by Amity Cross
“Do you ever think that we’ll get married?” I asked.
Ren snorted, lifting her head so she could make a face at me.
“What?” I asked. “You wouldn’t want to get married?”
She screwed up her nose. “White, flooffy dresses?”
“That’s just the actual thing. The getting married part,” I said, holding her tight. “And the dress doesn’t have to be flooffy. Hey, is flooffy an actual word?”
“Everything I say is an actual word,” she replied, feigning sarcasm.
“But have you ever thought about it?”
She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t need a bit of paper to say that I love you.”
She wasn’t interested, and the idea that she didn’t want to be bound to me like that, had me slightly disappointed. I didn’t care for dressing up and declaring my love in front of people. I’d be content to just sign the papers, put a ring on her finger and be done with it. No ‘flooffy’, white dresses, cakes, flowers or cameras. Just her and me like it had always been. Violet might kill me when she found out, but I just wanted Ren.
“It bothers you?” Ren asked, pulling away slightly.
“It doesn’t matter,” I muttered.
“Ash—”
“I want you any way I can have you,” I interrupted before it became an argument. That was the last thing I wanted the first morning she stayed over in her new apartment.
Grasping her face in my hands, I laid one on her, pressing my lips against hers. She sank against me, shoved her breasts against my chest and forced her leg between mine. Grinding my stiffening cock against her thigh, her lips curled into a grin.
“Animal,” she murmured.
“I have a three minute commute that doesn’t need to start for at least another hour,” I said.
“Your toast is getting cold.”
“Fuck the toast.” I tangled my fingers into her hair.
“After all that fuss with the switch?”
“Don’t push it, Spitfire.” I tugged her head back and kissed her neck.
Her hands moved up my back, shoving at my T-shirt, and I reached behind my head and yanked the material off, flinging it onto the kitchen island.
“That’s much better,” Ren murmured, rubbing her hands along my skin.
Walking her backward toward the couch, I replied, “You love getting me naked.”
“Just as much as you love getting me naked.”
She shoved me hard on the chest, and I fell down onto the couch. Instantly, I realized how she wanted it. On top. Fine by me.
She pulled off her T-shirt and exposed her naked breasts. Her pajama bottoms and knickers soon followed. Shoving my pants off, she straddled my lap, her knees either side of my thighs and her pussy wide open.
Biting her bottom lip, her hand curled around my cock and began stroking. Flexing into her palm, I hissed sharply.
“You know all the right buttons,” I said through a grunt as she lowered her body and stroked her clit with the head of my cock.
“What can I say?” she asked breathlessly. “I’m a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”
Guiding me to her opening, she pressed down so I slipped just inside.
“Ren,” I muttered. “Don’t be such a tease.”
“I’m in control now, Maverick,” she said wickedly. “It turns me on watching a big, powerful man squirm and beg.”
“Then I’ll owe you one night of frustration,” I retorted.
Her lips curved into a smile, and she raised her hand, her fingers running over my lips. “So impatient.”
Lowering onto my erection, her breath fluttered against my lips in a contented sigh. It had my balls flaring long before I had her completely filled, and my hands tightened on her hips.
“Spitfire,” I murmured, brushing my lips against hers.
Ren’s hands tightened in my hair, tugging as she swirled her hips, driving me deeper. Then she held, her mouth covering mine, her tongue delving against my own in a long kiss that had both our bodies shuddering against one another.
Rubbing my hands up and down her back, I pulled away and flexed underneath her. “Ride me.”
She answered with a moan before raising her body off mine. I felt every inch of her as she moved up my cock before sinking back down again, and she was the most beautiful creature I’d ever had. I’d never look at another woman again like I did her.
Grasping my shoulders, she rose again, working her body up to orgasm on mine. We moved together, chasing the high that came when our bodies were locked against one another. I knew she was getting there when her skin began to heat and her breathing picked up. My balls were tight, and I needed to take control and take her hard.
Grabbing her hips, I thrust into her and guiding her movements, I helped her increase the pace from punishing to obliterating. Luckily, I’d put a load of soundproofing into the walls because, right now, all I could hear were her moans and the seductive slap of our bodies joining over and over.
“Don’t stop.” She gasped. “Don’t stop, I’m close…”
“Give it to me.” I grunted as her head dropped into the crook of my neck, and her teeth bit into my skin.
She tightened around my cock with a cry, and it was all it took to take me with her. We came hard together, pulsing and crashing, reveling in this unexplainable thing we had with each other. Love, desire, all of those words that never seemed to do any justice for the way I felt about her.
Ren crumpled against me, her cheek pressing against mine as our chests heaved. I was still inside her, my arms wrapped around her prefect body. She was made for me, and I was made for her.
As our breathing returned to normal, I knew without a doubt I wanted Ren Miller any way I could have her. If she didn’t care that we weren’t hitched, then maybe I should give it up before it became a problem between us. Marriage was a stupid idea.
“Shit,” Ren sighed, her lips moving against my heated skin.
“Fuckin’ oath,” I replied, flexing underneath her as she squeezed.
She raised her head, her gaze meeting mine. “At least the couch is christened now.”
“I can’t wait until we christen the kitchen counter,” I replied. “And every other surface in this place.”
Ren’s eyes began to sparkle. “Where do I sign up?”
Moving my hips, I retorted, “You’re sitting on it.”
She sank against me, her arms tightening around my neck, and laughed.
Yeah, I was happy with whatever I could get.
3
Ren
Walking in the front door of Beat, I breathed in the familiar scent of leather.
The boxing studio sat down a tiny lane that ran off Sydney Road, the main drag that ran through the inner city suburb of Brunswick. It was a vibrant area full of different cultures and a smattering of hipster overflow from the neighboring arty areas of Carlton and Fitzroy.
I’d lived out of the upstairs room for almost three years. It sounded totally weird, but I didn’t mind it in the slightest. I wasn’t the kind of girl who got attached to things or dreamed of a big house with all the trimmings. Money was nice and all, but it didn’t afford me the things I really wanted in life, which was love. Ash never had to build me a fancy apartment over his gym to give me what I needed. As long as I had him, then I had everything.
In a way, Beat was my home, and moving in with Ash was the end of a short-lived but packed full of milestones era.
Spotting my dad standing across the studio by the ring, I moved inside and closed the door behind me. He was with a younger man who was tall and lean with well-defined muscles on his arms and a head of choppy blond hair. It must be the guy who Dad had hired to take care of the place. Moving closer, I wondered if the guy was a fighter, but he sure didn’t look the part in a collared shirt and dress pants.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, walking up behind the two men.
They turned at the sound of my voice, and Da
d wound his arm around my neck. “Hey, Ren.”
The other man gave me the once over and cocked an eyebrow. Obviously, he liked what he saw, and he wasn’t so bad himself. He had eyes that were supposed to be blue, but in the light of the studio, they were a steely gray. His jaw was dusted with a healthy dose of stubble that would make most guys look unkempt, but it just added to his swagger, which I could see he had a lot of already.
“This is Caleb Carmichael,” Dad said, giving the introduction before I could ask.
I didn’t know much about the world of boxing, but I did recognize the name Carmichael and it made up for the fact he didn’t seem as fit as the fighters I hung around. Boxers did lean like nothing else.
“I can see that look in her eyes,” Caleb said to my Dad.
“She’s just star-struck is all.”
“She’s standing right here.” It had overtures of the first day Ash had come back to Beat, and I was pretty sure I’d said the same thing. The difference was I was in a much better headspace these days. “And she’s not struck by anything.”
“She’s feisty, too,” Dad said with a chuckle.
“I’m not into bullshit,” I said, sticking out my hand. “Ren Miller.”
“Ren ‘One-Shot’ Miller,” Caleb said, taking my hand with a grin. “You have a mean right hook. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that my first day.”
“Ah, so you’re the new manager,” I retorted, snatching my hand back. I’d had my fill of cocky men swooping into Beat, but I’d learned pretty quick smart that cocky came with the fighter territory, no matter the code.
“A boxing studio needs a boxer at the helm,” he replied.
“Going back to basics, Dad?” I asked, giving him a look.
“Just rounding out the experience,” he retorted, dropping his arm from my shoulders. “Them there are boxing gloves painted on the door.”
“Maybe we can teach each other some things,” Caleb declared, eyeing me with appreciation. “Different codes and all.”
“Where’d you find this one?” I asked Dad, ignoring Caleb’s cocky question. Like I said, I didn’t do bullshit and since fighting was such a boys club, I especially didn’t do it on principle.
“I go way back with Caleb’s father,” Dad said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We were rivals back in the day.”
“I’ll say,” Caleb declared.
At one time, my dad, Andrew Miller, had been right up there with the Australian boxing greats, which was something I’d never known about the guy until I came looking after Mum had died. After he’d retired from fighting, he’d opened Beat. It began its existence as a boxing studio, but with the rise of mixed martial arts in the professional circuits, it had morphed into an all-round fighter gym. Boxing had been lacking in recent years with his move to coaching the Hayes twins, Lincoln and Dean, who were pros in the Australian Ultimate Fighting Championships.
“We had our moments,” Dad replied before glancing at me. “I’ve only got a few hours before I have to go meet with the sponsors, so can I leave you guys to it?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll show the newbie the ropes.”
“Great. I’ll call you later to see how you’re getting on.” He turned to Caleb, and the two men shook hands. “Thanks again, son. I’m sure we’ll see great things from you here.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I waited for Dad to move off and disappear out the front door before I turned to Caleb.
“So, I hear you crash here,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow, but I didn’t bite. “I’ll show you the office.”
He bowed his head slightly. “Lead the way, One-Shot.”
Stalking across the mats, I stomped up the stairs with Caleb on my tail. Opening the office door, I pulled up a chair at the desk, ready to run him through the day-to-day running of Beat, but not before I worked him out a little more. All I knew about the guy was that he used to be a pro boxer, our dads were old mates and he was one self-assured son of a bitch.
I watched Caleb do the rounds, poking through paperwork and peering at the framed photos on the wall before he leaned against the wall next to me.
“The dress code is loose here,” I said, giving him the once over.
“You don’t approve of guys looking good?” he asked with a grin.
“It’s just weird. I’m used to being around trainers who wear little else but shorts and T-shirts.”
“Well, at least you’re not a prude.”
I raised an eyebrow at his tone. “I’m also taken.”
Caleb held up his hands in mock defense. “Duly noted.” He craned his neck and nodded at my back. “Pulse Fitness? Isn’t that the guy who ditched the AUFC last year?”
I snorted. “That guy is Ash Fuller and the boyfriend.”
He shook his head with a smile. “Just let me keep digging my hole here, Ren.”
“People are quick to judge when you turn down a multi-million dollar contract to go out on your own.”
“I know what you mean. No need to explain it to me.”
Leaning back in my chair, I asked, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Caleb raised an eyebrow and I could see he was going to be trouble. He had smooth operator written all over him.
“I figured you’d ask sooner or later why I’m taking a job here when I could be doing pretty much anything.”
“None of my business,” I retorted.
“People always make a big deal, you know? Treading around the subject, giving me looks like I’m gunna break.”
I looked him up and down and began to wonder if he actually liked the attention it gave him. I mean, he was harping on about it.
“Do you want the long story or the short?” he asked, leaning against the wall.
“Short’ll do it if you feel the need to get it out of your system.”
He laughed and said, “I won a few belts boxing with the big boys, got the stuffing knocked outta me one too many times, and now I can’t fight. If I do, I risk never getting up on my own two feet again.”
“Fair enough,” I said with a shrug. He didn’t want me to make a big deal, so I wouldn’t make one.
“That’s it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’ at the end. Fighters got injured all the time. Some more than others, and it just so happened that Caleb was in the more category. It wasn’t my business to pry into touchy subjects like a man’s pride.
“I think I like you already,” he said with a wink.
“I told you how I do it,” I said. “No. Bullshit.”
“Then we’re going to get along just great.”
I looked him over again. Not in a checking out ‘how hot he was’ kinda perusal, more like a ‘how’s his form’ way.
“Boxing, hey?” I asked.
His lip quirked. “Interested?”
“Slightly.”
“I’ll run you through some techniques sometime. I mean, you MMA fighters are all undisciplined yahoos. You could use a little technique.”
“Are you forgetting I have a mean right hook?” I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Nup. But I’m sure I know how to duck and weave before you even get close.”
I raised my eyebrows for what felt like the millionth time in the last twenty minutes. “Oh, you’re on.”
Caleb smirked. “Like Donkey Kong.”
4
Ash
I strode through rows of blackjack tables, trying to find a way out of the maze that was Melbourne’s Crown Casino.
Meeting a guy for an appointment in a sports bar smack bang in the middle of a gambling mecca wasn’t my idea of a casual get together. Nor was it my idea of a fancy business meeting, especially not when they were asking me to sign on the dotted line for some endorsement for Pulse. Those whack jobs thought fighters were all muscle and no brains. I didn’t give a shit how much money was attached to it, the guy treated me like I was a caveman
, not a business owner, so I walked. I had no idea why I went in the first place. Maybe because it had a big name attached, and I was curious.
Shit, I couldn’t wait to get back to the gym where stuff was easy, and I didn’t have to contend with marketing types.
Leaving the gaming area of the casino, I found myself being a fish out of water as designer stores popped up around me. Fancy names with fancy price tags. Yet another thing I didn’t know shit about.
Coming to a stop out the front of an expensive looking jewelry store, I stared at the rings in the window display. Glancing up at the sign, I tried to pronounce the name in my head but got nothing. BVLGARI. Whatever that was.
But it was the ring in the center of the display that caught my attention. A silver band, with what looked like scales attached to one another and diamonds encrusted in each little circle, sat on a pedestal, and I instantly thought about Ren. She wasn’t interested in getting married, that much was obvious, but if I was going to buy her a ring, it’d be that one. She never wore any jewelry, and flashy wasn’t her thing, but this… It was simple, quirky and would look pretty fuckin’ nice on her finger.
I must’ve been standing there for ages because a woman through the window caught my eye. She was immaculately dressed with a name tag pinned onto her shirt and a wide smile was on her lips. This would usually be the moment I legged it because I hated being given the sales pitch, but curiosity drew me in.
After stepping into the store, I almost turned around and left entirely, but the woman came up to me with a smile, her gaze raking over me with unmasked appreciation.
“Good afternoon, Sir,” she said sweetly. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
“In the window,” I said. “The ring. Can I look at it?”
“Which one, Sir?”
“The silver one in the middle,” I said, pointing to the display.
She nodded and disappeared out the back someplace. Feeling like a useless lump in the middle of the posh store, I glanced around nervously like Ren would suddenly walk past and bust me, but I knew she was at Beat sorting out the new guy. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this anyway.
