Fifteen minutes after my disciplinary hearing had finished, I was back at the hotel. I'd considered driving back to Budbury that evening, but I wanted a little time to myself, a little time to digest the punishment that the Rugby Football Union had meted out.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I found myself in the almost empty hotel bar. It was still early evening, and I was sure it would get busier as the night went on.

I ordered a beer with a whisky chaser and took a seat in a corner. The alcohol would either tame my anger or provide it with the fuel it required to amp itself up to the next level.

It was better that the bar wasn't busy – I didn't want the temptation of pussy distracting me from my thoughts, and I didn't want to be recognised — although with my weeks' worth of stubble and my longer than usual hair, I'd managed to go the whole day without having to sign an autograph.

I'd have my fame the next day though. The sports pages would be plastered with my photograph, that was a fucking certainty, and I wondered what moronic headlines the tabloids would run with. Probably something along the lines of
'The Pit Bull gets kennelled!'
or, '
Rugby football union leashes the hound!'

They'd thought they were clever when they'd first coined my nickname, but Pit Bulls were far from the vicious animals they were portrayed as. I was proud to be named after such a fine dog. They were just like me – calm until provoked, but when they were pushed just that little bit too far, it was time to back the fuck down.

Danny Evans hadn't backed down, and thanks to him, I'd just been given a sixteen-week ban from playing rugby. He'd gouged my eyes when I was on the floor, and when I'd stood up to confront him he'd
really
pissed me off.

I could still picture his piggy little eyes gazing out at me over his fat red cheeks as he'd mouthed the word
cunt
, and far more satisfying — I could still remember the sound of his pug nose cracking under my fist in a cloud of crimson as I knocked him out.

The crowd had gone wild, and the referee even wilder. I'd have been sent off anyway, but calling the ref a fat blind bastard for missing the gouging incident hadn't helped.

Fuck it
. It was just the latest in a long string of fuck ups that had followed me throughout my career. I'd become known as the bad boy of rugby within my first year of playing professionally, and I doubted things would change before I retired from the game.
You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

I took a long swig of beer and downed the whisky in one. Getting drunk, that was the way to deal with problems. The coach disagreed with my philosophy, but he wasn't there,
and
he didn't have to put up with the crap I did.

I studied the line of black and white photographs that hung on the wall above me. London in the nineteen-seventies. The decade that I wished I'd played in. The time when players smoked and got drunk, as part of their team bonding sessions for fucks sake. The era in which fights were brushed under the carpet and put down to high spirits. The glory days, the days when men could
be
men on the field.

With nostalgia for a time I hadn't even lived in making me feel depressed, I ordered another beer and whisky. The room was beginning to fill, so I picked up a complimentary newspaper from the pile on the bar and settled down to read and drink.

By the time I'd got half way through the paper the bar had got busy. I glanced around the room and my bottom jaw almost hit the table. Jesus, it seemed like I
would
be tempted by pussy. Two girls were approaching the bar, both of them pretty, but one of them stunning.

Long red wavy hair flowed down her shoulders and back. Not bright red from a bottle, but a naturally vibrant auburn red like the girls you saw in shampoo commercials. Her body was curvy and in perfect proportion, her tight dress showing off the ample bulge of her tits, and her hips just the right size for the glorious arse that wiggled behind her as she walked.

My cock swelled, letting me know it agreed with my appraisal. I closed my eyes briefly and concentrated on not getting a stiffy. My teen years were a long time gone, but my cock had never caught up with the alleged maturity of the rest of my body. It was still as eager to perform as it had been when I'd first hit puberty. It was a blessing and a curse.

With my rogue penis under control, I studied her again. She was younger than me — early to mid-twenties, I guessed. Five foot six or seven, and a size fourteen — maybe
just
touching a sixteen.

With one of the flashes of inspiration I'd become accustomed to over the years, I knew I had to have her. I had to take her back to my room and twist that hair around my hand as I fucked her hard from behind. With hair as fiery red as hers, I was damned certain that her personality would be equally fiery, and a fiery personality usually translated into a girl who knew how to behave in the bedroom.

She caught me looking, and gave the smallest and sweetest of smiles, before giving her attention to the barmaid.

She'd only looked at me for a few short seconds, but those few seconds had taken my breath away, and given my cock a whole new lease of life. Even with a few metres between us, I'd been able to make out the intense bright green of her large almond shaped eyes, and been able to scrutinise her delicate features. The word
elven
leapt into my mind, and I wondered where the fuck it had come from.
Elven?
Was it even a word? Whether it was or not, was beside the point – it described her perfectly.

Her face was small, the gentle oval shape tapering into an angular chin which sat below full lips and a wide mouth.
But the eyes.
It was the eyes that had spawned the word elven. Not elven like Santa's short, ruddy faced helpers, but elven like the women you saw in
The Lord of the Rings
films – mesmerisingly beautiful, and able to stop a man in his tracks.

I had to fuck her. I
had
to look into those eyes as I pushed myself deep between her beautiful thighs, my hands cupping her buttocks as she shouted my name, begging me to make her come.

My dick was a fraction off fully erect, and I looked away from her to give it a chance at behaving. Nothing said
quick, get the fuck out of here,
like a man approaching a woman with a tent in his trousers. I imagined the headlines –
Rugby ban is hard-on Pit Bull.

The girls ordered their drinks and sat at a small round table. The red head with her back to me, her arse delightfully framed between the backrest and the upholstered cushion.

I was a lot of things, but shy I was not. Nor was I sober. All thoughts of not being tempted by pussy had evaporated and been replaced by lust. I grabbed my beer and made my way towards their table, already adjusting my face so as my dimples sat just right. Shy? No. Vain? Maybe a little.

Her friend saw me first and gave me a smile that I translated as saying 'I want you'.
Well, sorry, darling. It's your friend I'm interested in.

The red head wasn't aware of me approaching from behind her,
and she jumped as I spoke. "Do you mind if I sit with you two for a while? It's boring in that corner on my own."

She tilted her head upwards to look at me, and I saw the attraction in her eyes.

Game on
.

Chapter Two

~Emily~

The medical convention had bored me to tears, and I cursed myself for allowing Megan to persuade me to go with her. There was nothing that had helped me as a psychologist, but Megan had been taking notes, and nodding at the lecturers all day long.

I
was
glad that I'd allowed her to persuade me to bring a dress to London with me though. It had been too long since I'd squeezed into something less comfortable than my work clothes and got drunk in a bar.

The bar in question was only one floor below our hotel room, but it still
felt
like we were on a night out, and God knows, I needed a night out — if Megan was to be believed anyway.

"Seven months," she'd reminded me. "It's been seven months since you came out with me. If you're not careful you'll be wearing a habit soon, and saying
Hail Marys
."

It
had
been too long. I'd never thought of myself as the type of girl who'd become a hermit because of a man, but when David had left me, three months after proposing, my confidence had taken a hit and I'd found myself stuck at home on weekends while my friends were out getting drunk — and bedding possible future husbands.

It may have only been a hotel bar, but at least I was out, and enjoying myself.

We'd ordered a wine and I'd smiled at the absolute hunk in the corner, who'd returned it with a slight nod of his head and a twinkle in his eyes.

Hunk
wasn't a word I'd ever envisioned myself using, but that's
exactly
what he was. Even in his seated position, I could see he was tall, and big. He was older than me — perhaps in his thirties, and handsome too. With a chin full of light coloured stubble, and masculine features, he was head and shoulders above any other man in the bar.

I'd only just taken my first sip of wine when I heard a deep voice to my left. "Do you mind if I sit with you two for a while? It's boring in that corner on my own."

Megan answered the question which I was sure was meant for me. "Yes, sit down," she said, in the voice she used for men that normally ended up in her bed. "We'd love company. Wouldn't we, Emily?"

I managed to drag my eyes from his face and realised I was blushing. "Yes," I said, "join us if you like."

He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and placed it between us, a fraction closer to me than Megan, who was already adjusting her eyes and mouth into what her friends commonly referred to as her
fuck me face.

"So," said Megan, pushing her breasts in his general direction. "Are you staying at the hotel?"

He licked his lips in a way that made me wiggle in my seat, and Megan sigh. "Yes, I'm on the first floor," he said, "what about you ladies?"

"We're staying too," I said, trying to get a foot into the conversation.

"In that case, how about I get myself a fresh beer and you girls a bottle of wine?"

BOOK: Pitbull: He plays hard on the field...He plays harder off it.

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