Falcon (Own the Skies Book 3)

by Emma Nichole

  I lean forward and rest my forehead on his. Our breaths start to mingle and so much is being said with just those sounds alone.

  You’re amazing.

  I understand you.

  I think I’m falling for you.

  That realization sinks into my chest like a ton of bricks. Am I falling for him? Is that what this is? The butterflies. The tingling skin. The excitement. The inability to let him go?

  Oh my God. I’m falling in love with him!

  My hands begin to shake and I squeeze my eyes closed.

  He must sense the shift in my demeanor, because he cups my cheek in his strong, rough hand and slides his thumb over my skin. My breath hitches at the contact. It’s like I can feel him all over my body. It’s an electric tingle mixed with a warmth, like I’m being dipped into a hot tub slowly.

  He scoops me up, like I weigh no more than a feather, as he rises from the chair. I curl my arms around his neck and hold on to him for dear life.

  He carries me into the bathroom and without an ounce of lust, he undresses me, and I him. In this moment, what we need is thick in the air.

  To care for one another.

  We take our time in the shower, washing each other, scrubbing the day away, laying chaste kisses on shoulders, necks, chests, backs, but it doesn’t grow from there.

  Sure, our bodies are responding to the sensations, my entire lower body contracts inward and is weeping with need and his cock rock-hard and bobbing as he moves, but we don’t try to take advantage of the situation.

  This is what we need.

  Simple.

  Easy.

  Us.

  “Falcon...” I whisper when he lays a kiss to my neck.

  “Marco. I want you to call me Marco,” he says.

  My heart explodes right where I’m standing. His walls have dropped; the mask is gone. Since the moment I met him, Falcon was his preferred name. He trusts me enough to be himself. He wants me with him.

  He wants me to know him. See him. The real him.

  The man. Not the fighter.

  Chapter 22

  Falcon

  Since the day I threw my first professional punch, I’ve had the exact same fight day routine.

  I wake up bright and early, usually before the sun comes up and go for a run on the streets of whatever city we are in. It gives me a moment of clarity to put myself in the zone I need to be in.

  When I finish my run, I have a protein-filled breakfast, eggs mostly; then I dive into endurance training.

  That’s the key to winning fights. Having more stamina than your opponent.

  There’s something a little different about my routine this morning, though. It came in the form of a five foot two inch blonde pixie in my bed, who I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself around and drown out the world.

  It took every ounce of motivation within my body to leave her sleeping in that bed, but the cocky asshole in me also wants to be in top form tonight, because I know she’ll be in the crowd watching.

  So, I dragged my ass out of bed, left her a note, and slid into the back of the waiting car to make my way over to the gym near the arena.

  My trainer, Gavin, is waiting for me on the mat when I arrive, duffle bag slung over my shoulder.

  “Where the hell ya been, Falc? I been waiting all mornin’,” he says in his thick Boston accent.

  Gavin has been with me for as long as I can remember. We met on the underground scene after I had my ass handed to me. He told me he lost a shit ton of money because my ass got knocked out, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  The rest is history.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? And stop being so dramatic. I’m five minutes late.” I drop my bag on the floor and pull my baseball cap from my head, sliding my fingers through my hair.

  “That pussy had better be worth the five minutes we are behind. Get your ass up here. I want you sweating before breakfast gets here.”

  “Watch how you talk about that pussy, got it?” I point his way. He’s one of my oldest friend’s, but I won’t hesitate to deck him on Faith’s behalf.

  “Take it easy, hotshot. I was joking, but keep that anger for tonight. Jose Wyrez is a fucking monster, and I want you to knock him into next week.”

  He pulls the hand pads on and slaps them together as I pull off my shirt and start strapping my grappling gloves on, flexing my fingers to ensure they are fitting correctly.

  “That won’t be a problem. Have a little faith in me, will you?” I hold my hands out to my side in a “look who I am” way. “I’m Falcon fucking Masen.”

  Faith

  I’m barely conscious when I slide my hand across the silky, soft sheets beneath me on this massive bed. My fingers are searching for warm skin, but I’m only met with a cold, empty pillow. I knew he had to be in the gym early this morning to prep for the fight tonight, but that doesn’t do anything to temper the feeling of unwelcome disappointment.

  I raise my arms above my head and give my body a much-needed stretch before turning to my side, and that’s when I notice the small, square piece of paper laying perfectly on his pillow.

  I sit up, letting the sheet fall to my waist and pull the paper into my hands, reading each word in his adorable, messy handwriting.

  You looked so amazing; I couldn’t wake you.

  I just admired you like a creep then headed to the gym. ;)

  I’m sending a car for you this evening. It’ll be downstairs at 6.

  I can’t wait to see you.

  Order yourself some breakfast and use the pool, spa, or anything you want.

  Just put it on the room.

  Enjoy yourself.

  -Marco.

  I read it no fewer than three times and just smile like an idiot. How can someone I’ve barely known a month make me feel so many butterflies?

  I fell asleep in his arms last night after our shower. I’ve never had someone just listen to me without judgment and without asking a thousand questions.

  He just let me talk.

  He let me cry.

  He let me…be.

  And I let him be.

  He asked me to call him by his real name.

  And then we slept. No frills. No extras. It was perfect.

  I lie around for nearly another hour, half in and out of sleep, before my stomach is yelling so loudly for food that I need to order some.

  Even thinking about ordering room service feels so decadent. So much so, I almost feel guilty, but I can hear him in my head telling me to just relax and enjoy myself.

  So that’s what I do.

  I pick up the phone and dial out to order.

  “This is Pierre. How may I assist you?”

  “Hi, Pierre, I’d like to order some breakfast, please.” I look over the small, leather bound menu on the nightstand.

  “Of course, and your room number?”

  “I’m in one of the suites, um…” I flip the menu around to see if the room number is listed on the front, and luckily, it is. “Room 1245.”

  “Very well, and what would you like this morning?”

  And really, there’s only one answer.

  “I’ll have the French toast please, and could you please send up a little bowl of chocolate chips?”

  “Absolutely. Is there anything else you’d like?”

  “A bottle of water, please.”

  “Excellent. We’ll have that delivered to you straightaway, Mrs. Masen.”

  “Great. Thank you so much.”

  I place the phone back on the cradle and flop to my back.

  He called me Mrs. Masen and I didn’t even correct him. I won’t lie…hearing that felt just as decadent as everything else I’m doing today, and truly, that scares me as much as it excites me, because I shouldn’t want that. In fact, I should have corrected him instantly. Does accepting it, even liking it, make me insane?

  I haven’t had much time to stop and think about what I’m doing since I said yes to leaving Savannah with him. He s
imply took my hand and we both leapt into the unknown.

  But now…what am I doing? This is crazy. Isn’t this crazy?

  There’s only one person I know who can calm my crazy… and that’s Rose. That’s why I reach across to grab my cell, open up the contact list, and press her name. It only rings a couple of times before her voice sounds through the phone.

  “You better be calling me from the dick, Faith. I mean it. I told you to have fun!”

  I can’t even respond because I’m too busy laughing. She immediately put me at ease, without even knowing I needed it, by being her.

  “That better be a laugh in the affirmative,” she continues on.

  “He’s not here, Rose. Relax. He had to start prepping for the fight later,” I tell her.

  “So then what are you doing?”

  “I’m in his hotel room, wrapped up in the softest sheets I’ve ever touched in my life.” I pull them up to my nose and inhale. “God, they even smell good.”

  “You sound like you’re enjoying yourself then.”

  “I am, but I feel like shit about it,” I admit to her. “I’m liking this too much. Liking HIM too much.”

  “There’s no such thing, babe. As long as you’re in control and clear about what you want, there is no such thing.”

  “He left a note this morning and told me to order breakfast, use the pool, basically do any and everything I want and just charge it to the room. Rose, I can’t do that. I just ordered breakfast and I’m having buyer’s remorse.” I sit up once again and slide my hand through my messy hair. I don’t tell her about his name though. Part of me wants to keep that to myself, keep it special.

  “He wants to take care of you since he can’t be there with you right now. I don’t see the problem in this. A hot-ass man wants to fuck you senseless then feed you gourmet food in a five-star hotel? I’ll take him if you don’t want him.”

  “I do want him. I guess I’m just scared of being too attached.”

  “Stop thinking so much. Just take this thing a day at a time. You’re not committing to being with him forever by agreeing to travel with him for the next few weeks, right? So just take it slow. Live in the moment. You both can discuss it when the time is right.”

  She’s right. I’m overthinking all of this. It’s a nasty habit I have and I should tamp it down. I shouldn’t taint this time with him by worrying about what may or may not be.

  “You’re right.”

  “Can you say that again, slower this time, so I can record it? I’d like to have it on record for later use.” She giggles.

  “Shut up. You know you’re right all the time. I’m just a stubborn ass who needs to be reminded of things from time to time.”

  A knock on the door pulls my attention.

  “Hey, Rose, my breakfast is here. I should go let them in. Thank you for being here for me. It means the world. Really.”

  “I’ll always be here, Faith. Day or night. Now, go eat up, and for the love of God, have fun. Promise?” I can see her now, hands on her hips, giving me that listen to me, dammit stare she’s so good at.

  “Yes, Rose. I promise.” I roll my eyes and smile. “I’ll text you later.”

  “Good. Talk later.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up my cell and toss it on the bed before rushing to the door to let room service in.

  It’s a much older woman with the most adorable cat eye shaped glasses and fifties styled silver hair.

  “Room service,” she says cheerily.

  “Hi, yes.” I open the door wide. “You can just roll the cart in and leave it right here by the table.”

  “Yes ma’am.” She pushes it in by me and brushes her hands down her uniform when she’s done. “You’re here with Mr. Masen?”

  “Uh, well, I am yes.” I clear my throat. “I’m here to see the fight tonight.”

  “He’s a good one, that boy. He stays here every time he’s in the city. So polite and kind. Not like some of the others in his profession, that’s for sure.”

  I can’t stop my smile. “He’s pretty wonderful.” I can only smile like a fool before my manners catch up. “Oh! Here. Let me grab you some cash.”

  “That’s not necessary, ma’am,” she says.

  “Oh please, of course it is. And I’m Faith. None of that ma’am stuff.” I pull some cash from my purse and slide it into her hand. “Thank you again for bringing up my breakfast.”

  She slides the tip into her pocket. “Thank you, Faith, and if you need anything, just call downstairs and ask for Sue. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  She sees herself out, leaving me alone with the most delicious smell wafting from the room service cart.

  Oh…this is going to be delicious.

  And it was.

  I devoured it like I hadn’t eaten in days, but that’s me. I’m a nervous eater.

  And that’s what I am...I am a nervous wreck. I didn’t think I would be, but when the time came to finally get ready to leave, everything kicked into overdrive.

  I ran through the motions, like getting ready for a date, utilizing every moment, leading me to right now.

  I slip on my black Converse, my favorite pair, then take a good look at myself in the mirror.

  I opted for a pair of distressed denim shorts and a red, tight fitted tee that sports Falcon’s official logo on the back. I’ve kept my hair down and loose, with slight beachy curls.

  I went a bit heavier on the makeup than I normally would, popping on some eyeliner and a bold, red lip. I feel…hot.

  And the minute I tell myself that, the doubt starts creeping in like hot barbwire wrapping itself around me.

  Is this something I should even be wearing to this? What the fuck do you wear to a WFC fight? Especially as a guest of the main event? Am I trying too hard? Is this even right? Should I dress up more? Dress down? Take off the makeup? It would draw less attention to me and I wouldn’t have to be nervous.

  “No!” I say the word out loud, staring into my own eyes in the mirror. “Enjoy yourself, Faith. Let it all go. You’re fine. It’s time to live.”

  My cell begins violently vibrating on the nightstand, and I rush over to grab it, swiping my thumb over the screen and pressing speakerphone.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss me?”

  Marco’s rich, buttery voice seeps through the phone and over my skin.

  “Who’s this?” I tease.

  “Ouch. I’m wounded.” He laughs, and so do I. “Are you excited about tonight?”

  “Well, if we are being honest here, I’m terrified.” I sit on the edge of the bed and brush nonexistent fuzz from my legs.

  “What are you terrified of?”

  “Crowds. Living up to expectation. Others and their opinions because I’m there with you.”

  “Is this about what Jennifer said last night? Christ, Faith, she’s a belt rider and that’s all she’ll ever be. Keep doing what you did during your first interaction. Stand up to her. Let her know she can’t push you around. I’ll always have your back when you do. Eventually, she’ll realize she can’t win here.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just my nerves getting the better of me. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know.” I hear him say something to someone away from the phone before his voice resumes with me. “Your car is downstairs. Vincent is waiting in the lobby. You won’t be able to miss him. He’ll bring you here and give you your pass. Frank, at the door, will escort you down to your seat.”

  “I won’t see you before you fight?”

  “No, unfortunately, but afterward…you’re mine.”

  I exhale a deep breath, squirming at the simple thought.

  “God, I hope so.”

  “I’ll see you after my win.” Ah, the arrogance. I love it.

  “I’ll be the one in blue.”

  We kill the call then shove my phone, ID, and some cash into my back pocket before heading down to the lobby.

  ***

  He was right. I absolutely didn�
��t miss Vincent.

  How could you with his bright pink hair and tattoos sleeving both arms and his neck? To a passerby, they may be intimidated by him, but our drive across town told me that he is nothing but a teddy bear who is obsessed with his wife and daughter. He likes a good red wine and watches Real Housewives of New Jersey with his wife every single week.

  I adore him already.

  When we arrive at the venue, I’m driven around to a back entrance where I meet Frank, a very muscular, good-looking African American man, and he leads me into the back hallways of the arena.

  I slide my badge around my neck and try my best to keep up with his long strides.

  There must be music playing in the main arena, because I can make out the bass line vibrating my chest and the floor beneath my feet.

  The hallways are empty, at first, but the closer we get to the music, the more crowded they become.

  Assistants, press, camera crews, people I can only assume are guests of some of the other fighters, and honestly, it’s immediately obvious which of them are “belt riders” as Falcon calls them.

  They are wearing dresses so short I’m unsure how there isn’t an endless number of vaginas just hanging out for the world to see, heels so high, they will surely break an ankle, and makeup so caked on that their pores must be screaming.

  We wind our way through the throngs of people, passing by merch stands, concession stands, and the like.

  “Would you like to stop for something to drink before I take you down to your seat?” Frank asks. “We’ve got water, soda, beer, but if you need something a little harder, I’m sure we can find that too.”

  “I’m okay actually. Thank you though.” I slide my nervous, clammy palms against my shorts.

  “If you change your mind, just tell the security in your section to buzz Frank and I’ll be right over to get it for you. The Boss doesn’t want you to have to fight all the crowds if you don’t have to.”

  I look down at my feet and smile. He’s taking care of me without even being around.