Two Weeks of Sin: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Rye Hart

  I take out my recorder and turn it on. “Mind giving me your name, for the record and for a sound test?”

  “Hugh Maddox.”

  I hold the recorder to my ear, fiddle with a couple of things, play it back, and nod. “Good to go.” I realize that I’m fanning myself with one hand like a delicate lady from a Jane Austen novel. God help me, I’m swooning. Now I know the meaning of the word.

  Hugh could tell me to do anything in this moment and I would trip over myself trying to do it fast enough to please him. And I sense that he would do the same for me.

  The rain picked up again, harder than before. I thanked my lucky stars. Anything that could keep me under this roof a little longer was good.

  “So Hugh,” I say. “You’re a fighter. A professional.”

  “I was. My last official fight was in Manhattan a couple of years ago.”

  “And you’re no longer fighting?”

  “No, not professionally.”

  “Any plans to return to it? I know you’ve got a lot of fans out there who would love a positive answer on this.”

  “Afraid not. And to those fans, I’m really sorry. There’s more to the story that you know. And by the end of it I hope you’ll understand and not judge me too harshly for it.” The brashness is slipping from his voice. I can tell that we’re headed for serious territory. It makes me want to turn off the recorder, cradle his head in my lap, and listen, which is what he obviously needs.

  “Fair enough. So, what do you want to tell them? Where do you think this story starts?”

  Hugh leans back and crosses his arms. He looks at the picture of himself with the new belt. No, he’s looking at Andrew. He bites his lip and I can’t tell if he’s angry or trying not to cry. There’s suddenly an emotional tension in the room that adds an almost palpable weight to everything.

  “I didn’t plan on leaving,” he says. “Fighting was my life. I made it through the ranks so quickly that it made my head spin. Not just mine. I think there are some guys out there who are probably still seeing stars from the hits I dropped on them. I was a natural. I can’t even take credit for that, but if you saw me fight you know that I’m right. But where the real magic happened was that I was also willing to work harder than anyone else. When you find someone with natural ability who is also going to work everyone else into the ground, you have a terrifying specimen.”

  There’s nothing boastful in his voice. I can tell that Hugh is a man without a huge macho ego. Maybe this is what happens when you know you’re the toughest. You earn the right to be sensitive and know that, no matter what anyone says, or how they might mock you, you’d still be the sensitive guy who could rip heads off, and everyone knows it.

  “So you win the title, you’re at the pinnacle of it all, and then…?”

  “Yeah. Sponsorships were throwing more money at me than I would ever know what to do with. That money pays for me to live here out in the middle of nowhere. I’ll never have to work again if I don’t want to.”

  “Just so your listeners know, you look like a lumberjack, right down to the flannel and beard. The first time I saw Hugh, listeners, he was carrying an ax and had a pile of logs behind him.”

  Hugh laughs. “Guilty as charged. I’ve learned that lumberjacking isn’t really something you do on your own. It kind of takes a whole camp to do it on any appreciable level. I guess you could call me a reclusive wood-cutting enthusiast these days.”

  “Maybe that’s what you can call your memoir one day. Reclusive wood-cutting enthusiast.”

  “Maybe you’ll need to ghostwrite it,” he says.

  I flush and almost turn off the recorder before realizing that there’s no video and no one will be able to see my raging desire for him when this hits the air. Hopefully.

  “But a better title would be something like…” Hugh pauses, again looking at something I can’t see, his eyes unfocused. “...the man who ran away from a damn tragedy he couldn’t face and was too big of a coward to tell anyone about.”

  “I would read that,” I say. “I bet your fans would too. What would it be about?”

  “I don’t know if you were following it,” he says, “but it took forever for mixed martial arts to get sanctioned in New York. The athletic commissions just wouldn’t allow it. McCain called it ‘Human cock fighting,’ and that was all most people thought they needed to know about it. I didn’t sweat it that much. I fought everywhere. If you were good enough to get into the professional league there were always going to be money fights for you.”

  “But not everyone was good enough?”

  “No, of course not. It’s one thing to be tough. Fighters...pro fighters...we’re different. We have an extra gear or cog that makes us able to do what we do. Trust me, you can’t understand it if you haven’t been in there.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Andrew wasn’t quite good enough for the pros yet,” he says. “But I agreed to train him with my coach, and to train with him, until he was ready. But he just wouldn’t wait. Every other weekend he was jumping into some underground fight--all in New York, so, illegal--for a few hundred bucks, thinking that this would prove something to us all. All he really needed was patience. If he just could have given it a couple more years he would have been thrashing every killer in the division, including me.”

  I had never heard Andrew’s name in any of the press I had read about Hugh. Where is this going? I saw the look on Hugh’s face becoming more serious. I was starting to feel a chill and the urge to wrap my arms around him returned, stronger than ever.

  “I just couldn’t get him to listen,” says Hugh. “So I had to figure out how to try and protect him. I failed. I failed him in the worst possible way.”

  I’ve never heard someone sound so miserable.

  He looks up. “You know what the worst part about being tough is? About being strong?”

  “What is it?”

  “People stop asking if you’re okay. They assume that you’re fine, no matter what’s going on. They forget that you’re human.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE: HUGH MADDOX

  Well, here I am, telling her everything. I’m glad this moment is finally here, even if it means I lose my anonymity, my hiding place, and her. I feel like I’m in a confessional booth, which makes me think that maybe I should have taken church more seriously. Or therapy.

  You’re only as sick as your secrets. Who said that? I always liked it and believed it, even though it never got me to share any of them until now.

  Sam’s concern is genuine. I can tell that she wants to say more than she is and I love her for it. But I have too much left to say before we can go...wherever we’re going to go.

  “Andrew kept showing up at the gym beat all to hell,” I say. “I knew what he was doing and I couldn’t make him stop. So I did the only thing I knew how. I offered to go with him to watch his back. He was so happy. He knew that if I just saw him fight in one of these illicit gigs I’d see that I was wrong about him. I’d see that he was ready.”

  I can still see the kid in my head. I can still hear his loud laugh, and see the awkward way he moved when he first started fighting.

  “His first fight--the first one I saw him in--was in a warehouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn. Shabby, shitty business. The kind of place where people wind up brawling for YouTube hits. I tried to get him out of there as soon as we got there, but he was determined. I couldn’t drag him out of there in front of everyone; it would have wrecked his self-image and whatever reputation he had gathered among these guys.”

  “So he fought?” says Sam.

  I nod. “Right before it started I saw the other guy tuck a roll of quarters into one of his fists. There was a lot of betting action going on. I tried to tell Andrew what I had seen but it was too late. I could have broken it up. I should have. I trusted that he’d be able to dodge, or grab the guy, get his hands open if they went to the ground, and then everyone would see that he was trying to cheat. You can really fuck someone up with e
ven a little extra weight in your hand.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “The irony is that, as soon as the fight started, it happened just like I hoped it would. Andrew wasn’t the best striker yet, but he was a devil if he could drag you down. Grappling with Andrew on the mat was like being in the water with a shark, even if you were good. There was no margin for error. Just like I had hoped, he got wrist control, popped the guy’s hands open, and out rolled that pack of quarters.”

  “Was that the end of the fight?”

  “Ha! You didn’t know Andrew. That was just the beginning. Andrew jumped up, grabbed the quarters, handed them back to the guy, called him a little bitch, and told him to feel free to use them because he was going to need all the help he could get.”

  “Sounds like I would have liked him.”

  “Everyone liked Andrew. Except the guy he had just humiliated. And it didn’t stop there. They fought for another six rounds with only fifteen second breaks in between. It was brutal. The other guy was getting the worst of it. Totally outmatched. Andrew was punishing him for trying to cheat. That’s one thing most people don’t know about fighters. At least, people who think we’re all just dumb thugs. They think there’s no honor, no code. But most of us got into martial arts for the ethos. There’s something pure in it when you start, even if you forget it.”

  “That makes sense. I used to love Bruce Lee.”

  “Who doesn’t love Bruce Lee? But Andrew was punishing the guy. I could tell that he could have finished the fight at any time. Put the guy out of his misery. But he wanted him to suffer, so he dragged it out to teach him a lesson. Unfortunately, he created an opponent who had nothing to lose. Then he got him so blind with rage that...it went bad. Oh God.”

  I rub my face. It’s like no time has passed at all and I’m right back there in that warehouse, waiting for what I can’t stop.

  “Do you want to pick this up again later?” says Sam.

  “No. If I stop now I might never start again…Andrew finally took the guy down for the last time and got him in a rear naked choke. There was no way out but the guy was tough. He wouldn’t tap and soon he was asleep. Andrew got up and collected his money while the guy’s homies picked him up and tried to revive him. As soon as he was mobile, he came up behind Andrew and kicked him in the side of the head.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “It was a hard shot, but nothing that we hadn’t seen before. But it knocked him sideways. Just one of those freak things. Andrew fell and hit his head on the side of the table that people were using for their drinks. One of the corners hit his temple and that was it. He died minutes later of a massive brain hemorrhage.”

  There it is. Out in the open. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more Andrew.

  Sam wipes a tear from her eye. “So that’s why you quit?”

  “Not entirely. First of all I wanted revenge. Of course. But that kind of thinking isn’t sustainable. The guy who killed Andrew was plugged into a couple of gangs. That was a fight I eventually would have got the worst of. I wasn’t going to start carrying a gun and getting in shootouts every day. But the other part of that was that cops raided the warehouse right then. They rounded us all up. Medics saw what happened to Andrew. One of them, a fan, recognized me and took me over to talk to a couple of detectives.”

  “Did they help you get the guy?”

  “No, that guy was done either way. He wound up going to prison. The whole thing was illegal. None of us were clean, guilty by association just by being there, including me. My agent would have gone berserk if he’d known I was there. Sponsors would have dropped me in a flash unless they put some gross ‘bad boy in underground pit fighting scandal’ spin on it, but that’s not what I wanted my championship reign to be about. Not that that’s what mattered. Andrew was what mattered and he was gone.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

  “I should have stopped him.” There’s nothing she can say to change what I know, but it’s nice to hear. I want to believe her, but she’s wrong. “And I could have.”

  “We make our own choices. It’s not our friend’s job to drag us away from things. He would have resented you.”

  “But he would have lived.”

  Sam turns off the recorder. “Look at me.”

  I look at her. She’s staring back with all the conviction a person can have. “I want you to say “It’s not my fault,” she says.

  “I can’t, Sam. And even if I could, I let those detectives let me off. I should have taken my lumps for being there in the first place. Everyone else had to. I had always sworn that I would never play the ‘I’m an important guy’ card to get out of trouble. But I did and I’m fucking ashamed of it.”

  “Does being out here help?” She gestures at the basement walls. “Do you feel like you actually escaped?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t have to deal with the memory of him everywhere I go.”

  “It doesn’t sound like that’s true. You’ve got a picture of him on the wall. You can’t atone forever, Hugh. What do you want from your life now? There’s got to be more than this. You’re more than a beard and an ax and a cabin. That sounded dumb, I know, but you’ve reduced yourself to less than you should be. You’re a special person and I don’t need to know you any better than I do to know that. So I’m going to ask you again, what do you want from your life?” Her fiery speech has lit up her cheeks with a sexy flush. Her rapid movements make her body sway and bounce in all the right ways.

  “You really want to know what I want?” I say. Because I can suddenly think of something.

  “Tell me.”

  I stand up. “Come here.”

  She stands up and walks over to me. “Now what?”

  “I believe in fair play and I think you got some of my best earlier. Now I want you to get on your knees. And you’re going to take more than a minute.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: SAM WASHINGTON

  I can’t argue with his logic. Fair is fair.

  I drop to my knees. He’s already hard and bulging against his jeans. I unzip him, and slowly take his hard cock out of his pants. That’s when I realize that maybe this isn’t as fair as I thought. He’s working with a lot more than I am.

  But I can do it. After hearing him bare his soul, knowing how vulnerable he has made himself to me—and only to me—I would do anything to make him feel better. I lightly trace my nails on the underside of the shaft, enjoying his low groan. It feels like power, a revving motor, and I’m causing it. He looks down at me and we hold one another’s gaze as I stroke his massive cock.

  After I work him with my nails for a while I can tell he’s needing more. I take my time running my tongue along it. He moans. I run my tongue up and down it a few more times. He puts one hand in my hair. Then the other. His hips rock gently and I take more of him in.

  Feeling him get harder in my mouth makes every nerve in my body catch on fire. There is a release and a liberation in being so uninhibited that I have never known. I go a little faster and he pushes me back. He wants it slow. And I give it to him. Again, he moans and rocks, his hands in my hair as he shows me what he wants.

  I reach under the stroke the rest of him. He quivers. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. He guides me with his hands in my hair.

  Soon I sit up taller on my knees, stroking him with both hands, and sucking him aggressively. I suck him like I’m the one who needs it. And maybe I am.

  He sounds like he can’t take it anymore. He lets out a cry and pushes me back again.

  Hugh stands over me staring, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. I can’t wait to see what he’ll do to me next.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HUGH MADDOX

  This woman is driving me insane. I can’t handle Sam’s precious mouth one moment longer. I need the rest of her.

  I pull out of her mouth and she looks up at me pleadingly. I know exactly what she needs. But she’s still wearing far too many clothes.

  Now I’m the one on my knees.
>
  I reach down and tear off the tiny panties she’s wearing. She gasps. I push her back onto the floor and pull her body to me with both of her legs over my shoulders. She looks frightened as I go in for my first taste.

  Her body starts to tremble as I begin my work. She moans and grabs onto my hair. The taste of her is exquisite. Her body begins to rock against my face in perfect rhythm. It’s as though we’re making music.

  She’s thrusting against my face and no matter how I change up my movements, she’s moaning. I ease a finger into her while sucking gently and watch her eyes roll into the back of her head. I slide my other hand under her shirt and begin working her nipple. She cries out as though no one’s ever touched her quite like this. And I’m sure they haven’t. I’ve got her right where I want her.

  I sit up, grabbing her legs and pulling her to me. She wraps her legs around my hips and her arms around my shoulders as I slide inside of her. She gasps again and I can tell she needs it slow. For now.

  I rock Sam gently as she gets used to my cock inside of her. She closes her eyes, throws her head back, and moans like a wild animal. I ease in a little deeper. She loves it. I ease her up and down, thrusting slightly into her. She grips at my shoulders as though it’s making her dizzy.

  Suddenly she’s pushing me back onto the floor and getting back on her knees. She eases my cock inside of herself. Slowly she works her body up and down on my own. She begins to ride me like a Valkyrie. I’ve never seen anything like it. She takes the reigns and thrusts herself hard onto my cock. She wants to be in control. I’ll let her have that. For now.

  I don’t know what it is about Sam, but her touch makes me feel new. Not just her touch—what she does on her knees is mighty impressive too. But it’s more than that. I feel protective of her. More than protective—at this point I know, I cannot let her go.