Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“You think?” I ask.
“Indubitably.” He hugs me again. “Bye, Kitty Kat.”
I watch Henn walk away, sighing with my love for him, and when he turns the corner and disappears from sight, I open the locker room door and step inside, my skin buzzing with excitement. “Sports Reporter Bangs Super Bowl MVP in Locker Room After the Big Game” has been one of my top fantasies for a very long time—a go-to scenario I’ve thought about many, many times while pleasuring myself. I can’t believe Josh has gone to such lengths to deliver it to me.
I begin walking slowly into the spacious locker room, my stomach bursting with butterflies, my crotch swelling with each step I take. I turn a corner around a bank of lockers, and—boom—there he is: the Super Bowl MVP himself, bending down to put something into a locker, his back to me.
Holy Beefcake, Batman. Josh is dressed in nothing but shoulder pads and tight football pants. His skin is gleaming with grime and sweat. Good lord, he’s hot as hell—testosterone on a stick.
My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. Whoever it is can wait.
“Excuse me,” I say softly. “Josh?”
Josh turns around and my heart palpitates—he’s raw masculinity in its purest form.
“Yes?” Josh asks.
“Do you have time for an interview?” I hold up my badge to him. “Heidi Kumquat, ESPN.”
Josh smiles and runs his hand through his sweaty hair, flashing me his “THE GUN SHOW” underarm-tattoo as he does. “Sure thing, Heidi. It would be my pleasure.”
I motion behind me to my imaginary cameraman. “This is my cameraman, Brad.”
Josh’s eyes sparkle with obvious amusement. He looks over my shoulder to where I’ve indicated. “Hey, Brad,” he says. He runs his hands over his muscled chest like he’s lathering himself in the shower. “Ask me anything you want, Heidi—I’m all yours.”
Oh, man, my body’s having a physical, chemical reaction to this muscled, tattooed, sweaty man. My brain knows this is make-believe, of course, but my body apparently didn’t get the memo.
My phone buzzes with another text but I ignore it.
“All mine, huh?” I say. “I like the sound of that.”
“And I’ll do the interview for you, too,” Josh adds, his smile widening.
I return his smile. “Lemme just do my intro for the segment.”
I turn away from Josh and look into the imaginary camera behind me, holding a pretend-microphone up to my mouth. “Hey, everyone. Heidi Kumquat for ESPN. I’m in the locker room with Josh Faraday, the star wide receiver for the Seahawks and the MVP of this year’s Super Bowl. If you watched the game, then you know Josh well deserved his MVP honors—he was utterly brilliant out there today. Every man watching him wanted to be him, and every woman wanted to fuck the living hell out of him.” I turn around and face Josh. “Ready?”
Josh’s eyes are burning. “Why don’t you start by asking me why I missed that one easy pass in the end zone?”
“Why’d you miss that one easy pass in the end zone, Josh?”
“‘Cause I was looking at you. As it turns out, it’s awfully hard to concentrate on catching a ball when you’re thinking about fucking the smokin’ hot blonde standing on the sideline a few yards away.” He snaps the waistband of his tight football pants and my eyes are drawn to the hard bulge straining just below his hand.
I primly clear my throat. “Well, that’s sweet of you to say. But I’d really better get to my interview.”
“Of course. You’re a professional—I admire that. Ask me anything, Heidi. I’m all yours.”
My phone buzzes with another text. Hastily, I pull my phone out of my pocket, silence it, and shove it back into my pocket.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “Well, first off, let me say congratulations on being named MVP of the game.”
Josh flashes perfect, white teeth. “Thanks. But, you know, it was a total team effort.” He runs his palm across his chiseled abs. “Damn, girl, you’re something to look at, you know that? You’re the kind of woman makes an MVP wanna fuck.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you,” I say demurely. “I’m flattered, but I really can’t flirt with you, Josh. I’ve got a job to do.”
“Flirt with me?” He smiles lasciviously. “You think I’m hard like this because I wanna flirt with you?” He makes an extremely sexual noise. “‘Flirt’ isn’t the ‘f’ word I wanna do with you, Heidi.”
I take a shaky breath and hold my imaginary microphone to my mouth. “Um.” I swallow hard. “To what do you think you owe your success this season?”
Josh begins stroking the hard bulge straining behind his tight pants, his eyes smoldering. “I’d say the key to my success this season was just taking it one game at a time.” His voice suddenly drops to a husky growl. “Shit, baby, you’re making me hard as a rock. I can’t even think straight, looking at you.” He takes a step toward me and snakes his arm around my waist. “You’ve got beautiful eyes, you know that? I can’t wait to watch ’em roll back into your head when I’m fucking you to within an inch of your life.”