by Amity Cross
“Dean!” I moaned as he bit down on my nipple.
Before I could beg, he pushed me back onto the bed and forced my legs apart. Moving down my body, he pushed my underwear aside and licked my entire seam. My back arched off the mattress as pleasure ricocheted through my body, and I fisted my hands into the blanket as his mouth covered my clit and sucked.
“Oh fuck,” I cried as he began to lave his tongue over me. He did it again and again until I was writhing.
He put his palm on my stomach, using his strength to keep me in place as he expertly dipped his tongue into my opening and teased. Returning to my clit, he continued pleasuring until my eyes rolled back into my head.
I couldn’t think of anything else but his tongue between my legs. His tongue. Dean Hayes’s tongue. In me. On my clit. Everywhere.
I wasn’t inexperienced by a long shot and had been licked by the best of them, but with the right person? Holy fuck. I never understood the difference between lust and something more, not until now.
My eyes flew open as he slid his finger into me and began pumping, his tongue never slowing its assault on my clit. A second finger joined the first, and I felt an orgasm begin to rise hard and fast. I lost control and began to grind against him, and when I came, my thighs wanted to clamp together, but he forced my legs open wider and fucked me faster.
Moaning and panting, I grasped his hair and twisted, lost to the rolling waves that were pulling me under. It was the really good kind of drowning if you asked me. I would drown all day and night in him if he’d let me.
Once some sense returned, I pushed him back and ripped at his fly, tugging the zipper down.
“You’re a greedy little thing,” he said with a smirk as I freed his cock.
I wasn’t listening. I was too busy staring at his erection.
Lowering my lips, I fully intended to repay what he’d just given me, but he sat up and tugged me onto his lap.
“Next time,” he murmured. “I want to be inside you too much.”
His hands grasped my waist and guided my movements, sliding my seam against his erection.
“I’ve thought about this enough,” he murmured against my mouth.
“You’ve thought about me?” I asked, nipping at his bottom lip.
“In all kinds of ways,” he replied darkly.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I eased off him and pushed down my underwear, ridding myself of the last barrier between us. He kicked off his trousers, and finally, we were completely naked. We were doing this.
Coaxing me back over him, he fisted his cock and ran the crown along my seam. Positioning himself, he waited, letting me make the final move.
I stared into his eyes and knew he was giving me an out if I wanted it. I’d struggled against my feelings for what felt like a millennia, pushing when all I wanted to do was pull, and I almost caved. Almost. The fact that Dean Hayes, bad boy of the AUFC, was giving me a choice instead of taking me like an alpha male from a romance novel, showed just how much of himself he kept hidden from the world.
Burying my hands in his hair, I lowered myself onto him, breathing heavily as his cock filled every inch inside me.
“Shit,” he hissed as we joined completely.
I began to grind against him, working my clit as he sucked at my neck. Then he fell backward onto his back, taking me down with him.
Grasping my ass, he thrust upward into me again and again, our moans muffled by our fevered kisses. Rolling my hips, I rode him hard, high on the sensation of his cock leaving me, then filling my body to the brim.
I was lost in the moment, chasing the release I hadn’t realized was building to boiling point, not until he’d cornered me at the Gala. That hadn’t been enough to sate it, but this…
With a growl, he flipped me over on the bed, my back hitting the mattress, and he thrust into me hard. Clawing his back, I cried out as he pounded into me. Fast, then slow, then fast again. When I began to fall into a blissful plane of oblivion, he didn’t slow, and I tightened around him.
I wanted to beg him to never stop, to call out his name and never say another word in my entire life, but I was listless as he joined me, spilling everything he had into my body.
Finally, he collapsed beside me, his chest heaving.
“Fuck me,” he said, running his hand over his face.
“I’m broken,” I murmured, squirming beside him. I was deliciously tender.
He rolled over and ran his palm over my stomach. “Fuck, don’t say that. I want to go again.”
“Already?”
“A million times already.”
Smiling, I draped over him again, delighting at the sensation of his naked body against mine so soon after fucking. My nerve endings were still alive, buzzing in the afterglow, and every touch was amplified.
“Fuck.” I moaned, burying my fingers in his hair and tugging his lips toward mine. “I can’t stop touching you.”
“Do you hear me complaining?” he asked, his breath tickling my skin.
“We’re going to be wrecked tomorrow. I don’t think there’s enough coffee in the world for the hangover I’m going to have.” Could you get a hangover from epic sex? It sure felt like it.
Dean smirked, his hands grasping my ass and tugging me over him again. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead or out of sperm.”
I laughed, pressing a kiss against his mouth. “So the cardio came in handy, huh?”
“I never knocked the cardio once,” he declared. “I was thinking of your thighs.”
“Smartass.”
He flipped me onto my back in one fluid motion, causing a gasp to burst from my lips. He pressed his weight between my legs and began to move back and forth, grinding the underside of his cock over my clit. He was ready to go again? Damn.
“You were saying?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of my neck.
“Huh?” I muttered, rubbing my palms over his ass cheeks.
“Josie Cunningham at a loss for words,” he teased. “Hell has frozen over.”
“Shut up.”
We had so much to work out in the morning—personally and professionally—but for now, I was content to drown myself in his touch.
For now.
14
Dean
It was amazing how fast time flashed by when all you did was sneak around and fuck a beautiful woman in secret.
I wasn’t surprised when Josie said she wanted to keep us under wraps for the time being. At least until we were able to work things out. She had run before when I’d hesitated. I was still working through shit, and this was still new. As she’d said to me once before, she was a professional and any relationship between us could be seen negatively. For her, not me because the AUFC was male dominated. When you get a bunch of testosterone-fueled dicks together, they all want to put it in the closest vagina.
You want to get to the top, you take it out for a ride.
Made me fucking sick what some of these assholes did to women. Josie was the best, not just because she knew her shit but because of her integrity. That’s why we gave her the job in the first place.
It was too soon to tell if it was lust or love, but I was enamored with Josie, so I gave her whatever she wanted.
As expected, the press had a field day over the Gala. Punching Gabe O’Connell had felt really good at the time, but it was a PR nightmare and just another asshole-ish thing I’d dumped into Josie’s lap. It was fight night on Friday, and Lincoln was up against my ‘victim’. If I was going to be there to support my twin, then there would be questions.
She was making me pay for it big time with extra long meetings to prepare me for any unexpected questions from the press. By extra long, I meant with time to spare for a quickie behind closed doors.
Like the smartass he was, O’Connell had only given Lincoln a week to prepare for the title fight, so we were training full tilt. I wasn’t the one fighting to keep the middleweight belt, but from the moment we entered the AUFC, we’d made a pact.
We held each other in check whenever we were up for a dance in the octagon. We trained together. We bled together. We were one and the same. Two halves of a whole.
I didn’t know what bothered me the most. That I was keeping this thing between Josie and me a secret from my twin or that he was fighting the man who tried to take her from me. Either way, it wasn’t a good idea to lay it on him the day he was defending his title against the little fucker.
The arena was sold out tonight, the din bordering on unbearable as fans took their sets for the main event of the night—the middleweight title fight.
Josie was next to me, a vision in her tight jeans and silky blue shirt, standing tall in her favorite pair of shiny black high heels. I smiled from ear to ear as I remembered the look on her face that morning after I’d made her come in the shower. So fucking beautiful.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” she asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide her own smile.
“This is torture,” I murmured in her ear. “Being in public and not being able to touch you. Having to watch Linc fight that jackass. The list goes on…”
“Dean Hayes! Dean! Dean!”
Josie groaned as she nodded toward the shrill voice of a young male reporter who was fast approaching our position.
“I know what you mean,” she said, rolling her eyes.
I scowled as the reporter darted toward me, and I glanced back to Josie, an unspoken question in my eyes.
“Go for it,” she said. “They won’t leave you alone until you comment about the fight. Just don’t say something stupid about the thing.” She waved her hand around. “The black tie punching incident. Or…us.”
“I’m not that stupid,” I drawled, itching to pinch her on the ass. That one I’d just have to bank for later and turn it into a slap while my cock was in her. That would feel real nice. Josie hightailed it before she was roped into the interview, and I made a mental note to increase it to two.
The reporter almost smacked into me as I turned, his face flushed like he’d just run a marathon to get to me.
“Can I ask you a couple of questions?” he asked, his eyes flicking around watching for the competition.
“Yeah. But you’ve only got two minutes.”
“How are you feeling after your loss to Gabe O’Connell? It was the first KO of your career…”
Before he could say that’s gotta hurt, I narrowed my eyes and said, “I’m feeling fine. I just wish it was me in the octagon tonight and not my brother.”
“If O’Connell takes the middleweight title tonight, will you challenge him for it?”
“Yes. Without a doubt.”
“If O’Connell loses, will you challenge him anyway?”
“Yes. I’d like to have another crack at him. I’ve challenged the only fighter I’ve lost against and come back to win. O’Connell will be no different.”
“Would you like to make any comment concerning the incident at the Gala last weekend? Is there a rivalry outside of the octagon between you and Gabe O’Connell? Are you having a secret relationship with Josie Cunningham?”
I flinched and glanced around for Josie, but she was nowhere to be found. The crowd had swallowed her up, and I was on my own. Best to say nothing at all, rather than put my foot in it trying to do the right thing. Whatever that was.
“No comment,” I snapped and shoved the guy aside.
Spying Josie already in our assigned seats, I sat beside her and pressed my arm against hers, wishing I could throw it around her shoulders instead.
“I was a good boy,” I said, raking my gaze over the octagon as the announcer began to call the fight.
She glanced at me, her blonde hair shimmering under the bright lights of the arena. “He asked?”
“My fist, O’Connell’s face. Fully clothed. It’s a hot topic, Jo.” I snorted and turned my head so I could take her in. “He asked about you. By name.”
She began to pale and turned away. It sent the wrong message entirely, and I felt like throwing up myself.
“Does the thought of the world knowing we’re seeing each other make you that sick?” I whispered in her ear.
“No,” she hissed. “It’s just…”
We both straightened up as Violet appeared through the crowd and took her seat beside Josie. I threw Jo a warning glance, and she shrugged, shifting her attention back to the octagon where Lincoln was bouncing around in his corner.
The title fight was going to be three rounds of five minutes each. I wasn’t expecting it to get that far, but anything was possible. Despite his arrogance, O’Connell had been fighting well, but Lincoln was top of our weight class for a reason.
Lincoln and Gabe met each other in the center of the octagon as the referee set out the rules. He then called for the men to touch gloves, and Lincoln held his fists up. Even from here, I could see O’Connell sneer, and when he turned his back without touching, the crowd began to jeer and boo. Lincoln was a fan favorite, and Gabe was the guy to hate, but the fans lapped that shit up. I could just hear the commentators having a grand old time discussing the challenger’s disrespect on the telecast.
Round one was underway in a matter of minutes, and the two fighters dived right in.
They danced around one another, Lincoln’s footwork looking on point. O’Connell kicked, and Linc dodged with ease. It was already looking different to my fight with the guy. Their pace was faster on the mat, and the air was zinging with electricity.
C’mon, Linc, I thought, edging forward in my seat.
O’Connell kept going for Lincoln’s head with a right high kick, but his reach wasn’t quite there, and Linc kept maneuvering out of the way. Their footwork was mirrored, proving the hours Gabe had spent studying his opponent’s moves looking for holes to exploit. It was the same on our side and the name of the game.
Linc came back with a punch combination, going for O’Connell’s face, but he slipped out of reach, and the crowd began catcalling, eager for a little blood.
Gabe came back in a flurry of fists—which Lincoln weaved through with ease—finishing with a right high kick. Linc saw it coming before I did. Grabbing Gabe’s ankle, he pulled the smaller fighter off his feet and took him down to the mat.
Yes! I smacked my hands together and went to rise to my feet, but Josie placed a hand on my knee. Giving her a wink, I turned back to the fight.
Gabe and Linc grappled, but my twin dominated the hold. When the buzzer sounded, the referee pulled them apart, calling round one to Lincoln.
Don’t get cocky, bro, I thought to myself. This is where he got me. Stay on your toes.
The next round was underway in a matter of minutes, and the two fighters were back to testing each other’s limits and looking for a hole to exploit.
Then O’Connell took a risk, rushing Lincoln and using aggression to split his focus. Gabe’s fist slammed into Linc’s cheekbone, snapping his head to the side, and he fell, his palms colliding with the mat. Any good fighter would’ve backed off at that moment to give their opponent breathing room but not O’Connell. He slid into a hold, crushing Lincoln against his chest, and slammed his fist into Linc again. This time, blood began to pour down my brother’s face, and my own blood began to boil. It was a part of our chosen sport, but I didn’t like it when my twin took hits like that.
Violet stood up beside Josie, and if I were a gentleman, I would’ve consoled her, but I only had eyes for what was happening in the octagon.
“Fight!” she screeched as Josie held her arm. “Don’t let him dominate!”
Lincoln pushed Gabe up and was able to rise to his feet, loosening his opponent’s grip, but the buzzer sounded.
Round two went to Gabe O’Connell, which meant the third would be the decider. All bets were off now.
Lincoln knelt in his corner, repositioning his mouth guard as Coach dabbed a wet towel over his split cheek. Nodding as the older man muttered encouragement and tactics in his ear, he slapped his gloved fists together and rose to his feet.
They fought furiously, giving the crowd one hell of a show. O’Connell took Linc down, but Linc was able to break out of his hold before he was pinned. Then they sparred again until Gabe cornered him and was able to take the dance back to the mat.
They were a mess of arms and legs as they grappled, fighting desperately for dominance. The clock was ticking closer to time, and whoever was on top would take the title. A second could decide this thing it was that close.
My heart began to beat faster, my adrenaline spiking as I watched my identical twin defend his title. They wrestled, taking every opportunity to strike the other, but when the buzzer sounded, it wasn’t Lincoln who was on top.
The win and the middleweight title went to Gabe O’Connell. It was so fucking close it was like a stray kick in the balls.
Shooting out of my seat, I totally blanked out everything as I pushed through the crowd, stormed past the TV cameras, and helped Coach pull Lincoln from the octagon.
“Motherfucker,” my twin muttered under his breath. “I almost had him.” His face was covered in blood, the cut on his cheek bleeding all over the place.
“Don’t say anything,” I said in his ear as we led him from the arena and out back. “It’s one loss. We take it in stride.”
“Is that what you call it?” Lincoln asked as we stepped into his private locker room. “Punching O’Connell in the face at the Gala was taking it in stride?”
I narrowed my eyes, choosing not to bite. He thought I punched the guy because I was a sore loser, but it couldn’t be any further from the truth. I had taken the loss in stride, choosing to push my dented pride aside in favor of working things out with Josie…but he didn’t know that.
Picking up a towel, I doused it in the sink and shoved my brother down on the bench as Coach watched us with a raised eyebrow.
Wiping the blood from Lincoln’s face, I said, “This isn’t anything to do with me punching that asshole. This is about what just happened out there. The fucker fights dirty. Dancing around the edge of the rules on his high horse. The refs can’t do a thing about it. We can’t do a thing about it. All we’ve got is next time. Now that we know his game, we can outplay him.”
