Chapter 6: Game Day Jealously
The stadium lights hummed a sickly, fading yellow, casting long shadows across the empty bleachers. The last of the crowd had trickled out, leaving behind a ghost of their roar—a popcorn-strewn concrete cavern echoing with distant janitorial clangs. The air smelled of trampled grass, sweat, and the faint, sweet-diesel scent of victory.
Tasha sat perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The cold of the metal bench seeped through her trousers. Beside her, Ares radiated a kinetic heat, still thrumming from the game.He’d been a force of nature down on that field. She’d watched him morph from the boy in her kitchen to something primal and untouchable. The way he’d sliced through defenders, a blur of crimson and white, the brutal, elegant violence of a touchdown run that left three players stumbling in his wake. The crowd’s adoration was a physical thing, a wave that crested every time he touched the ball. And the screams—not just cheers, but shrieks, specifically female shrieks—that followed his number, his name, had drilled into her skull.
“He’s so HOT!” A girl, maybe nineteen, had squealed two rows down, her eyes glued to Ares’ ass in his tight pants as he jogged back to the huddle.Tasha’s nails had bitten crescent moons into her palms.
Now, in the hollow silence, the jealousy was a sour taste in her mouth. It felt petty, unbecoming.She was a thirty-three-year-old lawyer.And she was seething over college girls.
“You see that last block?” Ares said, his voice loud in the quiet, a live wire still sparking.He nudged her shoulder with his.“I planted that linebacker. He fucking flew.”
“I saw,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.He heard it. The energy around him shifted, the triumphant glow dimming into a watchful intensity.He turned to look at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.It was a great game. Congratulations.” The words were professional, detached.
“Bullshit.” He reached over, his hand—still taped, smelling of grass and athlete’s rub—covering both of hers. “Talk to me.”
She looked down at their hands.Hers, perfectly manicured, pale against his larger, battered one. “It’s just… the crowd.The attention.” She forced a laugh, thin and brittle. “Those girls screaming your name. It’s a lot.”
A slow grin spread across his face, the dimples cutting deep.Not contrite.Amused. “Jealous?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are. I can smell it on you.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “It’s fucking hot, actually.”
She pulled her hands away, a flush of anger warming her cheeks.“It’s not a joke, Ares. I’m sitting here, in my… in my world, watching you in yours.They’re your peers. I’m a… spectator.”
His smile vanished. The green of his eyes turned hard, like sea glass.“So what?You want me to apologize for being good? For people noticing?”
“No.I just…” She trailed off, the complexity of it choking her. The gulf between his life and hers felt vast, unmovable.
“You’re gonna have to get used to it, Tasha.” His voice was flat, final.“This is my life. I’m going D1.It gets bigger from here.More cameras.More screaming. More everything.” He stood up abruptly, the metal bench groaning. He started pacing in front of her, a caged panther.“You knew this. You chose to be here.”
“I know what I chose,” she snapped, standing to meet his eye level, though he still towered over her. “But knowing it and feeling it are two different things. Watching those girls look at you like you’re a piece of meat they want to devour… it makes me feel ancient.And stupid.”
He stopped pacing. Closed the distance between them in one stride. His hands came up, cupping her face, forcing her to look at him.“You are the most stunning woman in any stadium, any room, anywhere. You think I see them?I see you. Sitting there, all cool and fucking unapproachable, like a queen slumming it.That’s what drives me crazy. That’s what I want.” His thumbs stroked her cheekbones.“Their screaming is just noise. You… you’re the only thing in the room I hear.”
Her resolve cracked. The words, delivered with such ferocious sincerity, melted the icy knot in her chest.She believed him. In this moment, she believed him completely.He saw her surrender.His eyes darkened. “Come on.”
He took her hand, leading her not toward the exits, but down the bleacher steps, across the synthetic turf, through a shadowy tunnel that smelled of damp concrete and mildew. A door marked ‘Home Locker Room’ was ajar.He pushed it open.
Inside, the air was thick with the steam of recent showers and the pungent scent of sweat, soap, and liniment. The room was a long alley of metal lockers, benches, and discarded towels. It was empty, silent except for the drip of a showerhead.
“They’ve all gone to the party,” he murmured, his voice echoing slightly off the tiles.
He backed her against a cold locker, the metal biting through her silk blouse. His mouth found hers, not in a kiss but in a taking.It was hungry, possessive, tasting of Gatorade and triumph. Her briefcase clattered to the floor.His hands weren’t gentle. They pulled her blouse free from her trousers, yanking it open. His palms were rough on the smooth skin of her stomach, sliding up to cup her breasts through the lace of her bra.
“You see them out there,” he growled against her lips, his breath hot.“But this is who I come home to. This.” He pinched a nipple through the lace, hard, and she gasped, arching into him. “This incredible fucking body.This smart mouth. This is mine.”
He unclasped her bra, letting it fall. His head dipped, his mouth closing over her nipple, sucking deep, his tongue flicking roughly.A jolt of pure, electric need shot straight to her core. She tangled her hands in his damp, curly hair, holding him to her.
“Ares,” she panted.He straightened, his eyes blazing. With a quick, ruthless motion, he unzipped her trousers and shoved them and her panties down to her knees. He turned her around, facing the locker. “Put your hands on it.”
She obeyed, bracing herself against the cool, perforated metal. She heard the rustle of his own clothes, the tear of a foil packet—he must have had one in his duffel, left behind from the game. Then he was against her, his bare skin hot against her back, his hard cock probing the seam of her ass before sliding down, finding her entrance.He didn’t enter her slowly. He drove into her with one long, brutal thrust, filling her completely, a conquest as decisive as any on the field. A cry tore from her throat, echoed in the hollow room.
“You feel that?” he hissed in her ear, one arm wrapping around her waist to anchor her, the other hand splaying on the locker next to her head.“That’s me.In you. While their cheers are still in my fucking ears.This is what I want. This tight, jealous cunt clamping down on me.”
He fucked her with the same relentless pace he’d run the ball. Each thrust was a declaration, a branding.The metal locker rattled with their impact. The sound was obscenely loud—skin slapping, his grunts, her increasingly ragged moans. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, circling it with rough, urgent pressure.
“You gonna come for me?” he demanded.“You gonna come on my dick while I’m still wearing my fucking game tape? Do it.”
The vulgarity, the raw context, shattered her. The pleasure was immense, a crushing wave. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsing, her inner muscles clamping around his driving length in rhythmic pulses.She sobbed, her forehead pressed against the locker.
Feeling her climax pushed him over. With a final, deep surge, he stilled, burying himself to the hilt. A low, guttural roar erupted from his chest as he came, his body shuddering against hers, his release flooding into the condom inside her.
For a moment, they stayed locked like that, both panting, slick with sweat. Then he softened, slipped out, and rested his forehead between her shoulder blades.Slowly, reality seeped back in. The chill of the room.The acrid locker room smell.The profound impropriety of where they were. She became aware of her trousers around her ankles, her blouse hanging open.She shivered.
He gently helped her turn around, pulling her clothes back up with a surprising tenderness. He zipped her trousers, fastened her bra, buttoned her blouse. His own jeans were still around his thighs.He looked young again, vulnerable amidst the aftermath.
He leaned in and kissed her softly, a stark contrast to the violence of minutes before.“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “This is real.The rest is just background noise.”
She wanted to believe him. She kissed him back, trying to seal the feeling in.
Her phone, inside her fallen briefcase, began to ring.Not her personal ringtone. The specific, pulsing tone she’d assigned to the senior partner.The spell shattered.Her lawyer’s mind snapped back online.It was Sunday evening. The Henderson deposition prep was first thing tomorrow.She had mountains of work.
She pulled away, her movements suddenly efficient, cold. “I have to get that.”
She retrieved her briefcase, fumbling for the phone.The call went to voicemail. A text followed immediately: Tasha.Call me urgent.Henderson files have a discrepancy. Need you online in 30 to review.The world, her real world, crashed back in with the weight of a collapsing building. The stadium, the sex, the promises—it all receded into a distant, dreamlike haze.
She looked at Ares, who was watching her, confusion and a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I have to go,” she said, her voice all business. “A work crisis.”
“Now? It’s Sunday night.”
“That’s when crises happen.” She was already smoothing her hair, checking her reflection in the shiny locker surface. She looked disheveled, thoroughly fucked.A wave of shame washed over her.
“So you’re just leaving?” He sounded younger than his eighteen years.“I have to. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, not in the way he needed. She was already mentally in her home office, booting up her computer.He nodded slowly, pulling his jeans up, his movements stiff.“Right. Okay.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, the phrase automatic, empty.
He didn’t answer. He just leaned down to pick up his duffel bag, wincing slightly as he straightened. She noticed, for the first time, a fresh, angry-looking scrape on his ribcage, and a deep purple bruise already blooming on his shoulder.Battle wounds from his triumph. He looked suddenly fragile, human.
She had a terrifying impulse to stay, to tend to him, to forget the files and the partnership track.But the impulse was smothered by a decade of conditioning. She was Tasha Brown, cornerstone of the firm.
“Good game, Ares,” she said softly, and then she turned and walked out of the locker room, the click of her heels on the tile echoing down the tunnel, back toward the empty field and the waiting car that would return her to her life.He didn’t follow her. He stood alone in the sterile, steamy room, the adrenaline high彻底 gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache that had nothing to do with the bruises.
He stood alone in the sterile, steamy room, the adrenaline high彻底 gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache that had nothing to do with the bruises. The echo of her retreating heels faded into the hum of industrial ventilation. He wanted to punch a locker, but the energy wasn’t even there; her sudden, professional exit had deflated him more completely than any lost game.Three days passed without the promised call.
On the fourth, his text was simple: `You owe me a day off. No lawyers allowed.`
Her reply took hours, but it came: `Where?`
`Crown Pier.2 pm. Wear something you can move in.` He attached a winking emoji, a mask for the uncertainty gnawing at him.
Sunday afternoon blazed with unseasonable heat at the oceanfront amusement park. The air thrummed with the cacophony of shrieking rides, tinny carnival music, and the smell of fried dough and saltwater. He spotted her immediately by the vintage carousel, a still point in the swirling chaos. She’d followed his instruction, but in a way that stole the breath from his lungs. The black bodysuit was sleek as ink, plunging in a deep V that showcased the swell of her breasts and the simple gold necklace resting perfectly in the shadowed cleft. It clung to every curve, the wide-legged pants doing nothing to hide the full, round shape of her ass.
“You said to move,” she said, a shy smile touching her lips as he approached, his eyes wide. “I can move in this.”
“Jesus, Tasha.” He pulled her into a kiss right there, tasting salt and her lip gloss, a claim staked amidst the crowds. When he broke it, his voice was rough. “You’re gonna cause accidents.”
He was determined to be young for her, to shake off the complications. He dragged her onto rides that spun them upside down, her genuine, surprised laughter ringing in his ear above the mechanical roars. He spent thirty dollars at a rifle game, his athlete’s focus narrowing until he knocked down all the moving ducks.The attendant handed him a giant, stupid-looking pink bear. He presented it to her with a flourish.“For you, m’lady. A trophy.”
She burst out laughing, a real, unguarded sound he cherished.She clutched the bear. “It’s hideous. I love it.”
They ate greasy fries dusted with vinegar and shared a cloud of spun sugar.As they walked, she nudged him. “Watch this.” She did a sudden, perfectly-executed cartwheel on the boardwalk planks, her body a fluid arc in the tight black suit, ending with her hands up, grinning. He gawked, then whooped, applauding.
“Where did that come from?”
“Varsity gymnastics, a thousand years ago,” she said, brushing sand from her hands, her smile edged with nostalgia.
He was buzzing with a simple, sugar-fueled joy he hadn’t felt since high school. He pulled her into photo booths, making ridiculous faces, kissing her cheek as the flash blinded them. He was loud, teasing, effortlessly funny—a college kid on a date. She watched him, her almond eyes soft with an affection that felt painfully genuine, and laughed at his antics. For whole minutes, she seemed to forget the weight of her other life.
But his own laughter died in his throat every time he noticed a man’s gaze linger on her. It happened constantly—a slow slide of eyes from the plunge of her neckline to the sway of her hips. A group of guys in their twenties openly stared, one elbowing another.Ares’s jaw tightened. He moved closer, his hand possessively low on her back.
“You see that?” he muttered, steering her away from a funnel cake line.“See what?” She was licking powdered sugar from her thumb.
“Nothing.” He forced a smile, but the possessive burn in his gut was anything but childish.
Dusk painted the sky in bruised purples and oranges, the pier lights flickering on like awakened stars. The crowd thickened, a press of bodies radiating the day’s spent heat. A guy in a tank top, brawny and sunburned, brushed past Tasha a little too close. “Excuse you,” he said, his eyes dragging over her chest without a hint of apology.
Something in Ares snapped.The careful, fun-loving façade shattered. “Watch where you’re fucking going,” Ares growled, stepping squarely into the man’s space, his height and build suddenly formidable.
The man held up his hands, smirking.“Easy, big guy. Just admiring the view.”
Ares’s fist clenched. Tasha’s cool hand slipped into his, her fingers lacing through his tense ones.“Ares,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Let’s go.”
He let her pull him away, his blood pounding in his ears. They walked in silence to a quieter stretch of beach, away from the rides, the sand cool and loose under their feet.The roar of the pier was a distant echo.He stopped, turning her to face him. The pink bear tumbled to the sand. The jealousy, the frustration, the three days of silence—it all curdled into a single, raw need.
“I can’t stand it,” he said, his voice gravel.“Every fucking guy looking at you. Like they have a right.”
“They’re not looking at me,” she whispered, stepping closer until their bodies almost touched. “They’re looking at what you have.”
Her words were the final spark. He kissed her with a violence that tasted of cotton candy and rage. His hands gripped her hips, yanking her against the hard proof of his desire straining against his jeans. She met him with equal fervor, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.He broke the kiss, breathing harshly. “I need to be inside you.Right now.”
He scanned the dark beach. A hundred yards away, the tall, skeletal supports of the pier created a shadowy alcave hidden from the boardwalk above. He took her hand and led her into the deep gloom. It was cooler there, the sand damper, the world reduced to the slap of waves and the thrum of the structure above them.
He pushed her against a thick, tar-scented wooden piling. His mouth was hot on her neck, his teeth scraping her pulse point. His hands shoved the wide legs of her pants apart, finding the thin fabric of her thong beneath.He tore it aside. “Hold onto the post,” he commanded, his voice thick.
She obeyed, bracing her hands against the rough, splintered wood.He unfastened his jeans, freed himself, and spat into his palm. He slicked his cock, the head glistening in the faint light.He didn’t ask. He positioned himself and drove into her with one deep, punishing thrust.
A ragged cry tore from her throat, absorbed by the roar of the ocean. She was slick and tight, the resistance a sweet agony. He set a brutal, driving pace immediately, each snap of his hips slamming her body against the piling. The sound of their coupling was obscenely loud—the wet slap of skin, his guttural grunts, her choked whimpers.
“You see now?” he panted, one hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back. “This is what you do.You make me fucking crazy. You walk around in this… this fucking suit…”
He fucked her harder, deeper.His other hand slid around her hip, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles.“You make me so hard I can’t think. You feel that? You feel how deep I am?”
“Yes!” she cried, her nails digging into the wood.The pleasure was a live wire, frayed and sparking. The public risk, the crude setting, his raw possession—it ignited her completely. “Don’t stop!”
“Whose is it?” he demanded, his rhythm faltering as his own end approached.
“Yours!Ares, it’s yours!”
“Come for me.Come on my fucking dick. Now.”
The command, the relentless pressure of his fingers, the fullness of him—it was too much. Her orgasm detonated, a silent scream shaking her frame as her cunt clenched around him in vicious, milking spasms.The intensity of her climax triggered his. With a final, bottoming thrust, he stilled, burying himself to the hilt. A broken groan escaped him as he pulsed deep inside her, his release hot and endless.
They collapsed together against the piling, a tangle of spent limbs and hurried clothing. The chill of the night air seeped into their sweat-damp skin.He nuzzled her neck, his breath slowing. In the quiet dark, under the rumbling pier, the fifteen years between them didn’t exist. There was only this: the salt, the sweat, the steady pound of the tide, and the terrifying, binding truth of their hunger.He pulled her upright, helping her fix her clothes. She picked up the dusty pink bear. Hand in hand, they walked back toward the lights, the screams from the roller coaster now sounding like echoes from another world. He squeezed her fingers, his thumb tracing her knuckles. The hollowness from the locker room was gone, filled now with a precarious, glowing certainty. For tonight, it was enough.