1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen

by Kristen Ashley

  His gaze is dark and predatory as he stalks me. Gorgeously sculpted muscles painted in brilliant colors catch and reflect the light. I stare at him unabashed, watching his reflection in the mirror when his circle is complete and he’s stopped behind me. His silence speaks volumes while he takes in my form.

  “Leave the shoes on.” The jagged edge to his voice sends a delicious tremble up my spine.

  I turn toward him and grab the waist of his slacks. The evidence of his arousal is pressing against his fly, pushing the fabric past capacity. I run my fingers along his length, feeling steel beneath wool. His hips flex into my touch.

  “Jonah—”

  “Step back, baby.”

  I move back until the cold granite presses against my backside. His hands grip my waist and lift, setting me on the countertop. The heat from his kiss and warm hands at my breasts erase the chill of the icy rock against my bare skin.

  He presses himself between my legs, gripping my hips with impatience. I fumble with his belt and zipper, his breath escaping on a hiss when I finally release him. I gasp as he slides a hand between my legs, forcing a tremble of need to slither down my spine.

  “Jonah, the bed. Now.” His barely-there touch and gentle coaxing has me begging for his possession.

  A flash of his one-dimple smile and heavy eyelids almost push me to the edge. He works between my legs with magical fingers. With my hands braced behind me, I press against his hand.

  “Not going to the bed, baby. I want to watch us.”

  His words are confusing, but I’m too lost in the sensations to ask for explanation. My heart races; pleasure coils deep in my belly. A moan falls from my lips. He moves his hand, and I miss it for a second before I feel his heat press against me.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He buries himself deep and captures my mouth. With one thrust, my vision explodes in Technicolor sparks. Tingling shards of ecstasy flood my body. I call out his name, rolling my hips and riding out my release. He covers my neck and shoulder in wet kisses. Caught up in my free fall, I wrap my legs around his waist and rock against him, greedy for more.

  “So fucking pretty.” He runs his hands from my hips to my knees and behind him to my calves. “Love your shoes, baby. I want to feel them digging into my back. Wrap me tight.”

  A sagging puppet at his mercy, I lock my ankles behind his back. He braces his hands on the counter’s edge, putting distance between our torsos. I watch in fascination as his eyes lower to our connection. I turn to our reflection in the mirror at the end of the double-sink countertop.

  The visual of our bodies loving each other in an erotic rhythm has me memorized. His multi-colored biceps contract. Abdominal muscles ripple with every flex of his hips. My body sways in time with each delicious thrust, back and forth in waves.

  For the first time, I see myself the way Jonah sees me: sexy, alluring, and even tempting. My long legs, tipped with stilettos, are wrapped tightly around his waist. Our eyes meet in the mirror. No smiles now.

  Only scorching fire.

  We watch our reflection and the pleasure builds. Our eyes lock in intimacy, liberating us of our need for words.

  His gaze drops to my breasts, the driving power making them bounce. He bends forward, taking one into his mouth, and flicking the tip with his tongue. I grind into him harder, desperate for more contact.

  A current builds, starting loose in my torso and condensing in my stomach. My lips part to accommodate my labored breath.

  He pulls back, locks eyes with mine, and bites his lip. My hands sift through his hair and to pull his mouth to mine. A groan rumbles in his chest. His fingers dig into my bottom, the pinch against the sensitive flesh pushing me higher.

  And like a lightning strike, I’m hit. My insides, once liquid, crystalize and shatter in pulses of euphoria. I throw my head back and moan. I fight to stay upright as my body enjoys the blissful indulgence.

  He collapses on top of me before I feel his teeth sink into my shoulder. I tilt my head, and he groans against my skin, his body jolting from the power of his release.

  My arms shake with the reverberations of my orgasm or from the strain of holding up our weight. He must sense my struggle and lifts his body to pull me to his chest.

  Jonah holds me close, running his fingers through my hair while I come down and catch my breath. He places soft kisses on my face before we’re drawn to our reflection.

  He smiles. “That was hot.”

  I blush and agree. “Blazing.”

  “I’m buying you a pair of those shoes in every color they make.”

  “They’re 500 dollars.”

  “Make that two pair in every color.”

  His expression is serious, and I burst into laughter. All of the stress and pressure I’d been feeling from earlier dissolve to a distant memory.

  With a small effort, Jonah lifts me from the counter and places me on my wobbly legs. I look down and notice his pants are still around his ankles. He kicks them off and kneels in front of me. One by one, he slips off my shoes so that we’re both standing naked.

  He pulls me into his arms. “You doing better?”

  “Yeah.” I chuckle, remembering the state Jonah found me in earlier. “Guess I just needed the release.”

  His body shakes with silent laughter. What is it with his sense of humor? I pull back enough to show him my confusion.

  “Guess you got your release . . . twice.”

  “Jonah!” I slap his arm and my face flames.

  “Ow!” His humor fades and something serious works behind his eyes. “I hate seeing you like that.”

  “It’s okay—”

  “No. It’s not. I can’t wait for this shit to be over. For you to be free of . . .”

  I rest my cheek against his chest and sigh. “Me too.”

  He reaches over and flips on the shower. The room fills with steam. “Come on. I’ll get you all cleaned up. We have a big day tomorrow.”

  “Big day?”

  His eyebrows hit his hairline.

  My hand covers my mouth as realization dawns.

  Tomorrow I meet his mom.

  Twenty-six

  Jonah

  “I think I might puke.” Raven rubs her stomach, a grimace etched into her gorgeous face. She’s made herself sick worrying about meeting my mom. I couldn’t even get her to eat breakfast.

  I wonder if any of her nerves this morning are leftover from her breakdown last night. I’d never seen a person go from rat-shit mad to completely unglued. When I overheard her laughing in the bathroom, I realized she’d reached her breaking point. I knew I needed to bring her back—to pull her from her hysterics and place her gently back into her skin.

  Her skin.

  My dick twitches at the memory of her slowly sliding off that dress, each sliver of delicate flesh, beckoning for my touch—the way her body responded immediately to the slightest brush of my fingers, opening to my unspoken request. Erotic flashes of her legs wrapped around my body flood my mind. Heat radiates from the red marks on my back left by her shoes. Watching the reflection of our bodies tangled together is forever branded into my memory.

  A groan bubbles up from my throat, and Raven turns her attention toward me with narrowed eyes, throwing me from my sexy daydream. Her eyes get big at the sound of a mumbled voice over the airport’s loudspeaker.

  “What’d he say? Was that it? Did they just announce her flight? I think that’s her flight,” she says, her eyes dart around the baggage claim carousel where we’ve been waiting for the last fifteen minutes.

  Raven bounces on her toes like a kid who has to pee. My lips pull up. “Maybe you shouldn’t have had that fourth cup of coffee this morning.”

  “She’s not going to like me. She probably wants you with some sweet, homey girl who, you know, bakes or loves scrapbooking, not a car mechanic who can’t even microwave popcorn.” She looks around like she’s mapping out an escape.

  “You kick ass with a microwave, baby. Don’t sell
yourself short.”

  She glares at me, but her mouth ticks with the shadow of a smile.

  “Baby, she’s going to love you. Trust me. Now stop jumping around like a fucking pogo-stick and come here.”

  I throw my arm over her shoulder and she leans into me. Her muscles relax as my fingers trace along her skin.

  “Excuse me, ‘Assassin’?”

  A tall, awkward boy in the throes of puberty approaches us.

  “Yeah.”

  He shuffles his feet and avoids my eyes. He’s taller than Raven, but lanky. His messy brown hair hangs over his black-rimmed glasses. Printed in bold letters, his bright yellow shirt reads Stephen King is my Homeboy. I stifle a laugh.

  “I thought it was you.” He flips a pen in his hand. “I’m a big fan. I’ve seen all your fights.” His voice cracks. “That take down against ‘Pit Bull’ Perez in oh-nine was the best I’d ever seen. I know you’re going to beat Del Toro tomorrow.

  Raven gasps, and her grip tightens on the back of my shirt.

  “I can’t wait to see the look on Del Toro’s face when you hold up that belt.”

  You and me both, kid. Pride in my ability as a fighter and anger for my inability to prove it battle for dominance in my head.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate your support.” This kid’s got the height and the know-how. From the looks of his worn jeans, ratty shoes, and . . . everything else, I’d guess he gets his fair share of assholes at school fucking with him. That’s all any good fighter needs. Fuel. “You know your stuff. Any interest in fighting for the UFL?”

  “Humph, I wish.” He shrugs and runs the back of his hand across his forehead, making his glasses lopsided. “My mom says I’m too weak for sports.” He scrunches his nose to straighten the frames on his face.

  “What are you? About a buck fifty?”

  “Just about.”

  “You start training, pack on a little muscle. You’d be a perfect welterweight.”

  His smile is so big that it looks as if it may break his face. “You really think so?”

  “Think so? I know so.”

  “Wow. Thanks, ‘Assassin.’” He stares at me, but his glazed eyes tell me he’s in his head. Probably picturing himself as a fighter five years down the road. He blinks. “Oh! Can I get your autograph?”

  He hands me a black sharpie marker and turns around, motioning for me to sign his t-shirt.

  “Sure, what’s your name?”

  “Killian.”

  “No shit?” Great name for a fighter.

  “Yeah.” The backs of his ears turn bright red. “It’s Irish.”

  I write a quick message on the shoulder of his shirt.

  Killer Killian,

  No one dictates your future but you.

  “The Assassin”

  I pop on the cap and hand Killian his pen.

  “Good luck tomorrow night.” He stands a little taller, his voice more confident.

  “You start training, you hear me?”

  He smiles, nods, then turns and walks away.

  Raven’s head burrows deeper into my chest. I instinctively pull her closer. Her arms wrap around my waist and she’s no longer bouncing and jittery. “That was sweet. You’re great with your fans.”

  I kiss her head. “Yeah, well, they’ve been really good to me.”

  But will they ever forgive me for letting them down?

  “He seemed pretty confident that you’d win the fight tomorrow.” Her voice is almost a whisper as her arms tighten around my waist.

  I school my voice and try to be as convincing as I can. “Look, I don’t want you to worry about this fight. Everything will go as planned. I’ll get another shot at the title in a year, maybe two. It’s just one fight. Okay?” The truth is I’m disappointed I won’t be destroying Del Toro in front of a live audience tomorrow. But in this situation, the prize for losing outweighs the heavyweight title.

  I search the room again for my mom. We fall into silence for a few minutes until I spot a familiar smile in the crowd.

  “There she is.” I lift my chin in her direction.

  “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.” It seems Raven’s calm demeanor was nothing more than an intermission. She’s back to bouncing.

  “Joey, my baby!”

  My mom rushes to us, dropping her bags and throwing her arms around my waist. At a generous five foot five, she’s been hugging me around the waist since I was sixteen. It’s been a few months since I saw her last, but she looks the same: Dark hair without a hint of gray, styled to perfection. Her stylish clothes, pristine makeup, and designer bag making her seem younger than her fifty-three years. Yep, hasn’t changed a bit.

  “Mom. This is my girl, Raven. Raven, this is my mom.”

  Pulling back, she takes a side step and grabs both of Raven’s hands. “It’s so nice to meet you, Raven. You’re just as beautiful as Joey described.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Slade.”

  “Please, call me Katherine.”

  “Thank you, ma’am . . . um, Katherine.”

  With Raven’s hands still in her grasp, my mom looks at me. “You did good, son. She’s beautiful and polite.”

  “Yeah, she is.” I shake my head. “I still can’t believe you thought I was gay.”

  Raven stares at me aghast while my mom shakes her head and smiles.

  Dropping her hands, my mom slips her arm into the crook at Raven’s elbow. “Come on, dear. Let me tell you about the time when my Joey was four and he ran around the front yard naked pretending to be a superhero called Super Weenie Man.”

  “Shit, Ma.”

  Raven giggles.

  “Watch that mouth, Joey. You’re in the presence of ladies.”

  Grabbing her bags, I walk behind two of the three women I love the most in the world.

  * * * *

  “Jonah, wait up!”

  I’m heading into the training center, after dropping my mom and Raven off at my house, when Blake’s voice causes an about face. I have a quick training session and a short meeting I need to wrap up so I can get back to them for dinner.

  “What’s up, Blake?”

  “Dude, we got problems.”

  We’re standing on the sidewalk outside the training center’s doors, and Blake looks around like he’s checking for snipers.

  “Ah, shit. What now?”

  “Okay, I was at Zeus’s last night and I ended up hooking up with this new girl, Sherry, or Terry . . . Mary?” His eyes go skyward as he scratches his cheek and shakes his head. “Whatever. She mentioned that a guy—”

  “Zeus’s? I thought you tagged Camille last night?”

  His body freezes. “Camille! I can’t believe you unleashed that crazy . . .” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples as if to organize his thoughts. His eyes open and he glares at me. “We’re gonna talk about that, but first the stripper.”

  I nod, unable to manage the smile that is wreaking havoc on my face. It’s not often Blake has issues with girls.

  “So, the stripper,” he continues, “told me a guy named Dominick had offered her a job as an escort. I guess she thought that’d impress me.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, she told me a few of the girls accepted his offer and—”

  “You gonna get to the point where you tell me what the fuck this has to do with me?”

  “Dude, listen. And stop interrupting. Shit.” He folds his arms across his chest, hangs his head, and blows out a frustrated breath. “I asked her who accepted his offer. She said she wasn’t sure, but that more than a few were interested.”

  “So? I don’t give a shit what Dominick does. As long as he leaves Raven out of it.”

  “The new girl told me she overheard a convo in the dressing room. Dominick’s hiring for a special job. One that takes place the night of the fight. At The Mandalay Bay Arena. You think that shit’s a coincidence?”

  “Maybe he needs some fresh girls for all the high-rollers that will be hitting up the fight. Dominick has to know better than to
fuck with me on fight night. I’m going to be making him a rich man.” Or, a richer man.

  “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” Blake mumbles.

  There’s nothing I can say. This whole situation sucks. The only thought that brings me peace is that, by Sunday, Raven will be all mine and we can move on with our lives. I rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose to soothe the throbbing headache this conversation has brought on.

  “Remind me when I decide to settle down to find a girl without baggage. Preferably one with no family.” He holds up his hand and starts ticking off fingers with each stipulation. “No kids, ex-husbands, psycho dads, fucking skeletons in the closet. None of that shit.”

  “It’s gonna take a special girl to put up with your ass, Blake. You got no room to be picky.”

  “I’m serious, man.” He points at the ground. “I’d rather stay single my entire life, banging anyone who can keep up, than take on some chick with issues. You can tattoo that on my ass if you don’t believe me.”

  The serious mask on his face tightens into a scowl. “Oh, and thanks a lot for pushing that crazy bitch Camille on me last night. I got her in the elevator, just about to do her, and you know what she said?”

  I shrug. I’m still pissed at that chick for upsetting Raven, but I have to give her credit for freaking Blake out.

  “She said if I wanted to get up in there, I had to prove myself.” His voice pitches high. “She said I had to submit her to the ground before she’d let me fuck her. I’m looking to get off, and she wants jiu-jitsu foreplay. Who does that shit?”

  Unable to hold it in a second longer, laughter bursts from my mouth.

  “It’s not funny, man. It’s whacked. I had blue balls for two hours before Kerri, or whatever the fuck her name was, at the strip club got me off.”

  “I can’t believe you couldn’t get a submission on a girl. Maybe they can open up a spot for you on their team. Teach you a thing or two.”

  Blake’s look of disgust only makes me laugh harder.

  “Oh, real nice. You’re a dick, you know that?” He stomps off and through the doors.