by Penny Wylder
The room is charged, the energy so thick I can feel the electricity as I move. Sylvia curls her hand around my bicep, and we leave the ring together. We don't speak, we simply move like a pair of worn shoes. Each one knows where to go, each one has its purpose, both reliant on the other, and unable to function without its match.
I can't function without her. And I don't want to anymore.
Those few weeks we spent together, playing make-believe, were the best of my life. I wasn't alone. I laughed because I wanted to. I smiled because it felt right. And I was happy because she made me that way.
I need that back.
We reach the locker room area in the back of the arena. There are reporters and journalists, agents and VIP ticket holders. Everyone wants to talk to me, but I really only want to hear one voice.
Glancing to my side, I notice that Sylvia is gone. She's moved to a bench and is taking off her heels. From a small clutch, she pulls out a pair of thin flats and slips them on her feet.
She spots me looking at her and smiles again. A bigger smile. A fuller smile. I want to go talk to her, but I'm suddenly swarmed by people.
There are microphones in my face, people barking questions from every direction. I'm not doing this, not now. I know Daniel probably wants me to stand here and answer them like a good little worker bee, but I'm not going to.
Pushing through, I stumble out the back side of the human circle. My eyes are on Sylvia. She's moved her attention to the chaos of the room. Her eyes dart around casually, feet kicking back and forth.
Slipping my shirt over my head, I unwrap the tape on my hands and throw it in the trash by the wall. My eyes fall back on Sylvia. She looks so innocent and out of place here.
She isn't taking questions or directing people away from the area. She's nothing like Daniel. I can see him off to my left, huge smile on his face as he parades himself through some of the media, talking about his greatness.
I'll let him have this moment. There's someone more important that I want to talk to.
Taking a step forward, a hand lands on my arm and it gives me a hard tug. Twisting to look down over my shoulder, there's two women at my side, both of them grinning from ear to ear.
Wearing matching dresses, with gold and black vertical stripes, they don't look older than twenty. One blonde and one redhead are peering up at me, giggling and bouncing excitedly. Big hoop earrings hang from the girl with red hair, and long sparkly earrings dangle from the blonde.
“You're Phade Manson,” the redhead says.
“Yeah.” My gaze shifts between the girls and Sylvia. “That's me.”
More giggles ensue as the two girls grab each other's arms and huddle together. “Congrats on the win,” the redhead says.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to be polite. “But, if you ladies will excuse me though, I need to—”
“Need to what?” she asks, her eyes following mine to Sylvia. “That? Seriously?” Cocking her head hard into her shoulder, her lip curls as if she's disgusted. “No, no, you don't want that. You want us.”
Forcing a fake smile, I'm trying to stay polite, trying to keep my composure and not just elbow this girl off my arm. “Thanks, but if you'll excuse me, I really need to go.”
The blonde blocks me on my left, taking my other arm in her hand. The redhead is still holding my right arm, and I feel like they're trying to capture me.
“Come on, look at us. You can have us both, wouldn't you like that? Two hot girls, not one, boring girl. Imagine what you can do with both of us.” The girls giggle again, glancing at each other, then back up at me. “Well, what'll it be, us or her.”
Plucking my arms free, I use my hands to spread the two girls apart so I can step through them. “Her, definitely her.”
Scoffing, the redhead drops a hand to her hip and snaps, “Excuse me, you're really going to pass on this. . .” She runs the tips of her fingers up and down her body. “For that?”
The look on her face enrages me. She has no right to judge Sylvia, my Sylvia.
“Look, I don't know the kind of men you're used to but let me tell you something. That woman has more class in her pinky finger than either of you have combined. I'll take her all day, every day, over both of you together.”
“You have no idea what you're turning down.”
Smiling, I walk up to Sylvia and take her by the hand. Curling my fingers around hers, I look in her eyes as I talk to the girls. “I know exactly what I'm turning down, and I know exactly what I'm saying yes to.”
She's everything I've run away from, and everything I always ran toward all wrapped up in one. She's my air, my food, my water. I could eat her and never be full, I could drink her and never be quenched, I could breathe her in and never catch my breath.
Sylvia's all I'll ever need. She's all I'll ever want.
Without her, I'm no one.
But with her, I'm someone.
14
Sylvia
Warmth.
That's what I feel as his fingers trap mine. I'm staring up at him, lost for words and full of feeling. My belly is full, tingling, fluttering with a million butterflies as his thumb runs circles over my wrist.
It's not real. None of this is real.
But it all feels so real; every kick of my heart and twist of my stomach, every goosebump and deep pulse in my veins. How can I feel what isn't real? It isn't making sense, but I don't have time to analyze any of it.
Phade pulls me up from the bench, his eyes grazing my body from thigh to neck and back again. His glare is hungry and makes my heart careen around my ribs as if it's a caged bird. I half expect it to explode from my chest and fly off because it's beating so fast.
Touching my chest, I can feel the beat like a drum.
Thud thud.
Thud thud.
Thud thud.
It's powerful. I can hear it pushing blood between my ears and drowning out the rest of the noise around me.
The girls are standing with their jaws cocked to the side, appalled that he's choosing me over them. They whisper back and forth to each other, as waves of disgust from their expressions taunt me where I stand.
“Sorry ladies, but I'm already spoken for,” Phade says as he walks me past the girls, his head held high, his back rigid and proud.
What is he proud of?
Is he proud of me? Is he proud that he's controlling himself and not going off with these girls?
I look back, watching the women as Phade guides me away.
The young women scoff and roll their eyes, folding crude arms over their chests, and leaning into each other. The red haired girl flips a hand in the air, grabbing her friend by the arm and pulling her in the opposite direction.
“Let's go, he's not worth our time.” Shooting a hard look over her shoulder, our eyes connect and I see something in her gaze that actually makes me smile; envy.
She wants what I have, and she isn't getting it.
Phade walks with me hand in hand through the building. He stops briefly and grabs his duffel bag, throwing it over the other shoulder, but he never releases my hand. My heart skips, tumbling in my chest.
The way he's holding my hand is speaking to me more than any words ever could. I don't need him to tell me what he's thinking or what he wants. I already know.
We walk out of the building, and I'm just letting him guide me. I'll go where he wants me to go. I don't want him to let go of my hand, I want him to hold it forever.
“Did you drive?” Phade asks, finally ending the silence between us.
“No.” Shaking my head, I brush the hair away from my face and look up at him. “I drove with Daniel.”
“Good.” Phade smiles and winks. “I'll take you home.”
We cross the parking lot. It's chilly out, so I snuggle up a little closer to Phade. I can feel him looking down on me as I steal some of his body heat. He pulls me in more, tucking my body into his side.
I hear the beep of an alarm and see the lights flash on a truck
. It's not the type of vehicle I expect him to have. He isn't driving a fancy BMW or Ferrari, it's not a Range Rover worth a year of my salary.
I've seen this vehicle in the parking lot of our building, but I always thought it belonged to one of the security guards or janitors.
“This is you?” I ask.
“Yeah, why? What's wrong with it?”
“Nothing's wrong with it, it's just not what I expected. I thought you'd have a two door racecar or a big SUV or something.”
“Surprise, you weren't even close.” Phade chuckles as he opens my door. “Let me help you in.” With one quick swoop, he lifts me off my feet and places me on the front bench seat.
The truck is a beast. It's a faded army green Dodge Ram, with rust colored crescent moons over each of the fender walls. The entire body is pock marked in small dents, and the windshield has a thin crack that stretches out like a scratch on skin.
The inside is worn. There are thin veins in the fabric of the bench seat, making it look like old skin. The dashboard has a tape deck and the roof liner is dipping down off the metal frame.
Phade closes my door and walks around the truck, climbing into the driver's seat. He starts the truck and it roars to life, like a lion who has smoked his entire life. There's a cough and a hiccup, another cough, and then the engine is purring.
He takes my hand again before he says a word, braiding our fingers together and pulling my hand over, resting it in his lap.
“She's pretty, isn't she?”
“She's old.”
Laughing, he runs his free hand up and over the steering wheel. “She might be old, but she's never let me down. I bought her with the money from my first tournament win when I was sixteen years old.”
“And that was how long ago?” Giggling, I scoot closer, bringing my thigh right up to the tall shifter arm.
“Over ten years ago.” Licking his lips, he smiles. “It was already used and old when I bought it. But I won enough to buy it outright, which made it mine. I was so proud of this truck at the time, I never imagined I'd ever be able to afford a vehicle of my own.”
“You can afford something better than this now, you've come a long way from the start.”
“I can, doesn't mean I need to.” He crosses his arm over his chest and pulls the gear shift into drive. “And I love my truck, she represents everything I've gone through to get here.”
I watch him from the corner of my eyes and I realize how deep this man actually goes. He has feelings, he has respect, and he takes pride in everything he does.
We drive back to my place in silence, despite the spontaneous spit of engine backfire and clank of metal on metal under the hood. Phade pulls up to the curb, putting the truck in park and letting it idle.
We're still holding hands. I don't want to let go. His grip loosens, but I tighten mine. “You want to come up?” I ask, tilting my head and peering up at him under hooded lids.
I want more. The night doesn't have to end here. All he has to do is say yes. My body is growing tender, my nipples hard as they brush against the inside of my dress.
The thought of having him in my home makes my body ignite like a bonfire. Invisible sparks fly around me, singeing my skin like hot ash. My thighs get slick, wet, so wet I can feel it spilling down my leg.
I'm already picturing Phade taking me upstairs, pushing me against the wall and fucking me. I want him inside me, I want to feel all of him as he presses my entrance and sinks his thick cock into my pussy.
Crossing my legs, I try to hide the eagerness to have him in me while I wait for his answer. The light off the streetlamp catches his pupils and makes them sparkle. The light moves across his jaw, turning his brown stubble into silver stars.
My thighs rub back and forth, wondering if that stubble will tickle or burn my skin.
Phade smiles, his lids lowering to half-mast. “I'm glad you asked because I planned on taking you upstairs anyway.”
We quickly climb out of his truck, heading into my building. We're not even in the elevator before his hands are in my hair and his fingertips are exploring my breasts beneath my dress.
Phade dances his mouth eagerly across my shoulder, nipping at my skin. His breathing is heavy and hot, his teeth are sharp and greedy. Moaning, my head rolls on my shoulder, making room for him to explore more of my neck.
Pinching my nipple, he rolls it between his fingers, plucking it softly. “I want to fuck you so bad.” His mouth flutters close to my ear as he moves his hand to my other tit and squeezes the perked bead.
“I want you to fuck me.” My hands fist his hair, tearing at the roots. “I'm fucking soaked, Phade, I need you.”
Growling, his hands become rougher, more demanding. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of my chest as he licks his way up my throat until our mouths are almost touching. He doesn't kiss me yet, his lips tremble in place, eager to devour my mouth, but trying to stay strong.
Our eyes lock on each other, my tongue tempts his parted lips. His mouth mimics mine, ready for our tongues to tangle, to lick, to taste.
Ding.
The elevator doors open, and Phade sweeps me off my feet, carrying me toward my apartment. I unlock the door quickly, and Phade kicks it open wide, carrying me through. Using his foot, he kicks the door shut.
We're nothing but heavy breaths and pounding heartbeats. He moves through my apartment like he's been here before and takes me straight into the bedroom. He doesn't need me to give directions. It's like he's reading my mind, pulling out my memories and using them to guide him through my home.
He throws me on the bed and my blood pumps hot and fast through my veins. I can hear it whoosh through my ears as it passes from one side to the next. He looms over me, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging it off his back.
I have to touch him. The need niggles in my fingers, itching to reach out and feel his body. My fingertips explore stone cut abs and marbled shoulders. Thick black and red lines wrap his ribs on his right side.
It's an image of a figure, a fiery man, wielding a hammer high above his head. Phade stands still for a second, hands splayed open at his sides, ribs expanding and contracting as he breathes.
My eyes are drawn to the tattoo, to the way it moves on his skin. Every breath Phade takes, the figure breathes too. I watch quietly, softly touching this living picture.
“Who is this?” I ask, tracing one of the lines with the tip of my finger.
Phade looks down and twists his body. “Vulcan, the god of Fire.”
“It's amazing. Did it hurt?”
He shakes his head with a thin frown. “It wasn't too bad.” Phade runs his palm down his ribs. “The Romans believed that he represents both the good and bad that comes from fire. He was mesmerized by it, even using it to make a golden slave girl for himself. Do you want to be my golden slave girl?” Phade climbs up on the end of the bed and lays over me, spreading my legs with his knee to make room for him to settle in.
I can feel his hard cock behind his shorts. It's solid, and I can't lie, it's intimidating. Memories of how deep he hits make my stomach clench and my pussy water. Every nerve in my body is alive, it's on fire, exploding with wanton need.
Phade moves his hand down my ribs and shimmies my dress up over my hips. Helping him out of his shorts, I feel the tension of the cloth as it breaks free and his cock bursts out.
Pushing his lips onto mine, he kisses me hard. The kiss feels different, it's a single kiss filled with more emotion than I know what to do with. It's intense, the voracity of his lips steals my breath and leaves me wounded.
I need him. Not just here. Not just like this. I need Phade like I need water to survive. I feel him all around me, sinking deeper into my bones. His steely exterior is merely a shell to protect who he really is.
Opening my mouth, I make room for his tongue, taking it, sucking it in. He tastes like sweet red Gatorade, mixed with salty sweat, and for some reason, it turns me on. Opening my mouth wider, I tip my head up a little higher,
deepening our kiss.
His dick is pressing the inside of my thigh. My arousal seeps down my pussy and over my ass crack until it drips off my cheek, and onto the mattress. We're both rocking, gyrating, humping like horny teenagers who are trying to stay whole and pure.
But that can only last so long. The need will always outweigh the rationalization. Because if you can't think straight, you can't make the right decision.
Lining up his tip to my entrance, Phade slips in easily. My juice is warm and silky, lubing his cock. He starts off slow, rocking back on his knees and then dropping down gently.
This isn't what I want, though. I want him to take me. I want him to make me his.
None of this delicate flower shit. I need Phade to fuck me before I lose my mind.
“Fuck me, Phade. I can't take this, just fuck me.” Shifting my hips, I try to pick up our pace. My ass lifts up off the bed and drops back down as I do my best to match his movements.
“If I just fuck you, where's the fun in that?” Slamming his cock inside, he stills on his elbows and smiles. “I'd much rather drive you to the edge of insanity until you're begging me on all fours.”
“I can't wait that long, don't make me wait that long.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he whispers into my ear, and bites my lobe. I groan loud, eyes snapping shut. “Good girl, now you're getting it. Your body's going to do what I tell it to do. All you can do is let it.” The sharp edges of his teeth run over my jawline, moving down the other side of my neck.
Groaning, a shiver runs up and down my body. “You're not playing fair.”
“I never said I would.” His lips trace my nipple, circling one and then moving to the other. “I actually enjoy watching you melt for me. I love seeing you lose your mind because you have to have me. That's so fucking sexy.”
Digging my nails into his back, I arch hard as he bites my nipple and sucks it. I'm sure I'm leaving marks on his skin. I can feel the surface split as the sharp edges of my nails cut in hungrily.
His cock pulses in my body, and my pussy bares down, clenching around him and trying to force him to move. I'm so fucking wet, my clit is throbbing painfully.
