It was a nice, but cold day, in Denver, you were cleaning up around the house waiting for your boyfriend to get home. It was 7:30 and it would be coming home around this time. The front door slammed almost making you drop a glass. "Brock?" His footsteps are heavy and angry all the way upstairs to the bedroom. You dried your hands on the dish towel. Brock had rough days, but they were never this bad. No kiss, no hug, not even a simple 'hi.' "Brock?" you called out as you climbed the stairs. You went into the bedroom where he was already in the middle of changing. "What's wrong?" "He shook his head, taking a seat on the bed and running his fingers through his curly, brown hair. "I don't want to take about it." "Brock-" "Ashley, I don't want to talk about it." You went over to the bed, and kissed his cheek. He looked at you, and you gave him a reassuring look. Brock knew that he could talk to you about anything. He sighed before answering: "Practice was terrible, I got picked off the whole time. Then I had to deal with the rookies today, and they did nothing but get into fights-" He paused, and you grew concerned. "Brock, what else happened?" you questioned. "I-I heard...I'm getting cut." You were shocked at the last one. "Are you sure?" He stood up angrily. "I don't know, its fucking frustrating!" he exclaimed. You jumped at his sudden outburst. His face was a dark pink.
He slumped back onto the bed. "I'm sorry, but how can I take care of you if I don't even have a stable job?" You hugged him tightly, knowing that he might want some time by himself. "Brock, If you want me to leave you alone, I understand." He shook his head, pulling his face towards yours in a feel kiss. "You don't have to go" he whispers as he pulls at the hem of your oversized sweater. As he took of your clothes he rubbed your body, you continuously moaned into his mouth. Once all your clothes were off, he towered above you, unzipping his jeans. He moved into in between your legs, not wasting any time to enter you. You gripped the pillow as he started rough movements, rocking his hips. It was rougher than normal. Your knuckles turned white, as you gripped the bed sheet. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in further. Brock let out a deep moan next your ear. He held your hips down to keep you still, but your hips tried to keep moving against hips. Your legs trembled as he reached down, and rubbed your clit. When he found your spot, you moaned. The bed creaked from his violent movements, and Brock leaned down, his mouth next to your ear. "I'm almost there" he moaned. You buried your face in his neck. "Brock!" you screamed. You clenched around him as your orgasm took you over, pushing him over the edge as well. You all laid in the bed, legs entangled.
"Brock, no matter what happens I'll be here for you."
-Go read: 'Hate the Player, Not the Game" by @_writersblock (my sis)!