by Hawk, Maya
I bite my lip and exhale. “Yeah. You do.”
“What scares you about me?”
“Everything.” I sigh. “Mostly that I can’t figure you out.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be figured out.”
“Everyone needs someone who understands them.”
“Not me.”
“Then what do you need, Titan? You’ve got to need something.”
“I need to get my shit together so I can get on with my life.” He steps away, releasing me from his hold. My body shivers without his heat to keep me warm. He yanks a pair of clean jeans and a t-shirt from a folded stack on his kitchen counter and drops his towel, dressing in front of me. “I’m getting out of here. I’m saving my money and getting out of here. Gonna finish school. Get a job.”
His hand slices through the air.
“Start over with a clean slate,” he says, zipping his jeans.
I smirk. “It doesn’t work that way, Titan. You can’t run away from your past. It follows you wherever you go.”
“Not running away, Jordana. I’m just moving on.” He huffs. “I’m not going to get anywhere in this town. My name is shit here. Not going to spend the rest of my life living in this rat’s nest falling asleep to the sound of the drunks leaving the bar every night.”
I can’t blame him. It’s not any kind of life anyone should have to live.
“I don’t understand what that has to do with me,” I say. “You act like I’m some kind of impediment to your plans.”
“You are.” He steps toward me, his eyes dropping to my chest. “Women are nothing but distractions.”
I scoff.
“That’s an extremely sexist thing to say.” My arms fold, and I follow him to his kitchen where he retrieves a beer and pops the tab.
“Not sexist.” He takes a gulp. “It’s common knowledge.”
“Okay, yeah. Maybe if you had a girlfriend or something, but I’m not trying to be your girlfriend.”
He laughs, glancing behind me at the sack of sheets and towels on the floor by the bed.
“Right,” he says.
I wave my hand and turn away. “All right. Whatever, Titan. Just forget everything.”
“That’s going to be hard to do, but I’ll try.”
I release a deep breath. He has a way of getting under my skin and then delivering the tiniest flattering remark that morphs itself into a sliver of hope.
“We’re compatible, you and I,” he says. “Physically.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
“And your point?” I ask.
“It’s a shame I’m not in the market for a girlfriend right now.” He leans against his counter, sipping from the silver can in his hand. “I’d date the shit out of you. Fuck the shit out of you too.”
My eyes roll into the back of my head. “I see what you’re doing here.”
His expression grows serious. “Oh, yeah? What am I doing here?”
“You’re fucking with me,” I say. “Reverse psychology again. I push, you pull. You pull, I push. I’m beginning to detect a pattern here.”
It’s all a game to him. He only wants me when he thinks he can’t have me.
“Parole Officer Perry, I do believe you have me figured out.” His tone is just as sarcastic as the smug grin on his handsome face.
“Game over,” I say.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re manipulative.” I drag my fingers along the sides of my head. “God. I can’t believe I fell for it! They say convicts are skilled at this shit, but this is unbelievable, Titan.”
He stands before me, not a word and not so much as a hint of an expression on his face. Sipping his beer, he watches me.
“I can see how you’d think I’ve been mind-fucking you,” he says after a long pause.
Perhaps referring to him as a convict was too harsh. In so many ways, he’s so not one of them. It was unfair of me to say that.
“I don’t want to fuck you, Jordana,” he says, “because I don’t want to get attached to you. I don’t want to be that jackass with the butterflies, checking his phone and counting down the hours until he sees his woman again.”
“Who says it would be that way?” I ask.
Sex.
That’s what this is about.
It’s about fucking the very person you’re not supposed to fuck. It’s about letting the guilt sink into your bones until you can feel it all and then not giving a damn because it makes you feel alive.
“I just want to hook up.” I shrug. “You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be.”
“Everything a woman touches becomes complicated.”
Now I see it.
Now I see it was all about him this whole time and not me.
He’s afraid.
Titan is scared he’ll feel something for me, because when you care about someone you care an awful lot about losing them.
And he’s not ready to go there.
It makes perfect sense.
“Remember what you said to me the other night?” I say, stepping toward him. “Sometimes we just have to do and not think?”
He sits his beer on the counter, exhaling slowly as I step toward him. Pressing my body against him, I lift my arms to his shoulders.
I love how safe I feel in his arms. He’s huge. Massive. With my ear pressed against his chest, I listen to the thundering beat in his chest.
His hands drag down my sides until he reaches my ass, where he cups it in his hands and presses my hips into his.
Standing on my toes, I deposit soft kisses into his neck and whisper, “Don’t think…”
Titan’s hands rake down the back of my thighs until he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him as he carries me to his bed with slow, steady steps.
Everything becomes a blur from there. Clothes are torn off. Hands slip and glide into intimate places. Tongues are swirling. Lips are tasting. Within minutes, he’s inside me, filling me so deep it hurts.
I wear a smile the second we’re finished, my sex still pulsing, swollen and wet as I redress. That time was fast. Instinctual.
The room smells like us, and Titan lies spent on his back, his cock still swollen and wet with my arousal.
I don’t say a word, mostly because there’s nothing to say. It was just sex. I want to prove to him that I’m not trying to be his girlfriend. I’m not trying to make him fall in love with me. I’m not trying to complicate a damn thing.
It’s just sex.
Nothing else.
It’s not everyday you meet someone who can make your body explode with a few flicks of a well-placed tongue and a quick hate-fuck session.
By the time I’m home, Mom is passed out in the recliner in front of the fireplace, an empty glass of wine on a coaster beside her. Lewis is hunched over his computer in his study, barely noticing as I walk by.
I head up to my room, soak in the bath, and climb into bed.
Satisfaction runs the length of me, but I can’t help the excitement that fills me to the brim at the thought of seeing Titan again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - TITAN
“Saw a guy outside Hammerhead the other night,” I say to KJ Tuesday morning. He called in sick to work on Monday much to the dismay of Kyle, who actually had to get off his ass for once.
“Yeah?” KJ says, ear tuned to me as he pulls a clean oil filter from a box in the back room. “What happened?”
“He lurked in the alley,” I say. “Went after this drunk.”
“Went after him, like, he was going to do something?” KJ asks.
“Yeah. Pretty sure. I stopped it though.”
“You get a good look at him?”
“Didn’t see his face,” I say. “Called out from my apartment and the guy took off. Other guy never even noticed.”
“Wow,” KJ says. “Just think, you could’ve been a local hero. Everyone’s looking for that asshole.”
“You still convinced it’s Kyle?” I ask, glancing around to
ensure we’re alone.
He shrugs, jutting out his chin. “My money’s on Kyle. Yeah.”
My memory’s fuzzy from that night, but nothing about that guy made me think it was Kyle. With Kyle’s average height and lean build, I don’t see how he could be beating drunk bastards within an inch of their life and coming into work with clean knuckles and a light demeanor.
After tossing and turning for hours last night, I Googled Jordana’s brother, Jerome for lack of something better to do. According to an article, he’d been beat up outside a bar three years ago. The article claimed it was a random act of violence, and the perp was never caught.
The circumstances are undeniably similar to the string of recent attacks.
“How long did you say this has been going on?” I ask KJ.
He scratches the back of his skinny neck and shrugs. “Couple years, maybe three? I dunno.”
KJ’s a simple guy, and I’m not entirely convinced there’s a whole lot going on behind those squinty eyes. What you see is what you get with him.
Kyle struts in at half past the hour, sipping his Dew and taking his sweet time getting settled. After a solid ten minutes, he hangs up his jacket and brushes past me, slamming his hand against my shoulder like we’re pals.
“You ready for another fight tonight?” he asks, keeping his voice low.
My body still aches from the fight last Saturday night, but the hundred dollar bills tucked into a sock under my mattress help numb the pain.
“A Tuesday night fight?” I ask, buying some time before I give an answer.
“Ain’t no set night for fighting. We fight when we fight. It’s all about lining up the right guys.” Kyle wears the devil’s smirk. “Here’s the deal. Last couple fights? People are saying they’re stacked. They don’t like paying all that good money and seeing the guy go down after five minutes.”
“What’s your point?” I know exactly what is damn point is.
He cocks his head, his brows meeting. “You’re Goliath. You need to fight another Goliath. Simple as that.”
“Thought you said it’d be easy money? Sounds like work to me.” Not that I couldn’t take it, but making a couple thousand bucks for a five minute fight is more my style.
“Fighting’s entertainment, Titan. I’m in the entertainment business,” he says. “If we can’t get anyone to come to these fights, we don’t make any money and you don’t get paid. The gravy train’s coming to an end.”
“I want more money,” I say. “Double.”
“Fuck no.” He doesn’t hesitate.
“Then I’m out.” Shit. Not ready to be out yet, but I’ll take the chance and bluff.
Kyle storms off with his hands on his hips. I see his lips moving, but I don’t hear the slew of profanities he’s probably slinging from clear across the garage.
He wants me to fight. Clearly, I have the upper hand.
I slip outside to pull another car in and hoist it up on the lift. It’s my third car of the morning so far and my breakfast is barely settled in my stomach. Life’s a fucking joke when I’m working three times as hard as that jackass and he’s making twice as much as me.
Kyle watches me from behind the glass window in the customer lobby. When we make eye contact, I see he’s on his phone. My gut tells me he’s lining up the financials for tonight, and I’m going to be fighting for a two grand prize.
***
There’s barely enough room in the corner of my shit box apartment for some shadow boxing, but I do it anyway. I stretch, jog in place, and pump out some push ups like I’m training for an Olympic fight on a time crunch.
I have no clue how big my opponent will be tonight, but judging by the fact that Kyle wants to put on a good show, I’m going into this expecting the worst.
Nothing about me is small by any means, but I’ve seen some big sons of bitches in the pen. There are men who could pick me up with one hand and make me look light as a feather in their meaty claw.
Kind of how I did with my last two opponents…
Maybe it’s karma.
Either way, I refuse to lose tonight. One of my old cellmates was a professional MMA fighter. When the guards weren’t looking, he’d teach me everything he knew. Looking back, we were just a couple of knuckleheads having fun. It was a way to pass the time, and he was only bunking with me a couple years before he was released for good behavior.
I have half a mind to look him up, but I wouldn’t even know where to start. He was from Oklahoma. I know that much.
I yank a folded towel from the edge of my bed, one of the fancy ones Jordana gave me, and just before I’m to wipe the glaze of sweat from my brow there’s a knock at the door.
My money’s on Jordana, and a quick glance out the window proves I’m right. Her car’s parked down below.
“Coming,” I yell a minute later when she knocks.
When I jerk the door open, she’s standing with the most devious half-smirk I’ve ever seen. Her work blouse is unbuttoned just enough that her cleavage is in full view, and her full lips are glazed in red gloss.
She came to fuck.
I have exactly one hour before I need to head across the street to the bar basement. I could sit here and mindfuck the shit out of her until the inevitable happens, or I can take her right here.
No words.
No resistance.
No excuses.
No apologies.
I reach for her, pulling her by the wrist into my apartment and slamming the door behind her.
Her lips part, as if she’s about to say something, but I silence her with a kiss. My hands run down her sides, skimming her soft belly until I find the button of her pants. Within seconds, her pants are lying in a heap on the floor and I’m two seconds from ripping the buttons clean off her blouse.
Our tongues swirl, hot and hungry, and her delicate perfume fills my lungs. Each punishing kiss is a reminder that she shouldn’t be here. Each plunge of my finger between her slick folds is a reminder that I’m glad she came.
I’m hard as a rock, and she wastes little time taking me in her palm and coaxing me until I’m fully grown. We stumble backwards, toward the bed, and she collapses. Like an animal, I rip her panties off and unhook her bra, covering her warm body with mine and taking a pointed nipple in my mouth. Her legs part as her hips settle into the lumpy mattress, a silent, desperate plea to keep going.
Yanking my sweats down, I position my cock on top of her, teasing her with the touch of the hot hardness against her warm wetness. She moans, biting her lip as I suck her nipple and release it with a quick graze of my teeth.
There’s nothing romantic about what we do, and rightfully so.
I lean up, and her legs widen. With a grip on the base of my cock, I slide it inside her. The clock is running. Plunging myself over and over, reaching new heights and depths all at once, I fuck her with quick, jack-hammered thrusts.
Her tits bounce with each creak of the bed, and her long nails slice into my tensioned biceps as I hold my body above hers.
I miss slicking my tongue between her folds and teasing her clit with her taste in my mouth, but we’ll visit that another day. Right now, this is about my throbbing cock and her tight pussy and one sweet release.
We fuck harder and faster than ever before, and her lower back arches just enough that my cock slicks against her clit with each reentry. After a few more minutes, her body convulses against me as I dump my hot cum inside her writhing body.
I collapse on top of her, kissing her satisfied, smiling mouth before rolling off.
Fuck. The kiss was unnecessary.
Jordana catches her breath, leaning up on her elbows. Her round tits are still on full display, and I soak in every last second of that beautiful fucking view.
“Want to get a bite to eat?” she asks. “You hungry at all?”
I hit the bathroom to clean up and return, pulling a white t-shit over my head.
“Nah,” I say. “I’ve got somewhere to be in a half hour.
You gotta go.”
Her face falls, but I refuse to let myself feel like a douche.
“Oh. Okay.” She sits up and scoots off the bed, gathering her clothes into her arms. We share the tiny space in silence as she redresses. Although she’s not speaking, the tension’s ripe for the picking.
Words linger on the tip of my tongue. I don’t want to send her out there feeling used, but telling her “thanks for the lay” or “drive home safe” would be pathetic as fuck.
I force myself to man up. She came here looking for sex. If anything, she used me. She should be strutting out the door like a proud fucking peacock.
“Where you going tonight?” she asks.
I shake my head and laugh. “What’s it to you?”
She needs to know we are most definitely not friends.
“Just making conversation, Titan.”
“Got a job on the side.”
“What kind of job?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just a little something to build up my funds until I can go back to school and get the hell out of here.”
She shrugs. “Fine, Titan. Whatever. As long as it’s not illegal.”
I don’t speak. It’s none of her business anyway.
“It’s not illegal, right?” She slips her purse around her shoulder and ambles the whole five steps to the door.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. For the first time, I wonder how she’d feel if she knew I was fighting men for money. It’s not like I’m beating people up, but she might be weird about that shit given the way her brother was murdered. “You do you. I’ll do me.”
She stops, sighing, and then turns to face me. “You’re a smart man, Titan. I really hope you’re not doing anything dumb.”
Her dark eyes search mine, as if the truth rests somewhere in my poker-faced stare. She looks exactly like a woman assuming the worst. When women get hunches about shit, they don’t let up until they get their answer. They keep digging, poking, and prodding.
“I fight for money, Jordana,” I say. “It’s an underground thing.”
“Illegal?”
“Not necessarily. Not going out and committing crimes,” I say. “It’s a word of mouth operation.”
“If it’s underground, it’s underground for a reason,” she says. “It’s illegal.”
