Chapter 16

Dane Carver’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the leather-wrapped wheel of his Porsche 911 Turbo, the engine’s guttural roar vibrating through his muscular frame like a war drum. The late afternoon sun bathed Brentwood’s tree-lined streets in a golden haze, glinting off the car’s sleek black hood as he tore through the quiet suburb, his mind a furnace of steroid-fueled rage and lust. At sixteen, Dane was a six-foot-three, 265-pound colossus, his chiseled physique and predatory green eyes radiating raw dominance. His dark brown hair, cropped close to his skull, and his tight black tee clinging to every ripple of muscle only amplified his sexual magnetism.

But it was the eleven-inch cock straining against his jeans that ruled his thoughts, a weapon he wielded with ruthless precision. His one-week suspension from the football team had left him without his usual stress relief of football practice—two hours every day to smash the shit out of the losers on the team’s second string—and on top of that he was dealing with a severe drought of pussy. Fucking that nerd Ellie in front of her Dungeons and Dragons friends had been fun, but he hadn’t been able to find her since that afternoon a few days ago.

His gorgeous thirty-two-year-old fuckdoll of a mother would be his normal release valve for sexual tension, but she was working late shifts at Elysium this week, shaking her ass and bouncing her surgically-enlarged tits to support herself and Dane financially, and didn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning. Sure, Lacey was still there to rail when Dane woke up for school, but one fuck a day wasn’t enough to keep him sane.

Gina Bennett was his other usual dick receptacle, but the stunning trophy wife was proving annoyingly hard to pin down this past week between gala events and a few days out of town with her loser husband. Even Lisa Satkowski, his MILF of a math teacher, had been hard to get alone recently.

Dane was crawling the walls until this afternoon when he realized the perfect target for his pent-up fuck-lust: Vanessa Hargis, the thirty-four-year-old wife of Coach Hargis, the spineless prick who’d dared to suspend him for a late hit on the field. It was perfect—with Coach Hargis running practice, Vanessa was guaranteed to be home alone, all by herself, ripe for fucking.

Dane’s lips curled into a sneer as he pictured Vanessa’s juicy D-cup tits bouncing in that tight tank top she always wore, her tight ass swaying in yoga pants, her long auburn hair begging to be wrapped around his fist. Coach was about to learn what happened when you fucked with a god like Dane—his wife would scream under Dane’s cock, her body his to claim as revenge.

The Porsche’s tires crunched on the gravel driveway of the Hargis’ upscale colonial home, a two-story monument to suburban wealth with its manicured lawn and white columns. Dane killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the throb of his pulse, his cock twitching as he spotted Vanessa stepping out the front door. Her curvy five-foot-six frame was a wet dream poured into a low-cut white tank top that hugged her voluptuous breasts, the fabric so thin her nipples teased through, hardening slightly in the late summer breeze.

Vanessa’s denim shorts clung to her thick thighs and round ass like a second skin, riding up just enough to make Dane’s mouth water. Her auburn hair cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face with full, glossy lips and hazel eyes that widened with a mix of surprise and unease at the sight of his car. Dane stepped out, his boots heavy on the stone path, his towering presence casting a shadow as he flashed a predatory smirk, his eyes raking over her like a wolf sizing up a lamb.

“Mrs. Hargis,” he drawled, leaning casually against the Porsche’s hood, his voice low and laced with menace. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

Vanessa froze, her smile faltering, a flush creeping up her slender neck to stain her cheeks. “Dane, what are you doing here?” Her voice was polite but edged with wariness, her eyes flicking over his tight tee, lingering on the bulge in his jeans before darting away. “Mark’s at practice, you know that. He won’t be back for hours.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dane said, sauntering toward her, his boots scuffing the path with deliberate swagger. “Figured I’d keep you company since your dumbass husband decided to bench me. Thought you might be lonely, a hot piece like you stuck with a loser like him.” His gaze lingered on her tits, the way they strained against the tank top, her cleavage a valley he wanted to bury his face in. He imagined ripping that fabric off, her soft flesh spilling into his hands, her whimpers filling the air as he claimed her.

Vanessa laughed nervously, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly. “That’s sweet, I guess, but you really shouldn’t be here.” She gestured toward the house, her movements quick, almost desperate to maintain control. “Come in, though. I’ll get you something to drink. It’s hot out.”

Dane followed her inside, his eyes glued to her ass as it swayed with each step, the denim shorts riding up to expose the creamy undersides of her cheeks. His cock throbbed harder, straining against his zipper, begging to be unleashed. The Hargis’ living room was a study in suburban luxury—plush cream sofas, a glass coffee table, soft lighting from a chandelier that screamed money but lacked the raw edge of a real man’s presence. It was too perfect, too soft, just like Coach Hargis himself.

Vanessa disappeared into the kitchen, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and Dane sprawled on the couch, his long legs spread wide, his arm draped over the backrest like he owned the place. She returned with a glass of lemonade, her fingers brushing his as she handed it over, the brief contact sending a jolt through his body. She sat across from him, crossing her legs, the shorts riding higher to reveal more of her smooth thighs. Dane’s eyes devoured her, his smirk widening as he sipped the lemonade, the tartness doing nothing to cool the heat in his veins.

“So,” Vanessa said, her voice light but her eyes darting to the door, betraying her nerves. “How’s school? I hear you’re quite the legend with the girls.” She offered a teasing smile, trying to keep the conversation friendly, but Dane caught the curiosity in her gaze, the way her lips parted slightly, her breath quickening. She knew his reputation—most women in town did. Certainly every woman associated with Westview High knew. The whispers about his eleven-inch cock, his relentless stamina, his ability to make girls scream and beg for more.

He grinned, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a rough growl. “Yeah, the girls can’t get enough of me. Bet you’ve heard the stories, huh?” He winked, watching her blush deepen, her thighs shifting as she squeezed them together, a telltale sign of arousal she couldn’t hide. “Bet you wonder what it’s like, don’t you, Vanessa?”

“Dane, that’s inappropriate,” she said, her tone sharp but her hazel eyes betraying a flicker of heat, her pupils dilating as she met his gaze. “I’m married. You know that. Mark’s your coach.”

“Married to a wimp,” Dane shot back, sliding closer until his thigh pressed against hers, the heat of her skin searing through his jeans. “Coach can’t handle a woman like you, Vanessa. Look at you—those tits, that ass, that pretty little mouth. You need a real man to fuck you right, not some soft prick who can’t even keep his team in line.” His hand landed on her knee, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, sliding up her thigh with deliberate slowness, savoring the way her breath hitched.

“Dane, stop,” she said, her voice trembling as she pushed at his chest, her hands pressing hard against the slab of muscle under his tee. “This isn’t right. You need to leave.”

He ignored her, his hand shooting to her hair, yanking her head back with a sharp tug that made her gasp. Her auburn locks tangled in his fist, and he crushed his lips against hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, rough and demanding.

Vanessa squirmed, her hands shoving desperately at his shoulders, but Dane’s strength overpowered her, pinning her against the couch’s soft cushions. His other hand groped her tits, squeezing the soft mounds hard enough to make her whimper into the kiss, her nipples stiffening under his fingers. He twisted one through the thin tank top, relishing the way her body shuddered, betraying her arousal despite her protests.

“Fucking tease,” he growled against her lips, his hand sliding down to cup her pussy through her shorts, the denim hot and damp under his fingers. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you, slut?” He rubbed her roughly, his cock straining painfully against his jeans as she struggled, her muffled protests swallowed by his relentless kisses.

Her hips twitched involuntarily, a slight buck against his hand that told him everything he needed to know—she wanted this, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Dane’s smirk widened as he pressed harder, his fingers grinding against her clit through the fabric, determined to make her beg for the fucking she deserved.

Dane’s grip tightened in Vanessa’s auburn hair, his fist pulling her head back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering her mouth with a savage hunger. Her muffled whimpers only fueled his steroid-pumped lust, his eleven-inch cock throbbing painfully against the confines of his jeans. The plush couch of the Hargis’ living room creaked under their weight, the soft cream fabric a stark contrast to the raw brutality of his assault.

Vanessa squirmed beneath him, her hands pushing weakly at his chiseled pecs, but Dane’s body was an immovable force, pinning her down like prey. His hand, still cupping her pussy through her denim shorts, felt the heat radiating from her core, and he smirked into the kiss, knowing she was already crumbling under his dominance. This trophy wife bombshell, with her juicy D-cup tits and tight ass, was his to claim, and Coach Hargis’s pathetic suspension was about to cost the old man more than he could ever imagine.

Dane broke the kiss, his green eyes glinting with predatory glee as he stared down at Vanessa’s flushed face. Her hazel eyes were wide with panic, her full lips swollen from his rough kisses, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. “Fucking look at you,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through her.

His free hand shot to the hem of her white tank top, yanking it up with a swift, brutal tug. The fabric stretched and bunched above her breasts, exposing the creamy mounds barely contained by a lacy black bra. Her fat tits spilled over the cups, the soft flesh jiggling as she gasped, her nipples stiff and straining against the thin lace. Dane’s cock twitched at the sight, his fingers itching to maul her. He grabbed both breasts, squeezing them hard, his palms engulfing the heavy globes as he dug his fingers into her soft skin, leaving red marks in their wake.

“Goddamn, these tits,” he snarled, his thumbs circling her nipples through the bra, feeling them harden further under his touch. “You’re so fucking horny for me, aren’t you, slut? Bet you’ve been dreaming of a real man like me to play with these.” He pinched her nipples sharply, twisting them through the lace, drawing a sharp, unwilling moan from Vanessa’s throat.

Her head fell back against the couch, her lips parting as her body betrayed her, a shudder rippling through her at the rough treatment. Dane’s smirk widened, his eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of arousal she tried to hide. “Yeah, that’s it. Moan for me, you dirty bitch.”

“Dane, please,” Vanessa gasped, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and something else—something that made Dane’s cock throb harder. “This is wrong. I’m married. You have to stop.” Her hands pushed at his wrists, trying to dislodge his grip on her breasts, but her efforts were feeble against his strength, her fingers trembling as they brushed his forearms.

“Married to a pussy-ass bitch,” Dane spat, squeezing her tits harder, relishing the way they overflowed his hands, the soft flesh yielding to his brutal grip. “Coach Hargis can’t satisfy a hot piece of ass like you, Vanessa. Look at you, squirming like a whore already.”

He pinched her nipples again, harder this time, twisting until she cried out, her moan a mix of pain and unwilling pleasure that sent a jolt straight to his groin. Her hips twitched beneath him, a subtle movement she couldn’t control, and Dane’s grin turned feral. “You need a real man to fuck you senseless, don’t you? Someone who knows how to handle these fat tits and that tight little pussy.”

Vanessa shook her head, her auburn hair spilling across the couch, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No, Dane, please,” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she pushed at his chest again. “You can’t do this. Mark will—”

“Mark’s a fucking nobody,” Dane cut her off, his hand leaving her breast to grab her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into her cheeks, her lips puckering under the pressure. “He’s not here, and he doesn’t deserve you. I’m gonna fuck you raw, Vanessa, and you’re gonna love every second of it.” He released her jaw, his hand diving down to the waistband of her denim shorts. With a rough yank, he forced the button open, the zipper tearing down as he shoved his hand inside, his fingers brushing past the thin fabric of her panties to find her pussy.

She wasn’t wet—not yet—but Dane didn’t care. Her heat enveloped his fingers, her soft folds yielding as he pushed two digits inside, his thumb grazing her clit. Vanessa gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily, her hands clawing at his arm. “Stop it, Dane!” she cried, her voice high and desperate. “Please, I’m begging you!” Her thighs clamped together, trying to force him out, but Dane’s strength was relentless, his fingers curling inside her, probing with expert precision born of countless conquests.

“Beg all you want, slut,” he growled, his other hand still mauling her breast, pinching her nipple until she whimpered. “You’re gonna be soaking for me soon enough.” He worked his fingers deeper, stroking her inner walls, his thumb circling her clit with deliberate roughness.

Vanessa’s protests grew weaker, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as her body began to respond despite her pleas. Dane felt the first hint of slickness coating his fingers, and he chuckled darkly, his cock straining against his jeans as he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “There it is. You’re getting wet for me, aren’t you? Fucking knew it. You can’t resist a real man.”

“No ... no,” Vanessa whimpered, shaking her head, but her hips betrayed her, rocking slightly against his hand. Her pussy was growing slicker, her juices coating his fingers as he pumped them in and out, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. Her moans were louder now, unwilling but undeniable, her body trembling under his assault. Dane’s eyes gleamed with triumph, his hand squeezing her tit harder, the lace of her bra chafing against her sensitive nipple as he twisted it again, drawing another cry from her lips.