by Frankie Love
“McQueen isn’t waiting around for me. I was a distraction. A one-off. Nothing real. So yes, I’ve put McQueen behind me. And I’m getting over the fact that I’m done training at the gym. I need to be practical.”
“And marrying a stranger is totally practical.” She rolls her eyes, just like I do at my brothers, and I realize it was stupid of me to try and explain this to her.
“Look, my life isn’t bad. Look around. My family is loaded. I’ll never need anything, never need to work, never struggle. Grotto and I can make a nice life together. It isn’t the worst thing in the world to have your needs met.”
Lucy stops pacing; I see the tears in her eyes, and I realize then just how much she cares for me. This isn’t a joke, or something to laugh about. This is my life.
“Mary has everything, JoJo, and she isn’t happy. Her needs aren’t being met. You’ve never been out to meet my family in California, and I understand you’ve grown up in this sort of household, but this isn’t the only way to live.”
The air in the kitchen is heavy. Justice’s swing creaks as it moves back and forth. Swaying against the words Lucy and I share, holding back the tears in the corner of my eyes.
I look around Mary’s house, biting my lip. Knowing the words that I’ve told Lucy aren’t anything like the way I really feel, deep down. But what use is saying the truth? “I can’t walk away from this. From them.”
“You shouldn’t walk,” she says. “JoJo, you should run.”
I look up, surprised. Before I can say any more the phone rings again. Kit.
“Answer it,” Lucy says. “For me.”
I wipe away my almost-tears and answer the call, putting it on speakerphone.
“JoJo, honey,” Kit says. “I’ve been trying to get through all day.”
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“More than okay, girl. I got what you wanted. A fight. A real one. Someone just got injured and I got you on the ticket.”
I look across the kitchen island at Lucy, whose tear-stained face is now covered with a smile.
Maybe I won’t be running or walking anywhere. Maybe I just need to stop and fight. Fight for my life.
Chapter Sixteen
McQUEEN
I’m at Kit’s, finishing a workout, when I see her.
Fuck, she’s gotten hotter in the week since she gave me the lap dance of my life. Now she’s in tight-ass shorts and a sports bra, her gorgeous tits squeezed together. I just want to run my hands all over her skin, pull that spandex down, and smack her round little ass.
Instead, I turn away, plant my fist on the punching bag again and again, trying to get the sting of rejection out with repetition.
It doesn’t work, because the next thing I know, she’s beside me. I see her feet planted firmly on the floor. My eyes inch up her toned legs, past her thighs that straddled me. I let my eyes roll over her covered pussy and barely-covered tits, and then I land on her eyes.
And I swear, even with all the gorgeous parts of her body, they have nothing on her searing beauty. On her fucking perfect sweetheart face. And she’s not smirking, not strutting. Not playing me like the fool I am. This girl is one hundred percent genuine. It’s like she knows she hurt my fucking feelings and knows how to fix my bruises. She’s looking at me like she wants to heal them.
Fuck me now, woman. That’s what I want to say. Get on your knees, honey. That’s what I’m thinking. Bend over, sweetie; let me show you what you walked away from. That’s what I want to whisper in her ear.
But I don’t. Maybe because I’m a man-whore or maybe because I was born and raised to be an all-American asshole. I don’t know. I don’t feel like being a goddamn gentleman. I feel like being rough, the same way she was with me. I feel like being petty, I feel like being cold. I feel like showing her she doesn’t mean anything at all.
Even though she does. Dammit, she means everything.
“Ryan,” she says. Her eyes are waiting for an answer, an answer I can’t fucking give her. What does she want now? Showing up here after walking away and thinking it’s gonna be okay? I don’t work like that, like a machine that can be turned on and off. I’m no robot; I’m a fucking man.
“Can you stop,” she says, reaching to stop the bag I’m pounding because I can’t pound her.
“Goddammit, JoJo, what do you want?” I ask, pulling the gloves off my hands and throwing them to the ground. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand. Using it to shield my emotions from getting anywhere close enough for this girl to see.
She steps back, her eyes wide. I’ve never shouted at her. But things changed when she walked away from me.
“Sorry. I just….” She shrugs. And once again I’m reminded that this girl with a body of steel, with a rock solid frame, is fucking fragile inside, broken inside. Confused as hell inside. And I may be a lot of shitty things, but I can’t wreck her more.
“What is it?” I cross my arms, not trusting them anywhere else. And I clench my jaw because I don’t trust that either, don’t trust myself to stop from growling at her or biting her.
Or kissing her. Mostly that.
“I wanted to talk,” she says.
“About?”
“About the other night? At the club. When my broth—”
“I fucking know what night, JoJo.”
“Oh, right. Well. I’m just sorry about how it ended with us. And then I thought about calling you, but I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“Make what worse?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. Trying to play it so damn cool, but knowing if I keep it this frigid I’m gonna ice her out for good.
The gym is clearing out for the afternoon closure. She reaches for my arm and I remember what she and I did together the last time this gym was empty. What I’d like to do again.
“I know there was something between us,” she says, “and I didn’t mean to lead you on. You know, if you thought this was going somewhere.”
I shake my head slowly. “So that’s it? You came over to me to apologize for walking away?”
She bites her lip, exasperated, and I see tears in her eyes. For a second that makes me feel like shit, before I remember she’s doing this all to herself. I never asked her to fucking go. She’s the one who left.
“I thought you were done with this gym, done with fighting?”
“I was. But then Kit called. He got me a pro fight. So I thought....” She shrugs, and I don’t see a speck of confidence in her. No grit. The stuff that she was made of when I first met her. The stuff she’ll need if she’s going to go through with a professional fight. All I see is a shell.
“Anyways,” she continues. “I decided to give it a go. It’s only two weeks away.”
“And your family, they know?”
“Not exactly. But after the night at the club, we talked, and they’ve given me some time to do my own thing, with the condition that it’s not a permanent change.”
I snort. “Right. Gotta make sure you listen to the boss.”
“Don’t be like that, Ryan. Please.”
“How do you want me to be?” I ask, taking her by the wrist and pulling her aside. The place is near empty, but I want to be completely alone with her.
I pull her into the women’s locker room. It’s empty, like it was before. Kit made sure this place was safe; no one can watch us here now.
“I asked you, how do you want me to be?” I ask.
“I want you to understand that this isn’t easy for me either.”
“What isn’t?” I ask, pinning her to the locker room door. “You’re the one with the answers, and I’m the one asking all the fucking questions. You’re the one with the power. I’m the one left hoping to be given another shot.”
“You want things from me that I can’t give,” she says plainly.
“Oh, girl,” I tell her, shaking my head, my mouth so close to hers. Her arms are at her sides, her back arched to me. “You can give me exactly what I want.”
She closes her eyes, her n
ipples poking through the fabric of her sports bra, her breath desperate, her heart beating so damn fast.
“Then take it, McQueen.” She opens her eyes, and I swear I see so deep inside her, to places she doesn’t even understand. I see her. Her fear and her force and her goddamned soul. I see her.
“Take what you want from me,” she whispers.
And so I do.
JoJo
Before it was fast and hard. Then soft and sweet. Now ... now it’s something bigger. Or deeper. More true.
It’s like the bullshit is gone, the nervousness is gone. The inhibition is gone. And all that is left is Ryan and me.
He tugs off my bra and I lift his shirt over his head. His hands slide under the waistband of my shorts and they fall to the floor. He steps from his gym shorts and all that is here—under the bad lighting and sweaty skin, between the slick hair and heavy breaths—is us.
I may be Grotto’s in two weeks, but until then, I’m going to get mine.
Both in the ring, and right here with Ryan McQueen.
“Oh, baby,” he says, his hands rolling across my breasts, his thumbs circling my hard nipples. I keep my eyes on his. “You are so beautiful.”
“Shush,” I tell him, lowering my chin, taking in the perfect view of his unencumbered cock. Sprung to life and hard as rock. I want him in me so badly.
“Don’t tell me to keep quiet. Tell me how you like it.”
“I just want you in me.”
“Not yet, greedy girl.”
I smile, loving the way his hands travel lower, toward the space between my thighs. He’s never touched me there with his hand. Only licked me, kissed me, pressed his length inside me. But never caressed me with his fingers, and now it’s all I want.
“Then put your fingers inside me. I want to feel you like that, from inside.”
“You want me to finger fuck you? Because I don’t know if you can handle it. I can work a woman’s pussy good and long. I’m not sure if you have it in you,” he says smirking. “You did have quite the workout today, from what I gather.”
I know he likes working me up. I like it, too.
“Show me what you can do,” I tell him, taking hold of his hard shaft in my hand, running my hand up and down it, nice and slow. “Show me how you can work my pussy.”
Pulling me up so my legs wrap around him, he carries me to the couch around the corner and lays me down. Spreading my legs apart, he smiles nice and slow as he presses a finger up and down my folds. He begins flicking at my clit, in a way I could never even begin to master.
I close my eyes, enjoying being on my back, him on his knees, running his other hand over my legs as he eases his finger deeper within me. I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the way his finger feels. Just as I am beginning to relish the sensation, he adds a second finger, and deepens his reach; as if making a come hither sign with his hand, he hits my g-spot, and the moment he does I let out a low moan.
“Oh, Ryan, it’s....”
“I knew you’d like it.” For a moment I think he’s done, but then I feel his mouth on my pussy, licking against the wetness I’ve released. “You taste so good, girl.”
I bite my lip, not trusting myself not to scream out, but then his whole face is against my opening, licking me, and slapping my thighs, and then his hand goes in and out, in and out, so nice and fast, I run my hands through his hair, holding on as my legs wrap around his shoulders.
He looks up at me, smiling, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye. And then he moves faster with his hand, until I feel myself pouring out. I hear my wetness as his fingers slide in me, his thumb circling my entrance nice and slow, the opposite of the fast flickering against my g-spot.
It’s so much, all at once.
“Oh, your pussy is on fire, baby.”
“I need your cock. I need it in my mouth.”
He pulls me up so I’m straddling him backwards, and he takes my spot on the couch. “Then suck me while I lick you.”
For a second I feel so vulnerable like this, with my ass in his face, but his fingers find my pussy within seconds, and I can’t think any more. All I can do is give over to the rush of emotions.
I lower my mouth to his cock. It’s throbbing and I just want to suck him, taste him. It must be with the same desire that he wants to taste my pussy. I want to devour him. I want his come to spurt all over me, on my face and on my tits; I want to be claimed by him.
I know I can’t claim him. Not forever. But for now? For now I can take him in my mouth, and I can gag on his magnificent thickness. I suck him up and down, up and down, his hard shaft filling my mouth, hitting my throat, and I love it. I find myself moving up and down in rhythm, and as I suck him, he touches me.
“Oh, girl,” he says. “You’re coming all over me.”
Pulling his throbbing cock from my mouth, I ask, “Is that okay?”
“Oh, girl, it’s heaven.”
I smile, rubbing my tits against his torso as I take him in my mouth again.
“I’m so close,” he says.
“Me, too,” I gasp. And I am. The walls of my pussy are pulsing fast as he penetrates me. He grabs my ass, and runs his tongue up and down the length of my slit.
I taste his release, and pull out his cock, wanting his seed to spurt all over my face. I let it; ribbons of his come shoot out onto my mouth, on my face, on my tits. I love being covered by him.
I want to be taken by him over and over again, until I can’t have him anymore.
If this is gonna be the time of my life, I’m going to do exactly what Lucy and I decided on after getting the call from Kit.
She was so mad at me for not running away—but knowing how much this fight means to me, she understood why I would need to stay. For that, at least; not the other stuff, of course. She thought marrying Grotto was one hundred kinds of crazy. But the fight? She knew it was my dream. My one shot.
And I can’t have a husband of my choosing, but this I can manage.
“JoJo,” he says, squeezing my ass with his hands, as if he can’t get enough. “That was amazing.”
“Good,” I say. “You ready to go again?”
Chapter Seventeen
McQUEEN
I’ve made it to the gym every day this week. How could I not? My show at Hearts Royalle is blowing up, and usually that would entice me to meet new ladies after each show, but that isn’t where my heart is at, and certainly not where my cock is.
My cock is twitching 24/7 at the prospect of hooking up with JoJo again. And we have been. Every damn day. At the gym. In my car. At my house. We have our little routine: she gets nice and sweaty, following Kit’s instructions. I do my best to keep pace. But I’m fucking focused on helping her train for the fight.
Besides, the gym is a warm-up. My real workout comes later, when I lay her out and train her body to respond to me. She’s a fast learner.
“You need to go again, JoJo, if you wanna play with the big dogs,” Kit barks. He’s hard on her, but I see the way he looks out for JoJo, too, constantly has her back, never letting the beefy guys who work out here linger too long on the perimeter of the ring. Always making sure she has food and water. He’s a good coach, but damn, right now he has his arms around her, forcing her to get out of his hold. I want to have my arms tight around her body. I’d toss her to the ground and show her a few moves of my own.
“When you’re in the clinch, JoJo, you’ve gotta get control of your upper body,” Kit explains, as he has her in a double undertook.
JoJo responds quickly to his directive and, with her feet firmly on the ground, she begins working to get out of his grip. I watch as she makes a quarter circle with a right stick to a transition hold. Getting herself in a dominant position allows her to escape Kit.
“Damn, woman,” I holler to her, pumped up with the way she’s improving every single day. Her fire is back; her spark is alive. She has a real chance at this fight. Kit was right about her; she can do this. I don’t believe in her just because we’re
fucking.
I believe in her because she’s a badass.
She grabs the water bottle I offer her, sweat running down her face. “I’m so gross right now,” she says, wiping her brows with the hem of her tee shirt.
“Don’t say that, JoJo. You’re beautiful,” Kit says.
Looking at him, I smile. It’s great that there are some men in JoJo’s corner who aren’t demeaning and controlling, like her father and brothers. I’ve asked her a few times this week if I could try again with them, meet them properly. But every time I broach the subject, JoJo gets ultra-jumpy, shaking her head and not offering me an explanation. I figure we need to let the fight happen, and then I can make a case for my loyalty.
Because, dammit, I’m not going anywhere.
“Well, I’m beat.” JoJo shakes her head. “But I think I’m getting better.”
“You are,” Kit assures her. “Why don’t you clean up and then we can discuss a few business things. A guy’s coming by tomorrow to take some headshots. And a reporter, too. We need to talk about the angle. Angle of the interview, not the photos. You’ll look great in all of those,” he says, smiling.
“Isn’t that a little close to fight time?” I ask. The fight’s in a week.
JoJo whips her head around. “What do you mean a reporter and headshot?”
“Well,” Kit shrugs, “it’s part of the package. This is the real deal. You’re the new fighter on the ticket, and they’re putting together some promotional stuff. Having a photo of you is important. Gotta get your name out there. And the reporter is from MMA Monthly, which is a coup. If the fight is a success, we’ll already have an in with them.”
I see JoJo’s face go white, which is an accomplishment. Her fair skin is flushed the moment she starts working out, and she’s usually red-faced, with her freckles looking like flames. Right now, though, she looks like a ghost.
“I guess I never thought it all through,” she says. Her brows are furrowed, deep in thought. What the fuck is so complicated about getting the fight of her life, and promoting it? This is what she wanted.
