SACK: A Football Bad Boy Romance

  Contents

  Front title

  Copyright

  Mailing list opportunity

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  Dedication

  Inner title

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Chapter twenty-three

  Chapter twenty-four

  Chapter twenty-five

  Chapter twenty-six

  Chapter twenty-seven

  The End!

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  About the Author

  SACK

  Samantha Westlake

  Copyright 2016 Samantha Westlake

  All rights reserved.

  SACK: A Bad Boy Romance

  Book design by Samantha Westlake

  Cover Image Copyright 2016

  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:

  http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

  Adult content warning: All characters are legal and fully consenting adults and are not blood relations.

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  Dedication

  For all my readers, both new and returning. I write it all for you.

  SACK: A Bad Boy Romance

  Chapter one

  "Mmm, my big boy, you like that, don't you?"

  Sitting back on the couch in the dimly lit club, Seth Chase blinked his eyes. The stripper perched on his lap was waiting for a response, he realized after a moment. He tried to remember what she might have been saying for the last few minutes.

  "Yeah, that's good," he finally replied, pulling out another twenty from his pocket and handing it to her. "Just keep doing that - maybe with less talking, huh?"

  The stripper gave him her best fake smile, making the bill vanish. "Whatever you want, stud," she purred back to him, turning back and around and sliding her round, toned, completely bare ass across his lap.

  With the interaction over, Chase sighed, running his eyes around the interior of the club - or, at least, the interior of his VIP booth. He could see several of the other football players on his team, the Hawks, sitting around and engaged in various activities with their own strippers. Across the booth from him, he saw one of his wide receivers, DeShaun Jackson, grinning as he tried to juggle two strippers running their hands over his body at the same time.

  Crazy on the field, crazy in the club, Chase thought to himself, smirking briefly at the sight. His mood soured, however, as he brought his gaze back to the busty, curvaceous woman sliding her ass up and down, pretending that she was riding his cock. He could feel his dick standing erect in his jeans, sure, but that didn't mean that he actually cared much about what motions she made.

  Settling back a little bit on the couch, Chase let his mind drift back to the game, earlier today. With his eyes half-closed, he could see the plays in his mind's eye, replaying his throws and actions.

  The Hawks had won the game, of course. Chase tried not to pay much attention to any comments by the sportscasters, but just about everyone in the world of professional football stood firmly behind their predictions that the Hawks would progress all the way to the Superbowl, and quite possibly win it all. So far, they'd only lost one of the last seven games - and that one had been a close finish.

  As soon as Chase stepped out of the club, he knew, he'd get mobbed by fans asking for autographs - or, in the case of some of the young women, throwing their bodies at him, tits first! He grinned at the memory of two especially determined sorority girls who, on a previous stop in the Midwest, managed to talk themselves up to his hotel suite! He'd walked into the room and found himself immediately confronted by both of them, neither of them wearing anything but a couple squirts of whipped cream! They'd dragged him into the room, practically ripped off his pants, and kept him awake for most of the night as they eagerly tried out different positions on his willing body.

  Those perks were nice, Chase knew, but he also knew that they'd vanish as soon as he stopped winning games. His multimillion dollar contract, his fame, his popularity - it all depended on continuing to win games.

  And so, even as the strippers cavorted on his lap, reaching down occasionally to stroke and fondle his dick through his pants (most definitely forbidden by the strip club, although these girls were likely to break those rules when they had a big fish like Chase on the line), Chase tuned it all out. His hands kept on pulling out the occasional bill to pass to the woman jerking him off through his jeans, but his mind was away, back on the gridiron.

  That pass in the third quarter. He'd messed that one up. He remembered falling back, his eyes sweeping up for open receivers, but he hadn't properly watched his defensive line. The opposing fullback managed to find an opening, came smashing in.

  And next thing that he knew, Chase was on his back, the air knocked out of him as he stared up at the sky. Sacked, for a four yard loss on the play.

  Of course, he'd recovered, throwing a great short pass on the very next play for a first down. He eventually went on to score on the drive, but he still kept on thinking back to that single pass, how quickly his defenses had fallen away and left him open to getting broadsided.

  Next time, he thought to himself, he'd look instead for receivers about to come open, and then drop his eyes back down to his defensive line as he waited for the receiver to move into position. Next time, if someone broke away, he'd be ready to throw - at least to toss the ball out of bounds, so that he wouldn't get sacked for a loss on the play.

  Taking a sack like that could mean the difference between winning and losing a football game, especially on this high of a competitive level.

  And Seth Chase, star quarterback for the Hawks, wasn't about to lose another game.

  He leaned back, blinking as he r
ealized that the stripper sitting on his lap now had one hand slipped all of the way inside his pants - which had mysteriously managed to come unbuttoned and unzipped.

  For a moment, Chase thought of telling her to knock it off. It probably wouldn't be good for his reputation if some reporter managed to sneak in here and caught a glimpse of this, or even worse, a photograph. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been caught on some rather disreputable behavior, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

  On the other hand, Chase noted, none of those racy, saucy exposes in the tabloids ever did a lick of damage to his reputation. After all, his reputation wasn't built upon his chastity or how pure he kept his cock.

  No, he was famous for one simple reason: when Seth Chase played in football games, the Hawks won.

  Simple as that.

  Sure, the papers loved reporting on how he'd sometimes pick up prostitutes, paying for girls for the entire team. They'd catch pictures of him out drinking, a bottle in each fist, and his dick had been covered up by stars in celebrity tabloids more times than Kim Kardashian's nipples.

  Let them keep on going, Chase thought to himself. They were just envious of him, annoyed that none of their stories ever touched his bulletproof reputation. Seth Chase was a winner, and everyone knew it. He didn't give a fuck whether they fawned over him or vilified him, as long as they kept on letting him play football.

  "Hey, let's get some more drinks going over here!" It took him a moment to recognize the slurred voice as his own. But his call was met with a ragged cheer from the rest of the team, and a stripper hurried off to go grab them some more bottles of champagne.

  Chase accepted the glass pushed into his hands, smiled up at the scantily clad woman who knew that drunk men were better tipping men. He pulled out a bill and passed it to her, not even bothering to try and blink at the denomination. "And another one if you take this stupid glass and just give me the bottle," he called out.

  The woman didn't even waste any time considering the club's rules against handing full bottles to patrons. "Here you go, sugar," she replied, whisking the champagne glass out of Chase's hands and replacing it with the more solid stem of the wine bottle.

  Grinning, Chase settled back on the couch once again, taking a long pull of the bubbly alcohol. He glanced down at his lap, observing that the stripper now had his cock fully out in the open, rubbing it with both her hands.

  "Like that, huh?" he asked her, stroking her hair.

  She looked up at him, smiling. "It's so big!" she exclaimed, widening her eyes in a practiced look of shock.

  Chase knew that the expression was fake, but he didn't care. He did have a big cock, but more importantly, it was attached to a winner. That was all anyone cared about; he could have a micro-penis and women would still line up to suck him off.

  He looked down again at the stripper's tits as she squatted between his legs, jerking him off. He guessed that some silicone had gone into their construction, but the surgeon had at least done a good job. They didn't point straight out in different directions like some of the boob jobs he'd seen at other clubs, and they bounced with her arm movements.

  He reached out, giving the nearest breast a squeeze (another flagrant violation of the club's rules). The stripper jerked for a second in surprise, but then her smile returned. If Chase had been more sober, he would have recognized that smile as a crafty realization that the woman's mark still had a pocket full of bills that he could easily be convinced to spend.

  Chase took another long pull from the champagne bottle in his hand, just to make sure that he wasn't sober enough to draw that connection. He squeezed the woman's breast again, tugging her forward towards his dick.

  "Go on, get it," he slurred, his hand sliding up to wrap around her head, fingers tangling into her bleach bottle blonde hair. He tugged her face down towards his crotch.

  The woman resisted for a second, and then gave in, flashing another smile up at him. She dropped her head down, and a moment later, Chase felt a pair of warm, wet lips wrap around the head of his shaft, slurping up and down.

  Glancing up, Chase saw his buddy DeShaun staring across the VIP at him. The African American man's mouth hung slightly open, his dreadlocks twitching slightly back and forth as he shook his head in amazement.

  Chase just grinned back. "Gotta get my money's worth, huh?" he called out to DeShaun, hoisting up his wine bottle, and then resting its base on top of the stripper's head to push his cock deeper into her mouth.

  "You crazy motherfucker," Deshaun returned, but he smiled as he said it. "You know that you'll catch shit for this tomorrow at the team meeting, right?"

  "Fuck all of them," Chase declared back. "They won't do anything to me. They need me, especially with the postseason games coming up."

  After a moment, DeShaun shrugged. "True dat," he admitted. "And whatever helps you keep on throwing those laser passes, man."

  Still smirking, Chase settled back, trying to focus his fuzzy, alcohol-soaked brain on the sensations rising up from between his legs. He wished that he remembered the stripper's name. She had probably told him at some point, but he'd immediately forgotten it as useless information.

  "What's your name, baby?" he slurred, patting the woman on her head.

  She pulled his dick out of her mouth, with a sound a bit like a cork popping out of a bottle. "Crystal, honey," she replied.

  "Well, you're doing a good job, Crystal - keep sucking." Chase didn't care that the name was fake. Hell, he might not even come, given his drunken state.

  But none of that mattered. He took another pull on the champagne bottle, closing his eyes and listening to the stripper slurp on his dick. He was a winner, he reminded himself, and he was bulletproof.

  Nothing could bring him down. He was a winner, and winning felt good.

  Chapter two

  Seth Chase opened his eyes, and immediately wished that he hadn't done so. He felt as though the morning light penetrated straight through his eyes and into his brain, burning away the pleasant fog left behind by the alcohol and leaving searing pain in its place.

  For a minute or two, he just squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on breathing. He couldn't remember much of the previous night. They'd won their game, of course, and then he knew that they'd headed off to get drunk, celebrate, and see some titties.

  He definitely remembered the club.

  He dimly remembered some strippers and a VIP booth.

  Chase sat up, groaning at how even that single movement made his head spin and his stomach twist itself into knots in protest. He felt soft sheets slide off of him, and forced his eyes back open.

  He'd managed to find a bed, it seemed. He had crawled partway under the tangled covers on a large white bed, although he'd apparently disagreed with the pillows; most of them were now on the floor.

  The bed also wasn't empty, he realized a moment later.

  Grimacing a little, Chase tugged the sheets back, revealing a prone, curvaceous, and most definitely nude female figure beside him. His memory still felt full of holes and untrustworthy, but he was pretty sure that he recognized the woman as one of the strippers from the previous night.

  The woman yawned, stretching out her arms and rolling partly over before grabbing one of the remaining pillows on the bed to pull up over her head to block out the light. Yep, Chase thought to himself. Definitely a stripper. Normal women don't have fake tits like that.

  Not bad, though. He reached out and gave one of them a squeeze, and the woman murmured softly in her sleep.

  Chase peeled the rest of the covers off of him, unsurprised to find that he was completely naked as well. He flicked his dick, wondering if he could convince the stripper in bed beside him to give him another round, but even morning wood wasn't enough to overcome the amount of metabolized alcohol clogging up his system.

  Probably for the best, anyway. If he tried to do any sort of repetitive movement, he was relatively confident that he'd puke before he came.

  Chase turned and pulled h
is legs over off of the bed and, with an effort, hoisted himself up to his feet. Looking around, he spotted his pants, crumpled up in a heap on the opposite side of the bedroom. He crossed unsteadily over to them, dug his phone out of a pocket.

  Before getting dressed and leaving the room, Chase paused to tug the covers the rest of the way off of the stripper's naked body, and took a couple of pictures with his phone's camera. He grinned to himself as he saved the pictures to a folder filled with similar images.

  At least he hadn't woken up with a dude in his bed. That had been an awkward morning, even more than usual.

  With his pants still unbuttoned and unzipped, his cock hanging out, Chase found the bathroom and let loose. He pissed for at least a full minute, and even Chase found himself marveling at the darkness of his urine.

  "Gotta get some water," he muttered to himself as he left the bathroom, not bothering to flush.

  Still shirtless, Chase poked his head into the other rooms in the hotel suite, making sure he wasn't leaving any of his fellow players behind. Once he'd convinced himself that he was the only other man in the suite, he left, carrying his shoes in one hand. He pulled them onto his bare feet in the elevator.

  "You serve breakfast in this place?" he inquired to the young woman standing behind the reception desk in the front lobby.

  "We do, sir," she replied, her eyes sweeping over him and taking him in.

  Chase watched. Her expression started off as dubious and judgmental, but it softened as it passed over his muscled, powerful physique. By the time it had climbed up to his face, she looked openly approving. Now, all it took was the little spark of recognition to seal the deal...

  "You're... Are you Seth Chase?" the front desk manager asked, her eyebrows climbing up on her forehead.

  He nodded, flashing her the best aw-shucks grin he could manage through his hangover. "Yeah. Sorry, I had kind of a crazy night."