What time is it? I grab my phone from the nightstand and swipe it on. Shit. It's already after 7 am, and I have more email and text message alerts than I dare to count right now. What's happening to me? I've always had a morning routine that kicked ass and took names later. Now my mornings are slipping through my fingers faster than water through a colander and I have a man tangled in the sheets next to me that make my heart leap. I've grown soft.

I try to sneak out of the bed, and just when I swing one leg off the mattress, I feel a strong hand wrap around my thigh.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I smile. Seeing Colt's bed hair makes me laugh and I try to smooth it down with my fingers. He runs his hands down the small of my back and grabs my ass—two firm squeezes. We do not bother wearing any clothes from the night before. I enjoy nuzzling my bare ass up next to his cock as much as possible. It is easy to make him hard. Even now, I feel his cock growing underneath me. I kiss his neck and run my tongue down his chest, and continue a path straight to his cock.

"Oh fuck, " he moans. He knows exactly what is coming. I grab his shaft and place his cock into my mouth. Just the tip at first, tapping my tongue delicately underneath his dick, and then I take him in deeply and his moaning intensifies. I'm already wet and all I can think about is shoving him inside me, so I straddle him as he lays there, still tangled in the soft white sheets of my King-sized bed. I have him under my spell, just the way I like it. I flash him a hungry grin.

"I want you so fucking bad," I purr.

He pulls me into him, and sucks on my breasts. The force of his mouth around my nipples sends shivers down my body from head to toe, and I buck my hips. My entire body is electrified as I grab his cock and shove it into my pussy, grinding my hips. I rake my nails across his chest, and with the motion of my relentless gyrations I know I'm going to cum. I don't hold back and let it overtake me, my pussy throbbing with each muscle spasm. Colt senses it is his turn and he thrusts his cock into me with greater speed. I urge him on, "Fuck, cum for me," I moan. And as if on command, he dig his strong hands into my hips and I feel his dick pulse, shooting waves of cum deep inside of me. I eagerly take him in. We rest together for a moment like that, inside of each other, until the current of desire subsides, and I unhook my legs from his body. Then my mind drifts back to Ethan. I enjoyed fucking Colt. It is great, but there is something missing. An unmistakable void.

I think back to my phone. There were a lot of missed messages, and I hadn't bothered to look to see whom they were from. I wonder if there are any from Ethan? I swipe it on again and scroll through my texts. I exhale sharply when I don't see anything from him. Why won't he answer me? What does it mean?

Colt stands up and walks toward the shower. "You can join me if you'd like."

"You go first. I'm going to see what SportsNation has to say this morning."

"You're more sadistic than I thought," Colt laughs. "If there's anything that can ruin a perfectly good day, it's that fucking trash TV. Good luck with that."

I shrug him off and press the power button on my 70-inch flat screen television. The screen glows to life, and I navigate to the station I am looking for. The show is already in full swing. A banner flashes across the screen that reads, "Elite football players rumored to be gay: hot athletes Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford exposed in secret same-sex love affair."

I hear the first analyst speak. "Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford shouldn't be allowed to play in the NFL. Not only are they the kind of role models that we don't want young men and boys to emulate, but you know, another issue is that I don't think it's safe for NFL players to have to share locker rooms with gays."

"You're absolutely right, Bob," agrees the second analyst.

"How do we know that they aren't coping secret feels on the field? During a tackle it would be easy for them to say, oops, didn't mean to grab you there. How can they stay focused with so many men around them during the game?"

The second analyst chimes in, "Instead of Man Crush Monday, Bob, I say we start a new trending search on social media called No Gay Thursday." Both men laugh as if it is the funniest jab they had ever heard.

How the fuck are these men getting time on National television to talk such hateful trash? It just seems unfathomable. I can feel my blood reach the point of boiling. I have to take a few deep breaths to quell the burning rage building within me. Keep it cool, Julianna, I remind myself. I can't let the media get away with this, especially not when they are trashing the two men I love most. It is now clear to me that everything I've been told is wrong—the lawyer, the consultants—everything. How can I throw Colt and Ethan under the bus, further empowering this idiotic media? That's what they want, isn't it? They love it if I can help them spill more blood. The answer is I can't. I won't. But what I can do is bring out the gloves. If the media wants to keep dragging them through the mud, they are fucking with the wrong people.