Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  “Tyson,” she gasps, then smacks me.

  “What?” I ask laughing surprised at her reaction.

  “What the hell happened to your face? Are you okay?” She gently touches around my eye with the tips of her fingers, then pulls them back. The look of concern on her face indicated by the slight puckering of her lips, the furrow of her brow and the nervousness in her eyes, touches me. It’s nice to have someone care about me.

  Knowing this question was coming doesn’t make the answering of it any easier. Grabbing her hand, I kiss the fingers that were just touching me with such concern. “I’m fine – in fact it’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing.” She bites her lip and I automatically reach up and remove it from her teeth.

  Kissing the spot she was biting gently, I reassure her, “It’s just from a wayward jab during a fight. No big deal. Happens all the time. When you’re a fighter, these things happen. It’s part of the gig.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  Smiling at her honesty, I kiss her softly on the lips, “All the parts that matter, work just fine.”

  A reluctant smile comes to her face and I smile back in reassurance. Hoping that she’s going to say something along the lines of ‘let’s prove it’ I eagerly await her words. Of course, she doesn’t disappoint. Leaning in close, she traces my lips with the tip of her tongue. I can feel her soft breath on my mouth and just as I think to pull her closer, she steps back. Discombobulated I look at her in confusion and see a wicked smile on her face. “I’m starving. When’s dinner going to be ready?”

  Barking out a laugh, I let her go and step back. “I’ll check on it now, but first…” I step back another step and make a show of looking her up and down. My eyes take in the red dress that wraps snugly around her body, tying on the side. Lingering at the swell of her breasts and the tininess of her waist, I purposefully growl and lick my lips. “You look…” I moan and let that do the talking for me. She laughs and I take her hand, and lead her into the kitchen.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “I’d love one.”

  I pour her a glass of red wine and one for myself. She hops up on the counter and swings her legs, creating a sight I could certainly get used to. Pulling the lasagna dish out of the oven, I look satisfyingly at the bubbling cheese and pasta concoction. Since Rowan and I were on our own so often, , I learned to cook, knowing it was that or eat a lot of peanut butter and jelly and cereal. Both of us did. I preferred cooking Italian for some reason so when we were lucky and our mom would give us some extra cash and send us to the store for various shit, I’d always buy ingredients to cook pasta dishes that I would copy from recipes obtained online. Sometimes my mom would eat too, but she just usually made snotty remarks about the fact that I was cooking. She called me girly for it, but I didn’t care. One thing that I make exceptionally well – even better than Rowan – and that she loves, is my lasagna.

  Easy to make and delicious to eat, I thought it was the perfect dish to make for a first meal at my place. I also put together a caprese salad and heated some cheese bread and I bring it all to the table. “Here, beautiful, sit here.” I point to her chair, pulling it out for her like the fucking gentleman I am.

  “This looks great,” she says as I cut a slice of the lasagna and place it on her plate. “I may have to steal your recipe.”

  “No way! A great chef never reveals his secrets.”

  I watch as she takes a bite and feel a thrill of happiness when her lips curl into a smile, and she hums in contentment. “This is good; really good,” she mumbles before shoveling another bite into her mouth. Hell, I love the way she eats. Like a real woman, not all dainty and shit.

  “How is school going?” I ask her.

  A look of trepidation crosses her face, but when she notices me studying her, she smiles thinly, “It’s kind of kicking my ass right now to be honest. It’s hard to work full time and go to school full time, so I don’t take a full course load, or it would be even worse and I’d never want to go back. That’s why it’s taking me so long to finish. But classes require a lot of studying and work, like papers.”

  “You’ve never said what you’re studying.”

  “Oh, I haven’t? I’m studying to become a social worker.”

  “That’s an interesting field. Why did you choose that?”

  “For several reasons, but mostly because helping children find good homes is something that means a great deal to me.”

  It’s the perfect opportunity for me to not only agree with her, but to tell her why I think that’s such a noble profession. To tell her that I know personally how people like her are so important and that I feel more needs to be done to help children in need. It isn’t like anyone could have helped me and Row, I suppose because we were perfect at hiding our upbringing and surroundings, or at least I think we were, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have compassion for children that may be in the same situation I was. Instead I say, “I think that would be a tough field.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, just because of all the stuff you see on the news about the things some kids are exposed to and situations some are enduring before social workers know to get involved.”

  “Yes, for sure. I’ve heard many horror stories throughout my schooling and lots of people don’t have the stomach for it. Who knows? Maybe I won’t either, but I won’t know until I try.”

  “That’s inspiring,” I tell her honestly, and I smile when she shrugs shyly.

  After taking a bite of her salad, she sips her wine, and tucks her hair behind her ear. I find myself fascinated with everything about her. I couldn’t look away if I tried. She changes the subject for herself when she says, “From the little you’ve told me, I get the impression that you and your sister are close. There’s something in your voice when you mention her name.”

  “We are. She’s my twin sister so that’s part of the reason, but I’m the older one, technically by two minutes, and I’ve always taken my job as her brother seriously. We uh… well I guess you could say we’ve always needed to depend on each other. We’ve kind of been all the other has, so I’m really lucky to have her.”

  Her face takes on various expressions during that brief revelation and now her brow furrows, but she doesn’t ask the question I know she’s thinking. Why would Rowan and I only have each other to depend on? But she never asks. It dawns on me how easy it was to even tell her that much. I never talk about my family, other than Row, ever. I even blow off Rowan when she brings shit up from our past. I just don’t see a point in rehashing it with her, but with Sydney it feels different. I’m not sure why. “What about your family? You mentioned your grandmother before. Does your family live here? Any siblings?”

  Her face falls and I wish I could take the words back. She looks away and I watch her throat move as she takes a couple swallows of her wine. Wondering if I should say something to change the subject, I try to think of something, but remain quiet. When she finally looks at me and speaks, I can hardly hear her words. “They’re dead.”

  “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Fuck. Way to ruin our evening in one question. That has to be a record.

  “No, it’s okay. You didn’t know. I’d rather not talk about it, but I will say that you’re very lucky to have Rowan.”

  “Believe me. I know it.”

  We make small talk while we eat. She makes me laugh by confessing her secret love of office supplies and how she hordes them inside her bedroom closet. I confess to her the time I was a teenager and snuck into a painting class on the day they had a nude model.

  When she suddenly stands, picks up my empty plate and then her own, I ask, “What are you doing?” She walks to the sink, runs the water and starts rinsing them off. “Guests don’t wash dishes. It’s like a rule,” I protest.

  She laughs, “A rule huh? Well how about we clean up together?”

  “Alright,” I nod. I bring her baking plates to rinse and we clear th
e rest of the table in companionable silence. Then I join her at the sink and grab dishes from her as she rinses and begins to place them in the rack to dry. A few times we make eye contact, but when she hands me a dish, and our hands touch, our eyes instantly fly to each other.

  We stare at each other, words not required since our eyes are doing the talking. Suddenly, it’s like a frenzy. The dish is forgotten, and the sexual tension that’s radiated between us from the beginning seems to implode. Unable to hold it in any longer, our mouths take possession of each other’s and we roughly move our lips against one another. I’m desperate to taste her, to touch her. I have an overwhelming need to brand her, to make her mine in every way.

  Her hands are under my shirt exploring the contours of my chest. She begins unbuttoning it, one button at a time. When it’s open, she pulls it over my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Trailing her fingers over my tattoos, she makes me shiver at her touch. Stepping forward, she places a kiss at the center of my chest while I watch her. It’s like a string is attached from her lips, straight to my cock because it aches at every kiss, every touch.

  “I want you, Tyson,” she murmurs, then looks up into my eyes letting me see the lust burning in them, showing the truth behind her words.

  I don’t waste any more time. I want her too. Pulling at the bow at the side of her dress, the fabric falls open, revealing the killer fucking body I knew resided underneath. Creamy white skin encased in black lace, she’s a living, breathing wet dream. I feel like I’ve fucking died and gone to heaven. I yank the dress off her shoulders and it falls to the floor like a moving ember, joining my shirt. Dropping to my knees, I look up at her face. Keeping my eyes on her, I lean forward and place a kiss right at her center eliciting a moan from her and a whispered, “Tyson.”

  Needing no further persuasion, I reach up and yank her panties down, and lift her onto the counter. “I’m ready for some dessert, beautiful.” I spread her knees apart and dive into her, spreading the lips of her pussy and licking my way inside. Her moans become louder with each lick and suck of my mouth. Looking up at her, I admire her thrown back head and the way she’s massaging her own breasts. My cock is so hard in my jeans, it probably has an impression of my zipper on it. When her moans reach a crescendo, I know she’s close, so I take her clit in my mouth and suck. Hard. It takes seconds before she explodes around me and I lap up her orgasm with enthusiasm.

  Lifting my head from her, I rip off my jeans but not before pulling a condom out of the back pocket and tossing it on the counter. After releasing my throbbing cock from my briefs, I take her down from the counter. Freeing her breasts from her bra, I take them both in my hand and massage them, leaning down to take the rounded pebbles her nipples have become, into my mouth. “Tyson, fuck me,” she whispers and I stand up and flip her around so she’s leaning over the kitchen counter. “Yes,” she murmurs. Tearing the condom package open with my teeth, I roll it on quickly, take my dick in my hand, then push into her from behind.

  “Sydney,” I groan at the feeling. “You’re so warm and tight.” Moving in and out of her, my head falls back and I moan. Reaching around her body, I take her huge tits in my hands and massage as I keep pounding into her. She’s massaging her own clit and the tips of her fingers brush against me as I move in and out.

  “God yes! Harder,” she demands and I listen. Thrusting into her over and over, I feel her tighten around me and explode. Seconds later I follow then collapse onto her back. Once I catch my breath, I pull out of her and dispose of the condom.

  Taking her into my arms, I hold her close against my chest, kiss her on the forehead, then lift her until she wraps her legs around my waist. Words not needed, I walk into my room, lay her down on my bed, and then curl up behind her and close my eyes feeling exhausted, yet happy. For the first time since I can remember, I feel nothing churning inside of me except contentment and the bubbling of an emotion I can’t define.

  I’m hot. It feels like I’m my air conditioning broke, or I fell asleep outside when it’s ninety degrees. When I start to kick the sheet and comforter off of my legs to cool my body, my eyes pop open wide as I remember I’m in bed with Tyson. That heat I’m feeling is his body pressed up against mine, his arm wrapped around my waist.

  Squeezing out from under his arm, trying my best not to wake him up, I slide off the side of the bed, fall to the floor, then sit up before I stand. Giggling softly to myself thinking about how silly that probably looked, I walk into the bathroom to relieve my bladder. Then, the temptation being too great, I snoop around his bathroom a little. I open his medicine cabinet and explore his bottles of pain relievers. Just over the counter stuff. His black toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant are here too. Spying a bottle of cologne I grab it and take a sniff and almost melt at the scent of Tyson. Making note of the brand name and fragrance, I place it back and close the cabinet door. Getting a good look at myself in the mirror, I grimace and slightly gasp at my spastic hair and the smudged makeup under my eyes.

  Noting the presence of a couple love bites on my lower neck and chest, I run my finger over them thinking about last night. I didn’t necessarily intend for sex to happen, but I suppose I didn’t rule it out completely either. Something just came over me and I couldn’t hold it in anymore – I didn’t want to. I’ve been craving comfort, a connection, and closeness that Tyson was offering on a silver platter. I know it’s stupid to get involved with him. It’s only going to lead to hurt and sadness that will probably drag me down for days, but I can’t help feeling like the time I have with him until then is worth it. It’s a well-deserved escape from the daily responsibilities in my life that are wearing me down. Not to mention the complete and utter attraction I feel for this man – resisting him isn’t an option. Falling for him is dangerous, but I want to feel something other than disappointment and sadness – at least for a little while.

  Searching his drawers, I find a brush and run it through my hair and am delighted to find a toothbrush still in the package. I freshen up, brushing my teeth and washing my face and then step back into the bedroom, eager to snuggle back up with Tyson. It’s been ages since I’ve slept in bed with a man and slept as sound as I did last evening.

  Walking back into the bedroom, knowing I should gather my clothes and get going but determined not to do the sensible thing for once, I frown when I see he’s not there. As disappointment enmeshed with inquiry begins to take form, he comes strutting into the room, completely naked, hands carrying two mugs of coffee. Holy. Hell. My naked man, and coffee! What a view! My craving for my morning cup – or two – of java is unparalleled to the tantalizing desire to devour this morning vision. His body truly is perfect. He’s all long, lean muscle with washboard abs, a perfect v at this trim hips and strong thighs. The sight is fucking mouth watering. Watching him move is practically hypnotizing. His tattoos give him the look of walking art. I study the cross, the praying hands and other images on his body, then meet his eyes. “Thank you,” I smile and take a mug from him.

  “You seem like a sugar and cream kind of girl, so I took a chance.”

  “It’s perfect,” I tell him after taking a sip.

  “Yes, yes it is,” he says but he’s clearly not referring to the coffee as he looks me up and down. Moving toward me like an animal stalking its prey, I smile and move backwards until my knees hit the bed, then I slide backwards on the bed doing my best to hold onto my coffee. He follows, walking on his knees toward me. Stopping when my back hits the headboard, he smiles as he places a hand along side one of my legs, and leans down to give the inside of my thigh a love bite. Balancing over me, he takes another sip of his coffee and I notice he’s also holding a plastic bear full of honey.

  “You take honey in your coffee?” I ask as pulls the cap up.

  “Nope,” he says with a smirk.

  He holds his eyes to mine and turns the bear over and drizzles honey onto my chest. “Tyson! What are you doing? I need to get going.”

  “No.” He t
akes both of our coffee mugs and sets them on the bedside table.

  “No?”

  “Nope,” he says popping the ‘p’ and continues to drizzle fine lines of honey onto my breasts, down my sternum and ribs, to my stomach. “I have plans for you.”

  “Oh do you now?” I ask raising a brow somewhat amused by his antics. “And you were going to tell me this when?”

  “Now.”

  “Mm hmm, and what do these plans consist of?”

  “Well, in a little while we are going to leave here because I need to train today, and you’re going to come with me. I’d like for you to meet the guys and my sister.”

  “I have some errands I need to do today, and some studying, can we do it another day?”

  “No. All that stuff can wait.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Now stop arguing, I want to eat my breakfast.” He drips honey onto his tongue and then leans forward and kisses me, hard and eager. His tongue darts in and out of my mouth and he groans softly. He pulls away and looks in my eyes, “In case you’re wondering – that means you.”

  My mind starts to cloud, but I still try to protest and open my mouth to do so when his lips leave mine. That is until he begins lapping up the honey he’s trickled down my body. All arguments die on my lips when he connects his tongue with my chest and licks and sucks at my skin like he’s dying of thirst and I’m the oasis. When his tongue circles my nipples, a soft moan erupts from the back of my throat and he looks up at me with a satisfied smirk. I grab the back of his head and shove it back down, making him chuckle.

  His tongue moves from my breasts, trailing down to my stomach. He licks around my belly button and keeps going lower. When his tongue circles my clit, I open my legs as far as I can, abandoning any pretense of modesty, completely exposing myself to him to enjoy the pleasure he’s giving. And the pleasure comes in abundance. Incredibly responsive to his hard licks, sucks, prickly sensations, and moans, my body is vibrating and quivering in all the right places in record time. He rises from the messiness, honey still evident on his features, a satisfied, conceited look on his face that makes me laugh.