Jag (Diablo's Throne MMA Book 2)

by HJ Bellus

  He doesn’t hesitate to drag me behind him. The man doesn’t even flinch. He can out power me in every way. That fact should send me running to the hills. The thought has never crossed my mind.

  “Jag, stop. Let’s discuss our options here.” I dig in my Converse, gaining a bit more traction to halt his movement.

  He stops and turns to me with an evil glint in his eyes and a damn megawatt grin that melts me. “Sunni, don’t make me toss your sweet ass over my shoulder and walk three city blocks.”

  “You wouldn’t.” I prop my free hand on my hip.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”

  “I have two left feet and no rhythm. How about a movie?”

  He reacts so fast I’m unable to process. He bolts toward me in a crouched position. My pelvis connects with his shoulder, and in less than three seconds, I’m up and over his shoulder. I squeal and squirm only to receive a swift swat on my ass.

  “Jag!” My palms slap his ass.

  The roar of his laughter makes me smile.

  “Should’ve listened, Sunni.” He palms my ass that’s saluting the sky.

  “You are one of the most infuriating men I’ve ever met.”

  “Darling, the term is charismatic with a side of a big cock.”

  I don’t even attempt to banter with Jag. He’s the trump, and I’m merely the jack of diamonds in this situation. After a block and a half of Jag eating up long strides of the sidewalk, I give in.

  “Put me down. I’m in, even if you’re forcing me to make a fool out of myself.” I tap his ass for good measure.

  Jag stops at the next crosswalk and puts me down with ease. My fingers go to the sloppy, messy bun on top of my head, struggling to straighten it out, and then down to the hem of the shorty jean shorts, tugging them down to where they belong.

  When I look up to Jag, he’s standing back, one leg cocked out to the side with a hand propped on the top of his head keeping his messy hair in place. I take him in, knowing how amazing it would feel to run my hands over the shaved sides.

  “You’ll learn soon, little grasshopper.” He takes a step toward me. “I’m always right, and I always get my way.”

  “Shut your mouth when you’re talking to me.” I shove his chest, joining his playful banter.

  The light on the stoplight signal alerts us it’s time to cross. I take off sprinting across the zebra stripes on the asphalt-cracked road. My Cons pound as fast as they can. I hear Jag not far behind me. I give it all I have. It doesn’t even compare to Jag.

  Hands reach around my waist as I hit the curb on the opposite end of the crosswalk. I’m tugged back into a hard chest. Jag doesn’t let go, keeping me clutched to him.

  “Nice try, Grasshopper.” His breath tickles my every sensation.

  “You don’t give me many options.” I melt back into him, giving over to the power also known as Jag.

  “Good girl.” He nibbles on my neck as he strides forward.

  My head relaxes back on his steady shoulder. “I wasn’t lying about not being able to dance.”

  “I’m the motherfucking king of the world. I got you.”

  Those words weaken my hesitance and heart. This man is a force to be reckoned with. He’s healing me and doesn’t even know it.

  “Your face.” It comes out as a statement but blanketed in question.

  He continues striding down the sidewalk. His lips are pressed to the nape of my neck when he murmurs, “Bad memories.”

  I let it go. I can’t question or badger him when I’ve offered nothing about my past. I pick a card from his deck and banter back with humor.

  “Do you need me to kiss your boo-boos better?”

  “Fuck yes.” He grumbles into my neck, not missing a beat. “From my face down to my toes, but right between my legs, there’s a major ache. Maybe a massage with both of your hands. Then finish it off with your lips.”

  I suck at his own game. I burst out in laughter, not able to come back with anything. It’s clear you can’t give this guy an inch, or he’ll take a mile.

  “We are here.” He turns me to the front of the bar with gyrating music streaming from it. “Time to salsa, baby.”

  “Like chips and salsa? I can do that!” A spark of hope flares up inside of me. I know the boy can put down the tacos and has a sense of humor, so maybe he was stringing me along the entire time.

  Chapter 7

  Jag

  I’ve never felt so fucking light in my life. After my entire tribe stood behind me after Boss made me face reality, I’m one empowered motherfucker. The first person I wanted to go to was Sunni. Shit, if I had the energy the night after my reality check, I’d have been on her doorstep if I knew where she lived. I didn’t, and I was drained.

  But you can bet your sweet butt cheeks I was at her work the next day. Thank fuck Jerry has been a loyal fan and paid me a huge favor. Goes to show you never know who you can depend on to be in your corner. The lesson here, folks—don’t be a dick even if you have one.

  “Like chips and salsa? I can do that!”

  I can’t help it. I’m known to keep the best poker face out of everyone I know. There’s just something about Sunni and her innocence that undoes me.

  “Yeah, baby.” I guide her into the bar.

  It doesn’t take her long to realize she’s been fooled. My attention isn’t focused on the chaos of the bar but on Sunni’s reaction. I watch her eyes go big, and her fingers fiddle at the hem of her shorts as she takes in the action. The Spanish music streams from every corner of the bar. Skirts and body parts twirl and spin across the dance floor. Men fling women with a simple flick of their wrist, leading their partner in a perfected dance.

  “Tequila first?” My lips connect to the shell of her ear. My fingers glide down to intertwine with hers. Sunni stills from fidgeting with the hem of her shorts and embraces my touch. Fucking holding her hand is my favorite. Jesus, this woman has turned me into a douche. I’ve never favored holding hands until I met her.

  She answers with a nod of her head. I keep a tight hold of her, guiding her to the bar. I nod to the bartender, gaining his attention right away. He knows me well. Even though there is a mile-long line, he takes my order first.

  I hold up two fingers, and he knows what it means. Moments later, the shots, salt shaker, and lime wedges are placed in front of us. Sunni doesn’t notice as she studies the scene swarming us. The bartender nods to me, knowing I’m good to cash out before I leave tonight. Hell, they won’t even charge me, knowing it’s good for business with me being here. It’s never stopped me from paying. I know my roots. I’ve been grounded in them for years.

  Don’t want to, but I drop my hand from Sunni’s exposed abdomen and grab a shot, bringing it to her mouth. The stout scent of the tequila grabs her attention. She takes the glass in her free hand. I busy myself with the salt and lime while she tips her head back, downing it in one gulp.

  My lips connect with her cheek when her head tips back. My cock pulses behind my boxers, wanting nothing more than to kick free and fill her mouth. Then devour her sweet-ass little banging body.

  I restrain myself, holding out my fist for her to lick the lime and salt off. She shakes her head with all the bitterness going down. I feel her body shudder against mine. I bring the next shot to her lips, not knowing if she wants another or not.

  Sunni’s head relaxes further back onto my shoulder. Her free hand roams down my stomach right to the cock monster karate kicking the shit out of my zipper. She palms the length of my dick while opening wide to take the shot.

  Her move knocks me off kilter. My mind goes hazy, leaving me with only the ability to think with my head down yonder. She takes the second shot with no lime or salt, continuing to stroke me through my jeans.

  The band begins playing “Yo También” by Marc Anthony. I grab her hand from my cock and spin her around to face me. First and last time in history, folks, you will ever see me do that.

  “Time to salsa, beautiful,” I tell her in S
panish.

  Her eyes grow wide. The flush on her cheeks flames. I keep myself from glancing down at her ample cleavage peeking out the top of her cut-off t-shirt. She’s simple in every way that turns me on. Before she has much time to think, I tug her onto the dance floor. She resists it until we are dead center, swarmed by other moving bodies.

  I love to dance. I have a body that naturally moves to the rhythm, whether it’s country, Latino, or hard rock. It’s my magic in the ring. I anticipate the next move and am always on top of it.

  Sunni goes with it, allowing me to swing her around the dance floor. I fucking smile like an idiot the entire time, because she wasn’t lying. She’s a heap of flying and flailing limbs but doesn’t stop trying to keep up. By the second song, she manages to add a little sway to her hips.

  It’s the genuine and raw smile playing out on her face that has me entranced. Her soft curves pressing into me ignite me to continue. She steps on the tip of my sneaker, elbows me in the ribs, and finally tosses her head back and laughs, her wavy hair cascading back behind her. I hold on to her tight, doing my best to lead.

  We dance and dance until we are both breathless and a hot sticky mess. It’s exactly what I needed. To ground myself in the now, in what is known. Reassure myself in the foundation that built me. It seems this little vixen is helping me peel away all the layers.

  The singer on stage gives Sunni a shout-out as we exit the dance floor. I shake my head, knowing he was just as hypnotized by her natural beauty and shitty dance moves as I was. I give him a quick jerk of my hand, acknowledging their great music. A dozen or so women with tits and ass on display paw at my biceps as we weave to the bar. They have no fucking decency and try to get at me. It’s on me, though. They know what Jag is all about, or should I say used to be all about.

  Jesus, I’ve lost my mind over a woman I know very little about.

  “Water,” I holler to the bartender then turn to Sunni. “What do you want to drink?”

  She licks her lips and smiles. “A Shirley Temple, please.”

  “A fucking what?” I ask.

  “A Shirley Temple.”

  The bartender hears her over the roar of the band and crowd. Soon an ice water and red drink are placed in front of us. I grab Sunni’s free hand after our drinks are served and guide her to a private section. The music is still thumping, but it’s cooler, and you can hold an actual conversation.

  “What in the hell did you order?” I ask her as we settle into sleek black leather couches.

  She answers by placing the straw against my lips, urging me to sip with the nod of her head. I obey. It’s sweet. Real fucking sweet, like I imagine her pussy tasting.

  “You like?” She tilts her chin. “They were my favorite growing up. I limit myself to one a week because they are so full of sugar.”

  I set my water down on the table, not breaking eye contact with Sunni. She stares at me with intrigue playing out in her doe-like eyes. I lean forward, and she doesn’t move.

  I grab her hand and bring it to my crotch. She exhales loudly when her palm connects with my steel shaft. It happens in a blur, and before I know it, I have her laid back on the couch. My hips grind into hers. Our lips are a mess of action—hungry and greedy to taste and grow drunk.

  “Jag.” Sunni breaks the kiss, arching her neck back. I take advantage of her creamy skin by running my lips up and down her exposed flesh. The temptation to sink my teeth and leave my mark on her overwhelms me. My hand goes down to her breast, palming it and stroking the budded peak pressing through her thin t-shirt.

  “Jag, I want you. So bad. So bad,” she moans, writhing underneath me.

  “Slow down, baby.” My lips glide up and down her neck.

  I trail my hand down her side, stopping at the top of her shorts. I toy with the idea while sneaking my fingers under her shorts. She licks her lips. I take it as a green light.

  “You’re so fucking wet, baby girl.” I trail my fingers through her wet folds.

  “Jag,” she begs again.

  I sink a finger into her and strum her clit with my thumb. Fuck, this girl is responsive. It’s like she hasn’t been touched in ages. Redness races up her skin as she writhes and moans beneath me. It’s her body letting me know she’s close, damn close.

  Her pussy tightens around my fingers. Sunni’s mouth opens, and I know she’s going to scream. Even though it’s a private room, I don’t trust her not to be heard. I catch her screams of ecstasy with my mouth, licking and lapping up each resounding syllable.

  Her sweet pussy strangles my fingers as she rides out her orgasm. I’m ten seconds from blowing my load in my jeans. Haven’t done that shit since I was thirteen. A loud banging on the wall centers me back into reality.

  I ease my hand out of her shorts, bringing it to my mouth. My tongue darts out, devouring her sweet honey taste. The banging sound becomes louder. I tug down her shirt and sit back. I take her with me as I settle into the cool leather couch. Sunni straddles my thick thighs, her hips still rolling, riding out the last of her pleasure.

  “Kiss me, Sunni. Taste how fucking sweet you are.” I grip her hips, guiding them in the rolling motion.

  Didn’t think it was possible for that flush to grow hotter on her cheeks, but it does. She shakes her head side to side, with her eyes snapped shut, and her loose curls swaying.

  “Don’t want to kiss me, baby girl?”

  “It’s just that…” She plants her palms in the center of my chest, keeping her eyes shut. “I’ve never done any of this.”

  My head relaxes back on the sofa as I examine her words, not being able to make sense of any of them.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  This gets her complete attention. Her eyes open, growing wide in a wild emotion. “No, I’m not. It’s just complicated.”

  I move my hands to her cheeks, forcing her to center her attention on me. The fragments of fear that play out on her features haunt me. It makes me fucking sick to think someone has hurt this sweet, innocent girl.

  “Talk to me, Sunni.”

  “I was married to a man who was awful. We had sex, but that was it.” Tears brim in her eyes. A terrorizing vibe rolls over her skin as if she’s disgusted she opened up to me. Although it was a tiny piece of information about her past, the fact is she still did.

  “Thank you.” I pull her face down to mine. “Thank you, Sunni. My birth dad had my head fucked up. Boss set me straight. It looks like we are both facing our fears.”

  She remains frozen in my lap. Her soul shivers with fear and anxiety. I wait and wait for Sunni to say something. She doesn’t.

  “You’re the sweetest of sweet honey, Sunni. I’ve never felt this push and pull with someone. You are mine.”

  I don’t wait for her to respond before slamming my mouth to hers. She doesn’t move for long moments. It doesn’t stop me. My tongue pries her plump lips apart. Sunni reacts when her addictive taste graces her taste buds. We kiss for long moments. My cock is angry, begging to get in on the action. I ignore him and spend the rest of the night kissing the hell out of this woman who seems to have trapped and tamed the manwhore.

  Chapter 8

  Sunni

  “What have I done?” I whisper to the cracked ceiling in my shitty apartment.

  I slap my forehead, groaning out loud. Jag peeled back my layers one by one, shedding the final one last night. He brought me to life with a touch. My body still zings remembering the intricate way his fingers danced over my most sensitive part.

  I told him I was married. I haven’t told a single soul that fact in four years since being on the run. Memories rush in a rapid flood…the good, the bad, the ugly. I wasn’t perfect, and neither was he. We both have our burdens of sins that rest on our chest. I had no other option but to run. My ex-husband was the king, and he played me like a well-worn puppet.

  I fling the blankets off the bed and toss my legs over the edge. The freezing wood floor bites at the bottom of my feet. My head is a mess. I love it
here in Washington. It took several long, grueling months to find a place I wouldn’t be noticed. I finally discovered Jerry and Jill, his wife, who run the diner. They didn’t blink an eye at my request to be paid under the table. The couple was in desperate need of help, and after I proved myself as a dedicated and hardworking employee, it cemented our relationship. They didn’t ask questions, and I kept my head down.

  Last night obliterated the deal. Jag is going to push for more. Soon he’ll be expecting answers from me. It’s the natural progression of a relationship. My future disappeared the day I said “I do” to Satan in human form. The choices I made crushed my life into rubble. It’s all on me.

  I walk to the bathroom, embracing the chill racing up my calves from the ice caps on the floor. It’s what I deserve to feel. The warmth and light from spending time with Jag was a short-lived vacation, and now it’s time to say goodbye to him.

  I stare at the girl looking back in the mirror at me. A slight blush still covers her cheeks, and a flicker of hope lingers in her eyes. The corners of my lips tilt up at the sight of her. I tuck the memory of her deep in my heart, willing myself to never forget her. She’s just a mere glimpse of what could have been. A taunting reminder of what never will be.

  Turning on the cold water, I scoop my palms full and splash my face, determined to wipe her away. The freezing temperatures of the water nip and bite at my skin, grounding and reminding me of what I have to do.

  I have to tell Jag we are over before we truly ever began. My heart cries out in pain like I’ve never felt at the thought of it. There’s no other choice. It’s going to be brutal but something that has to happen. It will save him in the long run. Satan himself made sure that if I ever discovered happiness that he holds the cards to tear it to shreds. I refuse to let Jag be one of the pawns in this evil fucking game.

  Warm, salty tears roll down my face as I grieve the loss that hasn’t even happened yet. Jag is out of town for the next three days. He was giddy, over-the-moon excited about an upcoming match. He’d asked for my cell phone number. I’ll never forget the shock on his face when I told him I didn’t have one. We decided on dinner after Tuesday night’s self-defense class.