Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  “That’s all I got. I wasn’t expecting company. But your noggin is more important than mine.” He checked the strap under her chin as if she were a child, just like he used to and she quivered at his casual touch. “We’re not going far, anyway. In this sun we’d burn up in no time. This one will be quick.”

  The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop herself. If there was any doubt in her mind that she had nothing but sex on the brain, it was dashed instantly. “Let’s go to the Ridge. It’s been so long since I’ve been. Do you remember how to get there?”

  He studied her face, his gaze curious and somehow more heated. “That’s where you want to go?”

  She nodded, chest tight, and brushed a stray curl back under the helmet. The look in his eyes threatened to dissolve her from the inside, but she couldn’t look away. Please, God, let him touch me when we get there.

  “Get on,” he ordered, and she swung a shaky leg over the seat behind him and pressed against his back, enjoying the sweet agony of proximity to the body that haunted her dreams.

  ***

  Alejandro couldn’t believe Ali was on his bike, snug behind him, her breasts pressed against his back. Her hands circled his waist and his breath caught at her touch. He could smell the fresh, clean scent of her shampoo and he longed to pull the helmet off her and bury his nose in her fragrant locks. He tried his damnedest to focus on the road as her thighs locked around his hips. Thank God they didn’t have far to go. Her nearness was sweet torture.

  The Ridge was what passed for a mountain just outside Arroyo Flats. Mostly it was a local teenage make-out spot, though there weren’t likely to be any teenagers there on a Wednesday morning. Already the sun blazed in the sky and the heat shimmered on the roadway in front of them as they headed for the secluded, grassy flat at the top of the peak.

  Alejandro drove gently, enjoying the feeling of Ali on the bike behind him. It felt natural to do this again, and though he knew she belonged to someone else he couldn’t help the fantasy that crept into his mind. Him and Ali, riding across the Southwest on one run after another. Ali, his old lady, wearing “Property of Shakespeare” patches on her jacket. The thought made him not only proud but hard.

  Just as quickly he shut down the fantasy. It was a fucking bike ride, not a walk down the aisle. Ali knew what was best for her, just like her mother did, and she’d gone for it. She was with the senator’s son, and she was going to marry that rich boy. She’d be safe and taken care of her whole life. The last thing she needed was his lifestyle.

  But as her hand flattened across the top of his thigh, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her again, to touch her again. No strings, no expectations, just a little something for old times’ sake. He’d seen it in her eyes in the barn. She’d sleep with him, no doubt about that. He could count on his sexual prowess even if he couldn’t count on his pedigree.

  The Ali he’d seen in the publicity photo was a plastic princess, and he’d assumed Ali had become a woman just like her mother—too good to mingle with plebes like him now that she was marrying into Texas royalty. He’d have fucked a plastic princess purely for the satisfaction of sending her back ruined to her boyfriend. It was tremendously gratifying, the thought of taking a woman places she’d never been and then dumping her back in the lap of a man who could never live up to what he’d given her. He’d done it a few times, and it stroked his ego to think there were women out there who saw his face every time they had unsatisfying sex with their boyfriends or husbands. But Ali wasn’t a plastic princess. She was as real as the wind on his face and as breathtaking as the view from the top of the Ridge.

  So knowing that, could he have a one-night stand with her? All this time trying to get her out of his head and he had been so sure he was over her. But he hadn’t expected to see her in the gas station looking like a pinup version of the girl he used to know, wearing tiny cutoffs, her hair tousled like she’d just been well fucked. And he hadn’t expected to find her in the barn like the sweet, wholesome country girl he’d always loved, smiling that amazing smile just for him.

  He didn’t think he could resist her, no matter how hard he tried.

  He didn’t think if he had her, he could stop after once.

  He didn’t think the past ten years had made a damn bit of difference to his pathetic heart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Alejandro parked the bike, Ali shook her hair out of its wet braid, fluffing it in the hot air. Dios mio, she’s gorgeous. He ached to run his fingers through those golden strands like he’d done so many times during their summer together. He longed to bury his face in those tousled curls and lose himself in the scent of her.

  “Beautiful, right?” she asked, her eyes shining, spreading her hands wide at the view.

  “Beautiful,” he agreed, not trusting himself to walk any closer to her. Watching her revel in something as simple as a pretty view he realized why he’d never stopped loving her. Ali enjoyed life so much it was impossible not to be caught up in the easygoing happiness she exuded.

  They sat on the rocks and chatted for a good hour, talking easily about their respective lives in the past ten years. This time, instead of sticking to safe subjects, Ali told Alejandro about the program, her students, the fling with the musician, and the plans she’d made with Bobby before Kip died. Alejandro spoke to her at length about club life, the dangerous work his brotherhood did, and their latest assignment in Arroyo Flats. He was pleasantly surprised at how accepting she was of his lifestyle, and he found himself telling her far more than he had planned.

  “And what about a family?” she ventured. “How do you see that fitting in?”

  His chest tightened, but he didn’t dare be honest with her. Instead he shrugged. “I don’t, at least not yet. I’ve been thinking about that a lot in the past year or so, but—” Another shrug. “It hasn’t been an issue just yet.”

  “But some of the guys do have families?”

  “Most of them have families.”

  “And you’re usually in San Antonio?”

  Alejandro nodded. “Just out past Northwest Loop 1604. The clubhouse is there, and my shop.”

  “You run your own shop?”

  “I own it. I don’t fix much these days. We do a lot of custom body work, mostly. I’ve got good managers, good guys who work for me, too.”

  She stared thoughtfully out over the view, silent for a bit. He sat just as silently on his own rock and watched her. He could see the wheels turning behind those expressive gray eyes, but he was completely unprepared for what came out next.

  “Remember the last time we were here together?” she asked shyly. “Do you remember what it was like then, to want someone so much you thought you’d burst?”

  He nodded slowly, his mouth instantly dry as he recalled that night. He’d borrowed his dad’s car and driven her up here instead of to the movies and they’d steamed up the windows for hours. Ali had apologized for her inexperience as she took him in her mouth that first time, but he’d enjoyed it more than he ever had because he loved her so much. Afterward he made her climax with his fingers, the first time she had ever come with any guy, and he did it twice more before driving her home. He kissed her goodnight puffed up with pride at the satisfied look in her eyes. Looking at her now he had the urge to see that look again.

  Ali blushed a bit darker, clearly remembering the details of that night as vividly as he did. “Why didn’t you ever ask me sooner?” she ventured, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

  “For a blow job?” he asked, incredulous.

  She laughed, a great loud easy laugh, and shook her head. “No, not for a blow job. Asked me to be your girlfriend, I meant.”

  He shuffled a bit before answering. “You had a lot of guys around. I was doing my own thing.”

  “But at that graduation party…”

  “Yeah, I know what I said. And I meant it, Ali. I always worshiped you from afar. You were my dream girl.”

  “Alejandro
, you could’ve had any girl you wanted. And did, if I remember correctly.” She poked him playfully in the ribs and he caught her by the wrist.

  “Ali.” He had to tell her now. He might not get another chance. “Ali,” he murmured, his voice husky as he tugged her closer, “there was only ever you.”

  “But you were with—” Her eyes widened as he pulled her closer still.

  “Shh.” He silenced her with two fingers on her lips. “I know what I’ve done. But there was only ever you. I loved you so fucking much, Ali, it almost ruined me. You were everything to me, and losing you was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. You need to know that. I’m sorry I never told you.”

  “You never called.” His heart ached at the pain in her eyes. He hadn’t expected that, either. “You promised, Alejandro.”

  “Ali…” he groaned. It was impossible to apologize honestly when she looked so sad. Fuck. He tried again. “We said a month but we both knew we were never going to stay together, no matter how much we loved each other. We were too young. You were in college, I was on the road… It wouldn’t have worked. It was too hard for me to break up, so I just…”

  “I never gave up on us,” she flared. “You fucking left me hanging, Alejandro. It was a pussy thing to do.”

  He was startled by her honest anger. “You’re right, I was a total pussy,” he agreed.

  “You broke my heart.” He winced as if she’d slapped him. “It took me years to get over you.”

  His fingers circled her other wrist, too, and he pulled her close. “Ali, I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face mere inches from hers, close enough to lean in and kiss her if he dared.

  “Are you?” She was so beautiful in her fierce anger that he loved her even more and hated himself all over again for breaking his promise.

  “I am.” All he could see was that tempting pout. "I'm so sorry, Ali,” he whispered against her strawberry mouth, and then he was kissing her.

  ***

  Ali tried for about three seconds to resist. When she relaxed into his arms Alejandro felt her reach around to rake her fingers down his back and her urgency spurred his own desire. He cupped her ass in his hands, cradling her against him, and they kissed like two people who’d just invented it, long and deep and breathless. He was painfully hard.

  She knew it, too, rubbing against him like a cat in heat, responding breathlessly to his kisses, pulling him in like she was starving for his touch. She was so much more responsive than he had even dreamed, lush and needy and wild. He’d been with women who through they knew what a man wanted, and maybe lots of men did like over-exaggerated passion, but he wanted the real thing. He wanted a woman who was as heated as he was, A woman who desired him on multiple levels. Not just because of the VP patch on his jacket or the gleam of his custom bike. Not just the bulges of his arms or the bulge in his pants, either, though it was always hot to see a woman beg. He wanted to wallow in a willing woman’s bed, have her completely surrender and see her sated gaze at the end that told him she was ready to do it all again with no ulterior motives. And always when he had that fantasy it was Ali’s gray eyes he saw looking back at him, her swollen mouth uttering the words he’d always wanted to hear from her.

  She groaned his name as he rained hot kisses down her jaw, across her collarbone, into the tempting, soft haven of her cleavage. He lifted her against him so his erection nudged into the space between her thighs and she writhed against him. She made whimpering noises he’d never heard a woman make, primal and desperate. He fought not to rip the tank top that separated him from her full breasts.

  But suddenly she pulled out of his grasp, covering her mouth in stunned horror. “Oh my God,” she whispered, stepping back and almost stumbling in her haste. “Oh, Alejandro… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  Fuck, Ali, don’t pull away, he silently willed her. He held up his hands to show her he understood and spoke calmly. He knew she’d been there with him in that hurricane of need just then. That wasn’t just horny, wishful thinking. But for whatever reason she’d decided she couldn’t do it. The image of Bobby Dawson’s smiling, all-American face flashed before his eyes and he felt like smashing the world to pieces.

  “Do you want me to take you home?”

  She nodded mutely, her gray eyes wide and anxious. “In a minute. I just—” She clutched her chest as if she’d just been struck and took long, deep breaths.

  “Don’t be sorry, Ali. I don’t expect anything from you.” He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it slithered through his veins, burning where it traveled.

  “I wanted to kiss you.” She spoke slowly. “It wasn’t just you. I just…”

  “Bobby.”

  “Yes. No.” She sighed. “This doesn’t make sense. I was over you. I moved on.” She looked stunned. “And then you kiss me and it's like those ten years never happened.”

  “Those ten years can still never happen.”

  “What are you doing to me? What the hell are you doing to me, Alejandro?” Her gray eyes shone just a little too brightly, and he realized she was on the verge of tears.

  “Hey.” He pulled her back against him, enfolding her in his arms. “Please don’t cry, Baby.” The old endearment slipped out before he could stop himself.

  She tipped her face up to his, gorgeous in her pain. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her home like a tired child. He wanted to strip her down and fuck her on the rock like a wild beast taking its mate. It all swirled around in his head, knocking him off balance. And she thought it was a mistake. Fuck.

  “It’s complicated,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Most things that seem complicated are really pretty straightforward. It comes down to a gut feeling. If your gut is telling you not to do this, then don’t.”

  Ali stared at him for a long while, her face miserable. Finally she spoke. “That’s the thing. My gut is telling me to get on the back of your bike with you and never look back.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Alejandro had driven Ali home without kissing her again, just as she asked. When he dropped her off he’d given her a big, tender hug but hadn’t tried anything more. He told her he was going to be in town a few more weeks and hoped they could have lunch one day before he left. Maybe with Cristina, if that was more comfortable. She’d agreed, and they’d exchanged numbers.

  All night she had feverish dreams about him. She woke on the desperate edge of a climax, imagining Alejandro’s mouth and hands on her. It was glorious torture. She wanted to invite him over to finish what he’d started at the Ridge. Instead she relieved herself efficiently with her own fingers, sobbing his name when she climaxed.

  Bobby texted her later that morning to ask if they could have dinner together. With a knot in her gut she agreed to meet him at their favorite restaurant, because she figured he’d behave himself in a public place. She knew he still thought they should get married, but she wanted to try again to make it very clear to him that he couldn’t expect her to change her values and her dreams. He couldn’t expect her to suddenly abandon everything she’d worked so hard for.

  Except that’s exactly how Bobby thought. It was the result of his easy life, the dangerous byproduct of always being at the top, of never hearing the word “no.” Though she’d had a similar (admittedly, not quite as privileged) upbringing, her job landed her squarely among the underprivileged members of their community. She had daily exposure to people with few options and couldn’t bear the thought of consciously giving away freedoms that other people had no choice but to fiercely cling to.

  Ali sighed and smoothed the hem of her dress over her thigh. She could almost predict frame for frame how the dinner would go. Bobby will come in, compliment me, be his charming Dawson self for at least the first hour. Maybe drink too much. No, scratch that—definitely drink too much. He’ll tell me he wants me back and tell me all the reasons I should go through with this wedding. Nothing I can’t handle.

  In the back of h
er mind was the Bobby who’d eaten cold takeout with her in bed, who’d nursed her when she had the stomach flu, who’d surprised her with a picnic on the first day of spring. When he walked toward her, his blue eyes warm and loving, she ached for the old Bobby but realized it had been too long since she’d seen him. The stomach flu was three years ago; the spring picnic maybe two. The loving gestures had been replaced with stress and whiskey. She was never getting the Bobby she fell in love with back.

  ***

  She’d been close with her predictions. Bobby had looked gorgeous in his French blue dress shirt and gray pants and had smiled so sweetly at her when she walked in that her resolve wavered a bit. She slid into his embrace as easily as breathing, and he kissed her cheek and whispered that she looked breathtaking before leading her to a secluded table.

  He sipped his first two whiskeys slowly and wooed her, asking after her pulled muscle and complimenting her dress. He insisted on giving her a taste of his risotto and she enjoyed the look of pleasure on his face as he spooned the creamy rice between her lips. Halfway through dinner she was tempted to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake.