No Hesitations (The Fighter Series Book 5)
Page 15
That cracks the code. He smiles and then shoves forward.
“It’s hot pink and your tuxedo matches,” I banter.
He rams into me hard. I moan in pleasure.
“Your shoes are red to match my dress,” I say leveled.
He juts into me again but then places the most tender kiss to my lips. “You done torturing me?”
I giggle softly. “Am I outdoing your imagination?”
Slowly, he drags out, pushing back in easily before pausing again. “You’re breathtaking in my thoughts.”
“You wait until you see me,” I say.
He gyrates his hips again. “Am I driving you insane?”
I push my hips up. That’s my answer.
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “I’ve craved to feel your pussy wrapped around me all day.”
I swallow forcing my shyness away. “Then show me.”
He smirks. “I’m about to be a married man, Whit. I need to fuck the single life out of me.”
His hips flex once before he lets loose. Quickly, he flips me, yanks my ass into the air, shoves into me, and grabs a handful of hair. He drives wildly, grunting as he roots. He pulls my face toward the ceiling and hisses as he slaps my ass.
I’m moaning in pleasure, hissing in pain, and enjoying every second of the bliss. Warmth ignites my body, pulling in from my toes. Heavily, he drags his hand up my back and grips my neck. He heaves into me and I’m lost.
I writhe, my body tensing as waves of satisfaction roll over me. I moan, rambling incoherent words until I slide back down to reality. It’s when he slows and flips me again.
Adoration shimmers in his eyes when he lowers back down and slowly presses back into me. He rocks gentler, slower, passionately, kissing me sweetly.
“I love you,” he says, moving in and out of me, flooding me with raw emotions.
I kiss him with all my might. Everything is slower, more sensual. His movements are gentle, his hands less powerful, cataloging my body. He makes slow love to me until we’re both drenched in sweat, kissing me endearingly from my neck to my forehead.
I drag my hands over his sweaty muscles on his back, over his shoulders, over his ass, through his hair. My fingers touch every inch of his smooth skin.
He plucks a kiss from me and then pushes up. His thrusts begin to pick up, becoming eager. My orgasm spools back up, and we surrender together. I gasp. He curses, pumping ardently.
He rests his body on top of mine, without the heaviness of all his weight, and kisses my cheek. I can feel his heart pounding, his breath ragged.
We lie like this for so long, so sated and lax, I drift off to sleep with his strong arms wrapped around me.
Chapter 22
Ever anticipated something so immensely you no longer experience nerves? The truth—I haven’t been the slightest bit nervous since popping the question. I’m too fucking excited. Even though all this has moved quickly, it hasn’t happened fast enough. Anticipation built to such a high degree I was losing my mind. I went through stages of being fearful I’d be a shit husband. First it was a whisper, and then it was all I thought about.
I’m not perfect. I have many flaws and have exhibited them many times throughout our relationship. My temper fucking sucks. My patience is limited. I’m moody. I’m an arrogant son of a bitch. My demand for control is intense.
How Whitney puts up with me is beyond me. She has a way of looking at me like I’m all she ever sees and it strikes my heart. We may have ups and downs, but we’re always riding that coaster together.
Although she sees the softer…the fucking softer side of me, it’s only for her. She holds that right. No one else. She brings out my weakness—her. She can put me on my knees with just a look. She makes me want to be a better man, all compassionate and shit. I strive to do sweet things just for her. Her smile is beautiful, as is her heart. She’s my necessary contrast. My life I want to live.
How I put up with her is, well, it’s fucking easy.
Even if it’s undoubtedly changing me…only for her.
My hands shake with excitement as I finish tucking in my shirt and buttoning my pants. Whit kept her promise to me—I’m not wearing a tux or a fucking bow tie. Instead, I’m in a dark gray suit because black is for funerals. I’m not here to end my life. It’s beginning the moment she steps to me.
“The photographer wants us,” Jackson says behind me.
I check him out in the mirror. Where my suit is dark, his is lighter. “Ten minutes,” I state.
He slaps my shoulder. “Do you know how to pose without your hands balled up?” he jests.
I chuckle. “It’ll be the ultimate test.”
“You nervous yet?”
“Not a drop,” I say.
I finish getting dressed and shrug into my blazer before nudging him in the arm and stepping out into the hall.
Pictures. Poses. More pictures. More poses. Smiles. Big smiles. Matt, Kyce, Jackson, and me. I’m a smirker. Not a smiler. The photographer has reminded me many times. After every flash, I glance up to the windows on the second floor of the stone building. I don’t know where she’s at, but I’m hopeful to get a sight of her peeking out of the windows.
I’m ready to see my girl.
I manage to keep my hands in a relaxed position and not fisted, although when the photographer said for us to be natural, I loosened everyone up by posing into my fighter’s stance. He snapped the picture. It’s going to look damn good too.
Soft music plays as I look out to everyone. Yeah, I’m standing at an altar. Not just any altar, not the same one as my oldest brother. No. Mine.
I’m drowning in suspense.
My parents look proud and happy. Abby is teary-eyed sitting beside her boyfriend, Eli. They’ve been dating for a few months and he seems to be a good guy. He loves Abs and respects her. He’s what she’s needed and he knows the repercussions if he ever hurts her. Steamy past or not, we have a friendship I don’t ever want to replace.
Jay sits a few rows back also incredibly teary-eyed. Him and his boyfriend split just two weeks ago after Jay caught him shacking up with another man in Jay’s bed. He handled it like a champ. If that were me, I would’ve murdered them both.
Carter is seated alone right behind my parents. He’s bulked up and now rests in the middleweight class comfortably. He adheres to everything I tell him. His first fight is in three weeks and as his coach, I know he’s going to do well.
Wait. The wedding.
Whit promised she didn’t want anything big and nothing too extravagant. Of course, I don’t care just so long she’s walking to me and we seal the deal. I rushed the process. After seeing her go through what she went through and pull out of it like a motherfucking goddess, I knew I needed her to bear my last name. I think that’s when I realized just how much I loved her. Seeing her like that made me see things differently. Watching her strength made me admire her incredibly.
At the end of the aisle, Matt steps out from the side, Lily the other, and she takes his arm. He glances to Holly, sitting toward the back, before looking back toward me. Slowly, they make their way to me, separating and standing wherever Whit told them to. Next is Kyce and Sarah. Since I wanted Jackson as my best man, he didn’t get to travel the aisle with his wife. But Kyce and Sarah are giggling and whispering as they take their steps.
Jackson and Candice exit, them too, cutting up.
My heart clamps when Gracie comes out in her little white dress with a blue—my blue—ribbon in her hair, tossing out petals wildly.
“You good?” Jackson whispers after he steps to my side.
“Fucking amazing.” I smile over my shoulder. Quickly, he peers to the preacher behind us.
I don’t care. You want me to watch my mouth? Reset my memory and erase the excitement rupturing in my soul.
The music changes and everyone stands. I clench my fists in front of me trying to contain my suspense.
Whit and her dad step out.
Holy fuck�
��
I can’t breathe.
I’m pretty fucking sure I don’t have a pulse.
I can bet money my feet aren’t planted on the ground.
She’s absolutely stunning. Incredibly exquisite.
I’m now in perma-grin mode as she smiles at me.
“Dude,” Kyce says loud enough for me to hear.
I’d look at him, but I can’t rip my gaze from my bride-to-be in her dress walking to me.
Holy fuck…
“You breathing?” Jackson nudges me.
“No,” I answer truthfully with my eyes locked on Whit.
The need to rush to her and carry her the rest of the way surges me, but I dig my heels in.
“Hey,” she says as she stands before me.
I clutch her hand because the need to feel her is insane.
I swallow because she’s stolen my words. “You look…” I glance down her body. “Damn, Whitney.”
She’s beaming as she blinks back her happy tears. My throat is on fire as I clench my jaw.
We say our vows, thankfully short and sweet. And when the preacher says those magical words—You may kiss your wife—I grip her by the back of her head and crush my lips to hers. Public or not, this is our first kiss as husband and wife, and I promise it’ll not be forgotten.
I plunge my tongue into her mouth, wrapping my other arm around her waist and yanking her into my chest. She liquefies against me, scraping her nails into my scalp. When I lean back, we’re both panting.
“We’re married,” she whispers, giggling.
“We are.” I grin.
“Husband.”
“Wife,” I reply and then turn us to the crowd.
Husband and wife. I’m fucking married. And Whitney is my wife. Mine.
Whitney Hayes…
Fuck that sounds good.
Chapter 23
Three weeks ago, I married the love of my life. The week following, he paid Daniel to keep Carter training and we took off to Antigua. It was a barefoot luxury of secluded beaches, sleep, sex, relaxation, foods, and of course, in Ryker style, more sex…everywhere. We wanted peace and quiet and we got it.
It went too fast and right when we returned, he went straight back to work head first.
He’s worked really long hours, long days, and long weeks to get Carter ready. He’s been at the gym sun up to sun down. I bring them lunches and occasionally watch them, more Ryker’s sexy body than anything. He’s stopped keeping his face clean shaven and now is sporting a sexy scruff. It’s different, but it looks good on him.
Carter’s gained weight. He’s not a little scrawny kid any longer. He’s more cut with a defined muscle line. To me, he’s built like a swimmer—broad shoulders, big chest, and flat stomach on slender hips.
Today is Carter’s first fight and I can tell he’s nervous as hell, trying his best to conceal it. This is also the first fight we’ve attended since my attack and Ryker is, although focused on Carter, struggling to keep himself in check. He’s worried. How do I know? He’s asked me like a bajillion times if I’m good.
Kyce stands with Ryker, hyping Carter up. It was a long road to recovery, but eventually the brothers made up. Thank God. And in the dark, as we laid tangled together, Ryker admitted he was happy Kyce kept tabs on us, and that looking back now, he realizes he was more disappointed at himself for not being able to protect me and needed to lay the blame on someone else.
It makes my heart smile seeing them annoy the hell out of each other again.
Ryker grabs Kyce by the arm and pulls him to his face, nose to nose. “Do you have her?” Ryker’s words are slow, enunciated, and stern with a matching seriousness to his glare.
Kyce nods. “One hundred percent.”
Ryker’s gaze softens resting on me with a raised brow. “I’ve got my money on the other guy.”
“You too?” I tease.
He clutches my hands and pulls me into him. “He’s going to demolish the guy.”
“Look who his coach is,” I boast and then narrow my eyes. “Wanna wager?”
He smirks, challengingly. “What’s the ante you don’t already have?”
I pull him by his neck and whisper in his ear. “He wins, I have my way with you. All the control.”
He shakes his head. “You’re placing a hard ante.”
I giggle because it’s the one thing he demands during sex. “I know.”
He exhales. “Fine.”
I kiss him. “Please don’t worry about me. I promise I’m safe.”
“If you need—”
“To pee,” I interrupt. “I’m holding it until you can hold my hand,” I say with a smile. “Don’t worry.”
He kisses my forehead before pulling back. His gaze glasses over and he’s back to his stoic ways, steady and strong with wicked determination.
Kyce interlaces his arm with mine and we start out the door. Before we exit, I turn around and call out. “I love you, husband.”
His spine snaps straight and he cranks his neck at me with warm eyes. His smirk is laced with pride and it lingers until he switches back to Carter.
There’s two things he loves—I love you and being my husband—and when I say them together, it cracks his tough shell.
We’re traveling down the hall when a group of reporters flock, bombarding us with questions.
“How have you been since the attack?”
“Is it true it was a lover’s quarrel?”
“Did you know Mr. Henderson?”
“How was the honeymoon?”
“Is Ryker any different as a husband?”
My heart is racing. I squeeze into Kyce a bit more, tucking my head into his shoulder. He barks for them to back up and to leave us alone without stopping our pace, but they don’t quit until we hit the arena’s entrance.
The nervousness I’m experiencing isn’t the same as it is when Ryker is in the cage. Instead, it’s less extreme but more intense. It’s not worry that the man I love will get hurt. No. Now it’s switched to concern for all his hard work. All of Carter’s. I’m scared for Carter, regardless of how much I know he’s grown perfectly into place. I’m afraid of what will happen if Carter loses and the direct hit Ryker’s ego will take.
The lights dim. The crowd roars. Orange strobe lights scatter across the countless people. Ear splitting screams burst from all around us. Anxiety begins to crawl up my neck and cover my skin. I lean into Kyce, but he stands as the white light illuminates the entrance, pulling me to my feet along with him.
Carter strolls unperturbed, shadowboxing. Ryker’s eyes, even from here, scream murder. It’s as if he, himself, is walking into the cage. Fans, mostly Ryker’s, reach out to get a touch, a simple tap, and both men grant them their wishes.
Carter gets checked in and sprints around the ring, shaking out his arms until he reaches Ryker on the other side of the chain-link fence. Ryker’s eyes find me without any emotion before flicking back to his fighter. Ryker speaks and Carter nods his head.
I know this is eating Ryker up. I know he wants to be in the cage, the one fighting, inflicting the pain, and celebrating the win. Part of me breaks knowing how badly this must be hurting his feelings.
Walsh, the opponent, comes in and the referee brings them to the middle to state the rules I’ve come to realize are repetitive and the same as every other fight.
The bell dings and out lunges Walsh. Carter feints and strikes, landing it. Walsh wraps Carter up against the fence where Ryker is and I can see him shouting things while Carter struggles to keep his bearings.
Walsh slams several punches into Carter’s ribs, and I can hear the grunts and air rushing from him. It’s a sound that scares the hell out of me.
Kyce places his hand on my knee with soft eyes. “You good?” he mouths.
I’m shaking like a leaf but I nod.
The crowd gets louder pulling my view to the ring. Carter is advancing forward, firing off punches and forcing Walsh backward. Step for step, punch for punch, C
arter slams his knuckles into Walsh while he bends and blocks. Walsh throws a kick into Carter’s thigh and the smack is unnerving, but it doesn’t seem to bother Carter.
Ryker worked with him on that and it was so brutal I almost puked. I ended up leaving the gym that day.
I hear Ryker yell something and in a swift movement, Carter steps in on his left leg and slams Walsh with an ugly right upper cut, sending him to the mat.
“Stay on him!” Ryker roars. “Stay the fuck on him.”
Carter complies and dives on top, driving his gloved-covered knuckles into his opponent’s face. The ref circles and then shoves Carter off.
The whole arena comes alive in a thunderous rumble of screams and shouts. Kyce and I are both on our feet. Carter turns toward Ryker and yells in celebration. Ryker rushes the cage, shoving through the people already flooding the floor, and bear hugs Carter, lifting him completely off the ground.
I smile and squeeze Kyce’s arm.
He won. Carter won. Elation surges my heart.
Chapter 24
The direction of my dreams and goals may have been modified, but my reward I refuse to change. The moment we land back in New Hampshire, Whitney and I drive to Jackson’s to get my girl.
She leaps out the front door, slamming her little body into mine, and squeezes tightly. It’s the winning celebration I adore the best.
“He did great, Unk Ry,” she tells me. “You make a good coach.”
It clamps my heart. This little girl fucking owns me without realizing it.
“Thank you, Pooh. He did do good. He won,” I respond and then kiss her cheek. “You ready?”
“Yup.”
I glance to Sarah. “I’ll have her back in an hour or so.”
Whit stifles her laugh while Gracie rambles on and on and on and on about how Emma has a boy named Tyler who likes her, but Emma doesn’t, so he asked Gracie to put the bug in Emma’s ear.
Confused yet?
Trust me. I’m entirely disoriented with the amount of gossip.