Outmatched: A Novel

by Kristen Callihan

  Before I could respond, he lifted me back up into his arms and kissed me with a breath-stealing desperation. His mouth never left mine as he tried to walk us out of there. We bumped into a wall, or two—our laughter and groans, his grunts and my moans, filled the corridor as he took us to the elevator that led to his loft.

  Once those doors closed, he started grinding into me, kissing me until I could barely breathe with the anticipation. My whole body was on fire.

  “You wet?” He kissed my neck below my ear.

  “You know it,” I gasped, clutching at him as he thrust against me again. “Rhys!”

  “You want me to fuck you, you gotta say it, Tinker Bell.”

  Trembling with need, I turned my head and whispered in his ear, “I want you to fuck me, Rhys.”

  He shuddered beneath my hands and just as soon as those doors opened, Rhys stumbled into the loft and set me down on the nearest bit of furniture—his dining room table.

  His beautiful green eyes blazed with desire as he slid his hands up my dress to pull my underwear down my legs. I leaned back on my hands, my inner thighs trembling as I watched him hurriedly take a condom out of his wallet, undo his jeans, and push them and his boxer briefs down just enough to free himself.

  Once the condom was on, Rhys grabbed my hips and pulled me to the edge of the table so I could wrap my legs around his waist. Without further ado, he drove inside me with a deep-seated groan of satisfaction. Holding onto his left shoulder with one hand and the tabletop with the other, I braced against his vigorous thrusts, gasping as the tension he’d built in me just by grinding in the elevator grew to the breaking point.

  I loved when he was tender … but my goodness, I loved when he lost a little of that control and took me like he’d die if he didn’t.

  Knowing me already, understanding what I needed, Rhys reached between my legs and rolled his thumb over my clit.

  The intense tension broke, my cry of pleasure filling the loft as Rhys pounded into me, wave after wave of my voluptuous orgasm driving him closer to his. Finally, he tensed, his face taut, his fingers biting on my outer thighs. And then his hips jerked uncontrollably as his hoarse cry of release joined the echoes of my own.

  He slumped, still flexing slowly in and out of me as he rested his forehead on my shoulder.

  Holding Rhys to me, I slid my arms around his back, caressing him over his shirt and wishing we were naked. He turned his head and nuzzled my neck, making my legs instinctively tighten around his waist.

  “You know,” I said, my voice soft, quiet, “there are some people who believe an athlete should abstain from sex. That the frustration boosts aggression and energy for a game or a fight.”

  Rhys lifted his head, his expression relaxed except for his eyes. “Where you going with this, Tink?”

  “I just wanted to confirm that I’m not interfering with your training.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You know what my answer to that is?”

  I shook my head.

  Rhys gripped my waist and pulled out of me. I immediately wanted him back. “We’re going to clean up. You first, then me. By the time I get out of the bathroom, you’re going to be naked on my bed waiting for my mouth. Then you’re going to give me your mouth because I’ve been dreaming about it wrapped around my cock since we first met. And you’re not leaving my bed until both of us are fucking exhausted from coming our brains out.”

  Renewed heat shot straight to my core. “That is a very, very good answer.”

  He grinned, and then I squealed in delight as he hauled me off the table and carried me to his bathroom.

  Then we spent the rest of the afternoon coming our brains out.

  And it was spectacular.

  Until afterward, as I lay sated and sweaty in his bed, my legs tangled with his. I reached for him, caressing the backs of my fingers down his chest that was now damp with perspiration. “We need to come up with a game plan for Fairchild.”

  Rhys’s sigh was one of pure exasperation. “I don’t want to talk about him when we’re in bed. It’s almost enough to turn me off for the rest of the day.”

  I sighed with my own frustration. “He’s a problem that’s not going away anytime soon.”

  “Yeah, and I’m making him my problem. No way is he going to fuck with you, and that means I don’t want you worrying about this shit.” Rhys sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

  “He’s our problem and where are you going?”

  He stood but then put a knee on the bed to bend over and press a quick kiss to my lips. “Gotta train, Tinker Bell. Up to you if want to hang around. Would shower with you but we both know where that’ll lead so better I don’t.”

  A flutter of nerves flickered to life in my belly as he strode into his bathroom and shut the door. It bothered me he didn’t want to talk about Fairchild when we talked about other stuff that was just as important and personal.

  And suddenly, it bothered me that instead of talking about Fairchild and the fight, he’d used sex to release his frustration. Okay, the sex obviously didn’t bother me, but … well, now I felt like I’d just been dismissed.

  The sudden wall he’d put up between us was confusing.

  Ugh. Was it even a wall?

  Was I overthinking this?

  The shower turned on, and as I sat on Rhys’s bed, waiting to use his shower after him, I did what I always did and spent way too much time in my own head.

  Twenty

  Rhys

  * * *

  Life was strange. One aspect of it could be going great while other parts gave you hell. For the first time in years, I felt happy. It was weird. She made me truly happy in a way I didn’t know how to deal with; I’d never been like this with a woman. I went about my day like a giddy goof, smiling continuously, my insides flipping and twitching with anticipation of seeing her again. Once I had my hands on her, it was bliss. Pure, freaking bliss.

  Parker was fun. She made me laugh. And she made me horny as hell. I’d turned into a horny-ass poet. Dean was amused at my “transformation.”

  I took his ribbings with good humor—as I said, I was too happy to care.

  And then there was the rest of my life. I had a plan. I’d stick to the plan. But I wasn’t exactly what you’d call happy with it. It was too close to the past.

  Every time I stepped into the ring to spar, I was hit with a bold elation, a sense of utter rightness and confidence. And, at the same time, I’d feel vaguely sick. The scent of sweat and blood and the rank stench of boxing boots brought it all back. I’d instantly remember Jake’s expression, the blankness in his eyes, the fucking shock of it all.

  I’d had broken ribs, broken nose, busted-up knuckles, and had two concussions. Pain is life. The true horror of death was the sheer nothingness of it. Nothing was bringing Jake back. He was gone.

  It was a refrain as I jumped rope, going faster and faster.

  He’s gone.

  He’s gone.

  “Double time, Morgan!” Jimmy’s growl snapped me back into the moment. His craggy face twisted into a glare. “You’re not here to daydream.”

  “I’ll do that on my own time, boss,” I replied with a smile. I’d trained with Jimmy since going pro. When I’d asked him about doing a charity match, the old man had gotten a tear in his eye. Apparently, he’d been waiting years for me to come back.

  Guilt was a bitch.

  “If you’re going to dream,” he said, “then dream about moving that fat, lazy arse of yours. Jaysus, did you not keep in shape at all?”

  Jimmy was a funny fucking guy.

  “Apparently not, boss.”

  Not to his standards, anyway. I’d thought I’d been in pretty good shape. Nothing like getting back to the sport to remind a man how badly he’d deluded himself.

  “If you can smile like that,” Jimmy said, “then you can sing the song while you’re at it.”

  Horror lit through me. Oh fuck.

  “Come on, Jimmy,” I pleaded. Yes, pleaded. �
��Have a heart.”

  His beady black eyes gleamed under the gray hedges of his brows. “Sing. It.”

  Fuck.

  With a sigh, I started. “‘I am the very model of a modern major general, I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral...’”

  The sadistic bastard waved his hands around like a damn conductor as I skipped rope and sang the Major General’s song from The Pirates of Penzance.

  Sweat poured down my spine and my legs felt like noodles. But my chest was clear, my blood pumped strong, and my voice stayed loud. “‘I’m very well acquainted too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations both the simple and quadratical…’”

  I actually had no idea how to do equations that were quadratical. Maybe I did in high school. Parker would know.

  God, Parker. If she saw me now, she’d laugh and laugh. Her pretty face would light up with glee. Those pink lips would curl into a smile.

  God, those lips. They had, in fact, been wrapped around my cock the other day. She had this technique, a little quick flicker of her tongue along the tip when she drew back on my cock that was mind-blowing. I’d almost proclaimed my undying devotion when she’d done that.

  Thoughts of Parker sucking me off pulled me through the song and the warm-up. But Jimmy, evil man that he was, knew perfectly well my mind had been elsewhere.

  “You’ve lost your focus,” he grumped later when he was taping up my hands. I could do it myself, but he insisted on getting it just right. “It won’t serve you well in the ring.”

  I stared down at my hands. They were softer now, not as battered. “I know. I can’t …” I shrugged, not wanting to admit it but trusting Jimmy enough to know that I had to. “I’m trying. But it’s difficult.”

  He paused and peered at me. Small as a gnome and just as bent, Jimmy had always made me think he was part magic. Every guy he trained seemed to be that much better than the others. I was damn lucky to have him on my side.

  “Your heart’s not into it.”

  “Not like it was. I lost something when Jake …” I trailed off with a shake of my head.

  Jimmy finished taping up my hands. “Saw the light die in your eyes that night too. Knew it was it for you.” He sat back on his heels and rubbed the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “Look, lad, what you’re doing is a good thing. And if it gets you out from under the bank and that billionaire arsehole, then even better.”

  I knew all this. I’d told Jimmy this. Strangely, it still felt good to hear. I nodded and flexed my hands, testing the tape. There was something comforting about being taped up, good and familiar.

  I made two fists and stood.

  Jimmy followed. His head came up to the bottom of my sternum. I felt oddly protective of the old guy, like maybe he too would someday be gone if I didn’t look out for him.

  “So your heart’s not into it,” he said succinctly. “That’s a problem.”

  “I know.” I just didn’t know what to do about this. The idea of losing chafed; I was too much of a competitor for it not to. The idea of losing in front of Parker was a humiliation I really couldn’t stomach. I wanted her to see the best of me, not some washed-up version. I wanted her to see what I could do.

  Jimmy nodded as though he knew my thoughts. “You find something to fight for, be it your girl or your gym. Whatever it is, dig down and hold onto it, yeah?”

  Something to fight for. Damn it, that was the thing that got to me. I’d fight for Parker, but she was mine. I felt it in my bones. Win or lose, she wouldn’t hold it against me. Sure, it’d be a disappointment if I lost but I wouldn’t lose her. That internal knowledge made it difficult for me to find the proper motivation there.

  Fight for my gym? I’d been doing that all along. Why, then, was it so hard to get my blood up when it came to this match? Maybe because when I’d fought in the past, I’d fought for the joy of it, the thrill of the win. That had been enough for me. Now the joy was a pale copy of what it used to be.

  Something to fight for. Fuck, I needed to figure this out.

  Rolling my neck to work out the kinks, I managed to give Jimmy what I hoped was a reassuring look. “I’ll think about it.”

  He snorted and muttered under his breath about boneheaded boxers. I smiled.

  Jimmy glared around the gym. “Where’s Carlos?” He was my sparring partner. We were evenly matched for power, but I was faster. Carlos, however, was a tricky bastard who had a way of making me keep my head in the game or risk taking a hard hit to the face.

  “Probably watching porn in the office,” I said, throwing Carlos under the bus.

  Jimmy muttered more choice words and stomped off to get him. I didn’t say a word; I wasn’t fool enough to get between Jimmy and a tongue-lashing.

  Snickering, I went to the small bag and worked it to keep warmed up.

  Something to fight for?

  I had the gym.

  I had Dean.

  And … Parker. I had Parker.

  I should feel good about all that. Ecstatic, even. But there was still something off, something riding me. I needed … absolution. I needed to get all this weight of guilt and anxiety fully off my chest.

  Sex with Parker had relieved a lot of tension. Being with her made me feel whole. But Parker couldn’t help with this particular brand of atonement. I couldn’t work this out by losing myself in her arms.

  I needed someone else for this. For a hot second, I thought about telling Parker, confessing. But I couldn’t. I had to do this or I’d never be able to fight well. She’d understand that. She’d get it, even if she thought less of me.

  She had to. Because I couldn’t do this fight any other way.

  Twenty-One

  Parker

  * * *

  It was nice to escape the office for lunch. With only a week to go until the charity fight, I was preoccupied. However, not preoccupied enough to not be worried by how quiet Jackson had been lately. He was spending a lot of time going to meetings that he never explained and talking on the phone with his office door closed.

  Moreover, I still had to deal with Creepy Pete and his petulant attitude. He no longer crossed the office to speak with me when he had a payroll question about my overtime. I received an email. And whenever there was a discussion amongst our colleagues, he deliberately acted like I didn’t exist.

  The man was like a five-year-old.

  That morning he’d asked a mathematical question that I’d answered.

  His response was to keep searching the room. “Anyone?”

  My patience finally snapped. “I just answered your question, Pete.” I glowered at him. “I’m getting a little tired of your attitude toward me, the only female member of staff in this office. If it doesn’t stop, I’m going to consider this a problem I’ll have to report.”

  Pete’s shocked expression was almost funny. “No need, there’s no problem here.” He held up his hands in a surrender gesture and returned to his desk.

  Xander shot me a proud look but the tension in the office was awful after that. Deciding to use the extra hours I’d accumulated with overtime to take a long lunch, I departed the office with a relieved sigh. Leaving the building, I tried to call Rhys but got his voicemail. I sent him a text just before I got on my bike.

  ParkerB: I’m on a long lunch. Do you have time to join me?

  Rhys’s training had only escalated and the times I did see him, we mostly spent in bed. As far as I was aware, there had been nothing from Fairchild yet and Rhys was completely focused on the upcoming fight.

  This meant we didn’t discuss much. He asked about my day, of course, and seemed interested in what I had to say, but anytime I turned the conversation on him, it felt like he immediately initiated sex.

  And I had absolutely no willpower because the sex was amazing.

  My phone beeped a few seconds later as I turned down Spring Lane off Devonshire Street. I drew to a halt on my bike to pull my phone out of my purse.

  HotHarley: Sorry, can’t,
Tink. In the middle of something. We’ll talk later?

  Disappointment filled me but I texted back.

  ParkerB: Of course. Talk to you soon xx

  I turned around and decided it was such a nice day, I’d hit Boston Common Coffee Company for a takeout lunch and then ride to the Common to eat it.

  Once I had food in my basket and the great weather lifting my mood, I rode down the pedestrian area of Summer Street toward the Common. As I glanced to my right, however, a familiar head and pair of shoulders caught my gaze and I slowed.

  Seated at the tables outside Café Nero was a broad-shouldered guy with long legs, sitting close to a gorgeous blond. His head was bowed toward her, his hand on top of hers, and she was looking at him with utter tenderness on her lovely face.

  I slowed to a halt, my heart racing. I watched as he turned his head, and I caught his profile.

  Confusion and pain scored across my chest as the familiarity that had caused me to pause revealed itself.

  Rhys.

  Who was in the middle of “something.”

  With a beautiful blond whose impressive cleavage was visible in her tight camisole. She had lots of hair and her makeup, although heavy, was done to perfection. She was tan and her long, bare legs were resting against Rhys’s beneath the table.

  She was everything I’d always assumed Rhys would want in a woman.

  Feeling sick, I shook myself a little.

  There was an explanation. Obviously.

  There had to be.

  But then she pushed her chair even closer to his and wrapped her arms around him, her head resting on his chest.

  And he pressed an affectionate kiss to her forehead, holding onto her like he’d done it a million times.

  That was it for me.

  My chest tight, the pain almost blinding, I turned my bike around, not wanting him to spot me, and used the electric motor to get me the heck out of there.

  I couldn’t even remember the ride back to the office. The next thing I knew, my hands were shaking as I chained up my bike in the underground parking area.