“Jesus,” another woman gasped from the crowd. “Where’s it all going to fit?”
And it was kind of like that – an optical illusion, as that veiny, baseball bat-sized cock stretched and filled her until the massive, black fighter was balls deep inside her.
“Oh, God,” Nicola’s eyes widened, and she grabbed Rashaan’s massive shoulders to steady herself. “You’re so fucking big.”
Rashaan grinned wickedly, and began to fuck her.
The vinyl bed creaked and rattled as he thrust. His massive frame dwarfed Nicola, and sometimes all you could see of her were her long, tanned legs wrapped around Rashaan’s hips, and her tiny hands clawing at his shoulders.
It was like watching her getting rutted by a beast.
Lyssa breathlessly watched – nipples painfully hard between the material of her dress. A glance to either side revealed that every eye in the room was on the action – husbands and wives, hopeful single men… Some were pleasuring themselves as they watched. Others were touching and stroking each other; replicating the action taking place just a few feet in front of them.
Lyssa couldn’t help herself. Biting her lip, she reached under the hem of her own dress, and into her panties. A moment later, she was swirling her fingertips around the glistening wetness of her clitoris; trying desperately to sate the throbbing need between her legs.
Moaning, she looked back into the room; and saw Rashaan thrusting, and fucking, and pounding Nicola so hard the bed threatened to splinter and crack.
“Oh, God,” Nicola cried out. “I’m cumming again! I’m cumming!” And then she did. Skewered by Rashaan’s massive cock, the cheating wife climaxed a second time… and then a third. Soon, she was practically comatose on the bed; literally fucked stupid.
But Rashaan himself looked like he was approaching the point of no return. As Lyssa watched, the huge beast of a man groaned hotly, and pulled his swollen cock from deep within the limp, gasping housewife.
He stroked his long, gleaming shaft wetly – and then Lyssa watched as it swelled, and throbbed, and then spurted hot wetness across Nicola’s sweaty breasts.
At the same moment Rashaan climaxed, so did Lyssa.
Shuddering so hard her knees nearly gave way, Lyssa rubbed herself to climax as she watched Rashaan spurt across his lover.
Next door, powerful jets of pearlescent cum splattered Nicola’s breasts and face, and she writhed at the hot wetness as it sprayed her.
And then, finally, they were done.
Rashaan slumped to the bed – his massive cock slowly softening. Beside him, Nicola gasped, and smiled – rubbing his cum into her breasts with her fingertips.
And around the club, the guests finally lost interest – turning back to their horny partners; or eagerly looking for a new one.
As the thrill of orgasm finally faded, Lyssa was hit with a sudden wave of embarrassment and remorse.
She was standing there with her hands in her panties, the scent of her own pussy mingling with all the other lurid smells in the hot, sordid club.
Cheeks burning, Lyssa pulled her fingers from her panties, and brushed down the front of her dress. She gave Rashaan and Nicola one last glance, before heading to the door of the club.
That had been… wild. But she’d come to Vegas for a different reason; and now she had more incentive than ever to find Silas and make things right.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty One
Lyssa
Lyssa wearily forced her eyes open.
She groaned, as her confused, sleep-addled brain tried to remember where she was. After a few hours of fitful exhaustion, she’d expected to wake back up in her broken bed, in her shitty apartment in Jersey City.
But instead, she found herself lying in Travis’ big bed, staring at the view through his apartment window. Outside, the mid-morning sun bathed the towering buildings of Las Vegas.
“Uuuuuugh.”
As Lyssa rolled over in bed, she remembered the events of the previous night. Her cheeks burned shamefully at the thought. No matter how good it had felt at the time, the memory of rubbing herself to orgasm in a seedy sex club was not a story she planned on telling her grandchildren.
And more humiliating that that – what a bust it had all been. She’d come all this way – and snuck into a sketchy sex club, no less – to discover that her hunch about where Silas had run off to was completely wrong.
He hadn’t fled to Nicola’s arms. He was still on his own somewhere, out there in the concrete jungle of Las Vegas.
And Lyssa had no idea where he…
“Oh, my God!”
Sitting up in bed, Lyssa slapped her hand to her forehead.
“I’m such a fucking idiot.”
She threw back the covers and sat up. She was naked – last night’s green dress was hanging up over the back of a chair.
Grabbing her phone from the dresser, she snapped it off its charging cable, and scanned through her contacts.
God, she was so stupid. She’d come to Vegas thinking she’d have to track down Silas like a bounty hunter. Yet the answer had been sitting in her phone all along.
She pressed the phone to her ear, and listened to it ring.
Eventually, a gruff voice answer: “Yo. What do you want?”
She’d called Benjamin Broderick, the co-owner of BB Martial Arts Center, and the man Rob had said Silas was off training with.
“Hey, Bruiser,” Lyssa tried to sound friendly – but she and Benjamin had been firm ‘frenemies’ ever since she’d written some shitty things about him in the Herald-Tribune. “Rob told me Silas was out in Vegas, training with you.”
On the other end of the phone, there was a derisive snort.
“Yeah,” Ben confirmed. “And old Silas didn’t give the details of why he came out here, but he sounded kind of pissed at you.”
A knot formed in Lyssa’s stomach.
“Y-yeah,” she admitted. “He is.” She gulped dryly. “Is he around? Can I speak to him?”
“I’m seeing him at twelve,” Ben said dismissively. “I’ll tell him you called.”
“Seeing him? Seeing him where?”
And because Ben had no idea that Lyssa was there in Vegas, right at that moment, he told her.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty Two
Lyssa
Tapout was in a nondescript warehouse on the north side of Vegas, opposite a strip mall.
If it wasn’t for the mural painted on the side, Lyssa might not have even known the modest little martial arts gym was even there.
Paying her taxi driver with quarters – literally the last of the change she’d scrounged from the back of Travis and Nikolai’s couch – Lyssa started clip-clopping across the parking lot in her heeled boots; butterflies churning in her stomach.
She climbed the stairs at the side of the warehouse, and tried the heavy, metal door. It swung open, and a gust of air-conditioned air washed out.
Inside, the gym was dark and cool. A couple of gym-bros were hoisting dumbells in the corner. Another dude was hammering at a punching bag with his gloves. None of them looked up as she nervously entered.
“H-hello?” Lyssa looked around, clutching the strap of her purse. “Hi?”
There was a dry laugh from behind her, and Lyssa wheeled around to see a familiar face coming out of the office.
It was Benjamin Broderick - a lumbering brute of a man with a crooked nose. He was the co-owner of BB Martial Arts Center, all the way back in Jersey, and he and Lyssa weren’t exactly sympatico.
“Melissa Andrews,” Broderick grinned, crossing his beefy arms as he looked her up and down. “When I spoke to you earlier, I didn’t realize you were in town.”
Lyssa bristled. She hadn’t gone by her full name of ‘Melissa’ since she was eleven.
“You might not have told me where Silas was, if you’d known,” she growled, before adding: “Is… is he here?”
Benjamin’s eyes narrowed, and he smirked. Lyssa was annoyed at his casual
handsomeness. The guy was a jerk; but good looking enough for the wives and moms who attended his school back in Jersey to nickname him ‘the Jewish Gerard Butler.’
“He’s out back,” Ben jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “But be warned – I don’t think he’s going to be happy to see you.”
Lyssa snorted. She didn’t care.
Brushing past Broderick, Lyssa stepped into the darkness of the gym behind the lobby, and looked around desperately for the familiar, massive shoulders of Silas Batras.
She couldn’t see him lifting weights in the corner. He wasn’t with the dude punching the bag. Hell, maybe he was behind that huge janitor mopping the floors…
Lyssa suddenly did a double-take.
Holy shit, he was the janitor.
Standing with his back to her, sloshing an old mop over the concrete floors, was the enormous, broad back of her former lover.
Silas stood with his shoulders slumped, in jeans and an old t-shirt. There was an apron around his waist, and from his body language Lyssa had never seen a man more sad and pathetic.
Her voice cracked as she called out: “S-Silas?”
The janitor straightened up as he heard his name, and wheeled around. From across the floor of the gym, Silas Batras saw Lyssa standing there – and for a moment his eyes widened in happiness…
…but then, as if remembering that he was supposed to be mad at her, the hulking Spaniard growled: “What are you doing here?”
Lyssa blinked.
“I could ask you the same thing!”
There was a discrete cough from behind her, and Lyssa turned to see Ben Broderick walking up.
“El Torro here walked off the plane without a place to stay, or a cent to his name,” Ben explained, hands in his pockets. “I talked the gym owner into giving him a bunk in the locker room and three square meals in exchange for helping out.”
Lyssa’s head reeled.
She knew they’d hardly been living like royalty in New Jersey – but it took a lot to go from a studio apartment to a locker room bunk.
Silas was fighting in front of thousands in a few weeks’ time. He needed to be training; not mopping the goddamn floor.
“I asked you a question,” snapping her out of her thoughts, Silas asked Lyssa again: “Why are you here?”
She turned to him, and blinked.
“To see you, stupid,” the reporter snapped. “Why did you run off like that? Where the fuck did you go?”
Ben and Silas both reeled a little at Lyssa’s anger, but Silas took her snarl the same way he took a punch – and shrugged it off.
“You know why I had to go,” he growled. “Travis told me everthing. It turns out you weren’t…” He sniffed, and looked at his feet awkwardly. “You weren’t the person I thought you were.”
Lyssa felt her stomach tighten into a knot. Whatever Travis had revealed to Silas, it clearly hadn’t been very flattering.
“Listen, this is entertaining and all,” Ben murmured from behind them, “but why don’t you take it outside.” He reached into his billfold and pulled out a twenty. “There’s a Starbucks across the street. Grab me an iced coffee and something for yourselves, and for fuck’s sake – talk it out.”
Silas narrowed his eyes and stared at the offered money. For a moment, Lyssa wondered if he was going to refuse it. But then the big man snatched the cash, and started untying his apron.
“C’mon,” he grunted at Lyssa. “Let’s go get a coffee.”
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty Three
Lyssa
Five minutes later, they were sitting in the shade, on the steps of the Tapout gym, sipping their Starbucks.
“So what’s this about, Silas?” Lyssa asked, as she blew on her scalding black coffee.
The big man grumbled, and turned to her.
“You know what it’s about,” he grunted. “Travis Oates filled me in back in New York.” He gulped. “I didn’t realize you, and he, and Nikolai had that kind of arrangement.”
Lyssa felt her cheeks burn.
Okay, so she wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that she’d been shacked up as the filling in an MMA fighter sandwich. The weeks she’d spent bed-swapping with Travis and Nikolai was all such a blur of sex, and laughs, and casual intimacy…
But she wasn’t ashamed of it, either.
“Hey.” Responding to her own inner dialogue, Lyssa angrily poked Silas in his massive ribs and snarled: “You listen here, buddy. You’re hardly one to talk.”
Turning to face him full-on, Lyssa growled: “Don’t pretend I don’t know what was going on between you and Nicola Hedberg, back before you got put in that wheelchair.”
Silas’ eyes widened as he heard that.
“Yeah,” Lyssa nodded, sensing a chink in his self-righteous armor. “You go on about me not being the ‘person you thought I was’… But what the fuck were you?”
Silas gulped, and Lyssa continued:
“What was the deal, Silas? She got her husband to sponsor your fighting career as long as you kept fucking her on the side?”
Silas visibly recoiled from the accusation, and that was all the confirmation Lyssa needed.
“Yeah,” she continued her onslaught. “I thought as much. I might have fooled around with two guys at once, and you might not like the sound of that very much, but at least I wasn’t a fucking whore about it.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“That’s what you were, Silas. You traded that big, hard cock of yours for money, and a place to stay. You’re a fucking whore.”
Splash!
Silas’ hand had balled into a fist, and crushed his coffee cup. Scalding latte splattered over the concrete steps.
“I don’t need to listen to this,” he snarled, standing up and storming away.
“Yes, you do,” Lyssa stood too, and yelled after him: “You fucking do, Silas. You can’t hold me to some ridiculous standard, and then not face up to what you’ve done in the past.”
Silas paused, and turned to face her. His eyes were narrow slits.
But Lyssa was fearless:
“You know what?” she growled, stepping down onto the asphalt, “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of in my past. I lost my virginity in the back of a ’92 Camaro. I gave head to the quarterback at my highschool, in front of everybody at a party.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “Fuck, there’s an old tape of ‘Girls Gone Wild’ circulating, where I flashed my boobs at Spring Break in exchange for a t-shirt. I’m not exactly a saint, Silas.”
Lyssa pointed an accusing finger at the huge man.
“But you know what? I never fucking pretended to be.”
Silas’ eyes widened.
“You stand there, you big, dumb asshole, and tell me I ‘wasn’t the person you thought I was.’ But who the fuck was that, anyway? I’ve never pretended to be anybody except who I am. If you thought I was somebody else – some good little girl – then that’s all on you. I never pretended to be anybody apart from who I am.”
Lyssa suddenly felt a hot, wet tear roll down her cheek. She had been so angry, she hadn’t even noticed she was crying.
“I’m just me, Silas. I made some shitty decisions in the past, and some more shitty decisions not-so-long ago. But I’ve never pretended to be anything else; and if I’m ‘not the person you thought I was’, then you never even knew me at all!”
Silas blinked. His beefy arms flopped to his sides, and the crushed coffee cup fell to the ground.
“And, look,” Lyssa added, her voice softening, “I never expected you to be anything else than who you are, either. I don’t care that you fucked around with Nicola Hedberg. I don’t care what happened in your past. I just know that you’re a good person, and I want to be with you.”
She stood there, lip trembling, waiting for a response.
Silas swayed from side to side, as if punch drunk from her words. It took long moments before he could find the strength to speak; and when he finally did, his words were barely audible.
“I-I’m sorry,” he breathed. And then he took a step forward, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lyssa. I’ve been an asshole.”
He laughed bitterly.
“When I heard about you and Travis, and Nikolai…Well, what the fuck did you expect?” He looked up at her, with his soulful eyes wide and glistening. “I can’t say I liked it. And it was intimidating.”
Lyssa couldn’t help but smirk.
“Intimidating? Really?” She shook her head. “You’re a super-heavyweight championship contender. You could crack both of their heads together.”
She took a nervous step forward.
“You never had anything to worry about from them. It wasn’t real. They weren’t going to take me home to their mommas, or introduce me to their friends.”
She snorted, shaking her head.
“Fuck, I’m not proud of what I did with those guys, but I’m not going to apologize for it, either. That’s me, Silas. Take me as I am. Or don’t. Just, let me know one way or another.”
Silas paused, and looked at her silently.
It took a painfully long time for him to speak – but, when he did, he stretched out his hands as he talked.
“I-I’m sorry, Lyssa.” The big man lumbered forward. “I guess… I guess I just caught up in shit. I expected you to be some perfect fairytale princess, like Alberte and the kids think you are. And I forgot the reality – that you and I are both fucked up people, with fucked up pasts we’re trying to run from.”
Lyssa reached out her own hand, and entwined her slender fingers with his.
“Well, I’m tired of running,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “I want to stand up, and face what’s coming. And I want to do it with you.”
She looked up, into Silas’ big, brown eyes.
“Are you up for it?”
Silas gulped dryly, and nodded.
His own enormous, bear-paw of a hand tightened around hers.
“Let’s do this, Lyssa,” he grumbled. “Let’s beat Rashaan, save the Bodegas, and put all this shit behind us.”
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 27
