This story contains infidelity, betrayal, cheating, interracial sex, and a bit of violence. Don't like it? Read something else. There's a lot of build-up before the action starts, as well.
I wrote this in response to a request in the story ideas forum. The names, characters, and background are hers; the words and plot are mine. Many thanks to the lovely lady whose fantasy inspired the story.
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The man rushed down the pitch. His opponent charged at him, dropping into a slide at the last moment.
They collided.
There was a crunch and a scream. The man went down, turning a somersault as his leg gave out and he tumbled to the ground.
The referee blew his whistle, and Jemma ran onto the pitch from the sidelines. The man who went down was her boyfriend, Dan, and from the way he was clutching his ankle and grimacing he seemed to be hurt, bad.
When she got closer, she could see that things were serious—there was blood, on his shin, from where his opponent's cleats had broken the skin. His foot seemed locked in place at an odd angle. She hurried to his side and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm here, baby," she said, on the verge of tears.
Dan let out a pained gasp. "Fuck! Call a fucking ambulance," he said. The rest of the players gather around. The man who'd taken Dan down, an athletic black man named Marq, was standing a fair distance away and watching—but he wasn't looking at the man he'd hurt; he was looking at Jemma.
Normally, this wouldn't be surprising. Jemma was certainly easy on the eyes; she was a bit on the short side, a bit over five feet tall, with dark hair and eyes. She had curves to spare and a classic hourglass figure. The eye couldn't help but follow the contours of her body, from her large, firm breasts, down along her waist to her hips and ass, which were just thick enough to get hold of. And she'd dressed to highlight her figure, wearing a tight white tank top and black leggings that clung closely to her body.
But today, with an injured man lying on the pitch biting back agonized groans, it seemed out of place. Jemma was dimly aware of Marq's attention, but she put it out of her mind to focus on her boyfriend. One of Dan's teammates brought out some water and some painkillers and told him an ambulance was on its way. The ref started to ask for everyone to clear the field, but a glare from Jemma shut him up.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Dan had managed to get himself under control somewhat. He still wasn't walking, but he'd rolled onto his back and gotten his leg straightened out. The painkillers he'd been given seemed to be helping a bit, although it was clear that they brought the pain down to merely excruciating.
The ambulance drivers loaded Dan up on a stretcher and carried him off the field; his teammates and his opponents looking on in respectful silence. Jemma climbed into the back of the ambulance with him.
They rode together to the hospital, not saying much—Dan was mostly unable to talk. He was gritting his teeth and trying his best to deal with the pain, but occasionally the ambulance would hit a bump or take a turn quickly, and he'd let out an involuntarily small pained sound. The paramedics were constantly active, doing what they could for Dan. Jemma, for her part, just stayed close by and offered up moral support. Except when the paramedics needed her to move, she was at Dan's side, holding his hand tightly in hers.
On their arrival at the hospital, they hustled Dan inside. Jemma was left behind to wait. She spent the better part of an hour pacing the floor, sending out texts to Dan's family and friends to let them know what happened, and fretting fearfully about her boyfriend.
A tired-looking doctor found her in the waiting room and sat her down. An orderly brought her a cup of water as he paged through the notes on his clipboard before speaking. "Strictly speaking, we shouldn't be talking to you since you're not family, but Dan gave permission. First: he's hurt fairly badly, and it'll be a while before he's back on his feet." Jemma's face fell. The doctor continued, hurriedly attempting to reassure her. "We expect him to make a full recovery, in the long run, but it may be days before he's walking unassisted and weeks before he's able to get back on the field."
Jemma closed her eyes and fought for control of herself. She took a deep breath and said, "Can I go see him?" The doctor nodded.
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Even laid up in his hospital bed, Dan was a good-looking man. He was of average height, but broad-shouldered and limber. Dan played soccer and had a runner's build, all lean muscle without much excess bulk. Right now, though, he was pale and drawn, and a tube ran into his arm—no doubt an IV pumping him full of painkillers. He smiled weakly at Jemma as she came in. "Hey, you. How are you holding up?"
Jemma broke into a wide grin as she reached Dan's side. "Don't be silly. I should be asking you that question."
Dan gestured vaguely toward his leg, which was encased in a cast from the knee down and suspended in traction. "It was a bad break, but it should heal. In a few weeks, maybe a month, I'll be back to normal. In a few days I should be able to walk with a crutch, so I'll be out of here then." It seemed that Dan had accepted his injury with his customary nonchalance. "It could have been much worse. One of his feet caught me just under the knee. A bit higher and he might have done some real damage."
"This isn't real damage?"
"Heh. It's just a scrape," Dan said, a shade ironically, a wry smile on his face.
"Well, I'll stay here with you tonight anyway," Jemma said. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead and then sat down in a chair by his bedside.
Dan shifted as best he could to look at her from his hospital bed. "Weren't you going out with your girlfriends tonight?" he asked.
"I canceled. Being with you is more important."
Dan scowled and shook his head. "No, no—you can't cancel. I'm stuck here but there's no reason you should be."
"Of course there's a reason. I want to be here with you." She squeezed his hand and Dan looked at her appreciatively. He knew what she was trying to do, but he didn't want her to miss a chance to enjoy herself on his account.
"Listen, Jem, I'm probably going to pass out soon anyway from these painkillers. If you really want to spend all night sitting beside me while I'm unconscious, I won't say no. But there's really truly no reason for you to do that. I'm fine, and when you head out I'll go to sleep. So go and have fun. Do something to take your mind off all this. I promise I'll be here tomorrow, and I've got my phone handy so you can text or call if you want."
Jemma chewed at her lip in dismay. She wanted to be with her boyfriend and help him in any way she could; indeed, that was an overwhelming desire. But he was right that there was little that she could do for him, beyond offering moral support—and he didn't seem to need any more of that. "I just don't know if I could enjoy myself knowing I had left you here," she said.
"You can and you will. I insist," Dan replied, smiling at her sweetly. "There is absolutely nothing that should stop you from having a good time."
"All right, honey. But you have to promise to call or text if you need anything. I mean it—anything at all, and I'll be back here in a flash." Jemma got up and gave Dan a hug, as best she could with him in traction. "I'm glad you're going to be okay," she said, quietly, as they embraced.
