A Savage Redemption (A Series of Savage Gentleman Book 3)

by Christopher Harlan

  Slowly, he gets down to his knees in front of me. I’m mesmerized by his eyes, offering no resistance when he takes my iPad from my hands and places it on the floor next to him. My breathing gets faster as he looks deep into my eyes, his hand reaching for my cheek. “Oh, have you?”

  He leans forward, placing his body between my knees, until his forehead is against mine. His hand on either side of my face, he waits for my answer.

  “Well,” I start before I’m silenced by his lips on mine. The passion behind this kiss is unlike anything I’ve felt from him before. Sure, he’s kissed me deeply before, but nothing like this. I feel this kiss in my soul and it takes my breath away.

  I feel him pressing against me and it ignites a fire in my belly. Suddenly, I don’t care about anything but feeling his skin against me. I reach for his shirt and tug it up, hoping he gets the hint. Seconds later, he rips the shirt from his body and instantly my hands are on his skin.

  I will never get tired of having my hands on his body. My hands touch every part of him they can reach while his tongue assaults my mouth with a frenzied passion, like he can’t get enough of me. He’s pawing at my clothes and I remove my hands from his body to help him get my clothes off faster.

  Before long, we’re both laying naked next to each other on his oversized couch. The feeling of his skin against mine is one of the best feelings in the world. The hard contours of his muscles and the heat of his skin sets my senses on fire.

  The passion in his kiss seems to have intensified with each layer of clothing we both shed. His strong hands are moving all over my body and I get lost in his touch. His lips move to my neck and I stay still, just reveling in his touch. His mouth continues its southward journey until I feel him take a nipple between his lips. The jolt from the sudden tug sends electricity straight to my pussy, starting the ache that always comes from being around Damien.

  While his tongue continues its lavish massage of my nipple, his hands move down to cup my ass, pulling me closer to him. I can feel what this sensual make out session is doing to him. His impressive cock continues to grow bigger the harder he gets. I reach down and gently wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and apply a slight pressure as I work my hand up and down the length of him. He moans against my nipple and grips my ass tighter.

  One hand wrapped around his cock, my other hand finds the tight muscles of his ass and I pull him closer to me. I remove my hand and feel the hardness of his cock pressing into me, right against my clit. He slowly moves his hips, creating a delicious friction that increases the heat building in my pussy. He’s hitting all the spots he knows drives me nuts, and he hasn’t even penetrated my body yet. This slow build feels amazing and I know neither of us will let our passion stop here.

  His lips find their way back to mine as he slips a finger inside my wet and aching lips. I arch into him at the intrusion and slowly grind myself against his hand. Moving his finger in and out of my pussy slowly, his tongue massages mine as he claims my mouth. I moan into his mouth and feel his cock twitch against my thigh.

  He pulls away from me and looks deeply into my eyes again. I feel his hand guide his engorged cock to my wet entrance and I never take my eyes off of him as he slowly pushes his way inside me. He fills me up completely before closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine. Evening out his breathing, he kisses me again before he starts to move. His motions are slow and steady, pushing himself deeply into me, all the way to the base of his cock before rolling his hips to make sure he hits all the right spots.

  Damien pulls himself almost all the way out of me before slowly inserting his cock deeply into me again. So slow and so deep, and it feels incredible. He takes his time, almost teasing me with his slow invasion of my body. The fire he’s stoking with his strokes keeps building, warming my entire body. I feel his lips on my nipple again and I can’t help but arch up to him. He’s doing everything he knows drives me crazy.

  He continues the slow-motion movements of his hips for a few more minutes before withdrawing himself completely from my pussy. Kissing me once again, he turns me on the couch so my back is to him. He wraps his arms around me before reinserting his cock into my aching pussy. This new position adds another level of intimacy between us that I didn’t know we could have.

  He starts to move again holding me against him while he slides in and out of me. His hands find their way to my breasts where he starts to massage them, pinching and tugging at my sensitive nipples while his cock continues to fuck me from behind.

  I can’t help but moan and grind against him, urging him to move faster. I need a release. I lean my head back against his shoulder. His lips kiss my temple as his hips start to move a little faster. His hands leave my breasts, one traveling down to my clit and the other gently holding my neck.

  I trust Damien more than anything, so the gentle pressure on my throat does nothing but amplify the pleasure I’m feeling from his fingers on my clit and his cock sliding in and out of my pussy. I can hear his breathing becoming more ragged as he continues to fuck me, filling me up completely. I squeeze my eyes closed as the pressure in my body coils up tighter, waiting for the moment when the coil will break and the waves of ecstasy wash over me. I can feel it building and I know Damien can feel it too.

  We continue like this, Damien barely picking up his pace until the very end when I feel his whole body tighten behind me.

  “Damien,” I force out with a moan.

  “I’m so close, Harp. You feel so good. God, I’m so close,” he grunts out.

  Hearing his admission breaks the coil inside me and I tighten around him as my body shakes through my orgasm. He follows a couple thrusts later, with a final thrust into my pussy, burying his cock deep inside me. We lay there, wrapped in each other until we both drift off to sleep. My final thought before I fall asleep in his arms is an intense one.

  I don’t think we’ve ever been this slow with each other, and I’m not going to deny how good it feels to have this gentler side of Damien pressed against me. Something about this feels so different, so deep, like a new connection between us.

  26

  Damien

  Two Weeks Later

  Matt really is Master Splinter. I swear the man can work some miracles when he needs to.

  I’m sitting next to him now, at the commission hearing that he arranged so that they can hear the evidence I want to present attesting to my innocence in the doping charge. If this goes well, I could be on my way to signing a title fight. If it goes badly, I’ll be on my way back to the diner for more silver dollar pancakes.

  There aren’t that many people here—it’s just a local commission for us local fighters—nothing on the scale of a Nevada State Athletic Commission hearing like you see with the UFC guys. Even so, the room is small and intimidating. It helps that my people came for moral support. Matt’s sitting next to me at a long wooden table that makes me feel like I’m in court. Harper, Lucas, and even Scott came for moral support, and I love each and every one of them for it.

  Slowly, the commission comes out. It’s five men and women, all dressed in suits, and all giving off this air of superiority. They walk out like they’re Supreme Court Justices or something. After sitting down, they read some overly formal sounding comments and then ask me why I’m here.

  It’s now or never.

  “I’m here to dispute the claims about my positive banned substance test prior to my fight with Antonio Andrade.”

  The man in the middle speaks first. “And are you going to present evidence today Mr. Reyes?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “Alright,” he answers. “Let’s begin then.”

  Here’s what’s happened over the last two weeks. Matt contacted the manager of that UFC fighter who also had the same issue of testing positive for a banned substance due to a bad supplement. That manager told Matt the process they went through:

  First, they had to make a list of all the supplements that the fighter had taken during his traini
ng camp.

  Second, they then had to find the source where that supplement was manufactured, which was always complicated by the fact that most weren’t made in the United States.

  Third, once they traced the source, they had to go and buy up that same manufacturing lot of supplement in as many different stores as they could.

  And lastly, they needed to provide third party testing to show that the same trace amounts of banned substances were found in all of the packages of that supplement.

  If they—and now we—can do all of that, then we have a chance. Matt did his homework. I swear the two of us have done nothing else except every one of those steps I just described. Matt laid out the money to buy the supplements, he also bought different lots of the same supplement for comparison testing, and I pretty much used my entire fight purse from my match with Antonio to pay for the independent lab testing of all those supplements Matt bought.

  Still, even with all of that due diligence, there are no guarantees this will be overturned. Commissions like this are notorious for passing out judgements and fines without any care as to whether you’re actually guilty or not. But I’m not here to get caught up in some political machine, I just want to clear my name and get back to my job of being the best fighter in the world.

  We present our evidence. Matt stayed super organized with the steps we followed and everything that we found, putting everything into Word and Excel files so that they could be printed out and given to the commission members individually. He organized them into packets, starting with the names of the supplements, their base manufacturing sources, and the lab reports showing that they all had trace amounts of testosterone in them, the whole nine yards. He even made individual folders with the commissioner’s names on them.

  “You missed your calling as a Kindergarten teacher,” I whisper when he pulls the files out.

  “Don’t be a dick. My Kindergarten teacher skills might save your career, so I can say that I’m the coach of two champions.”

  “Understood. Carry on.”

  I have to sit here, nervous as all hell, while a group of old people, who’ve obviously never fought a day in their lives, determines my fate. They literally hold my entire future in their hands, and there’s nothing I can do at this point except to sit here and await judgement, like some criminal in an appeals court. This sucks.

  I turn to Harper and she smiles at me for support. I’m really glad that she’s here—either to celebrate or comfort, she’s become my rock. After what seems like forever, but is really only five minutes, the head commissioner stands up. “We need a half hour recess. Please be back by 11:30 for us to render our decision.”

  You have to be fucking kidding me! Thirty minutes? Ugh. . . I thought this was going to be instant, but I guess that was wishful thinking.

  We all get up and meet up out in the lobby. “Thirty fucking minutes? Render their decision? Jesus, they take themselves really seriously, don’t they?”

  “What did you expect?” Matt asks. “For them to see my little folders, page through and understand all those papers inside in under a minute, and then declare you innocent?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Kind of. That was stupid, huh?”

  “No,” Harper says. “It’s not stupid. It’s what an innocent person, who knows they’re innocent, would expect—a quick resolution to something they didn’t do in the first place. Unfortunately, they need twenty-nine more minutes than you thought they would, but you have to stay positive and trust the process.”

  Trust the process. I can stay relatively positive, but I don’t trust those people at all. Fight commissions are notoriously corrupt, inept, and more concerned with maintaining their own power than doing what’s best for the fighters and their careers. I can’t trust in that process at all. But I trust in the power of the evidence Matt and I gathered to speak for itself, so that even a corrupt, inept politician can see that I didn’t juice for that fight.

  We’ll see.

  Scott steps in. “I have an idea. I saw a Dunkin Donuts across the street. Why don’t we go grab a cup while they deliberate? Better than standing around worrying, right?”

  “Right,” I agree. “Let’s take a walk.”

  We all cross the busy street and head over to Dunkin to grab some coffees. I can’t stop obsessing over their decision. “This whole thing is seriously fucking with me, even with caffeine.”

  “Don’t worry,” Scott says. “You did everything that you could to prove your innocence, now you only have to wait about another twenty-five minutes to find out if they agree with you.”

  Everyone does their best to distract me for the next few minutes. They try just about everything—chit chat, showing me videos on their phones, basically anything to keep my mind off of the impending doom that I know is coming shortly.

  Twenty minutes passes, and we head back over across the street. The whole time over, my anxiety is rising. Harper holds my hand the entire way so that I stay calm. I appreciate it, but I’m going to need a lot more than a hand squeeze for this nervousness to go away.

  We get inside the room first, then, two minutes later, the entire commission re-emerges just like they did the first time. It feels like forever before someone speaks, and even though I can fake looking calm on the outside, I’m freaking the fuck out inside.

  “Mr. Reyes, in light of the very thorough evidence you have presented, we have concluded that you did not intentionally take performance enhancing drugs into your system for the purpose of gaining an advantage over your opponent. If we’d determined otherwise, then you would be facing a multi-year suspension of your license to fight in New York. However, that not being the case here, you won’t face such a stiff penalty.”

  Yes! My heart finally slows.

  “However,” he continues. Fuck! “Although you did not knowingly take any performance enhancing substances into your body, you nonetheless did have them in your system during the time of the fight. That said, the amount was so low—as your test indicates—that it’s not clear at this point how trace levels could have actually given you an advantage in this particular contest. In light of the evidence, and everything that I just said, we declare you innocent of these allegations. You will not be suspended for any amount of time, and, so long as you’re medically cleared, you are free to fight whenever you feel up to it. We leave you with a caution, however. It is your responsibility as a fighter to check the veracity of all labels on all supplements that you take into your body, particularly in light of what you’ve discovered in this instance. Should this happen again, we would not look upon it as favorably as we have this time. We thank you for the thoroughness and organization of your evidence, you’ve made this an easy decision. Good day.”

  Holy shit. I’m speechless.

  Holy holy holy shit.

  I’m happy for about ten seconds. After that, I only have one thing to say, and I lean over to Matt so I can say it.

  “I love you. You’re the man. Now book that fucking fight with Altino so I can bring that championship belt home for your walls.”

  “You got it kid. I’m already on it.”

  27

  Harper

  A Month Later

  I’m going to vomit.

  Legit, right on my shoes.

  I went from being ridiculously happy for Damien — and don’t get me wrong, I still am— to finding myself in a car outside of a gym I’d rather never see again.

  I guess I should explain. After I hit ‘publish’ on the article I wrote on Damien, my whole blog lit up. I was shocked by how many people read it and commented. Running that piece on Lucas before really helped drive traffic to the article on Damien and New York Fight Club.

  But then the trolls stepped in.

  Here’s the thing about MMA—it’s a really fan driven sport. That’s a good and a bad thing. It’s good in that the growth of the sport has been exponential over the last few decades because of hardcore fans. But the flip side of that coin is that the sport started as an
almost fan-controlled enterprise. To this day, if fans make enough noise online, matchmakers will arrange certain fights they want to see.

  I’m not a matchmaker, but people had more than a few things to say about my article. Outside of the part I read to Damien, I added a few sentences at the end of the piece saying that Damien was the number one contender, and would most likely fight Johnny Altino for the welterweight strap in his next fight.

  Well, that’s sort of what I said.

  I might have—just maybe—thrown a little dig in there at the end at Johnny. I think that my actual words were something like, “. . .if Altino has the balls to step in the ring with The Sinner. . .” Something like that.

  I should have known the trolls would emerge from under their rocks to leave a few comments.

  What I wasn’t ready for, however, was just how many comments there were going to be. General trolls, Johnny’s fans, and MMA people who think they know better than any reporter—all of them had something to say. But the biggest request was for a short interview with Johnny about the whole potential rivalry with Damien.

  So here I am—ready to blow chunks all over my newly upholstered car at the fact that I have to sit down with this asshole and ask him questions. What the fans don’t know about is what happened in Vegas. They don’t know that Damien was assaulted, spent time in the hospital, and has been dealing with PTSD issues ever since, more than likely all because of Johnny. All they know is that they want to hear Johnny’s side of their upcoming fight.

  I step out of my car that’s parked under the giant “Brooklyn Fight Academy” sign and take a deep breath. I need a moment of mental preparation so that I don’t stab Johnny right in the neck with the pen I have in my bag. This is going to be rough, but I need to try to be fair and listen to my readers—even the trolls—otherwise people will claim that I’m biased.