Battle

by KJ Bell

  As uncomfortable as I feel, he’s right, although my brain struggles with accepting his words. Tirelessly planning out my life has always meant setting expectations and labeling people, including myself. It began in elementary school with kids my father labeled as “those kids”, meaning kids who he expected would drag me down, although he never explained further. In high school, “those kids” were the druggies and the partiers; kids I knew to stay away from if I wanted to maintain my four-point-oh average and get into KU.

  Throughout college, there were more labels for groups on campus. Even at work I’ve labeled my co-workers, basing my expectations of them on my opinions. I never considered what kind of person that makes me. Grammy would say, “A pretty crappy one.” Despite her drinking and smoking, she was a God fearing woman, and never judged a soul. She’d give her last dime to a beggar with a smile.

  “You surprised me, Battle McCoy. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiles, chewing on the corner of his lip. “All right … Let’s lighten up this game. You wear a thirty-two-C-cup.”

  I blush, but pick up the bottle and drink before setting it down with a smirk. “I have two.” He nods for me to continue. “You were starin’ at my boobs earlier at the bar.” He drinks without hesitation. I laugh and add, “You do not wear a thirty-two-C-cup.”

  He lifts the bottle again, grinning and drinks. After he sets the bottle down, he says, “You liked me watchin’ you when I was in the chute.”

  So, he was watching me. Why? I was actually terrified, but I also liked it. I drink. It’s my turn and I wonder if he’ll be honest. “You felt the attraction between us when you were watchin’ me.”

  His jaw tightens. I wait, knowing even if he did feel something, he won’t admit it. To my surprise, he brings the bottle to his lips and tips it back. I can’t contain my smile.

  He sets the bottle down, his gaze never drifting from mine. “You have beautiful eyes. They’re like emeralds.” I almost laugh at his cheesiness until his thumb presses into my lips. “You want me to kiss you.”

  He pulls his thumb away, leaving a stamp of his touch in the warmth left behind. I drink, my heart sputtering furiously. I’m well beyond a good buzz. Logic and reason are nowhere to be found, and for once I don’t care.

  I lightly trace his lips with my index finger. “You want to kiss me.”

  The amber liquid sloshes around the bottle as he throws it back and chugs a few swallows. He leans in close to me. When our lips meet, mine part slightly and I feel warm liquid spilling into my mouth from his. The liquor burns my tongue. Holy shit. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.

  My sex throbs, begging for more. I swallow and open my mouth wider as Battle sweeps his tongue over mine. He tastes like whiskey, cedar and smoke. His tongue slowly explores my mouth, making me crazy with desire. He sucks on my bottom lip before ending the kiss. I can barely breathe, managing only small, shallow gasps. I’ve never been kissed like that, nor have I’ve ever been more aroused.

  His hands cup the sides of my neck as he stares into my eyes—his, stark blue and deeply intense, rage with a greedy hunger that loudly announces where he intends to take this game.

  I lick my lips in anticipation of another kiss, but it doesn’t come. His hands slide slowly down my neck to the top of my blouse. The sticky night air warms my skin, but his touch makes me shiver. His long fingers curl under the fabric on both sides of the buttons, and he tears the blouse open. Buttons clink across the hood of the Mustang, falling into the dense brush below.

  I’m captivated by his primal display, frozen still, and unable to catch my breath.

  Battle shoves the blouse to the sides, exposing my chest and nude bra. My nipples pebble under the lace and throb, begging for attention. I’m speechless, my panties soaked, and my inhibitions lost. His head dips and he licks my earlobe before he says, “You want me to fuck you.”

  I do. I want him to fuck me. Is that wrong? I can’t think clearly. I should tell him no, but I’m too turned on to deny myself this moment, or too drunk. Fuck it. We’re consenting adults. I’m not a slut. I’m physically attracted to this gorgeous man. I will not be ashamed for admitting it. I bring the bottle to my lips and suck down a giant swallow. Battle doesn’t move as I set the bottle down.

  The grin on his face worries me. Is he messing with me? “What?”

  “Your turn. I asked the first question. You ask the last.”

  How am I possibly going to follow up what he did to me? I’m not a complete prude. I have experience. Wyatt and I have had some wild nights, but nothing compares to what Battle does to my body. I’m positive he hasn’t even begun.

  I take in a controlled breath as I reach for the button on his jeans. With a smoldering grin, he leans back against the window, providing me easier access. I make short work of the button and zipper. My teeth nibble my bottom lip as I reach under the waistband of his boxers and wrap my hand around his long, hard length. He releases a sexy, quiet groan. When my thumb sweeps over the soft skin of his tip, his breath hisses. The sound increases my confidence. I nestle into his side, stroking him base to tip and breathe into his ear. “You want to fuck me.”

  I can’t believe I said the words. The desire to flee returns. This isn’t me. As I look down watching my hand work him, I decide this is who I want to be. If only for tonight, I want to forget what’s expected of me.

  He grips my wrist tightly and removes my hand from his cock. Quickly, I’m flipped over, my shoulders against the window and my butt on the hood. He straddles me. The nearly empty bottle of Jack catches me by surprise as he lifts it in the air. The two of us polishing off the bottle nags at me, like a warning the night should end now, before I do something I regret.

  As his other palm glides over my bare stomach, I cast the thought aside. I want regret. I want him—dirty, raw, and uninhibited. He pours the remaining liquid into my navel. The alcohol puddles over and tickles as it runs down my sides. Battle lowers his head and sucks the liquid from my navel as I melt further into the Mustang.

  His tongue trails up my stomach until he reaches my breast. Hot breath warms my skin as his strong hand yanks on the lace of my bra, exposing my left nipple. He draws the sensitive flesh into his mouth, sucking hard until it’s mildly painful. It’s a welcoming pain, one burning more in my pussy than my breast.

  “Battle,” I moan, lifting my hips.

  He sits up, positioning himself between my thighs on his knees and licks his lips, “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

  Goose bumps break out across my skin as he trails a fingertip softly up my inner thigh. He doesn’t stop until he’s under my panties, stroking my velvety flesh.

  “Oh, God.”

  “So ready,” he says in a husky whisper. I gasp when he removes his finger.

  He lifts my right leg, kissing along the back of my knee and removes my boot. After repeating the process with my left boot, he wastes no time removing my skirt and panties. The warm air of the summer night sweeps over my bare flesh, yet, again, I shiver.

  His eyes roam over every inch of my skin, causing my typical womanly insecurities to rise to the surface. I pull my knees up in an attempt to cover some of me.

  “No,” he says, pushing my knees apart. “Don’t get shy on me now. Relax. I was admirin’ how beautiful your skin is.” I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath before relaxing my legs. “Sit up,” he instructs softly.

  As I do, his hand curls around the back of my neck. He brings my head to his until our lips touch. His warm tongue presses to the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance. I open and his deep, rough kiss causes me to moan loudly, almost feral. He squeezes my neck harder as his other hand reaches up to remove my blouse. It falls easily from my shoulders, leaving me in my sheer lace bra, but only for a second as he masterfully releases the clasp with one hand and slides it down my arms.

  He continues kissing me until I’m breathless, panting for air, and pushing into his chest. I feel his smile aga
inst my lips as he ends the kiss, his hand moving from my neck to my left breast. His touch feels rough from calluses, undoubtedly caused from riding. He grips tight, his hand moving outward until he’s fisting my breast. His tongue swirls over the tight skin of my nipple, before he blazes a trail of wet kisses up my neck, stopping under my ear.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes!” I answer nearly shouting.

  His teeth nip my ear. “Tonight will end one of two ways, but either way, you’ll regret it.”

  I pull back, staring at him with reservation, and huff out a breath. “I don’t expect anything. I know it’s only one night. I’m not naïve. I know the Battle McCoy doesn’t stick around.”

  “You don’t know anything about me. I’m not with different women all the time. I have to feel that sexual chemistry you were talkin’ about, and sometimes I have to suck the feelin’ dry. Tomorrow I may walk away, and you’ll never hear from me again. I may also want more, and when I want more, I’ll take it until you have nothin’ left to give.”

  Oh. My chest collapses. I think he’s attempting to scare me off, but his words only make me want to stay and let him fuck me until the sun comes up. “I don’t want to think about tomorrow.”

  “You’ve been warned,” he says, covering my mouth with his again. He kisses me ravenously, setting fire to my blood.

  My hands work quickly to remove his jeans. I shove them down his legs as far as my arms will stretch and use my bare feet to finish the job. He takes little time in rolling a condom onto his considerable length before reaching over his head and removing his shirt. I run both my hands over the ridges of his abs and up to his rock hard pecs, my thumbs circling his nipples.

  His eyes twinkle as he grips his cock, sliding it once through my folds before slipping into me. He buries himself deep inside with a loud groan and stills. The sensation of him inside of me is overpowering and stirs emotions I don’t want woken. I need him to move so I don’t have to feel. Feeling will end this moment. I wiggle.

  “What do you want?”

  I dig my nails into his tight ass and lift my hips. “You. I want you.”

  “Soft?” he asks moving slowly in and out. “Or rough?” He pulls out easy, and slams into me hard.

  I don’t know. Wyatt never asks. He just does. Something else that asshole never considers where I’m concerned. A surge of anger causes me to scream, “Rough!”

  He pounds into me again. The windshield wiper scrapes my back, but I ignore the pain.

  “Slow or fast?” he asks, moving in and out of me deliberating gaining speed.

  I wrap his waist tightly with my legs, pulling him close, and squeeze my eyes shut. “Fast…Oh, God, yes, fast.”

  He complies, quickly thrusting in and out of me, rough, fast, and unrelenting. The pace shouldn’t be sustainable, but Battle doesn’t slow. The intensity borders on insanity, and I can’t decide if I want to scream, “Stop!” Or, “Don’t stop,” as he continues to pump his hips with marathon stamina. My eyes roll back in my head as I cry out, “Oh, God! Yes! Don’t stop!”

  I’m sure he won’t last long, but the night drifts away and he never eases up. I don’t know how much time passes, as he pants and I moan, but it’s longer than any sexual experience I’ve ever had. I stare up at the stars in a lust-ridden haze, absorbing the passion of the moment in each of his pounding thrusts. With each drive forward of his hips, he hits deep and with such intensity I feel tears. The humid Kansas summer night absorbs both of us, covering our bodies in a slick coating of sweat. I lick my lips tasting the salt.

  His arms begin to shake, and I know he’s close now.

  The buildup of pressure mounts in force until my toes curl, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip. I arch my back. My legs tremble wildly as I feel my pussy tighten around him, pulling him deeper. He groans, and yells, “Yes, sweetheart, let go. Come for me.”

  He buries his head in the crook of my neck. With another hard, deep thrust, he follows me into oblivion before collapsing on top of me.

  I fist his hair and claw at his back, riding out the blissful wave of our shared orgasm. I’ve never experienced an orgasm from simple penetration, and my mind and body are numb from the experience.

  Still inside me, he lifts his head, the expression on his sweat covered face—perfection. I smile and say, “You want more.”

  “Game’s over and we’re out of liquor. I reckon you’ll never know.”

  With certainty, I do want more, and knowing that terrifies me.

  The morning sunshine warms my bare skin. Oh Shit! My bare skin. My eyes pop open as I reach for my pounding head. Memories from last night filter through my garbled thoughts. I glance around the car and to the black down blanket on the floor, remembering how Battle retrieved it from the trunk last night to cover us up. I had nestled in close to him and fell asleep in his arms after we … Oh, God … We…

  I’m naked in the back seat of my car with all the doors open. I hear Battle chuckle before he pops his head in and says, “You might wanna cover up.”

  He nods toward the front window. I quickly grab the blanket and cover myself as I inch up in the seat. When I brave a glance out the window, I see Old Man Parson tucked inside of an enormous John Deere combine. His giant smile only increases my humiliation. I shrivel back into the seat. As Battle walks around the car closing the doors, I hear him say, “Yes, sir, we’ll be on our way now. Have a nice day.”

  He climbs into the driver’s seat, laughing at me over his shoulder before starting the car. Once he’s put a little distance between us and Old Man Parson, I sit up and Battle hands me my clothes.

  “That was so embarrassin’,” I say, getting dressed. “I’m gonna die.”

  “You’ll be fine. He found me takin’ a piss bare-ass naked, and I survived.”

  I laugh, half at Battle, and half looking at my demolished blouse in my hands. There’s no way I’m putting it back on. I reach into the gym bag I keep on the floor, pull out a t-shirt, and slip it over my head. It doesn’t smell great after spending a week in my hot car, sharing space with my sneakers, but at least it’s in one piece.

  “Easy for you not to be shamed, but I have to see him in church every Sunday.” Which apparently I’m not going to attend today. I’m going to crawl into bed and sleep until I have to get up for work tomorrow.

  “You live in Ridgeway?” he asks.

  I climb into the passenger seat and slip on my boots. “Burlingame. Mr. Parson’s sister runs the church choir.”

  “Oh.” He tips his head back on a silent laugh. “Well, I bet he didn’t even recognize you.”

  I nod and look away, a blush creeping over my cheeks. We’re over an hour from Kansas City, and I have to take Battle back to Dakota’s. How’d we end up this close to home? Everything that transpired after the dance floor lingers in the fog of my throbbing head.

  “How’d we end up in Ridgeway?” I ask.

  “It’s close to home. I figured whether you decided to get rid of me last night or this mornin’, I didn’t want you to have to drive back to the city.”

  “So you live in Ridgeway?” I ask.

  “On the lake.”

  “Oh. What about your car?”

  “Austin drove.”

  Battle McCoy lives a stone’s throw away. I can’t decide how I feel about his close proximity to me. I’m not certain what last night meant to him. He hasn’t brought up what happened. I’m not even sure how I feel about last night. I know I don’t regret it. I’d always assumed a night like ours would be dirty, but I don’t feel shame.

  He glances out the window with a sprig of wheat dangling from his delectable mouth. I remember him chewing on a piece last night and the toothpick from the bar, and figure it’s a nervous habit. I tried to chew a sprig once and it was disgusting.

  “How can you chew on that?”

  He cocks his head, thinking briefly. “Keeps me from smokin’.”

  “Oh, yeah, you shouldn’t smoke.”
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  He pulls the wheat from between his lips. “Tryin’,” he says, inserting it back into his mouth. I stare at his lips, realizing I’ll never look at a wheat field again without blushing.

  It dawns on me how every day on my drive to work through the dense wheat-lands of small town Kansas, I’ll be reminded of Battle McCoy—his lips, his touch, his words coaxing me to climax. The most amazing climax of my life. Will my memories be as painful as this goodbye? Is this goodbye, or is there a chance he wants to see me again? I’m afraid to ask.

  As if he read my thoughts, Battle says, “Someday, Faye, you’ll meet a guy who deserves you.”

  “I guess you don’t want more.” He doesn’t answer—my intended question taken as a statement, or he doesn’t wish to tell me he’s uninterested in me. I swallow, the ache in my chest sharp and confining, but I will not cry. Despite my slightly intoxicated state last night, I knew what I was getting into with Battle.

  He turns down a long gravel driveway. The sun sparkles off the lake in the distance. Cattle fencing stretches around each side of us, corralling horses and cows. A quaint ranch-style home comes into view made from cedar and stone. Battle stops the car in front of the house and shuts off the engine.

  “This is home,” he says, handing me my keys.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks. My granddaddy left it to me when he died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His expression remains flat as he gets out of the car. I do the same and round the front. My stomach wrenches, forming a tight knot as I reach him.

  I don’t want this moment. I don’t want to look at him. I want to race out of this driveway and never look back, and I want to do it before I have time to absorb how hurt I feel. I wish I’d never met Battle McCoy. In just twelve hours he’s left a giant scar, no doubt his means to tease me from now until what I’m certain will be eternity.

  His hand grips my arm and he hauls me to his chest. “Can I be honest with you?” he asks.