Page 53 of Endurance
“If you’re going for accidental anal, I’m going to throat punch you.” Belle’s morning voice is deep and throaty.
I shake with laughter. “I’m not going for accidental anal, I promise. Actually, I was just lying here realising I had no idea how fantastic spooning was. I’ve been converted. The way your arse rests perfectly on my dick and how the dip of your waist is like a nice resting spot for my arm…The warmth of you against the warmth of me. Fuck me, it’s utter heaven. People should talk about spooning more. It feeds the soul or some shit.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“An hour maybe?”
“Did you mean to speak all of that out loud just now?”
“Yes, why?”
“Okay, well, maybe just…don’t.” She chuckles in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Tanner Harris?”
Ignoring her snipe, I nuzzle into her neck. “He’s still here, woman. Want to play hide the sausage?” I flex my hips into her back.
“Bloody hell, I’ve just woken up to you moaning on and on about how spooning feeds your soul. What more could you possibly ask of life?”
“I need you to feed the beast.” I nibble her ear and add, “The beast is my cock.”
Her laugh is the only sound uttered until I’m balls deep in her and her giggles turn to cries of sexual perfection.
As I dress for the match, I can’t help but wonder what life was like for my mum and dad when they used to live here in Manchester with all of us. Dad was a star defender for Man U. Mum was home raising the five of us. They had a posh flat here where we all lived for most of the season, and then they had a big brick mansion in Chigwell just outside of London. Gareth once told me that our mum preferred life in London so she refused to make Manchester our year-round home. Truthfully, it’s one of the very few things I’ve ever got Gareth to reveal about our mother. Neither he nor Dad like to talk about her. Vi knows a bit because she found boxes of her old poems and pored through them, gifting us several of them right around the time she started up with Hayden. It helped give us a window into who she was, but I still have a million questions about her.
I was three years old when she got sick. I don’t remember a lot of what happened. The only thing I know is that our dad immediately broke his contract with Man U, sold our Manchester flat, and took us all back to Chigwell. It was a big to-do with the press because it was such a huge loss for United.
Gareth was eight years old when we moved. Booker was one and Vi was four. The time around our mum’s death was ugly. Our dad did not do well for many years, refusing help from pretty much everyone. He was content to stow us away in that mansion, only letting us out for school and nothing more.
But somehow, Bethnal Green F.C. got through the door, and that’s when things began to turn around for our family. Needless to say, an appreciation for the sport of football is highly coveted in my world. It brought our family back together and made us who we are today. Lord knows what might have happened to us otherwise.
Belle comes out of the loo wearing a tight, faded red Man U tee. It shows off her large tits, but she still looks comfortable enough to do some serious cheering.
I give her jean clad arse a hardy smack. “You look good.”
“You’re going neutral I see,” she states, eyeing my dark grey T-shirt and jeans.
“It’s good business. I can’t show favouritism. A footballing family feud ends in bloodshed.”
“Am I okay in this? I didn’t even think about the photos we might be in today.”
I nod. “If you’re a United fan, you’re a United fan. No need to hide it for your fake boyfriend.”
Her eyes tighten imperceptibly and I wonder if I misspoke. Or maybe she’s getting tired of the circus our lives have become.
“Have I said thank you recently for doing all of this?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not just for you, Tanner. I need it, too.”
“Right,” I reply with a frown. “I keep forgetting that part. Shall we be off then?”
Old Trafford is an imposing stadium with a rich, historical ambience to it. It’s no Tower Park, but Mancunians practically piss themselves once they get inside. Seventy-five thousand fans all mash together drunk, loud, and proud, setting the tone for the whole day.
Belle and I find our seats in one of the sponsored upper level sections with several of the other WAGs—the wives and girlfriends of the players. It’s not where I would have preferred to sit, but it’s a sold out match and these are the seats Gareth had for us.
“Tanner Harris?” A woman says my name like it’s a song. I turn to see a blonde, big-titted WAG sitting behind me with several like-faced ladies. “Hi! I’m Sasha, Benny’s wife. Ladies, this is another one of those Harris Brothers. The one I told you about.”
“Oh my God, one’s hotter than the next. How is that possible?” a woman beside Sasha croons. “I’m Billy’s girlfriend. We live near Gareth’s house.”
Another woman pipes in, “Gareth said you were coming with your little friend to the match. So nice you could make it.” The woman reaches out and touches my shoulder for no apparent reason other than to squeeze the girth of it.
