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Offside Offense

By: TripleL



This story contains infidelity, betrayal, cheating, interracial sex, and a bit of violence. Don't like it? Read something else. There's a lot of build-up before the action starts, as well.

I wrote this in response to a request in the story ideas forum. The names, characters, and background are hers; the words and plot are mine. Many thanks to the lovely lady whose fantasy inspired the story. 

-----

The man rushed down the pitch. His opponent charged at him, dropping into a slide at the last moment. 

They collided.

There was a crunch and a scream. The man went down, turning a somersault as his leg gave out and he tumbled to the ground. 

The referee blew his whistle, and Jemma ran onto the pitch from the sidelines. The man who went down was her boyfriend, Dan, and from the way he was clutching his ankle and grimacing he seemed to be hurt, bad.

When she got closer, she could see that things were serious—there was blood, on his shin, from where his opponent's cleats had broken the skin. His foot seemed locked in place at an odd angle. She hurried to his side and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm here, baby," she said, on the verge of tears. 

Dan let out a pained gasp. "Fuck! Call a fucking ambulance," he said. The rest of the players gather around. The man who'd taken Dan down, an athletic black man named Marq, was standing a fair distance away and watching—but he wasn't looking at the man he'd hurt; he was looking at Jemma.

Normally, this wouldn't be surprising. Jemma was certainly easy on the eyes; she was a bit on the short side, a bit over five feet tall, with dark hair and eyes. She had curves to spare and a classic hourglass figure. The eye couldn't help but follow the contours of her body, from her large, firm breasts, down along her waist to her hips and ass, which were just thick enough to get hold of. And she'd dressed to highlight her figure, wearing a tight white tank top and black leggings that clung closely to her body. 

But today, with an injured man lying on the pitch biting back agonized groans, it seemed out of place. Jemma was dimly aware of Marq's attention, but she put it out of her mind to focus on her boyfriend. One of Dan's teammates brought out some water and some painkillers and told him an ambulance was on its way. The ref started to ask for everyone to clear the field, but a glare from Jemma shut him up. 

By the time the ambulance arrived, Dan had managed to get himself under control somewhat. He still wasn't walking, but he'd rolled onto his back and gotten his leg straightened out. The painkillers he'd been given seemed to be helping a bit, although it was clear that they brought the pain down to merely excruciating.

The ambulance drivers loaded Dan up on a stretcher and carried him off the field; his teammates and his opponents looking on in respectful silence. Jemma climbed into the back of the ambulance with him.

They rode together to the hospital, not saying much—Dan was mostly unable to talk. He was gritting his teeth and trying his best to deal with the pain, but occasionally the ambulance would hit a bump or take a turn quickly, and he'd let out an involuntarily small pained sound. The paramedics were constantly active, doing what they could for Dan. Jemma, for her part, just stayed close by and offered up moral support. Except when the paramedics needed her to move, she was at Dan's side, holding his hand tightly in hers.

On their arrival at the hospital, they hustled Dan inside. Jemma was left behind to wait. She spent the better part of an hour pacing the floor, sending out texts to Dan's family and friends to let them know what happened, and fretting fearfully about her boyfriend. 

A tired-looking doctor found her in the waiting room and sat her down. An orderly brought her a cup of water as he paged through the notes on his clipboard before speaking. "Strictly speaking, we shouldn't be talking to you since you're not family, but Dan gave permission. First: he's hurt fairly badly, and it'll be a while before he's back on his feet." Jemma's face fell. The doctor continued, hurriedly attempting to reassure her. "We expect him to make a full recovery, in the long run, but it may be days before he's walking unassisted and weeks before he's able to get back on the field."

Jemma closed her eyes and fought for control of herself. She took a deep breath and said, "Can I go see him?" The doctor nodded. 

-----

Even laid up in his hospital bed, Dan was a good-looking man. He was of average height, but broad-shouldered and limber. Dan played soccer and had a runner's build, all lean muscle without much excess bulk. Right now, though, he was pale and drawn, and a tube ran into his arm—no doubt an IV pumping him full of painkillers. He smiled weakly at Jemma as she came in. "Hey, you. How are you holding up?"

Jemma broke into a wide grin as she reached Dan's side. "Don't be silly. I should be asking you that question."

Dan gestured vaguely toward his leg, which was encased in a cast from the knee down and suspended in traction. "It was a bad break, but it should heal. In a few weeks, maybe a month, I'll be back to normal. In a few days I should be able to walk with a crutch, so I'll be out of here then." It seemed that Dan had accepted his injury with his customary nonchalance. "It could have been much worse. One of his feet caught me just under the knee. A bit higher and he might have done some real damage."

"This isn't real damage?"

"Heh. It's just a scrape," Dan said, a shade ironically, a wry smile on his face.

"Well, I'll stay here with you tonight anyway," Jemma said. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead and then sat down in a chair by his bedside.

Dan shifted as best he could to look at her from his hospital bed. "Weren't you going out with your girlfriends tonight?" he asked.

"I canceled. Being with you is more important."

Dan scowled and shook his head. "No, no—you can't cancel. I'm stuck here but there's no reason you should be."

"Of course there's a reason. I want to be here with you." She squeezed his hand and Dan looked at her appreciatively. He knew what she was trying to do, but he didn't want her to miss a chance to enjoy herself on his account.

"Listen, Jem, I'm probably going to pass out soon anyway from these painkillers. If you really want to spend all night sitting beside me while I'm unconscious, I won't say no. But there's really truly no reason for you to do that. I'm fine, and when you head out I'll go to sleep. So go and have fun. Do something to take your mind off all this. I promise I'll be here tomorrow, and I've got my phone handy so you can text or call if you want."

Jemma chewed at her lip in dismay. She wanted to be with her boyfriend and help him in any way she could; indeed, that was an overwhelming desire. But he was right that there was little that she could do for him, beyond offering moral support—and he didn't seem to need any more of that. "I just don't know if I could enjoy myself knowing I had left you here," she said. 

"You can and you will. I insist," Dan replied, smiling at her sweetly. "There is absolutely nothing that should stop you from having a good time."

"All right, honey. But you have to promise to call or text if you need anything. I mean it—anything at all, and I'll be back here in a flash." Jemma got up and gave Dan a hug, as best she could with him in traction. "I'm glad you're going to be okay," she said, quietly, as they embraced.

"Me too."

"Do you promise to call me if you need anything?"

"Of course."

She gave him a peck on the cheek and straightened up. "All right. I'll be back here tomorrow before I go to work, if I don't come back tonight."

"Sounds good to me."

Jemma gave Dan another quick kiss, then turned to leave. She stopped by the door and looked back. "You're absolutely sure this is okay?" she asked.

Dan rolled his eyes playfully. "It's fine, Jem. Better than fine—this is the best thing you could do. Now go! Go and have fun. Have a drink for me."

Jemma nodded. "Thanks, Dan. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Jemma."

-----

She took a cab home to change, and then left for the club. She was there about forty minutes after leaving the hospital. She'd exchanged texts with Dan on the way. He was watching TV and resting comfortably, and he was alone in his hospital room so he could watch what he wanted. All things considered, it could have been much worse, and by the time she arrived at the club she was almost relaxed.

The day hadn't been a good one, and she wanted to have fun. She'd changed into a tight, short, sleeveless cream-colored dress with a pattern of criss-crossing black stripes around the waist, black heels, and black stockings that rose to just above her knees. Her watch—gold--was on her left wrist, her only accessory. Her long, dark hair was down, almost reaching to the small of her back.

Her friends, Laura and Rachel, were already there; Rachel waved her in, past the line that had formed outside. Inside, the club was loud and lively. People were crowded around the bar, and the dance floor was busy. More people lined the walls or the small tables scattered around the outskirts of the club. A staircase led up to a loft area, with low couches and a second bar; people lined the railing up there as well, some talking to each other, others just watching the crowd downstairs.

As soon as Jemma made it in, Rachel led her over to the bar, where Laura was sitting on a stool. A couple of guys were standing nearby, saving two more empty seats for the girls. No surprise there; Laura and Rachel were both almost as attractive as Jemma, and they could have been sisters. They were both slim and willowy, with long slender limbs. Laura was a natural blonde, and Rachel dyed her hair a similar shade, although she had some varicolored strands running through hers. They both had brown eyes, and tonight they were even dressed similarly, in tight short black dresses.

The men saving seats for Rachel and Jemma were both tall and athletic. One was black, with close-cropped dark hair and broad, well-muscled shoulders; his arms were similarly impressive, with dark tribal tattoos on both forearms, running up under his sleeves. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt and black running pants; it was almost like he'd hit the bars right after going to the gym. His friend was white, a bit taller, but thinner as well, with blonde hair and a strong chin. The white guy was smiling, laughing at something Laura had said. Jemma couldn't see the black guy's face, but from the set of his shoulders he didn't seem quite as amused.

As Jemma and Rachel approached, Laura waved to them happily and her new friends turned to greet them. Jemma stopped dead in her tracks, staring. The black guy was Marq—the man who'd broken her boyfriend's ankle earlier that day.

Rachel gave her a quizzical look. "What's up?" she asked.

"Fucking asshole!" she said, pointing at the black man. "What the fuck are you thinking, showing up here?" 

Everyone recoiled except for the target of her sudden outburst. He just gave her a sheepish grin. "Well, shit. I guess I should be saying sorry right now."

Laura, Rachel, and the other guy were all staring open-mouthed. "Uhhhh... anyone want to fill me in?" asked the guy.

"This fucker put my boyfriend in the hospital!" Jemma said, her face flushing with anger. She turned her attention back to Marq. "You broke his ankle, and then you went out drinking? Jerk."

Marq put his hands up, palms forward, and took a step back. "Hey, hold on there—I didn't plan to run into you, and I didn't plan to hurt your boyfriend. Accidents happen. But now that you're here, let me tell you I'm sorry for hurting him. Let me buy you a drink."

Jemma was not so easily mollified. "Fuck off, jackass," she said, flipping him off as she did. Marq gave her a little nod and stepped away from the chair, letting her pass.

"I'm going to leave you girls be," he said. "Don't want to spoil your night. But if you want that drink, let me know—the offer stands. And I really am sorry about hurting Dan." He backed away for a few steps, then turned and went out to the dance floor.

Still fuming, Jemma took a seat at the bar and signaled the bartender. Her friends were staring, as was the guy who'd been there with Marq. Laura spoke up first. "Is everything okay, Jemma?" she asked, a bit hesitantly.

Jemma forced herself to calm down. She took a deep breath and said. "Yeah. It's just that that jerk hurt my boyfriend, you know? And now he's out having a good time like nothing happened. I had to sit in the hospital all day making sure he was fine, and then when I get out to relax Marq's here to spoil it."

"He didn't know you were going to be here, and besides... I think he really didn't mean to hurt Dan," Laura replied, trying to play peacemaker. "And he wanted to say sorry."

The bartender finally made his way over to Jemma and company, and for a moment they were all occupied ordering drinks. Jemma used the time to reflect and get herself under control. Laura was probably right, and the mature adult thing to do was accept Marq's apology—although really, it was Dan he should be apologizing to, but he wasn't here and Marq had ruined her day as well.

But she couldn't just call Marq back over. First, she got out her phone and texted Dan. "The fuckhead who hurt you is here."

The phone buzzed a moment later as Dan's response arrived. "Kick him in the ankle for me. :)"

Jemma smiled a bit and replied. "LOL. He offered to buy me a drink to apologize."

"Go for it. Free drinks are free drinks."

"Really?"

"Why not? It's just a drink."

Jemma shrugged at that last text. Dan had a point—it was a free drink, and if she had to be at the same place as Marq she might as well get something out of it. Her friends had started up a conversation while she had been texting, and she broke in.

"I'm going to go find Marq, guys," she said. "I was too mean to him." 

The other guy, the one who'd been hanging out with Marq, said "He's over there, dancing," and gestured vaguely toward the dance floor. Jemma scanned the crowd and spotted Marq quickly—he was dancing close to another woman, a Goth-looking girl decked out in all black. His hands were on her bare midriff, his dark skin contrasting with her pale flesh. The sight brought another small rush of anger through her—though it wasn't clear, even to her, if it was because he had so easily moved past the injury he'd inflicted to her boyfriend, or if it was jealousy that he was dancing closely with someone else.

She stalked over to him and stood in front of him as he danced, arms on her hips. "Hey, jackass," she said, shouting over the music. "Come buy me that fucking drink." Marq didn't seem to notice at first; he just stayed close to his pale dance partner—who for her part gave Jemma a snide look. 

A moment later, though, Marq looked up at Jemma and smiled. "All right, pretty lady." He whispered something to the dark-haired woman he was dancing with and she pulled away.

"Asshole," she spat, and walked off angrily. 

"You're a real charmer, huh?" Jemma asked, rolling her eyes. "Really get the ladies going?"

Marq chuckled. "When I want to. But it's more important right now for me to apologize to you." He seemed sincere, and Jemma cooled off just a bit. They made their way back to the bar, only to find that someone else had taken her seat next to her friends. There was an open spot somewhat further down the bar, so Jess signaled to her friends that she was heading there and then slipped in with Marq close behind.

"What's your poison, pretty lady?" Marq asked. 

"Vodka and Coke, heavy on the vodka. And if you were really trying to apologize you wouldn't be flirting at the same time."

"It's just how I am. I don't mean anything by it."

Marq gave the bartender a lazy wave, and she made her way down to them. He ordered Jemma a vodka and Coke, as requested, and a beer for himself. A few moments later they both had their drinks in hand; Marq put them on his tab, gave the bartender a flirtatious wink, and turned his attention back to Jemma. 

He raised his glass to her as if for a toast, but Jemma just arched one eyebrow at him in reply. He shrugged and took a deep drink. "Thanks for accepting this apology drink. I feel really bad about what happened to Dan."

"Not bad enough to tell him to his face."

"I don't know where he lives. I don't know where he works. I don't know if he's in hospital. How am I supposed to tell him to his face?"

Inwardly, Jemma grudgingly admitted he had a point. But she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "You could have asked."

"All right. Is Dan okay? How can I get an apology to him?" Marq asked.

"He's not okay; you put him in the hospital. Don't you remember the ambulance taking him away?" 

Marq nodded. "Sure, but he might have gone home."

"Well, he didn't." Jemma's anger wasn't holding up. She took a drink, and the warmth of the vodka as it went down her throat took her mind off Dan and Marq for a moment.

"I'll go see him sometime soon, then. So I can apologize to him personally." Marq seemed contrite. The bar was filling up, though, and the crowd started to jostle them Marq and Jemma, forcing him to step closer to her. There was a small commotion as a dancer wandered off the floor and got too close to the bar, adding to the chaos. Jemma looked around and couldn't spot her friends; they must have gone off to dance, or perhaps found a table away from the bar, she thought.

Marq followed her gaze and said, "I bet I know where your friends are—my boy Ty probably took them out to the dance floor. Come on; let's go join them."

Jemma was reluctant. A drink was one thing, especially one offered as part of an apology. But dancing was something else altogether. It seemed like a small betrayal of Dan, to dance with another man, especially one who put her boyfriend in the hospital. Her reluctance won out. "I'll just go look for them myself," she said.

"Oh, come on," Marq said. Without waiting for a reply, he gently took Jemma's hand and led her out into the crowd, pushing past the people assembled around the bar with ease. When they broke free of the scrum, Jemma shivered—the air in the bar was cooler than she'd realized, now that she was free of the press of people warming things up. 

He led her out to the dance floor, and it never crossed her mind to pull her hand from Marq's grip or to leave him and go off on her own to find Laura and Rachel. They paused briefly at the outskirts of the crowd of dancers, surveying the assembled people and looking for familiar faces. Jemma didn't see any, but she was still looking when Marq stepped onto the floor and turned, beginning to move with the music. 

Jemma pulled her hand away and remained still, looking at him skeptically. "Was this your plan all along?" she asked.

"You know it," he replied, giving her a broad grin.

"I can't help but notice that my friends aren't here, and neither is yours." 

"I'm sure they'll be here soon enough. Come on; dance with me. Just one dance."

Jemma bit her lip as she considered what to do. It still seemed like a betrayal of a sort. But she'd danced with other men before, with Dan's approval—dancing was just dancing, of course. And Dan had no problem with Marq buying a drink; he might be okay with the dancing, too. And for that matter, dancing didn't have to mean dancing with Marq.

She stepped out on the floor. Marq's grin widened, and she rolled her eyes, keeping herself at least an arm's length away from Marq and wading into the crowd. He followed, respecting her space somewhat but never letting her out of sight. The music was barely audible over the din of the crowd, but the bass beat was clear, and both Jemma and Marq moved to its rhythm.


Offside Offense



The press of the crowd slowly but inexorably forced them closer together as they drifted from its periphery to its center. By the time the first song segued into the second they were close enough to touch, although they didn't. But Jemma was looking at Marq as she danced, and Marq at Jemma, and it was clear that they were dancing together even though they hadn't made contact.

Jemma decided to tease Marq a bit. As they danced, she leaned in, and as expected his eyes flicked down from her face to the cleavage prominently displayed by her dress. It was only for a moment, but she saw it, and when he looked back up she gave him a flirtatious wink. That seemed to leave him flustered, drawing a little giggle out of her.

Pouting, she turned, her ass shaking with the music, and she imagined his eyes following her curves down and fixing on her rear as it moved. She could practically feel him looking at her, watching her ass bounce under her tight dress. And sure enough, when she looked back over her shoulder, he was openly staring. Jemma couldn't deny that Marq's interest in her was appealing; she felt sexy, knowing that she was desired so by a man who was—she could admit it—quite impressive himself. 

She felt the hem of her dress starting to creep up, riding up her thighs as her hips rolled and swiveled with the music. Her arms were up over her head, and she turned slowly, baring most of her thigh to Marq's hungry gaze. The flashing lights and shifting shadows of the dance floor played over her, obscuring her face, hiding her smile as she saw him staring at her, his face a mask of desire. She kept turning until she was once again facing away from him, and then she leaned forward, the action making her dress rise even more, stopping a mere hair's breadth from revealing her lacy black thong. No one moved in between them, even on the crowded floor; Marq, in particular, was so intent on Jemma that it was almost a visible force, hedging out interlopers who might otherwise have wanted their chance to dance with the dazzling beauty in the cream-colored dress.

The crowd jostled them, and as Jemma turned to face Marq again she had to take a step closer, winding up in his arms. His hands were on her waist, hers on his shoulders, and the touch was electric. Jemma felt goosebumps appearing on her arms. He was warm to the touch, even warmer than the air on the dance floor, heated by all the people moving together.

Still they danced on, both of them breathing harder as exertion—and other things—took its toll. Marq's hands were mostly stationary, but still only inches from her ass, and proximity to such an attractive man made part of her wish for him to slide further down and give her ass a good squeeze.

As if he read her mind, Marq tried to do just that. His hands crept down, a knowing smile on his face, and Jemma was for a moment seized by a compulsion to let him do it. But she resisted, and glaring daggers at him she pulled his hands back up—but she didn't pull away, or make him let go.

Before he got the idea to do it again, Jemma turned and leaned back against him. His chest was broad and strong, and he felt warm against her bare shoulders. She leaned into him more. Marq had an amazing body, muscular, well-sculpted, and it seemed to Jemma she could feel every single bundle of muscle as she pressed her back to him. His hands slithered around her waist, pulling her in closer, and she unconsciously started to grind herself against him. His legs, like the rest of him, were strong, and the big muscles in his thighs tensed as she ground her ass into him. Her eyes closed, and the music washed over them; they swayed together, neither one wanting to break contact. The music was still fast and the crowd was still there, but it all seemed to fade away as their own natural rhythms took over.

But then Jemma stepped away from him abruptly, turning and backing away. Both of them were almost panting, more from their passion than from exertion. "No..." she muttered, and she turned and fled. Jemma pushed through the crowd and found herself near one of the club's private booths, off in a corner. No one was using it. She scanned the crowd; there was no sign of Laura or Rachel or Marq's friend. A moment later Marq arrived; he'd followed her, and he slid into a seat as though it was reserved for him.

Just then, Jemma's phone buzzed again as it received a text. As she pulled it out to check, she took a seat as well, absentmindedly. The text was from Dan: "Did you get that drink?"

She quickly typed in her reply. "Drinking it now. Marq seems to really be sorry. Said he wants to visit to apologize." She didn't mention the dance, or the moments where it grew hot and heavy, or how close she came to making a huge mistake.

Once she'd sent her reply, she looked up to find Marq looking at her. "What?" she asked.

"Who are you talking to?"

"My boyfriend. The guy you injured, remember?" she answered, tauntingly.

Marq squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "You don't need to keep bringing it up, you know? I didn't do it on purpose. I told you I'm sorry. I'd like to go tell him to his face. Can we drop it?"

Jemma actually felt a twinge of guilt at that. Her anger had cooled somewhat since she'd got her drink, and she was convinced Marq was truly sorry; it was, she considered, perhaps a bit rude of her to keep hammering him for it. 

Her phone buzzed again as she answered him. She gulped down another mouthful of her vodka and Coke as she read the message, in part to stall for time before answering Marq. Dan's reply to her said: "He can come by if he wants. Tell him no hard feelings."

She answered Marq first. "I'll let it lie, I guess." Her attention was only half on him, though, as she also was typing her answer to Dan in her phone. To him, she gave a similarly simple reply: "Will do." With that done, she looked up again, taking another drink as she did. "Where are my friends?" she murmured.

Marq shrugged. "I'm sure they'll turn up." His eyes were on her, and his intent and intense gaze made Jemma feel transfixed, like a butterfly pinned to a card. "So," he continued, "tell me about yourself, pretty lady. Dan's never mentioned you to me. I was surprised to see you run onto the pitch today."

Jemma mimicked his shrug and gave him a playful wink; the vodka was hitting her, and making her feel a bit flirty. The attentions of this man, even if he had hurt her boyfriend, were exciting—Marq was undoubtedly handsome, and he seemed completely focused on her. The fact that she'd fled him only minutes ago seemed insignificant. After all, what made her get off the dance floor was the physical contact, and this was a step back from that. Plus Dan knew she was a bit flirty, and he didn't mind. In fact, he kind of enjoyed letting her flirt and then swooping in. "I don't think I want to talk about me," she said. "I want to talk about why you're flirting with a taken woman."

"Because she's flirting back."

Jemma nodded, acknowledging his point. "Maybe just a bit. It's been a rough day, and maybe this drink is helping." 

"So you're saying you need beer goggles to flirt with me?" Marq asked. "I'm hurt."

"Not at all. You're hot, I can admit that." Jemma started to giggle as she realized what she'd just said, but quickly stifled it with another mouthful of her vodka and Coke. 

"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself." Marq leaned forward and bit and looked her up and down, ogling her openly, and Jemma found herself getting hot. She knew, at this point, that she should get up and go find her friends, but after her terrible day, the need to relax and unwind won out over her instincts—helped, no doubt, by the vodka she'd been drinking. The fact that Marq had been the one who put Dan in the hospital faded into the background, and right now she wanted to revel in the attentions of an attractive man. 

So she stayed at the table with Marq and kept up their playful, flirty banter. "You want a picture?" she asked. "Something to look at when I'm back with my boyfriend?"

Marq's smile never wavered as he got out his phone and snapped a picture. Not to be outdone, he challenged her: "Lean forward, pretty lady, so I can get one with more cleavage."

Jemma gasped in mock outrage, but did as he asked, and a moment later Marq's phone had a picture of her, leaning over the table, eyes sparkling in the dim light, her impressive cleavage on display under her cream-colored dress. Jemma's phone buzzed again as she received another text from Dan. "Hope Marq didn't ruin your night."

Even as she did it, Jemma wasn't sure why she replied as she did. She had no reason to lie to her boyfriend, but nevertheless she typed in her answer: "He's gone. I'm with Laura and Rachel again." She hit send and finished off her drink in the next moment. Marq noticed and nodded toward the bar, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. "Another of the same, if you're buying," she said. Marq got up and headed back to the bar. 

Jemma another text from Dan before Marq returned. "Glad to hear it. :) Going to bed soon." 

As Marq made his way back to their table, carrying a beer and another vodka and Coke, she sent off her reply. "Sleep well, baby. I'll come see you tomorrow. I think I'll be leaving soon anyway." It was another lie, but before she could contemplate why she was doing it Marq sat down—beside her this time, instead of across the table. He handed her her glass and offered up his own for a toast. They clinked glasses together and drank.

Marq and Jemma made small talk for a while, getting to know one another. Their flirting continued as well, and Jemma was glad her friends were nowhere to be found; she didn't want to have to explain to them why she was doing what she was doing—especially since she didn't think she could. 

By the time they'd finished their drinks, Marq had his arm around her shoulders, and Jemma was leaning against him, the two of them laughing uproariously about the time Dan had accidentally passed the ball to a rival team during a match. Jemma wasn't sure how they had gotten there, but she didn't see anything odd about it while it was happening.

Jemma's phone buzzed once more, as she got what would turn out to be Dan's last text for the night. "Goodnight, baby," it said. "See you tomorrow." 

She sent her reply: "In the cab home now. Good night!" Jemma felt guilty, lying to Dan, but she didn't want him to think that she was somehow disrespecting him by spending time with Marq, the man who'd injured him. Better, she thought, for him not to know.

"That Dan again?" Marq asked, draining the last of his beer.

"Yep. He's going to bed."

Marq snorted. "Already? It's not that late. But I guess he's had a bad day."

Jemma slapped his chest, lightly and playfully, letting her hand linger on his strong torso for a heartbeat longer than she ought. "Don't be mean. Besides, I'm not going to bed yet. I'm still so tense from today. But hanging out with you has been good. I'm sorry I was a bitch earlier."

"It's fine, really," Marq said. "I get it. I hurt your boyfriend, and you don't need to apologize for being mad. I'm glad you took me up on the drink offer, though. Otherwise I wouldn't get to spend the night with a pretty lady like you." He pulled her closer to him. Jemma knew she should pull away, but she didn't. In fact, she shifted in her seat to get even closer.

Neither of them took the lead when it came to making the next move. Instead they seemed to move simultaneously. Jemma turned her face toward Marq at the same time as he lowered his head. His hand slid down her back as her lips parted, just slightly. They moved toward each other, and Jemma's eyes fluttered closed just as their lips met. Marq and Jemma melted into one another, their first kiss slow and sensuous—surprisingly so, given the capacity for aggression that had been on display from Marq earlier in the day.

It lasted for the better part of a minute, and during that time Jemma felt Marq's hands on her—one on her back, rubbing her, while his other hand rested on her leg at midthigh. Her hands were on him, too, on his leg and on his broad, muscular chest. When the kiss ended, neither of them moved their hands. They looked at each other, and Marq broke the silence. "Mmm, you're a good kisser, pretty lady. Let's do that again." 

Jemma pushed herself back from Marq, sliding away from him. She was aghast at what had just happened. "No way—what the fuck do you think you're doing, kissing me?" 

Marq snorted. "Is that what you think just happened? You kissed me."

"Fuck off, asshole. Let me out." She squirmed past him, not even waiting to see if he would do as she asked. Wriggling past him meant that she had to slide over his lap, and there was a moment where she thought that Marq was going to grab her and hold her there—or perhaps that she'd do it herself. But it passed and she stood up. "I'm going. I better not see you again, shithead, or I'll tell Dan you tried to grope me." Marq raised his hands in defeat and Jemma spun and stormed off.

She had no idea where her friends were, and after a few minutes of marching around the bar her anger started to fade into confusion and guilt. I need to get my head straight, she thought, need to get some fresh air. She made her way to the exit and stepped out into the cool night.

Her friends weren't out there, either. The street was mostly empty. A dozen or so people were standing around in little clumps, smoking and chatting with each other, and a few others fiddled with their phones. She dug through her purse for her phone and placed a call to Dan's hospital room.

As it rang, she heard the door to the bar creak open behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Marq, who was keeping a respectful distance back from her, though she was clearly the focus of his attention.

"What the fuck do you want now?" she snarled—just as a sleepy-voiced Dan answered the phone.

"Huh?" said Dan. "Jemma? What's going on?"

Jemma blushed, mortified. "Oh, sorry baby. I was talking to this asshole"--that word came out harsh, clipped, obviously directed at Marq, who winced a bit—"who's been following me around all night."

"Are you okay?" Dan asked.

"Of course, baby. I just wanted to talk to you. I hope I didn't wake you," she answered.

"You did, but it's fine. Want me to come down there and scare this guy off?" he joked. Dan seemed to be in good humor, even though he'd been woken up by Jemma's call, and even after everything he'd been through.

"Thanks, baby, that's sweet of you," Jemma said. 

Meanwhile, Marq mouthed, exaggeratedly, "Is that Dan?" Jemma nodded. Marq moved in close and whispered in her ear, "Gonna tell him we kissed?"

Her eyes narrowed and she pushed Marq away. "Dan?" she said into the phone. "I have something to tell you." 

"Oh? What?" he asked.

"I, uh.... I had too many drinks and I... well, I..." I kissed Marq, she thought. But what she blurted out was "I danced with a guy. I'm sorry!" 

Dan seemed puzzled. "All right. Why are you telling me?"

"I just felt bad. You're in the hospital and I'm out dancing and having fun. I wish you were here."

"I wish I was there too. But you don't need to feel bad. I told you to go have a good time tonight and I meant it." He yawned. "Listen, babe, these drugs are putting me to sleep. I'm gonna go, okay? Love you."

"Love you too," said Jemma, and she hung up. 

Marq was standing near her, smirking. "Why didn't you tell him?" he asked. Jemma opened her mouth to answer, but Marq cut her off. "I think it's because you know it was your idea to kiss me, wasn't it?"

The deadly glare Jemma gave Marq should, by rights, have driven him away in terror if not left him as an ashy outline in the wall, but Marq didn't seem to care. "Fuck off," she said, and gave him the finger. "You're a prick."

"Maybe. Maybe that's what you like." He stepped closer, close enough for his height advantage to become notable; she had to either step back or look up to him. She chose the latter, standing her ground and continuing to glare at him. "Come back inside. See if you can keep your hands off me this time."

"No, and go fuck yourself." She tried to push him back, but didn't accomplish much. In fact, all that happened was that she ended up having to take a step back, and he rocked slightly on his heels—and Jemma wound up with her hands flat against Marq's chest. Marq's strong, broad, muscle-bound chest.

"I guess you really can't keep your hands off me, huh?" Marq asked, tauntingly. "And don't tell me to fuck off again. It's getting old." He stepped back and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Look, pretty lady, I'm just playing with me. Come back inside. Let me buy you one more drink, then I'll get you a cab home. No harm, no foul."

Jemma knew it was unwise. She was pretty sure that Marq was going to make another move on her, and when he did, well, she might give in. He was hot, and while she knew she shouldn't be aroused by his single-minded pursuit of her she kind of was. But there was something else, too, something about the way he confronted her that made her feel like she had something to prove. She wasn't quite sure what it was; perhaps she had to prove that she was Marq's better by getting him riled up then abandoning him, or perhaps she had to prove that she was able to resist temptation, or that she really did love Dan, or something else entirely. But whatever it was, to prove it she'd have to take Marq up on his offer, even though it was probably a bad decision.

"All right. One more drink. And if you so much as lay a finger on me again I will break it off and stick it up your ass," she said with a glare. It didn't seem to have the impact she wanted. He just stood there, a confident—perhaps even cocky—grin on his face, his thumbs tucked into his pockets, blocking the straight path between her and the bar. Narrowing her eyes, she brushed past him, making sure to nudge him back with her shoulder as she passed.

Marq followed her back inside and guided her back to the table. A few people had gathered around it, but one glower from Marq scattered them and they once again had the table to themselves—insofar as that meant anything in the crowded club. He left her alone for a few minutes while he got more drinks. Jemma fretted about what to do. She couldn't just leave. It would look like she'd gotten scared and run, and she didn't want to give Marq even that tiny victory. But accepting the drink was a bad idea too.

She resolved to take the drink, down it fast, and leave. She wasn't going to respond if he tried to engage any more, and she absolutely, definitely wasn't going to do anything else she would regret. She wasn't going to kiss him, or let him kiss her, or let him put his hands on her, or lay her hands on his strong chest, or... 

Marq returned and set down the drinks on the table. He'd somehow wrangled a tray from the staff, and there were four drinks on it—two beers for him, and two more vodka and cokes for her. "I said one drink," she said. "You've been spending too much time at the gym if you can't count to one properly."

"Happy hour. Two for one special," Marq said, by way of explanation. Jemma was suspicious—she'd never heard of the bar doing a happy hour, and certainly not this late. And no one else seemed to be carrying double drinks back from the bar. On the other hand, she knew Marq could be charming; maybe he'd convinced the bartender to give him something extra. 

In any case, if it was okay for her to drink one drink she could handle two. She'd polish them both off nice and quick and make her escape. Marq would have lost his little game, and tomorrow she could go and see Dan and treat him extra-nice until he'd recovered and beyond. 

She grabbed one of the vodka and cokes and drained half of it in one gulp. Then she slammed the half-empty glass on the table—making a bit splash out onto her hand—and said, challengingly, "What? Aren't you drinking anymore?" Marq smiled and picked up one of his beers, holding it up in a mocking salute before chugging the whole thing all in one go. "Anyone can do that. Beer's easy. Try it with hard liquor," she said.




Offside Offense



"I'll match you any night of the week," he replied. "But I thought you were done after these drinks."

"I am. Ass." Earlier, Jemma had started to warm to Marq, but now that was dead. "I'm going to drink these and leave."

"Fine by me." Marq turned, leaning against the wall, and looked out over the crowd. He sipped his second beer and watched the people on the dance floor. Jemma, in turn, watched him. He seemed completely happy to ignore her. She followed his gaze, and while she couldn't be sure it looked like he was scoping out some of the women dancing. It was entirely irrational, but Jemma felt jealous. She didn't want Marq's attention—but she really didn't want him focusing on someone else.

"Hey, prick," she said. "You finished being rude?"

Marq glanced her way for a moment, then looked back at the people dancing. "What? You're leaving. So I need to find someone else to keep me company." He was so up-front and blasé about the whole thing that Jemma was momentarily speechless.

When she did speak up, though, her voice dripped with acidic scorn. "You think you'll find a single woman here who's anywhere near as hot as me? Good luck. You'll probably end up going home with some drunk bitch."

Marq shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe."

Jemma continued needling him. "Probably some flat-chested thing with no ass." She polished off her drink, then leaned forward, so that if Marq looked over he'd get an eyeful of her cleavage. He didn't look, though. It seemed like Marq had completely lost interest. Jemma knew it was a tactic, a way to draw her in. She'd used it herself. But even knowing this, it was working.

"Hey, dickhead. You're being rude. You're a shit drinking partner." 

That got some attention. "And you don't know how to take a compliment."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, a man shows you some attention, some attention you obviously want, and you freak out." Jemma narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, but Marq cut her off. He turned to face her and said, "Hell, you're the one who kissed me, and then you went all psycho bitch on me."

Somehow, the regular repetition of his claim that she'd started the kiss had convinced her he was right. "So? Even if I did, you know I'm with Dan. You should have said no."

"Why? You wanted it. I wanted it. It's just a kiss." Marq slid out from his side of the table and joined her on hers. "You know what? I'll prove that you still want it. One more kiss," Marq said. "Kiss me one more time and then tell me you don't like it." Jemma, assisted by the vodka she'd consumed and the little flutter she felt between her legs, took this as a challenge. She was not one to back down when someone came at her. She growled and grabbed Marq by his shirt and yanked him toward her. Once again their lips met. Marq's hand came to rest on her thigh and strayed further, sliding up her leg, to her upper thigh, his fingers curling around to rest between her legs and only inches away from her groin.

The kiss ended, and both of them found themselves breathing quickly. They looked at each other, faces close, and without speaking Jemma slid her leg over Marq's, turning as she did, so she wound up straddling his thigh and facing him. The table behind her pressed against her lower back and forced her up against him; it was awkward, but in the moment that didn't concern her in the slightest as she laid her palms against his chest and kissed him once more, this time with more fire, more hunger. Marq returned the kiss with equal fervor.

They made out, there at the table in the corner of the bar, their lips and hands on each other, exploring, getting a sense for each other's bodies. Marq's confidence showed itself as he took charge, grabbing her ass and pulling her toward him, making her grind herself against his leg and ending with her groin pressed to his. Jemma let out a small noise, a little coo as the kiss ended.

Taking advantage of her compliance, Marq leaned his head in and whispered to her: "Want to get out of here? I can take you home." Jemma thought that if she said yes, she wasn't just going to get a ride home and nothing else. 

But she could try. She gave him her answer: "We can share a cab, but you're not coming up with me." That seemed to satisfy Marq, and they quickly, Jemma not even bothering to look for her friends one last time. She just waited by him as Marq paid his tab. Marq walked a step ahead of her as they exited the bar, Jemma's hand in his. He flagged down a cab and piled into the back together. The cabbie asked where they were headed; Jemma answered, giving the address of the flat she shared with her boyfriend. The cab had scarcely started to move before Jemma and Marq were on each other again, Marq's hands on her well-formed chest as he kneaded her breasts through her cream-colored dress, his dark skin making for a striking contrast against the light-colored cloth.

Jemma's hands traveled downward—first, she felt his broad and muscular chest, then went lower, discovering that he had the strong, dense build of a power lifter, with heavy slabs of muscle around his core. And lower still, to his hips, his thighs, and then up the inside of his leg, until her left hand was stopped by a thick obstruction, something that was concealed under his pants than ran quite a ways down his leg. Her eyes went wide. "Tell me that's a sock stuffed in your pants."

Marq grinned at her. "Nope. It's all real, pretty lady. And it's all for you."

She started to run her hand up and down his impressive length, another foolish decision in a night of mistakes. "All for me? I told you you're not coming upstairs when we get to my place. What, do you think I'm going to blow you in the back of the cab?" Her words said one thing—but the fact that she kept her hand on his groin said another. 

"I certainly wouldn't say no."

She slapped his chest playfully. "Pig. Try to stop thinking with your cock." If she had anything else to say, Marq didn't care, or at least that was the message she got when he leaned in and kissed her again. And she returned the kiss with equal fervor, whatever concerns she had wiped from her mind by her drunken lust. Her hand never left his groin. In fact, it slid up further, and she gripped him through his pants, his cock a heavy weight in her hand. Even through his clothing she felt his warmth, and she couldn't help but imagine what it looked like. What it would feel like in her hand, her mouth... her pussy.

Her hand stayed right there for the rest of the brief trip. Marq's hands wandered, exploring her body, but hers stayed put. She knew Marq was strong and had the body to prove it—but she hadn't expected the fat piece of meat in her grasp, and now that she had it she didn't want to let it go.

Jemma pulled away from Marq long enough to say, between deep breaths, "You know this cab ride is it, right? You're not getting out with me?" 

Marq glanced at her and then turned his attention back to kissing the side of her neck. "Got it," he murmured.

"Good," she replied.

And then she reached under his waistband and took hold of his prick.

Now it was Marq's turn to look shocked. Jemma's aggressiveness caught him off-guard. He knew she was feisty, and that had been on display plenty, from the first moment they encountered each other, but to have it translate so directly to this was surprising—but not at all unwelcome.

The night of flirting, the alcohol they'd both consumed, and the stresses of the day left her desperate for some sort of release, and Marq was it. The fact that he'd put her boyfriend in the hospital was forgotten; even the fact that she had a boyfriend seemed distant and irrelevant.

Marq felt hot and increasingly hard in Jemma's hand. Her fingers could barely touch around the base of his shaft. His hand ran up under her dress, returning the favor, sliding up her stocking-clad thigh and forcing her dress up high enough to show off bit of thigh between the tops of her stockings and the black thong covering her pussy.

The cabbie glared at them in the rear-view mirror. "Hey! None of that shit!" he barked. 

Marq and Jemma both raised a hand and flipped him off, in unison. "Just enjoy the show, buddy," Jemma said. He glowered at them and grumbled, but did nothing more as the young pair continued to grope one another and make out in his back seat. And in a small act of deference, they kept themselves comparatively restrained—Jemma took her hand out of Marq's pants, and Marq kept his hands from straying under her dress. He did not, however, resist the temptation to put his hands on her in other places. One of his large, dark hands latched onto Jemma's full breasts. He was surprisingly gentle, his touch light, and as his hands caressed her through her dress she felt little pleasurable tremors running through her.

The cabbie stopped suddenly, outside her flat. He jammed on the brakes hard and sent Marq and Jemma rocking forward in their seats. "Pay me and get out," said the cabbie, glaring at the two of them in the mirror. 

Jemma opened the door and slipped out of the cab. "You've got this, right, darling?" she asked Marq, giving him a mocking smile. He rolled his eyes and handed the cabbie a fistful of cash.

"Keep the change," he said—and then he got out of the cab as well. 

"Whoa," Jemma said, stepping back. "I said you weren't coming up. Are you deaf or just stupid?" 

Marq smiled. "That guy was a dick. Let me come up just for a bit. I'll call a new cab and leave when it gets here. Or what, are you going to make me wait on the street?"

Jemma took a deep breath and noted happily the way Marq's eyes strayed to her chest as it rose and fell. "All right. You can come up to wait. But"—and here she put her hand on Marq's chest—"we're not doing anything else. Understood?" she said, some modicum of good sense taking control for a moment. Marq nodded, still grinning. "Good," she said, and she turned and led him into the building. 

They rushed through the lobby to the elevators and piled in. Even before the doors were closed, they were again all over each other. Marq pushed Jemma against the back wall of the small elevator. She wrapped her legs around him, letting him hold her up against the mirrored wall, kicking out one leg to hit the button for her floor. Her flailing leg hit the right one—she lived on the fourth floor, sharing her flat with Dan—and tagged some of the other buttons as well. 

As the elevator doors slid slowly closed, Marq and Jemma continued their explorations of each other's bodies. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him, holding him close, pulling him to her. He leaned in, crushing himself against her, pinning her to the cool silvered glass of the wall behind her. Marq's left hand was on the wall, above her head, while his right hand worked its way up under her dress and rubbed the side of her thigh.

The elevator lurched into motion, and Marq and Jemma barely noticed. When it dinged and the doors opened for the first time Jemma opened her eyes and glanced up at the display. It was a floor early, and there was an older woman standing by the doors, staring at them goggle-eyed. Marq didn't see her at all, and the woman just stood and stared as the doors slid closed once again. Seconds later the doors opened on the right floor, and Marq and Jemma piled out and hastened to her apartment.

As she dug for the keys, Marq stepped close behind her and reached one arm around her body, groping her breast under her dress with one hand and squeezing her ass with the other. He nuzzled against her, lightly kissing her neck, and Jemma closed her eyes, distracted by the man behind her, this amazing physical specimen who seemed completely invested in her. For a moment she wanted to drop her bag and turn and fuck him right there, in the hall, but she knew she couldn't risk the neighbors seeing and reporting back to Dan. The thought of her boyfriend was accompanied by a pang of guilt. But then Marq's hand found and tweaked one of her nipples through her dress and her bra, and she gasped in pleasure and the thought of Dan was gone, taking the guilt with it.

Though she was distracted by Marq's attentions, Jemma managed to dig out her keys and get her apartment opened. As soon as she turned the knob she spun in Marq's grip and threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her up off the ground and pushed his way into the apartment, knocking the door open as he passed and kicking it shut behind him. They kept making out, almost frantic with need, as Marq carried her deeper into the apartment. 

Jemma and Marq made it as far as the couch in the living room before their tenuous self-control snapped. Marq fell forward onto the couch, trapping Jemma beneath him. Her hands grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, revealing his chiseled chest. The tribal tats on his arms continued up past his shoulders, until just below his collarbone. His dark skin was almost completely hairless. Jemma laid her palm flat against his chest; Marq was warm to the touch.

Marq then returned the favor, tugging the shoulder straps of Jemma's dress down. She shrugged her shoulders out, helping him, anxious to be free of her clothes—they suddenly felt so confining, with this strapping man atop her, anything other than skin-on-skin contact seemed unacceptable. She wriggled underneath him, and her dress slid down her body, until her bra-clad breasts were revealed. 

But the sight of Jemma's D-cups covered by a black lace pushup bra wasn't enough for Marq—or for Jemma. From her position on her back, she couldn't easily get to the clasp, but Marq didn't seem interested in letting her up.

Or waiting.

His big hands came down on her chest, his palms against her firm breasts, and he took hold of her bra, one cup in each hand. Jemma managed to squeak out a quick "Don't!" before Marq growled and tore, ripping open the bra at the front where the cups were joined. "Asshole!" Jemma said, "That was one of my favorites!" Marq didn't reply—he just shut her up by kissing her again. Her anger was subsumed into something else, a powerful need for him, awakened by his clear and almost bestial lust for her.

Jemma's newly-bared chest was an impressive sight. Her breasts were large and firm, all-natural D-cups that had made men stare and women jealous. His large, dark hands gripped her breasts and were outmatched, some of her soft but firm flesh spilling out from between his fingers. Jemma's nipples were stiff and erect against his palms. Their tongues explored each other's mouths. Her hands ran up his back, her fingernails raking him through his shirt. She could feel Marq's dense, hard muscles tensing as he shifted, his body atop hers, his weight on his elbows.

Marq slid down her body, squeezing her tits together so he could feast on them, practically slavering as he kissed and licked the fleshy orbs. Jemma's hands found their way to his head and she pulled him close, pressing his face into her chest as if she wanted to smother him in her expansive cleavage. She let out a low little moan, a tiny sound signaling her acquiescence to Marq's insistent desires. 

Jemma wanted her to rip off the rest of her clothes and ravage her, forgetting for the moment how this man had hurt her boyfriend, wanting him simply as a strong, aggressive man. But something made her resist this impulse. She wriggled out from underneath Marq, squirming back on the couch, pulling her dress further down her body as she did and leaving her bare all the way to her waist. Marq got the wrong idea from this and started kissing her navel, then moving lower, his eventual goal clear.

"No! Not this!" Jemma hurriedly gasped out. "I can't." 

Marq looked up at her, seemingly uncomprehending, his lusts making it hard for him to process what she'd said. But once it sunk in he stopped and levered himself up on his arms. His eyes were still boring into her; she had made no effort to cover herself, and he eagerly took in the sight of her chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I can't just fuck you. I can't cheat on Dan."

Marq nodded and pushed himself up until he was sitting beside her. "All right, babe—I get it."

Jemma was a bit surprised by how easily Marq managed to pull back. She had half expected him to just keep going, despite her refusal, and his seeming willingness to let the matter lie caught her off guard. And she still felt a burning need between her thighs, where the fires stoked by Marq's aggression had yet to cool. That, perhaps, was what drove her to say what she did.

"I can't fuck you... but that doesn't mean we can't do anything." And with that she slid off the couch and crawled over between Marq's legs, coming face-to-face with the swollen bulge in his pants. 

"Oooh, is this for me?" she asked, coquettishly, as her hands crept up his broad thighs and her fingers hooked under his waistband. Jemma started to pull his pants down. Marq lifted himself up off the couch, raising his hips so she could get his clothes off faster. As she dragged his pants down further and further, her eyes stayed fixed on his groin—and her jaw dropped when she saw what Marq was packing. 

The base of his shaft was thick, almost as thick as her wrist by the look of it. As his pants dropped lower, more and more of his cock was revealed to Jemma's hungry gaze, and it just kept coming, inch after inch of his fat ebony meat. It wasn't until she got his pants midway down his thigh that she saw the plum-sized head, already glistening with beads of precum. And underneath his impressive cock sat two balls, sized to match. 

She just stared for a moment, dumbfounded. Marq chuckled. "I never get tired of seeing you girls get that expression on your faces."

Jemma looked up at him. "Wow," she breathed. "I can see why you're wearing loose pants." She pulled his pants down the rest of the way, letting them fall around his ankles, then prying his legs apart and running her hands up his legs. Her hands came together where his legs met, and she wrapped both hands around his girthy black pole, enjoying the heft of it, feeling its weight in her hands.

Almost as soon as she had got hold of Marq's cock, she started stroking it—gently, and not entirely consciously, her body simply running on autopilot when confronted with such an impressive tool. Dan was fairly well-endowed himself, and he knew how to use what he had. Marq, though, could have been in porno.

"Wow," she said again, marveling at the feel of the thick black pole in her hands. "I hope you don't just stick this in girls—they'd probably scream bloody murder." 

Marq flashed a confident smirk and said, "Not unless that's what they want."

"Well, don't think you're getting any pussy from me tonight. I'll blow you and that's it." She hadn't stopped stroking him while she spoke, and her eyes kept going back to the dark, towering piece of meat she was holding. Marq didn't seem disappointed; he just spread his legs apart and slid down the couch, giving her easier access to everything she needed.

She started low, licking the underside of his shaft from base to tip, her tongue flattened out and gliding up his length. Then she reversed course, following the same path back down until she reached the heavy orbs at the base. With her tongue she scooped one of them up into her mouth, where she gave it a tongue-bath, lavishing attention on it before letting it fall from her lips so she could do the same to its twin. He tasted clean, with just a hint of the all but inevitable salty sweat.

Marq groaned as Jemma moved back up again, tracing out one of the veins that stood out on his rod with the tip of her tongue, making her way back up to the top where she opened her mouth wide and slid the head past her lips, past her teeth, letting her lips close around him and sucking, hard. Some of her long, brown hair fell in front of her face, and Marq brushed it back, so he could watch her as she started bobbing her head, not taking much of him at first, just soaking the first few inches in spit and letting it drip past her lips to coat the rest of his shaft. Her hands worked the rest of him, spreading the saliva that trickled down him into an even coating. The apartment filled with the sounds of her sucking and the wet noises made by her hands as they flew up and down and with Marq's groans as a counterpoint.




Offside Offense



"Fuck me, your mouth is fan-fucking-tastic," said Marq, between groans. Jemma gave him a teasing wink and sucked harder, bobbing her head faster. She wanted him to think about this every time another woman was between his legs. More than that—she wanted him to compare all his other partners to her and for them to be found wanting.

She made sure her lips were tightly sealed around his cock and sucked hard as she pulled away from him, her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft as she slowly drew away from him, finally coming free with a *pop*. Her hands didn't stop as she looked him in the eye. "You like this, big boy?" she asked, taunting him. "You like getting your fat dick sucked by a pretty lady?" Marq just groaned. Jemma smiled victoriously and said, "I'm going to put every other woman to shame. I hope you're ready—this was all warm-up." Her tone was confident, even cocky, but it was well-earned.

Jemma took a deep breath, opened her mouth wide, and took him into her mouth. But this time, when his head hit the back of her mouth, she pressed her tongue flat and swallowed, suppressing her gag reflex and letting the head slip into her throat. Her eyes stayed open, and she looked up at Marq with a cocksure gleam in her eyes as she took him deeper and deeper. 

Marq let out a long, low moan. "Fuuuuck me, no one's ever been able to do that to me before." It was all he could do to let her work instead of trying to take over. Unconsciously, he started to shift in his seat on the couch, his hips rising and falling as the pleasure mounted. She didn't seem to mind; in fact she swallowed up more and more of his rod, only stopping when just a hand's breadth of his tool remained outside her mouth. 

That was all she could manage, but Marq was more than impressed. "Holy fuck..." he said, as Jemma started to pump her head up and down, keeping him in her throat until her face started to go red, then pulling off him long enough for a deep breath and then plunging back down. When her tongue ran over his head, she tasted the precum that was steadily flowing from him. One hand cupped his sack, playing with his balls, rolling them around in her palm and feeling them start to tighten. 

Jemma was impressed too—not only was Marq big, he could control himself. He'd managed to keep from cumming even though she was bringing her A game, and he wasn't gagging her or forcing her down despite his obvious lust. But now it was time to go in for the kill. On the upstroke, she paused, breathing in deep through her nose and getting herself under control, stroking Marq with one hand and gently kneading his balls to keep him on the edge. She looked up at him; his eyes were closed, his head back. His arms were at his sides and his hands up slightly, fingers curling and uncurling as if he desperately wanted to grab hold of her head and force her down.

Once she was ready, she held her breath and opened her throat one last time. Moving slowly, she swallowed him up, her lips crawling down his shaft. Her hands stroked him as she descended, shorter and shorter strokes as inch after inch disappeared past her lips. Within a few moments there wasn't enough room for both hands, so one went back to his balls. Soon enough her other hand joined the first, gently squeezing, her warm hands on him, willing him to cum. 

Her lips crept down and down, and he bit his lip, holding back as long as he could before, with an explosive wordless cry he came. Jemma felt the first shots deep in her throat as his cock swelled and throbbed, before she pulled back and took the rest in her mouth. Her hands and tongue never stopped moving, drawing out his climax as long as she could until her mouth was full of his creamy load. When his cock stopped erupting she raised her head, kissing the tip of his dick before opening up and showing him the mouthful of cum she'd saved. And then she closed her mouth and, with a devious smirk, made a show of swallowing down every drop.

Jemma smacked her lips once she was done, like she'd just enjoyed a delicious meal. Marq shook his head in awe, not entirely believing what had just happened to him. Then she hopped to her feet and said, "All right, stud—you got what you wanted. I'm drunk and horny, but I'm not going to fuck you, so you can put that big thing away and go." Marq was a bit stunned by the sudden reversal. He pulled up his pants and stood. Jemma looked meaningfully at the door and waved goodbye, looking at him and daring him to object. 

Marq took the dare. He faced her down and said, "I got some of what I wanted. You give great head, but it's not fair for me to go without returning the favor." He grabbed her waist and Jemma yelped as he suddenly turned, putting her between him and the couch. "Sit your fine ass down and hike up your dress. It's my turn."

Jemma was conflicted—she hadn't been lying when she said she was horny. Marq was looking at her like a lion about to devour its prey, and some part of her wanted to let him do it. But she'd already gone further tonight than she expected, and she was worried that things wouldn't end there. Marq, though, seemed to be reading her mind. "Come on, pretty lady. Let me do my thing and then I'll go. I promise. It's not like we're going to fuck—I'm just going to eat your pretty pussy and make you cum."

She bit her lip, considering, weighing her options, and before long her lust won out. "All right," she said, reaching down and pulling up her dress, leaving it as a coil of cloth around her waist. She said, severely, "But this is it. Once I tell you we're done, we're done." Marq smiled and replied by hooking his thumbs under her panties and dropping to one knee, taking the black thong down with him. She didn't even have time to sit on the couch before he was delving between her legs.

Marq's strong hands cupped her ass, fingers digging in just a bit, holding her in place. He came up from underneath her, and Jemma wound up on the balls of her feet, her weight bearing down on him and pressing his face hard into her. This was what Marq wanted, and he took advantage of it, letting her perch precariously on him as he ate her cunt like a starving man.

Even before he'd started, Jemma had been turned on; she'd planned to kick Marq out and then fuck herself silly. Marq's aggressive actions sent a thrill through her. And now, with the feeling of his tongue worming its way into her, his strong hands keeping her in place, she was almost overwhelmed. She grabbed at her chest, caressing herself, tweaking her nipples and squeezing her breasts.

"Fuck," she breathed. "You don't play around." Marq wasn't really in a position to answer her, but she glanced down and saw the confident, victorious look in his eyes, and that was reply enough. His tongue wormed its way into her, parting her lower lips. Jemma found herself trying to get lower, so that he could go deeper; the muscle currently working its way into her cunny simply wasn't enough. 

That's when Jemma knew that she was going to let Marq fuck her. She could try to resist, and she probably would—it was part of the fun. But if he pressed her for more she was going to yield. He was just so impressive, so dominating, so masculine. It had manifested itself on the pitch earlier, when Marq had put Dan in the hospital. It had been an accident, or so Marq said, but whatever it was it now seemed like a primal and instinctive way of expressing his superiority. And in the bar, when he'd made it clear that he wanted her but wouldn't put up with her shit to get her, that too had been an expression of his power and confidence. 

Any further thoughts along these lines were cut off when Marq shifted slightly, and his tongue found her button and started making tight, rapid circles around it. All the skill and passion he'd demonstrated earlier, when they'd kissed, was on display here as well. Before long Jemma felt her legs shaking and her knees growing weak. "God damn it," she said, quietly. "You fucker. Asshole. Make me cum, you fucking jerk."

Marq grabbed her ass, holding her up, and went at her with the same single-minded intensity he'd displayed in the club. Then, he'd been focused on her, almost entirely, ignoring everything else in the place until she succumbed. Now, it was much the same. But his goal then had been to seduce her, and that was accomplished. His goal now was to cement his victory by making her cum. And he did just that.

Jemma held off the inevitable as long as she could. And then, when her resistance crumbled, she came. With a wordless cry, Jemma exploded, whipping her hair from side to side. Her body moved, a roll of the hips that traveled up her back in a single sinuous motion as a wave of pleasure broke over her. Then she let loose with a torrent of profanity, matching the way her juices gushed from her pussy. "You god-damned bastard! Fucking ass! Eat my pussy you dickhead! Oh my god oh my god oh god oh fuck!" 

When it was done, she almost collapsed, but Marq was still there, supporting her and laying her down gently on the couch. Her eyes were closed. She twitched as she slowly regained control of her body. And when she opened her eyes, she saw Marq, standing over her and looking down with a look on his face that spoke of triumphant confidence. She'd seen that look before, when Marq had put Dan down.

But there was one major difference between that time and the present. The first time she'd seen that look, Marq hadn't been naked. Jemma scrambled back on the couch, back into a sitting position. "Hold your horses there, big guy," she said. "No sex, remember? Hell, I shouldn't have had you in here at all."

Marq took a step closer to her. His cock had regained its steel while he'd been eating her out, and it bobbed in the air as he moved. Jemma found her eyes tracking its motion; she shook her head to clear it, then turned her glare back on Marq. It had no more effect on him now than it had earlier in the evening. "You're not gonna make me leave," he said, confidently.

"Oh? Why not?" Jemma challenged.

"Because you're still fucking horny, and you need some dick," he replied, matter-of-factly. It was hard to deny; she'd cum once tonight, but she needed more. If Marq had left she'd have made her way to her bedroom, pulled out one of her toys, and fucked herself silly. And—while it made her feel guilty to admit it, even to herself—she wouldn't have been thinking of Dan while she did it.

"You're pretty fucking cocky," she said. "Most guys would be happy with a blowjob... especially from me." 

Marq grinned and grabbed the base of his cock, squeezing gently. "Cocky, huh? Guess I know what you're thinking about?" He moved even closer to her, and the end of his cock wound up only inches away from her face. "You want me to go, I'll go. But you'll be kicking yourself thinking about the missed opportunity."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. No one saw us leave the bar. No one saw us come up here, except the fucking cabbie. You know Dan's not going to show up. This is your chance to try out some new dick, no consequences, no chance of being found out." His voice got a shade lower and rougher. "You can spend tonight having great sex or you can go play with your battery-powered boyfriend. It's your call."

A more sober and less horny Jemma might not have been swayed by Marq's little speech, but as it was Jemma found herself convinced. After all, she rationalized, I've already cheated. I might as well go for it, and it's not like anyone will ever know but us. 

She pointed an accusatory finger at him and narrowed her eyes. "You planned this, didn't you, you fucker," she said. Marq shrugged and grinned shamelessly. "Here are the new rules: you never breathe a word of this to anyone. After tonight, you barely know me. You can nod hello from across the street, but that's it. Got it?"

Marq seemed unimpressed by her bluster. No surprise, really; he'd casually disregarded all the other times she'd tried to set rules, and Jemma knew, or at least suspected, that he'd keep doing so until there were repercussions. But some part of her also knew that there would be no penalty for his rule-breaking. He hadn't suffered any real consequences after putting Dan in the hospital; hell, he was about to fuck his victim's girlfriend. Some people just skated through life, and Marq seemed to be one of them.

Right now, though, that wasn't Jemma's concern. She was much more interested in the way Marq looked as he stood there, naked as the day he was born. The tattoos on his muscular arms went up to his shoulders and upper back, the ink-black tribal patterns a bit hard to see against his dark skin. His body showed the results of long hours at the gym. And of course, between his legs, there hung a piece of meat that (she hated to admit it) was substantially more impressive than what Dan was packing. She found herself watching it as Marq moved closer, tracking every bob and bounce with her eyes and spreading her legs unconsciously as he drew near.

As he approached she found herself leaning back on the couch. Marq slipped between her spread legs, but before he could enter her—and it was clear that was his goal—she put a hand on his chest and stopped him. "No," she said. "Not here."

Marq leaned against her hand, and while he could have overpowered her he did not. "Why not here, pretty lady?" he asked. "Not comfy on that couch?" 

Jemma rolled her eyes. "No, asshole. I want to fuck somewhere where I can change the sheets afterwards. No one, absolutely no one, can know about this, so we're not getting anything on the fucking couch."

With a sweep of his arm, Marq brushed her hand aside. She yelped, as he scooped her up and lifted her bodily off the couch. He tossed her over his shoulder and rose. "Let me down, asshole," she said, flailing her legs and slapping his back. Marq didn't seem to notice; he just turned, looking for the bedroom.

Marq swatted her ass, making Jemma yelp again and cutting off her protests. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but he was quicker. "Which way to the bed?" he asked. 

Jemma slapped him on the back, as hard as she could, hard enough to make her palm sting. If he felt it, though, he didn't react. Grumbling, she muttered, "Down the hall on the left." Marq nodded and set off, carrying her over one shoulder. She kept berating him as they went. "You think you're impressive? Big, strong, man, manhandling the little woman? It's pathetic." He reached the bedroom door and nudged it open. "This caveman act might impress the dumb sluts you pick up at the bar, but it doOOOOF!" Mid-word, he threw her down on the bed. She landed heavily, bouncing back up for a moment, limbs flailing.

Before she could get herself together again, Marq was on her. He moved smoothly, sliding into the bed with her, his hips forcing her legs apart. Marq pinned her to the bed by her shoulders. His face was inches from hers, and he was grinning. "This better, pretty lady?" he asked in a faintly mocking tone. 

She scowled at him, and answered, "Just fuck me, asshole—and if you don't get me off I'll make you regret it." The threat was empty, in more ways than one. She have no idea how she was going to make him pay if he didn't make her cum, and what's more the way he'd manhandled her, tossed her around like a toy... it had sent a thrill through her. Dan was a fantastic lay, but he never treated her like this, and something about the way Marq just took what he wanted made Jemma yearn for more.

Marq's cock was resting on her stomach, trapped between their bodies. It was hot to the touch, and seemed even harder than it had been before, when she'd been sucking him off. She squirmed, wriggling under Marq, wanting to feel the thick piece of meat inside her and not just against her. But Marq teased her, denying her prize—all she accomplished was shifting her hips enough to grind her cunt against the underside of his shaft. And that, in turn, just stoked her fires, making her ever more eager to feel him inside her, splitting her open, making her cry out. Jemma let out a small, needy, frustrated whine at feeling his hot, thick, black pole, so close to its natural resting place but not inside it.

Marq was quick to take advantage of her frustration. He slowly ground himself against her, and as he did, he asked, tauntingly, "What's wrong, pretty lady?" 

Jemma tried to ignore him, but it didn't work out. In the space of a few heartbeats she gave in. "Stop teasing me," she said. "Put it the fuck in and fuck me, asshole!"

With a knowing smile on his face, he reached down and grabbed his cock. Marq slapped it against Jemma's cunt a few times for good measure—her hips jerked involuntarily each time he made contact with her tender flesh—and then the teasing was done. He drew back his hips, and when he did his cock slid against her slit, until the head was in place, aimed at her core. Then, moving slowly, he eased into her. 

Instinctively, she moaned, feeling Marq's black shaft stretching her wide. Some part of her thought guiltily that even though Dan was no slouch when it came to size, Marq was still more impressive, and his cock filled her in a way she'd never felt before. Her face flushed as Marq came to rest deep within her. His hands were on her shoulders, pinning her to the mattress, ensuring that she couldn't leave, even if she had the inclination. Now that he'd started, she realized, Marq meant to fuck her until he was satisfied—whether or not she could take it, whether or not she wanted it.

It was good, then, that right now more than anything what she wanted was to feel Marq use her, to fuck her hard, to display that same aggression and animal savagery he'd shown on the pitch and earlier in the night and to make her a receptacle for his lusts. It was a betrayal, she knew, of a good man, a man she loved—but in the heat of the moment that didn't matter.

Marq did not disappoint. He gave her a few moments to grow accustomed to his length and his girth, moments which were spent looking into her eyes triumphantly. When he thought she was ready he drew back, feeling her cunt clinging tightly to him as if it was reluctant to let him out. Once only the tip he remained in her, he slammed into her, spearing her, impaling her on his black pole, thrusting in hard, hard enough for her to feel throughout her body. 

And then he did it again. And again. And again.

"Fuck!" Jemma shrieked. She was torn between wanting to tell him to slow down and wanting to demand that he fuck her even harder. But it was moot; all she could do was unleash a stream of profanity. "You big-dicked mother-fucker! You're gonna fucking break me!" Her words affected Marq like spurs on a horse. He gave a low growl and (my god, how was it possible, she thought) started to fuck her even harder. 

Marq felt her cunt rippling around him, convulsing almost continuously, as if she wanted to milk him. But he was far from done. He drove into her a few more times, putting his legs into it, ensuring that she'd felt each powerful thrust. And then, still lodged deep in her, he grabbed her hair and pulled her up, rolling as he did so she wound up on top of him, facing him. She screamed, in pain, in surprise—and in pleasure, and her weight bore down on Marq's shaft and a sudden ecstatic flash burned through her.

For a moment, Jemma thought he wanted her to take control, but that proved to be a mistake. What he wanted, rather, was to show off. His hips bucked, and he took her by the waist, lifting her up before slamming her back down, easily manhandling her as he used her like a living sex toy. The muscles in his arms and chest gleamed in the dim light of the bedroom as he broke a sweat. 

Jemma's tits bounced wildly as he hauled her up and down his length. Her hands went to her chest, steadying them, and giving her a chance to cup squeeze her big, firm breasts, to tweak and pinch her nipples. Someone was screaming short staccato screams, and she dimly realized that it was her. Her voice was a bit hoarse, and her cries of pleasure were interrupted by the way Marq's powerful thrusts drove the air from her lungs. She tried to start bouncing in rhythm with him, but his relentless strength simply overpowered her, making her into a true fuck-toy.




Offside Offense



"Keep screaming," he said. "I want your neighbors to know just how good you got fucked." Jemma wanted to make a snide reply, but she couldn't. All she could do was suck in a breath and let it out as another raw, primal euphoric shriek. With a pinch on her nipples to put her over the top, she came. Her cunt clamped down around Marq's magnificent cock, gripping him tightly enough to force him to slow his powerful thrusts. She rolled her hips, her back arched, and her head whipped from side to side as she let loose a wordless howl.

"That's right," Marq said—not that Jemma was in a position to hear him, much less process what he was saying. "Cum on my cock, pretty lady. Bet your fucking boyfriend doesn't make you cum like that." If she could have understood him, Jemma would have been pissed at that—but she'd also have to admit that Dan couldn't quite measure up, in more ways than one.

Even before her climax had ended, Marq changed things up on her again, rolling over on one side and once again putting Jemma on her back on the bed. But this time, he'd swung his legs off the side, and he wound up standing at the edge of the bed. Jemma's back was on the bed, but her hips hung off the side, supported by Marq's strong hands and the thick, unyielding, unbending pole embedded deep inside her.

Marq wasted no time in resuming his rough, rapid thrusts. In this position, he could put his legs into every stroke, and he did just that, rising up onto the balls of his feet so he could drive himself into her deeper. Jemma squealed as his shaft struck home, embedding itself deep in her. Marq chuckled under his breath. "Not used to getting a dick like this, are you, pretty lady? What? Boyfriend don't have enough power?" This time, Jemma heard him, and she opened her mouth to retort. But before she could get a word out, Marq's weapon punched into her, and all that came out was another scream of pleasure as her cunt clenched and she came again.

Her back arched, her pussy quivered, and then... she found herself empty. Her legs were flailing, and then she felt Marq's strong hands on her legs, catching her and flipping her over onto her stomach. Marq wasted no time once she was bent over, and she was just coming down off her orgasmic peak when Marq slammed home again, this time rutting with her from behind like an animal.

The shock of his cunt-splitting pole reentering her made her cum yet again—or perhaps it just prolonged her preceding climax; Jemma wasn't sure. All she knew is that she was clawing at the sheets and screaming, "Yes! Fuck me fuck me fuck me harder!" when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked back, making her back arch. The pain put an edge on the ecstatic pleasure she was feeling, and that set her off again. By now, for all she knew Marq had already cum. Her cunt was so drenched she wouldn't be able to tell if he'd added his own spend to it. But from the way he was impaling her, his fat cock-head hitting her spot on every... single... thrust, if she wasn't bent backward, making all her weight press down on her hips, getting fucked into the mattress with vicious intensity, she thought he probably wasn't done.

She could feel the heat of his breath on her ear and the side of her face. Her eyes were closed, the better to experience the sensations coursing through her. There was some pain, in her back, her scalp, but it just served to heighten the contrast between those feelings and the incredible frenzied pleasure that had her impaled on its white-hot shaft—on Marq's shaft. And then, through the haze, she heard Marq's voice. It was a low growl in her ear, something barely on the edge of hearing, as he said to her:

"I fucked up your boyfriend's leg on purpose."

Her eyes snapped open. She got angry, angrier than she had been all evening, which was quite impressive. Red hot fury burned in her breast. Her cheeks flushed, and her face twisted into a grimace. All of these things happened, and so did something else.

She came.

Hard.

Harder than she had all night. Harder than she could ever remember cumming. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. She screamed, a wordless ear-splitting cry signaling her surrender to the overwhelming pleasure. Her anger only seemed to make her climax more intense, to make her pussy tremble and quiver and squeeze and flood with her honey.

Marq, too, reached his limit, perhaps spurred by his vicious confession. He roared like a wounded beast and buried himself in her clenching cunny. For the second time of the night Jemma felt the warm wet feeling of Marq erupting inside her, albeit this time at the other end of her body. His load rocketed from his cock, flooding her already drenched cunny with his seed. He kept thrusting as he climaxed, punching into her forcefully every time he spasmed and released another shot.

He let go of Jemma's hair and she fell forward. Marq followed, almost collapsing on top of her. For a moment they both lay there, his big body on top of hers, his weight supported on his arms. Her hips rolled gently, and her cunt squeezed him, milking the last few drops from him as they both came down from their respective climaxes. The only sound was both of them breathing heavily.

But then Jemma remembered what Marq had just told her. She started to squirm out from under him, pushing him away with her feet. "Get the fuck off of me, asshole," she said. She felt his softening cock slide out from her, bringing with it a not-inconsiderable stream of their mixed juices, which spilled from her and stained the sheets. "I said, get off!"

Marq laughed quietly. "Just did, pretty lady, and so did you." 

He stood up, and Jemma rolled onto her back. "Fuck you," she said, icily.

His grin was downright arrogant as he replied, "Just did."

Jemma got up off the bed and rounded on him in a fury. She shoved him back a step—although, truth be told, she wound up moving herself more than she did him. "Get the FUCK out," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Right now. I don't ever want to even SEE you again. If you ever, EVER, tell anyone about this I will go to the cops and tell them you hurt Dan. And then I will find you and fucking CASTRATE you." 

Marq, for the first time in the evening, seemed nonplussed. Up until now he'd seemed to think of her anger as something to laugh at, but now, as she advanced on him, hair in disarray, eyes flashing, face flushed, she was genuinely scary. He put up his hands and yielded. "I'm going, I'm going," he said, retreating from the bedroom. He couldn't resist sinking in one last barb before he left, though. "Just remember, pretty lady. The thing that made you cum the hardest? It was me telling you that I injured Dan on purpose." 

Jemma froze, glaring daggers at Marq as he stood in the doorway. Then, with a scream, she grabbed the closest object—a framed photo of her and Dan, as it happened, that had been sitting on the nightstand—and flung it at him. Her aim was off, and it smacked into the wall. The glass cracked as Marq ducked out of the line of fire. 

She came flying out of the room, still naked, and stormed toward Marq, making him retreat further. "Fuck you! I'm going to rip off your dick!" she yelled, and Marq gave way. He snatched up his pants and shoes and fled, ducking out of the front door before the enraged woman could get her hands on him. He found himself standing naked in the hall as, on the other side of the door, Jemma threw the deadbolt shut and locked him out. 

He tugged on his pants and his shoes. Luckily his wallet was still there; he'd be heading home shirtless, but there were worse things. Inside the apartment, Jemma sat down heavily on the floor and leaned against the door. Now that Marq was out of sight, the hot anger she'd felt was quickly giving way to feelings of guilt and shame. But there was something else, too, something that she almost couldn't admit to herself.

She'd liked it.