Submission Moves: An MMA Romance

by Sisco, Camilla

  “You like?” he asked with a quirked brow and an impish grin as he shrugged his shirt off.

  Fuck, yes! She didn’t answer, but she let him see how much she enjoyed this private performance. She licked her lips as she watched him and let her hands graze all over her body. Her breasts, her belly, then lower.

  He was down to his black fitted boxers that barely stifled the impressive erection he was sporting. Rose gave a nervous laugh that came out as an unladylike snort when she first got a look at it. But when Nick started to ease his boxers down the corded muscles of his thighs, her mind went blissfully blank and quiet. Damn, but he was beautiful. And tonight, he was all hers.

  He caught her hand just as she reached for him and climbed back onto the bed. He motioned for her to sit facing him. She complied, but not without a hint of trepidation. She just gave him carte blanche to use her body as he saw fit and she was prepared for the rough and explicit things she imagined men like him wanted most. But no, this was what he wanted, to sit face to face and look at each other’s eyes while they fucked?

  She soon forgot about her unease, distracted by the broad expanse of his bare chest that she was now free to touch. Wow, this was new, she thought as she splayed her fingers on the soft sprinkling of hair. He didn’t have that four years ago.

  “I get a little manscaping done before each fight,” he explained, as if reading her thoughts. “I don’t know how you can stand it. Waxing hurts like a motherfucker.”

  Rose paused and peered up at him, baffled. “I imagine a punch on the face would hurt a lot worse than a Brazilian.”

  “That’s different,” he said, running a hand up and down her spine. “I can defend against punches and I can hit back. I can’t exactly clobber the salon lady, can I? Not when she’s wielding hot wax with one hand and holding my nuts with the other.”

  She bit back a laugh and continued stroking curious hands along his shoulders and arms. He reached over to the nightstand to fish out a condom from a box of Monster Condoms that was sitting there. The gesture triggered such an acute sense of déjà vu that Rose was momentarily transported to that long-ago night in Vegas. Nick wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. When he kissed her, she hurtled back into the present, back in his arms, with his soft, full lips covering hers and his tongue probing deliciously inside her mouth.

  When they both moaned into the kiss, she felt his erection twitch against her belly, as if begging for attention. She pulled back, giggling. What the heck was wrong with her? She didn’t giggle.

  Nick was smiling too, but when Rose’s hands closed around his hard, throbbing cock, his smile dissolved into a look of stark need. She gave him slow pulls that had him groaning and clutching her tighter.

  She took the condom he left lying beside them, tore it open, and sheathed him. As she got his blunt crown in position, Nick moved his hand down the small of her back and yanked her closer until he was balls-deep inside her. Rose gasped. He felt so good, so much better than she remembered and even better than her fantasies.

  “So tight,” Nick groaned. He cupped her ass and rocked her against his lap, maddeningly slow. Rose wrapped her legs around him and rolled her hips, urging him on. He refused to be hurried. Instead, he bent her back and took one breast in his mouth and sucked. His beard tickled her skin as his tongue lapped at her swollen nipple. Rose sighed in bliss, which soon turned into piqued frustration when his mouth moved to her other breast. She shoved her fingers into his hair and pulled, letting him feel her impatience at the pace he set. He didn’t notice or, more likely, he chose to ignore it. He kissed her neck and her collarbone. He was still so tender, so solicitous, so…loving.

  Even as that thought alarmed her, Rose was powerless to stop a wave of tenderness and affection that was threatening to pour out. She was dangerously close to blurting out something earnest and completely stupid. This is just sex, we’re just having sex, she told herself over and over again. Why was her body responding in this profound way, as if what they were doing meant more than mutual physical pleasure?

  She had to put a stop to this. She pushed herself off him with a force that surprised them both.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” Nick asked, startled.

  “Nothing,” she said, turning her back to him and getting on her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder and found him staring at her butt, transfixed. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want it another way.”

  His broad shoulders shook as he laughed. “We were gonna get there eventually. You’re an impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Nick, please.”

  He pushed himself up to kneel behind her, her legs between his. He angled his cock to her slick entrance and gave her an inch. Rose made a needy, impatient sound and pushed herself back against him. Nick’s hands circled her hips and held her back. He liked doggie style as much as the next guy. He loved it. But he thought they’d go slowly and more traditional first. Sweet and gentle, the way he imagined girls like Rose preferred it. And he wanted to savor the moment. He’d been fantasizing about this for so long, after all. It seemed like a shame to rush through it, although he’d been tempted to earlier. Fucking Rose from behind, nasty and awesome though it was, seemed a bit impersonal. And there was no way a man could be sweet or gentle, not in this position.

  He wanted to do everything with this woman. But for now, whatever her reasons, he sensed she needed him in a rougher way. And Nick liked that he brought out this hot, rampant side of her. When he looked down at her perfect peach ass, he forgot about whatever regret he had that he couldn’t have her soft and vulnerable in his arms to start.

  He gripped her hips harder and rammed himself right inside her, making her cry out. He couldn’t stop himself. His thrusts were forceful and urgent. It pitched her body forward and made a loud smacking noise with each impact. He wished they were doing it in front of a mirror. He wanted to see her face and watch her breasts jiggle from his pumping. Damn, he was crazy about her tits. And her ass. He brought his hand down on it, giving her a light slap. “I’m going to give it to you hard,” he said in between grunts before pounding into her with increased ferocity.

  Rose moaned incoherently beneath him.

  “Say my name,” Nick ordered.

  “Lucky Charms,” she gasped.

  His laugh made him lose his rhythm. “Not that, you brat,” he said, giving her ass a loud thwack with his open palm. He reached for her wrists and held them down on the small of her back. Rose’s face was pressed against the bed, muffling the sounds she made.

  “I wanna hear you. Let me hear you,” he ordered.

  She turned her head to the side. “Nick!” she cried, sounding wild and overwrought.

  He laughed triumphantly. His straight-laced, ball-busting feminist liked being dominated in bed. And she was a screamer, this one.

  Her hips bucked and she cried out again when he reached around her waist to get at her clit. He rubbed the swollen nub in tight circles until he felt her pussy convulsing around his cock, milking it. Only then did he let himself lose control, hips hammering fast and frantic. He came with a strangled noise, holding on tightly to her.

  He was wrong. No position could ever be impersonal with this woman. She was under his skin and in his head. She was everywhere. He always thought there was something inherently submissive about a woman on her hands and knees for a man while he took her from behind. That’s what made it so hot, right? But it was him who was left feeling oddly humbled. Grateful, even. He pressed a hot kiss between Rose’s shoulder blades and let out a long sigh of satisfaction before pulling out to dispose of the condom. Rose collapsed on her back on the bed, sated and boneless. He stretched out next to her when he returned.

  “That’s was fucking awesome. Let’s do that again.” He took his half-mast cock in his hand and stroked, getting himself ready.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh my God. You’re kidding.”

  She wanted him all rough, primal, and out of control. He was going to
give her that. “Sweetheart,” he grinned, “that was just round one.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Her eyes fluttered open and she checked the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly noon. Rose didn’t usually need breakfast but her tummy grumbled loudly, demanding to be fed. A night of marathon sex did that to a girl, and Nick had kept her up well past dawn.

  The room was dim, the only light coming from the gap between the blinds of the floor-to-ceiling window of his bedroom, but she could make out his body, lying with his back to her, completely naked. They both were. She never slept in the nude. It made her feel ridiculously wild and raunchy, like the kind of women she imagined Nick usually picked up in clubs and took home.

  Finally, she got to study his tattoo at the back of one shoulder up close—a shamrock entwined with a red rose. It was a common enough Irish symbolism. She suspected it had to do with his fight name rather than her. She wasn’t that presumptuous. She planted an impulsive kiss on it, grateful despite herself that it wasn’t some girl’s name he had permanently inked on his skin.

  He woke up with a start but relaxed as Rose kept on pressing small kisses on his sleep-warmed skin. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said, suddenly feeling shy. She was so worn out by the time he finally got done that she had no choice but to stay over. But she didn’t know the protocol of hooking up with Nick Rossi. Should she have slipped out while he slept? Should she get going now? She did none of those, deciding to play it by ear.

  “I got that one night nearly four years ago, after getting stupid drunk with my brothers,” he said in a husky, just-woken-up voice. Rose didn’t know how he could tell that she’d been studying his tattoo. “I was so shit-faced. They said I threw up on the artist before passing out completely. When I woke up, there it was.”

  “It could’ve been worse, I guess. You could’ve picked a really douche-y design, like ‘YOLO’ or something,” Rose said. “Do you regret it?”

  “Throwing up on the artist?” he joked before pausing to consider her question. “Nah, I really like it. Do…do you like it?”

  She couldn’t see his face as he spoke, but Rose thought he sounded a little anxious, which didn’t make sense. The truth was she didn’t like tattoos. Nor coarse, overly-muscled, brassy men. But that was her brain talking. Her body had other, better ideas. She leaned in to trace the swirly design with her tongue.

  “You can be so sweet,” Nick said with a soft moan, pressing back into her. After a while, he turned to face her and gave her a sleepy smile. “You feeling sore?”

  “I am, actually,” Rose admitted, flexing her limbs and feeling the cricks and aches. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

  Nick smiled at that, looking pleased and so damn handsome. “It would be a shame to let this go to waste though.” He took her small hand and wrapped it around his warm, rock-hard cock. It grew even harder at her touch.

  She laughed and gave him a small, shy nod of assent. “Then let’s not.”

  “I’ll get you ready first, don’t worry.” He broke away and took out a foil pack from that same box of Monster Condoms on the nightstand. As he motioned for Rose to lie on her back, he caught her still looking at the box.

  “Monster’s one of our most loyal sponsors,” he explained. “They send us boxes and boxes of that stuff all the time.”

  “Yeah, I figured. I remember the box you had in your room in Vegas. And another one in the bathroom.”

  “Is that why you freaked out that night and ran away? You thought I was fucking my way around Vegas or something?”

  “One of the reasons,” Rose admitted as she watched Nick curl his glorious body beside hers.

  “Huh,” he huffed and nodded, looking as if he finally got an answer to a question that had been nagging him a long time.

  He reached between her legs, groaning softly as he dipped his finger inside her and found her slick and warm for him. “I want you. I can’t wait,” he whispered urgently, rolling on top of her. She welcomed him, hugging her thighs to his waist and scratching her nails down his backside. He was just about to roll the condom on when Rose stopped him.

  “Nick, someone’s here,” she whispered.

  He heard it too, the unmistakable churning sound of the blender coming from his kitchen. “It’s just Angelo,” he assured her. “He comes by every day to stock up my fridge and cook for me when I’m in camp.” There was absolutely no reason they couldn’t proceed as planned. Angelo and his protein shake could damn well wait.

  But Rose was still trying to push him off. Nick relented, his cock throbbing angrily at the interruption.

  “Should I hide in the bathroom?”

  He gave her a funny look then burst out laughing. “Why would you do that? It’s time I fed you anyway,” he added with a sigh of disappointment. “Let’s go out there and have the chef make something nice for you and something bland and fat-free for me. Then we can stay holed up in here the rest of the day.”

  He got up and grabbed a fresh pair of T-shirt and shorts from his closet. Rose picked up her clothes from the floor and headed for the bathroom.

  “Come out when you’re done there, okay?” she heard Nick say from behind the door.

  She took a quick shower and put on last night’s clothes, minus her fishnet stockings, which were a bit excessive for daytime, and her underwear, which Nick had ruined. She smiled slyly at the memory. She gave her damp hair one last vigorous rub before heading to the kitchen where the conversation was coming from.

  She hadn’t had a chance to admire Nick’s apartment last night, but he’d told her it was a two-bedroom, with the other bedroom converted into a gym. She could tell it was professionally designed, a veritable bachelor’s pad, and it was huge. Rose’s whole apartment could fit in his living room.

  She found Nick perched on one of the stools of the breakfast bar while Angelo stood behind the counter, ragging him about missing his morning training. She hung back and watched them, feeling shy and uncertain. When Nick spotted her, he stretched his hand out and gave her a beckoning smile.

  “C’mere,” he said.

  Rose took his hand and let him tug her closer. But the ready greeting she had for Angelo died in her throat when she spotted another man seated on the other end of the breakfast bar, previously hidden from her view.

  He looked from her to Nick, his face mirroring her own surprise.

  “Hello, Rose,” Angelo said, casting a meaningful glance at Nick. “We didn’t know Nick had company.”

  “Rose?” the older man said with a smile full of mischief. The resemblance to the two younger men was unmistakable. “I didn’t know there was a Rose in the picture. Nicky, you’ve been keeping things from your old man?”

  “Rosie, this is my dad, Lorenzo. Dad, this is Rose,” Nick said in a tone that gave nothing away.

  Despite the shock, good manners kicked in and she stepped forward to shake Lorenzo’s hand and offer a proper greeting. She gasped in surprise when he took her by the elbows and studied her closely, a small smile on his lips. Normally, Rose would feel insulted at being inspected so blatantly, but this was a father and she was a strange woman he found in his son’s apartment, and so she submitted to it. She knew her place.

  Lorenzo released her and broke into a broader grin. “Good to meet you, Rose.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” Her voice was strained and high-pitched.

  “Are you Italian?” he said, “You look Italian.”

  “Uh…”

  “She’s Irish,” Nick offered, watching their exchange with amusement.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Lorenzo said, though he was still smiling. He returned to his seat, eyes still on her.

  Rose had this insane urge to apologize. But why did she even need Nick’s dad to like her? Why should she care? Why was she suddenly wishing she were Italian? She sat on the stool Nick pulled out for her without another word.

  “Hey Rose, I have a feminist joke. You wanna hear?” Angelo said over his shoul
der as he took out a tray of eggs from the massive sub-zero fridge.

  “Sure, why not?” she said with apprehension. In her experience, feminist jokes were rarely funny and often offensive, but she was helpless against Angelo’s disarmingly goofy smile. Besides, she’d grab at anything to dispel the awkwardness and Catholic guilt that was creeping up on her, brought on by nearly having sex with Nick with his father just outside.

  “Do you believe there’s a gender wage gap,” Angelo asked, taking out a chopping board from a drawer, “or is that just a myth?”

  Rose sat up straighter in her chair. She could go on for hours, and often did, about this issue. “Wage discrimination is definitely not a myth—”

  “Shut up and go make me a sandwich,” he snapped, cutting off the rest of what she had to say.

  She blinked at him, open-mouthed and too stunned to react.

  Angelo doubled over, laughing. “That was the joke. Don’t you get it?” he demanded when he noticed Rose wasn’t laughing with him. “I wasn’t really telling you to shut up or to make me a sandwich. See, I’m making you a sandwich,” he explained. “Well, technically, I’m making turkey and avocado paninis for everybody. Except for you, Nick,” he said with mock severity. “For you I’m making an egg white omelette.”

  Lorenzo groaned and shook his head at his youngest son. “Is this why you can’t get a girlfriend, Angelo?”

  Angelo sputtered. “What do you mean? It was funny! Tell him, Rose.”

  “You have very good comedic timing,” she offered neutrally.

  “You’ll have to excuse my sons if they act like they were raised by a pack of wolves sometimes, Rose,” Lorenzo said with a rueful smile. “Please don’t take it as a reflection on their mom. She worked two jobs while I stayed home and raised these knuckleheads, so I take full responsibility.”

  “You were a stay-at-home dad?” she said, ears perking up. “That’s very interesting.” She wouldn’t have guessed. He was in his mid-fifties, Rose estimated, still very handsome, with salt n’ pepper hair and a trim physique. He was the very picture of a traditional working-class, Italian-American manly-man-ness, so far removed from her idea of what a progressive male looked like.