Offside Offense

"I'll match you any night of the week," he replied. "But I thought you were done after these drinks."

"I am. Ass." Earlier, Jemma had started to warm to Marq, but now that was dead. "I'm going to drink these and leave."

"Fine by me." Marq turned, leaning against the wall, and looked out over the crowd. He sipped his second beer and watched the people on the dance floor. Jemma, in turn, watched him. He seemed completely happy to ignore her. She followed his gaze, and while she couldn't be sure it looked like he was scoping out some of the women dancing. It was entirely irrational, but Jemma felt jealous. She didn't want Marq's attention—but she really didn't want him focusing on someone else.

"Hey, prick," she said. "You finished being rude?"

Marq glanced her way for a moment, then looked back at the people dancing. "What? You're leaving. So I need to find someone else to keep me company." He was so up-front and blasé about the whole thing that Jemma was momentarily speechless.

When she did speak up, though, her voice dripped with acidic scorn. "You think you'll find a single woman here who's anywhere near as hot as me? Good luck. You'll probably end up going home with some drunk bitch."

Marq shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe."

Jemma continued needling him. "Probably some flat-chested thing with no ass." She polished off her drink, then leaned forward, so that if Marq looked over he'd get an eyeful of her cleavage. He didn't look, though. It seemed like Marq had completely lost interest. Jemma knew it was a tactic, a way to draw her in. She'd used it herself. But even knowing this, it was working.

"Hey, dickhead. You're being rude. You're a shit drinking partner."

That got some attention. "And you don't know how to take a compliment."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, a man shows you some attention, some attention you obviously want, and you freak out." Jemma narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, but Marq cut her off. He turned to face her and said, "Hell, you're the one who kissed me, and then you went all psycho bitch on me."

Somehow, the regular repetition of his claim that she'd started the kiss had convinced her he was right. "So? Even if I did, you know I'm with Dan. You should have said no."

"Why? You wanted it. I wanted it. It's just a kiss." Marq slid out from his side of the table and joined her on hers. "You know what? I'll prove that you still want it. One more kiss," Marq said. "Kiss me one more time and then tell me you don't like it." Jemma, assisted by the vodka she'd consumed and the little flutter she felt between her legs, took this as a challenge. She was not one to back down when someone came at her. She growled and grabbed Marq by his shirt and yanked him toward her. Once again their lips met. Marq's hand came to rest on her thigh and strayed further, sliding up her leg, to her upper thigh, his fingers curling around to rest between her legs and only inches away from her groin.

The kiss ended, and both of them found themselves breathing quickly. They looked at each other, faces close, and without speaking Jemma slid her leg over Marq's, turning as she did, so she wound up straddling his thigh and facing him. The table behind her pressed against her lower back and forced her up against him; it was awkward, but in the moment that didn't concern her in the slightest as she laid her palms against his chest and kissed him once more, this time with more fire, more hunger. Marq returned the kiss with equal fervor.

They made out, there at the table in the corner of the bar, their lips and hands on each other, exploring, getting a sense for each other's bodies. Marq's confidence showed itself as he took charge, grabbing her ass and pulling her toward him, making her grind herself against his leg and ending with her groin pressed to his. Jemma let out a small noise, a little coo as the kiss ended.

Taking advantage of her compliance, Marq leaned his head in and whispered to her: "Want to get out of here? I can take you home." Jemma thought that if she said yes, she wasn't just going to get a ride home and nothing else.

But she could try. She gave him her answer: "We can share a cab, but you're not coming up with me." That seemed to satisfy Marq, and they quickly, Jemma not even bothering to look for her friends one last time. She just waited by him as Marq paid his tab. Marq walked a step ahead of her as they exited the bar, Jemma's hand in his. He flagged down a cab and piled into the back together. The cabbie asked where they were headed; Jemma answered, giving the address of the flat she shared with her boyfriend. The cab had scarcely started to move before Jemma and Marq were on each other again, Marq's hands on her well-formed chest as he kneaded her breasts through her cream-colored dress, his dark skin making for a striking contrast against the light-colored cloth.

Jemma's hands traveled downward—first, she felt his broad and muscular chest, then went lower, discovering that he had the strong, dense build of a power lifter, with heavy slabs of muscle around his core. And lower still, to his hips, his thighs, and then up the inside of his leg, until her left hand was stopped by a thick obstruction, something that was concealed under his pants than ran quite a ways down his leg. Her eyes went wide. "Tell me that's a sock stuffed in your pants."

Marq grinned at her. "Nope. It's all real, pretty lady. And it's all for you."

She started to run her hand up and down his impressive length, another foolish decision in a night of mistakes. "All for me? I told you you're not coming upstairs when we get to my place. What, do you think I'm going to blow you in the back of the cab?" Her words said one thing—but the fact that she kept her hand on his groin said another.

"I certainly wouldn't say no."

She slapped his chest playfully. "Pig. Try to stop thinking with your cock." If she had anything else to say, Marq didn't care, or at least that was the message she got when he leaned in and kissed her again. And she returned the kiss with equal fervor, whatever concerns she had wiped from her mind by her drunken lust. Her hand never left his groin. In fact, it slid up further, and she gripped him through his pants, his cock a heavy weight in her hand. Even through his clothing she felt his warmth, and she couldn't help but imagine what it looked like. What it would feel like in her hand, her mouth... her pussy.

Her hand stayed right there for the rest of the brief trip. Marq's hands wandered, exploring her body, but hers stayed put. She knew Marq was strong and had the body to prove it—but she hadn't expected the fat piece of meat in her grasp, and now that she had it she didn't want to let it go.

Jemma pulled away from Marq long enough to say, between deep breaths, "You know this cab ride is it, right? You're not getting out with me?"

Marq glanced at her and then turned his attention back to kissing the side of her neck. "Got it," he murmured.

"Good," she replied.

And then she reached under his waistband and took hold of his prick.

Now it was Marq's turn to look shocked. Jemma's aggressiveness caught him off-guard. He knew she was feisty, and that had been on display plenty, from the first moment they encountered each other, but to have it translate so directly to this was surprising—but not at all unwelcome.

The night of flirting, the alcohol they'd both consumed, and the stresses of the day left her desperate for some sort of release, and Marq was it. The fact that he'd put her boyfriend in the hospital was forgotten; even the fact that she had a boyfriend seemed distant and irrelevant.

Marq felt hot and increasingly hard in Jemma's hand. Her fingers could barely touch around the base of his shaft. His hand ran up under her dress, returning the favor, sliding up her stocking-clad thigh and forcing her dress up high enough to show off bit of thigh between the tops of her stockings and the black thong covering her pussy.

The cabbie glared at them in the rear-view mirror. "Hey! None of that shit!" he barked.

Marq and Jemma both raised a hand and flipped him off, in unison. "Just enjoy the show, buddy," Jemma said. He glowered at them and grumbled, but did nothing more as the young pair continued to grope one another and make out in his back seat. And in a small act of deference, they kept themselves comparatively restrained—Jemma took her hand out of Marq's pants, and Marq kept his hands from straying under her dress. He did not, however, resist the temptation to put his hands on her in other places. One of his large, dark hands latched onto Jemma's full breasts. He was surprisingly gentle, his touch light, and as his hands caressed her through her dress she felt little pleasurable tremors running through her.

The cabbie stopped suddenly, outside her flat. He jammed on the brakes hard and sent Marq and Jemma rocking forward in their seats. "Pay me and get out," said the cabbie, glaring at the two of them in the mirror.

Jemma opened the door and slipped out of the cab. "You've got this, right, darling?" she asked Marq, giving him a mocking smile. He rolled his eyes and handed the cabbie a fistful of cash.

"Keep the change," he said—and then he got out of the cab as well.

"Whoa," Jemma said, stepping back. "I said you weren't coming up. Are you deaf or just stupid?"

Marq smiled. "That guy was a dick. Let me come up just for a bit. I'll call a new cab and leave when it gets here. Or what, are you going to make me wait on the street?"

Jemma took a deep breath and noted happily the way Marq's eyes strayed to her chest as it rose and fell. "All right. You can come up to wait. But"—and here she put her hand on Marq's chest—"we're not doing anything else. Understood?" she said, some modicum of good sense taking control for a moment. Marq nodded, still grinning. "Good," she said, and she turned and led him into the building.

They rushed through the lobby to the elevators and piled in. Even before the doors were closed, they were again all over each other. Marq pushed Jemma against the back wall of the small elevator. She wrapped her legs around him, letting him hold her up against the mirrored wall, kicking out one leg to hit the button for her floor. Her flailing leg hit the right one—she lived on the fourth floor, sharing her flat with Dan—and tagged some of the other buttons as well.

As the elevator doors slid slowly closed, Marq and Jemma continued their explorations of each other's bodies. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him, holding him close, pulling him to her. He leaned in, crushing himself against her, pinning her to the cool silvered glass of the wall behind her. Marq's left hand was on the wall, above her head, while his right hand worked its way up under her dress and rubbed the side of her thigh.

The elevator lurched into motion, and Marq and Jemma barely noticed. When it dinged and the doors opened for the first time Jemma opened her eyes and glanced up at the display. It was a floor early, and there was an older woman standing by the doors, staring at them goggle-eyed. Marq didn't see her at all, and the woman just stood and stared as the doors slid closed once again. Seconds later the doors opened on the right floor, and Marq and Jemma piled out and hastened to her apartment.

As she dug for the keys, Marq stepped close behind her and reached one arm around her body, groping her breast under her dress with one hand and squeezing her ass with the other. He nuzzled against her, lightly kissing her neck, and Jemma closed her eyes, distracted by the man behind her, this amazing physical specimen who seemed completely invested in her. For a moment she wanted to drop her bag and turn and fuck him right there, in the hall, but she knew she couldn't risk the neighbors seeing and reporting back to Dan. The thought of her boyfriend was accompanied by a pang of guilt. But then Marq's hand found and tweaked one of her nipples through her dress and her bra, and she gasped in pleasure and the thought of Dan was gone, taking the guilt with it.

Though she was distracted by Marq's attentions, Jemma managed to dig out her keys and get her apartment opened. As soon as she turned the knob she spun in Marq's grip and threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her up off the ground and pushed his way into the apartment, knocking the door open as he passed and kicking it shut behind him. They kept making out, almost frantic with need, as Marq carried her deeper into the apartment.

Jemma and Marq made it as far as the couch in the living room before their tenuous self-control snapped. Marq fell forward onto the couch, trapping Jemma beneath him. Her hands grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, revealing his chiseled chest. The tribal tats on his arms continued up past his shoulders, until just below his collarbone. His dark skin was almost completely hairless. Jemma laid her palm flat against his chest; Marq was warm to the touch.

Marq then returned the favor, tugging the shoulder straps of Jemma's dress down. She shrugged her shoulders out, helping him, anxious to be free of her clothes—they suddenly felt so confining, with this strapping man atop her, anything other than skin-on-skin contact seemed unacceptable. She wriggled underneath him, and her dress slid down her body, until her bra-clad breasts were revealed.

But the sight of Jemma's D-cups covered by a black lace pushup bra wasn't enough for Marq—or for Jemma. From her position on her back, she couldn't easily get to the clasp, but Marq didn't seem interested in letting her up.

Or waiting.

His big hands came down on her chest, his palms against her firm breasts, and he took hold of her bra, one cup in each hand. Jemma managed to squeak out a quick "Don't!" before Marq growled and tore, ripping open the bra at the front where the cups were joined. "Asshole!" Jemma said, "That was one of my favorites!" Marq didn't reply—he just shut her up by kissing her again. Her anger was subsumed into something else, a powerful need for him, awakened by his clear and almost bestial lust for her.

Jemma's newly-bared chest was an impressive sight. Her breasts were large and firm, all-natural D-cups that had made men stare and women jealous. His large, dark hands gripped her breasts and were outmatched, some of her soft but firm flesh spilling out from between his fingers. Jemma's nipples were stiff and erect against his palms. Their tongues explored each other's mouths. Her hands ran up his back, her fingernails raking him through his shirt. She could feel Marq's dense, hard muscles tensing as he shifted, his body atop hers, his weight on his elbows.

Marq slid down her body, squeezing her tits together so he could feast on them, practically slavering as he kissed and licked the fleshy orbs. Jemma's hands found their way to his head and she pulled him close, pressing his face into her chest as if she wanted to smother him in her expansive cleavage. She let out a low little moan, a tiny sound signaling her acquiescence to Marq's insistent desires.

Jemma wanted her to rip off the rest of her clothes and ravage her, forgetting for the moment how this man had hurt her boyfriend, wanting him simply as a strong, aggressive man. But something made her resist this impulse. She wriggled out from underneath Marq, squirming back on the couch, pulling her dress further down her body as she did and leaving her bare all the way to her waist. Marq got the wrong idea from this and started kissing her navel, then moving lower, his eventual goal clear.

"No! Not this!" Jemma hurriedly gasped out. "I can't."

Marq looked up at her, seemingly uncomprehending, his lusts making it hard for him to process what she'd said. But once it sunk in he stopped and levered himself up on his arms. His eyes were still boring into her; she had made no effort to cover herself, and he eagerly took in the sight of her chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I can't just fuck you. I can't cheat on Dan."

Marq nodded and pushed himself up until he was sitting beside her. "All right, babe—I get it."

Jemma was a bit surprised by how easily Marq managed to pull back. She had half expected him to just keep going, despite her refusal, and his seeming willingness to let the matter lie caught her off guard. And she still felt a burning need between her thighs, where the fires stoked by Marq's aggression had yet to cool. That, perhaps, was what drove her to say what she did.

"I can't fuck you... but that doesn't mean we can't do anything." And with that she slid off the couch and crawled over between Marq's legs, coming face-to-face with the swollen bulge in his pants.

"Oooh, is this for me?" she asked, coquettishly, as her hands crept up his broad thighs and her fingers hooked under his waistband. Jemma started to pull his pants down. Marq lifted himself up off the couch, raising his hips so she could get his clothes off faster. As she dragged his pants down further and further, her eyes stayed fixed on his groin—and her jaw dropped when she saw what Marq was packing.

The base of his shaft was thick, almost as thick as her wrist by the look of it. As his pants dropped lower, more and more of his cock was revealed to Jemma's hungry gaze, and it just kept coming, inch after inch of his fat ebony meat. It wasn't until she got his pants midway down his thigh that she saw the plum-sized head, already glistening with beads of precum. And underneath his impressive cock sat two balls, sized to match.

She just stared for a moment, dumbfounded. Marq chuckled. "I never get tired of seeing you girls get that expression on your faces."

Jemma looked up at him. "Wow," she breathed. "I can see why you're wearing loose pants." She pulled his pants down the rest of the way, letting them fall around his ankles, then prying his legs apart and running her hands up his legs. Her hands came together where his legs met, and she wrapped both hands around his girthy black pole, enjoying the heft of it, feeling its weight in her hands.

Almost as soon as she had got hold of Marq's cock, she started stroking it—gently, and not entirely consciously, her body simply running on autopilot when confronted with such an impressive tool. Dan was fairly well-endowed himself, and he knew how to use what he had. Marq, though, could have been in porno.

"Wow," she said again, marveling at the feel of the thick black pole in her hands. "I hope you don't just stick this in girls—they'd probably scream bloody murder."

Marq flashed a confident smirk and said, "Not unless that's what they want."

"Well, don't think you're getting any pussy from me tonight. I'll blow you and that's it." She hadn't stopped stroking him while she spoke, and her eyes kept going back to the dark, towering piece of meat she was holding. Marq didn't seem disappointed; he just spread his legs apart and slid down the couch, giving her easier access to everything she needed.

She started low, licking the underside of his shaft from base to tip, her tongue flattened out and gliding up his length. Then she reversed course, following the same path back down until she reached the heavy orbs at the base. With her tongue she scooped one of them up into her mouth, where she gave it a tongue-bath, lavishing attention on it before letting it fall from her lips so she could do the same to its twin. He tasted clean, with just a hint of the all but inevitable salty sweat.

Marq groaned as Jemma moved back up again, tracing out one of the veins that stood out on his rod with the tip of her tongue, making her way back up to the top where she opened her mouth wide and slid the head past her lips, past her teeth, letting her lips close around him and sucking, hard. Some of her long, brown hair fell in front of her face, and Marq brushed it back, so he could watch her as she started bobbing her head, not taking much of him at first, just soaking the first few inches in spit and letting it drip past her lips to coat the rest of his shaft. Her hands worked the rest of him, spreading the saliva that trickled down him into an even coating. The apartment filled with the sounds of her sucking and the wet noises made by her hands as they flew up and down and with Marq's groans as a counterpoint.