Montaine

by Rome, Ada

  “I heard what you said to Kill today. I was outside your door. I heard you say that you overrated me. That I’m just an intern, and that you don’t even think about me. And that I’m not worth the trouble of a solid fuck.”

  Trent was silent. My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that I thought he must hear it too. He nodded slowly. So he wasn’t even going to deny it. He couldn’t deny it.

  “Come here,” he said with a quick peek to the right and left. He pushed open the swinging door of the ladies’ room and grabbed my wrist, pulling me in swiftly after him. I almost stumbled over the threshold. My heels clicked loudly on the slick tiles. “You don’t know what you heard.”

  “Oh please, Trent.” I yanked my wrist free from the circular grip of his strong fingers. “Don’t talk down to me. I know exactly what I heard.”

  He shook his head and leaned backwards onto one of the white sinks that protruded from the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles shifting with each movement. The snaking tattoos were vivid under the harsh light. He leveled his gaze at me.

  “Kat, don’t be like this.”

  I crossed my own arms over my chest and looked off to the side, anything to avoid looking straight into his focused stare.

  “Kat, look at me.” He poked one finger under my chin and turned my face toward him. I tried to jerk my head away, but he gripped my jaw and held it firm. “Do you honestly think that I meant any of that?”

  “Obviously, I do.” My words were muffled through my clenched jaw. Trent relaxed his grip and leaned back again.

  “I was only trying to make Kill happy. You should know that. I want him to let his guard down. I still don’t know what his angle is, so I’m playing him to find out. If he stays happy, it’s better for the magazine. And it’s better for me. That’s business, nothing more.”

  “And it’s no big deal if I’m humiliated in the process? Sure, I get it. I’m just business, nothing more. Why should I believe you? You say that you’re playing him. Maybe you’re really playing me instead.”

  “Except that I’m not playing you. Everything I have told you has been the absolute truth. All you have to do is believe me.”

  I laughed sarcastically and leaned against the wall, my back hitting the tile. It chilled my skin through my thin blouse.

  “All I have to do is believe you? Isn’t that exactly what a liar would say?”

  Trent smirked.

  “Maybe it is.” He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal. “But it’s also what an honest person would say.” He reached gingerly into the space between us, his fingers angling for my waist. “I guess it’s up to you to figure out which one I am. An honest man or a liar.”

  With lightning speed, his arm closed around my waist and circled my lower back. He pulled me roughly toward him. His other hand curled around the side of my neck. He kissed me hard and passionately. I resisted for a moment, the rational part of my brain telling me to break away and leave this room, to avoid going any further with this man whom I barely knew, but who seemed to have a magnetic hold over my body and my heart.

  I gave in, pressing my hips against his and taking his thick, probing tongue into my mouth. He twined his fingers into my hair and tugged, pulling my head backwards. My neck arched as he loomed over me.

  “Am I forgiven?” he whispered into my ear. His breath was hot and moist. My knees buckled slightly.

  I nodded.

  “Say it. I want to hear it.” He tugged more aggressively at my hair. He increased the pressure of his iron hand on the small of my back.

  “I forgive you, Trent.” My voice was thin and raspy. My heart pounded. My whole body throbbed with intense desire. I would have said anything in that moment just to keep his body close to mine.

  “That’s a good girl.” His tone was low and treacherous. “But I want you to show me.”

  He spun me toward the sink, placing each of my hands on its cold rim. I curled my fingers around the smooth edge. He tugged the hem of my blouse out of my tight gray skirt. Then he ripped my shirt open, the tiny pearl buttons dropping into the sink with delicate clinks.

  He pressed himself against my back and kissed the side of my neck, running his tongue in a wet slide from my ear to my shoulder blade. He tore my blouse down over my arms. He pinched the straps of my white lace bra between his fingers and pulled them roughly over my arms, the fabric dropping limply around my waist. My breasts were fully exposed. He gripped them in his palms, squeezing them with a brute force and massaging my sensitive nipples. I moaned and threw back my head, leaning on the rock-hard musculature of his chiseled chest.

  He hiked the hem of my skirt up over my thighs and hips until it was merely a ring of crumpled material. I wore a pair of flimsy red panties that left my ass cheeks bare to the world. He slapped my ass hard and grunted. With one wrenching tug, he tore the panties from my hips and tossed them onto the floor in a balled heap.

  I heard the clank of a belt buckle, the zizz of an opening zipper, and a rustle of denim and cotton. Then I felt the satisfying solidity and heft of his erection pressed against the crack of my naked ass. He reached forward and massaged me with two fingers, making gentle circular motions that sent me into a paroxysm of ecstasy. I groaned and panted, rocking my hips steadily in time with his rhythm.

  “Time to show me how much you forgive me, baby,” he hissed into my ear.

  He spread my legs wide apart as I leaned over the sink. With a long, hot, wet plunge, he thrust himself deep into my tightly throbbing core. We groaned together, both momentarily overcome by the otherworldly pleasure of our joined bodies. He grasped my hips, lifting me until my toes skated along the floor. I was completely within his power. He pounded into me, growling and slapping my ass until it stung red. He massaged me again with his fingers and plunged forcefully into me from behind.

  My breath came in short, shallow gasps. My naked breasts banged against the sink as I leaned forward, the cold porcelain on my hard nipples merely increasing my erotic delight.

  “Yes, Trent. Oh my god, I forgive you,” I panted. “Just don’t ever stop.”

  “I have no plans to stop.” He slapped my ass with a stinging burn.

  He plunged into me again and again while he massaged my clit in rough circles. I was edging ever closer to orgasm. I came with a mind-emptying, core-shaking force that clenched my whole body in a writhing frenzy. My knees buckled. My fingers gripped the sink ledge until my joints were drained white. I tried to suppress the resulting scream of pleasure but only half succeeded. My neck arched fully back, my mouth opened wide, and I moaned with a whimpering cry that echoed from the bare walls. With a long, throaty growl, Trent pulsed and shuddered, releasing inside of me with a final, powerful plunge.

  We were both utterly spent. I rested on the sink edge, trying to catch my breath. Trent delicately lifted my hair from my naked back and pushed it off to the side, over my shoulder. He kissed me gently just under my hairline.

  “So, how about it, Kat Raney? Are you going to trust me?”

  I glanced up and caught his eye in the mirror above the sink. There was something guarded in his expression, something that I could not name. I realized with a jolt that I had no idea how to truthfully answer his question. Maybe trust was beside the point now.

  Chapter 12

  “You wanna go into the ring tonight? I’ll put money on you. Twenty thousand dollars. Just flash those gorgeous tits. Your opponent will go down without a fight.”

  Trent reached over and squeezed my left breast. I had changed into a tank top and jean shorts before we left the office. It was Friday night. We drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, thumping over bumps and swishing over slick pavements. The moon hung high in the heavens, a pale watcher. A few brave stars winked through distance and time.

  “I’m sure those guys have seen plenty of gorgeous tits.”

  “A man can never see enough gorgeous tits.” Trent’s tone was low and serious, as if he were uttering a moral law
of the universe. His eyebrows knit into a solemn scowl. I couldn’t help but laugh. He cracked a pleased smile and laughed along with me.

  “Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re here to support me.”

  He rubbed his palm over my bare thigh. The contact with his flesh was unbearably enticing. His fingers inched in between my thighs, playing with a frayed thread on the hem of my shorts. I slumped lower in my seat, closed my eyes, and spread my legs slowly apart. He probed one finger under the edge of my sheer panties. I sighed with pleasure. He removed his fingers and placed his hand firmly on the wheel.

  “That’s no fair, Kat.” His voice was raspy with desire. He cleared his throat. “I need to stay focused. There will be plenty of time for that later.”

  I opened my eyes, slightly disappointed but also very much looking forward to everything that “later” entailed. I straightened up in my seat and gazed out over the midnight blue of the river. Small whitecaps rose in the moonlight as a swift breeze ruffled the water and whipped tendrils of hair around my forehead through the open car window.

  “How did you do last week? You didn’t invite me, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Actually, I didn’t fight last week.” He glanced at me, catching my eye with a glint and a wink. “My heart wasn’t in it.”

  “Such a smooth talker.” I grinned. We drove in calm silence for several minutes, leaving the bridge and rattling over pockmarked streets.

  “Between you and me, I’m kind of worried about Oscar. He just barely pulled out a win against last time. He seems off at the gym, like something is bothering him. Preoccupied, you know? That’s no way to fight. That’s a sure way to lose.”

  “Did you ask him what’s wrong?”

  “Oscar won’t tell me shit. Always a smile and an ‘everything’s fine, man.’ I think it’s about money. Esmeralda mentioned calls from creditors. I slipped her some extra cash just in case.”

  “Can’t you give him a job at the magazine?”

  “I tried. He wouldn’t take it. He’s crazy stubborn. Won’t accept a handout from anyone. He gets insulted if I even ask, so I don’t. I just pass money to Ezzie on the sly.”

  We pulled into the dark, deserted parking lot. Trent punched a text into his phone. The corrugated steel garage door creaked gradually open on the same busy scene of crowded cars and milling spectators. Here and there, a hulking figure with clenched fists paced on the periphery, his inward gaze focused on the fights to come.

  Trent eased into an empty space between a mint green 1950s pickup with rusted sides and a fire red Ferrari fresh from the showroom floor. He shouldered the duffel and grasped my hand. My heart skipped a beat. To the world, we must have looked like a couple. Were we a couple?

  The noise grew in volume as we approached the stands, the undifferentiated roar resolving into separate cries and shouts aimed at the two fighters steadily pummeling each other behind the mesh cage. The lights shone on a casing of back and shoulder muscles so thick they seemed fitted for an ancient gladiator. The other fighter was small and wiry, with a spiky mohawk and a tiger print tattoo across his chest. Despite their tremendous size differential, the smaller fighter seemed to be winning both the fight and the approval of the chanting crowd.

  As we climbed through the benches, I spotted the red-headed lumberjack and his blond companion. She glanced at my hand clasped in Trent’s and met my eye with a friendly smile before she was swallowed behind a line of chattering groupies in bikini tops and skin-tight short-shorts. They were all shining cascades of hair, glittering tan skin, and puffy, heavily glossed lips.

  We paused to let them pass. I felt a pang of jealousy as their glistening doe eyes locked on Trent one-by-one. They flipped their hair with the precision of a chorus line, revealing a marching army of artificially rounded breasts rising spherically within red, white and blue triangles of stretched spandex.

  “They seem…patriotic,” I said with an obvious trace of venom.

  Trent merely squeezed my hand in reply. He didn’t give them a second glance.

  “You’re back!” Esmeralda’s cheerful voice reached us from the left. She bounced in her seat and waved us over with a cupped palm. She wrapped me in a warm hug when we reached her.

  “We missed you last time!” she gushed, clutching my wrists. She shot a critical squint at Trent, who grinned sheepishly and bowed his head. I got the definite impression that they had spent time discussing me. Perhaps Esmeralda was the reason Trent had relented and called me on Saturday with an apology. If so, I certainly owed her.

  “Hey man, how’s it going?” Trent and Oscar bumped fists. Oscar again sat with jouncing knees. His eyes flitted nervously around the arena. Trent was right. Oscar exuded an air of anxiety. He seemed unfocused and preoccupied. Esmeralda placed a steadying hand on his jittering knee, which was stilled for a moment. As soon as she drew her hand away, his knee began bouncing again.

  A rousing cheer erupted and shook the stands as the bout ended in a victory for the wiry fighter with the mohawk.

  Trent pulled his shirt up over his head. I was stunned anew by the beauty of his form each time I saw it bared to the light. His stomach muscles rippled in waves and shadows as he bent over the duffel.

  “You’re number fifty-one, Romeo” Esmeralda slapped a paper with printed black numbers onto his firm chest. “Oscar is fifty-six.”

  “Thanks. What’s your bet?”

  Esmeralda hesitated and breathed deeply, her chest visibly rising and falling.

  “Five thousand,” Oscar said resolutely.

  Trent froze, bent over the duffel, a roll of tape in his hand.

  “Five thousand? Are you sure?”

  Esmeralda nodded. She kneaded her hands together and spun her wedding band around and around her finger. Oscar returned his attention to the fighting ring. The girl in the golden bikini held up placards with the numbers “46” and “47.”

  I caught Trent’s eye. He pursed his lips and shook his head, rapidly winding a roll of tape around his wrist.

  A dark, brooding figure passed through the benches. His biceps bulged like lumps of iron. His forearms were etched in pictures of grinning skulls with bleeding eye sockets and roped strands of barbed wire. He seemed to move within an aura of compressed rage, his fists clenched at his sides, his elbows slightly bent, his head lowered like a charging bull.

  As Trent stood straight, the brooding stranger slammed into his shoulder with an impact so forceful that I shuddered from the mutual smack of flesh, bone and muscle.

  “What the fuck, man?” Trent squared his shoulders and punched a fist into his palm. He stepped forward to confront the stranger, who stopped and turned in a slow swivel.

  The man had a topography of scars that looked like healed knife marks across his chest. One long, carved crevice ran the length of his face from the tip of his eyebrow to the curve of his stubbled jaw. His eyes were more animal than human. A light blue that edged toward white, they burned with the heat of a gas flame.

  Trent stood his ground. My breath caught in my throat. The moment of suspended tension seemed to last an eternity. The stranger growled like an angry grizzly.

  Then he did something completely unexpected. He smiled. It was the coldest, most menacing smile that I had ever seen. It wasn’t so much a smile as a baring of fangs. I got the impression he might snap and bite any second.

  I placed a hand on Trent’s forearm. He turned to me, a mirror of the stranger’s rage reflected in his own eyes. The rage dissolved as I rested my fingers on his flexed muscles. He threw a backwards glance over his shoulder and shook his head.

  “Not fucking worth it,” he muttered.

  The stranger spun and stomped through the crowd, which parted and reassembled in his wide wake.

  “There is something familiar about that guy,” Trent said after a minute. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him.” He watched the man’s beastly back, curled like a wolf on the hunt, until it disappeared from view.

&n
bsp; “So, Kat, how is life at the magazine?” Esmeralda tapped my knee. She was obviously trying to lighten the mood, but I could tell from the high pitch of her voice and the wary shift of her focus back and forth to the ring that she was almost as nervous as her husband.

  “Oh, it’s alright. My boss is kind of a jerk, but you know how it is.” She laughed and fidgeted her fingers in her lap.

  “I heard that, Miss Raney.” Trent bumped my shoulder lightly with his own. “Don’t make me give you a formal reprimand.” He leered and winked with exaggeration.

  “You two.” Esmeralda shook her head. “Better keep that romance under wraps before the paparazzi find you.”

  “They haven’t found me yet. Besides, what is there to find out? I’m just showing my intern the ropes, introducing her to great source material.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Control your ‘source material’ for now. We’re in public.” She drew air quotes around the words and laughed, slapping my thigh gently with the back of her hand.

  “Speaking of material, though.” Trent leaned toward me and spoke into my ear, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd. The last fight had just ended with a walloping knockout punch. A woozily staggering fighter made his way to the exit with unsteady steps and outstretched hands. “How is your cover story coming?”

  I sighed. “It’s not. I still don’t have a subject. Nothing seems good enough, meaningful enough, you know?”

  “Well, don’t try to force it. An idea will come when you least expect it.”

  The fights proceeded without major incident. I jumped in my seat at some particularly vicious hits. Trent watched me and smiled.

  Numbers “50” and “51” were called to the ring. I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of Trent’s opponent. The guy looked scrawny and pale, with a mop of hair like a frat boy. He was completely out of place in this context. He belonged on a country club golf course, not the fighting mat of a gritty Brooklyn warehouse.

  “One of those rich shits from the Hamptons,” Trent seethed through clenched teeth. “Why do they waste our time?”