The F King: A Bad Boy Romance (Still a Bad Boy Book 3)

by Ada Scott

  That’s what I needed to do. Maybe this morning wasn’t all I dared hope it might be, Austin wasn’t here to sweep me up in his arms and tell me I was something special, but last night… I was the center of the universe.

  The sound of a keycard in the door struck a lightning bolt of fear down my spine. Was it time for the maids to come through already?

  I tried to spring to my feet to bolt to the bathroom, but I had no spring left in me. My stiff muscles responded so sluggishly that I had to abort the maneuver and cover myself up as best I could. I yelled something about not being ready for house cleaning and prepared for the most humiliating moment of my life.

  Despite my instructions, the door swung open like in a nightmare… only to reveal Austin there, carrying a plastic bag at his side and giving me a funny look.

  He came back.

  “Don’t worry, if you like the room like this, I won’t clean it,” he said.

  “Oh… um… sorry, I thought…”

  Austin waved my explanation away. “I know. Hey, I… uh… I got you some breakfast. I’m… sorry, since we’re married and all I should probably know this, but I didn’t know what you would like. I just got all kinds of different shit. Pancakes, fruit, a cinnamon roll, those little boxes of cereal, yoghurt, whatever. Really made the diner guy’s day with this order.”

  A lump was forming in my throat, and the more I tried to hide it the worse it was. It was so damn silly too. Such a little thing.

  He came back… and he brought me breakfast in bed!

  “What are you crying about?”

  I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and sniffed. “N-nothing. Um. Thanks for thinking of me… I know that’s not in the contract.”

  The awkward look on his face made me snort-laugh, as if he was already uncomfortable enough with doing something nice for somebody without me adding to the predicament with getting all soppy. I gave my eyes one final wipe and sniffed again before clearing my throat.

  “I usually have a banana cut up on top of my cereal.”

  Austin reached into the bag and pulled out a small bunch of bananas, giving them a little shake. “You’re in luck. You wanna eat here, or at the table?”

  “What I’d really like is a shower first, but… I can barely walk today.”

  I blushed and Austin’s smug-count went up a couple of points, though without any hint of mockery. He put the bag down on the side of the bed.

  “Well, since I’m partially responsible for that, let me help you.”

  “Partially?” I asked.

  Austin didn’t answer. Instead he tugged on the sheet, pulling it off my naked body. I held on to it for a second, then let go. It was nothing he hadn’t seen already anyway, right?

  He looked me up and down, then licked his lips. I had no reason to think it was in anticipation of the breakfast he’d brought up.

  Rising to his feet, he scooped his arms under my knees and armpit. The tips of his fingers lightly touched the side of my breast as he lifted me with ease, like he was carrying me over the threshold again.

  I looked up at him and sighed contentedly. The corner of his mouth rose a little. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he was enjoying himself.

  Luckily for me, one corner of the shower was shaped in such a way that a poor sex-ravaged girl could sit down on it. Austin set me down there and turned on the taps, making sure the temperature was right before twisting the showerhead so the wonderful warm water blasted down on my legs.

  I wriggled my toes as the warmth started spreading upwards. It felt heavenly. Austin pulled his clothes off and stepped in with me.

  My eyes went wide and I sat up straight, my back pressed against the cold side of the shower. He was so casual about it, but the sight of him still sent waves of excitement and fear through me.

  Last night had all started so fast and just kept on going, I barely had time to think about how unusual it was to be anywhere near a naked man. Now, there was no such luxury. I was naked. In a shower. With…

  Holy shit, he’s so HOT!

  “Close your eyes.”

  He detached the showerhead and got it good and close to my head, ruffling my hair with his free hand to help the water soak in.

  Not the first time he’s made you wet, huh?

  I clamped my mouth shut against another snorting laugh as Austin used one of the complementary miniature shampoo bottles and got up a good lather. It was like having a head massage and, oh my gosh, it felt good.

  Once I was rinsed and I could open my eyelids again, Austin got to work with the soap. This time it really was a massage, as best as could be done under the circumstances. I guessed he owed me one of those.

  His skilled hands rubbed and squeezed my sore muscles, getting the circulation going while giving me the kind of show with his dripping wet naked body under the shower that women around the world would kill for. He was poetry in motion. Violent poetry when he needed to be, but still poetry.

  When he was done, I could support my own body weight again, and I returned his favor, slowly exploring that exquisite body of his as I rubbed shower gel all over him. I glanced up, as if for permission, but then caressed his manhood before he granted it, before I could lose my nerve.

  We were married now, this had been inside me. Surely this was my wifely prerogative?

  After the urgent need of last night, this slow shower dance in the light of day was so different, but it felt no less sexy, and even more… liberating.

  I never wanted it to end, but it did. Thankfully, once we were each bundled up into incredibly soft bathrobes and I had a towel wrapped around my hair, we shared our first breakfast together as man and wife.

  The warm food had made the cold food heat up a little, and vice versa, but I’d have been lying if I said it wasn’t the best meal I’d ever tasted.

  Austin

  “He’s just not fast enough, and you’ve got him out-conditioned by a mile. Look how gassed he was in the third round against Coles. He was lucky to get the knockout before the bell rang. And his only loss?”

  “Was to a leg-lock,” I finished for Ross.

  “Exactly right, which is why we’ve been brushing up on those so much. What I want you to do over the next couple of days is come up with some new set ups for some old submissions, leg-locks specifically. We’ll go over them on Thursday, see how they work in the real world, see if they match up against any of Ernesto’s other weaknesses, all that shit.”

  “OK. We’ve got this motherfucker, you know?”

  “Yeah, but we’re gonna make a statement too. If he doesn’t tap out quick enough, that’s the end of his career.”

  Ross’ MMA gym was closed for the night, everybody else was long gone, and we were just talking strategy in his office. The bulk of my training was done, and these next few days leading up to the fight would be much lighter to make sure I was at one hundred percent for Saturday night.

  The intercom for the front door buzzed and the shitty low-resolution video feed lit up to show three blurry characters in suits. Wiseguys if ever I saw them.

  “Fuck sake, what do these assholes want now?” Ross muttered then pressed the button. “Hello?”

  Shit. There was only one thing they ever wanted. They wanted to arrange the outcome of the fight so they and their friends could profit from it.

  Fuck. What if they wanted me to throw this one? There went my fucking title shot. My blood began to boil and I gripped the armrests. Why the fuck did they have to come now?

  “Hey, it’s me. Let us in.”

  The familiar voice of Enrico Bertolini, nephew of the big boss himself, came through a lot clearer than the video feed. Ross glanced at me and then held the button down until we heard the clunk of the front door being pushed open.

  A few seconds later Enrico entered the office, followed by some guy I’d never seen before, and lastly Ken Horn, a guy who grew up in the same neighborhood as me. He gave me a tiny nod as he entered.

  Ken used to train
with Ross, but didn’t quite have what it took to go pro, and kind of just fell into the life he ended up with like so many others. I’d once fucked up a couple guys who were giving him shit, so we got along OK, but we didn’t have much to do with each other these days.

  Ross stood up to shake Enrico’s hand, but I stayed in my seat. Enrico introduced the stranger.

  “This here’s Renato Picolli, he’s a good friend of the family, I want you to show him the same respect. Ken you know already, I understand.”

  “Picolli? Like from Port Magnus?” Ross asked, shaking his hand. “Sounds like a warzone over there these days.”

  Renato shrugged. “Hey, that’s the business.”

  The two of them shook my hand too, but the dirty look I gave them didn’t escape their notice, and the thin veneer of friendly bullshit got that much thinner. Enrico sat in the chair next to me and Renato sat in the chair next to him. There were none left for Ken, so he leaned against the wall by the door.

  “So what can we do for you?” Ross asked.

  “The boss was wondering why he didn’t get no invitation to your wedding,” Enrico asked.

  “Didn’t realize we were that close,” I said. “Never met Gavino, after all.”

  “That’s Don Bertolini to you,” said Renato.

  I gave him a disdainful look and shook my head. “Listen, the marriage is a sham. There’s this new guy in Media Relations over at NHBFC, he made his career in pro wrestling, so they’re adding a whole song and dance around the fights now, trying to boost ticket sales and all. I didn’t invite anybody, they handled everything.”

  “I fuckin’ knew it! What did I tell ya?” Enrico slapped Renato’s arm with a backhand. “I said, this kid’s a fuckin puss-hound, no way he’s settled down, I bet he’s already fucked this bitch’s mother and grandma too, if she’s up for it.”

  If he said anything else, I didn’t hear it for a few seconds because of the blood pumping in my ears. I didn’t particularly care what he said about me, I’d certainly earned that title at least, but to hear this worthless fuck talking about Skylar filled me with senseless, wordless rage.

  The thundering of my heart in my ears faded away as I started to talk. “Listen to me very carefully. That’s the last time you ever talk about Skylar. You understand?”

  Enrico and Renato looked at me as if I’d started speaking in tongues. Ross held his hands up, trying to calm everybody down. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Renato Picolli piped up.

  “Hey, don’t forget whose bitch you are, kid.”

  “Who the fuck do you think…” began Enrico.

  I shot to my feet, towering over them with fists bunched up at my sides. “You wanna find out who the fuck I think I am?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ross was frantically trying to put out a fire.

  Renato stood up and pushed his chair away, reaching inside his jacket. By the door, Ken already had his hand on his gun, still in its holster. He was looking at me with wide eyes, frantically shaking his head ‘no’, as if he desperately didn’t want to have to make that choice. Hell, for all I knew, he might shoot one of these motherfuckers for me.

  Enrico recaptured his cool and stood up between Renato and me. “Sit the fuck down. Everybody.”

  Nobody moved.

  “Maybe not such a fake marriage, huh? I’ll remember that,” said Enrico. “Look, I understand. Nobody disrespects your girl. I can respect that. I wouldn’ta said anything if I thought she meant anything to ya, OK? Fuckin’ OK? Can we get back to business now?”

  I slowly lowered myself to my chair. Around the room, asses came back into contact with seats and hands left guns.

  “So we’ve been thinking, you’ve got this big high profile fight comin’ up and we’ve kinda left you to your own devices for a while, so it might just be time to make some money.”

  The three of them looked at me and I held my tongue, looking right back at Enrico. When I didn’t say anything, Enrico turned back to Ross.

  “So Mr. Strong-But-Silent over here gets submitted in the third. You’ll get your usual fee.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Are you seriously gonna let…” Renato started to ask Enrico.

  “Kid, you’re fuckin’ up the wrong tree here. You’ve always been mouthy, but we’ve never taken it too seriously, you boxers, MMA fighters, whatever, you gotta think you’re the baddest motherfuckers on the planet or you wet the bed at night and can’t perform in the ring or some shit. Don’t make me give the order that fucks up your world just to remind you who you work for.”

  There’s fifty ways I could kill you before you knew you were dead, cunt, I thought.

  “Once I beat Sanchez, I get a shot at Southgate. The title,” I said.

  “What the fuck do I care?” asked Enrico.

  I took a deep breath. “Business.”

  “What?”

  “This is business, right? Well let’s make some fuckin’ money. Sanchez, let’s say that instead of submitting him like usual… I knock him out in the third. I always win by submission, nobody will see that coming, big payout. Then I get my title shot and you back me to win that. The odds are going to be long on that one. Nobody’s beaten him in ten years, but he’s never fought anybody like me.”

  Enrico sat back and tented his fingers in front of himself while he thought about it. “I don’t know, kid. It’s not good business to back somebody to win, you can’t control that the way you can the other way round.”

  “No fee for us on the Sanchez fight. I can fuck him up, no problem.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ross looking at me incredulously. I kept my focus on Enrico though, as did Renato.

  Enrico rubbed his chin and tilted his head from side to side, eyes turned up to the ceiling. “OK, fine. You fight for free. Sanchez gets knocked out cold in the third.”

  He held out his hand and I shook it.

  “Pleasure, as always,” said Enrico. “Let’s get outta here, guys, let the killer get some rest. Big fight comin’ up.”

  Enrico and Renato filed out, Ken stayed behind for a second until they were out of earshot.

  “Hey man, I wanted to give you a congrats on the wedding, she looks like a nice girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You wanna do me a favor and not make them tell me to shoot you?”

  “Fuck them, man. Who’s that Renato guy anyway?” I asked.

  “Fuckin’ Picollis. Shit went real bad for them in Port Magnus and now they’re all over the place here. Buncha cocksuckers.”

  “I believe it.”

  “See you around.”

  “Bye.”

  Ken followed the others while Ross gave me the stinkeye until the front door was closed and locked behind them.

  “Great negotiating. I could have done with a new car after this Sanchez fight. Now what?”

  “I’ll double your cut on the Southgate fight, don’t worry,” I said.

  “I see. But first, we need you, a submission specialist, to knock out Ernesto Sanchez, a former kickboxing world champion. Correct?”

  “I’ve got a plan.”

  Skylar

  Vegas, baby! I’d never been before and now I was going in style, flying first class with Austin. Apparently not many airlines even had a first class service anymore, that luxurious section I’d walked through on my way to economy on previous flights was actually just business class.

  This was a whole other level of awesome. There were only six areas in the first class cabin, and they literally were areas rather than seats, cordoned off from each other by half-height walls like office cubicles. Only one of the other areas was occupied, by a little old lady that held her hand up to her ear and said “Heh?” any time an air hostess tried to ask her anything.

  Everything looked like it had been designed by the most artistic space-age engineers on the planet. Everywhere you looked there was something that folded up, slid out, twisted around or tilted to change its functiona
lity or maximize space. Instead of cheap plastic and tired fabric, it was all perfectly maintained, with organic curves, sleek lines and seamless joints between different things.

  The late flight was going to arrive in Las Vegas at around four in the morning. As such, we had a kind of light dinner service. The food was amazing and came on actual plates, though the utensils were still plastic.

  Something was up with Austin, though. We’d been married for about a month, and in that time I thought I must have had about as much sex as the average woman has in her lifetime. A couple days ago, basking in some afterglow and pillow-talk, I’d plucked up my courage and asked him for something I’d never dreamed of asking anybody.

  I said, the next time he fucked me, I wanted him to call me a slut, a whore, every name under the sun, and when he did it, I wanted him to fuck me rough. Harder than he ever had before.

  My request was met with a thick silence, but when I dared look up at him, there was no disgust or judgement on his face, just a thoughtful expression… and a twitch under the sheets that turned into a tent-pole. With the kind of relentless assault on my pussy he’d shown me over the past month I half expected him to grant my request right away, as if he’d already been holding himself back.

  But he didn’t. In fact, he did exactly the opposite, and he hadn’t fucked me since. After nineteen years of no sex at all, Austin had rewired my brain since we’d been together and my body craved his attention almost constantly now.

  A couple of days of abstinence, yet having to be around Austin so much, was utter torture for me. No matter what I did, he wouldn’t give it to me. I rubbed myself against him, I grabbed at the bulge in his pants, I begged for it.

  He teased me with his hardness, but that was it. So near and yet so far, he was driving me crazy.

  I never told him why I wanted him to do it, and he never asked. For almost as long as I could remember, my father had been using those words against me. Using them to make me feel small, worthless, bad, evil. Whatever.