by Jenna Rose
“Then why do you look hungover?” she asks. “You’re only eighteen, honey. You shouldn’t be drinking yet—”
“I wasn’t!” I snap as I get up and take my bowl to the sink. That was a little much, but she doesn’t snap back at me. I haven’t told her about last night—how I went to a movie in the city, how two men tried to mug me and a mysterious stranger showed up and saved me like a hero out of a movie. No, my mom is over-protective as it is. If I tell her that, I’ll never be allowed to leave the house again.
“Are you sick then?” she asks me. I have to make something up.
“I—I didn’t eat anything yesterday,” I reply. “I just have been feeling weak.”
A concerned look comes over my mom’s face and I already know I messed up. Here comes a conversation I don’t want to have.
“Honey, it’s okay that you’re not…as thin as the other girls…”
“Mom!” I blurt out, rushing from the kitchen.
“I—I just don’t want you to become anorexic, sweetie!”
“Mom,” I say, stopping and turning to her. Yelling isn’t going to make this better; she’s just worried about me, and this whole conversation is my fault. “I’m not anorexic. I wasn’t not eating because I’m worried about my weight; I just got caught up with things and forgot. I’ll make up for it today, okay?”
Mom hesitates, but eventually smiles.
“Okay, sweetie.”
I smile back as she gives me a kiss on the forehead, then make my way back upstairs to my room and close the door.
It’s my first summer as a free woman. I’m legally an adult and never have to go back to Newton High again. I’ve had more than enough of my share of spoiled rich kids and thought heading into Boston last night would be a great way of celebrating and seeing the “real world.” I guess I was wrong.
I thought I was going to die last night when those two men came at me. Sure, Ryan was with me, but Ryan is just about as tough as I am—maybe even less so. Honestly, I was surprised he didn’t faint. When it comes to music, movie recommendations, going shopping, or being up on the latest gossip, Ryan is the best. But when it comes to fighting? Yeah, not so much.
But then he showed up…
It was like something out of a TV show. My prince arrived in my moment of need and saved me from the bad guys. He also scared the shit out of me. Is that wrong? I mean, he’s got to be at least six-feet-tall, is clearly a bad boy from Southie with short hair and tattoos and arms that look like he could tear me apart. I probably would have passed out if he wasn’t so insanely gorgeous.
Those eyes—crystal clear and blue, piercing into me as he asked me if I was okay. His hands, rough and strong on mine as he led me to my car and stayed with me while he made sure I was okay to drive. Those boyish good looks, hardened by life, and the way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.
Jackson…
My heart rate’s picking up just thinking about it. He was such a stark contrast between the other boys I grew up with at school—rich kids who’d never seen a hard day’s work in their life, guys who talk about the hottest sneakers or the trendiest clothing companies. Yeah, I can’t see Jackson doing that. What I can see him doing is grabbing my waist as he pulls me in and—
I shake my head and put both hands over my face. Just thinking about him touching me again has me all hot and bothered. I wasn’t what you’d call a “cool girl” in high school. I kept to myself and played video games and read fantasy books. Even if a good-looking guy took interest in me, my personality turned him off immediately.
I don’t cheer, I don’t play field hockey and I don’t post booty pics on my Instagram. I don’t have a fake ID, I don’t drink, I don’t go to parties…basically I’m not the kind of girl that guys go for, and as a result, have been dragging around this V-card since I was old enough to get wet for a guy. And last night after what happened? When I came home, I was soaked.
I dreamt about Jackson. It was like lucid dreaming or Inception; instead of just giving me his number and telling me to call him for self-defense lessons last night, he took me home to his place, slowly undressed me, caressed me with his strong hands and made love to me all night. I woke up this morning sweating with my hand between my legs.
My reaction to Jackson is unlike anything I’ve felt before. Maybe that’s because he’s not like any man I’ve ever met before. It’s like he has this power within him. He wanted me; he made that obvious, but he didn’t want to make me feel small or threatened, even though I knew he could take me if he wanted. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me, take me as his, but he just gave me his number and told me he would train me in self-defense if I wanted. He was a gentleman, but part of me wishes he wasn’t.
I pull out my phone and scroll to his newly-created contact.
Jackson (Your Savior)
I have to laugh. I didn’t see that last night when he put it in. Clearly it’s just a joke, but it’s also right; he’s definitely my savior.
My thumb hovers over the dial button, and my heart rate increases again. I want to call him, but I’m terrified. Why would a guy like him be interested in me? What’s he going to do when he finds out I’m just a lame introvert who’d rather read about elves and goblins or try the latest Switch game when he wants to go out to a club or a bar or whatever?
“No. I can’t call him. Don’t be stupid, Merrell.”
Feeling self-conscious as hell, I get up and go over to my desk mirror. My mom’s right; I do look like shit. Reaching for my make-up brush, I set my phone down, and just as I do, it buzzes, causing me to jump. I glance down and see Jackson’s name on the caller ID.
What are the chances!? He calls me right after I chickened out calling him? I don’t answer. I can’t. I’ll just let him leave a message and see what he has to say, then I’ll call him back…
…maybe.
I let it finish ringing, then pick it up and unlock it to check if he left a message, but as I do, it rings again. Persistent. It makes me feel good. Despite my heart rate, I have to answer this time.
“Hello?”
His voice from the other side makes me instantly blush.
“Merrell, it’s Jackson,” he tells me.
“Yeah, I saw your contact come up on my screen,” I reply. “Pretty funny, mister.”
“I’m even funnier in person,” he tells me. “Listen, I scheduled you a self-defense lesson for tonight at seven.”
“You—you did?”
“Yup,” he says. “We’ve got to make sure that the next time something like that happens to you, you’re prepared. I’ll text you the address. See you then.”
“Jackson, wait—!”
He hangs up. I should call him back and tell him that he can’t just do something like that and assume I’ll go along with it. But honestly, I want to go. Setting my phone down, I look over to my closet. I don’t own a single item of athletic clothing.
What am I going to wear?
3
Jackson
“Private lesson, eh? Gonna teach her how to take a dick?”
Eyes blazing, I glance up at Tucker, who’s just coming out of the shower.
“Watch your mouth,” I tell him.
“Easy, big fella,” he says, putting up his hands. “I don’t know the bitch.”
“Don’t call her that,” I growl, getting up in his face. “Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time, man?”
Tucker just grins; he’s a complete narcissist and overly-confident prick. He doesn’t fight; he just weight-trains at the gym and is so proud of his body that I wouldn’t be surprised if he jacks off at night while looking at himself in the mirror.
“Sorry, bro,” he chuckles. “I didn’t realize she was your wife already.”
Shaking my head, I leave the locker room and head out into the gym, which is almost empty; there’s just two more sparring partners finishing up. By the time Merrell gets here, it should be just the two of us.
I feel stupid admitting thi
s, but I’m actually antsy about seeing her. I wish she’d just get here and get it over with; all this waiting around is making me nervous actually, which is a feeling I never thought I’d feel with a woman. And boy what a woman she is…
“There he is!” I hear Micky’s voice behind me and turn to see him walking through the door, wearing his navy-blue peacoat as he always is, flanked by two of his thugs. “The Boston Blur! How the hell you doing, Jackie?”
He makes me sick; Micky’s a gangster bleeding Southie dry, but right now he’s my only way out of this hellhole, so I have to put up with him.
“How are ya, Micky?”
He stops in front of me and smiles, hands in his pockets. “You haven’t forgotten your job, have you?”
The way he talks to me—like I’m his dog—makes me want to break his nose.
“Memory like a steel trap, Mick,” I say simply.
“That’s a good boy,” he says. He pulls out one hand and pats me on the shoulder. “Just wanted to come by and make sure you hadn’t forgotten your station in life.”
Yeah, I want to break his jaw too.
“Haven’t forgotten, Mick.”
“That’s a good boy,” he says, patting me on the cheek like a Mafia gangster. “You’ll be able to retire to Thailand if you want! Get yourself three wives and live like a king!”
He turns to his boys and I watch them go. Once he’s safely out the door, I drive my fist into the closest heavy bag. I can’t get out of this MMA world quick enough.
Retire to Thailand? Fuck that; I’m going to retire with Merrell. She gave me a taste last night—barely even a taste—and I’m already addicted. An angel who turned my life upside down; that’s what she is. Letting her out of my sight last night was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I’m praying she comes tonight and doesn’t stand me up.
I check the clock: it’s 6:50. The sparring partners finish up and head for the locker rooms. I go over to the corner and grab my water bottle, and that’s when the front door opens and she walks in.
Goddamn…
As soon as I see her, I’m so hard that I don’t even know how I’m going to be able to give her this lesson. Tucker may be a dickhead, but maybe he’s right; maybe this lesson needs to be about teaching her something else.
“Hey,” she says softly with a little wave of her hand. She’s wearing a pair of sweat pant material shorts that are stretched to the max around her booty, which I can see from the front, and is enough to make a grown man cry. She’s got an athletic T-shirt on too and a sports bra, but that can’t hide her incredible tits that I want to slide my dick between. It’s all brand new too; she went shopping for this.
“Hey to you,” I tell her, letting my eyes wander across her dangerous curves as she walks over to me. She stops before me and opens her mouth to speak, but I lean in and she stops. It’s almost like I’m going to kiss her—I want to—but I just reach around the back of her shorts and tear the price tag off. Merrell immediately blushes, causing my cock to pulse with lust.
“Yeah, I just bought them,” she giggles. “Make fun of me all you want.”
“I would never make fun of you,” I tell her. “Not in a pair of shorts like that.”
“Stop!” she protests. “You’re going to make me blush.”
“You’re already blushing.” I grin. I’m eating this up and so is she. Fuck, I want her. I’m upside down and sideways for this girl. Her presence has me feeling like a completely different man. Her eyes are heaven; her hips meant for breeding.
“Well, don’t make it worse!”
“Okay,” I reply with a grin. Looking at her body, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this lesson, but I’m sure as hell going to start by teaching her how to grapple.
“So you’re some kind of tough guy?” she asks. “Is this your gym?”
“Wait, you don’t know who I am?” I ask.
Merrell shakes her head.
“Jackson Santino? The Boston Blur?”
Merrell just shrugs. I’m astonished, but I’m actually pleased. The fact that she doesn’t know who I am makes the chances or her being just another gold-digger basically none. If she’s not lying, that is…
“Never mind,” I tell her. Best to let her remain ignorant for the time being. “Let’s get started.”
“So…how do we do this?” she asks. “Teach me how to throw a punch?”
She puts both hands up in front of her face like she thinks a boxer might do, and I fucking melt inside. What is going on with me?
“No,” I reply. “Honestly, if you fight a man and try to win a fist fight, you’re going to lose.”
“Oh, am I?” she replies, semi-indignant.
“You are,” I tell her firmly. “What we need to do is teach you how to grapple. Teach you how to fight dirty.”
“Dirty, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Please don’t do that, I think. Don’t distract me.
“Okay, mister,” she says as she ties her hair back, giving me a better view of her beautiful doll-face. “Show me what you’ve got.”
It’s been a while since I trained anyone, and a big long never since I’ve trained a girl, but I’m dying to get my hands on her, so I jump right in by showing her what to do when a guy tries to grab her. I show her how to maneuver her body correctly, how to break a hold by going for the wrist, how to just straight up position herself to knee a guy in the balls, and how to take him down using her legs.
“You might not have the upper-body strength to fight a man,” I explain, “but if you’ve got strong legs and can get on top or maintain side control, you can subdue a guy so long as he’s not too much bigger than you are.”
“Like you?” she asks. Her face glistens under the sweat and her chest rises and falls with each breath. I try not to stare at her tits.
“Yeah, you couldn’t overpower me,” I tell her. “No chance.”
“None, huh?” she asks. “What about if I did this?”
She moves forward quickly and flails her hands in my face like she thinks she’s Bruce Lee or something. We both burst out laughing.
“Yeah, even if you did that,” I tell her. Still laughing, I look down and wipe the sweat from my eyes, and as I do, Merrell lunges in, leaps onto me, wraps both of her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.
“Oh, shit!” I gasp as she tightens her grip. I stumble backwards and fall flat on my back on the mat. My heart rate skyrockets and my cock jerks beneath my compression shorts. She leans in and squeezes as hard as she can with her arms and legs, and I feel the soft warmth of her tits pressed against my chest. She caught me off guard, and my arms are pinned at my sides. It was a good move, but I’m still too strong for her.
4
Merrell
Jackson’s body is rock solid beneath me, and as I squeeze his waist with my legs and do everything I can to keep him pinned on the mat, I feel a bulge press against the thin fabric covering my pussy—my wet pussy.
He’s hard, I think proudly, causing a rush of excitement to ripple through me like a hot wave. I’ve never made a guy hard before—not that I know of—and I sure as hell have never felt a dick before, even through two layers of fabric.
I feel a sudden rush of power, and it’s not because I managed to get him on the ground with my surprise attack; it’s because of what’s going on beneath his shorts right now.
My victory is short lived. In the blink of an eye, Jackson has his arms free. The next second, I’m on my back on the mat beneath him. My legs may still be wrapped around his waist, but his hands are on my wrists and my arms are pinned back behind my head.
Wow…
His size is so much more apparent from this angle. The veins of his biceps are bulging and his shoulders are rippling from the force he’s using to pin me down. His beautiful blue eyes blaze as he glares down at me with a mixture of victory and…desire…
I can tell that he wants me; I just can’t process it. No guy has ever wanted me—especially a guy
like Jackson. It’s almost too much to handle, and when he leans in and presses his body against mine, I feel his bulge again between my legs and melt for him.
“That wasn’t fair,” he grins. His jaw is perfect. Sharp and strong.
“It’s a fight,” I counter. “Fights aren’t fair.”
“This is a lesson,” he corrects me.
“Well, I got the better of you,” I reply.
“For a second.”
“For a second.”
Thoughts I shouldn’t be having are racing through my mind. How old is he anyway? He’s definitely not my age and I highly doubt he’s in his early twenties. Is it wrong that that makes this so much hotter?
“It was good though,” he says. “You’ve got great legs.”
“W—what?” I stammer.
“I mean…strong legs,” he replies, still grinning as he corrects himself. “Tight grip.”
“Not bad, right?” I smile.
“Being tight?” he asks. “No, I’d say that’s a good thing.”
My blush is so strong it hurts. I turn my head away from him and laugh, but he reaches down and takes my chin in his hand and then I’m being turned back to him and staring into those incredible eyes again.
Is it just me, or has his bulge gotten bigger? It’s hard to believe I’m having this effect on a man as gorgeous as Jackson, but there’s no denying what he’s got pressed up against me. And there’s also no denying him when he leans down and presses his lips against mine.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, it feels like a thousand fireworks going off at the same time. My eyes close and a moan slides from my lips as he kisses me hungrily. I can feel the desire in every little movement of his mouth, and when he presses his tongue between my lips, I go on fire for him.
I want to reach out and touch him, feel the muscles of his arms, but he has mine pinned over my head, so I arch my back up off the mat and press my body against his. I’m suddenly aware of my every curve—of my breasts against his chest, of my legs around his solid core, of the way we’re gently grinding against each other.
