CHANGING THE PLAYER: Charleston Pirates #1 by Chance, Jacob (digital e reader TXT) 📕

be a nice exception. I don’t even mind she’s older than the women I usually screw. She’s hot with her deep red hair, bright pink painted lips and a rack that won’t quit.

Her pussy is starting to quiver around my cock now. Rubbing my fingers over her clit, circling around the swollen flesh, I slam my dick as hard as I can into her. She shrieks like a wild cat as she trembles through her orgasm. I pull out of her and remove the condom before stroking my cock until I release all over her flat stomach.

I never come inside easy pussy. I don’t need some gold digger looking for a free ride, claiming I’m their baby’s daddy. What would be even worse is actually being their baby’s daddy. Jesus. That’s why I always wrap and pull. I like to think of it as being proactive.

I grab some tissues off the hotel nightstand and wipe her stomach clean. I’m such a gentleman. She stretches and yawns loudly as I slide my boxer briefs on.

“Where are you going, sugar?” She asks posing provocatively on her side. The scent of sex and her floral perfume are strong in the air. Stepping into my jeans, I pull them up. “I have some place else to be,” I reply vaguely as I button and zip my pants.

“Are you sure I can’t talk you into round two?” She traces a long red nail around her nipple.

My dick twitches at the thought of another go in her tight pussy, but I should finish unpacking my stuff. Two of my friends just moved into a new apartment off campus, with me. There’s still a lot to be done before classes begin in a few more days.

“No, sorry I can’t.” I walk toward the door. “I gotta run. Maybe some other time sweetie.” I pull the hotel suite door open and give her a quick wave before I go.

Closing the door, whistling the song “The Stranger,” my shoes are silent on the thick carpet of the ritzy hotel corridor as I head toward the exit. The woman I just fucked already all but forgotten.

Chapter One Brady

Early November

I grunt from the impact as the air expels from me when I’m tackled to the ground. The crowd loudly cheers, and I know my pass to my roommate, Nick, one of our team’s wide receivers, hit its mark. The peal of a shrill whistle nearby cuts through all the sounds of celebration.

My buddy, Zeke, one of the offensive linemen, holds his hand out for me, pulling me up. He pats me on the back.

“You okay man?” he asks. “That was a hard hit and a late one.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, picking grass out of the side of my face mask and throwing it to the ground. My body is wracked with pain, but I shake it off. There’s no time to think about it; we need to win this game.

The announcement comes over the sound system calling for a penalty against the opposing team for roughing the passer. I’m glad the officials got their heads outta their asses this time. There were two other plays just like this one and they turned a blind eye both times.

Their penalty earns us an extra fifteen yards and lines us up on their ten-yard line with only thirty seconds left on the clock. We’re down by three and need at least a field goal to tie it up, but we’ve got great field position. At first and goal we’ve got four downs to get in the end zone. We’re going to get the touchdown; I can feel it in my gut.

My fingers tingle as I wait for the ball to be snapped to me. This happens to me in high pressure situations such as this one. The sound of the crowd gets drowned out in my head, my focus is complete. I get tunnel vision. Some people call it the eye of the tiger, others call it the killer instinct. I think both of those terms are too dramatic for what it really is. I’m simply good under pressure. I make shit happen on the field when it needs to. I’m a playmaker.

The ball is snapped to me. I take two steps back, and roll around to the right to avoid being sacked. My eyes scan the end zone for Nick before I draw my arm back and release the ball. It’s right on target, and he catches it smoothly, holding it tightly in his grasp, before spiking it in the end zone. I run over to him, and we bump chests. The crowd erupts shouting, “touchdown.”

“Fucking A, Brady. That’s how it’s done,” Nick shouts.

“Yeah my arm makes you look better than you really are.” He laughs and I whack him on the back. The rest of our teammates on the field surround us, celebrating our win. The cheers of the crowd are deafening. This victory tastes even sweeter than most. We just beat our biggest rivals.

* * *

“Jesus, could they invite some more fucking people?” I ask my buddy Zeke when another person bumps into me. The room is full of college students, and even with my excessive size, I’m having difficulty navigating through. Being surrounded by people like this isn’t something I’m comfortable with; it pisses me off. I know there’s a scowl on my face, but I don’t really care. I love a party just as much as the rest of the guys, but right now I just want to enjoy my beer in peace and quiet.

One of the drawbacks of no longer living in this frat house is that I can’t escape to my room whenever I need a break or when I want to enjoy some alone time with whichever lucky lady I choose that night.

“Hey man, I’m gonna step outside for some fresh air. This crowd is too much for me.” I run my hand through my short