Kiptyn

The hot burn of tequila coats my throat as it makes its fiery way down before settling in my stomach. I toss two shots down, back to back, earning a fist bump from my buddy, Chris. It hurts like hell going down, and for a second I think it might make a reappearance, but I keep it down by sheer force of will. I don’t bother with the lime and salt, choosing to chase my shots with a sip of Budweiser instead.

Already, I feel lighter. My heart beats in tune with the music pounding through the club, loosening up my muscles and washing away the last of my anxiety over tonight’s game. It had been a close call. Too close. I don't do close calls.

I fucking dominate.

Forty-five seconds left in the last quarter, and we were down by two points. It was my time to show these penny pushers exactly what they paid me for. As the point guard for the team, I get all the good shots. It’s a good thing, too, since I’m pretty sure I'm the only one on the team able to keep my head straight under pressure and actually hit the shot.

Talent, pure talent. I was born with it.

The clock was winding down. Seconds ticked by with each breathy exhale. The crowd held their breath, hovering on their feet, gripping long since forgotten cups of stale beer and soda, waiting to see if I could pull it off. They should have had more faith in me. I'm motherfucking Kiptyn Price. I don’t lose. Ever.

We won by one point. I didn’t like it, but it was a win. The crowd rushed the court, cheering at the top of their drunken lungs. We’re going to the playoffs, and if I have anything to do with it, the Nationals too. I can’t wait. I’ve worked my ass off to shine on the court this last year, turning a semi-decent team around and making it sparkle like a diamond in a sea of coal. Now it’s time for the penny pushers to return the favor. I want to see that cash. Not that I’m not already making enough to support myself, but I deserve more—way more. I’m thinking six figures. No way should bench-warmers like Jeremy and Cole make the same as me.

I won the game.

Me.

Either they choose to cough up the dough, or I’ll be gone. Several other teams have already been knocking at the door, waiting for the chance to snatch me up, harassing my agent on a daily basis. I’d be gone already if it weren’t for the fact that the Bolts took a chance on me when no one else would. Coming from the streets with the bare minimum of an education, all the other teams in the league saw was a scrappy kid with a bad attitude. Fuck yeah, I had a bad attitude. You live the life I have and tell me I should shit roses and rainbows.

Not gonna happen.

This life chose me, not the other way around. I just make sure to live it to the fullest.

Celebration hour is in full swing, and my teammates, Jordan and Chris, are at the bar pulling more than just drinks, not that I expect any less from them. Here lately, we have been making a game of seeing who can score the most pussy in one night, but after the close win tonight, I’d decided to lie low and only take two girls home—three if they begged. I just had to figure out who it was gonna be tonight.

Chris and Jordan hated the amount of attention I got with the ladies. It drove them nuts when their girls would leave their laps and crawl into mine, but let’s face it—if it wasn’t for me, they’d be getting a lot less action. They're my wingmen on and off the court. On the court, we dominate the ball. Off the court, we dominate the ladies. I didn’t use to pull women like this. I was more of a . . . believer before.

I held out hope that one day, I’d meet my forever and we would grow old together. I didn’t see the point in spending time with a different woman every night, but so far, it was the only thing I’d found that could ease the pain I felt, the ever-consuming grief that wanted to swallow me whole. I tried to fight it off. I gave it my all. Nothing worked. Well, nothing except the sweet heaven between a woman’s thighs, and even that only lasted so long. In the morning, I hated myself even more. That’s where the alcohol came in. With a little help from my good friend, Jose Cuervo, I’m able to drown out my conscience long enough to escape from my inner demons.

Tonight is no exception.

Chris is pulling two blondes along behind him through the throng of bodies while Jordan works on convincing another chick at the bar to join him. I have no doubt he will succeed. He always does. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to spend a night of ecstasy with three of this town’s most eligible bachelors? I hadn’t found one yet who was willing to pass up the opportunity.

The brunette on my lap shifts so I have a better view of her ample breasts. I notice a small heart-shaped tattoo peeking out from under her tight-fitting tank top. It calls to me, demanding my attention. Pulling her shirt away, I run my tongue along the skin leading up to it and then circle back around and lower to take her hardened nipple in my mouth. My teeth graze it lightly as my hand wanders up her short dress. She’s bare underneath.

My finger brushes against her wet mound and her back arches, pushing her chest closer to my face and my waiting mouth. I suck the small pink tit in between my lips and flick my tongue over it as I slip my finger inside her juicy pussy, eliciting a loud moan from deep within her. She’s tight, but wet enough that I slide in and out with ease. I replace one finger with two, and her legs fall open a little more. Her hips are lifting off my knee, thrusting into my hand as I pump my fingers into her. Her hands began to wander down my body until she finds the prize she’s searching for.

My hard cock twitches as her hand wraps around me through my jeans. I think momentarily about pulling him out right there and having her suck him dry, but a sexy as sin goddess stumbling into our VIP section catches my attention. Pulling my hand from under her dress, I slide my fingers along her lower lip and then, pulling her head to mine, I suck her lip into my mouth, tasting her sweet pussy juice before I grab her hands, forcing her to stop trying to pull me free. She pouts, her lower lip sticking out past her top one. I can’t wait to feel them wrapped tight around my cock, but not yet.

First, we play. I slide her off my lap and onto the lush couch in the VIP room.

The sexy goddess stumbles over the foot of the couch and trips. She wobbles on her feet, waving her arms in the air like a wind turbine before falling forward, straight into my lap. I catch her with one arm and twist her around, placing her on my right thigh. Her silky soft, mile-long legs are clenched tightly between my own. I run my fingers across her knee and up her thigh to the edge of her short mini dress. Her arms are still wrapped tightly around my neck, where they landed when I caught her. Her chest is pressed against my face. She smells like honeysuckles and sunlight.

I’m instantly reminded of home and much simpler times—growing up with my brother, before I signed a contract to play ball and before he joined the Marines, when we were just young and free boys, running wild through the fields, picking blackberries and tasting honeysuckles. I wish I could go back to those days, but even if I go home, it won’t be the same. Not now. Not since Camryn died in a war I didn’t even agree with. He always had to be a hero. Joining the Marines was the only logical option, in his opinion. As soon as he turned eighteen, he signed up and loved it. Being a hero fit him. He’d always be my hero, even if he only lived on in my memories.

I pull my head back from the past to the present and kiss across the beauty in my lap’s collar bone. Her breath catches in her throat. I don’t allow women to wander in here. We’re pretty selective about who comes and parties with us, but this one is too delectable to let go. I trail my lips along her throat and up the side of her neck, stopping at the hollow spot just below her ear. Her hand is tightly clenching my shoulder now. Her breath is coming faster and faster the more I kiss her. My hands continue their journey up and down her legs, testing her willingness.

Chris makes his way through the wild crowd with his two SFT—sluts for tonight, as he likes to call them—and judging by the gleam in his eye, I can tell he likes the look of the babe in my lap too. Hate it for him. She’s mine. The chick in my lap pushes away from me all of a sudden and attempts to stand. I pull her back to my lap, unwilling to let her go, but she refuses.

“Stay with me. We can leave here and go somewhere private.”

“No. I . . . this isn’t me. I don’t know what just happened. I don’t do this. I just . . . I thought you reminded me of someone else, and my emotions got the best of me. I’m so sorry.”

I let her go. I don’t even know how to respond to that. I reminded her of someone else, so she almost let me fuck her in the middle of a packed club? Okay, so we weren’t really close to fucking, but still. Did she not feel shit from my touch? My kiss?

Chris laughs, and he deposits his SFT on the couch next to my pouting brunette and pulls up a chair directly across from them. This is a favorite game of ours, and one I usually look forward to very much, but that chick has me feeling all out of whack.

Chris passes me another shot, and I slam it back, shaking off my burned pride. It’s time to see who’s gonna get lucky tonight.

“All right, ladies. If you want the pleasure of coming home with us tonight, then make the show worthwhile.”

It only takes a second for them to understand my meaning, and then another second to decide how badly they want me to fuck them senseless. The sexy brunette with the heart-shaped tattoo decides first. I should have figured as much. She had already gotten a taste of what’s lying between my legs, and clearly, she wants more of my nine inches.

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, which 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.