by Mandi Beck
Finally able to break away from Deacon’s assault, Tam tries to sweep Deac’s legs, but has no luck, so instead dives for his waist, hoping to take him to his back. My father places his hand on my bouncing leg to try and calm me, but it’s no use. Chuckling, he just pats my knee and takes his hand away, allowing me to resume my nervous bouncing. Not wanting to take my eyes off of the fight, I glance quickly at the clock to see how much time is left in the round. Less than a minute remains, thankfully, because the last four minutes seemed like an eternity. Counting down in my head now, I shoot to my feet excitedly when Tam hits the ground hard after another well placed kick from Deacon.
When the bell rings signaling the end of the round, Deacon’s fans are on their feet screaming his name, encouragement, and of course, the random offering of sexual favors. I’m able to laugh it all off, releasing the breath I’ve been holding and look over at my dad.
“I think he took that round, don’t you?” I ask him excitedly.
He smiles down at me and I can see the love for this sport, for our fighter, shining in his eyes. Smiling back at him, I lace my arm through his and squeeze. He bends to my ear and starts speaking to me in Italian.
“I've missed seeing him like this. Fighting again and happy. I was very afraid for him when you were hurt,” he says solemnly.
Pulling back slightly to look up at him, “Afraid that they wouldn't let him come back? I thought it was only two or three fights that he missed, Daddy?” I ask, confused, feeling the guilt of him forfeiting any fights at all wash over me once again.
“No, not afraid of that, afraid for HIM. He had so much anger and hate in him, it seeped through his skin, out of every pore. Sitting there by your side it festered—I was afraid it would consume him. We all were.” Shaking his head as though clearing the image, his voice becomes animated.
“The thing that makes Deacon such a skilled fighter is that there is no rage inside of him. No demons he is battling that make him angry.”
At my raised eyebrows he continues.
“Yes, he has a quick temper and oftentimes reacts before thinking, but that is outside of the cage. In there, he’s not at war with anything. That's where he finds his peace. His fighting is pure artistry. He reminds me of you very much in that aspect. You're both artists in your own way.”
Hearing him say that makes me think that he was reading my mind just a moment ago.
“Watching him fight is no less beautiful than watching you dance. You're both made to do it, cara bella,” he tells me tenderly. “He's like a feather floating on a breeze, weightlessly riding the wind, until that air starts to swirl around him violently and the lightness of the feather no longer matters, because now in the tempest, it is a deadly, living thing. That's our Deacon. Pain is his art and he's incredibly adept at it.”
My father is old school Italian. He has a way with words that always paints such a vivid picture. A picture that has a way of invading every piece of me. Soaking in the simple beauty and truth of my father’s words, I let my eyes find Deacon. Taking in all that he is, all that he stands for, I finally admit to myself that he’s it. He’s my forever. He always has been. I don’t love him because he’s Deacon. I love him despite it. I love him simply because I’m in love with him. It seems ridiculous to just now realize something that I’m pretty sure I’ve always known.
Deacon asked me if I’m confused about my feelings for Cristiano. I’m not.
He’s thought that Cristiano and I have been reconnecting and I hate that. I think that we’ve moved past all of that for the most part, but still, it bothers me that he felt he couldn’t come to me and just ask. I would have told him that, yes, Cristiano has been trying to convince me that we are better together than I remember and that we could be that way again, but that I know the truth now.
The truth is, Cristiano lost his shine all those years ago the minute Deacon came home from the service. Cristiano had been my first in many ways, and to an extent, I might even regret that a little. Looking back now, I realize that he had just been filler. I had loved him, true, but I missed Deacon so much that I allowed myself to get swept up in Cristiano and all of his mystery and newness. He lavished me in attention and affection, and with Deacon gone, I took every bit of what he offered. We had so much in common, and he was hot, sexy, and totally different from Deacon. Added up, it all made it easy to do.
Cristiano was never it for me, he could never be it for me, because whether I had realized it or not, that had always been Deacon. I don’t want to fight Deacon or my feelings anymore. I love him and I need to tell him. I also need to figure out if I am prepared to be with him, if I can handle all that it entails. There are so many Sylvias in Deacon’s not-so-distant past. I know it will be something that I have to overcome. I’ve always been a little jealous of the women that were with him, no matter how briefly, because whether I realized the depth of my feelings or not, he’s mine. He always has been. Am I strong enough to handle them? Him?
I’m pulled out of my musings by my father nudging me and pointing to the cage and Deacon standing over in his corner waiting for the bell to start the next five-minute round. Now that everyone in the arena is sitting in their seats, we have a clear view of one another. He raises his hand and wiggles two fingers at me to remind me of our talk earlier. It’s so unlike him—he’s usually so focused—but nonetheless, I smile at him, shrugging my shoulders, mouthing, “We’ll see.”
He smirks that beautiful, confident, Deacon smirk and nods in acceptance before turning his attention back to Sonny and whatever he’s saying.
Exactly sixteen seconds into the second round, Deacon takes out Tamasino with a Superman Punch that stuns him stupid and has him flat on his back. Once they are able to get The Devil up onto his feet, the men are brought to the center of the ring where Deacon, being the gracious fighter that he is, shakes Tam’s hand and says something in the other man’s ear. The referee raises Deac’s arm in the air, a smile splitting his slightly battered face, softening him, as the announcer proclaims him to be the winner of the night’s bout by way of a knockout.
Standing on my chair so that I don’t lose sight of him as the arena explodes into thunderous applause around me, I’m able to catch his eye. I give him two thumbs up and a little fist pump that makes him smile even wider before I hold up two fingers and wink.
I look up when I hear my name from across the gym. Even raised to be heard over the noise on the floor, her voice is sexy, smooth, and hits me straight in the dick every damn time. A smile takes over my face as I watch Frankie walk toward the ring where I’ve been working on some boxing moves with Mav and Sonny. Her lips tilted up in an irresistible grin, eyes on me—all over me actually—as they sweep down my body before landing back on my face. My girl is checking me out. I glance away when I hear some fucking asshole let out a wolf whistle. I scan the gym floor to see whose ass I’m kicking. Or I guess whose ass I’m kicking first, since most of the eyes in the gym are on her. The sway of her hips under the little black skirt she has on is sexy as sin. The clicking of her heels on the wooden makeshift steps brings my attention back to her.
“Hello, my Loves,” she says before leaning against the ropes and pinning me with her blues. “Deacon, do you have a minute? I need you.”
I can’t help the wicked grin as I saunter over to her.
“Oh yeah, you need me, Princess? I thought I took care of you this morning,” I tease in a suggestive tone. “I’m more than happy to do it again, especially if you do that thing ag—”
“Deacon!” Exasperated and pink with embarrassment, she just shakes her head and starts to walk away.
My brothers try to cover up their laughter and groans as I duck in between the ropes and shoot them a smug smile.
“Frankie, I was playing, wait up!” I yell as I jog to catch her.
I’m able to snag her around the waist and swing her into me before she makes it too far. Pulling her close, I smile as her hands automatically land on my chest and glide up to
rest on my shoulders. I’ve embarrassed her, but I’m not sure if she’s pissy about it or what, so I wait her out. I have my answer when she slaps my bare skin hard enough to leave a mark.
“I don’t want your brothers knowing about what we’re doing in the bedroom, you ass! It’s awkward,” she says, her nose scrunched up in mild disgust.
All I can do is smile at how fucking silly she’s being. Especially when she’s pissy. Leaning down to whisper in her ear, my smile only gets bigger, along with my cock, when I feel her shiver as my lips graze over the delicate shell.
“Awww, Princess, no worries, yeah? They won’t say anything. Besides, we weren’t in the bedroom this morning when I was making you come all over my face, were we?” Nipping her lobe I straighten. Slapping her ass, I lean back so that my now rock hard cock is pressed into her softness. I can see into her flushed faced, eyes cloudy with desire instead of the aggravation of a moment ago.
“Now tell me what you need, baby, and it’s yours.”
Clearing her throat, she looks at me a little dazed.
“I need your help with a routine. Cristiano isn’t here this afternoon and the couple will be here so that I can teach it to them for their wedding.”
Jaw set at the mention of that fucking asshole, I just nod and follow her as she turns into her studio. Going over to the cabinet in the corner, I pull out a Frankie’s Place T-shirt and pull it on as she messes with the music. Once she finds what she’s looking for, Frankie walks to the other side of the room to where her duffel bag sits.
“Okay, so the couple has chosen to not do any specific style of dance, so I’ve been winging it, but it’s kind of hard to do by myself,” she says laughing as she rummages through her bag.
I walk over and lean against the wall next to her, watching as she slips out of one pair of fuck-me heels pulling out an even sexier pair. Indicating with a lift of my chin, I ask, “So what’s with the wardrobe change? Not that I’m complaining. You know how I love your fucking shoes, especially when that’s all you’re wearing.” She lets out a little laugh when I just smile and wink.
Dropping down to one knee and pulling her foot onto my thigh, I give her the nude heel that she took off, take the black strappy one that she hands me, and slip it on her. When I’m finished, I lean forward and place a kiss on the inside of her knee. The sight and feel of her tiny feet on me are doing nothing for my raging hard on straining to be freed. I set her foot down and reach for the other. Her soft sigh and half moan as I drag my palm down to cup her heel aren’t helping either. Once that shoe is on, I run my hands up the backs of her legs over her thighs and under her skirt until I have a handful of perfect fucking ass. I give her cheeks a firm squeeze as I pull her closer almost causing her to fall into me.
I ask again, “Why the different shoes?” Kneading her flesh, struggling with my need to lay her out right here and turn her ass pink, I concentrate on her face instead, only to realize that it isn’t any less of a distraction than her ass is.
“You’re much taller than Cristiano, so I need taller heels,” she says breathlessly, running her fingers through my hair. My hands on her clearly affecting her as much as me.
“Damn right I am.” It comes out as a low rumble. I’m not sure why that matters, but it does. Just proves that I’m bigger and badder than the tiny dancer, I guess. Laughing at my own joke, my smile falls away when she steps out of my hold, giving my hair a little tug.
“As much as I would really love to know what that smug smile is all about and think about how I have a place for that crazy talented mouth, I need to get this choreography knocked out.”
“Ahhh, you’re no fun, Frankie. I bet it’ll help get your creative juices flowing.” I waggle my eyebrows at her and try not to laugh.
“Marone, you’re killing me,” she says, shaking her head and her ass as she walks to the center of the room, crooking her finger at me to join her.
“You know how hard it makes me when you start talking to me in Italian, Princess…it all sounds dirty.” Toe to toe with her now, I look down at her and pray she keeps talking.
On her tiptoes, arms slung around my neck, she whispers in my ear, “You know damn well if I started talking dirty we would never get this done. You’d have me up against the wall before I got a whole sentence out of my mouth, non è forse vero?” She places a kiss against my jaw before putting her lips to my ear again. “Tu mi avresti già alzato la gonna e me lo avresti infilato dentro la figa.”
I groan low in my throat, my cock is now hard as stone and nudging her in the belly as she nips my lobe and laughs seductively. Frankie slaps my ass and leaves me standing there empty handed, wondering what kind of dirty she just laid on me, while she goes and puts the music on. Like nothing even happened.
“You’re mean—you know that, right?” I call after her, adjusting myself.
Her smile is all innocence, my eyes travel over her, but her body is pure sin. Put out, I sigh deeply and accept my fate. “Let’s get this done so I can take you home and do filthy shit to you,” I tell her, winking.
“How well you follow my directions now will be how well I follow your directions later,” Frankie says saucily. She’s trying to kill me, I know she is.
“I’ll be the best damn student you’ve ever had, Miss De Rosa. Especially if it means I get to dirty up the teacher later.”
That gets a breathless laugh out of her.
“Okay, Hitman, time to behave. Do you think that you can follow my lead? I just need to go through the motions with someone to be sure I have it.” Her brows are raised in question and I nod in agreement. “Perfect.” My arms open to allow her to step in and I try to remember what she taught me all those years ago and place my hand at the center of her back, taking her much smaller and softer hand with my other. “Good. I’ll count it out and you just follow, okay?”
Softly she starts counting, and I let her lead me around the studio before I get the feel for it and take the lead, making her smile up at me. I move her in time with the music the way she had. The sensual way her body rubs against me makes me want to pin her to the wall, but I restrain myself, barely, and enjoy the way she feels in my arms. Just like our Mizpah charms, our bodies fit each other—her softness to my steel, curves to cuts—we were built for one another.
The music fills the room. “This that ginger dude?” I ask, not missing a step as the tempo changes.
She looks up at me and laughs. “Yes, it’s Ed Sheeran. He’s good, right?”
I grunt in agreement which causes her to try pinching me, to no avail. “That’s what I call zero percent body fat, baby.” Her eyes roll skyward making me smile. She’s so easy to tease. “This is just like when we were younger, huh, Frankie?” Some of my best memories are of her and I dancing, just like we are now. It helped us both. A lot of my fluidity, balance, and quick feet are because of the hours I spent working on routines for her competitions.
“Mmmm hmmm. I remember, Deac. You used to bitch and moan that all the guys were going to think that you were a pussy too.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I had to constantly remind you that my dad and yours said it was important for a fighter to be graceful, to float around the cage. That they wouldn’t think you were such a pussy when you were winning because of the moves I taught you,” she recounts in her saucy tone.
It’s true, all of it. I’d been worried at first, but then none of it mattered because I got to spend hours with my hands all over Frankie.
Mouth open to tell her just how much of I pussy I’m not, we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. We break apart as a young couple comes in. Aware that my time alone with her is up, I lean down and whisper, “Just remember what you said earlier. I’m gonna enjoy dirtying you up tonight, teach.” At her gasp, I throw her a sexy smirk and stroll out, waving at the soon to be newlyweds.
“You’re in great hands, you two—trust me.” A stern look for the groom and a wink at the now blushing bride and I saunter out whistling, thinking about the filthy
things I’m going to do to my girl to make her blush like that.
January in Chicago can suck my balls. I’ve lived here all my life and I’m still not used to the cold that finds a way to seep into your bones and freeze you from the inside out. Pulling my beanie on, I lock the front door and head for the Rover. Why the fuck I didn’t park in the garage when I got home from the gym this morning is beyond me. Jumping into the already warmed interior of the truck, I press the button in the steering wheel and give the command to call the Princess.
“Hey, baby, are you on your way back to the gym already?” Frankie asks, her raspy voice shooting right to my cock.
“No, I was gonna see if you wanted to grab some lunch—I’m starving. I’m not going back to the gym until later tonight,” I tell her as I navigate my way down the slushy street.
This close to a fight, I train two, sometimes even three, times a day.
“Oh, that blows, I already made plans with Indie. I figured that you were going to be here training.” I hear the disappointment in her voice.
We spend nearly every free moment together, though I haven’t been able to convince her to just come and stay with me instead of rooming with Indie. Hell, in the two months that we’ve been together, I can’t even get her to admit we’re in a relationship.
“Do you guys mind if I crash your lunch?”
“No, of course not! Do you mind Peruvian?” she asks more excited now that she doesn’t have to choose between the two of us.
“That BYOB place over on Milwaukee?”
