Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  Homicide Hank is kneeling on the floor with his back to Torment’s knees.

  “So from this position,” Torment says, “I can move to mount, tran-

  sition to back, and then get a submission by rear naked choke.”

  Sounds dirty to me. From what I’ve heard so far, fighting seems

  to have a lot in common with sex. I like sex. Maybe I’ll grow to like

  fighting, too.

  Torment flips Homicide onto his back and lies flat on top of him.

  He talks about being dominant for a ground and pound.

  I imagine him lying flat on top of me, grounding and pounding.

  Fight terms skitter through my brain. Naked. Back. Rear. Mount.

  Submission. Dominant. Pound. My body heats. I cross my legs and feel

  the slip of arousal between my thighs.

  I am so caught up in my daydream, it takes a second for my brain

  to register Torment is watching me. The mischievous sparkle in his

  eyes suggests he knows what I’m thinking. But he can’t. How could he

  possibly know how filthy I really am?

  Homicide takes advantage of Torment’s momentary lack of focus

  and breaks the hold. He flips Torment onto his back, jumps to his feet,

  and before Torment can get away, he leaps. Torment lifts a knee and

  thrusts upward, catching Homicide in the diaphragm. Homicide falls to

  the side clutching his chest.

  He moans and rolls on the floor.

  Torment drops to his knees beside Homicide and then waves me

  over. I race to the ring and climb through the ropes.

  “I thought I’d just knocked the wind out of him. But he’s turning

  blue,” Torment says. Worry creases his face and he rakes his hand

  through his hair.

  I straighten Homicide’s body just enough to allow me to run my

  hands over his chest and abdomen. His eyes are wide, panicked, but his

  pupils are stable. My hands find a hard knot of muscle just below his ribs.

  “I don’t think he’s ruptured any tissue,” I say. “I think he’s compressed

  his diaphragm and the lower lobes of his lungs, and it has forced out all

  his residual air. He might also have pulled the muscle in his diaphragm.

  I’ll need a wide ACE bandage and some ice before we can move him.”

  “Jake. You heard her. Ice. Bandages.” Torment barks the order and

  Jake tosses a bag of ice into the ring from a cooler on the floor, before

  racing out the door. Torment catches the ice with one hand and holds

  it over Homicide’s stomach.

  “You need to breathe deeply,” I tell Homicide. “Fight real hard for

  that first, real deep breath. It will release the spasm and you’ll be able to

  breathe normally again.”

  Homicide grips my hand and locks his frightened eyes on mine.

  His muscles tense. I give him an encouraging nod as he struggles and

  strains. Finally, he sucks in a deep breath and collapses back on the mat.

  Torment lets out a long, slow sigh. He catches my gaze and gives

  me the most devastating smile.

  Jake arrives with the bandages. We tape up Homicide’s chest, and

  Torment and Rampage walk him to the first aid room and help him

  onto the bed.

  “Fuck.” Homicide pounds his fist on the bed and wheezes in a

  breath. “I should have seen that knee coming a mile away. I’m such an

  idiot. Damn stupid newbie mistake.”

  I pat Homicide’s shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all

  make mistakes. If we didn’t, no fight would ever have a winner. We

  just need to learn from them and move on. And I was pretty damn

  impressed with your moves.”

  Homicide’s lips quiver. He looks over at Torment and some-

  thing passes between them that brings out Homicide’s smile in all its

  toothy glory.

  My cheeks heat and I look away. “Is there someone you want me to

  call? I don’t think you should drive.”

  Homicide coughs. “Nah. I’ll just catch a ride with one of the guys.

  My wife, Sally, wouldn’t be caught dead here. I’ve invited her so many

  times, and she never shows.”

  His face crumples, and I give his hand a squeeze. “Were you expect-

  ing her to come alone?”

  “I thought she’d get bored during the warm-up so I just told her

  to come when the show started.” He coughs again, and I warn him to

  breathe slow and easy.

  “Maybe she’s afraid to come here by herself. It’s a pretty dangerous

  area of town. I sure wouldn’t come alone. And if she was afraid, she’d

  probably think you knew that and you were only asking her to be polite

  but not expecting her to come.”

  Homicide, Rampage, and Torment stare at me as if I’ve suddenly

  grown a second head.

  “Women don’t think the same as you.” I use small, simple words

  so they can understand. “I’ll bet if you asked her to come with you and

  showed her around, she would love to watch you fight.”

  Homicide scratches his head. Rampage grunts. Torment studies me

  like I’m a delightful curiosity in a zoo.

  “Maybe you should ask her to pick you up. People like to know they

  are needed.”

  By the time Homicide’s wife arrives to take him home, the gym is almost

  empty. Rampage and Jake wash down the mats and equipment and then

  head to the kitchen to have a drink with an impatient Pinkaluscious and

  her Australian friend, Sheila, otherwise known as Shilla the Killa.

  I lock up the first aid room and find Torment and Jimmy on the

  mats practicing grappling holds. Torment is lying on top of a stuffed

  leather grapple dummy. Unlike the dummies that resemble a man

  standing straight, this one has legs curved into a bow shape and arms

  bent up and over its head. Torment’s hips are between the dummy’s

  legs, his pelvis pressed against the juncture of the dummy’s thighs.

  I have never seen anything as titillating in my life.

  “It’s a submission dummy,” Torment says, looking up. “We just

  got it in. The arms and legs are flexible. It’s very useful for practicing

  arm bars, chokes, side mounts, and submissions.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I murmur. Sweat trickles down my back. I berate

  myself for my dirty mind. He is practicing a fight position using fight

  equipment. This is NOT sexual. Not in the least.

  Torment talks Jimmy through the position and then slides down

  the dummy’s body until his head is where his hips used to be.

  My breath catches in my throat. My head spins. I grasp one of the

  ring poles and hold on for dear life.

  “Hmmm. It’s not working,” he says to Jimmy.

  Really? It’s working pretty good for me. So good, in fact, I need to

  get home right away.

  Jimmy joins him on the mat and they practice a few holds. For some

  reason watching Torment lie on top of Jimmy isn’t quite as arousing.

  Torment wraps his arms around Jimmy’s head and pulls him down.

  Jimmy struggles and finally slaps the mat. Torment rolls off him.

  “I can’t get it,” Jimmy says. “It seemed easy when you had the dummy,

  but I can’t break that triangle. I need to see it with a real person.” He looks

  up and catches my gaze. “Hey Makayla. Can you give us a hand?”

  I stiffen and shake my head. “
I don’t know anything about grap-

  pling. I wouldn’t be any use.”

  Torment gives me a wicked grin. “We just need a warm body.”

  Oh God, so do I.

  He holds out his hand. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

  Maybe not. But if he lies on top of me in my current state of arousal,

  I just might. I make an effort to feign modesty when, really, all I want to

  do is throw myself into the fray. “No I don’t think—”

  “Please.”

  I study his impassive face. He has to know how suggestive the posi-

  tions are. How he isn’t constantly aroused I don’t know. If I had to

  spend my evenings sliding over a grapple dummy I wouldn’t need my

  Rabbit. Maybe I’ve been single too long.

  “You’ll learn something,” he says. His voice takes on the authori-

  tative teaching tone he used with Homicide. “If you understand the

  positions, you can better understand the injuries.”

  Hmmm. Do I want to roll around on the mat with two half-naked,

  super-fit men? Yes, please.

  “Okay, if it will help you out.” I slip off my shoes and kneel on

  the mat while Torment and Jimmy discuss what to do with me. My

  pulse pounds so hard I can barely hear them over the rush of blood

  through my veins. This is sports. It has nothing to do with sex. Sports.

  Sports. Sports.

  Torment puts his hand on my shoulder. “Lie on your back, hands

  over your head, legs apart.”

  Sex.

  I lay on the mat just as he explained, and he kneels between my

  legs. The position leaves me vulnerable, exposed. Shivers of need course

  down my spine.

  Jimmy sits to the side and Torment talks us through the move. He

  is so damn sexy when he’s teaching. Confident, assured, knowledge-

  able, and patient. He explains he is going to mount me. Yes! And take

  a dominant position. Oh, yes! Then, once I have him in a triangle he’ll

  show Jimmy how to defend.

  My brain fuzzes with lust.

  His gaze catches mine. My cheeks flame. For the longest time, he

  studies me and then his eyes widen, as if he had just seen into my hidden

  depths—the pounding of my heart, the sheen of sweat on my skin, the

  wetness between my thighs. His eyes shutter and his jaw tightens.

  “Are you okay there?”

  Words fail me. “Mmmhmm.”

  “Right then. I’m going to mount you now.”

  Oh God.

  He mounts me.

  I bite right through my lip. The sharp tang of blood flows over

  my tongue.

  Torment lies on top of me, his knees pressed tight against my hips, his

  elbows snug against my ears. I lock his head between my arms the way he

  explained, tilting it and pressing his face down to my breasts. His warm,

  heavy body covers me, holds me, encloses me. His breath is hot on my

  neck. His hair is soft between my fingers. It is the most erotic experience

  I have ever had, and from the state of affairs pressed up against my sex, I

  would venture to say it might rank with Torment’s top experiences too.

  He lifts his head and his eyes blaze with sensual fire. “This may not

  have been the best idea.” His voice is low and husky, thick with need.

  “Maybe not,” I whisper.

  “Now what?” Jimmy interjects. “How do you get out of it?”

  “I don’t think I want to get out of it,” Torment murmurs. His

  mouth hovers only an inch above mine, his breath dusting sweet prom-

  ises over my lips.

  Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” A woman’s shriek breaks the spell.

  I twist my head back and catch a flash of pink and a mane of

  golden hair.

  Pinkaluscious. And she doesn’t look pleased.

  “We’re practicing grappling techniques,” Jimmy says as if Torment

  and I were not smoldering beside him. “You’re welcome to join us. I

  could use a partner.”

  “Not you. Him. It looks like he’s having sex with her.”

  Torment closes his eyes briefly and sighs. Then he pushes himself

  back to his knees. I shiver at the loss of his warmth.

  “What do you want, Sandy?” Torment stands up and joins her at

  the edge of the mat.

  I roll out of my compromising position and kneel on the mat beside

  Jimmy. Sandy’s glare turns my blood to ice.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “You can see we’re busy.”

  “With her?” She shoots me another glare so I shoot one back.

  “With Blade Saw. Makayla is just helping us out.”

  She winds her arms around his neck and presses herself up against

  him. “I need you,” she whinny whines.

  He lifts her arms away and his voice takes on a soft, gentle tone.

  “Not now, Sandy.”

  Not now? Not now implies what she’s doing is okay later. Not now

  means not in front of Makayla. Not now means not ever for me.

  Pinkaluscious’ long, brown lashes fan over her rosy cheeks. She blinks

  her big, brown Bambi eyes at him and whispers, “Please. It’s important.”

  Torment tightens his lips and gives her a curt nod. “Five minutes…if

  that works for Blade Saw and Makayla. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  We both nod our assent. Jimmy because he’s an easygoing guy. Me

  because my mouth has gone dry.

  “Thank you.” She stands on tiptoe and brushes her lips over his,

  before clasping his hand and leading him to the door. Jimmy jumps up

  and follows behind them.

  Nausea cramps my stomach, and I choke back a snort.

  The sound draws her attention. Her eyes flick to mine and she

  looks me up and down, lingering over my physical imperfections as

  only a woman can do. She laughs, tosses her mane, and then trots away

  taking my hopes and dreams with her.

  “Who is that?” I call out to Jimmy.

  He mumbles something unintelligible and then says, “Girlfriend.”

  My heart crashes into my stomach. I should have known. I’m no

  Amanda or Pinkaluscious. He really did want me here just to work. And

  the rest was what? A game?

  I stomp back to the first aid room, pack up my stuff and head for

  the front entrance. I’m not waiting around for more humiliation. But

  before I step outside, I freeze. How am I going to get home? Cabs are too

  expensive. Walking is too dangerous. It is Friday night and my friends

  will all be plastered and unable to drive. No way will I ask Torment.

  No. Damn. Way.

  But I can ask Jake.

  Always accommodating, Jake agrees to drive me home after he takes

  a shower.

  Cowardice drives me to wait for him outside in the parking lot

  where Torment won’t find me. Zipping my sweater to my chin, I lean

  against the cold, metal wall and fold my arms in my best “I’m not a

  hooker” pose.

  “Hey honey, you ride bareback?”

  My best is clearly not good enough. Detaching myself from the

  hooker wall, I head over to Torment’s motorcycle for a good-bye caress.

  So beautiful. So shiny and sleek. My fingers brush over the seat where

  Torment sat, the handlebars he touched, and a shiny silver plate bearing

  the inscription “1 of 100.”

  “What the
hell are you doing?”

  My head jerks up and my hand freezes in midair. Torment stalks

  across the parking lot toward me, his face a mask of fury. He has changed

  into his sexy, low-slung jeans and a pair of casual black shoes, but his

  chest is still bare, and heaving as if he’s just been running.

  Hands shaking, I back away from the motorcycle. “I…I was just

  saying good-bye to your Agusta. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have damaged it.”

  “Not the bike,” he shouts. “You. Why are you out here alone?”

  So loud. So angry. My throat freezes, and sweat trickles between

  my breasts.

  “Well?”

  “I could do without the shouting.” I twist the bottom edge of my

  sweater in my hands and stare at the ground.

  Torment draws in a ragged breath and lifts my chin with his finger,

  tilting my head back. I can’t meet his gaze, and I turn my head away.

  “I told you, it’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” His voice

  softens. “You should have waited for me inside.”

  “Jake is taking me home.” I swallow hard and shove my hands in

  my pockets.

  Torment frowns. “You don’t need to go home with Jake. I said I

  would take you home after the fight. You helped me out. It’s the least

  I can do.”

  Duty. Nothing more. Despair and disappointment war over who

  should crush me first.

  “Jake has to go past my house to get to Amanda’s place, and you

  don’t owe me anything. Rampage gave me the check for tonight. And…

  um…I won’t be back, so we’re good.”

  I force myself to look at him. Confusion fills every line and plane of

  his face. “Why?” he asks softly.

  “Because I’m not the kind of girl who likes to play games.”

  Mercifully, the door bangs open and Jake bounds into the parking

  lot. “Sorry I took so long. Ready to go?” He gives me the wide, easy

  smile Amanda couldn’t resist. This is the kind of guy I should be going

  out with—nice, friendly, easygoing. Instead, I’ve been wasting my time

  lusting over a mercurial fighter with a sexy girlfriend.

  Torment’s eyes narrow. Jake takes a step back.

  “Is it okay if I give Makayla a ride home?”

  “We’re not finished here.” Torment’s voice is perfectly controlled,

  but anger simmers just beneath the surface.

  “We are finished.”

  “No, we’re not.”