Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  Time ran out, and, in Torran’s mind, the victor was obvious.

  But it was still shocking to hear.

  “The winner, by awarded points and a narrow technical margin: Allen “Roundhouse” Kelton!”

  Of course, the crowd went crazy. They always went crazy - and this upset was only more fuel for the fire. But, in that moment, for the first time, Torran wanted no part in what he loved. He wanted out of the cage and out of the arena, and he wanted to hit something - really hit it, until there was nothing left but a pulverized mess.

  But he couldn’t do that.

  Now that he had lost, he had to face what came after - and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  **

  She still couldn’t believe it.

  Though she had watched the fight in its entirety, holding her father’s hand so tightly she thought she might have mangled his fingers, Savannah was still in shock.

  That shock carried right through the post-fight press conference, where she found she could do little to temper the torrent of questions thrown Torran’s way.

  “Torran, what happened tonight?”

  “You were everyone’s favorite to win!”

  “Will you attempt to gain back your title?”

  “You took quite a beating. Were you off your a-game tonight?”

  Part of her worried that the man would snap and deliver a scathing speech that would take her days to clean up. But, to her continued surprise, Torran said little, if anything at all. His face was a mess - nose almost certainly broken and brow stitched closed, but, if her month with him had taught her anything at all, it was that these injuries were nothing.

  If anything got to Torran, it was the actual losing.

  Even her father had asked her: What the hell happened? It was almost as if the champion had forgotten how to fight. The first round had gone well but everything went downhill from there. Savannah had watched him practice. Seen him fight. Enough to know that something must have gone wrong.

  Somehow, they muddled through the press conference, and she managed to meet Torran right outside the locker room the moment he left. There would be more press to face and more questions to answer - but if the look on the man’s face was any indication, he wanted none of it. Savannah’s suspicions were confirmed when he started towards the back entrance in favor of the main atrium - but, she didn’t stop him.

  Instead, she merely fell quietly into step beside him, following him to the car that was waiting outside.

  The young woman managed to hold her tongue for a whole five minutes once they were in the car, but after that, she had to speak. She’d never seen Torran look so dejected - so utterly defeated - in the entire time they’d known one another.

  It was physically painful.

  “Torran...tell me what’s wrong. Please.” It would do no good asking questions anymore. That, she knew now. Gently, she placed a hand on his bandaged forearm, speaking as gently as she could. “I need to know what happened.”

  In response, he merely jerked his hand from her grip, continuing to stare wordlessly out the window. Though she knew he had to be hurting at this juncture, Savannah couldn’t help the sliver of pain that worked its way through her. It wasn’t as if she considered herself his best friend or anything, but she at least thought he could talk to her.

  Especially about something as earth shattering as this.

  Another five minutes passed in silence before they arrived at an address she recognized only from the paperwork she had filled out. It was Torran’s address - a posh brick building on fifth avenue. As always, he paid the driver before stepping from the cab and shutting the door behind him.

  Shutting her out.

  Savannah knew it wasn’t her business. That they needed to speak in her office - a safe space - and figure out what their next move was. But she’d be damned if she cared at that particular moment. “Wait!” The driver screeched to a halt not ten feet from where he’d let Torran out and Savannah sprang from the car as well.

  She reached the door to the building just in time to slip in before the door closed. The doorman tending the front desk was nodding into his own chest, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. Savannah rushed past him without a second thought. Within seconds, she found herself in the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

  In truth, Savannah had no idea what she was doing. The man probably wanted privacy, and here she was, barging into his house unannounced.

  But she was worried about him. She’d never seen the man who had a comeback for everything so silent.

  All too soon, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open before her.

  Though Savannah knew very well what a penthouse was, she’d never been in one. She was immediately struck by the high ceilings and floor to ceiling view of the city beyond. To say that Torran’s apartment was impressive would be the understatement of the century.

  But more than the apartment, its owner took her breath away.

  Torran had stripped off his shirt and was clad in only a pair of dark-wash jeans hanging low on his hips. His muscular torso was wrapped with bandages where it had been bruised, and a trickle of blood slid down his jaw from where he’d obviously pulled at the stitches there. His auburn hair hung loose over his shoulders - for the first time that she’d seen - and he looked like some kind of avenging ancient warrior silhouetted in the moonlight.

  Savannah watched almost hungrily as he lifted a half full glass of scotch to his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. There was something wrong with her that she could be so damned attracted to the man at a time like this, but he was a work of art.

  Unfortunately, Savannah didn’t have as much time to dwell on him as she would have liked. When the elevator doors slid closed, a low chime alerted Torran to her presence and his head jerked up.

  It took him half a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark before they widened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The dangerous tone of his voice should have frightened her, but Savannah merely straightened her spine and swallowed her trepidation. “Torran, we have to talk.” She crossed the room to where he stood, only to pause when he took a step back, obviously wary of her.

  “Talk about what? You upset over losing the bonus? That everything didn’t go according to your plan? Well, shite happens, darlin’. That’s the way the world works.”

  His harsh tone made her flinch and Savannah’s eyes went wide as she realized that he was trying to hurt her. “You knew when you took me on I was trouble, didn’t you? Thought you could turn me around? How does it feel to be proved wrong?” He took another long swig of his drink, draining what was left in the glass in one gulp.

  Savannah didn’t dare stop him. Despite the semi-darkness, she could still see the turmoil brewing in his eyes. He needed to vent, and if she was the outlet, well, she was prepared to take a verbal beating. “All your precious work down the drain - all that meticulous running around - and for what? To be right back where we started. Well, aren’t you proud of me? Aren’t you fucking proud of me now?”

  She waited, silently, blinking back stubborn tears. He was a pig - a rat bastard.

  But he was hurting - and that she could understand completely. For a long moment, Torran merely stared down at her fiercely. Savannah met his gaze evenly, steeling herself for his next words. But, they never came.

  Instead, the immense man just cursed lowly, turning from her to pour himself another drink. Swallowing thickly, Savannah sank down on the back of the couch, a good two feet from his broad back. “Torran, we can fix this.” When she finally spoke, her voice was low and steady. “So one fight got the best of you. So what. We can turn this around - it’s not the end of the world.”

  Torran made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat that made Savannah bristle. He could insult her all he wanted; but not talking to her? That just plain pissed her off.

  “Stop it.” The words snapped from her before she could stop them. “I’m trying
to talk to you, Torran. Stop being a goddamn child and listen.”

  The Irishman turned back to her, his expression both thunderous and incredulous. “What did you just say to me?”

  If she had any sense at all, she would have been afraid, but Savannah was too angry to feel anything but irritation. “I told you to man up. You’re the MMA heavyweight world champion. I can hardly believe you’re sulking.”

  Torran took a step towards her so his massive form towered over her, dwarfing her almost completely. “In case you didn’t notice, lass,” he drawled, his voice tight with fury, “I lost. So I’m the champion of fuck-all now. Which means you won’t be riding my coattails anymore.”

  Savannah reacted before she even thought about it. When she struck him, the sound echoed around his open living room harshly. She felt little guilt about hitting a man that was already injured. She was no shrinking wallflower and he had no right to talk to her that way. “I don’t want to ride your coattails,” she finally managed acidly. “I never wanted to. All I wanted was to help the world see that you’re not just some roided-out, skirt-chasing brute. If you can’t see that, then fuck you.”

  When Torran reached for her, she started to shrink back, knowing she’d gone too far - but then, all at once, she was in his arms. Savannah barely had the time to utter a squeak of surprise before his mouth closed over hers, burning away anything else.

  She should shove him away - flee his apartment and have nothing more to do with him. He had hurt her in an effort to chase her away, and his tactics were dirty.

  But his arms felt so damned good around her. As his tongue thrust past her lips, Savannah’s hands rose to his shoulders and a soft moan escaped her. She was pissed as hell, but somehow, that only made her want him more. Her finger delved through his hair as she clutched him to her, kissing him back almost desperately.

  In a trice, the man had pressed her backwards so she collapsed onto the sofa, trapping her against it. As he sucked and licked hungrily at her mouth, Savannah whimpered, knowing she was lost. She gasped when he moved downward, over her jaw, to bite almost harshly at the point of her pulse. Her entire body jerked in sensation and she dropped her hands to press against his chest. She needed to breathe. Having Torran touch her like this was overwhelming - like she was burning alive…

  “No.” His growled defiance caught her off guard and Savannah’s eyes widened when he caught both her wrists in a firm grip. “You came here…” His words, muttered hotly against her ear, made her shudder. “You wanted to talk. So talk to me, Savannah.” He bit at the line of her neck and shoulder, sending a jolt of hot, raw want down to pool between her legs. “Tell me what the hell you want.”

  She wanted to tell him to go to hell - but the words came nowhere close to leaving her lips. Instead, she found hands curling into fists against the tight, broad length of his chest as she arched against him in wordless need. The next thing she knew, Torran released her hands, lifting her by the hips to set on the back of the couch while he kneeled on the plush leather seat. “You want me?” The words thrummed hotly against her throat as she clutched at him for purchase.

  She couldn’t admit it. Admitting it would make it real, and Savannah didn’t know if she was ready for that.

  When she didn’t answer, Torran’s fingers curled into the neckline of the t-shirt she wore. With a sharp flexing of powerful arms, he ripped the thin cotton down the front, and Savannah inhaled sharply in shock as she was exposed from the waist up. When she tried to wiggle away from him, Torran merely tugged her forward so she slid to the seat of the couch beneath him. “You have no fucking idea what you want, Savannah.”

  He was right. She didn’t. But all she knew was that when he reached for the cups of her bra to lower them and plump her breasts upward, she didn’t stop him. She was too drugged by the warmth of his nearness - from his ridiculously heady scent.

  Torran’s teeth scraped hotly over her collarbone before he took a taut, straining nipple between his teeth and a shuddering moan escaped her. Her hands returned to his hair, but she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to push him away or urge him closer. Taking hold of her waist in an almost bruising grip, the immense man jerked her against him, suckling at her breast hungrily. A tremor passed through her, each draw of his mouth against her adding kindling to the embers burning between her legs.

  When he switched breasts, Savannah bit back a cry of need that threatened the split second his mouth wasn’t flush against her skin. When he nipped at her already tortured nipple, she shuddered, moaning lowly. Yes. God, yes.

  All too soon, he was straightening, and Savannah bit her lip against the protest that rose to her lips. In quick order, she had the breath knocked from her as Torran swung her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes.

  That couldn’t be good for his bruised ribs, but it was hot as well. Torran wasted no time, turning on his heel to haul her down a long hall and into a sizeable master suite. Before she could fully take the room in, her client had dumped her on the bed and she was staring up at his magnificent form with wide eyes.

  He looked savage, terrifying, and completely mouthwatering. “You want to help me?” His dark tone sent a shiver up her spine. “Bend over. Put your hands on the bed.”

  There was a part of her that wanted to run for the hills. But the part that was all but trembling in arousal, nipples still aching from his touch, won out by a landslide. Taking a shuddering breath, Savannah slid from the bed, feeling Torran’s hungry gaze slide over her. She bent over the side of the bed so her pert bottom was in the air, placing her hands on the bed for purchase. Though she was still wearing her jeans, her bare breasts were enough to make her feel amazingly exposed.

  She expected him to shove her head into the mattress - perhaps to grind against her lustfully.

  Anything but what he actually did.

  Torran ran his huge hands over the line of her spine - all the way down to the round of her behind to curl in almost possessively. She felt, rather than saw, him sink to his knees behind her, continuing down the long lengths of her legs to the taper of her ankles. His hands on her were enough to make her bite back a moan as he stroked carefully, almost analytically.

  Surprisingly deft fingers rose to the button of her jeans to undo it, and then he was shimmying the denim over her ample hips to pool at her feet. He didn’t ask her to step out of it, rather lifting her by her knees to rid her of her pants and leave her standing before him in only her scant cotton panties.

  Embarrassed at her vulnerable position - naked, with her behind in the air, Savannah immediately made to straighten, only to have Torran bark a low command. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare.” She immediately froze, goosebumps of awareness rising on her skin as the man peeled her underwear slowly downward, revealing her completely.

  Savannah had never been laid so utterly bare in her life. Was she doing this to help him? Or to help herself?

  When Torran’s rough, calloused palms slid up the backs of her legs, she jolted a little in surprise. His touch was rough and exploratory, kneading over her calves, her thighs, and finally her behind, spreading it obscenely to stare at the most intimate part of her.

  She was wet. Embarrassingly so, considering he had barely touched her. When his teeth grazed the curve of one buttock, the young woman inhaled sharply. “Fuck, Savannah...you’re fucking gorgeous like this.”

  She should have been offended. In fact, she even opened her mouth to protest - only to let out a moan that would impress even a practiced courtesan as Torran’s mouth closed over her lower lips.

  He wasn’t gentle - and he certainly didn’t ease her into her pleasure. His tongue swept over her opening in one long lap before he was kissing, sucking - eating at her with hungry vigor. Savannah bit her bottom lip almost painfully, her thighs quivering as he held her in place with his iron grip. When his tongue slid inside her, probing deep, a soft cry of sensation escaped her. Dear sweet God, he wasn’t giving her anything He was taking, selfishly, as he a
lways did.

  And she didn’t know if she could bear it.

  Slender fingers curled into the already mussed coverlet in a vice-like grip as Savannah struggled to catch her breath. Each stroke of Torran’s tongue - each lingering draw of his hungry mouth - sent light bursting to life beneath her eyelids. She had never known that it could be like this. Never imagined… “Torran!” Her eyes flew wide as he shifted, slipping his head between her spread thighs so his tongue could circle her clit as two thick fingers slid into her to the knuckle. At the sudden, indescribable feeling of being filled, Savannah almost lost her footing.

  She clutched at the coverlet for dear life, rocking her hips instinctively back against Torran’s invasion. It had been a while for her...close to a year since she’d been with another man. But the Irishman’s immense fingers slid into her as if they’d been made for her - probing and searching, touching a spot inside of her that made her moan almost deliriously - uncontrollably.