by HJ Bellus
The vibe in the gym is energetic as I take my seat in the first row nearest Trick’s corner. I smile watching Papi slapping Trick’s face and pulling it close to his. He barks out his coaching experience. Trick nods with each word.
Once the official begins the fight Trick wastes no time striking fast, knocking his opponent back on the mat. I’m up and on my feet screaming my ass off. I went from hating this environment to it being the lifeline pumping blood through my veins.
I hop up on my chair, cupping my hands around my mouth and screaming like a lunatic. Trick’s raining punches down on his opponent’s face. I may be more invested in this fight since the man getting his face pounded is Ash’s sidekick.
Trick sends one more final blow before wrapping him up in a chokehold. The official is on the ground near them. I focus in on the asshole’s hand, waiting for him to tap out.
“C’mon,” I whisper. “C’mon, Trick.”
Trick’s face contorts as he puts all of his power into the chokehold. His teeth are clenched around his mouth guard and beads of sweat pour down his forehead. Then it happens. The Titan’s Tribe fighter taps his hand on the mat. The official is quick to jump between the two men. It’s no secret in town the two gyms are rivals.
Trick bounds to his feet throwing his arms up in the air, then he rips his mouth guard out. The noise level in the gym is damn near deafening, and I’m right along with the rest of them jumping up and down while screaming at the top of my lungs.
It gets louder when Trick races over to the side of the cage where Monty Chandler and his crew sit. He crawls up it like a spider monkey in less than a second. He straddles the top of it, continuing to holler out his victory while pounding his chest. His saliva flies out of his mouth landing on the crowd. He glances down at the Titan’s Tribe fans, beating his chest with more force.
I don’t have time to check on the gym before Titan is out of the octagon. Cruz is up next. My sweet little ass is staying planted right here. The lights dim, letting the crowd know it’s time for the main event. After digging a little, I found that Cruz Felix, The Notorious Rumbler, is the most anticipated and heavily favored fighter to win the Championships in Vegas.
I knew he was a skilled fighter and the buzz in the MMA world, but it never sunk in because he was taking care of me and making me fall in love with him. I haven’t spoken those three little words directly to him yet, just hinted around at it. But it doesn’t mean the love isn’t there.
“I love him,” I whisper to myself like it’s the first time I’ve realized it and now spoken it out loud.
The powerful opening to “Believer” by Imagine Dragons rattles the gym walls. The song brings back memories. It screams Cruz and everything he is. He’s not flashy like Trick was when he comes out of the tunnel. His head is bowed under his black hoodie, his fists clenched at his sides. Each one of his strides is determined and powerful until he’s crawling into the cage.
I’m mesmerized as he strips down until he’s in tight-ass black shorts showcasing his muscular legs and torso. A vibrant teal Diablo’s Throne logo is across his ass—the devil himself smiling with red smoke rolling out of his mouth. It’s badass. The man has fucking tree trunks, his most prominent asset in the cage. He takes down opponents with one sweep then finishes them off. It’s what he’s known for.
The trainers cover his face with Vaseline. Cruz turns to the officials letting them inspect his gloves and opens his mouth, showing his mouth guard. Once he’s cleared he steps into the cage.
I’m greedy, not wanting to miss one moment drinking him in. Papi’s up in his face barking instructions, butting Cruz’s forehead every once in a while. When my papi steps away, Cruz shakes out his arms, bouncing from toe to toe, loosening up. With each movement, my nerves multiply, knotting up low in my belly.
He goes down on one knee, bowing his head then patting a tattoo on his chest. I’m not sure what it means but guess it’s for his dad.
The match starts and right off the bat I can tell the other man is not only massive but also quick on his feet. He gets a few solid jabs to Cruz’s face, sturdy enough to take any other man down, but Cruz doesn’t stumble. He shakes his head side to side and continues dancing around. He takes another harsh punch right to the jaw. Blood flows down his face.
The tears well up in my eyes when I realize Cruz is letting the fighter strike him. He’s putting on a show, not showing the man his full power.
My voice catches in my throat every time I try to cheer him on. The nerves dancing up my spine still all my thoughts. I keep my hands clutched over my chest and have to remember to breathe.
Thirty seconds are left in the round. The other fighter is winning it so far with his punches. Blood covers Cruz’s face and I close my eyes, unable to watch any longer. Childhood memories of Papi coming home beaten up assault me. I hated it. Abuela never flinched. She was proud of her son. But the swollen face, cuts, and bruises always made me sick.
The crowd goes wild. I open my eyes, taking seconds to focus back in on the fight. Cruz has flipped a switch. He has the other fighter up against the cage, throttling him with punch after punch. His powerful arms rise high then slam down onto his opponent.
I flick my gaze to the time. Ten seconds left. When I look back to the cage, the other fighter goes limp, falling into a heap on the mat. The official pulls Cruz back. Cruz’s corner jumps in the ring in full victory mode. I’m finally able to pull oxygen into my lungs. I clutch the sides of my head, squeezing my eyes shut, thanking God he won and is standing on his feet. The harshness of my cast digs into my scalp and I don’t give a shit. Two more weeks with this damn thing.
Cruz’s arm raises in victory. He doesn’t showboat or gloat like the other fighters who win. He’s stoic and respectful walking over to his opponent and shaking his hand. Papi has his arm slung over his shoulder escorting him out of the cage.
Cruz’s vision darts around. I know what he’s doing. He’s looking for me. He scans the entire gym before settling on me. My smile is out of control. He holds up one finger gesturing for me to go to him. I do without a second thought.
I leap off the chair and rush over to him. The crowd is still cheering and more people are swarming Cruz. He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. We walk side-by-side back to the locker room. His crew surrounding us disappears the further we make it into the depths of the long corridor.
“Cruz.” His name echoes around the hall, but he doesn’t respond.
Each one of his strides is determined and powerful until we’re shut in a room. The door slams causing me to jump back.
“Cruz.” I try again.
He stalks over to me with sweat and blood still running down his face. The towel he had pressed against it does nothing to stop it. He grabs a fresh one, dabbing at his face when he comes nose to nose with me.
“Need to fuck you now.” He rips down my pants, spins me around, and slams into me without warning. If possible, his dick is bigger than before, pumping with adrenaline of its own.
I scream so loud the sound hurts my ears. The roar from outside floats in the room, but all I can focus on is the sound of our flesh slapping together. Cruz leans down flicking my clit.
“Fucking seeing you ringside made my dick hard, baby.” He pushes in and out, setting a grueling pace. His fingers play me like a finely tuned instrument. The bundle of nerves is ignited and ready to blow. “I wanted to take you right on the fucking chair so everyone could see you were mine.”
“But-but you’re bleeding and hurt.” My fingers dig into the wood bench until they turn white.
“If that fucker looks at you fucking once, I’ll kill him right in front of everyone.”
Holy shit, Cruz is on fire. I don’t recognize the man he is right now. I’m not scared. In a sick and twisted way, I’m turned on, digging his adrenaline high.
“I’m going to cum,” I sing out between moans. “Oh my God! Cruz!”
“That’s right, baby, get my cock wet with your pussy. Ow
n it. Take it.”
His dirty words do the trick. I spiral out of control, feeling each sensation in my core. He doesn’t stop pounding into me until he’s roaring and filling me.
Jesus, the man was nothing but stone-faced out in the ring even when entering and exiting. He flipped a switch the moment he saw me.
“Fuck,” he grits out one more time, pumping into me.
“Are you all right?” My voice comes out hesitant.
“Am now.” He leans over placing kisses on my shoulder.
“What was that?” I ask, nervous to hear the answer leave his lips.
“I had to fuck you. Like to fuck after my fights.”
That answer hurts my heart. Slices open a wound that seeps with pain and confusion.
“Oh.” I snap my mouth shut not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, I’m plagued with the idea of him fucking ring bunnies after each fight. Can’t judge him when the good doctor was fucking my brains out right before I boarded a plane to come home.
“Can hear you thinking, Layla. Knock it off. I needed you, and I’ll need you just like that after every single fight.” He stands up, his dick slipping from inside of me. “Been other women but nothing like that. I’ve never in my life been so fired up.”
Chapter 17
Layla
“What are you doing, sexy?” Two strong arms wrap low around my waist; his breath tickles my skin before he runs light kisses up my neck.
“Drawing,” I manage to get out in a squeak.
His kisses freeze as he peers over my shoulder, taking in what I’m doing.
“What do you think?” I turn my head, finding his lips and kissing him right back.
“It’s badass.”
“I mocked it up off the logo on your shorts. I want to brand the entire gym. New paint on the walls, the logo everywhere.”
“Goddamn, you are a smart, sexy woman.” He pushes his groin into my ass, showing me how much he appreciates me.
Cruz’s fingertips dig into my waist and he whirls me around until I’m facing him. I’m up in the air until my ass lands on the counter. He spreads my legs and steps in, nuzzling his face in my breasts. It’s after hours like most nights at the gym where it’s only the two of us left. Me working on getting the gym in top notch condition and Cruz training his ass off.
“Not bad for drawing with this ugly ass cast on. I can’t wait to get it off in a few days.”
“Had no idea you had this hidden talent.” Cruz’s words are mumbled with his face smashed between my tits. He turns his head a tick, nipping at the side of one. The sensation races straight down to my core.
“Where did the logo from your shorts come from?” I ask, fighting like hell to stay on topic. We’ve become way too fucking good at getting distracted with exploring our bodies.
“My dad,” he murmurs.
I drop the sketchpad and pencil then lace my hands through his hair, making him look up at me.
“And?” I push him. He’s remained tight-lipped when it comes to his dad.
He shrugs but indulges me. “Dad loved to draw. Was big into branding. He mocked this up for your dad years ago. I had it put on my fighting shorts when I came here. Never got around to getting other things screen printed.”
I squeal, and not over the fact he’s sharing bits and pieces about his dad. I’ve spent hours doodling the logo up, trying to make it my own without infringing copyrights. “Do you have his original?”
“Somewhere up in my apartment.”
“Can I use it? It would be perfect.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he would’ve minded if I tweak it a bit here and there?”
“He’d be honored.” Cruz’s eyes grow misty. The emotion controlling his features makes my heart hurt.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods, offering up a weak smile. “Dad would’ve loved you, Layla.”
Cruz runs the tip of his nose along my jawline. “He was an amazing man. Damn, he would’ve loved it here in Washington.”
“I don’t have to meet him to know beyond a shadow of a doubt he was an exceptional man, because of you, Cruz.” I clutch the back of his neck with my good hand, hoping he gets every single word I’m putting down. Each one of them is coated and bathed in raw honesty. I was lost. Just living day in and day out until I came home and found my home in this man before me.
Cruz doesn’t utter another word. He grabs my sketchpad from the counter along with my drawing pencil, placing it between us before pulling me into his chest. It’s a juggling mess, but I manage to wrap my casted arm around the back of his neck, my legs doing the same around his waist while my other hand keeps hold of my items.
Cruz’s large palms splay over my ass cheeks. The man is more powerful than anyone I know. I’d trust him to hold me like this blindfolded and one armed. He’s a protector. I knew it from the moment he took me in his arms at the hospital. I lost the woman I loved the most on this planet that day and gained a new love. All of it hits me in one fell swoop. Cruz reaches for the doorknob to his apartment, but I stop him.
Tears. Finally, happy tears spill from the corner of my eyes. “I love you. Cruz, I love you so much it hurts. I’ve never felt this before, and now at night I’m scared I’ll lose it as fast as you came into my life.”
There it is. I let it all out. The fear of losing what I have. It keeps me up late into the night. I find myself studying his sleeping features. The time where he’s relaxed and peaceful. I place my palm on his rising chest, praying to a God to keep him in my life. A God I’ve hated the last few months.
Cruz stares at me in shock. Fear tumbles through me. It was too much. All of it too soon. The man has too much on his plate to digest something like this. He drops his forehead to mine and closes his eyes.
“Layla, ditto. I couldn’t say it better. You have no idea how much you are saving me.” He pauses then repeats each word in Spanish.
It’s a sweet song I’ll never forget. He manages to get the door open to his apartment. My drawing supplies fall to the floor. We scramble to gain skin to skin contact. Our clothes fly off, landing wherever they land. Cruz lays me down amid his rumpled bedding we destroyed last night. He creeps his way up my body, licking and kissing every inch of my skin until he stops between my thighs.
I fist the sheets and arch my back when he makes contact with my core. Cruz doesn’t stop until he has me unraveling, screaming out his name and all sorts of other words that don’t make sense.
***
The stench of steamed broccoli fills Cruz’s studio apartment. It doesn’t distract me from my sketches. Once the man I’m head over heels for shared that the logo on his shorts was designed by his dad, a dam burst wide open. I’m obsessed with the project, making a list of clothing items from hoodies, workout pants, tanks, and tees.
“Chicken, baby?” Cruz turns from the counter top clothed only in sexy, sleek black boxers.
“Pizza?” I tilt my head to the side.
“Chicken with tomato sauce,” he counters, grabbing the plate from the counter and making his way to the bed.
“Sausage?” I waggle my eyebrows and toss my notebook to the side.
“Never have to ask, mi amor. Never.”
I can’t help it. The man is a walking orgasm and heading straight for me. It doesn’t matter that I had him an hour ago. And when I say had him I mean three rounds of life-changing, mind-blowing releases. Just like in the ring and gym he gives it his all. A champ through and through.
My cellphone rings on the counter next to Cruz. I ignore it. He answers it.
“Hello.”
The long beats of silence steal my attention. I peer up to Cruz who is now facing me, leaning back on the counter with a devilish smirk on his face.
“Layla is busy in my bed.”
I slap my hand over my mouth.
“Tyler? Here, let me ask her.” Cruz pulls the phone from his ear. “Baby, it’s a Tyler. He’d like to chat with you.”
My eyes grow wide. I shake my head side to side frantically. Talk about a random call. I can hear Tyler livid on the other end. Cruz indulges him, not saying a word.
“Got it, buddy. Now it’s your turn to listen to me. Don’t fucking call this number again. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll lose it. I’m Layla’s boyfriend and you can go fuck off. End of.”
Cruz ends the call not giving Tyler a chance to respond. I remain frozen. Cruz knew about Tyler. I shared it with him one night when neither of us could sleep. He erupts in a deep roar of laughter.
“Think he got the memo?” Cruz raises an eyebrow.
“Holy shit. I’m speechless.”
Cruz settles in next to me, balancing his healthy meal on the tops of his thighs before reaching over into his nightstand. He pulls out a worn, well-loved thick notebook, the corners of it crinkled back from years of use.
He places it in my lap without saying a word. I know exactly what it is. Without thinking, I lean over and kiss his cheek. I run the pads of my fingers over the smooth surface of the grey cover. There’s no indication on the cover alluding to what’s inside. I lick my lips, nervous to discover the treasure that rests in the pages. I know beyond a doubt this will be the most significant glimpse into Cruz’s past that I’ll ever get.
“Thank you,” I whisper, staring into his loving eyes while running my palm over the cover one last time.
“Never shared it with anyone. It was always my dad’s and my thing.” Cruz cuts into a piece of grilled chicken. “I think it was his way of keeping my memories throughout the year. Like some dad scrapbook shit or something.”
I smile, biting down on my bottom lip dying to call bullshit, but I know this is Cruz’s way of letting me in. I glance back down to the notebook, flipping open the cover. I gasp at what waits for me. Cruz’s baby picture. He’s in a soft blue blanket, bundled up like a little burrito and lying in the clear basket at the hospital. His curious eyes peer up at whoever was taking the picture. Tears well up in my eyes, astounded that this tiny bundle grew into the man he did.
