No Holds (The Fighter Series Book 4)

by TC Matson

  I’m drawn to five massive and colorful pictures of him magnifying the room’s purpose. As if my feet have a mind of their own, I pad across the room to the first picture. He’s younger. His face and build somewhat smaller than they are now. He’s nose to nose, fist balled with black gloves that allow his fingers to be uncovered. He’s close to the other guy’s face with determination pouring from his sweat.

  “My first MMAT match. My first pictures. Flemings,” he says behind me.

  I move to the next one and scrunch my nose. He’s frozen with his arm stretched out punching a contorted bloody face. Power reflects in his eyes.

  “My first recorded knock out in the MMAT,” he tells me.

  The next one doesn’t offer me a prettier sight. Ryker is hovered over a man. The face of his opponent is gnarled by the blow he’s just gotten.

  “He had that coming,” he says with a stifled chuckle.

  The next picture causes a throb of happiness in my chest. Ryker’s grinning from ear to ear showing off his black and blue mouth guard with his fist in the air and his eyes shining pridefully.

  “I won.” I can hear the grin in his voice.

  The last one is the most compelling picture of them all. It’s the largest and rests by itself, centered on a different wall. The picture inflicts anguish inside of me. He’s on his hands and knees, head and shoulders slumped as his head hangs low. The crimson color of blood has trickled into his platinum blond hair.

  “I’m broken.” His voice holds a recollection of his sorrow that day.

  I run my fingers along the rough edges of the canvas. “It looks…desolating.”

  “It’s powerful,” he counters. “A reminder that just because I lose doesn’t mean I don’t get back up. I keep fighting. I keep pushing forward.”

  I stare at the potent portrait feeling the emotions seeping from its image.

  “I deserved that loss.”

  I can’t take anymore and turn away, panning the room. Pictures, plaques, medals all fill it.

  “All this.” He holds his hands out to the side. “My accomplishments.” His eyes cut to the picture of him on his knees. “My failures. This is what I love. This is who I am.”

  He reaches and draws me against his body. “I want you blended in my life,” he says low and the seriousness sends a shiver down my spine. “I want you beside me through it all.”

  He cups my chin and slants his mouth to mine.

  I lean back to meet his gaze. “I can be clingy,” I warn.

  “It’ll complement my possessiveness.”

  “My confidence fails me at the wrong times,” I say.

  “I’m egotistical enough for the both of us.”

  “I hate the public eye,” I tell him.

  “I dominate it.”

  “This terrifies me,” I admit.

  “I’ve got you.”

  His eyes flash with darkness. With one hand, he digs his fingers into my hip, and with the other, threads his fingers into my hair. He pulls my face to his. “Promise me you’re done running.” It’s a deep, throaty demand.

  “I promise,” I pant.

  The words provoke a vehement needy glow to burst behind his eyes and it magnifies the want I’m drenched with. He runs his nose along mine, backing us out of the room.

  My heart accelerates when we enter his room and the scent of him floods my senses. He yanks my shirt over my head and palms my breasts. Heat spreads over my body as he begins to work my nipple between his fingers.

  The way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing appetizing, drives my knees to wobble. His electric blue eyes are heated, lecherous and downright commanding.

  The corners of his lips jerk before squatting in front of me, taking my jeans and panties along with him. He sucks my clit into his mouth and instantly, I want to spread my legs open to him. I want to fall back onto the bed, but his plan differs. He forcefully squeezes my hips, prompting me to stay standing. My knees quiver with each flick of his tongue, and I grip his shoulders to keep from buckling. I groan toward the ceiling, desperate to move.

  I’m met with a feral smirk as he stands, slowly turning me around. He laces his fingers with mine, and bends, forcing my body forward, pressing my palms into the black comforter.

  “Don’t move,” he demands huskily.

  As he lifts his body from mine, he glides a heavy hand up my back. The sounds of him ridding himself of his pants seem to resound loudly through the room, hinting to what’s about to come. I hear the distinctive crinkle of the condom wrapper.

  He glides his hand over my entrance and grunts before removing it and lining himself at my entrance. The hand on my lower back is shaking, but I don’t have time to think about it as he embeds himself in me with one extensive thrust. He hisses, and I cry out, gripping the bed as the fullness is too much. He slides in and out of me once, and then straightens his legs. It forces me to my tiptoes trying to find a relief to the intensity. The grip he has on my waist is hard and rough, biting at my skin.

  He leans forward, taking my wrists and pulling them behind me. I’m coerced to arch, bending my back, forcing my ass out and into him. He uses my arms for leverage, and rams into me hard. I cry out again at the delightful discomfort.

  I’m suspended, anchored by the tips of my toes, fastened by the thrusts of his dick. I’m at the mercy of his hands, trusting he doesn’t let me go to fall. He moves both my hands into one of his, and clutches the back of my nape, squeezing hard and thrusting even harder.

  It’s a blinding pleasure.

  I’m petrified by the unbridled aggression, but incredibly greedy for more.

  Even though he releases my hands, his grip on my neck doesn’t allow me to fall. Guiding me, he forces me to bend until my hands are back on the comforter before winding his hand around my front and teasing my clit. My release builds, and suddenly, I’m frantic, desperate to feel his mouth. I push up trying to twist. I don’t have to tell him what I need. He gives it to me, crushing against my lips sloppy and hard.

  “I want my name to fall from your lips,” he breathes against my lips. “When you lose yourself, make it known it’s me you beg for.”

  He circles my clit more hastily. My orgasm grows, crackling in uncontrolled spasms.

  There’s a brief moment, when everything silences as the electricity first slams my body. Bursts of euphoria explode and propel me into the glorious pinnacle.

  “Who is it, Whitney?” he groans, bucking into me.

  I moan, grinding down on to him.

  He slams a sharp thrust, forcing my feet off the floor and pain flares, scalding my skin.

  “You. Ryker…” I whimper past my bashfulness and back into my orgasm.

  His grunts are ragged as he powers into me. He grasps my jaw, twisting my face to meet his eyes. They’re dark, wicked, and full of passion. His jaw ticks. “You,” he growls low and throaty, dissolving into his release.

  He roots himself, and drops his head, cussing into my shoulder. After our breaths slow, he pulls out, tosses the condom on the floor and scoots me up the bed. He holds me, nuzzling into the crook of my neck and we are pulled into a peaceful sleep.

  There’s a rhythmic knock on his front door. His eyes spring open and he lurches from the bed, grabbing his phone.

  “Fuck!” he shouts scrambling to gather his clothes and ducks into the bathroom.

  I jerk sitting up. My thoughts are everywhere as my pulse roars in my ear. Following his lead, I shrug into my shirt just as he dashes back out of the bathroom with his hair brushed and half-assed back spikey. “You’re gonna have to move faster than that, Whit. Hurry up.”

  Quickly, I jam my legs into my pants while he takes one last look in the mirror before shifting my way. His eyes scan over me and he smooths my hair before kissing me on the forehead. “My brother’s here.” He grabs my hand yanking me out the bedroom.

  Panic. “I look like we—” I try pulling away from him.

  He looks to me over his shoulder with a pr
ideful grin. “You look beautiful.”

  That’s the end of the argument. He releases my hand in the living room and darts to the door.

  “RyRy!” Gracie’s long brown strands spring as she rushes him and wraps her little arms around his waist. “You took forrreverr,” she groans.

  “Sorry, Poohbear. I was…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Busy.”

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” Sarah steps in.

  Oh my God, she’s going to know what we were doing.

  A tattooed arm reaches in and slaps him on the chest. In walks the older version of Ryker, only a little smaller, less brazen, and with a solid head of brown hair. The carbon copy set of icy blue eyes land on me and Jackson smiles.

  “Whitney?”

  Everyone’s attention cuts to me and suddenly, I just want to jump off a cliff.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Jackson says and then shares a look with Ryker.

  Ryker shakes his head slightly, keeping his expression stoic.

  I swallow the hesitation.

  Sarah beams. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply. “It’s nice to see you too.” Instant work mode even though I know for sure, I look like a bed-tousled mess.

  “I remember you. You did Momma and Dad’s wedding thing,” Gracie eyes me.

  “That’s right. Did you like the piñata cupcakes?” I ask.

  Sarah asked me to do something just for her, telling me how much she enjoys unusual desserts. After hours of scrolling on the Internet, I found them and called my go-to bakery with the recipe. Of course, they’re amazingly sweet to me. I had them make a small batch.

  Gracie gets her hazel eyes from her mother. They light up. “I ate like five of them.”

  Ryker’s brows jump high. “That explains why you were so hyper. You ate the sugar bowl.”

  She peers up to him. “I can’t eat glass, Unk RyRy.” Her tone is snarky and Ryker bites his cheek to keep from laughing. She looks between us with worried eyes. “Am I still allowed to spend the night?”

  “Of course,” Ryker dissolves the little girl’s concern.

  Jackson backhands Ryker’s chest in a brotherly love type of way. “All right. We’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t keep her up all night.” His eyes shift to me. “It’s good to see you again. Keep him straight, would ya?”

  I don’t have a chance to respond because Ryker shoves his cackling brother out the door.

  Sarah pokes Ryker in the chest. “No stuffies,” she warns with a hostile tone and matching glare.

  Ryker holds his hands up. “No stuffies,” he repeats.

  Sarah’s expression softens as she looks to me. “Nice to see you again, Whitney.”

  The door shuts and Gracie skips past me straight into a leap onto the gray sofa, which looks like it swallows her whole. “Let’s go bowling. Momma and Dad never take me.” She throws herself backward, tossing the back of her hand to her forehead. “They’re so boring.”

  I giggle at her dramatic flair.

  Ryker steps beside me, placing his hand on my lower back. “Guess we’re going bowling.”

  “Let me grab my things and I’ll be ready to head home,” I say turning back to his room.

  He grasps my arm, yanking me back into his side. “You’re coming with us.” By his tone this wasn’t a suggestion.

  “This is your time with her,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

  “You scared you’ll get beat?”

  I rock back on my heel with a coy grin. “Not at all.”

  He kisses my cheek. “Then get ready to get your ass kicked.”

  “Dollar!” Gracie yells out, holding her hand out without looking in his direction.

  Ryker rolls his eyes to the ceiling, mumbling as he pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. “I’m pretty sure I’ve paid for your college tuition, your first car and your first house. When do I get let off the hook?”

  Gracie snatches the dollar and shoves it in her front pocket. “Not until you stop using curse words.”

  “You’re going to be rich, little girl.” He chuckles.

  I know Ryker has a soft side to him. I’ve witness the affection first hand since he’s been in my life, but I didn’t realize how much Gracie has that man wrapped around her pinky finger. She brings out a sweet side of him I never knew existed.

  He’s a contradiction—hard and soft, demanding and easygoing, hatred and love.

  He’s legitimately tossing the game for her and lights up every time she shrieks her delight when he only knocks down one pin or when his ball falls into the gutter. He takes the time to show her how to throw the ball straight, explaining how important it is for her to keep her wrist even and her eyes on the pins. She listens closely while he tells her every time she lines the ball up to envision them all falling down when her ball hits them.

  I’m losing to Gracie but winning against Ryker.

  He pats my knee dropping to the seat beside me, but keeps an eye on Gracie.

  I lean into him with my shoulder. “I couldn’t help but feel like you’ve talked about me to your brother?”

  His eyes flick to me. “I might have mentioned you.”

  I grin. “Uh-huh?”

  Gracie squeals causing our gaze to swing to her. She’s jumping up and down, flailing her little arms. “I knocked ‘em down. I knocked ‘em all down.”

  She sprints across the lane and jumps off the step and into Ryker’s awaiting arms. “I got a strike!”

  Ryker twirls her and then feigns a hurt expression. “You’re kicking my ah…butt.”

  “Yep,” she chirps full of sass, as if she knew she would have done it anyway.

  The rest of the game isn’t any different. Ryker and I continue to lose to Gracie while I resume beating him. I’m not stupid. I know he’s throwing the game for both of us, but can’t a girl pretend?

  We hit up a drive-thru to grab Gracie something to eat and head to my house.

  “Can I stay again tomorrow?” she asks.

  “You can’t,” he replies.

  Gracie drops her head back to her seat. “I have a week off school and can’t do nothing,” she complains.

  “I’ve got work to do,” he says sounding guilt-ridden.

  She breathes a melodramatic and super exaggerated sigh. “I hate when you leave. You’re gone forever.”

  My heart skips a beat and I peer over to him. “How long are you normally gone?”

  “Fooorrreeevveer,” she overemphasizes the word. “Months.”

  Ryker pulls his truck in my driveway. “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he tells her and hops out.

  “I had fun tonight. Thank you for letting me tag along,” I tell Gracie before getting out.

  She smiles. “I liked it.”

  He walks me to the door and places a whisper of a kiss on the corner of my lips. “Do you have anything planned for this weekend? Any work stuff?”

  I shake my head. “Not this weekend, but next. Why?”

  There’s a glint in his eyes. “You’re coming with me.”

  “And where might this be?”

  “New York. I have another fight,” he drops it on me.

  My face crumbles.

  “Don’t argue. I know your schedule is empty,” he chuckles.

  I look back to his truck. “What Gracie said. Are you really gone for months?”

  He graces me with a lopsided smirk and he raises a shoulder. “Haven’t had anything pulling me back home until recently. I used to explore the cities.” He kisses me again, this time passionately. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you on the way to the gym tomorrow.”

  I watch him from just inside the threshold with the taste of him still burning my lips. In one day, he’s careened back into my life, shifted and changed the direction of our existence. And I love him more for it. The several days away from him just proved how much I need him.

  Chapter 19

  I’m running on fumes as Dani
el and Flynn push me like a fucking madman. They’ve thrown everything in the books at me. It’s been a long and grueling week, but it’s my last day of training before heading off to demolish Ronnie Lascher. Coaches are making sure I remember what I want—the championship, the pros, the pay. It’s my turn to have it all. I’m ready and I’m not fucking it up again.

  I’m padded up along with my sparring partner. This guy…he fucking knows what the hell he’s doing and is giving me a damn good run for my money. It’s welcome since Daniel keeps putting me with the little squirts.

  I rush Dustin, about to slam his back to the mat when Daniel shouts from behind me. “Keep it off the mat. I want you both to stand up for this one.”

  “Make up your damn mind,” I respond with annoyed humor. “First you want me on the mat to stay away from Lascher’s unorthodox little man hands and now you want me to stand.”

  “I want you to win,” Daniel replies.

  I face him placing my hand out to him. “Hi. I’m Ryker. It’s nice to meet you.”

  By his expression, he’s not impressed.

  I shake out my arms. “It’s good to know you’re on the same page as me now.”

  He shakes his head not giving into an ounce of the humor. “People are expecting you to be out-strategized. Lascher’s been in the game, fighting against the big names longer than you have.”

  “Sounds like you have no faith in me, coach,” I jest. Don’t get me wrong. Daniel ferociously has belief in me.

  “You know better than that,” he says.

  “And if he’s so great and has fought the big names, then why is he still in the MMAT and not running amok with the pros?” I smirk smugly and then wave my hand dismissingly. “I’m not worried. Neither should you be. I got my taste of losing. It’s a drink I refuse to try again.”

  I love getting under his skin. I’m like the little brother he’s happy he doesn’t have. I’m his Kyce.

  “Get rested up,” he says. “Flight leaves nine a.m. Thursday.”