Sportacus X Robbie Rotten Novels & Stories

The man on the ground spat, rolling to the side, coughing out blood. "So what if the Alpha chose me to be his mate?" My voice go cold. I send another kick to his ribs, the satisfying crunch of bones filling the air. "Time up," Scarface announces. I glare at the lump on the ground that represents the masked man I'm fighting. He shifts but doesn't get off the floor, groaning in pain.

One of Damon’s men pulled the trigger without hesitation. BANG! “I didn't tell you to shoot him!” Damon roared. The men froze. The bullet tore through Roger’s calf, sending him crashing to the concrete. Yet, he didn't stop. He pushed himself up, dragging his mangled leg. Fresh blood flooded his expensive shoes, leaving a thick crimson trail across the floor. He ignored the pain that set his nerves on fire. “Touch her again, and I’ll tear your throat out, Damon!” Roger threatened, his voice raspy with blinding rage.

The List contained the names of people that I would do business with only through a proxy, otherwise it might end with me in an orange jumpsuit scratching out tally marks on the walls of a dingy shithole. Rob tapped the microphone and it let out a deafening screech. If looks could kill he'd already be saying hi to great grandma Hilda. “Sorry about that people,” he addressed the already quiet room. “So, this is the official end. I'm sincerely going to miss all you suckers. We've been giving kudos to Nick and July and Olivia and Blake but there's one person we haven't given due credit, and that is this man,” Rob gathered me to him and my nostrils were immediately attacked by the cloying scent

Sarah asked, the grin on her face spanning from corner to corner as she listened and laughed at the seven foot tall golden robot hurling what Evelyn considered vaguely offensive insults, and making mildly sinister comments about the female members of the audience. “My brain is bigger than yours,” Elektro spouted to his handler on the raised dais. “There’s a seventy-eight rotation per minute record player embedded inside him,” Evelyn explained. “Don’t you dare let your father hear you repeating that,” she warned Peter beside her as he parroted one of Elektro’s jibes. “He’s not overly fond of this particular demonstration, even if Elektro is an amazing attraction for the Fair.”

"You think you can ruin my plans again, kid? Think you're some kind of hero?" I don't respond. I just watched his grip on the gun, waiting for the right moment. He's shaking. The gun wavers in his hand like he's not entirely in control. Good. That gives me a chance. The moment he gets close enough, I lunge. We crash into what's left of the table. The gun goes flying, clattering across the floor and sliding under a broken cabinet. Roy is shockingly weak up close, thin and strung out, his movements jerky and desperate. I pin him easily, fury giving me strength I didn't know I had.

The argument is a choreography we’ve been performing since the first Portland morning and the choreography is the point – and we both knew it was my turn due to an unspoken ritual we've been sticking to since forever. It's a game night and I’m in the eighth row in his away jersey with my laptop bag under the seat because I came straight from a workshop and didn’t have time to change. And since I couldn't change, I’m now basically the woman in row eight wearing a $200 jersey over a pencil skirt and ankle boots, looking like the visual contradiction of an academic and a WAG. Rhys scores twice. The second one is a breakaway that starts at his own blue line and ends with a wrister that goes top

The cough she tried to hide when she thought I wasn't looking. My hand started to move. Then an engine tore up the lane, way too fast. Gravel was sprayed everywhere. A black Jeep came around the curve and skidded to a stop so close to Victoria that the front bumper was maybe four inches from her hip. It didn't stop smoothly. It stopped as if the person driving had other priorities. Gideon got out. Not in his hockey stuff. Just a dark jacket and jeans, like he'd gotten dressed while already moving. His eyes were full of gold. Not the almost-gold from the bar. This was the real thing. His wolf wasn't hiding anymore.

"I’ve got a better idea." Hands trembling, I opened my laptop and pulled up the latest post from Adrian Cross. His robot specs and demo video stared back at me. It was identical to mine. I knew it. "What the hell? This afternoon, I checked Adrian’s robot. It was nothing like ours!" "That snake! Where the hell did he copy this from?" Zane leaned over my shoulder, eyes wide in shock.

After all, he had other much bigger plans in mind. "Ohh fuck, that's so fucking good!" Robb exclaimed with a guttural sigh as he suddenly pulled his aching monstercock out of the warm wetness of Lin's throat and stepped away from the cushiony, dick-hugging valley of her cleavage. Long, thick ropes of mixed saliva and precum still connected his flexing truncheon with Lin's beautiful lips and huge tits as he smiled at the flushed, perplexed brunette.

Little Miss, Topsy turvy battled to twist her body, so it agreed with his expectation. The puckered ring extended, buckled and snapped open. The rooster plunged the ass of the upset young girl and she shouted out. Sweat beaded on her ruby face. The questionable sitter grasped the globes of her butt, spread her completely open and beat her. She scowled with exertion and torment and joy. At the point when he was done slam rodding her butt, he pulled out and shot a heap that curved over her spread pussy. Sperm sauce showered down on her red face, tits, and middle. Robert's balls took steps to splatter his screen.