by Amity Cross
My gaze met his, and he shook his head. “I want in, Sparks.”
I nodded once, my thoughts too scrambled to put together a coherent sentence.
Lifting me in his arms, his cast didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest as he used his left hand to do all the work. His strength was kind of impressive as he anchored my body against the wall. My legs wound around his waist, opening up to him with desperate need. I ached deep inside, and I knew I was wet and ready to take whatever he had to give.
Guiding himself to my opening, he thrust into me, filling my body with his cock, and it was the most intense feeling…to be full and yet wanting more. It wasn’t like I was a virgin—I’d fucked other guys before for release and what felt like love—but this was something else entirely. It was new and unknown.
His lips trembled against mine as he began to move, our breath mingling as we lost ourselves in each other, joining again and again in a desperate rhythm. His strength seemed to go on forever as he held me against the living room wall and pounded into me. My fingers wound through his messy hair, tugging and holding him to me with an iron force I didn’t know I possessed. There had been so many firsts for me tonight I scarcely knew who I was anymore.
“Josh,” I moaned, working myself against him and meeting his thrusts with my own.
“You’re so fucking sweet.” He grunted before claiming my mouth, his tongue twining desperately with mine.
Tearing my lips away, I gasped as I felt my orgasm begin to overwhelm me. “Fuck,” I cried. “Fuck.”
My words only seemed to spur him on, and I erupted around him like a wave rolling and crashing on the shore of a rocky beach. Wild. Just…wild.
I felt him pulse inside me, his chest quivering as he pounded once more and held. Circling his hips, he massaged my clit with his pelvis and drove my orgasm on and on until I couldn’t think or feel anything else but him.
“Josh,” I moaned, digging my fingernails into his scalp.
He carried my listless body through the dark apartment, his cock still firmly inside, and I didn’t question where he was taking me. Josh could do whatever he pleased if it resulted in an orgasm like that. When I said anything, I meant anything.
He laid me down on my bed, the covers cool against my back, and his cock slipped out of me. Climbing over my body, he kissed me slowly, his weight holding my legs open as his cock hardened against my hip. Again? Yes, please.
His fingers traced the lines of my face, traveling a path that went ever downward. He circled my hard nipples and pinched the tender buds before continuing his slow torture across my stomach until he reached my clit. Working me into a storm once more, he entered me with just as much force as he had against the wall, and he drove me to the edge.
I didn’t know what we were doing, but this…this was more than enough for now.
15
Josh
After that night with Holly, the night I spent fucking her all over her apartment, I saw her a total of zero times.
Three weeks and her presence still eluded me. She haunted my dreams and my waking life to the point I was like an obsessing woman. I’d never felt what we’d shared with anyone else, and it was like a fucked-up drug I just couldn’t quit. I was going cold turkey, but not for lack of trying.
The whirlwind was over, her fantasy had played out, and she was back in her reality, which was nowhere close to mine.
She’d texted, but they were always fleeting and laced with excuses about surgeries and work. Was it selfish to think she was brushing me off considering what she did? With a job like hers and a no hope, dead end life like mine, would we ever work outside of sex? I couldn’t see it. I wanted to, but I just didn’t know that there was any reality in it.
I sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair at the hospital’s Outpatient Clinic, waiting on my appointment to remove my cast. My gaze darted to and fro, not so secretly hoping that Sparks would show up to do the honors. I was sure she had much more important patients to see considering she was a surgeon, so I’d probably get the surly nurse again.
Glancing at my phone, I read the last text Sparks had sent the day before last. I’m being called to surgery. Talk later. I had a feeling she’d always be called away for something.
When they finally called my name, I was surprised to find it was Sparks’s minion, Harper, doing the honors. Trying not to let my disappointment show, I followed him to a tiny exam room where he told me to sit.
“Ready to get that cast off?” he asked.
“Fuck, yes.”
Brandishing a tiny handheld power saw, he plugged it in and tested the blade.
“You’re not going to chop my arm off, are you?” I asked, watching him like a hawk.
Turning the little saw on, he smiled. “No, but hold still.”
He cut into the cast down either side, the sound of the blade slicing through plaster reminding me of a bloody circular saw hacking up planks of wood on a building site. Once he was done, he prized open the cuts with a pair of whatever they were before cutting the rest of the plaster and bandages away with a pair of scissors.
“Done,” he declared.
Fuck, my skin looked totally gross.
Harper picked up the pieces of the cast as I flexed my fingers. It felt real fucking good to have that piece of shit taken off.
Turning back around, he gestured for me to place my arm up for him to examine. He poked and prodded and asked me if I felt any tenderness or pain, but I was totally fine.
“Your skin will be sensitive to touch, and the muscles will be weak due to the immobilization,” he said like he was rattling off a list from a medical textbook. “Soak your arm in warm water and mild soap for twenty minutes twice a day to get rid of any buildup of dead skin. Don’t scrub, rub, or scratch because it’ll be sensitive.”
I sniffed my arm. “It stinks.”
“It’ll go away in a couple of days. It’s just because it was in the cast for so long.”
I flexed my forearm, testing the muscles
“Any pain?” Harper asked.
I knew he was talking about my arm, but I instantly thought about my stupid fucking heart like a woman. “Nope.”
“It’s best not to do any strenuous activity for at least three to four weeks,” he went on. “Just until you build up your muscle mass again. If it hurts, stop.”
Another month not fighting? Fucking hell. How infuriating could my life get?
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked, wondering where Sparks was and if she palmed off all her cast removals and random fucks to one of her minions.
“Long enough,” he replied. “I’m in my final year as an intern, and then once I pass my exams, I can apply for residency.”
I grunted. So it seemed he was qualified just the right amount to be annoying as fuck. “Fair enough.”
“How is he, Harper?”
I glanced up at the sound of Sparks’s voice, and I caught sight of her at the edge of the curtain. I hadn’t even heard the door open. She was wearing her trademark blue scrubs and white coat, her hair unruly and tied back as per her haphazard trademark. My mind instantly undressed her, remembering the intoxicating sounds she’d made as we fucked.
“All good, Dr. Walsh,” Harper replied, standing. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Brilliant,” she replied, smiling at me. “If you can finish up your rounds, Harper, I’ll walk Mr. Caplin out.”
“No problem,” he said, gathering his things before disappearing.
Rising to my feet, the air began to feel thick. Stepping toward her, I raised my hand, but she shook her head and swept the curtain open. No kiss? Fuck this shit to hell and back.
Leaving the exam room, we walked down the hall, the sterile hospital smell making me sick to the stomach. I didn’t know how she could handle being here all day and night. Seriously, did she even leave? No wonder she hadn’t unpacked.
“I didn’t want to miss your appointment,” she explained as we walked.
“I can
manage on my own.”
“I know you can,” she retorted, picking up on my sulky tone. “I just wanted to see you. It’s been a while.”
I’ll fucking say. It was three weeks without sex kind of a while. Women usually didn’t drop a guy after going at it five times in one night with a guaranteed orgasm after the first round. It usually went one of two ways. Fuck buddy or relationship. Sparks didn’t seem interested in either. It was fucking weird.
We reached the waiting room and stood awkwardly, the sounds of the assembled patients waiting their turn, and the dull tone of the TV mounted on the wall were the only things between us. Other than an annoying wall that seemed to have sprung up between us.
“So,” I began, reaching out and tracing the back of her hand with a finger. Her skin was just as soft as I remembered. Real nice to suck and bite.
“Work has been kicking my ass,” she said, the apology clear in her voice.
“For three weeks?”
“It’s a bad habit,” she tried to explain. “But I get lost in what I’m doing, and when I finally look up—”
“It’s three weeks later,” I finished for her.
“Surgeons usually date surgeons.”
I frowned, beginning to get real pissed off by her lame excuses. Who was the fucking man in this half-hearted relationship because it sure wasn’t me. The guy usually dicked around with the girl.
“Do you want to keep this going, Sparks?” I asked bluntly. “Because now would be the time to cut me loose.”
“I do. It’s just…” She lowered her gaze, and I felt my heart sink.
My jaw stiffened. “Just what?”
When she hesitated even more, I came to the conclusion she was trying to let me down as gently as she could while we stood in the middle of the Outpatient Clinic. Glancing over her shoulder, I caught sight of Dr. Archer, the slick, arrogant brain doctor who had checked out my spine when I was first admitted. The dude who was the perfect match for one Dr. Holly Walsh.
“Hey, Hol,” he said, standing behind her.
I narrowed my eyes at him in warning, but he didn’t even look at me. It was like I was fucking invisible. Sparks turned to face him, and my chance at seeing her again evaporated into nothing.
“What is it, Archer?” she asked, sounding annoyed. Maybe that was a slight victory at least.
“I need a consult. You free?”
She glanced at me, uncertainty in her eyes, but I saved her from having to be the bad guy.
“Go,” I said, my shoulders feeling tense. “It’s important.”
“I’ll call you,” she offered, but I could see she didn’t really mean it. Not one hundred percent. Her gaze sparkled with uncertainty and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge.
When she turned, Archer placed a hand on her shoulder and began talking in her ear. His gaze met mine, and a sly grin crept onto his stupid fucking face. He knew exactly what he was doing. Weaseling his way in between me and her like it was a sport. I was in his territory, and he was pissing all over it to remind me I didn’t belong.
My lip curled in distaste, and I spun on my heel, striding from the hospital. Archer didn’t need to mark anything because I knew better than anyone how much I didn’t belong. I saw it every day when I looked in the fucking mirror.
Josh Caplin didn’t belong anywhere or with anyone.
* * *
Anger like mine had only one place where it could be let out.
I stood at the side of the cage at The Underground as it was readied for another night of fights, the warehouse almost empty around me. I could smell the stale sweat and alcohol on the air, the tang of blood like an undercurrent of a fine wine of violence. Château de la Violence.
I’d ignored Harper’s medical advice and holed up at a local gym, pounding every surface I could find. Every surface but the one I wanted to bury my cock and my heart in. I trained like a beast for three days straight, but it wasn’t enough to curb the sting of rejection from the only woman I had ever considered as being the one.
“Do I need to do something about this?”
Turning, I found Max standing behind me, a stony look on his face.
“Yeah,” I shot at him. “You need to put me on the roster.”
His gaze ran over me, lingering on my arm, which was now sans cast. “And why would I do that?”
Deadpanning him, I replied, “It’s better a guy with demons fights in there, than out here.”
He watched me for a moment, considering my offer.
“I’m putting you up against one of the new guys,” he said. “Can’t have you back on that footpath.” His lips curled into a sly smile that said everything.
Grunting, I stepped around him and went out back to the locker rooms. This place had become so familiar to me since I’d started fighting here, but after two months of being away, it had lost its shine and had become something darker. Something closer to pure, untamed anger. The scent of violence hung thick in the air, and it was all I could see.
I wasn’t good enough for Sparks. I wasn’t good enough for anyone.
I sat on the bench wrapping my hands in preparation for my bout, oblivious to the other fighters around me. They were all staring like I was a moron. They got it just as much as I did, but maybe they weren’t quite as insane as I was. Getting back in the cage after the way I’d left it was practically suicide.
The scummiest, baddest, violent men came to this place to let off steam without limits. I’d counted myself as one of them before, but I’d still had my morals. After everything that had happened in the last two months, I’d come to think differently. I wasn’t the strongest or the smartest fighter, but maybe I was the worst of the lot.
Nobody wanted to cross a man with a death wish.
When the referee called my name, I strode down the hall and through the crowd like I was walking underwater. I couldn’t hear shit. I was focused on one thing and one thing only. Blood.
The moment I entered the cage, the crowd fell silent before they started talking furiously among themselves.
Toeing the line, I stood before my opponent, a guy who called himself Sabre. He was the same height and build as I was, so we were evenly matched in everything but experience. He’d started fighting right before my spectacular departure at the hands of Maverick.
“Steel,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’ve got balls.”
I sneered at him and shook out my shoulders.
“Let’s get on with it, gentleman,” the referee said. “You know the rules.”
He held his hand up between us, and before I knew it, he’d dropped it and was backing out of the way.
Sabre lunged, and I ducked as he swung high. Slamming my shoulder into his stomach, I practically carried him across the cage, riding on the wave of my anger, and threw him against the wire.
He landed hard, but I didn’t give him any room to move as I kicked him in the ribs. When he curled in on himself, I fell on him, grappling until he was forced to expose his face.
I pounded my fists into his flesh, kicking him down and smacking my knuckles hard into his temple. Blood flowed from his torn skin, mingling with the dirt and sweat that stuck to him. We rolled before being forced apart by the referee, and then we went at it again. Circling, kicking, grappling, and punching until we both bled.
Pinning Sabre on his back, I grasped his hair, lifted his head, and smashed it into the ground. He cried out in pain, his pupils dilating. Anger was driving this fight now, not me because I’d never gone as far as this. Using the dirtiest tactics there was to win, no matter what. Other guys who were the ultimate scum did, but I didn’t. Those were my morals and probably the thing that had solidified my legacy in The Underground as a mid-list fighter. Now that I’d thrown them away, I was winning with little effort. Fucking ironic.
Sabre’s fist hit the ground, tapping out before I could smash his skull again. My chest heaved as I rose to my feet, my eyes darting around the edges of the cage at the stunned punters
.
Who had fucking balls now?
As I walked away, I felt an ache in my back that had never been there before. An echo rattled around in my brain, a warning that spoke to me in a voice I didn’t want to listen to. I hadn’t been hit anywhere close to my spine, but I still felt the tenderness.
Get in that cage again and you might never walk out of it.
And who was I walking for? Nobody who gave a fuck, that’s for sure.
16
Holly
I regretted leaving Josh the way I did.
He’d just stood there in the middle of the Outpatient Clinic like I’d just kicked him in the balls. I’d fucked up, I knew I had, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it. Maybe too much time had passed.
Right now, I was standing in the middle of the ER, looking just as dazed. It was a quiet night, which had given me a lot of time to think about the night we’d spent together. Against the wall, in my bed, in the shower, on the floor, on the kitchen bench, on the couch…
“Great,” Gunner declared from beside me.
“What?” I glanced up and saw a guy wandering into the ER with his palm pressed against his forehead and blood running down his face.
“It isn’t even a full moon,” she went on. “And stupid dudes go and smack their heads right when it’s time to clock off.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “I’ve got it,” I said to her. “It’ll take twenty minutes tops, then I’m out for the night.”
She sighed dramatically and hugged me. “Thanks, Blue. I owe you one.”
“I’ll bank it for a rainy day.”
“You’re going to make me pay, aren’t you?” she asked, pulling away.
I smirked. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
Gunner groaned loudly as I turned to the patient.
“Sir?” I asked, approaching him. “I’m Dr. Walsh. It’s your lucky night.”
He blinked at me, looking bewildered. At first glance, he looked like he was in his mid-twenties with sandy blond hair and blue eyes. Probably good-looking enough underneath all that blood. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt that was dark with droplets of blood. Head wounds were always bleeders and made a hell of a mess without being serious at all. Still, I’d have to check his pupil response and check for concussion markers.
