by West, Dahlia
She bit her lip and shook her head.
Jonah slid his hand up and traced the curve of her shoulder. With his hand, he swept her hair off the back of her neck, running his thumb along her skin as he did. When he leaned in again, his lips were just touching her ear. “Are you hot?”
He hadn’t taken any real liberties. He’d only touched her arm, her shoulder, the back of her neck. That was enough, though, and the tension between them was taut and electric like a livewire.
Sienna’s cheeks flushed and she spun away from him. She grabbed the door to the changing room and stepped through it.
He watched her hesitate, though, facing away from him. Finally, she looked at him over her shoulder, lips parted, a bit unsure of herself. “Will you unzip me?” she whispered.
Jonah glanced out of the dressing area to the store beyond. The salesgirl was too busy on her phone to notice them. He stepped into the tiny closet-sized room and shut the door behind him.
Sienna turned her head so that she was no longer looking at him, which was good because that way she couldn’t see his shaking hands. He took a deep breath, as he did before a piercing, and quieted his inner mind. Once he’d regained his composure, he grasped the tiny metal tab firmly and tugged.
It slid down easily, revealing more golden tanned skin and a lacy black bra. She stood before him, perfectly still, holding her breath. Jonah, unable to resist, traced one finger from the nape of her neck down her spine.
She gasped and shivered.
His fingertip came to rest at the clasp of her bra and he hesitated. It was tempting to strip her bare, to push off her clothes and have her naked in his arms. His mind’s eye brought up the image of Sienna topless. It was hard—in every sense of the word—but he could wait just a little bit longer to see her beautiful body once again.
He could kiss it, though, mark it as his, here in the relative privacy of the changing room. He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, then leaned down and pressed his lips to her bare shoulder. He sucked her warm flesh into his mouth and savored it.
The bruise would be hidden by her clothes, but he would know it was there… and so would she.
“Jonah,” she whispered, running her hands over his.
He pulled his lips away just enough to speak. “If I could tattoo you, I would,” he told her. “I’d put my name on you, make you mine.” He found her ear and leaned in close. “What did you wish for, Sienna?”
“For you to kiss me again.”
He turned her so she was facing him. As the straps of the dress fell down her arms, he could see the outline of her sweet, perfect breasts being slowly revealed to him. It’d been a long time—too long—since he’d seen them last. It was tempting to fulfill her request by kissing them instead of her lush, ruby lips. But he brought up his hands and cupped her face.
Their lips touched (it’d been too long since that, as well) slowly, hesitantly. Jonah was sure of her, but not of himself. All his carefully honed control was being tested right now. He settled into her mouth and teased her lips with his tongue. She opened for him—hot, wet and moaning softly.
She was in his arms, breathing hard into his chest. Which brought her chest ever closer. Jonah had refrained by kissing only her lips, but having her here, in his arms, while his cock raged at her little feminine noises, his control slipped a bit.
He dragged his lips down over her jaw to her throat and farther down. He passed the bruise he’d given her just moments ago. With one impatient hand he tugged at the dress, pulling it down in the front. Her nipple was hidden, frustratingly, maddeningly, by her bra, but Jonah sucked in a mouthful of plump, female flesh just above the fabric.
He gave her another bite to rival the first.
Sienna gasped and pushed her hands into his hair. She pulled him to her, urging him on. Jonah wasn’t waiting for a written invitation to this party. He traced her purpling skin with his tongue, soothing it, he hoped, as best he could. Somewhere underneath the fabric of this cursed dress was a ripe, ready pussy begging for his attention. He could practically smell it.
He wanted to touch it, taste it. He let her go, though, before he found it and made felons of them both.
Sienna stumbled, caught herself by grabbing his arms, then lowered herself backward. The flimsy changing-room wall shook but held, at least. She was panting hard as she stared up at him. “Is this really happening?”
“You tell me. I think about you all the time. I dream about you every night. All of this feels too good to be true.” He gazed down at her, hair mussed, dress straps sliding off her shoulders, looking more beautiful than he could ever imagine. He watched her for a moment, as if indeed confirming to himself that she was really here. Finally, he said, “Happy birthday, Sienna. Did you get everything you wanted?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Almost,” she whispered.
“Almost isn’t good enough,” he replied. He stepped toward her, leaned in, and kissed her again. He stepped out, though, finally, before things got too heated again. He sagged against the wall until the door opened, just a crack, and Sienna waved the dress at him.
“Will you hold this, please?” she asked.
Determined not to look at her half-nude form, he took it from her and draped it over his arm. “Is this the one you want? Or are you going to try on a few more?” He grinned as he realized that he really didn’t mind if they stayed there all day.
“That’s the one,” she called back through the door.
“Oh,” he said, somewhat disappointed.
“You don’t like it?” she asked in a strained voice. “I don’t look good in it?”
“In it, out of it—you look good all the time, baby. If this is the one you want, that’s fine.” Jonah turned and left her to dress in her street clothes. As he strode to the cashier, he could tell by the salesgirl’s face that she wasn’t happy with them.
Possibly she’d heard everything that had gone on in the back. Possibly she’d called mall security already.
Jonah decided to risk it. He put the dress on the counter and watched her irritation melt away when he said, “We’ll take it.” He pulled out his wallet and plunked down several bills.
Sienna emerged and the salesgirl shot her a dirty look.
Thankfully, Sienna didn’t even notice. Instead, she was looking up at Jonah. “You don’t have to do this,” she reminded him.
Jonah took the receipt off the counter, pushed his wallet back into his back pocket, and leaned toward her. “I know exactly what I have to do, Sienna. I’ve been thinking about it for a very, very long time.”
Chapter Thirteen
The proof of how long Jonah had been scheming and planning to make his move to claim Sienna was no more obvious than it was tonight. Standing in the center of the abandoned warehouse, he was looking across the duct-tape ring at none other than the Meathead from the parking lot.
Jonah grimaced at North, who held out his hands plaintively.
“What can I do?” the large man asked. “The beat-down you put on that last guy, and the guy before that, and the guy before that…” North smirked and shook his head. “Only the couch crushers in Tapout gear want a piece of you in this town.”
Jonah sighed. He’d apparently fought everyone in town worth fighting at this point, slowly earning the money he needed for Sienna. He could win against the Meathead easily, of course, but the easier the fight, the less the payout. Part of him wanted to walk away. It wasn’t worth the time and effort to pummel this guy for a couple of bucks. The crowd, it seemed, consisted mostly of Meathead’s friends, drunk and deluded that their friend could possibly win.
Among them, the gutter groupie smirked at Jonah. Apparently she thought this was adequate revenge for turning her down.
North must have sensed Jonah’s growing reluctance because he stepped between Jonah and the exit.
“Look,” he told Jonah. “I got a guy, okay? I got a guy on the line, ex-Marine from Colorado. The real de
al.He’s ready for you, but he can’t get here until next week. This is all I got. So… let’s give it another fifteen, twenty minutes, work the crowd up, letʼem get a little more wasted and make a little bit of money.”
Jonah looked at the spectators who were passing around flasks and beers. The haze of weed hanging in the air was getting thicker by the minute, too. It was sleazy, to be sure; hell, North was sleazy with his perfectly ironed button-down silk shirts and his flashy Rolex. Jonah didn’t know if the watch was real or not. Everything about North seemed calculated, slick and smooth but not-quite-right, like he planned his image as much as the fights he arranged.
But money was money and North’s cash, at least, was real.
Jonah nodded and turned back to the duct-taped ring.
“All right!” North bellowed over the noise of the crowd. “Have we got a fight for you tonight!”
Not really, Jonah thought darkly, but it didn’t matter. Only she did, only Sienna. He closed his eyes and felt her body against his, heard her giggling in his ear, tasted her tongue in his mouth.
It was motivation enough.
North blathered on, making up a dodgy history for both of his fighters. No one seemed to notice, or care, that it was different than last week. It was different every week. Tonight, Jonah was an ex-UFC champion back from a sidelining injury. Every beer-bellied, scruffy-faced male who’d watched too many fights on television and told their wives and girlfriends, “I could do that!” cheered raucously.
Meathead was a hungry newcomer, traveling from coast to coast, fighting his way into the big time.
Jonah didn’t understand how anyone looking at him couldn’t see that the guy had never been out of South Dakota.
The gutter groupie was massaging Meathead’s arms and shoulders like he was a prizefighter. Jonah had to admit he wanted Sienna’s hands on him as well, but he’d never bring her here, to this dirty shithole. She was too good for this crowd.
Meathead roared, looking ridiculous. Off to the side, a small group of men called out in response. It took Jonah a moment to recognize it as a high school chant. Though they looked well past their prime now, Meathead might have been a football player in his high-school days. He certainly had the build for it.
North called for the start and Meathead, at least, refrained from charging at Jonah like a linebacker. Instead he got low, circling in a wide arc. He took his time, waiting for an opening.
Jonah wasn’t inclined to give him one, just to be contrary to both Meathead and North, but if he didn’t start fighting soon, they might be here all night. Or worse, North would get pissy and not hand over the payout.
Jonah dropped his hands and Meathead moved in. He swung wide, missed, and retreated back to the duct-tape line. Jonah played along, circling as well. He moved in close, appearing to make a target of himself.
Meathead tried again, more calculated this time. He led with his left and followed up with a right cross. Only one of them landed. They circled the ring and he tried his luck a third time.
Meathead had a few moves.
Jonah would give him that, at least.
The guy had a combo that was pretty tight, but it appeared to be his only one. Sloppy kicks occasionally struck out, bouncing harmlessly off Jonah’s thighs and calves. He didn’t seem to be able to get one higher than Jonah’s abs. He tried, though, making a valiant effort to kick Jonah in the ribs, but Jonah wrapped his arm around Meathead’s thigh, lifted, and slammed him down on the concrete floor.
Meathead surprised him with a scissor hold, squeezing Jonah’s torso with his legs. Apparently Meathead was not a former football player but an ex-high school wrestler, reliving his glory days. The hold was tight and well placed, but Jonah pushed off the floor and rolled, twisting hard. He found the weak spot in the hold and escaped, drawing a plaintive moan from the gathered crowd.
Meathead pushed up off the floor and lumbered to his feet. When he was nearly standing, Jonah darted in for a quick shot to the side of the head. Meathead wobbled, put his hand on the floor for support, and kicked out at Jonah’s ankles. Another sloppy move that Jonah easily dodged.
Meathead’s friends rallied to his cause. Two guys grabbed him by the arms, hefted him to standing, and shoved him at Jonah, cheering words of encouragement. Meathead swung again, but Jonah pivoted and the blow missed entirely.
Jonah danced around him, shifting back and forth between the balls of his feet. His quick, agile moves were in sharp contrast to Meathead’s slow, labored movements. The guy was already worn out.
Jonah moved behind him again, ready to move in for another shot, but he got too close to the duct tape, too close to Meathead’s friends, who’d all paid good money to see Meathead turn Jonah into a grease spot on the concrete floor. Before Jonah could react, the same two men who’d helped Meathead up now grabbed Jonah’s arms. They locked him into a vise grip, holding him fast.
Behind them all, somewhere in the shadows, the gutter groupie cackled triumphantly.
“Get off!” Jonah bellowed, trying to twist out of their grip. He looked to North across the way, who didn’t look pleased, but also didn’t stop it.
“Fucking get off!” Jonah shouted again. He yanked hard on his right arm, almost had it free, before Meathead charged.
Jonah shifted his focus from the men holding him to the man who wanted to pummel him like a heavy bag. The first blow landed, hard on his ribs. A second shot was aimed at Jonah’s face and he whipped his head back to lessen the blow.
Jonah realized he couldn’t get loose from the two men holding him, not right this second, so he changed strategies, instead deciding to use them to gain an edge. He tightened his arms, bending at the elbow, holding fast to support his own weight. He cocked his hips and brought both heels up, hitting Meathead square in the chest.
The large man stumbled back with an angry shout. He caught himself before he fell, landing awkwardly on his rear foot, redoubled his efforts, and surged toward Jonah again.
Jonah slammed his leg into the man’s side, keeping him back, out of range of his fists. He landed blow after blow, hard, sharp shots directed at the man’s torso. The kicks rained down one after another. Jonah’s thighs were on fire.
Meathead’s friends seemed to realize they were part of the problem and loosened their grips.
Jonah landed, as expected, on his ass on the concrete floor. He’d been ready, though. He hopped to one foot, sweeping out with the other leg. He caught Meathead just below the knee and the man went down hard. When his face was within striking distance, Jonah cocked his leg and delivered a crack shot to the man’s jaw. He went sprawling.
“All right!” North bellowed, finally stepping past the duct tape. He was grinning maniacally. “Didn’t I promise a fight?!”
The crowd cheered. Meathead and his friends grumbled. Jonah caught sight of the gutter groupie storming out in frustration.
North pushed Meathead back into his wall of friends and dragged Jonah up off the floor. “We have a winner!” he declared, raising Jonah’s arm.
The crowd dispersed and North let Jonah go. He reached into his pocket and held out a stack of bills. “You did good tonight, kid.”
Jonah, not one to be placated so easily, pushed North’s hand, and the money, away. “What the hell was that?!” he snapped.
North shrugged. “We gottagiveʼem a good show,” he insisted. “Like it mattered.”
“Fuck you, North.”
“Jonah, look. If I thought you were in any serious trouble, I would’ve jumped in.”
Jonah narrowed his eyes at the man, not believing a word of it.
North looked a tiny bit offended. “I would have!”
Jonah snorted. “You sure? Blood doesn’t wash out of silk.” He slapped at the man’s offered hand, taking the wad of bills, and then walked away.
“I would’ve jumped in, Jonah!” North called after him. “I wouldn’t have left you hanging.”
Jonah flipped him off on his way out the door. He swun
g his sore leg onto his Harley and headed for home. He was practically asleep before his head hit the pillow. In his dream, he and Sienna were back in the changing room and he was pawing through the folds of her dress, searching for paradise.
Chapter Fourteen
Jonah swung his feet to the edge of his bed and put them on the warm, wooden floor of his apartment. He rolled his shoulders—first one, then the other, testing them. A little stiff but otherwise in good shape. He showered quickly and pulled on some jeans. He had a few hours before he had to punch in so he scooped up his keys and headed down the stairs.
The drive across town was easy and fast. Sienna wasn’t home, he knew. She’d be at work at this time. But he drove past her house anyway, before circling to his own. It was habit now. As he parked the bike at the curb, he saw Pop on the porch, sitting in one of the chairs. Jonah raised his hand and the old man raised his.
As Jonah pocketed his keys and climbed the stairs, it didn’t take him long to realize that the wave had been a mere formality. The old man looked from the Harley to Jonah and then back again. When his gaze finally settled back on Jonah, he said, “Are you a friend of Adam’s?”
Jonah’s face fell. “Um, yeah,” he said. “I’m a friend of Adam’s.”
“He’s not here.”
Jonah hesitated for a moment. “Oh. Well. Do you…do you mind if I sit here with you and wait for him for a few minutes?”
Pop indicated the empty chair and Jonah lowered himself into it. On the small table between them was a book.
Jonah turned it so he could see the title. “Count of Monte Cristo.”
Pop looked at him askance. “You’ve read it?”
“A little bit,” Jonah replied. “I’m at the part where Edmund’s just gotten out of prison, ready to take his revenge. It’s a good one.”
