Page 6 of Protecting Player #73 (Portland, Settlers #1 | Gridiron Warriors)

T.K

“ W hat the fuck were you thinking, T.K.?” Alex shouts through the phone line as I let myself into my condo. “Everyone saw you! You’re doing exactly what we asked you not to do, and on a live stream no less!” Her yelling is giving me a headache. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Nothing she’ll want to hear. “I’m sorry; it wasn’t intentional.

I was dehydrated and exhausted and made a mistake.

” I’m out of any other believable excuses when the truth is, I don’t think I can live without Brea King.

And that’s when a lightbulb goes off in my head.

“Is that your sister?” Alex has been my agent for years, but she keeps everything professional.

I know she has a younger sister, but I hadn’t anticipated this being her.

“Yes, she is.” I can hear her grinding her teeth. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your fucking hands off her.”

Fuck. I groan. Of course, this is my kind of luck.

“I’m sorry, Alex.” I don’t make any promises, and she seems to miss that or ignore it.

“Just treat her with respect, T.K. Brea isn’t like other girls her age. She’s special.”

That I do know. It was clear from the second I heard her voice, looked into her eyes, and felt her skin under my fingertips.

“I’m staying in tonight, Alex. Go home, eat a good meal, go on a date.” She scoffs but hangs up, leaving me alone with my obsession for her little sister.

When Cash and Jacob touched Brea while she was doing her thing, jealousy festered and grew, breathing new life inside me. They put their hands on her. Cash kissed her, and they called her princess. The alpha in me couldn’t tolerate it, and my body did things I hadn’t given permission for.

My hands on her body were the sweetest sensation I’ve ever felt.

The only sensation I want to feel for the rest of my life.

I always thought the pigskin would keep me happy, but just a hint of a touch, twice in one day, and now it’s Brea.

She’s the softest, sweetest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching.

Snatching my laptop from the desk near the balcony in the living room, I drop onto the sofa and dive into the world of social media, where I can find Brea.

She’s on several accounts for ReelShotz, a personal one, the team one, and a few small businesses.

Watching her talk so passionately about what she’s marketing, I understand why the team hired her.

She has a gorgeous smile with dimples in both cheeks.

Her eyes are always bright and full of life.

And from the tone of her skin, the sun loves her.

She talks animatedly about the bakery she’s promoting and doesn’t hesitate to take a massive bite of a cupcake on camera, giving her honest opinion.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head, and it damn near looks orgasmic.

The way she moans is like a sex act, and my dick rages for a taste of her.

Brea King is the kind of woman who could persuade a man like me to settle down and think of marriage, babies, and monogamy. Christ , I already am.

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and imagine her waddling around in a pair of panties, fuzzy socks I saw her advertising and gushing over, and a cropped jersey with her belly exposed, the proof of my virility growing inside of her.

Nice and round, bulging with her body, nearly ready to give birth.

My hand slides down to my pants, pushing the sweats past my swollen dick and clasping it roughly as I begin stroking up and down, imagining it’s her mouth or pussy.

Fuck , the crimes I would commit to get inside this woman should have me locked up in a Turkish prison for the rest of my life.

I can’t fucking stop, though. My grip tightens, hand pumping faster, and the release bubbles to the surface.

The sound of her laughter sets me off, jets of cum squirting from the tip, splashing on my stomach and chest, and all I can think is what a damn waste.

This load should have been inside my girl.

My girl.

Damn.

I’m a goner.

Alex is going to pitch one hell of a fit, if she doesn’t kill me first. I really hope she doesn’t drop me as a client because she’s the best agent I’ve ever had.

I will have to be clear with her that Brea is my endgame. She’s forever for me, and nothing will change that. Convincing her might be challenging, though, given how much of an ass I’ve been to her.

Staring down at my shirt with my seed drying into the fabric, I hesitate to remove it and toss it in the hamper. I want Brea to wear it, but I’m not sure how to make that happen, not without breaking into her place and putting it in her room in such a way that she believes it’s hers.

Getting up, I head to my room, carefully pulling the material over my head and laying it on the bed to dry while I hop in the shower. I’ll toss it in the dryer in the morning and figure out how to give it to her another time.

Is it sick? Likely. Do I care? Not in the least.

Marking Brea as mine is my top priority, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. There’s nothing I want more. For me, that says something.

The cold shower tempered my desire but not my need.

I fight myself not to scour the internet for every picture and video of Brea I can find.

Nevertheless, I do spend more time than I care to admit rewatching the live interviews she did today and scrutinizing every micro expression on her face when I touched her.

Her beautiful blue eyes darken, the pulse in her neck races, she’s tense, but I don’t get the sense it’s because my touch was unwelcome. If I pause and study closely, her nipples pucker the slightest bit. Maybe it’s my imagination; maybe it isn’t.

I lie in bed, the sun having long since set, and spend too many hours staring at her face. Memorizing her dimples, the laugh lines in her eyes. The tiny speckles of gold in her irises. Her plump lips that I want nothing more than to kiss and suck on.

I briefly wonder if she has tattoos that she’s hiding.

There’s an air of defiance and rebellion in her movements and speech.

I can picture her with stars on her hips, or maybe a butterfly high on the side of her thigh.

Perhaps a perfect rose on her ribcage. Christ , what I would love is for my number to be imprinted somewhere on her body–perhaps the inside of her thigh, where only I could see it.

Possessive feelings for her rock deep inside my soul. She will be mine. It doesn’t matter the amount of manipulation and forcing of the narrative I must do; I’ll love her so completely that she won’t care how we got together.