Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1)

by Holly Hart

  Maya didn't stop wanting me to fuck her, she just couldn't get her tongue working long enough to beg for it. I knew what I was doing, I'd done this a hundred times, maybe a thousand, and I knew there was no way she'd be able to resist me – not for long. She was breathing at the speed of sound, desperately screaming for air as her jaw opened and closed reflexively to the beat of the electric waves of pleasure flooding through her body.

  I'm doing this, I thought with pride. She's going to come, and it's all because of me.

  I dragged my finger in and out with her, paying special attention to that spot just beneath the surface of her perfect, soft, shaved skin – the spot that feels like rubber. She squirmed as I pressed against it, and every muscle from her toes to her stomach clenched as one.

  "Oh God," she choked, speaking like she was fighting against her own body just to make herself heard. "I'm going to come!"

  I kept my finger probing at her g-spot, and re-doubled my tongue's efforts on her clit. I crooked my finger up and down in her, keeping the same motion, the same speed, the same everything.

  Suddenly, Maya grabbed my hand like she'd just remembered it was there, grabbed it and held on tight. "There!" She yelped. "Right there!"

  I swirled my tongue around her clitoris, around and around until I thought it might get dizzy, and Maya clamped her legs around my head. She was making little yelping sounds, like she was going to come at any time.

  She grabbed my hair, pulling my head up her body and surprising me with her strength. "No," she gasped. "I'm not fucking coming without you inside me."

  Now that was the kind of order I could get behind.

  My cock was easily as hard as it had ever been, and I didn't need asking twice. Maya grabbed it, sighing with happiness as she felt my hard meat between her hands. They were cold for some reason, and they felt like ice around my cock, but only because it was boiling hot.

  "Put it in me." She begged. "Please."

  I did as she asked. She was so wet that I was three inches in before I knew it.

  "Wait," she said, biting her lip. It was the fucking sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Hell, she was the fucking sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Right then I felt like I could have stayed there for ever.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she said. "I just need to wait, you know, to get you all in."

  She might have been the sexiest thing I'd ever seen – but that was the hottest thing I'd ever heard. My cock pulsed with delight as she said it, and she must've felt it.

  "Okay," she breathed. "Go slow."

  I did she asked, grabbing her hips and pushing inside her slowly but relentlessly. It was exotic, erotic torture – the kind I never wanted to end, and simultaneously the kind I could barely endure without coming. All I wanted to do was grab Maya by the legs, flip her round and fuck her till we came together, but I couldn't.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I pushed inside until my cock was buried to the hilt inside her, all the while staring lovingly at her face. Even with her eyes closed it had the most magnificent range of expressions and emotions. Every time I moved inside her, I could see her unconsciously biting her lip. I knew that I was almost too big for her to take.

  Almost.

  "You okay?" I asked. I felt like a NASCAR driver at the start of a race. My engine was revved up and ready to explode, but I had to wait. I had to wait for the grid to be ready too, and for the flag to drop. My balls were aching with the pressure, and it was taking everything I had in me not to come. Even just looking down at her perfect, pale flesh, the rise and fall of her breasts and her perfect pink nipples was enough to bring me closer and closer to the edge.

  I couldn't resist it any longer – I needed to taste her. I leaned forward, deliberately grazing my stubble against her chest and took one of her nipples in my mouth. She gasped as I rolled my tongue around it and gently sucked it.

  She moaned. "Oh God. Please…"

  I wanted to test her. I wanted her to say it. I wanted her to beg for it.

  Maya opened her eyes for this one, and gave me the exact same snippy remark she'd have given me four years before. "Conor – stop messing around and fuck me, will you?"

  "God you're sexy when you speak to me like that." I growled. I grabbed her hips, half-lifting her off the massage table until she was balanced between my cock and her back.

  Maya yelped as I flung her body around as effortlessly as if she weighed nothing – but they weren't yelps of pain, not really, because when she was with me, I never wanted her to suffer ever again. They were yelps of sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

  I let loose, fucking her like I'd never fucked anyone in my life before. I'd barely had to last a couple of days since the last time I'd last buried myself within her, but Maya's pussy was an addiction – like nothing else I'd ever experienced.

  Other women seemed like pale, tame imitation, almost fraudulent compared to the real deal. I realized that I'd never experienced this with any other woman for one simple reason: I didn't care about them.

  But Maya?

  Oh, I cared about her.

  I grabbed her body, pulling it toward me and the second her perfect, plump ass appeared in my eyesight, I gave it a gentle spank. I couldn't resist myself – it was begging to be slapped. I imagined her fiery hot nipples sizzling on the cool leather of the massage table, and I wished I could tweak them too. From what I remembered, Maya loved it when I got a little rough.

  Her pussy clenched around my cock while the sound of the spank was still echoing around the room, and in between a pair of ragged breaths, she begged. "Again."

  If it meant feeling her powerful thighs squeeze around my cock again, I was happy to oblige. I could do this every day for the rest of my life and not get bored. I leaned forward, knotting my hand in her long, silky soft hair and pulled back gently, so she was forced to lift her head back. I slapped her again, and a little red handprint appeared on her ass.

  "Again!" She panted, more forcefully this time.

  Again, I slapped it, and again she squeezed around my cock, this time so tight I had to stop thrusting for a second. She moaned with disappointment, and I drove myself harder insider.

  "I'm," I panted. "Going to come."

  She shook her head loose of my grip on her hair and turned to face me. "Don't you dare do it without me." She ordered.

  I'll do my best…

  I liked this new, more forceful side of her. Sure, it was sexy, but it reassured me that the Maya I knew was still in there somewhere.

  I picked up the pace, thanking the hours and days I'd spent in the gym for building up stamina this unbelievable. I didn't have time to speak, barely had time to breathe, but I was focused on one single-minded goal: we were going to come together.

  I knew she was close, I'd focused on her pleasure for almost half an hour, and I could tell by the way she was breathing – the way she could barely take more than little sips of air, and the way every tiny hair on her back was standing at the end, the way she was covered in goosebumps – I could tell by it all that she wouldn't hold out long.

  Couldn't.

  Her shoulder blades arched as she collapsed onto her elbows, her head falling forward as she struggled to stay upright. She looked like she was doing yoga, but I knew better: she was just doing her best to stay in control. Every time I thought she couldn't get sexier, I was wrong.

  My ass clenched, and I knew this was it. I could feel my balls were ready to pop. The telltale pressure was building, and my cock was already pulsating in anticipation. I grabbed one of her inviting shoulder blades with one hand and one of her hips with the other, and held on tight for the ride of a lifetime.

  I took things up a gear, thrusting in and out of her like a man possessed. Maya moaned, gasped for breath and let off short barks of meaningless, incoherent sound. I felt like she was trying to say something, but I didn't care what it was. My cock went rigid, and my ass tightened as the surge of cum started flowing like a river. I felt alive, virile and ma
sculine – and, for the briefest second as I reached a nirvana of orgasmic pleasure, I imagined what it would be like to bring a child into the world with this woman.

  I should be so lucky.

  When Maya's back stiffened, I knew she was feeling the heat of my seed inside her. She seemed to treat it almost like permission for her own orgasm. She collapsed onto her chest, her arms no longer able to bear her weight, and the walls of her slit closed tight around me, milking my cock for every drop of cum it contained.

  I watched in amazement as every muscle across her back, her ass, her shoulders and her arms seem to clench and tense almost at random as the waves of her orgasm rippled through her.

  Maya let out a long moan that seemed to get louder the longer it lasted. I grabbed her, wrapping her in a bear hug and held her tight. I wanted her to know I was there – and I needed to hold her, too. We smelt of sex, sweat and cum, and I couldn't have cared less. I wanted to share this with her for the rest of my life.

  "Jesus, Maya," I said. "Holy shit."

  I never want to be apart from you again.

  18

  Maya

  Three days later.

  I sat bolt upright in bed. There was no way I was going to get any more sleep, not like this, not with the elephant in the bed between us. My head pounded and my throat was dry as I croaked. "Conor – we need to talk."

  He rolled over lazily, eyes still sticky with sleep, and pawed at my breasts. "Can't it wait?"

  I pushed him away, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. Dad had given me some leeway these past few days, because I was acting like a model daughter. Well, daughter wasn't the right word, not even close. No, I was behaving like his model employee.

  I was doing exactly what he’d always wanted me to do: show an interest in the family business, take care of his orders without complaint, and even, I shuddered even thinking about it, pretend that I was coming round to the idea of Eamon following in his grandfather's footsteps.

  Yeah, right.

  But I wasn't doing that just so I could find the time to roll around under the sheets with Conor. Well, not just for that reason, anyway. I needed to get out of this sick madhouse, and I needed to take Eamon with me. But I knew one thing, there was no way I'd be able do it alone. No, my father's organization was far too powerful, and it had much too long a reach for that.

  I had a plan, but I needed Conor's help.

  "No, it can't." I said firmly.

  Conor dragged himself upright and lay against the wall with a protesting sigh. "Oh, go on then," he said – if not without casting a longing glance at my naked chest. "What is it?"

  "I need to be honest with you, Conor." I said nervously. This was it – the moment that could save my life… or ruin my son's.

  "Everything okay, darlin’?"

  The way he replied made me shiver with longing. His gentle, lilting Irish accent shifted from joking disappointment to concern in a flash. It was the kind of reaction he wouldn't have had years ago, and more than that, it felt honest and genuine, not forced. It felt like he cared.

  Is that enough?

  19

  "Yes," I replied automatically. I was so used to masking my real feelings that it was an innate, immediate reaction. I had to remind myself that, unlike everyone else in this cursed city, I could actually trust Conor.

  I corrected myself barely a second later. Pretending that everything was okay had become a habit over the past four years, and it was hard to break. I knew I needed to take off the mask, to be myself, and more than anything – to be honest with him, but after being immersed in a world where honesty was seen as a weakness for so long, I wasn’t sure if I could remember who the girl behind the mask was.

  "No. No, it's not." I sighed, tears prickling behind my eyelids.

  He grabbed my hand. "Tell me what's wrong."

  "Conor, I –."

  I paused.

  Conor, you're a father, I imagined myself saying. You're a father and I didn't tell you. But will you help me?

  How would he react? Would he still want to help me, or would he leave. I didn't know. Indecision and fear crept up on me like partners in crime, and my hands felt tied.

  Can you take the risk? Can you risk Eamon's life? Because that’s what you’ll be doing.

  No. I couldn't do it. Not yet.

  "Conor," I said, hating myself every step of the way. "I need your help."

  "You just gotta ask."

  The tears prickling in the corner of my eyes started to trickle, then flood out as my mind began to snap under the stress of the last few years. It was like the act of asking for help had somehow crystallized all the suffering I'd experienced in my mind. A dam had broken somewhere inside me, and all the stress, the fear, the guilt, it combined into one and swept out, carrying everything in its path.

  "I need you to help me get out of here. I can't do this anymore. I can't live here anymore," I cried.

  He squeezed my hand, then thought better of it and pulled me bodily toward him, until I was cradled in his arms and sobbing against his shoulder. "Whoa, girl. Calm down there, will ya?"

  I felt weak, but not just weak – I felt guilty, like I was deceiving him. And I was, really. I was taking advantage of his good nature. How was it going to go down, I wondered? Conor was going to have to find out that he was a father at some point, after all, I could hardly take Eamon with me without telling him…

  But I still couldn't bring myself to be honest with him, and it was tearing me up inside. My body was wracked with tears, and my stomach cramped from sobbing.

  "Please," I begged. "Just, please…"

  "I'll help ya, don't worry, I'll help," he said, pleading with me to stop. "But you’ve got to tell me how. Is this about your da?"

  I nodded my head, hiccuping involuntarily. "Yeah," I stammered through the tears. "How did you know?"

  Conor's shoulder was wet with my tears, and in the midst of my despair I had the sudden, striking and out of place thought that I was glad I'd taken my makeup off the night before, because if I hadn't, then my face would be streaked with running mascara.

  "That guy," he spat with unexpected derision. "If you don't mind me saying, is a prick. It's kept me up at night, to be honest with youse, just thinking of ways I could kill him."

  "Why?" I sniffed. "Why him? Conor, why the hell you still hanging around this town?"

  His fingers closed around my chin, pulling it up from his shoulder and turning it to face him in the eyes, to face what I could only describe as a loving gaze. "Seriously, you donkey, you don't know?"

  I wiped my nose, feeling about as unsexy as I'd ever been. "Donkey." I half-laughed. "No one’s called me that in years."

  Conor leaned down and kissed me. "That’s cos’ I haven't been around. But you wanna know why?"

  I nodded eagerly.

  "Because of you, donkey. I'm not letting you go again, understand?"

  "But why?" I burst out, feeling even guiltier. "Why me – after everything I did.”

  "It wasn't you, was it?" He replied jauntily. I couldn't tell whether it was his typical carefree approach to life, or whether he was putting it on to cheer me up. Whichever it was, it was working.

  "It was that prick of a father of yours who did it. He's the guy who ruined the last four years of my life, not you. And I'm not going to let him do it again. You know what they say – fool me once and all that."

  "What do you mean, he ruined your life?" I asked, another wave of guilt creeping up on me. I felt it bearing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  "Drink, drugs, women," Conor replied in a voice that was devoid of emotion. His eyes were closed, as if he was reliving a time in his life he'd rather forget. "I went looking for you, you know?"

  "You," I stammered. "You did what?"

  He opened his eyes and smiled. "Yep. What, you think I came to America by choice? Nah, this ain't my town. I only left Dublin to come find you."

  "Oh." I replied, feeling small. "I didn't kno
w that. You shouldn't have, I didn't deserve that."

  "And you didn't get it, neither," Conor replied sadly. "Turns out there's a lot of towns in America. Fuck knows what I was thinking. Well, that was the problem – I wasn't. Anyway, didn't take long for a guy like me to find the wrong side of the tracks. I went looking for you, but all I found was trouble."

  I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the enormity of what Conor had done, had given up – just to come looking for a girl who'd never tried to be found. Another few pounds of guilt landed on my shoulders.

  My eyes widened. If I couldn't tell him about Eamon, then at least there was one thing I could tell him.

  "You said you wanted to kill him," I said. "My dad, I mean."

  "Yeah," Conor grimaced. "I was joking. Kinda. Why?"

  "Because," I paused, realizing that this was the point of no return. If I told Conor what dad was planning to do, and he ran, then, I shuddered, then dad would make good on his promise – and I'd lose Eamon for good.

  I did it anyway. "Because he wants to kill you."

  Conor didn't give me the reaction I'd expected. In fact, he didn't seem to react at all. All he said was, "it takes two to tango, I guess."

  "You're not," I said nervously. "Worried. Or, I dunno, surprised?"

  "I knew what he wanted to do to me from the moment he dragged me into that room," Conor said grimly. "I could see it in his eyes, especially after I started to stand up to him. He's a right piece of work, so he is. The only thing I'm wondering is-" He said curiously, wrinkling his nose.

  "Yeah?" I prompted.

  "How you turned out so good?" Conor asked.

  The guilt again.

  You don't know the half of it.

  "Just gotta get by, I guess," I said. And I had someone to be good for, I didn't say.

  "Yeah, I guess." He didn’t sound convinced.