Brawl

by Kylie Hillman

  Do I love him? I shouldn’t. I don’t know him properly yet, but there’s a spot in my chest that beats only for him already. How fucking crazy is that? For a girl who doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after or fairy tales, I sound perilously close to admitting that I fell in love with a man at first sight.

  “Here,” I press Captain America into Dad’s hands. “He has trouble sleeping sometimes. Give him this and rub his belly if he wakes up. He’ll fall back to sleep.”

  Nodding, Dad backs away from me, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket. When he watches Hooligan move to my side and seize my left hand with his, his lips curve downward, his displeasure very evident.

  Yeah, well, welcome to my life, father-dearest. Nobody gets their own way in our fucked-up family.

  “You can stop frowning right now, Dad. Hooligan is a non-negotiable part of my life. Do you remember your answer every time I asked you to come home? To leave Maribelle?” His countenance falls blank; my point landing dead and center. He remembers. “If I recall correctly, it was something along the lines of the heart wants what it wants.”

  My fingers scream with a stinging bite of pain when Hooligan squeezes my hand and drags me into his arms. With an arm under my ass, he lifts me until our lips touch, kissing me as if I’m his only source of sustenance and he’s a starving man.

  I match his passion with my own. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I channel my frustration at the way our night has begun into our embrace. If Hooligan is a starving man, I’m more-than-happy to offer myself as his meal.

  The quiet snick of my front door as it closes is the only sound made as my dad leaves us to it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hooligan

  What a fucking night!

  I’d taken the steps leading to Gabbi’s apartment two at a time, ready to commence the fun-filled night I had planned. A night that was going to end with the pair of us wrapped around each other, bodies slick with sweat, minds filled with nothing but desire, as we finally brought down every barrier between us. Every emotion laid bare, our needs visible for the other to feast upon, and our pasts put to rest without fear of repercussions, or regrets.

  Except, the universe has the last laugh; like she always does. Finding her apartment door half-open, shock had chilled me when I’d heard the pure hatred in her voice as she unleashed her rage on her sister.

  Gabbi will never be accused of being still waters that run deep, or anything along those lines, yet the tangible fury I could hear lacing her words stopped me in my tracks. Her anger is a mask for her hurt, anyone with ears and eyes should be able to see that, so it bothers me that her sister—who should be her biggest ally after all they’ve been through together—seems happy to throw Gabbi under the proverbial bus whenever the opportunity presents itself.

  “I’m not ready yet,” Gabbi pouts, pulling away from my mouth and laying her head on my shoulder. “I hope you don’t have a reservation because I’m gonna need some time to finish up.”

  Now she mentions it, I remember that I do have a reservation at one of the swankiest restaurants in Sydney. The clock on the wall above her sink tells me that unless we can go back in time and leave ten minutes ago, we won’t be making it. Placing her on her feet, I point in the direction of her bedroom, patting her ass to get her moving.

  “We have all night. Take your time.”

  Giggling when my patting turns into groping, Gabbi skips out of my reach, heading for her room. When she turns to close her door behind her, the look she sends my way is one of pure sex—naked need and barely contained lust setting her beautiful face alight.

  “We could skip the main meal and dive straight into dessert?”

  “Stop teasing, Gabbi.” I growl at her. My gut clenches with desire when she lets out that sultry purr of hers. It always hits me straight in my cock, the sound a red flag to a bull.

  “Not teasing. Just saying.”

  “Go get ready before I paddle your ass.”

  My terse reply has the sides of her lips quirking with humor and curiosity lighting her amber eyes as she shuts her door. Do not go there yet, I caution myself when Mr. Happy in my pants salutes the sky at the thought of leaving a red handprint on her insubordinate ass. If the past week with Gabbi has shown me anything, it’s that she’s going to keep me on my toes with her smart mouth.

  “Nate,” I speak into my phone in a low voice, keeping one eye on the bedroom door. “Need a favor.”

  After organizing everything with my nephew, I promise to make good on one of the many IOU’s that I’m throwing his way lately...very bloody soon. What the fuck he’s going to have me do for him, isn’t worth examining. The knowledge that it’s going to be painful and more-than-likely embarrassing is made abundantly clear by the evil chuckle that’s echoing in my ears when he hangs up.

  ***

  “You weren’t exaggerating when you said you’d need some time,” I quit pacing Gabbi’s living room when she emerges from her bedroom, looking gorgeous and ready to hit the town over forty-five minutes later. “I was about ready to break down the door to check that you hadn’t ditched me and climbed out the window.”

  “I live on the fifth floor,” she laughs at my whining. “That would’ve been dangerous. You haven’t annoyed me that much.”

  Running a hand down my cheek, she gathers her handbag and heads for the front door, throwing a smart-assed comment over her shoulder as she pulls the door open.

  “Yet.”

  Taking hold of her hand, I push the door shut, before leading her to the balcony. Nate came through for me, big time. Twenty-five minutes after my phone call, he was at Gabbi’s door, laden with bags full of supplies. His girlfriend, Amy, had two brown paper bags full of piping hot Indian food in her arms and a cheeky smile on her face. Seeing a matching expression on Nate’s, I’d grabbed the bags from them and pushed them out the door with a cursory thank you. I had a million things to get done, none of which involved listening to whatever taunting those two wanted to heap on my head. They could get their barbs in at Nate’s next training session.

  Pushing the doors open, I pull Gabbi outside with me and wait for her to say something. She lets go of my hand and wanders around the balcony, trailing her fingers over the rose petals on the table and exploring everything I’ve organized for her, one by one.

  Dozens of tea candles flicker around the edge of the balcony, shielded from the slight breeze by the glass balustrades. A vase full of fresh flowers decorate the center of the table and I’ve dished up generous servings of what Amy swore to me is Gabbi’s favorite food—butter chicken, jasmine rice, and roti bread. Knowing Gabbi’s distaste for wine, I have a half dozen bottles of hand-crafted beer chilling in a tub with ice.

  Time drags and worry makes its way into my head, dampening my enthusiasm. Looking at the floor, I’m wracking my brain for some way to salvage this, when Gabbi takes my hands and pulls my arms around her.

  “I can’t believe you’ve done all of this for me. It’s so pretty. Thank you so much.”

  When she snuggles into my chest, running her little hands under my shirt and around my sides to link them at my back, a sense of belonging grips me. It’s not sexual, at all. It’s well-being, comfort, and coziness, all wrapped up in one teenage package that shouldn’t affect me like it does. It’s Gabbi. Her scent. The feel of her heart racing against me. Her warmth. The essence of who she is; the caring, vulnerable woman hiding beneath the fuck-you scowl, the in-your-face tattoos, and the constant threat of her temper flaring.

  “No thanks necessary. This is what a man should do for his woman.”

  Drawing back from me, she smiles. “Do you know that you call me a woman now? You never say little girl in that patronizing asshole tone that you used to.”

  Her reminder of how I used to treat her, of the stupid defense mechanism I tried to employ to keep her at arm’s length, makes me feel like the idiot I am. Not to mention that she’s constantly referred to as “my girl” in my head. I ke
ep that titbit to myself, knowing she’s not going to appreciate it for the endearment it’s become because of my previous times using it as an insult.

  “I suppose I’ll have to stop calling you an old man now—”

  Picking her up with one quick motion, I sling her over my shoulder, my shoulders lifting with mirth when she shrieks at my surprise attack. Slapping the bare ass cheek I find under her little skirt, I kick one of the chairs out from under the table and sit her in it. With her fingertips, Gabbi tries to contain her tears of laughter so her makeup doesn’t smudge. The carefree, and dare I say, happy vibes emanating from the beautiful girl before me are a stark contrast to the angry aura that surrounded her when I arrived to find her mid-argument with her dad and sister.

  Pungent odors waft free when I lift the lid from her plate and affect an overdone bow. “Dinner is served, my lady.”

  Defeat colors her face and she gives up trying to save her makeup. Her tears stream down her face, sooty black mascara making tracks down her cheeks, as she falls back in her chair with guffaws leaving her as she loses her battle. They continue until she snorts, pressing a hand over her mouth to stop it from happening again.

  Taking my seat, I shake my head at her. “Why’s that so funny?”

  After dragging in enough air to form words, Gabbi smirks. She’s about to take the piss out of me, the devilish glint in her eyes a dead giveaway. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were this giant asshole who thought he was God. Turns out, you’re a marshmallow.”

  “Liar,” I grin at her to soften the harshness of the word. “The first time you laid eyes on me you recognized me as your kindred spirit. I watched your eyes flare with interest, saw desire heat your cheeks. You didn’t think I was an asshole, at all. I felt your gaze strip me bare. Laying out my pain, my disillusionment with the world, and my loneliness for both of us to see.”

  A harsh intake of breath is the only sound Gabbi makes. Emotional speeches aren’t her forte, her discomfort with me calling her out evident. Her shoulders draw up, almost touching her ears, and she messes around with her fork, spearing a piece of her butter chicken and staring at it like it holds the answers to every question in the universe.

  “I am a fucking marshmallow. Because with one gaze across the basement of an ugly-ass nightclub, a seventeen-year-old girl kick started my black heart and brought it to back to life. When our eyes locked, the hole left by Mari and Gabe didn’t feel so big.”

  “Jesus, Hooligan.”

  The two whispered words tell me more than any speech Gabbi could launch into. What I saw that night is our truth, as much as we both tried to fight it.

  “You also brought my cock back to life. That fucker hasn’t sat down since he met you.”

  My joke breaks the tension. We exchange grins across the table. I crack the top on a beer for each of us, passing one to Gabbi and we begin to eat our food.

  Casual conversation, punctuated with the occasional joke, lubricated by alcohol and good food keeps us off the deeper topics. I can feel a slight unease growing within Gabbi as the food disappears and the beer dries up. What I said needed to be said, although, I’m kicking myself for diving straight into it. I should know by now that she needs easing into these things.

  “What you said before.” Gabbi returns from taking the empty dishes inside. Wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her chin on my back as I lean on the top of the railing and stare out at the city lights, I feel her draw in a shuddering breath that she lets out after a moment. “You’re right, I did feel all of that. And it scared the shit out of me. When you kept being an ass, I convinced myself that all I wanted to do was fuck you.”

  Pushing her way between me and the balustrade, Gabbi stands on her toes and presses a kiss on my lips. “Do you realize that what we’re talking about is love at first sight? It’s stupid. We don’t know each other. I have a million issues; you have almost as many. Two fucked-up people like us don’t get happy-endings like this.”

  “Silly, silly girl.” My hands find her waist and I lift her onto the railing, stepping between her legs. My movement bunches her skirt around her hips, exposing her G-string covered center to me. With her life in my hands, five stories in the air, with nothing between her and the ground except her trust in my strength, I expect her to protest her precarious position. Instead she surprises me again, saying nothing, just staring me dead in the eyes, her expectations of an answer clear to see. “Fucked-up people deserve the best endings. Gives them a reason to survive all the shit life throws at them.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I shake my head. “So pessimistic for someone so young.”

  “Not pessimistic. Realistic.”

  “I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how wrong you are.”

  Her breath catches in her throat. Good one, Hooligan. Why don’t you drop to one knee and propose? Really scare her off. Silence grows between us. Me: lost in my head, wishing I’d been born with a filter between my brain and my mouth. Her: probably, searching for the quickest way to escape the crazy, old man who keeps announcing his obsessive need for her every time he opens his mouth.

  “I’m going to hold you to that promise, Hooligan.”

  As is her way, she surprises me once more, ripping the wind out from underneath my sails, sending me further head over heels, and dumping my expectations on their head. Pressing my mouth against hers, I swing her from the railing and back to her feet. “I can’t wait for midnight. I need to bury myself in you. Now.”

  I smack her ass, even though Gabbi doesn’t need telling twice. Pulling her skirt down, she runs for her bedroom. I’m hot on her heels, eager and ready for what tonight brings.

  We meet next to the bed, our gazes assessing and hungry, the cadence of our breathing lost as we pant in unison. The past two months has been leading to this very moment. The importance of tonight is clear to both of us. The impact it’s going to have on us at a fundamental level—as a couple and as individuals—impossible to deny. For the first time in years, I’m ready to hand part of my soul to another woman.

  And, Gabbi is about to put her trust in a man. Going against every instinct she possesses. Ignoring every painful lesson that she’s learnt in her short life.

  My hands need to touch her. My mouth needs to taste her. My cock needs to feel her.

  “Hooligan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know how good I’m going to be at this.”

  “We can muddle through together. It’s been a long fucking time for me too.”

  Hands on her shoulders, I push her onto her back on the bed. Ripping my shirt down the middle, buttons flying in all directions with my impatience, I toe my shoes off at the same time, before pulling my pants down. Gabbi is a matching whirlwind of activity, kicking her sandals off and sitting up so she can undress.

  I should be savoring this. I should be taking my time to reveal every inch of creamy skin, worshipping each delectable morsel as it’s exposed to my greedy eyes. However, this mad scramble feels authentic. The desperation, the need that refuses to abate, is all-consuming. There’ll be time for slow and sweet later.

  Moving over Gabbi, I press her into the mattress with my heavy frame. Bare skin pressed against bare skin, there’s nothing between us for the first time. My cock knows where he wants to be, jutting from my hips and making himself at home between her strong thighs.

  My girl wraps her arms around my neck, drawing me closer and nipping at my bottom lip. Lifting her hips, she pushes her core against my erection. She feels scorching hot against me.

  “I’m going to explode if you don’t do something soon,” Gabbi moans as she arches her back. Dipping my head, I suck her right nipple into my mouth, running my teeth around it. She rewards me with another groan.

  “All in good time. Be patient.”

  “Hooligan,” she whines. “The last week’s been foreplay. I want the good stuff tonight.�
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  Reaching between us, she takes hold of my cock and works it up and down as well as she can from her cramped position. Rubbing the head against her mound, she tells me what she wants with her actions. I get the message loud and clear. Knocking her hand out of the way, I press my thumb against her clit while pushing my index finger into her canal. She’s drenched; wet and waiting for me to make her mine.

  Angling my body over Gabbi’s, I fist my cock and lead him toward the prize. He’s primed and ready to go, twitching with anticipation. Hell, he was ready to go two months ago. At this point of time, he’d dance his way inside her gorgeous body if he had his own pair of legs.

  Running my gaze from Gabbi’s pussy up to her flushed face, I’m greeted by amber eyes that gleam with eagerness. She bites her bottom lip, the edges curling into a smile, her unblinking stare maintaining our connection. I pause, the tip of my cock pressed against her core and wait for all of the reasons why this is wrong—why I shouldn’t do this—to hit me. They don’t. There’s nothing, but a sense of purpose and the realization that the past three years of hell were all worth it because they led me to this moment.

  To Gabbi.

  It’s with that thought that I slide my dick into Gabbi, inch by glorious inch, until I’m sheathed within her. Her eyes widen, and she throws her head back when she arches beneath me. Her hands fall free from my neck, fisting the sheets on either side of us, as I begin slowly thrusting within her. Her walls clench around me, trying to draw me further into her body, a tiny gasp falling from her lips with every upward stroke.

  When Gabbi wraps one leg around my waist, digging her heel into my ass, and titling her hips so I bottom out inside her, I quicken my pace. She matches me, move for move, thrust for thrust, her enjoyment becoming more vocal with each passing minute.

  My hands on either side of her face, I lower my head and kiss her. It’s a kiss that promises so much—more than it should at this early point in our relationship—but that doesn’t make it any less sincere. My desire overwhelms me, the control I’ve been struggling to maintain, abandoning me. I’d expected to need time to remember how to do this, time to adjust to pushing my cock into someone other than Mari, but I haven’t. This is like coming home for the second time, leaving me with one thought echoing around my head. How fucking lucky am I? Two perfect women—perfectly similar, yet totally different all at once—both made for me. One my first love; the other my salvation on earth and my second chance.