Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance

by Whitlow, Lexi

  “Ash is fine. He’s on my side. He’s working outside of the club most of the time now. Nobody wants to work with Frank anymore, Nat. It’s just that they have to.”

  “And you’re helping them get out?”

  “I am. What? Did Summer tell you?” Josh smiles. “Well, what do you think?” He asks the question like he’s a teenager again, asking for my approval on his math test.

  “What do I think? I think you probably should have told me what you were doing. I had no idea about any of this—you just told me about the fight.” He fidgets nervously, shifting from one side to the other. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body, and I know he’s been training. “And what the hell are you thinking? Going from your first exercises to training at the gym?”

  “I worked through the pain pretty good,” he says. His eyes dart over my body, and I can’t help but feel a pang of desire so deep and immediate that I almost swoon.

  “You shouldn’t be doing this—this fighting shit. You’re destroying yourself, Josh.”

  “And you shouldn’t be here at all.” He stops for a second and makes a zipping motion across his lips. “Rewind. That was a shitty way to say what I mean,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Natalie.”

  “Like I said before, Josh. It’s not for you to decide.” I close my eyes and think back to all those stolen moments, the times when I thought he might kiss me, the night I drove him home from the prom and we drank tequila, sitting on my back porch.

  Pretty badass for a dork, Nat, he’d said. He’d leaned in close to me and kissed my cheek, sending a tingle down my spine that had nothing to do with the tequila. It was easy back then because it was a crush—something that wouldn’t ever happen. But here I stood, in Josh’s apartment. Even after he’d left, even after he’d run from me, I was here. I purse my lips and look at him. His arm isn’t in the sling, and he’s sweaty. He’s been training for a fight that any good physical therapist would say he shouldn’t take, even if he is healing faster.

  I glance to the kitchen counter and see a catalog of courses for the local community college, casually sitting on his kitchen counter, next to a certificate that says GED in bold letters. My stomach drops for a moment, and I think I might have entered a time warp or some alternate universe where my stepbrother figured out his life while I wasn’t watching. “What’s this, Josh? Can you step away from your fighter brain one minute to tell me what’s going on?”

  “You know what it is. Says it right there on the front. I know you can read,” he says. He smiles a little bit, but the smile is sad, wistful. I flip through the papers, my eyebrows knitting together as my eyes skim over the letters.

  “It’s your GED certificate. And there’s a transcript for classes from Dare County Community College. Statistics, accounting, a business services workshop.”

  “That’s about right,” he says, leaning into the sofa. In the past week, I don’t think I’ve once seen him in a damn shirt. There’s perspiration across his broad chest, and the fading afternoon light highlights the sharp, perfect lines of his muscles. His permanently tanned skin makes him look like he was made out of bronze. It’s a body built for fighting, and he always knew it. He ran away to make money, to break free from his mother and my father, but he stayed because his body was a beautiful machine, and he’d found the only thing he’d ever been good at. The papers I hold in my hand are evidence that something more happened while I was gone—more than getting sober, more than getting healthy, prepping to go pro. “They’re old,” he says, kicking his foot against the floor. “I did better last semester.”

  “Dammit Josh. This seems like something you should have told me.”

  “What’s to tell? I’m one of millions—another dropout who took the GED test. Another adult student at community college.” His expression is blank, but his tone drips with sarcasm.

  “Why aren’t you proud of this?”

  “I am, Nat. But I’m not exactly where I wanted to be. The inspection hasn’t gone through on the new place—”

  “What new place?”

  “A gym.”

  “For Ash or—”

  “For me, Nat. I made a down payment last month. It’s part of the reason I came to see you. I mean, coming to see you was kind-of a last minute decision. But I was planning to find you and tell you about it.”

  “So you could tell me, and then run off again? So you could—what? Prove yourself, somehow? Lead me on?”

  “Nat, you can’t want someone like me. I’m serious. You can’t. The pretty doctor getting involved with a fighter. I don’t even do relationships.” He shakes his head. “It ain’t right, what I did to you the other day. The shit with Frank, it’s more dangerous than I thought. He’s onto me—”

  “And you’re doing what, exactly?”

  “Helping the kids get out before he gets them hooked, mostly. Recruiting talent for the gym. Working with Ash to get a new place started. Simple stuff to get my life in line.” He looks down and cracks his knuckles. He winces slightly, but it’s enough for me to notice. I walk over to him and touch his shoulder gently, then check the stitches on his side, the healing pink skin on his forehead.

  “And this fight is—”

  “Security. It’s a chance at owning my own business, a chance at going pro and hiring good coaches, good management. It’s everything.” I nod. I get it now. Tears prick at my eyes, and I feel for a moment like I’m falling. I get it.

  I was a passing thought, a stop on his journey. When he kissed me, I’d thought for a moment that there was a chance this was it, that this was what I’d wanted it to be for years, that this time he’d truly changed. He’d stopped by to impress me, to get what he needed, and yes, maybe there was some emotion there—some untidy, lingering desire from long ago. I step away, flustered, angry with myself for coming here, for invading his private choice to leave me behind.

  “I can get you in with a good physical therapist, Josh. And with you training—at a reasonable rate—you could make the fight just fine. I’ll call Steph. She works at the rehab center in Currituck, but she’s down here a few times a week. She owes me a favor—she can work you in.” I start walking over to the door, but I stop just before I reach it and turn. The tears are starting to flow now, and I don’t want him to see. I turn for a moment, just to look at him, and he walks toward me, his movements more confident, filled entirely with purpose. If I hadn’t shoved his shoulder back into place, I’d think he’d never been injured at all. A shout is caught in my throat, and I cower like I’m afraid of his touch.

  “Don’t go,” he says. He catches me, his grip warm and strong. My body starts to melt, my mind only able to focus on the places where his fingers meet my skin. He pants and steps closer to me, his breath hot against my cheek.

  “You told me I shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it. Stay for right now, and in the morning, you can decide where you want to be.”

  “In the morning?” I look to him for an answer, but he just brushes his fingers through my hair and pushes a stray lock behind my ear, sending tingles down my back. Heat pools between my legs, and a rush of wetness comes to my sex, even with that one touch. Even after my anger—after my certainty that he shouldn’t be doing any of what he’s doing—my body pulls for him like a drug. His touch makes my skin so hot, so needy that I nearly cry out in pain, in shock. He trails the fingers of his left hand up over my belly and cups my breast, pinching the nipple through the soft cotton of my shirt.

  “I don’t know what to do, Josh. You tell me to go and then… Ohhh... you...” My voice catches in my throat as he reaches up to my breasts, cupping them gently and rolling my nipple with his fingers.

  “You can go, if you want to, after this. But I have a way of making women want to stay once I get started with them.”

  “You’re so fucking…” I pause and lick my lips, my breath coming in short pants. He moves his hand to my other breast and pinches my nipple ever so slightly, send
ing a shudder down the length of my body. “Confusing,” I moan. He presses into me, and I feel it again—his cock, hard and hot against my thigh. “Jesus, Josh.”

  He snickers, and with his right hand, takes my shirt off over my head, letting my bra drop to the floor. “Selfless idiot Josh told you to go. But as you might be able to tell, I want you to stay, at least for a little. And then you can decide.”

  He pulls me in and kisses me hard, his lips strong and searching against mine. I lean into him and press my body against his. Goosebumps light up my flesh, and I’m wired again, unable to move, bound to him in a whirlwind of electricity. He wraps his right arm around my waist and pulls me in, shoves me hard against the wall.

  “Josh,” I whisper. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I’ve healed pretty good. And I thought you weren’t coming back. You can’t blame me for getting a little excited that you responded to my text.” His lips travel over my cheek and down my neck, to the place where my shirt meets my collarbone. I close my eyes, sigh, melt into him like I’ve always wanted. He kisses me there and nibbles my flesh. To my surprise, he licks me there. “It doesn’t have to be for more than one night—but let me—let us both have this one thing.”

  “Just this once,” I murmur. I don’t have my wits about me, and I can’t quite communicate what I want to say.

  This should never happen, I think. But my lips part, and I feel my eyes closing as he trails his lips down to my breasts. He pushes me roughly against the wall, pinning his knee between my thighs so that I can feel the warmth of his body against my sex, even through my jeans.

  “Just this once,” he says as he cups my breasts with both hands and kisses my exposed flesh, moving his lips over one nipple and then the next, barely grazing my skin. That light touch is enough to send arousal coursing through my body, wetness flooding between my legs. A moan escapes my lips, and I feel Josh pause, his lips millimeters away from my breast. “You like that, Dr. Shaw?”

  “Yes?” My tone makes me sound unsure, like my yes is more of a question than an affirmation. My brain is foggy, fuzzy with the rush of being close to Josh, addled with the desperate, aching need for the man before me. Josh just stands there, bent before me, his hands still cupping my breasts. I open my eyes and look down. “Don’t... stop...” I pant.

  “Tell me what you want, Nat.” I feel the vibrations of his voice against my tender flesh, and I want him, him over everything, his body against mine. But I’m silent. Heat rises in my cheeks. No man has ever asked me what I want. Part of me wants to turn and run, to make him wait, to hide so that I don’t get burnt by his fire. “Tell me what you need, Natalie.”

  “I want—I need—your lips on me,” I stutter. He reaches down with one hand and squeezes my ass hard. He grins, looks up at me, and brings his mouth around my nipple, sucking it into his mouth, making circles over it with his tongue. “Jesus,” I moan. He squeezes my ass again and brings his hand around to unbutton my jeans, ripping them down along with my panties and exposing my pussy to the cool air.

  “God, Natty, I fucking love these curves.” He kisses my breast again, licking and sucking, sending shocks of need straight to my sex. Then he brings both of his hands to my ass and turns me around, shoving me against the wall.

  “Wha—what are you doing?” Josh pins me against the wall, one hand gripping my waist. I feel him raise his other arm, see the shadow as it plays against the wall in front of me. There’s a subtle whoosh of air behind me, and he brings his hand down hard and quick on my ass. I yelp and try to pull away from him, but he spanks me again before I can move. To my surprise, I’m moaning, sticking my ass out, grinding against his hand as it comes down against my bare skin.

  “That’s for looking so good and then trying to leave.” I turn my head and look at his face. He’s grinning.

  “You’re the one who needs to be punished, Josh.” Frustration and anger are woven into my voice, but my smarting ass throbs in time with my arousal, and my core aches, making me miserable with need.

  “That might be, Nat.” He spanks me again as I watch him, and then his fingers travel lower and forward to the slippery cleft between my legs. I know he’ll find dripping wetness there, slick and prepared. “But I’m the one who’s got you pushed up against the wall.” His fingers find my clit and gently circle the sensitive bundle of nerves. I respond with a sigh, pushing hard against his hand. His gaze locks with mine as he slips one finger and then a second inside me, gently pumping, sliding in and out.

  “Fuck me, please,” I hiss.

  He smiles at me and keeps moving his fingers, his speed increasing. “I don’t know, Natalie. Is that really what you want?” I nod.

  “Please, Joshie. Please. I’m ready.” The words come from somewhere deep inside, words I’ve never said to anyone. Josh takes his fingers away and steps back and we lock eyes, drinking each other in.

  His body has been on display since he first came and found me, but this is different. For this moment, the lust written on his face belongs to me.

  Even if it is only just this once.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I’ve never seen Natalie like this. I’d heard her whispers, alone at night in her bedroom, my cock growing hard at the thought of her touching herself. But she stands before me now, a pink flush visible on her chest and on the tops of her perfectly round tits. I can just see the pink traces of my fingerprints on her ass. There’s a flicker of anger in her eyes. She doesn’t want to respond to me like this, but hell, she’s right here, she is, just like she’s mine. Like she always has been.

  I throw her over the side of the sofa, and I thank God silently that I’ve cleaned up my act. If she’d come to my apartment three years ago, she would have been stepping over greasy sacks of half-devoured fast food, and her face would probably be next to an empty bottle of bourbon right now. I laugh, still gripping her waist. Would it be crass to say that I’m mesmerized by her ass, the shape of it, the way it filled out her jeans when she walked in, all angry and totally fucking beautiful? I give it a little squeeze, and it feels so fucking good in my hand.

  “Josh,” she says and looks at me, her hair hanging in her face. This picture—this tableau—is set up just for me, and I’m taking a minute to enjoy it. Her eyes betray her desire. “Just this once,” she said. Once I have her here like this, I’m pretty sure my cock will know she’s mine, even if she doesn’t catch up with the sentiment. “What are you laughing about?” she mumbles.

  “Ain’t nothing for you to worry about, Nat.” I raise my hand and bring it down on one ripe ass cheek and then the other. She makes this little sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a whimper. I wish I could bottle up what that sound does to my cock, because if I was hard before, I’m like a rock now. I laugh again and spank her. I’m pitching a serious tent in my shorts, and they don’t leave much to the imagination. She moans again, and from the angle she’s at, I can see the glistening sweetness on her pussy.

  “Goddamn,” I whisper. “This is a seriously pretty picture.” She giggles, and I spank her hard, watching in amazement as the red marks rise on her ass.

  “Hey, what was that for?” Her voice is annoyed, but she’s certainly not moving away. Her eyes stay on mine. She’s still looking over her shoulder, her lips plump and raspberry-red from kissing me.

  “I’ll spank you when I like. Just this once,” I say with a grin. She rolls her eyes, and I spank her again, my hand coming down hard on one cheek and then the other. She moans, and I trace my finger over the slickness I see between her legs—just to hear that sound escape her lips, just for that one second where she’s bound to her desire and nothing else. That might be all she ever gives me, if she sticks to this just this once thing she’s telling me. It’s no matter. I’ve waited years, and if this is my one reward, I’ll die a happy man. Now, I’d die a happier man if it weren’t just this once, but she ain’t there yet.

  “Please,” she moans, her voice so low I almost can’t hear it.


  “Please what, Natalie?” I slip my fingers over her pussy, carefully avoiding her clit. This woman doesn’t know what I’m capable of, doesn’t know how long I’ve been waiting to make her come. It’s all that kept me alive on some nights, especially those early ones. I held the image of her lips against mine, bright in my mind like a beacon. It’s not exactly the purest desire that anyone’s used in AA, but it worked for me.