his arm. As quarterback, it’s my job to check all the balls before they’re brought out to the refs, after all, I was the one who’d be gripping them.
I squeezed each one, the leather tough, the pebbled grain rough and scratchy. They were fine, and I gave the go.
“Game time,” I commanded, as we huddled. “No mercy.” And with that, it was on.
It was fucking awesome, last night had been good for me. The ball flew in a perfect arc each time I threw it, my arm like a shot put, launching each pass up the field, further, further, until we were in the end zone multiple times.
And Cain, he was a magnet for the balls, the pigskin landing in his arms with a resounding thwack as he darted down the field. My twin was total speed and agility on the green, tucking the ball under his arm one-handed, straight-arming any threats.
So yeah, we cleaned up again. The rain had worked … and we were champions.
But in the meantime, there was still the question of our sister.
“What do you think?” grunted Cain to me in the showers. The Eagles had one of those old-school set-ups, group showers, a huge tiled room with twelve spouts and we were surrounded by a scrum of guys, nude, pure slabs of muscle getting washed and cleaned after another crushing victory.
I knew he was referring to Karlie, not to plays or strategy.
“We’ll see her when we’re back,” I grunted in reply, massaging soap over my pecs. “It’s time,” I added.
“Yeah,” he agreed. Because we’d avoided Karlie for fear of corrupting an innocent girl but clearly, we’d misunderstood. Our sister was more than meets the eye … and we wanted to explore.