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Play (Completion #1)
Holly S. Roberts

Chapter One

My teeth ground together in frustration. I couldn’t believe I let her talk me into coming to this party.

My sister, I mean really… my sister!

I watched as she physically entertained a professional football team—half-naked, drunk, behaving like a complete slut. I looked away, my eyes in need of disinfectant. No one should see their older sister having her nipples sucked. After a certain age, no one should see their sister’s nipples period!

The party was in full swing, players at the end of downtime blowing off pre-season steam. This involved plenty of women, booze, and rowdy celebration. Everything but an all-out gang bang… so far.

I was hiding in the suite’s small kitchen trying to think of a way out that included taking my sister with me. This wasn’t the best spot, because it opened on both sides, but at the moment it was empty of partiers.

A noise made me turn.

“Heys, babes.” The low, drunken voice slurred, casting obnoxious alcohol breath into my nostrils. At the same time, his ham-hock hand unexpectedly pushed down on my shoulder.

My knees thumped hard against the mosaic tile, forcing a grimace of pain from my lips.

What the hell?

Two inches in front of my face, his other hand—the one not keeping me on my knees—unzipped his pants. A large cock fell out, dangling pointedly at my mouth like a divining rod discovering a pool of saliva.


I tried to scramble back, but he moved his hands to either side of my head, pulling me toward the biggest nasty nirvana I’d ever seen. I sputtered through closed lips, afraid to open them or something might bounce inside.

Bile rose. I was going to vomit.

I jerked away hard, causing what felt like half my hair to tear out.

“Don’ch be thataway. You know uwant it. Comeson, bitsh.” He still had a chunk of hair in his fist and part of it was attached to me.

He tried pulling me back, but I’d created enough distance to attempt a scream without eating the large hunk of growing man-muscle in front of me. Before the shriek worked its way from my throat, more of my hair tore out by the roots as the unzipped jock staggered a few feet away.

“Leave the lady alone, Stump.” The unidentified voice was more gravelly than…my mind zeroed in on the name. Really? Stump?

Even at a time like this, my morbid sense of humor got the best of me and I fought a full-out laugh. Yes, part of that laugh was giddy with relief, but if the guy who put his dick in my face had a name like Stump, I wondered what qualified as big.

“Whas the fuck, Mac? She’s no slady.”

As the half-slurred conversation ensued, I crab-walked backward away from both men; totally undignified, but I was past caring.

“She looks to be over eighteen, so that makes her a lady, and she didn’t seem too willing to eat your ugly cock. Put the damn thing back in your pants or I’ll bruise my throwing arm planting my fist in your face.”

My rescuer never raised his voice, but the forceful, tightly controlled words revealed his anger.

“The scunt owes me a sblowjob.”

Stump literally went airborne. He landed with a thud against the tile. An “Oomph” followed when the other man landed on top of him.

How many football players can you get in a compact kitchen?

I found out when multiple legs, not caring that they trampled me, piled in from two directions. Even with numerous sets of bulging arms, they struggled to hold my irate savior back once they had him on his feet.

“He’s drunk, Mac. Let it go.”

“All’s good. She’s okay.”

At this point, a zillion sets of eyes turned my way then quickly went back to holding…I looked up…blinked twice…swallowed, and watched as the god of football glanced down at me. Killian MacGregor, The Mac, or Mac the Knife, as fans called him because of his throwing arm, was my savior.

Sudden lack of oxygen caused the room to whirl, but it didn’t keep me from gaping at six and a half feet of boiling testosterone. I took in every delectable inch from head to toe. Broad strokes made his face a work of art—heavy eyebrows, dark pools for eyes, high cheekbones, his jaw…almost too perfectly square with full lips displaying a not-so-pleased scowl. My eyes traveled down over his corded neck to his black t-shirt, which looked painted over each straining muscle. Jeans encased his long legs down to his black leather boots. My eyes, with a will of their own, traveled back up to see him shake off the guys like ants. Then, he elbowed his teammates aside and his long strides brought him…gulp…to me. I was scooped off the floor like I weighed nothing. Yes, I was thin, but at just under six foot, I wasn’t small. For the first time in my life, I felt like Tinker Bell.

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