Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series)

by J. B. Salsbury

  He pinches his eyes closed. “Shit, Mouse. You’re driving me crazy.”

  My orgasm coils low, and the memory of what it felt like has me driving down harder.

  “Fuck yeah, more.” His fingers dig into my hips, and he slams his hips into me.

  My heart pounds behind my ribs. The muscles in my stomach tense, and my knees lock onto his sides. I match his pace, thrust for thrust, until I can no longer keep up.

  He’s guiding my body on his, and I’m powerless to stop it. My stomach churns, and a feeling of foreboding pricks at my nerves.

  Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply and tell myself that I like this side of Blake. His loss of control should be sexy, not scary. And it is. I’m not scared. I’m not scared.

  He slams into me again. While keeping one hand on my hip to steady his thrusts, his other hand glides up to my breast. He kneads the tender flesh, and I relax a little. My shoulder muscles release their tension, and my orgasm builds.

  Another slam of his hips. The dark shadows from my past linger in the distance, ready to pounce. I’m in control. I repeat the words over and over hoping it will pierce the thick skin of my fear.

  My body lists, and he flips me to my back. His huge arms confine me to the bed, the weight of his body holding me down as he hammers into me.

  I hold my breath. My throat closes up. I can’t swallow.

  He runs a thumb across my nipple, pinching—Ow! A hiss of pain shoots from my lips. His eyes are closed as he continues pinching and pulling at my sore breast. My jaw locks down against a cry, but a whimper escapes my throat.

  His eyes find mine. He blinks a few times, clearing the arousal from his expression. His eyebrows draw together. “Mouse? Fuck.” He rips his body from mine and scampers to the opposite end of the bed. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” Both his hands plow through his hair, over and over. “I’m sorry. I lost control for a second, but…” An agonized groan rumbles his chest. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” He tips his chin to look at me. “Mouse? Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

  I nod and take a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”

  “Really? Because you look terrified.” He drops his head, as if the shame of what happened weighs too much.

  “Oh, uh… yeah, but that’s not you, it’s me. I need to—”

  “No, don’t do that shit. This is not your fault. It’s mine. I just… something snapped, and it was like I couldn’t get enough of you.” He scrubs his face. “I’m losing my damn mind,” he mumbles into his hands.

  My stomach drops at the genuine remorse I see in his face and hear in his words. He’s probably been with girls who love the aggressive sex. I didn’t hate his loss of control, or the power he threw behind his hips. I want him to let go when he’s with me. To experience the same freedom that I do when we’re together. But in order to do that, there needs to be trust. So the real question is, do I trust Blake? Trust him to be himself and let go, but not hurt me?

  “I don’t want you to have to be someone else around me, Blake. You’re a fighter. You’re aggressive in the octagon and outside of it. And that includes what happens in your bed. It may take some time, but I’ll come around. Just, please…” How do I say this without sounding desperate? “Don’t give up on me.”

  His eyes are big, as if he’s seeing a different side to me and it’s taking a moment to sink in. “Or you me.”

  I hold out my arms and he falls into them. Things got intense, but he didn’t shut me out. I’m beginning to associate this selfless behavior with Blake. He’s always concerned for what’s best for me. But what about what he wants? I have to try harder to be the girl he deserves. Not the crybaby who can’t get over her past mistakes.

  Starting with soft kisses of forgiveness, I work my mouth from his neck to his jaw. Breathing in his woodsy scent helps me to relax and re-awakens my need.

  He runs his hands from my bottom to my shoulders, his hands worshiping with their touch. He treats my lips like they’re breakable, molding his to mine with the pressure of a butterfly wing. Tentative, allowing me to set the pace, he doesn’t push. Fire flames deep within, and the urge to lose control threatens to overtake me.

  I dip my tongue into his mouth and moan into the slick, welcoming warmth. His hands flex against my hips as I move in a sensual rhythm. Pleasure zaps through my nerves with every unhurried slide.

  Realization floods my senses. What Blake said last night is true. I can feel it now. This isn’t just sex; this is something bigger.

  Rolling me to my side, he hitches my leg to his hip. “I promise I’ll go slow.”

  My answer is in my kiss. I trust him.

  He slides into me, slow and sensual. Long pulls followed by deliberate thrusts, as if each movement proclaims his promise. He’s not giving up on me.

  Intense and unrelenting, my orgasm builds. I dig my fingernails into the firm muscles of his backside, pressing him closer, desperate for more. He breaks the kiss, panting, his face screwed tight. I pull his lip between my teeth. Please. He groans, a light sheen of sweat on his chest. He’s holding back, and it’s killing him.

  “It’s okay.” My hips move on their own, attempting to draw in what he’s holding back.

  He shakes his head, his breath coming faster, his grip tightening against my thigh.

  “Please. I want it.”

  With a slight recoil, he grimaces and shakes his head.

  What can I say to get him to understand?

  “Blake.” Cupping his jaw, I lock my gaze on his, and I’m met with his tortured emerald stare. “I trust you.”

  His movements still, and he scrutinizes my face. With a shove off the mattress, he rolls me to my back. Hips pinning me down, his huge shoulders loom over me, and his arms lock me in. My heart hiccups with memories that melt away before they materialize.

  Blake would never hurt me.

  He flexes his hips and groans. “You okay?” His voice cracks, heavy with emotion.

  “Mm, so good.” I grip his backside, urging him on.

  He rears back and pushes forward with a little more force. Tingles of pleasure race up my spine. I moan and tilt my hips, taking him deeper. Again, he rocks into me, studying my response. I wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his massive thighs. His movements become stronger, his powerful body unleashing all he’s been holding back in too-slow increments.

  Leaning down, he nips at my mouth. I push up and suck his upper lip, then his lower. He collapses on top of me and takes my mouth hard. I meet every thrash of his tongue with a flick of my own. A growl bubbles up from his throat, and I swallow it down.

  “Fuck, this is heaven.” His movements are more determined.

  “Blake…”

  “I know.” He kisses me again, hard and possessive.

  Perfect.

  Overwhelmed by the sensations of his powerful body commanding mine, and the patience he takes in caring for my feelings, I shed my inhibitions and toss caution aside. Lifting my hips, I meet his movements with a grind of my own.

  “God, yes. Like that.” His heavy breath heats my overworked lips. He doesn’t look away from my eyes, and he picks up his pace.

  I bite my lip. “I’m… it’s… Oh, my—”

  A burst so big, beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, bows my body off the bed. A fervent cry explodes from my lips, the sound so powerful it bounces off the walls. Shards of euphoria explode from my core and race down my limbs.

  His muscles tense, and he buries himself deep, groaning into my neck. I run my fingers through his cropped hair, holding him to me. The soft suction of his lips tug at the sensitive skin below my ear. Goose bumps race down my arms. Boneless, my legs fall open, and he drops his weight to cover me.

  It’s hard to take a full breath, but I don’t care. Pressed into the bed with him on top of me, cradled between my legs, and our bodies still connected—I’ve never felt more protected. I’m floating, the burden of my shadows lifting as hope settles in.

 
; All too soon, he rolls to the side, allowing me my first full inhale.

  “Holy shit,” he says, out of breath.

  Unable to move my soggy limbs, I turn my head toward him. “Yeah.”

  He faces me. “Fuck, look at you,” he whispers. “Even better than I thought.”

  “What did you think?”

  “That you’re fucking gorgeous. That right when I think you can’t get any sexier, you do.” His fingers trace my cheek. “So damn pretty.”

  I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You too.” I feel so much more, oh how I feel, but words fail me.

  He kisses my cheek, lingering for a second before turning away. I sit in silence while he disposes of the condom. Crawling back into bed, he pulls me to his side, my naked body flush with his. “Talk to me. What are you overthinking?”

  I giggle at his assumption. “I’m not, actually.” For the first time in a while. “But, I was thinking about work. It’s going to be impossible to not touch you when I see you there tomorrow. How are we going to play this so we don’t get caught?” I trace figure eights through his six-pack and smile at the goose bumps that follow my fingertip.

  “Get caught?” He chuckles. “What’re we, twelve?”

  “I read in my contract something about inter-office relationships. I didn’t pay too much attention, but I remember it was discouraged.”

  “Shit, if Gibbs enforced that, he’d have to fire himself ten times over.”

  I push up to rest my chin on his chest. “No way. With who?”

  “Most of the Cage Girls, a few female fighters, and his last assistant.”

  My eyes are wide, unblinking. “That’s unethical.”

  “Not our business. But don’t worry about anyone raising hell about us. Besides, no way I’m not touching you at work. Shit. Impossible to keep my hands off you.”

  I shiver and rest my cheek where my chin was.

  This is happening. He’s confessed to feelings, I’ve done the same. We’ve had sex twice without any major breakdowns… on my part. Work’s covered. I need to talk it over with Elle, but she’s crazy about Blake. As long as she’s on board, there’re no more obstacles. I’ll have a boyfriend. A healthy, adult relationship.

  And for the first time, the idea isn’t terrifying.

  Blake

  Nothing has ever felt this easy. Her head on my chest, her naked body pressed in tight, her finger tracing patterns on my skin—all of it is so new, but at the same time, completely familiar and as easy as blinking. I’m comfortable with her in a way I’ve never felt with anyone before.

  We lie in silence, pressed together with the blood still thumping in our chests. Damn, I don’t want to move. Not an inch from this position, and I’d be content. Her stomach grumbles against my side. Clearly, biology won’t allow that.

  “Hungry?” I run my fingertips up and down her spine.

  “Yeah. I’m in the mood for pancakes.”

  I grin at the longing in her voice. “There’s a great place not far from here. Best pancakes in town.”

  “Mm, that sounds good. But, I don’t have a bra, remember?”

  “Shit. How could I forget?” I squeeze her tight, remembering the warm heavy weight of her breast in my hands just minutes ago. “I think I might have some breakfast stuff here. How ’bout I make you breakfast?”

  “Now you’re talkin’.”

  Reluctantly, I let her go so she can pull on her clothes. I make no move to get up, and enjoy her body as it moves, her skin flushed from sex. Hot.

  She searches the floor for something she can’t seem to find. Her eyes meet mine. “Where are my socks?”

  “Don’t need ’em, Mouse. It’s hot as hell in here.” In more ways than one.

  “My feet are cold.” She continues her search.

  The memory of my first visit to her apartment, wearing those damn pink socks on her feet, flashes in my mind. What’s up with the cold feet?

  “Your feet, but not your legs?”

  She shrugs, a blush creeping into her already flushed cheeks. “Yeah. It’s weird, I know.”

  I throw off the sheet and head to my dresser. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants for myself, I tug them on then open my top drawer for one more thing.

  “Here.” I hand her a rolled up pair of my favorite socks.

  She tucks her hands in close to her stomach and looks at my offer like it’s alive.

  I laugh and push them to her. “Socks. Take ’em.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to take your socks, if I could just find mine. Do you remember—”

  “I want something of mine on you.” Whoa. What the fuck? But… yeah. That’s true. My woman’s feet are cold, I want to be the one responsible for making them warm.

  Her lips part, and her eyes are wide. She’s silent.

  “You gonna go statue on me or put the socks on so I can make you breakfast?” I shake the socks at her again.

  She reaches out and grabs the rolled cotton. A slow smile spreads across her face. “The socks.”

  “Good choice.” I lean in and drop a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  She tugs the socks on and up to her knees. “Mmm, these are super cozy.”

  I grab her hand, needing the feel of her skin on mine, and lead her down the hall.

  In the kitchen, she doesn’t sit at the bar while I cook. She’s in there with me, moving around, while we laugh and joke about anything and nothing. I make coffee while she mans the griddle. Her outfit looks just as cute on her tight body this morning as it did when she stormed my door last night. And infinitely better now that she’s in my socks. I always thought women looked their best done up in tight clothes and freshly made up faces. I was wrong.

  Her eyes catch mine, and a tiny smirk on her lips says that she knows what I’m thinking, and she likes it. Yeah, I’m definitely getting her naked again before she leaves.

  I grab my supplements and stir together my morning concoction.

  She flips four pancakes then turns to me. Her gaze falls to the myriad of jars and canisters on the counter. “What’s all that?”

  I hold up my shaker-cup. “Shake. Doc’s orders.”

  “Prescription shake?” She grabs the glass jar of liquid drops and brings it close to her face, squinting. “Do you know what any of this stuff is?” Her brows pinch together as she reads the fine print. “Theobromine? Nicotinamide Adenine Din—I can’t even pronounce that one.”

  I swallow a large gulp. “Don’t know, don’t care. Doc says it’ll keep my back from flaring up, seems to be helping.”

  She moves on to the canister of powder. “Do you know what’s in this one?”

  I shrug. “Nope. Tastes like pickled dog shit though.”

  Her lips twitch, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m slightly grossed out that you know what pickled dog shit tastes like.” She scrunches up her nose, does an “icky” shiver, and smiles. “Okay, so I’m kinda like your girlfriend now, and I’m also a mom, so I have some experience in this area.” She raises her eyebrows, and I nod for her to continue. Hands on her hips, she juts out her chin. “You shouldn’t take anything, even if it’s prescribed by a doctor, unless you know exactly what it is.”

  So cute. After staring at her for a few seconds, trying like hell to keep down the laughter building in my chest, I swallow in a final attempt. And fail. Laughter bursts from my lips, and I throw my head back.

  “What?” Her shrieking question has me laughing harder. “It’s not funny.”

  Still chuckling, I pull her into my arms. “Mouse, the UFL is a respected fighting organization. They’d never approve anything that wasn’t safe for their fighters.”

  Hugging me around my waist, she lifts her gaze to mine and tilts her head. “I don’t know. I’d be nervous about putting things in my body that I can’t even pronounce.”

  “Yeah? Can you pronounce Blake’s Snake?”

  She smacks my chest, giggling.

  “How ’bout Blake’s tongue? Blake’s finger—
”

  “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you start growing feathers and laying eggs.”

  Pulling free from my hold, she turns on her heel. Something catches her eye, and she whirls back around. “Pills too?”

  “Calm down, sweetheart. Same shit. Pill form. Not a big deal. I told you the doc has me all hopped up on herbal shit.” I down the rest of the foul-tasting sludge and grimace. Yuck. “Tell you right now, I’ll sprout a garden out of my ass before I grow feathers.”

  I watch as her eyes read line after line on the pill bottle. “Blake, there’s a lot of shit in here.”

  “Is it herbal?”

  “I think, but I don’t—”

  “Then I don’t give a shit.” I rinse out my cup. “I have a fight in three weeks. I won’t go into it less than 100 percent.”

  Turning back to the griddle in defeat, she shovels pancakes on a plate, chewing the inside of her lip.

  I step up behind her and pull her in tight. “Mouse, you’re freaking out for nothing. I’ll toss all this shit the day of. I promise.”

  Leaning back, she drops her head to the side. “I’m sure you’re right, and it’s all herbal or whatever. Ignore me. I’ve probably seen one too many freaky medical shows.”

  I’m digging that she cares about what I put in my body. Shit, if the roles were reversed, I’d be drain dumping the stuff behind her back to keep her safe. But my pain is gone and my body is in top fighting condition, so I’m sticking with what works.

  And for now, it’s Doc Z.

  Twenty-two

  Layla

  Stuck in rush hour traffic on a Monday morning is not where I wanted to have this conversation. But after an hour-long session with the therapist turned into two, we’ve been unable to look each other in the eye. My stomach pitches. I had no idea how much she knew. I thought I’d hidden the worst of it. I was wrong.

  I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Her gaze remains steady out the passenger side window. She doesn’t respond.

  “That must have been…” Difficult? Agonizing? Mortifying? My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles paling with anger. He promised me she couldn’t hear. Now I know that she was angry that I didn’t leave years ago, to protect her from having to experience that. And all this time I thought I was doing what was best for her, when really I did the most damage by staying.