Blitz: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Series (Books 1-5)

  Blitz

  A Secret Baby Sports Romance Series

  S.J. Bishop

  Contents

  Exclusive Offer

  Drop Kicked (Prequel)

  Dirty Quarterback

  Axel’s Therapist

  Hard Man

  Cuffs & Ballers

  Billionaire Baller

  Kick Off

  Bad Ballers Prequel - Free Copy

  Exclusive Offer

  Would you like to read the Bad Ballers prequel? Refer to the end of this book to get a free copy.

  Drop Kicked (Prequel)

  1

  Emma

  The San Francisco Tomcats sure knew how to throw a party. I searched the room for my father and saw a cluster of players checking me out. I shot them a practiced smile, dazzling enough to acknowledge that I was the hottest woman in the room, but austere enough to emphasize that they had better keep their distance.

  Growing up in my father's shadow, I had been surrounded by male athletes since I could walk. It wasn't until I was eighteen, when my boobs grew three sizes and my hair went from a greasy rat's nest to the silky yellow it was now, that any of them had started paying attention to me. And I had to admit–I liked it.

  Now, at twenty-one, I'd grown so used to the attention that I would have been disappointed not to get it. One of the guys who'd been checking me out sauntered over, choosing not to heed my warning. Clearly, he didn't understand the terms of my smile. I recognized him as one of the new rookies, Carter Stone. He was gorgeous, with perfect golden hair and chiseled abs, just like all the other guys in this room. Nice, but nothing special.

  "Hey there," he said. "Can I get you a drink?"

  "Thanks," I replied, keeping my cool, "but it's hard to get my panties wet with my father in the room. Keith Grace. Know him?"

  Carter shot a nervous look toward the bar. Keith Grace's six-foot-four stature and heavy frame could intimidate anyone. If not for a bad knee, he would have played ball himself. He looked up just then and scowled when he saw Carter talking to me.

  "Oh, you’re Keith's daughter? Uh, nice to meet you," Carter said, then turned tail and ran.

  My father would have preferred that I'd been born a boy. I think that working as a talent scout for the NFL, he wished he had an all-star athlete son that he could sign to one of the big leagues. Unfortunately for him, he had a daughter born with a body to kill for and an eye for talent but no talent of her own.

  If only I could nail down Jackson Vega's contract renegotiations fast and easy, I knew my dad would be impressed. Free agents meant trouble for any team, especially if it meant losing a quarterback as talented as Jackson was. Florida was itching to grab him up, and I had to stop that from happening.

  My phone buzzed, and I looked down to read Sara's text.

  You promised me pictures of hot men. Where are they?

  I sighed and looked around. If only Sara's cold hadn't turned into the flu, she'd be here with me now and could snap her own pictures. I looked around the room and saw Jackson standing in the corner with some girl draped all over him. Why not? I thought. He was certainly the hottest guy here. I casually held my phone up and snapped a picture of him for Sara. I sent it off to her, and when I looked back up, Jackson was smiling at me.

  Shit.

  He set aside the B-cup girl he'd been talking to, deciding my Ds were his new priority. With the dress I was wearing, I didn't blame him. Turquoise blue hugged my frame in all the right places, matching my eyes and drawing attention to my tits, just the way I liked it.

  "Hey, beautiful," Jackson said.

  His voice was like a smooth Cabernet, strong and a little bit sweet. I could see the look of an expert womanizer in his eyes as leaned into me, trying to make me feel special. He stood close enough that I could almost taste his scent on my tongue as he spoke. I smiled back, not at all intimidated despite his stunningly good looks. Sure, at twenty-three, he had the bronze hair of a beachcomber and the body of a Greek statue, but so what? He was just another jock, even if he was the hottest guy I'd ever laid eyes on.

  "Hey, Jackson," I replied smoothly. "Looking for another notch in your belt?"

  His smile faltered slightly before picking back up. "Just thought I'd say hi to the prettiest girl in the room."

  I knew it was a line, but God, he looked good saying it. His perfect pink lips looked as though they could play both equally soft and hard against my skin, depending on his mood or mine. I wished he didn't smell so good. What the hell was it? Like ocean air and eucalyptus.

  "I think we had better just keep things professional," I told him, not moving my steely gaze from his lustful one. "Considering we start contract renegotiations tomorrow."

  "Oh, what's the harm in one drink, Emma?" My name rolled off his tongue like dew. My panties were getting hot, and I suddenly realized how close he was standing. I stuck one red fingernail out at him and pushed him back.

  "Down, boy," I said, flashing him my smile. "I don't fuck football players. Ever. Last time I checked, that included you."

  Jackson's smile dropped away, and his caramel eyes turned stormy. As good as he looked when he was trying to score, he looked even better when he was angry. My heart thumped hard against my chest, but I refused to let him see it.

  "Bye now," I said, slowly turning away from him and walking toward the bar. I couldn't help smiling as he watched me go. I liked to leave them wanting more. I passed a group of Tomcats who were drunk and talking way too loudly. They must not have noticed me standing so close.

  "The only way she's gonna get Jackson to sign with the Tomcats instead of Florida is if she fucks him so hard he forgets how much Florida's offering."

  "That's probably why Keith chose her. I bet those tan legs of hers spread so wide Jackson will sign anything just to get in there."

  I rounded on them, my temper flaring. "Athletes who fuck around on and off the field usually have a difficult time renewing their contracts. You assholes aren't that far away from ruining your reputations and your jobs. If I were you, I'd watch yourselves around me or I'll bury you when your contracts are up."

  I left them with their jaws hanging open, feeling pretty damned good about myself. Suddenly, my father was beside me, pushing me into a side office. He closed the door behind us and turned on me.

  "What the hell is the matter with you?" he snapped. His face contorted, and the little girl inside me wanted to run and hide.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "You don't talk to the team like that, especially not athletes that the Tomcats want to keep under contract."

  "But they were—"

  "I know what they were saying, Emma. But you're a woman in a man's job. You're gonna hear a lot of shit. Either toughen up and learn to take it or get out now before you embarrass me."

  He left the room, leaving me with tears rising in the back of my throat. I stood there a full five minutes before pulling myself together enough to go back out. Whatever joy had been here for me this evening was gone. I went straight to the bar and poured myself a vodka shot. And another. And another. The feeling that I wanted to cry was replaced with anger. At my father and at myself. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was a grown woman, not a little girl. I shouldn't feel so intimidated by my daddy.

  "Hey there," a voice said. "You look like you could use a friend." I turned and saw Bryant Osbourne staring down at me. His six-foot frame screamed "delicious," and my mouth watered as the muscles in his arms flexed, pouring me another drink. His dark, tousled hair ran into his crystal blue eyes, and he brushed it out of the way.

  "Thanks," I said, taking the drink.
The only thing my dad hated more than me being a girl was the idea of me fucking a football player. Bryant was working hard to turn on the charm. I'd thought I was past the rebellious phase of my youth, but maybe, for tonight, I should just give in to it a little.

  2

  Jackson

  I tossed back another beer and crushed the can against my head. "Boom!" I shouted, throwing it across the room where it landed in the trash. The group of girls who had gathered round me cheered. Patti, a blonde with curly hair and big tits, shoved her way in front of the other girls and pressed her tits against me. My prick jumped to attention. She looked damned fine in that dress she was wearing, which was little more than a sequined bandage.

  "You can do anything, can't you?" Patti purred.

  "Hell yeah," I said, itching to touch her soft, golden skin.

  "Does that include doing me?" she asked, batting her lashes.

  I laughed and let my fingers run through her hair. It felt sticky, and I pulled them back out, wiping my fingers on my pants. Another woman whose name I didn't even know came up behind me and began to run her hands up and down my arms. She had red hair and alluring green eyes. This was every guy's wet dream. Since I was a teenager, sharing my uncle's tiny shack with my parents and cousins, I'd dreamed of having women throw themselves at my feet. Of money that never stopped rolling in so that I didn't have to live in a broken-out hut of a home. But something was nagging at me, stopping me from enjoying the moment right now when I should have been in a bedroom somewhere getting one of these girls wet.

  I looked across the room at Emma, who was standing by the bar downing shots like they were water. She was by far the hottest chick in the room. She had sun-streaked hair that didn't look like it came out of a box, and her tits, though slightly smaller than Patti's, were clearly real. I'd given her my million-watt smile and everything. "Why the fuck did she say no to me?" I mumbled.

  "What?" Patti asked, looking in Emma's direction.

  "Nothing," I said. What the hell was wrong with me? Who cares if Emma wants to be a prude? Fuck her if I'm not good enough for her. Fuck her and her high horse.

  "Tell us again how much money Florida's paying you," the redhead cooed. Her eyes were lit up like green stoplights. If I looked hard enough, I could see black dollar signs where her pupils ought to be.

  "Three years, seventy million. Fifty guaranteed." The women oohed and ahhed. "They're not paying me yet," I reminded them. “I haven't signed the contract."

  "What are you waiting for?" Patti hollered. She'd gotten the same look in her eyes as the redhead.

  I pictured Florida. I'd only been there once, and it had been the hottest, muggiest vacation of my life. There were swamps and alligators and all kinds of bullshit I didn't want to deal with. My family was all in California, and though I didn't see them often, I liked knowing they were around.

  "The Tomcats get a chance to try to settle things with me first. I owe it to them; they've been good to me."

  Bryant Osbourne walked past, snickering at me from behind his perfectly manicured hands. What kind of asshole football player got a manicure, anyway? "They'll never match it," he said. "Not when you're punching refs out every other game."

  "It's not every other game," I snarled. "It was once, and that was two months ago."

  "See that," Bryant said. "There you going again, getting mad. That's your problem, Vega. You've got a temper you can't control."

  "And your problem is that you were born a fancy ass rich boy who's never had to work a day in his life."

  "You don't call football work?" he spat out.

  "Not when you're on the field. More like a friendly game of tag."

  "Whatever, man," Bryant said, eyeing the redhead who was still clinging to my arm.

  "Baby, baby," the redhead whispered, nuzzling up against me. I could smell her perfume. Her hand dropped below my waist and stroked my ass. I felt myself relaxing. Patti put her hand on the back of my neck and began to massage it.

  "Ssh," Patti said. "There are better things to spend your energy on."

  Intent on letting things go, I watched Bryant walk off. He wasn't worth it. He went straight to the bar where Emma stood. I watched them, smiling, waiting for her to send Bryant packing just like she'd done with me. Only, Emma started stroking his hand instead.

  What the fuck?

  She’d said she didn't do football players. I crept closer to them, dying to know what the hell Bryant was saying to garner that look in her eyes. She was looking at him like he was her fucking dessert. Her fingers traced over his hand, and I watched as she moved her tits an inch closer to his chest. I could see his mouth moving. His lips looked dry to me, and his eyes were hazy and uninviting. What an asshole. Yet Emma looked to be hanging on his every word. There must be something wrong with her. Maybe she was off her meds or something. Only a complete nutcase would want to cozy up next to Bryant.

  "Why don't we get out of here?" Patti whispered. She was following me around like a lovesick poodle. Her hair was suddenly much frizzier than I'd noticed, especially compared to Emma's perfect, golden locks.

  "I need another drink," I told her. She quickly handed me a beer, and I chugged it down, keeping one eye on Emma and Bryant. When they turned and left together, I nearly shit myself. Whatever. There were plenty of other girls at this party. Hotter girls. Better girls. And none of them were saying no.

  3

  Emma

  Bryant's car—a yellow Ferrari that screamed of the type of man trying to compensate for something—was parked in front of Tomcats Stadium. I hopped in with him, eager to put as much distance between me and my father as possible. He drove us to a secluded park that the high school kids used for make out sessions. I hadn't felt like a teenager in years, and I giggled as Bryant tickled my neck with his tongue. It was like we were two kids who'd never done it before, anxious to let loose and explore each other's bodies.

  The inside of Bryant's Ferrari was surprisingly roomy. He tilted both seats back so far that they almost lay flat. I couldn't help but look through the windows, all too aware of the potential of getting caught. My heart beat in anticipation. It had been much too long since a man had touched me. Bryant, never a man who liked to be kept waiting, pulled my clothes off.

  "You’re going to get fucked properly tonight," he whispered, and started caressing my thighs. His fingers were soft, too soft for someone who played football, and I wondered how he managed to keep them that way. He ran them up and down my legs, teasing me.

  "I like to be surprised," I whispered back. "Show me something I've never seen before."

  Bryant smiled, flipping me over onto my stomach as he straddled my legs. His hand rubbed my ass, sensual at first, then rougher. He slapped my ass, reddening my skin. I squirmed with delight. This was something new. He brought his hand down again, harder this time.

  "You like that, don't you?" Bryant asked.

  I groaned in response as his hand hit my other cheek. "Yes," I said. I felt the wetness spreading between my thighs and started to wriggle.

  "Well, too bad," he whispered. "You're not getting off that easy."

  My thighs tightened as Bryant massaged my tingling backside. I could smell our heat as our desire grew. Bryant's thick mass pressed through his pants as he stroked my ass. His fingers lingered over my tight opening. I squirmed, nervous but excited.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked.

  "Whatever I want," he said. He leaned forward and licked my neck. His breath was hot and sweet as he whispered in my ear. "Tell me what you like."

  His closeness only heightened my arousal. "I like a man who's not afraid to taste me."

  Bryant flipped me back over, burying his face deep between my thighs. He wetted my sex with his tongue, inhaling deeply before coming back up. "You smell like roses," he said, then buried his face once again. He circled my clit with the rough edge of his thick, pink tongue. I moaned as juices flowed freely between us. His tongue slid between my slit, sending shivers up m
y body. I groaned loudly as he lapped at my inner and outer lips, tasting every inch of me.

  "Your pussy's like sugar," he whispered, and I groaned again. "How'd you get so fucking sweet?"

  My thighs clenched as his tongue chased an early orgasm.

  "Not yet," he commanded, lifting his head. He unzipped his jeans, pushing them off his legs. His shirt came off, and for the first time, I saw the chiseled form of his chest. God, he was hot. Muscles plateaued out of him like he was a fucking mountain range.

  "Do I get to taste you now?" I purred.

  "I think it's only fair."

  I pulled him into my mouth, tasting his essence. He was so hard that I could hardly fit him inside my mouth. My lips wrapped around him, sucking hard against the thick ridges that lined his massive shaft. He tasted like warm, sweet bread. I moved my head up and down as he pushed himself deeper inside me. My mouth swallowed as much of him as I could, almost afraid I might choke on him if he went any deeper. My hands reached out to cup his balls, massaging them as I moved my head in a steady rhythm now.

  Bryant groaned, his head tilting back. Somewhere nearby, a horn honked, reminding us that we were not alone. The wetness between my legs spread as I pictured people just outside the car, watching us, wanting to do what we were already doing. Deep arousal filled me, making my pussy ache.

  "Oh, God," I groaned, pulling him out of my mouth. "Fuck me. Just fuck me already."

  He grinned down at me. "That's what I wanted to hear. I'm gonna make you cum so hard you'll never forget this one night together for the rest of your life."