Sucker Punch (The Submission Fighter Book 2)

by Sophia Hampton

  Two of the girls excitedly planted large, lipstick-stained kisses on his cheeks in thanks as they headed back to the line. The last one, a long, dark-haired, tattooed girl lingered, as she approached Micah directly.

  “It must be so nice getting all of this attention,” she said in a sultry voice. Her lips were painted a particular shade of red that made him think of blood and roses. Her perfume hit his nose almost instantly, as he leaned in to hear her continue. “I can give you the best of attention.”

  Micah smiled at her, as she looked up at him with her black painted eyes. She placed her arm around his waist and her hand rested low on his abdomen. Her fingers, like spiders, inched downwards towards the seams of his black shorts, as he turned inwards to face her directly.

  He hesitated, as he watched her lick her lips with a tongue so long and red that his heart rate skyrocketed. With a sigh, he leaned closely towards her face and calmly replied, “Not tonight.”

  She pretended to pout, her eyelashes flashing before him. “Too bad. I would let you do anything.” She lowered her voice once more and said, “Anything you wanted.” The woman remained, her hand still low around the waistband.

  “Maybe another time.” He turned, releasing her and heading back into the locker room behind the security guards and his crew. The sound of cameras clicking, journalists shouting questions, and the women squealing disappeared with the slamming of room.

  In his head, he repeated his line to himself over and over: Maybe another time… Maybe another time… What the fuck was that? Anger and resentment built up. He could have had that woman easily. He could have taken her back to his home or followed her to her place—hell, he probably could’ve just brought her down to the locker rooms. And he wouldn’t have had to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t have to sneak out of her apartment at the early morning hours to avoid being seen by photographers or nosey reporters. He could leave her behind like a discarded piece of trash when he was done.

  That’s when it hit him: he felt entitled to some luxury. What exactly was he fighting for, anyway? Sure, the extra money was nice, but his budding celebrity allowed for something more. And he was sacrificing all that for someone he couldn’t even name as his girlfriend.

  “That was some show, kid.” Dean’s voice echoed from behind his back.

  Micah scowled. “What show?”

  “With those girls. And the media—all of it. You’re lookin’ like a true champ.”

  “A ‘champ?’” Micah demanded. “I look like a fucking jackass, Dean! This isn’t being a ‘champ.’ This is being a fucking tool!”

  Dean narrowed his eyes and smacked Micah atop his head. “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he scolded. “You know this is the way it works. I shouldn’t have to say it again.”

  “So, what? I’m fightin’ for this shit?” Micah questioned.

  Dean sighed. “I don’t know, Micah,” he said wearily. “What are you fightin’ for?”

  The two stared at each other for a long beat, each looking like he might take a swing at the other. Instead, Micah grabbed his bag and left through the back door. In the corner of the private parking lot, his driver was waiting passively, smoking a cigarette and listening to the post-fight commentary that was still going on inside. When he saw Micah approach, he quickly put out his cigarette and reached into his car to turn down the volume.

  As he opened the back door for his client, saying, “Great fight, sir.” Micah nodded towards him and slipped in the door. He told the driver to bring him home. He watched from his backseat, as the crowds dispersed out onto the streets, excitedly chatting away about the night’s winners and losers.

  Normally, a post-win celebration would be full of excitement. But tonight was different. The weight of the night felt more like a loss than a victory. No fancy dinner, no night with a warm body next to him, and no feeling like the champion he was. Everything instead felt so settled. He was going home, going home to a woman who wasn’t there fully in his life.

  ***

  He found Alice sleeping deeply on the couch. She mumbled to herself, tossing and turning under the light throw blanket she had covered herself with. Her face contorted, as she continued to dive deeper into a nightmare. He wasn’t sure if he should wake her up and save her from the mess her mind had made up. She looked so sincerely helpless, especially how her arms traveled the edges of the couch as if they were trying to grasp onto something or someone.

  Instead, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. The scotch was dark and smoky, as the strong flavor hit his lips and throat. A pool of warmth hit his stomach, and he let out an audible sigh. He took his glass and the bottle back into the living room, sitting on a chair opposite of the sleeping Alice.

  Turning on the television, he headed straight for the sports channels. His fights had rarely been televised until recently. It was a trip to see himself on video outside of a training demonstration or a fight recap viewed in Dean’s office. But tonight, each sports channel was playing his vicious knockout blow over and over again.

  After several viewings, Micah paused the station and rewound the video. Instead of focusing on his body or the man falling before him, he looked into his own eyes. He looked completely different, almost transformed. His eyes were darker than usual and the veins in his neck jutted out wildly. His body heaved under the weight of his breath. The announcer’s voice played over the clip, each time remarking at the “monster in the ring.”

  Alice could see where they were coming from with that comment. Micah’s television had awoken her. Curled up under the blanket nearly to her eyes, she watched the clip just as intently as Micah. Each time he rewound the video, Micah became more of the monster they claimed he was. He wasn’t the same person as the one that had held her at night, who had planted kisses upon her forehead, who had ran to her door from miles away to beg for her back.

  Micah turned the live television back on, now watching the post-match interviews. As he had predicted, not much of him was shown answering the press. Instead, his shots were of him signing autographs and talking closely to the vixen with the long black hair, trolling her hands on the folds of his shorts.

  Alice forced herself to stand, unable to watch anymore. Micah was so transfixed that he didn’t register the woman walking towards him, gently grabbing the remote from his hands, and turning off the television. She moved in front of him, ready to fight. But instead, his long arms reached out grasping her tiny waist. She fell into his lap, but he steadied her by gripping forcefully onto her arms and legs.

  He ran his hands roughly up and down her back where her skin was exposed from her tan tank top. His hands circled around her ponytail, wrapping the strawberry-blonde hair around his fingers and then using it to pull her head to his. She let out a small groan, as he forced his mouth onto hers. Her lips opened a bit, just enough for him to slip his tongue in. He could feel her attempt to pull away, but he continued to push her back into him. He took her wrist and placed her hand on his chest. When she didn’t move its position, he again took charge moving it lower down his abdomen.

  Alice wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Micah’s force was too much, yet insatiable. She played along, figuring out what moves he wanted her to make and how he wanted her to make it. With her hand at his pants, she began to undo the button. He let go of his grasp around her mouth and moved to her neck and shoulders, biting the soft parts of her body.

  As she began stroking at his cock, she whispered to him, “Micah, let’s go to the bedroom.” She began to get up, but he pushed her back down, this time taking her to the ground as quickly as she had stood. Her head hit the carpet first followed by her body. She let out a pained yelp, as her leg knocked the wood coffee table. But it didn’t stop Micah. He stood over her with a face full of the same emotion from when he took his competitor out in the knockout blow.

  He licked his lips as he straddled her. Lifting her head and chest off the floor, he pulled her tank top off of her body. She used her hands to cov
er her bare chest, not understanding if she should feel shame or desire in this moment. He watched her shivering, as he removed his own top and slipped his pants off. Her black shorts came next, as he used one hands to slide them off of her hips and legs.

  He went back in, hands first. He touched her skin lightly and then followed it by his lips, alternating kisses and small nibbles. He played with her nipples, rubbing the nubs with the rough side of his thumb and palms. She let out a gasp as he moved his mouth to them, first sucking lightly, then using his teeth with increasing pressure. All the while, his cock grew hard against her bare skin, sending shivers down her spine.

  As her breath began to speed up, and her hips pressed into his own, he stopped suddenly. Looking down at her, he removed himself from straddling her. Without warning, he flipped her over on to her hands and knees. He used his hand to push her head and shoulders to the ground.

  She knew what was coming next, yet she still pleaded, using his name, “Micah, please.” She felt him enter. It was different than before. Instead of easing himself in, his girth burst into her folds. He pushed and pulled quickly. His hands resting on her back turned into fists as he sped up wildly. He grunted harshly like an animal, as he moved his hands to steady her and she attempted to slow him down.

  His other hand grabbed for her ponytail, again yanking it back. Her head lifted as she stared straight ahead. She screamed as he went further, deeper into her. There was pain and madness, yet she wanted him to finish. She wanted him to finish the job. She began to rock with him, his hand now at her neck using her shoulders to guide her to his rhythm.

  He needed more. He needed to feel deeper inside of her. As he continued to pulsate, he grabbed her knees and lifted them around his waist. Her screams faded into the noise and energy. It only made his desire greater. He slammed himself into her harder than ever before, over and over and over again until he felt it. Like his glass of whiskey, it warmed his body, building up all of his emotions and needs into one big ball that he released into her. His nails dug into her legs as he came in her, grunting with the sweet release. He continued rocking, slowing down till he could go no more.

  She waited for him to pull out of her, but instead he remained. She eased herself away, using her arms to move him out of her as she inched up the carpet. He lowered her legs back to the ground, allowing her enough space to move slowly away from where he was kneeling and panting.

  Her body leaned against the leather couch as she drew her legs to her knees. Every inch of her body tingled in a dull, distant pain, a completely different feeling than ever before. The two looked at one another unsure of what to say or do next. Alice stood, grabbing her tank top and shorts from the ground next to Micah. She slipped them back on and headed towards the bedroom.

  He followed soon after. Without any words, the two lay down against each other. He spooned against her back, an arm folded up against her chest and enveloping her body. He fell asleep first. She could feel his breath against her hair and neck. But for Alice, there would be no more sleep. She instead remained awake, counting down the hours till morning.

  Chapter 7: Playlists

  The apartment door stood like a barrier between her old life and the one she had left behind at Micah’s place. She took a deep breath in as she began to search her keychain for the door’s key. She fumbled around with the lock, her hand shaking a bit as she finally got the mechanism to move. The door swung up, and she walked in on her tip toes.

  As she had predicted, Caroline was nowhere near up and awake this early in the morning. At six in the morning, she had only returned from work several hours earlier. Alice couldn’t help but walk to her roommate’s door to check to see if she was there. The roar of Jace’s snore and the pile of clothing around the apartment’s living room all were positive signs that Caroline had indeed come home after her shift.

  Alice headed backwards towards her own room. It had been almost a week since she was last there. She had practically abandoned the place, instead seeking refuge with Micah. But as the days passed it became clear to Alice that it might be Micah who needed the space. He had grown distant since his first invitational fight. With round two of the quarterfinals coming up, he had used it as an even better excuse to take longer nights at the gym, to spend his nights watching old fight videos of his competitors, and to have little engagement with Alice.

  She had tried to do her own thing, too. She once again focused on work, picking up shifts here and there. After finding out what Micah had done to Pete, she felt she owed it to her boss to show him that he had nothing to fear with her. So, Alice showed up on time every single day with a smile on her face and a positive attitude for every situation. It had helped pass the hours, but what she had longed to do was to return back to her apartment and finish her paintings.

  Now, with the paint in front of her and the early morning light shining in on her bedroom windows, she was at a loss of what she wanted to accomplish with her artwork. The piece she had begun almost a month ago still sat unfinished in her room. Its shape and vision were still unknown to her. It wasn’t a landscape or even a portrait. It was an expression, one that she hoped she could get out as she explored the rough canvas.

  Alice grabbed her brushes and placed her headphones in her ears. She selected a playlist of several pieces of classical music, as she attempted her best to focus her energy. The sounds of the violins and the swelling drums were soothing, but she found herself further lost. Her brushstrokes felt off—almost too gentle for the vision she had in mind.

  She stopped, switching her music to the playlist Micah had put on her phone a while back. It was a list of tracks he listened to before he went into a match. It was a mixture of the thumping bass in hip hop and the steady drums of rock. She found herself swaying to the pulsing music, her head nodding with the beat. Her hands steadied as she attacked the painting. It was unlike any painting exercise she had ever done. Instead of diligently filling in the colors, she splattered and spewed paint carelessly. The red, black, and golds mixed and mingled further as lines became even more blurred.

  Hours passed, yet Alice remained content at her easel and chair. Her music had drowned out the sound of Caroline and Jace waking early in the afternoon to make their breakfast. She had even missed the messages from Micah checking in from his practice at the gym. Instead, Alice had become transfixed on finishing the work she started.

  Alice jumped. The room of her bedroom door swung open. She removed her headphones, as Caroline stood waiting for her response for something she had said.

  Caroline repeated, “What are you doing here?”

  “The last I checked, this was still my apartment. I’m here for my day off.” Alice was in no mood to have to justify her presence in her own bedroom. “That gonna be a problem?”

  Caroline walked further into the room, looking around at the bed and covers. “As long as he isn’t here.”

  Alice fumed. “And what if he was? He’s as welcome as Jace—or whatever random dirtbag you brought home last night.” Alice had never been this bold, especially with Caroline. Her roommate was the sassy, outspoken one with the tongue that couldn’t be controlled. Alice had seen her wordy mouth get her in trouble in the past. But now the scene was flipped as Caroline backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Alice listened for what Caroline had in store next. But, instead of coming roaring back, she could hear Caroline mutter something to Jace and grab her high heel shoes. The sound of the clips of the heels grew louder as she walked the length of the apartment’s old wooden floors. And then, without warning, the two left the apartment, slamming the main door behind them.

  Now completely alone, she returned to her painting and the blasting music. She added more black and red, pushing the paint hard into the edges of the canvas. As she contemplated her next move, she stepped back to take a look at her hours of work. Drips of watery paint were running down the side of the easel and pooling at the floor. The mess stained her small blue area rug. />
  She cursed when she noticed the mess she had made on her own floor. Alice ran into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of paper towels and napkins soaked in water from the sink. On her hands and knees, she carefully soaked up the colorful liquid from the rug’s fabric. The water cleared the black mess quickly, but the red and gold dried paint had refused to budge.

  As she threw her paper towels away, she searched the apartment for something to protect her rug even further. She found a stack of old newspapers in the trash and a handful of junk mail on her dining room table. As she went through the envelopes, looking for anything that could be trashed, she noticed a yellow post-it note standing out from the white of the mailers. The masculine handwriting was messy and illegible, but Alice could make out most of the note:

  David Sumpton

  MMA Backstage

  555-542-2149

  Johnny Spears

  Fighting Chance Press

  jspears498@fcpress.com

  D. Meyers

  555-577-9911

  The pit in Alice’s throat grew larger and larger, as she glanced at the papers the note was stuck to. There were printouts of images of Micah. In one of them, he was surrounded by young groupie girls, another one showed him leaned in close to the girl she had seen on television after his last match. The captions read, “Micah: MMA’s Newest Playboy.”