by Skye Warren
Below the Belt
Skye Warren
Copyright 2011 by Skye Warren
Below The Belt is an erotic romance featuring explicit sex and graphic language. Not for anyone under the age of 18 or who is uncomfortable with the subject matter.
One
“Starfuckers, two o’clock,” Rafael said in a low voice. He flashed his charming smile to a table of women nearby.
Abe glanced at them, primping and posing. “Don’t go there. They’ll eat you alive.”
Blake, ever the smart-ass, snorted. “That’s what he’s hoping for.”
“Maybe you hope, amigo,” Rafael said, turning up the Spanish accent that had helped drop many a panty, “but I take.”
The other guys laughed, but Abe scanned the room. God, he wanted to get the hell out of here, but there was probably a formal closing speech yet to come. They should be training, not dealing with this bureaucratic shit. His suit and tie seemed to shrink as Abe sat.
“Too scared to play with the big dogs?” Rafael taunted.
Abe rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to play. I’m here to train, and I’m here to win.”
“Spare us the pep talk, Sa Bum Nim,” Blake said, mocking Abe with their Taekwondo master’s title. “There’s nothing wrong with a little stress relief. Maybe you’re afraid you can’t score with all the competition in the room.”
Abe warmed to the topic despite himself. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me.”
“Put your money where your mouth is, hot shot,” Blake said. “Or, rather, your belt. Hook up tonight, you win. If you can’t get any, then we get to hold onto your belt for tomorrow.”
Sa Bum Nim would seriously kick his ass if he showed up at training without his belt. He’d give him that disappointed look, like it was a personal affront to him, and then make Abe do a hundred push-ups before starting training. “Wait, what do I get if I win?”
“You mean other than getting laid?” Blake rolled his eyes. Speaking of personal affronts, lately Blake got awfully bitchy whenever Abe did get laid. They’d been friends forever, and both had their share of girls, so Abe didn’t know what it was about, except that maybe Blake was going through a dry spell. He held up a tough-as-shit façade, but Abe knew better. Blake was tense lately, stressed.
“I’ve got it,” Rafael said. “If he wins, then we’ve got to lug all his gear to and from the training center for the next week. That shit is heavy.” It didn’t seem like an even bet to Abe, the wrath of Sa Bum Nim pitted against carrying extra gear, but he wasn’t one to turn down a challenge.
“And,” Blake added, “you don’t get to tell her who you are. That’s too fucking easy.”
It was always too easy. Even without bragging about the pile of medals. Even without touting his position as lead instructor at the school of Sa Bum Nim Kangjoun, the world-famous master who had escaped North Korea to train the best athletes. It was easy when what Abe longed for was a challenge.
“Fine.” Abe cracked his knuckles. “Watch the master at work, boys.”
Abe stood and left the guys making bets. He headed toward the starfuckers Rafael had been ogling earlier, just to get it over with. Then he spotted a woman in the corner, separate from the rest. The table she sat at had been empty during dinner, so it was still set with the fancy silverware and plates. Her fingers toyed idly with a fork.
She was attractive, from what he could see even though she was looking down, with a lush body and thick mane of black, curly hair. Her curves filled out the simple dress, turning plain black fabric into a sexy promise. Her beautiful black curls gleamed against pale white skin. Something about the way she held herself—distanced, but also proud—told him she’d probably be a bit of a challenge, which was more than he could say for the girls preening in the middle of the room. Like maybe she’d have something more to offer him than her phone number, and suddenly, that mattered to him.
He was more interested in meeting her, in finding out what color eyes she had, in hearing whether her voice was sweet or sultry, than the lame bet the guys had come up with. She glanced up as he approached. He was startled, almost frozen, when he looked into her dark green eyes. People said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, but he’d never believed it. Because he’d never seen it, but he could see hers now. A spark of intelligence, a flash of humor. And something deeper, something darker.
No, she definitely wasn’t a bimbo, but he had a job to do. Whether it was to win a challenge or for reasons of his own, he had to have her. He flipped on the half-arrogant/half-adoring smile and insouciant pose that had worked their way into more than a few panties.
“Hey, there.” Abe smiled. “Got tired of the ballroom bingo?”
“The what?”
“You know, you ask everyone what style they’re in and what state they’re from and then check it off on your card. I hear the prize is a shot of real booze, none of this watered down crap.”
She laughed softly. “And so, what are yours?”
“Taekwondo, California.” The World Martial Arts Tournament drew practitioners of all styles—Taekwondo, Karate, Judo, anything. It offered a chance to prove your shit to the martial arts community at large. More than that, it meant sponsorships. He’d already been courted by the sales execs at the Combat brand of sparring gear and sports equipment. All Abe had to do was win gold. Gold meant sponsorship, gold meant money, gold meant he could finally open a school. Be his own master. “What about you?”
“I’m not on your card,” she said. “So tell me, what’re you doing here, talking to me?”
He laughed at her directness. “Getting to know you. Or trying to.”
“Not trying to score?” She leaned back in chair and crossed her arms. He tried not to stare at what that did to her cleavage.
He cranked his smile to full-male-whore wattage. “I’m a multitasker.”
“Fair warning, you’ll probably have better luck with one of them.” She nodded toward the women who were now chatting with his schoolmates. Maybe their flirtatious manner and high-pitched voices were meant to be coy, but as he stood with this woman, real and classy, they looked vulgar.
“I have zero interest in any of those women.” He hooked a hand in his pants pocket, hoping he hadn’t just insulted her friends, but it was the truth. “I’m here with you.”
“Because you think I’d be easy.” Her voice was flat, not a question.
Boy, did she have it backwards. “I don’t think you’re easy. But if we’re going to spar, let’s at least exchange names first. Proper etiquette and all that. I’m Abe. What’s your name?”
“Paris.” She grimaced.
“Paris, like … ?”
She sighed. “Like Hilton, yes. And like France. Come on now,” she chided, “you were doing so good on originality.”
Abe cleared his throat. “Paris, Texas, is what I was going to say. It’s … a few states over from where I live, which is why I brought it up. Have you been there?”
“Have I been to Paris, Texas? No, I can’t say that I have.” A smile played on her lips.
“Well, that’s a shame. I hear they have great … tornadoes.” Abe had no idea what they had in Texas, but her, he liked. She sparked something in him—interest, arousal, maybe more. He wanted to get to know her better, alone, without the spectators around them. “Come on, Paris. Let’s take a stroll.”
“I don’t think there’s anywhere to go around here,” she said, but she let him pull her up out of the chair. A faint citrus smell wafted up from her hair as she stood.
“We’ll walk the halls and see what happens. I’m sure we can get into some kind of trouble.” He grinned.
She smiled back. “Oh, I bet we can.”
That sounded like a challenge to Abe.
He’d be up for it, in more ways than one.
He led her by the hand out into the hallway, with only the muted laughter spilling out of the ballroom behind them. A few people loitered in small groups outside the ballroom doors, but as soon as Abe and Paris rounded the corner they were alone. They walked through the shadows of the spacious hotel hallways, the thick carpet strange under his dress shoes. The chandeliers and sconces were dimmed, the doors closed, not part of the night’s event.
“Are we allowed to be here?” she whispered.
Abe shrugged. “Who’s going to catch us?”
They wandered down the hallway, the voices from the ballroom dimmed to a faint hum.
“You never did tell me what you’re doing here,” he said.
She didn’t answer right away.
Abe heard the sound of an elevator opening from around the corner. He didn’t want to be seen. A pair of heavy doors were nearby, cracked open.
He pulled her into his arms as they stumbled into the dark room.
She gasped.
“Shh,” he said into her hair. They both held still in an embrace against the door. He breathed in the sweet citrus scent of her, fighting the urge to let his hands wander.
When the voices had passed by, she said breathlessly, “I guess that answers that question.”
“What question?” he asked. He was having a hard time focusing with her warmth pressed fully against his body. She had to feel his hardness now.
“About who’s going to catch us.”
“Oh.” He didn’t move away. He tangled his hand in her curls like he’d been wanting to since he first saw them. So soft. His fingers tightened slightly. “We’ll be safe in here. It’s more fun without a crowd anyway, don’t you think?”
“Is that all you think about—fun?”
“No. Hardly ever.” And wasn’t that the truth. Between training and working to save up to open his own school, he rarely had time to kick back or go out. He’d only come to this sponsors’ event because Sa Bum Nim made attendance mandatory.
“What about you?” He trailed his other hand up her hip to rest on her waist.
“What?” She sounded distracted. Good. He was distracted, too.
“Are you all about the fun?”
“No.” She exhaled long and low. “Not usually.”
He rested his forehead against hers, trying to find some control. His cock swelled uncomfortably against his pants. All he wanted to do was grind it into her—no, push it into her—but he had to go slowly. He didn’t want to scare her away.
Abe wanted her. It wasn’t about some stupid bet or even about stress relief. He wasn’t sure what was so special about her, or whether it was purely physical, but he wanted her, and badly.
“Paris, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Okay,” he thought she said. As he pressed a light, almost chaste, kiss to her lips, a jolt of heat seared him. His tongue swiped the seam of her lips. He tasted champagne as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
More, set up a steady chant in his head, in time with the rush of blood in his head and his cock.
Her hair was so soft. His hands tightened through the strands. He used his grip in her hair to tilt her head back further, kissed her more deeply. Maybe he was pushing her too hard, too fast, then he’d lose her…but then she moaned against his mouth. Yes. His cock twitched in response.
She was hot. He knew that, but this one small kiss blew him away. Sex had always been purely physical to him before, like lifting weights—going through the motions and at the end reaping the payoff. His body responded like usual now, but there was something else going on. He felt like he had the first time he had walked into his dojang, the school—almost reverent. What the hell was happening to him?
Overwhelmed, he forced himself to break off the kiss. He needed to get his bearings.
“Wow.” She blinked up at him, eyes shining through darkness. “That was…crazy.”
“Crazy good?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah. Crazy good.” She smiled, and his pulse thumped in response.
His cock thumped, too, but that bastard needed a time out, before he embarrassed himself. Or worse, nailed her up against the door before she could think about refusing him. “That fruity stuff they were serving packs a punch.”
Something flickered in her eyes and her smile faded. “Is that all this is?”
“I don’t know what this is.”
Her lashes lowered. “I should go.”
“No, stay. Please.” His body tensed at the thought of losing her so soon. As if whatever physical strength he’d trained so hard to build could help keep her here, but it couldn’t. She needed to stay because she wanted to, but he got the impression she wasn’t used to hook-ups like this. He sure was an ornery bastard, because at the same time as he liked that about her, her innocence, he wanted to be the one to ruin it.
“Why?” she asked in a small voice.
“Because I want you to.” He feathered his fingertips across the side of her breast. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
She laughed unsteadily. “Is that a bribe?”
“Absolutely.” He leaned down to kiss her jaw, then worked his way down her neck. She lifted her chin to give him access.
Sucking lightly on her earlobe, he was gratified when her hips pushed into his. God, she was responsive. Their chemistry was more electric than anything he’d ever felt before.
“It’s okay,” he said to counter the caution in her eyes. “We both want this. Let go—just this once.”
He knew she was worried about coming off easy. She’d said as much back at the ballroom. But he also knew that she wanted this. He felt it, her acquiescence, as the tension drained out of her.
Abe ran his hands down her sides, accustoming her body to his touch. He tasted her skin up and down the side of her neck—kissing, licking, nipping, and then starting over again.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, lightly tugging, sending pleasurable shocks through his body. He palmed her breast in appreciation, gently squeezing the warm weight. Her soft sounds drove him crazy. Go slow, go slow.
She reached down and cupped his erection through his pants. He drew in a sharp breath. He loved that she’d come out of her shell, but if she touched him now it was over.
He pushed her hand away. “No, not yet. Let me take care of you.”
To prove his point, he ran his hand to the bottom of her dress, then up, tracing his fingertips along her bare leg. He groaned when he reached the thin wet strip of her panties—a thong. Pulling the fabric aside, he stroked his fingers through her intimate folds. She bucked and gasped as if he’d shocked her. But he felt the shock in his fingertips, and his cock.
He pushed his thumb through her dampness until he found her clit, fondling her without the finesse he had learned so carefully. This whole thing was moving too quickly, almost outside his control, and he was only grateful that she seemed to be keeping up.
He shoved his fingers inside her like he wanted to do with his cock. Pressing against her clit with his thumb, he tacitly asked her to come. His hands were too rough. He was acting like a big, clumsy idiot, but she bucked up against his hand, seeking more. She panted, tightening her body. Then she came. She tightened around him, but he was watching her face in awe, as wetness coated his fingers.
When the last of the aftershocks had rocked her body, he withdrew his fingers, then pulled her in close and held her to him. He breathed in the fresh, feminine scent of her, holding back his own release to allow her time to recover. Despite his throbbing arousal, Abe found pleasure in just holding her.
“Who are you, really?” she whispered.
“I’m no one,” he murmured, his face buried in her silky soft hair. “No one special.” It was the truth. He’d grown up too poor and too stupid to be anyone. No matter how hard he fought, he was just another loser from Podunk, Nowhere.
“Oh yeah?” she challenged softly. “A two time national medali
st and forerunner for the male heavyweight competition is nobody?”
Abe lifted his head.
“Yeah, I recognized you,” she said.
She didn’t understand. It wouldn’t be enough. Not any of it, not ever. His throat tight, he gave a short shake of his head.
“Oh, Abe,” she said. God, what was that look in her eyes? He wanted to look away from it, but he couldn’t. “You’re someone special. I see it.”
The line wouldn’t come—the one that would make this whole conversation a joke, instead of the truth. He always laughed it off, or fought it off, no matter what came.
Not this time.
She’d come out of nowhere and blindsided him, but he couldn’t figure it out just then. Not with his lust driving him insane. It was like the tunnel vision in the middle of a fight, when he couldn’t hear or even see, but just moved on pure instinct.
“Lie down,” he ordered. “I need to get inside you.” What the hell was wrong with him? He needed to keep it together. His legendary control, his focus, was all shot to hell.
Thankfully, she did lie down on the ballroom carpet, and even better, spread her legs in acceptance. If she hadn’t, he would have been liable to do something stupid—like beg.
He pulled his wallet out of his pants, ripping through it until he found the condom. Tossing the wallet to the floor, he undid his pants and rolled the condom on. He thought he heard something—voices maybe. It didn’t really matter. They wouldn’t come in here.
He just had to fuck her. Everything would be okay if he was in her, feeling her heat, riding her to completion.
“Abe,” he heard her say, as he knelt before her.
“Almost there, baby,” he mumbled. Jesus, he was so fucking close.
His cock nudged her opening. He pushed inside, tried his best to go slowly, but failed. The heat of her surrounded him, and he closed his eyes in pleasure. But instead of soothing him, it only made him want her more.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Need you too bad.”
“It’s okay.”
And he took her at her word, because that’s all he could do. His cock slammed home once, then again. He didn’t have a hope in hell of making her come again, not when he was this close and this out of control. He could only drive into her relentlessly, roughly, reaching for something he couldn’t name. His body clenched as his orgasm slammed through his body. His arms crushed her to him as if she could help him now, probably hard enough to leave bruises.
