Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

The man grabbed each of her wrists again, just as hard as the first time, and slammed them down onto the frozen ground. The force was enough to make her breasts bounce up and down, exposing the very edge of one of her pink nipples.

Tracy tried to scream for Paul. She could feel her mouth moving, could feel the straining vibrations making her vocal chords spasm, but there was no sound except for the constant whooshing of the cold wind racing over them. She tried again to push his body away, this time using her feet to try and kick him off of her.

The man growled – she could see it in the way that he gritted his yellowed, crooked teeth, even though his voice was as silent here as her own – and pushed her down again. He was like quicksand: the more that she fought, the closer the two became.

Finally, after a struggle that felt like it lasted hours, the man sank down between Tracy’s thighs. Leading the way, his massive erection bulged out against his smooth, black slacks. The huge lump settled against Tracy’s pussy, resting there like an anaconda ready to attack.

The man’s eyes flashed with red, and he leaned in so that their cheeks were nearly touching. His lips, a rough as sandpaper, grazed her lips as he spoke on mute. His hips began to grind down onto her, rocking his member against her tender area.

He had taken control of her.

Tracy squeezed her eyes shut. The man let go of her wrists and cupped one of her full breasts in one hand. While his thrusts continued, his other hand started to trace a line from the top of her head. With one finger, he dragged across her forehead, over the scar that had been left from her accident, and continued on along the top of her eyebrow. From there, he slipped the single digit over her cheek, coming to rest just below the right side of her chin.

The man pressed his finger into the sensitive patch of flesh. Then it went cold, just as cold as the ground beneath them, which had begun to melt from their collective body heat.

The wind stopped abruptly. Now there was no sound at all. No heavy breaths or beating hearts. No hint of Tracy’s protests or the words that the man was still reciting into her ear. Instead, the only thing that broke through the silence was an unmistakable sound: a gun being cocked.

Tracy didn’t have to look, but she did anyway. The man’s icy finger had transformed into a gun and was neatly pressed against the bottom of her jaw. The cool, silver steel that wrapped the body shone like the sun, making Tracy’s eyes water uncontrollably.

Now giving off a glow so bright that it started to melt everything around, the gun started to vibrate against Tracy’s shivering flesh. It was only seconds before it took over everything. The man melted away, as did the freezing ground and baby blue skies.

The last thing that Tracy saw was the gun’s handle. It had been painted a deep, purple-tinged hue of crimson. In her head, the man’s solemn, monotone voice finally burst through the ether.

"I’ll have his blood."

Tracy awoke with a start as the car pulled into the driveway. She was still so tired, and felt like she hadn't had any rest in days. Was what she just saw someone's dreams? Or was it just a bad dream of hers produced by stress? It was all so confusing, and she almost didn't want to go to sleep again. However, as she crawled into bed with Mr. Hayes, sleep claimed her almost immediately.

Chapter 18

The morning of Tracy’s meeting with Gordon Baxter was a frenzied rush of activity, as she had tons of things to do. She was a nervous wreck. Everything that she did was done with half her mind elsewhere, leading to more than one disaster. The coffee machine overflowed after she dumped way too much coffee grounds into the basket. Her solitary piece of toast, the only thing that she thought could stomach, burned into a stinky, square puck.

Even her lowly hair brush wasn't immune. Some time earlier, Tracy had accidentally turned on a flat iron that she’d left out. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t left her brush sitting on top of it. When she stepped out of the shower, she was met only by a molten puddle of plastic and rubber.

If this is how today is going to be, she thought to herself, maybe I should just go back to bed.

Mr. Hayes, who had gone out briefly that morning, walked back into their bedroom and spotted Tracy sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a plush cotton towel. Her hair was still wet and she wore a look of absolute defeat on her face.

"What’s wrong?" He looked around and sniffed dramatically, "And why does the whole house smell?"

Tracy sighed. She wanted to tell him about her concerns, wanted to be able to talk about her last vision. It was, of course, the whole reason why she couldn’t seem to get her head on straight. Who was that man? Could it have been Baxter? Though he was a famous chef, Tracy couldn’t remember his face. After all, today would be the first time that she would meet him in person.

But if she was to confess to the powers that she had, Mr. Hayes could find out about how their relationship really began, and that was so

mething that Tracy wasn’t prepared to deal with. She stared down at the floor between her bare feet.

"Tracy?"

Mr. Hayes’ words snapped her out of her trance-like state.

"Yeah?"

He sat down onto the bed next to her and wrapped his arm around her without saying anything else. Tracy sighed and let her head fall onto his shoulder.

The earthy, sweet scent of his cologne filled her lungs.

After several quiet minutes, Mr. Hayes cleared his throat and asked softly, "Seriously, Tracy. What is going on? This has to be about more than just the restaurant."

His words made Tracy’s heart skip a beat. Could he know what was going on while she slept? Did he have any clue? She turned her eyes up, though she could only see the bottom of his jaw, and stared blankly at the light peppering of dark hairs. There was a tension growing between them because of the silence – her silence. She could feel it like the impending shock waves of an earthquake rolling up below them. But, still, she couldn’t relent.