The Revenge Games Duet

Yesterday had me weak. Coach drilled me for sloppy defending and even I knew something was off. I needed a release, and it began with an innocent text that ended up with her rubbing her clit and coming for me. I came three fucking times watching that video.

My dick’s red, raw, and stinging like a motherfucker with how hard I rubbed it out. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight—wet, bare, and perfectly pink.

I wanted to call her and hear her voice, but I held back, reminding myself that we’re having fun. Playing this dangerous game of not wanting to be caught and standing on the ledge playing with fucking fire.

But all of it, everything, begins to eat away at me.

I couldn’t curb my jealousy when I saw an image of her on Instagram with Wesley, posted by Farrah Beaumont referring to their lunch date and how happily in love they are. I recall the moment vividly—punching the lamp beside me and seeing it smash to the floor in a million pieces. I didn’t expect to experience that type of jealousy, yet I did, and there’s no cure but to forget she even exists.

Ash was pumped that I agreed to go out on a double date. The nurse he set me up with was a friend of Alessandra’s, a woman named Georgia. She was pretty, long legs and firm ass. Small tits but it didn’t matter. I fucked her once with my red-raw dick and ended up having to pull out when the rubber got uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have done it, but I needed someone else to make me forget about her. I’ve never been so preoccupied during sex. My mind wasn’t in it, thinking about Emmy the entire time.

I’m tired of it.

I want my life back without Emmy in it.

Georgia became clingy, demanding a second round and wanting to stay the night. I told her I didn’t do sleepovers so she left the apartment in a blind fit of rage while calling me every name under the sun. I didn’t care, because I long for solitude.

Without Ash or Alessandra, I have too much time to think about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

Then, I caved.

Season One—Episode One.

I binge-watched the whole first season of Generation Next and finally saw the so-called ‘moment’ Wesley Rich fell in love with Emerson Chase.

I hated watching him gain her love.

I hated, even more, witnessing their first kiss and subtle walk to the bedroom. The way her smile changed after that, she was happy and content.

I detest he makes her feel that way.

I hate the fact he still controls her.

Actually, I hate everything about them.

Yet, the masochistic side of me continued watching until my eyes grew heavy and sleep was imminent. I’ve started a bad habit and it’s one I don’t know how to break.

***

We ramped up training due to the big game this Saturday against Manchester. I’m pumped and ready to go. They have had straight wins—no losses this season—and I want to break their luck and show them we’re going to take this game to the next level.

Ash leaves training early to run some errands. I don’t ask, annoyed that ‘errands’ are more important than the fucking game. With Chris watching on, I know he will control his son—I don’t have to be the responsible one today.

Every limb, bone, part of my body is in deep pain. I can barely walk to the elevator, even pressing the button’s a struggle. I don’t ever remember training so hard and mentally killing myself on the field. I’m drenched in dirt and sweat but opt to shower at home peacefully rather than in the locker room with the boys so I head home.

As I open the apartment door, I plan on taking a shower but having only an hour to spare before heading out to the studio to join a panel to discuss this week’s highlights.

The smell of Alessandra’s strong coffee graces the apartment, along with a familiar laugh.

“Look who’s here.” Ash is sitting on the coffee table, facing the sofa, and I don’t notice anyone until Emerson sits up and gazes straight at me.

My chest broadens, my muscles stiffening harder than I thought possible, as I’m shocked to see her sitting inside my apartment. The first thing I notice is her hair has changed again, it’s a silver tone with light brown roots. She’s dressed in a pale pink knitted sweater with dark blue jeans and knee-high boots.

Why does she have to look like that?

Casually sexy.

The worst type of sexy.