by Claire Adams
I lay there underneath him, panting, and my heart racing for a long time. My mind was a haze of pleasure, tingling electric aftershocks working through every nerve of my body. “Oh my God,” I said, as my breath started to return to normal finally. I shook my head, smiling like an idiot but not caring in the slightest. “I had almost forgotten how good you are at that. It’s not fair.”
Zack chuckled lowly, and I opened my eyes in time to see him bring his fingers up to his lips and lick them clean of my fluids.
“I’ll have to make sure that you never forget it again, then,” he told me with a little cocky grin.
I laughed, rolling my eyes. “I can still get you off in ten minutes or less with my mouth and don’t you forget that.”
Zack kissed me and I could taste myself on his lips and tongue—I was surprised by how much I liked it.
“Evie, I will never, ever be able to forget that,” Zack told me, kissing me on the lips again. “It is absolutely seared on my memory—I may have actually gotten off to it a few times while we were apart.” Zack’s hands moved over my body slowly but steadily, caressing and exploring my curves.
“Good. I should show you that again sometime.” Zack grinned, beginning to rock his hips against mine, letting me feel how hard he still was. “Is that a hint?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No. No, it’s not a hint. I’ll be more than happy to be reminded about how good you are with your tongue later. Right now, all I want is to be inside of you.”
I could feel myself starting to get turned on again; I was already soaking wet from my first orgasm, and as the last aftershocks of pleasure glittering along my nerves began to abate, I was nearly ready to go again. I kissed Zack hungrily, reaching down between our bodies. I wrapped my hand around his thick, hard cock and began to stroke him slowly, not wanting to work him too hard—I wanted him inside of me as much as he wanted to be inside of me, if not more—but wanting to tease him the way he’d teased me. Zack groaned, breaking away from my lips to bury his face against my neck as I rubbed the tip of his cock with my thumb. He thrust into my hand, rocking his hips in time with my touch, his body going tense against me.
I brought him right up to the edge, paying attention to every detail—how his cock twitched between my fingers, how he moved, the sound of his moans—and then I backed off, chuckling at his frustrated groan.
“You were the one who said you wanted to be inside of me,” I told him playfully.
Zack pulled himself up and shook his head, smiling in spite of his obvious frustration.
“Okay, that’s fair,” he said.
He shifted down between my legs and brought his hips up against mine. He began to rock, and I shivered as his hot, hard cock slipped between the slick folds of my pussy, rubbing up against my inner labia and my clit. He turned my teasing around on me, tormenting me with the sensation of his cock pressed against my most sensitive flesh, rubbing and gliding, sliding in the midst of my slickness until all I could think about was how much I wanted him inside of me. Finally, we both seemed to agree at the same time that torturing ourselves was just no longer fair. Zack pulled himself up and reached down between us, guiding the top of his cock against my labia.
He thrust into me slowly, letting me feel every inch of him pushing past the feeble resistance of my body, deeper and deeper into my pussy. I shivered—he felt so good; so hot and hard and perfect inside of me, I almost couldn’t take it. Zack and I began to move together almost at once, kissing each other hungrily. I pushed my hips down to meet his thrusts, flexing my muscles around him. Tingling hot and cold waves of sensation shot through my body, pleasure building up inside of me with every movement of Zack’s hips as he filled me up over and over again, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting into me once more. I wanted the slow pace to never end—but I wanted it to speed up all at the same time, as more and more friction built between our bodies. I wrapped my legs around Zack’s hips, trying to get a better advantage, desperate for as much contact as I could get.
Somehow, Zack shifted against me, and then every movement of his hips pressed and rubbed against my clit, his cock buried deep inside of me. He kissed my face, my neck, and my shoulders—everywhere his lips could reach, and I echoed his worship, kissing and nipping along his throat and the line of his jaw. I tasted his sweat on my lips, the sweetness of his mouth. We started to speed up gradually, and I explored Zack’s body with my hands as well as my mouth, trailing along his back and shoulders, reaching down to grab his firm ass tightly. I was getting closer and closer to orgasm every moment and forced myself to hold back; I had already hit one orgasm for the night—it was Zack’s turn to go first, I told myself firmly.
But Zack seemed to have other plans. He reached down between my legs, holding himself up on one arm as he found my clit by touch. I cried out as he began to stroke me in counterpoint to his thrusts, rubbing in tight little circles that drove any ability at self-control completely out of my brain. I moved mindlessly underneath him, moaning and crying out, holding onto him desperately. I couldn’t take any more—in a matter of moments, it seemed, I was grabbing at him, my nails digging into his skin as his name left my lips again and again and again. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me in the span of a few heartbeats, shocking and jolting through my nervous system.
A moment after I hit my orgasm, Zack reached his own climax, and I felt his cock twitching inside of me, felt the sticky-slick flood of his orgasm shooting into me. We moved from sheer momentum, continuing to twist and writhe together until the very last waves of pleasure began to ebb. Zack collapsed against me, his face buried against my shoulder, as we both panted and gasped for breath. For a long time, I was content just to lie there, feeling the weight of Zack’s body against mine. I drifted, tingling all over, my breath gradually slowing and my pulse returning to normal.
“Yeah,” Zack said, still slightly breathless, as he pulled himself up to look down at me. “We are not allowed to break up again. You feel too good.”
I laughed, running my fingers through his hair and pulling him back down to kiss him lazily.
“So if we can’t break up again, then you’re not allowed to engage in any more public displays.”
Zack chuckled, kissing me on the lips lightly before he lifted himself up and sank down onto the bed next to me.
“Well, two of those were your own public displays,” he pointed out. “The thing with dumping my food on me, the thing in the weight room.”
I rolled my eyes, giving him a playful shove.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, smiling. I felt good all over—I couldn’t believe how good I felt. It just felt so right to be in bed with Zack; nothing could be better. “So neither of us will throw any kind of public fits anymore. If we have a problem with the other person, we will talk to them privately.”
Zack pulled me around, holding me close to him.
“I can agree to that,” he said, his hands beginning to wander over my body once more. “God, Evie,” he murmured, burying his face against my neck as he cupped my breast, giving it a careful squeeze. “I wanted to tell you so many times—as soon as you showed up again in my life, all I could think about was you.”
I blushed, hiding my face so that he wouldn’t see.
“Yeah, well, I was miserable without you, too,” I admitted, blushing a deeper red. “I kept thinking of you moving on, worrying that you’d never really thought of me as anything special, just another piece of ass.”
Zack pulled me up out of hiding and kissed me on the lips hungrily. His hands trailed over my body with more than just soothing intentions, and I knew in a moment we’d be right back at it again.
“Evie, I am missing out on the party of my football career. If that doesn’t tell you how important you are to me, I don’t think anything could.”
I laughed aloud, shaking my head and trailing my hands down along his chest, past his abdomen, to find his cock by touch. He was already starting to get hard again.
“I suppose that means I should do everything I can to make this night just as awesome as it would be if you were with your teammates at a raging arty, getting drunk.”
Zack grinned, lifting me up on top of him, positioning me over his hips. He thrust into my hand, reaching down to stroke me to another fever pitch of arousal.
“Evie, baby, you already have. Now, how many more times can we do this before we have to get dressed and go back to my place?”
I leaned in and kissed him.
“Let’s take our time.”
Zack thrust up into me slowly and I moaned against his lips, knowing that everything was finally right—and that we weren’t going to get shaken up by anything else.
The End
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THE FIGHT
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
CHAPTER ONE
Fenton
The bells and buzzes of the slot machines reminded me of the game shows my mother used to watch. Not that she ever had time to sit and watch television. It was the soundtrack to dinner, dishes, laundry – all the things a single mother did when she got home from a double shift. There were no jackpots or double bonuses for my mother. No giant checks or sudden floods of gold coins. I thought about the charity ward at the hospital, with those same game shows on the tiny television mounted in the corner. The casino floor depressed me.
Then, as always, I thought of my father – how he could decide one day that he could walk away and never look back. He must not have had a conscience or a spine. It took hard work to have a family, harder work to keep it. Maybe they were too young when they started, too poor. All I knew was I would never be him. I'd take the punches he taught me to throw and I would fight my way to the top.
I stopped at the video poker machines and turned around. The damned casino was a maze. I was supposed to be near the entrance, not halfway to the wedding chapel. It was unreal how every row of flashing screens funneled me towards food, alcohol, or matrimony. I peered over the rows but could see no clear path, except towards the Vegas-style altar. Neon lights, stereo bells, and a worn aisle that used to be white.
I spun back the way I had come and saw a flood of powder blue and white. A wedding party in retro tuxes and wide, fluffy skirts blocked the way. They paused to have a picture taken with an Elvis impersonator, too short and swarthy. While the groom hooked his lip up and pointed to the sky, his groomsmen padlocked a fake iron ball to his ankle.
They were too young, but maybe the groom had money. Or maybe her daddy had a bank account she could access during the lean times. Or maybe I was witnessing the makings of yet another divorce statistic. She laughed, swatted away the groomsmen, and held up the ball and chain like a trophy. Cameras flashed again and the happy couple laughed. He sneaked in a quick kiss and she smiled against his lips, her bouquet of cheap carnations crushed between them.
"Oh my God! You're that fighter! The one on the poster in the elevator, and the lobby, and the giant billboard outside," the bride cried as she escaped her groom's embrace.
"The one you've been drooling all over," a bridesmaid said.
"We all have," another bridesmaid smiled.
Fluffy skirts surrounded me. The bride grabbed my arm and wriggled as close as her double-fluffed white dress allowed. "Fenton Morris," she said.
"His eyes are as blue as the posters," the shortest bridesmaid said.
"Don't let me keep you from your happy day," I said.
"Come on, Trish, our turn's in ten minutes," the groom said.
"Yeah, Trish, don't be late on my account." I gave the arm she had looped through mine a squeeze. "What would your husband say if he saw us together?"
"Technically, I am still single," Trish said.
Her groom looked me over and swallowed hard. Then, he remembered his posse of groomsmen. "Don't make me fight him for you, honey."
"Oooh, that would make a great picture!" Trish let go of my arm and clapped.
Her husband-to-be took a ridiculous stance. I could have knocked him flat without taking a step. Trish threw her hands up in mock terror. I gave in and held a fist near my smile long enough for the camera to flash.
"Thanks, man. Good luck in the big fight," the groom said.
I decided the hell with navigating the impossible casino floor. The next bank of slot machines led me to a bar. I ordered before I sat down.
"On the house, Mr. Morris," the bartender slid me a beer.
"Suite comp?" I asked.
"Personal opinion," the bartender said. "I'm not a big fan of that Mario Peretti. Too much show and not enough fight."
"Thanks," I said. "All I want is the fight."
"Exactly why you've gotten this far this fast. No hype, no branding, no flash. Just fast combinations and a killer instinct." The bartender poured us both a shot of whiskey.
"Suppose you see a lot of fights working here," I said.
"Almost makes it worth it." He leaned his elbows on the bar and scanned the crowd.
A man with a fanny pack had broken from his bus group to grab a quick drink. The umbrella poked his eye as he tipped it back. A couple with matching rotund waistlines perused the happy hour specials. A clump of young men ordered too much and drank too fast, about to lose all the cash they came with in one night.
"Next one's on me."
Kevin Casey, my slime ball manager bellied up to the bar. The bartender frowned, but went to get the gimlet Kev ordered.
"Guess I'd be surly, too, working here," Kev said. "That's why I've got you, right, Fenton? Fight our way to the top."
A quick jab to his throat and he'd be gasping for air and flopping like a fish on the casino floor. I curled my hand around my beer instead. Kev was worth the irritation, because he got things done. Somehow, he disgusted everyone, but still lined up the best fights, the top suites, and the sweetest deals.
"Speaking of my bank account," Kev said, "how about you sign off on a few endorsement deals while we're here?"
"Why are we always talking about your bank account?" I asked.
"‘Cause my happy bank account means your career is healthy." Kev took his gimlet and sipped from it with a loud lip smack.
"I don't fight better with someone else's name on my shorts," I said.
"Not better, but smarter. You gotta work this thing for all it’s worth right now," Kev said.
He was right – his most irritating habit. I would make a hell of a lot more money fighting with sponsors and slapping my name on any product line that came along. The two heavyweights of my thoughts slogged around the ring again – make a lot of money versus do it all alone and keep my name for myself.
I was glad when the woman at the front desk rolled her suitcase over a Chihuahua's foot. The yapping pet was snapped up into the arms of a platinum blonde, reality show star. As beautiful as she was, with curves that barely stayed within her stretched lace dress, it was the other woman I looked at again. She gave the dog a prim look and then apologized to it, ignoring its owner.
"I'm sorry. I was not expecting a dog in a casino, especially not under the wheels of my suitcase," she said. "You poor thing."
Before the b-list star could react, the woman turned back to her place in the check-in line. She smoothed down the collar of her white blouse. Her pursed lips did not hide her full mouth. I liked the way her curves pressed against the cotton of her shirt. Her black pencil skirt was as stiff as her posture, but the rounded silhouette made my mouth water.
"Yeah, I'll give you – she's a looker," Kev said.
"The reality show gal?" I asked.
"No, the Ice Queen there. You know, half the guys in the industry have a bet running
on who beds her first."
"You know her?" I kept my eyes on her as she folded her hands on her suitcase handle and waited her turn.
"I wish, if you know what I mean." Kev made an orgasmic face that soured my stomach. "She gets all the white-collar athletes, you know, tennis and golf, even bowling. Guess she comes from Ivy League stock and has been making a killing for some vitamin supplement company."
"What do you mean she gets all the white-collared athletes?" I asked.
"They're happy to sign with her, like I said, because of the bet. Kya Allen is a career good girl. Not your type at all," Kev said.
"Really. You know my type?" I asked. "What if my type of woman is 5'5", copper blonde hair, curves, and sensible cotton?"
"Nah," Kev slid off his barstool and slapped a few bills next to his empty glass. "I'll introduce you to your type. She's waiting for us over near the craps tables. Wants to blow on your dice."
He gave me no choice but to follow. Kev set me up at the head of a craps table and would not take “I don't gamble” as an excuse. Within minutes, I lost one hundred dollars and then won seventy-five.
When my luck changed for the better, I met Talia. She pressed an impressive display of cleavage against my arm and blew on my dice, as Kev predicted. Her silky black hair tickled me a lot lower than my shoulder.
"Any chance you know the way to the bathroom?" I asked. "I don't want to end up in line for the buffet."
"This way," Talia said.
I followed her swaying hips all the way into the men's bathroom and into the large stall at the end of the row. Her teeth nipped my neck before I got the door shut. I slipped the latch into place and she had my belt unbuckled.
"Mixed Martial Arts gets me all hot," she said.
Her breasts bounced free of her strapless sheath dress and I cupped them with both hands. I teased her dark nipples to hard nubs and then had to taste them. A few licks, and she shimmied her dress to her waist. There was nothing in my way above or below the crumpled band of fabric. I trailed a hand up her smooth thigh to find her ready and wet.
