Arena Bowl

Sunday morning, Tiffany stretched luxuriously in Jon's arms. His deep even breaths told her that he was still asleep, and the clock on the nightstand told her that they needed to be awake. They were supposed to be at the Commissioner's Brunch in a little over an hour. Her head was killing her; she really shouldn't have drank quite so much, but she knew better than to let it show or he'd never let her live it down.

"Jon, baby," she said softly, "we need to get up."

Jon had been trying to ignore the movement of the warm body snuggled close to him and continue sleeping, even though her big stretch had caused her delectable ass to rub erotically against his ever present morning hard on. He growled in her ear, "I'm already 'up'."

Tiffany groaned and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, trust me, I noticed, but we've got places to go, food to eat, people for you to impress, and a football game to win."

Laughing, Jon slapped her bare ass. "Race ya to the shower," he told her as he rolled to the side of the bed.
Tiffany winced, not just at the smack itself, but also the loud sound it made. Somehow, she would make it through this. Usually, a hot shower helped; she crossed her fingers and crawled out of bed.

********

Jennifer groaned when the alarm went off. "Damn, baby, what the hell time is it?"

Richie chuckled and kissed her shoulder. "Darlin', it's a little after nine." He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Are you alright?"

"Ugh, yeah," she groaned, sitting gently and rubbing her forehead. "How much did I drink last night?"

"A lot," Richie said, rubbing her back. "Though you handled it well."

"Why didn't you shut me off?"

Richie laughed. "Babe, you get really horny when you get drunk. I wasn't missing out on that. Don't you remember last night?"

Jennifer remembered barely making it back to their suite after the parade wrapped. They had ordered room service, and by the time the cart had arrived, she was stripped to the skin and wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe. Jennifer had taken a cube of ice from the champagne bucket, and trailed it down between her breasts. Richie's mouth went dry as he crossed to her.

He took the ice from her and she unbelted and dropped her robe. He trailed the ice slowly around her breast, circling closer and closer to her nipple until he finally touched it, sending shocks all the way through her body. He held the ice against her nipple where it melted quickly, sending a little rivulet of cold down over her breast and ribs. He did the same to her other breast, all the while watching her reactions. Jennifer gripped his shoulders to keep from falling at his feet, and he could see her pupils dilating as she got more and more turned on. She pulled him fully to her, fitting his growing erection to the apex of her naked thighs. She slowly rubbed against him, as much as her leg would allow, and sucked and licked at his neck.

Riche scooped her up and brought her to the bed. He stripped off his clothes and disappeared into the other room for just a moment, returning with the champagne bucket. He bent over her and took her nipples alternately into his mouth, sucking gently, rubbing his tongue over their tips. Jennifer tilted her hips, begging him to caress her. He chuckled and pulled an ice cube from the bucket and slid it down her chest and dipped it into her navel. Jennifer's breath hitched and he continued the cube's downward trek toward the hottest part of her body. He spread her with his fingertips and slid the cube into her.

The cold against her overheated skin made her gasp loudly, and Riche chuckled. He scooted down her body, and licked at the water that was dripping from her. He alternated between sucking at her clit, and licking at the drippings from the melting ice. Finally, he pressed his mouth to her core, sucking at her until the sliver of ice was pulled from her and he was crunching it between his teeth…

Her self-satisfied smile showed Richie that she remembered every delicious second of last night. He saw her smile turn to a grimace as she realized it was time to get cleaned up and dressed for the day. They needed to meet Jon and T for brunch. "I need a shower," she groaned.

Richie sniffed her dramatically. "You sure do, sweetie," he said, laughing. "You smell like you spent the night in a daiquiri pitcher."

"Fuck you, Rich," Jennifer groused.

"Okay, baby," Richie agreed, and pushed her back on the bed.

"RICH!" she squealed, then whimpered when he rolled over and slid into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers while he rolled his hips in a slow dance he knew would drive her wild. He captured her screams as she came, and the ripple of her muscles around him triggered his own release.

* * * * *

The Commissioner's Brunch was being held at the Foundry, a restaurant situated near the Mississippi Riverfront in the city's historic and colorful Warehouse District. It occupied the ground floor of a warehouse dating from the 19th century. Wooden columns, two feet thick, rose more than 14 feet from the concrete floor to the wooden ceiling beams. Exposed brick, bearing the patina of many decades, form much of the corner building's walls, one of them partly covered by a mural depicting a quaint French Quarter courtyard scene.

In one corner, a bar reigned; a gleaming expanse of mahogany that Jon longed to run his hand across. He had an appreciation for the finer things in life, and that bar was definitely fine. There was a jazz quintet set up in the middle of the far wall, playing soft standards and setting a mood of celebration and anticipation, and Jon couldn't wait for this damned brunch to be done so he could get to the arena.

The foursome had arrived at 11:00, late enough to miss the initial crush of people, but on time enough to meet the commissioner, and pile their plates high with all sorts of delectable goodies. Richie looked at Jennifer's sparsely piled plate, and added extra crawdads and beignets to her meager pile of food. "I don't want those," she said, looking at them and turning a little green.

"Yeah," Richie answered, "well I do, and my plate's full." He laughed at Jennifer's hangover. She and T had really tied one on last night. "What? I love New Orleans cuisine, and I'm not the one who drank nearly a half gallon of DOA daiquiris last night." He chuckled ruefully. "The morning after is the one thing I don't miss."

"Rich, if you don't get those foul, fishy-smelling things off my plate, I am so going to throw up all over your gorgeous chest and shiny boots." She gagged once, and leveled a stare at him. "Now."

Richie smiled, and quickly took the seafood off Jennifer's plate and put it on his own.

"Jesus, Richie," T said, as he sat across from her. "You really gonna eat all that?"

"Yep," he said smugly.

"Good thing Jennifer helps you work it off," Jon said as the woman in question gingerly sat down, causing Jennifer to blush, and T to smack his shoulder.

While Jon, Richie, and their girls were feasting on local cuisine, the Sonesta crew was getting ready for the game. Decked out in Soul Blue, to a woman, they were ready for their team to declaw the Sabercats.

When they met up in the lobby, their excitement grew. This was going to be one hell of a game. They piled into a cab, and headed across town to the New Orleans Arena. After having their bags checked and their pat-downs, they found their seats. Sam and Cheryl were several rows behind Gail and Steph, and they all had a good view of the owners' boxes. "There's Jen," Cheryl said, nudging Sam and pointing at the box. She texted Steph to have her look up, then texted Jennifer. "BOO!" she sent.

Jennifer had just sat down when her bag buzzed. She drew out her Blackberry and chuckled. "What's so funny?" Richie asked. Jennifer showed him the message. "Where are they?" he asked.

Jennifer had a general idea of where the girls were and scanned the stands. She still couldn't find them so she texted back "Where R U?"

Cheryl laughed and called Jennifer's cell. "I'm standing and waving," she said, giggling. "Can you see me?"

Jennifer burst out in hysterical laughter. "You and 10,000 other people, you nut," she said. "I'm looking; where are you?"

Cheryl turned toward the booth. "We're on the Soul side, close to midfield, dozen or so rows back. We're all in Soul Blue, and I have my pom-poms."

"You tease," Jennifer said, getting Richie's attention. She smiled at him. "Cheryl has pom-poms, and I have a cheerleader fetish, babe," she said, winking.

"Oh! I see you! Can you see us?"

Richie chuckled. "I have one of those too," he said, standing to nuzzle her neck.

"Yeah," Cheryl said, "I see Richie attacking you, lucky bitch."

"Rich," Jennifer said, "everyone can see us."

"So what?" Richie said. "Let 'em look and be jealous."

"Have some ego, why don't you?" Jennifer asked, rolling her eyes.

Richie laughed softly. "I mean the guys," he said. "They'll all be jealous of me."

"I'll call ya back," Jennifer said distractedly into the phone, and hung up. She wrapped her arms around Richie's neck and kissed him for all she was worth. "I love you," she said.

"Jesus, you two," Jon said, coming into the box with T in tow. "Give it a rest already, wouldya?"

"Sorry bro," Richie said. "No can do. I can't get enough of her."

"Well," Jon said, "at least cool it for now." He pulled T to his side, and stepped away from the windows. Kissing her soundly, he asked her, "You ready for the game, baby?"

"Oh, absolutely," T answered.

Throughout the game, Jon had continually been shaking the little bag that Tiff had gotten for him from a voodoo priestess in the French Quarter. Tiff had called it a good ju-ju bag. The little bag had been passed back and forth, 'round and 'round, but when the Soul took the lead in the second quarter, Richie handed it to him over his shoulder. Laughing, Jon shook it toward the players on the field.

Shortly after that, Jon began to notice just how often the camera was on him. So far, his body guard, Obie, Matt and Richie had done a good job of helping him shield Tiff from the cameras. Jon had told them before the game that she really didn't want the media attention that would come with being seen with him, just yet. His friends and family had immediately liked her and had stepped up to help Jon protect her from the media. There was a brief moment where Jon was sure that they'd been close to putting her on national television. That's when he left the box and moved to sit in a seat high in the rafters; he moved a few times trying to make the cameras hunt him. It gave his family, friends and Tiff a break. He was used to the attention, even though he'd constantly asked to be left alone during the games.

By half-time, the Soul had a healthy lead. By the end of the third quarter, it was starting to look real good. Jon moved back to his box. He wanted to be with Tiff, his friends and family, when his team won. With less than two minutes left in the game John Fry came over to congratulate him. He really wanted to spike a football and yell, "In your face, Fry!", but he did manage to be gracious and a good sport. Even though he was trying to pay attention to the other man, Jon caught sight of Rich and Jennifer over Fry's left shoulder.

The couple stood laughing and congratulating with Obie and Matt. Rich had his arm around Jennifer's shoulders like he didn't want her to get too far from him. Jennifer's arm was around Rich's waist. Jon noticed that her hand disappeared under the guitarist's jacket. He just grinned, shook his head, and gave himself a mental pat on the back. As always, he'd been right about her.

When Fry left, he felt small hands encircle his waist from behind and knew it was her long before he felt the full length of her body press tightly against his back. He could feel her warm breath even through his jacket as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

"Congratulations, baby," she said softly. Her voice had the same combination of fire and smoothness as good aged bourbon.

"Thank you, baby," he answered. "Ready to go to Harrah's?"

"Do I have to?"

"No," he answered, but she could hear the sadness in his voice.

"I was kidding Jon. Of course, I'd support you and go. I'm just not looking forward to the media shit."

Jon turned in her arms and grinned down at her. "Repeat after me. No comment."

"What? Are you kidding me? What if they ask my name?"

"Repeat after me," he said more forcefully, "No comment."

"No comment," she said, shrugging.

He shook his head and chided, "Put more feeling into it. Like this...No comment," he let his voice rise with authority on the last word.

"No comment," she repeated dutifully.

"There ya go," he said with enthusiasm. "Now, I need to get to the field. Wanna meet me at the limo?" He really didn't want her in the crush on the field.

"Sounds good," she told him, standing up on her toes to kiss him quickly.

Neither of them realized that Jennifer and Richie had walked up behind Jon, until the other woman laughed. "Sounds good to me too. I really have no desire to fight that crowd."

With his hands on her hips, Richie pulled her flush with his front. "I'd rather you not go down there and get pushed around, either. Your knee could get hurt worse."

"Kev," Jon called out, and a huge mountain of a man appeared instantly.

"No way, boss. I'm going out on the field with you. You'll have to get someone else to escort the ladies."

Smiling, Jon shook his head. "See, people really think I'm the boss 'round here," he told Tiff.

Quickly, he arranged with Matt and Obie to ride in the elevator down to field level with them and then escort Tiff and Jen to the limo. The mood in the elevator was jubilant with teasing and laughter bouncing off the walls.

At ground level, Jon pulled Tiffany close for a brief kiss. "I won't be long," he assured her, before allowing Kevin and Richie to pull him toward the field.

Tiffany waved to him as he disappeared, then she and Jen turned to follow Obie and Matt to limo. Jen was just climbing into the backseat with Tiffany when her blackberry buzzed again. It was a text message from Cheryl.

"What a game, huh? GO SOUL! Bet Jon's ecstatic. Is that other woman his G/F? She's pretty. What's she like? We're all dying with curiosity!"

Jen showed the text to Tiffany. They shared a chuckle as Jen began typing a reply. "Yep. GO SOUL. He is. Yep. Uh-huh. She's a bitch. Curiosity won't really kill ya, ya know."

After a whole lot of “no comment” at Harrah’s, and some good drinks and great food, Jon, Richie, and the girls were more than ready to leave. The car pulled up in front of the hotel. The coast looked clear, so Richie and Jen left the car first. As they approached the doors of the hotel, a photographer jumped out at them and snapped their picture. Jon and Tiff stayed in the car, and were going to have the driver go around back. Startled by the flash, Jennifer jumped, which was a mistake, and fell into Richie’s arms. The photog snapped another picture of them clinched together.

The reporter with the photographer called out to Richie, “Hey! Hey, Richie! This cutie with you have a name?”

Jennifer bristled at being called a cutie by this slug, but stayed quiet, remembering the “no comment” bit from the casino. But, she thought, she didn’t really mind if people knew who she was. Her family and friends already knew about Richie, and his about her, so there were no feelings to be hurt – there was really no harm in them knowing her name. Richie looked to her as if for permission, and she nodded giving her consent to be named. “This is Jennifer Petruzzo,” Richie said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “She’s my beautiful new girlfriend.”

“Jennifer, doll, how’d you two meet? Where are you from? What do you do? How did you get hurt? What’d you think of the game?” The reporter was firing off questions as fast as he could, and Jennifer just rolled her eyes and burst out laughing.

“Take a breath man, before you pass out,” she said with a voice made husky by all the cheering and screaming she did at the game. She looked at Richie, who winked at her. “OK,” she said, and took a deep breath, and ticked off on her fingers. “A mutual friend. Boston. Information Technology. Stupidity. Exhilarating. We done? Good. Thanks.”

Richie nodded to the doorman who let the couple in, but kept the reporters outside. “You okay?” Richie asked.

“Yeah,” Jennifer answered, “but he scared the shit out of me when he jumped out like that.” She sighed. “Listen,” she said. “At the risk of sounding conceited, how much do they care who I am?”

Richie shrugged. “Some, at least for now,” he said. “Why?”

Jennifer told him about her history in financial services, the killing she made in the stock market in the nineties, and the SEC investigation and her subsequent vindication. “It’s all out there if you Google me, even though it’s been more than ten years.” She blinked back tears. “Sorry, Rich,” she said. “If they bother, they’re gonna find out all about it.”

Richie shook his head. “Baby, if that’s the worst thing you’ve done, or haven’t done, I wouldn’t even worry about it,” he said, as they entered the elevator.

Richie kept Jennifer’s mind off the trip up to their floor by pressing her against the wall and kissing her senseless. When the doors slid open, he helped her gimp out of what she called a coffin-on-a-string and down the hall. Stopping outside the room, Richie reached into his pants for the key. “Close your eyes,” he said to Jennifer. She complied, heart pounding in anticipation.

Richie opened the door, and told Jennifer to open her eyes. She gasped. The suite had fresh purple lilacs, her very favorite flowers, in small vases around the room, the scent lingering every where she walked. There were dozens of candles around the room, varying in sizes and colors, some left unlit, while others were burning brightly. The place had a romantic air, and the fact that he went through the effort to do this made her heart sing.

Richie smiled as she looked around the room, and closed the door, setting the “Do Not Disturb” sign out first. He took Jennifer in his arms and slanted his mouth across hers; tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue for an instant before she opened to him. He moaned and danced her backwards toward the bed, being careful not to jar her. When they reached the bed, he stopped, and ran his hands roughly over the Soul jersey she was wearing.

“I meant to tell you,” he said, “I love your shirt.”

“I thought you would,” Jennifer answered. Her Soul shirt sported the number 59, and the name ‘Wingman’ on the back. She had it custom done after the Soul won the last playoff game, and had it express shipped to her so she’d have it in time for the game.

Richie pulled the shirt up and over her head, and quickly dispensed with her bra. Jennifer slid off Richie’s black jacket and tore open the bottom of his green silk shirt, sending the buttons skittering across the room. She slipped her finger into his belt and unfastened it, then unbuttoned the tight denim and lowered the zipper. She pushed at his jeans, purposefully grazing his growing erection until he groaned and shoved at his own clothes. He toed off his boots and kicked free of his pants.

He peeled her jersey skirt down and off, taking care not to jostle her leg, and groaned when he saw she had no panties on.

“When?” he asked, his breath hitching.

“When I ducked into the Ladies’ before we left the game,” Jennifer answered smiling. “I left them behind.”

When he straightened, Richie sucked at and teased her nipples until they stood at attention. He kissed his way up her chest to her neck, and playfully nipped at her neck and under her ear. He traced the lines of her face, and glided his hand down, skimming her nipples and ribs. He slowly slid his fingers further down, past her stomach and into the nest of curls at the top of her thighs.

Jennifer wanted his fingers further south, so she rolled her hips until his fingers played across her clit and the little ring there. Richie chuckled and slid his hand down far enough to plunge two fingers into her. Jennifer groaned and rolled her hips in time with Richie’s thrusts. Her hands gripped his biceps firmly, almost painfully, as the waves of her orgasm mounted.

“You alright, baby?” Richie asked.

She only nodded her voice failing her in her neediness. She wound her arms tightly around his neck. He withdrew his fingers and grinned at her, sliding a wet, gentle finger along her slit.

"Well, well, well…who's my wanton wet girl?" he teased her, his fingers dancing over her pussy and finding her clit ring again and flicking it gently. Again she shuddered, close to orgasm and he stopped. "Oh you like that? Mmmm I thought you might."

Richie led her to the bed, and urged her to lie down. He thrust his fingers forcefully all the way into her drenched pussy and went straight for the g-spot. She came on his hand with a scream, her whole body jerking with the force. He continued pumping her gently, feeling her build again. Richie wrapped an arm around Jennifer’s shoulders, holding her while she came apart.

"You like that, don't you baby?" he said still smiling as he wiggled his fingers inside her and bent over to suckle at her breast, nipping and biting gently at the hardened raised nipple. She quivered and whimpered like a kitten, and made mewling noises in the back of her throat. Her whole life, she had never felt like this with a man before. She was feeling completely wanton, and was totally enveloped by lust and passion, she orgasmed over and over again. Richie finally slid his hand from her and chuckled at her moan of disappointment. “Damn,” he said to her. He gently climbed up onto her body and, licking her open panting mouth, he slid his hard cock in where his fingers had just been and began to stroke slowly, gently, teasing her more.

She moaned loudly into his mouth, her hands molding themselves to his shoulders, his back and his ass. She ran her hands across his chest and arms, wanting to touch him everywhere at once.

Richie groaned and fucked her harder; each stroke pulling out very slowly until he had nearly slipped from her body, then slamming his full weight forward to drive into her. Over and over he drilled her body till she was nothing but jelly. Jennifer’s nails dug into his shoulders, and Richie hissed, and when she came this time, she nearly tore his cock off at the root.

He pushed through the spasms, riding her like the wild animal she had become. She hooked her good leg around his waist and pulled him in tighter, raising her hips slightly, and screaming with new release. Richie groaned and pumped faster, the friction unbearably hot, but feeling unbelievably good. The veins stood out on his neck, and sweat dripped from his brow onto Jennifer’s upturned face. He shouted her name as he empted into her, the rippling of her walls finally taking him over.

Spent, he slipped from her and rolled to her side cuddling her close. Richie looked at Jennifer, who was panting as hard as he was, and smiled. “Jesus, Jennifer, I sure am glad the Soul won,” he said.

Note that the Jon/Tiff parts were written by T