Bruiser: A Lonely Housewife Embarks on a Passionate Affair with an Alpha Male MMA Fighter

by Scarlet, Simone

  And that ignored the other issue – he had less than three weeks to prepare for a televised fight.

  Brandon looked down at Ava, and had a brain wave.

  “How would you like a job?” He asked her.

  Ava blinked. “What?”

  The more Brandon thought about it, the better it sounded.

  “Seriously,” he told her. “Man the phones for me. Call up the inquiries. Start getting me some new students.”

  Ava stood there silently.

  “I-I can’t afford to pay you,” Brandon admitted. “Not right now.” But he was still calculating in his head. “But how’s about this? I’ll give you 50%.”

  “Fifty percent?” Ava’s eyes narrowed.

  “I need thirty more students to break even. Get me sixty, and I’ll give you fifty percent of whatever they bring in per month. And the same for however many you can get me on top of that.”

  At an average of a hundreds bucks a month, that meant…

  Ava’s eyes widened.

  “Seriously?”

  “Fuck, yes,” Brandon nodded. “I need this. And right now, you’re the only person I’d trust to do it.”

  Ava looked up at his broad, flat, handsome face. His eyes were open; warm and welcoming. He was looking at her in a way she hadn’t been looked at in years.

  Respected. Needed. Appreciated.

  “Let me talk to Clark,” Ava answered, though she already knew his answer. As long as she was bringing in enough money to put Lex in daycare, and was out in time to collect Harley from the bus stop, he wouldn’t care.

  To Clark, it would all come down to money. And that made things delightfully free of complication for Ava.

  Because the money was an excuse for agreeing to do something she’d happily have volunteered to do for free.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ava

  “Do we need to talk?”

  It was nearly nine o’clock, and the kids were in bed. Ava was sitting at the dining room table, the stack of Post-It notes piled in front of her, with her laptop open.

  She’d been diligently typing names and numbers into a spreadsheet, to create a list of ‘leads.’

  Clark stood framed in the archway that separated the TV room from the dining room. His rotund frame was silhouetted by the flickering light of the TV behind him.

  Ava looked up.

  “Do we need to talk?” Clark asked again, stepping closer and taking a seat opposite her.

  Ava gulped.

  Up until then, she’d been able to switch off the part of her brain that was obsessing over what had happened the other night – the sweaty, sexy, amazing tryst she’d shared with Brandon on the floor of the storage room.

  But now – looking across the table at the wide, blue eyes of her husband – it all came crashing back.

  Guilt thumped her in the stomach so hard, she felt nauseous.

  “Ava, I’m not dumb,” Clark said coolly. “You’ve been acting real weird recently. You’ve been spending all your time at the karate center.” He gulped, his lip quivering. “I mean, what was up with today? Why did you tell me you were going to get your eyebrows threaded and then… and then…”

  He gulped dryly.

  “Why did you lie to me about that?”

  Ava felt butterflies churn in her stomach.

  This whole thing with Brandon had started partly because she’d felt taken for granted by Clark. He’d been so focused on his comic book business – and his conventions, and website, and all that other shit – that he’d made her feel almost like his housekeeper, rather than his wife.

  But now she realized that she’d taken him for granted as well.

  She’d just assumed Clark would be too self-involved to notice what had been going on between her and Brandon, and it had secretly delighted her.

  But he was right. He wasn’t dumb. And she had hardly been smart about all this.

  “I-I’m sorry, Clark,” Ava gulped.

  Clark’s eyes widened.

  “I-It’s just…” Ava reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand. It was trembling. “It’s just…”

  And then a brain-wave hit her.

  Confidence flushed through her like rocket-fuel.

  “It’s just… he offered me a job.”

  Clark blinked. That one had come out of left-field.

  “Yes,” Ava repeated, growing more confident in her lie. “He offered me a job.” It wasn’t even a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth. “He wants me to recruit students for him – he’s going to give me fifty percent commission per month.”

  And the evidence was laid out in front of her. She passed Clark the stacks of Post-It notes.

  “Each student brings in about a hundred bucks a month,” Ava explained. “Brandon… I mean, Master Brandon needs sixty to keep the place running.”

  Clark did some calculations in his head. His eyes lit up.

  “If I hit that,” Ava nodded, “it’ll pay for Lex to be in daycare. And you know what Bran… Master Brandon is like. He’ll let me out to pick up Harley. I can come in and leave when I need to.”

  And as she saw Clark’s face soften, Ava went in for the kill.

  “And look – I need this. You’re always so wrapped up in your business. I need to go out. To talk to people.” She shrugged. “Are you cool with it?”

  And she could almost see the relief on his face.

  “Oh, thank fuck,” Clark breathed, squeezing Ava’s hand. “Of course I’m okay with you taking a job there.”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh, Jesus, I’m almost embarrassed to admit this…” He gulped. “All this time, I’d been paranoid that you were sleeping with him.”

  And Ava forced herself to smile, even as the knife of guilt twisted deeply in her gut.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Brandon

  Three years of running a martial arts school had kept Brandon in reasonable shape – but nobody ever made it big on the MMA circuit by being ‘reasonable’ at anything.

  The day after Bubba and the film crew left, Brandon threw his all into preparing for his bout.

  5am classes came and went. In the hours he used to spend doing paperwork, or snoozing on the couch, he ran circuits around the parking lot.

  He did pull-ups on the training bars until his shoulders screamed. The big tractor tire that had been gathering rainwater outside for the past two summers was suddenly employed doing flips and for hammering with a sledge – both exercises his buddies who did Crossfit swore beat the bench press and curls.

  Within three days, his entire body ached – but he could already run further, and lift heavier, than he’d been able to for months.

  “The human body’s like an engine,” one of his old instructors had told him, back before he’d started college. “It doesn’t take much to shock it back into decent shape.” But then the warning, “To get better than decent? That takes work, and time.”

  And Brandon only had one of those luxuries.

  The good news was that Ava turned up to work three days later, after she’d signed Lex up to a local Montesorri school.

  With Ava manning the front desk and answering the phones, that enabled Brandon to focus every minute he wasn’t teaching on training. And he had a feeling he was going to need it.

  * * *

  Johnny, the 19-year-old who taught some of the white belt classes, served as Brandon’s sparring partner – and got one hell of an education as a result.

  “Jesus, Bran,” he complained, as the big man threw him across the vinyl mats in a brutal finishing move. “Go easy, man.”

  But Brandon wasn’t in the mood to go easy.

  “Come at me as hard as you can,” Brandon growled. “Seriously, try and fucking kill me.”

  And Johnny, who hadn’t killed so much as a fly in his life, launched himself at Brandon with punches and kicks that would have made any Hollywood producer proud. But they deflected off his opponent like rainwater off a duck.

&nbs
p; “Come on, man,” Brandon growled, as he knocked one of Johnny’s kicks aside with a twist of his forearm. “Really come at me.”

  And when Johnny did, Brandon punched him in the face, and knocked the poor kid clean across the studio.

  “Oh, shit.”

  The sound of an unconscious young 19-year-old skidding across the mats was enough to drag even Ava off the phones; and she ran into the studio in time to find Brandon hunched over Johnny’s prostate body, slapping the teenager’s face for signs of life.

  “Bro… Are you okay? Speak to me?”

  “Frrruggugh,” was Johnny’s response.

  “Holy shit, B,” Ava screamed, as she scrambled across the studio and started tending to the unconscious college student.

  Clicking her fingers in front of his eyes elicited a response. Stroking his hair encouraged a smile. A minute and a half after Brandon knocked him flying, Johnny peered up into Ava’s beautiful face and muttered, “Did he hit me yet?”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Ava

  “What the fuck where you thinking?”

  Ava and Brandon were standing in Brandon’s office, and she was tearing him a new one.

  “Ava, I…”

  “You knocked him out!” Ava screamed. “We had to take him to the Urgent Care to make sure he didn’t have a concussion!”

  “I didn’t mean to…”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Ava was practically screaming in Brandon’s face. “What is wrong with you?”

  Brandon paused as this tiny Italian woman screamed at him.

  He had this weird thing in his head – probably as a result of all the martial arts training. He could drown out every other stimulus assaulting him – noises, and sounds, and smells – and focus on just one thing.

  And that was the one that got him.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “I…” Brandon stood there blinking. “I don’t know…”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, they were at IHOP, and Brandon was inhaling a plate of pancakes.

  “Seriously, dude,” Ava snarled, as she watched him eat. “I realize you need to train… But shit.” She shook her head. “Johnny’s just a kid, man.”

  Brandon paused, fork poised to his mouth. A chunk of chocolate-chip pancake splodged onto his plate.

  “Look, I need something more…” He shook his head, and pushed the plate of pancakes away from him. “Fuck, Ava. This whole thing is only just sinking in. I’m going to go up there against a real fighter.”

  He sat there, looking at her with wide, brown eyes.

  “I… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  Ava looked at him sternly; lovingly.

  “I think maybe you need somebody more intense to spar against than a 19-year-old.”

  Brandon looked at his pancakes. Slowly he pulled the plate back towards him and started eating again.

  “Listen,” Ava said quietly. “I have a confession to make.”

  Again, the fork full of pancake paused half-way to Brandon’s mouth.

  “You’re not my first MMA fighter,” she continued.

  Brandon’s eyes widened.

  “Back when I was at college – this is years ago now,” Ava explained, “I used to date a guy who did MMA. He was on the professional circuit for a few years – you might have heard of him. Rob Staavig?”

  “Thor,” Brandon’s eyes widened. “You dated Thor?”

  A lot of MMA fighters have nicknames – for example, Brandon was known as ‘Bruiser.’ The California-based MMA fighter Rob Staavig was known as ‘Thor’ because of his Norwegian heritage and his long, blond, shampoo commercial-quality hair.

  Ava’s cheeks turned a little pink.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “No, I’m impressed,” Brandon chewed on a mouthful of pancake. “Staavig was always pretty brutal. A great wrestler.”

  “Well, look. This might sound weird – but last time I talked to Rob, he was out on the East Coast for the summer, working. Maybe he could spar with you, instead of poor old Johnny.”

  Brandon’s eyes widened.

  “He was close to the championship a couple of times,” the handsome karate instructor mused. “Fuck, now that would get me back on my toes.”

  But then Brandon narrowed his eyes.

  “So… How would Clark handle that?”

  And Ava felt butterflies churn in her stomach. How would Clark handle any of this? Bringing an old boyfriend into the mix might be more than even her oblivious, self-interested spouse could ignore.

  But Ava had come this far. She felt hooked. Right now, she felt like she had almost as much invested in this fight as Brandon did – and she knew that this might be one of the tipping points in his favor.

  “I’ll give him a call.”

  “Later,” Brandon said, looking up and calling for the check. “I’ve got something else I need you to take care of first.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Ava

  Thump!

  The desk in Brandon’s office rocked as the big, burly fighter pushed Ava down across it. Ledgers and pens skidded to the floor.

  “Oh, fuck, Brandon,” Ava groaned, as the big man pinned her to the desk and planted pancake-flavored kisses on her lips. “Your next class starts in twenty minutes.”

  “I won’t need half that long,” Brandon snarled, sliding his hand up, under Ava’s t-shirt, to squeeze her big breasts through her bra.

  Ava groaned.

  God, this was wrong: Making out on Brandon’s desk, while her husband and kids sat obliviously at home. But the weight of the karate instructor, crushing her to the desk, was incredible.

  Her pussy gushed at his kisses. Fuck, the whole thing was electric.

  “Turn around,” Brandon snarled.

  Grabbing the waistband of her yoga pants, Brandon practically wrenched Ava off the desk, and flipped her around effortlessly. Her palms landed flat on the warm wood, and Ava looked over her shoulder as Brandon positioned himself behind her.

  He yanked down her yoga pants, exposing her bare ass. Then he pulled down his own karategi, and his thick, hard cock sprang out.

  Rough, thick fingers slid between Ava’s legs.

  “Huuungh,” she gasped, as she felt them slide inside her.

  “Fuck, you’re already wet,” Brandon snarled.

  “So, fuck me already,” Ava snarled back.

  And he did.

  Pulling his fingers from her, Brandon replaced them with the head of his swollen cock. With one thrust, he was inside her.

  “Oh, fuuuuck,” Ava groaned, gripping the side of the desk as she felt herself stretched, and filled.

  Then Brandon started fucking her.

  His muscular hips slapped against her bare ass. That big, satisfying cock slid in and out of her, hitting all the right spots. Ava groaned, and then shuddered as she felt Brandon hunch over her, and squeeze her tits through her t-shirt, as they hung down beneath her.

  “God, you’re so fucking sexy,” Brandon groaned, thrusting deeply inside of her.

  Ava just moaned.

  She closed her eyes and thrust her ass backwards, skewering herself on his big, satisfying cock.

  Each inward thrust hit her g-spot perfectly, and the sheer dirtiness and passion of this tryst drove her crazy.

  Ava bit her lip. Fuck, she was close.

  “God, you drive me fucking crazy,” Brandon groaned, and then he sunk inside her so deeply, she practically exploded.

  “Huuuungh,” Ava groaned, squeezing shut her eyes and digging her nails into the desk. “Fuuuuck…”

  And then she came.

  God, it was amazing. Shuddering, rolling waves of pleasure washed over her, and she practically flopped onto the desk.

  Brandon didn’t even hesitate. Grabbing her as if she was weightless, he scooped Ava up and threw her across the desk – until she landed on her back, with her legs sticking up in the air – still bound together by the yoga pants that wer
e pulled only half-way down her thighs.

  But that was all Brandon needed.

  Without missing a beat, he was back inside her – hammering her relentlessly as she lay pinned on the desk.

  The wet slapping of his hips against her thighs echoed through the room. Brandon grunted. Ava moaned, as he practically bent her in half and thrust himself inside of her.

  “Oh, fuck,” the big man groaned, staring down into Ava’s eyes. “I’m going to cum.”

  And Ava just reached up, and clung to his starchy jacket, and let him use her for his pleasure.

  Their eye-contact never broke – not even as Ava felt his cock swell, and stiffen inside of her.

  “H-here it comes,” Brandon groaned, and then he thrust himself as deeply inside Ava as he could – and exploded.

  She felt his cock throb, and swell inside her – and then felt the hot spurts flooding her.

  She instantly climaxed at the sensation.

  Moaning, she clung to Brandon as he emptied himself inside of her, and then wrapped her arms around him as the big karate instructor flopped, absolutely drained, on top of her.

  For a few moments, they just lay there, gasping. Then Brandon’s head snapped up.

  “Fuck,” he barked.

  Ava heard it too. The sound of a car pulling into the parking lot.

  The first students for Brandon’s afternoon classes were arriving.

  Brandon clambered off Ava abruptly, pulling his softening cock from inside her. She gasped, as a hot gush of cum dribbled down the crack of her ass.

  “Quickly,” Brandon was pulling up his pants. “I can hear the door opening…”

  Ava barely had time to process what had just happened. She scrambled off the desk, and yanked up her yoga pants – feeling the uncomfortable squelch as Brandon’s sticky load dribbled out into her panties.

  And then the office door swung open, and Brandon walked out to greet the two moms who’d turned up – fist-bumping with their kids, who were here for the afternoon white belt class.