by Cindi Madsen
His harsh curse only made the lust overloading my system that much stronger. “Maybe we should wait.”
“No, thank you.”
“Chels, you’re killing me here. I know you’re still sore and—”
I tipped forward and got my lips on his again. The distraction worked. His grip on my hips loosened, and I sank back where I wanted to be, his erection cradled against the nerve endings in my body that were screaming for more of him on more of me. “Don’t tell me I have to resort to taking care of myself again.”
The next instant, I was on my back on the couch, Liam pinning me into the cushions. His hand slid between us, and he stroked me over my panties. “I’ll be the one taking care of you. I never said I wasn’t going to take care of you.”
Witty comebacks got carried away on panted breaths, and I arched into his touch, cursing the layer of fabric between us.
As if he could sense my need—or maybe he could feel how damp my panties were—he moved them aside and brushed his callused fingertips over me. “How many times did you take care of yourself while I was on the other side of the wall?”
I flushed, not wanting to admit to it with his eyes so steady on me, but then he withdrew his fingers.
I placed my hand over his, too desperate for him to finish what he’d started to play it cool. “I’d wait until it was driving me crazy. Until I couldn’t take it anymore. Every few days. Once in the shower…”
Liam dropped his head in the crook of my neck, his harsh exhale stirring my hair. He tugged the collar of his oversize T-shirt off my shoulder, kissed the newly exposed spot, then licked across my collarbone. “I thought about you a lot in the shower. Both when you were in there and when I was in there.” He jerked down my panties and renewed his ministrations to the juncture between my thighs, and I nearly sighed in relief. “Did you think about me while you were touching yourself?”
“Mostly,” I said without thinking.
“Mostly?” he asked, and the growly gruffness sent a shock of awareness up my core. “The second you showed up, I fantasized about you and no one else. In my mind, we’ve done it on every surface of this apartment. Of course, now that I know how lacking my imagination is, we’re going to have to replace those fantasies with the real thing.”
“I…I like that you thought about me. And for the record, I was trying not to think about you, because I believed it’d never happen.” Since my confession left a scowl on his face, I reached up and smoothed a hand down the side of it, trying to soothe it away. “But the other person is fictional, so it doesn’t really count.”
I moaned as he dragged his fingers up my center, the extra pressure he applied equally intoxicating and punishing.
“Spill.”
“One time I went with my Thor fantasy, which is basically the same as thinking about you.” I let my hand trail down his chest, flattening it against the hard muscle when I felt the thump, thump, thump underneath. “Don’t worry. Your hammer’s bigger.” For a second I worried jokes would ruin the mood, but his low chuckle vibrated down my palm and settled deep in my heart.
“Good answer.” He stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, then did the same to mine. “But it sounds like I better do more to ensure I’m the only guy you think about.” Our lips met in a fevered kiss as he stroked me again, and then he pushed a finger inside. One delicious sensation after another traveled through me, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he added another finger. He curled them inside me, hitting a spot I didn’t know existed, and as he pumped into me, pleasure crested over me in waves. Stronger and stronger. Higher and higher…
Until I free-fell into ecstasy, crying his name on the way down.
Looping my arm around Liam’s neck, I brought him flush on top of me. I kissed him square on the mouth and raked my hand through his hair, and it was a good thing he was pinning me down or I’d float right away. As soon as the bones returned to my limbs, I tugged down his sweats and boxers, and when I could only manage to get them halfway down, I figured it was good enough.
“Which surface should we have sex on first?” I wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft and stroked, a thrill going through me at the way he bucked against me. “Which one was the best in your fantasies?”
A ragged groan tore from his throat. “Chelsea.” He expelled a breath and then wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pinned it up over my head.
“So the couch?” I reached for him with my free hand, and he grabbed it before I could touch him and secured it against the other one, circling both of my wrists in one of his large hands.
“Actually, it was over the back of the couch. I pictured bending you over it and… Fuck.” He shook his head. “But that can wait.”
I lowered my eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because it’s my job to take care of you. You need to be able to walk into work tomorrow.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, earning another groan. “Limping works just fine.”
He gave me his signature scowl.
“Liam, I’ve got years of going without to make up for, and…” My heart squeezed. “We’ve only got a few weeks.”
“I know. But—”
“Remember what I said last night? I’m not fragile. You won’t break me.”
“I’m more worried about you breaking me,” he said, and while there was a teasing note to the words, there was something else there, too.
I didn’t want to ruin our perfect day by thinking about the future and how much it’d suck to have so much distance between us again, so I stuck with the teasing. “You do look super fragile. Especially those arms…” I jerked against my finger manacles, and when Liam loosened his hold, I ran my hands up the limbs I’d mentioned, basking in the dips and grooves and the way his muscles twitched under my fingertips. “The thighs, too.” I flattened my palms against them and moved up, up, up, purposely brushing his balls and lightly trailing my fingernails up his shaft. “Here feels pretty hard, though.”
The line of his jaw went rigid, and he shook his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Death by sex seems a good way to go—I can say that now.”
He cracked a smile and brushed my hair from my eyes. “You tell me if it hurts and we need to stop. Promise?”
I nodded.
“We’ll definitely get to bending you over the back of the couch sometime, but right now, I want you underneath me. I want to stare into your eyes as you come apart.”
My breathing went ragged again. “Keep talking like that and you’ll get your wish.”
He grinned, the last of his worries melting from his features. Then he put on a condom and carefully eased inside me. We adjusted a few times until we found the right position and rhythm, and as that familiar tingly energy wound through me, I clung to this moment, to this man, and then a different, deeper orgasm than I’d ever had before rocketed through me.
And just like that, I knew I’d never be the same again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liam
For some reason, Monday seemed twice as long as usual. The business stuff we’d neglected the week before Finn’s fight had stacked up, and no matter how many things I took care of, I’d turn and find five more.
Through Dad’s open office door, I could see Finn teaching the last class of the day—no rest for the wicked, even if the wicked still had the remains of a split lip and a black eye. At least the swelling had gone down. Now he just looked as tough as he was, instead of sporting the pretty-boy looks I teased him about. Honestly, I was proud of him. That fight had been close and now he and I were top contenders in our respective weight classes.
My shot just happened to be sooner. I’ve got less than a week to really enjoy this thing with Chelsea, and then the last two weeks she’s here… As much as I’d want to enjoy every single day and spend as much time as possible with her, that’d be a good way to lose my upcoming bout. No belt. All that work to go home and slide back down the rank
s.
Just like the time I’d lost to Carlos. While I wanted to shove thoughts of that as far away as possible, I couldn’t let myself forget that Chelsea had been a distraction leading up to that fight. How disappointed Dad and my teammates had been, and how much time and money we’d expended as I worked my way back to the top.
If I failed to win that belt… I could see the headlines now.
Blake “Bring the Wroth” Roth’s son unable to live up to his father.
Too little wroth thanks to too much time with a redhead who makes the world better.
Well, they probably wouldn’t know about that last part.
Logically, it was a waste to spend years getting to this point to throw it away for two weeks of fun. I had to remember that, no matter how much I cared about the woman providing the fun.
Maybe someday… That was a dangerous thought, too. One I couldn’t linger on.
I was already behind, and thoughts of Chelsea and our weekend had been frequently distracting, no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on work.
Where was I before I got sucked down another path that led to Chelsea? Instead of helping my fuzzy memory, that question sent moments from our weekend flashing through my mind. Kissing her addictive lips. The way she’d smile against my mouth and more happiness than I’d ever felt would fill me.
Her red hair spread out on the couch when she was naked and underneath me. The way she cried my name when she tumbled over the edge. The room had spun, and I’d never come so hard in my life.
My body recalled the feel of hers all too well, and if I didn’t shut down those thoughts—and soon—I’d be sporting a hard-on at work, and it’d be hours before I could go home and do what I wanted to with it.
Unless she needed a break from our sexcapades.
Or if she was asleep, which she probably would be by the time I got home.
Also, did I really just think the word sexcapades? A clear sign I should move on before I mentally embarrassed myself any further. This is why it’s better if my words stay in my head.
I shifted gears, thinking of fighters for Tautolo. My brain regurgitated name after name, sorting them into favorable matchups versus ones we had the best chance of securing. I grabbed a marker and scribbled them across the whiteboard on the wall, starting with the ones we’d most want and then a few middle-ground options. I’d make some calls tomorrow.
Dad entered the office right as I’d sat back down, and I rolled his chair away from his desk, ready to push to my feet again.
“You stay there,” he said. “I’m about to take off for the day. As long as you’ve got things handled.”
“I got it,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I did. Dad didn’t like talking about it, but he tired out faster than he used to, and since he’d also been doing most of the Typhoon’s training this past week, he’d been more exhausted than usual.
He’d done his time stressing and worrying over the gym for a couple decades, and when it came down to it, I ran the business side better anyway. Dad always thought of the fighters—which, as one, I appreciated—but he sometimes forgot about the bottom line and how we couldn’t afford to train people if we couldn’t keep the gym open and running.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, and I gave a nod and turned back to the mess of paperwork spread across the desk.
At least with Finn’s and Shane’s wins secured, our reputation was slowly regaining some steam, not to mention the extra revenue. Earlier, Finn and I had an argument over him wanting to give more than the usual percentage of his winnings toward coaching fees and the gym. The bigger the fight, the higher the winnings, and with our usual percentage, we’d still gotten a nice bump. Not enough to go crazy or ensure we’d have enough to keep us in the black all year, but… It’ll be enough, I’d thought then and I thought again now. If I win my fight, too, we might even get an inch or two of breathing room.
“Why not?” Finn had asked. “I know you do it.”
Yeah, so you don’t have to. Since saying that wouldn’t satisfy him, I’d stuck with, “We’re good. Promise. I just looked at the expense reports. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Truth was, I’d gotten behind on checking the reports, which I’d sworn I wouldn’t do anymore. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t caught the missing thirty grand our former employee embezzled until Brooklyn came in and verified there was a reason the amounts didn’t add up and our account was so low. I’d felt so stupid for not catching it, regardless of it happening around the same time Dad had his tumor removed. We’d been drowning in medical and physical therapy bills, as well as bills for the gym, and then I’d had to train twice as many guys on top of it, and basically I couldn’t be everywhere at all times. Still, it couldn’t happen again, even if it meant I never left the office again.
The stack of papers from the inbox on the end of Dad’s desk had spilled while I’d been hunting for a contract earlier, so I sorted through the mess, searching for the report Maddie had compiled.
There it is. I could see Brooklyn’s influence, both in the way the form was set up and in our income stream and how much it’d grown the past several months.
Now that I thought about it, I was almost sure Brooklyn had sent a text about the report a week or so ago. I’d meant to read it later and then forgot, and now I couldn’t recall if that’d happened or if I’d made it up one night when I was extra tired.
I scrolled through her texts, the conversation playing out backward, but clearly she had a purpose behind most of them, and it wasn’t business-related.
Brooklyn: It was all my idea, okay? So if you want to be mad, go ahead and be mad at me. But I saw the way you looked at her.
That one I’d received after Finn’s fight, only I hadn’t seen it until the next morning. Since having Chelsea be a ring girl for the night had been my sister’s idea, I’d let her stew. Eventually she’d come in and demand to know what happened. Kind of surprised she hadn’t yet.
I scrolled through a few others, one about how denial was for the weak and a couple about the beach volleyball game, until I gave up on finding the text I was searching for and hit the call button.
Music drifted across the gym, and then my sister showed up in the doorway of Dad’s office, her phone to her ear. “Yo! What’s up?”
I tossed my phone on the desk. “Didn’t you send me a text about the expense report?”
“Like a week ago.”
“Yeah.” I raked a hand through my hair. “I got behind and now I can’t find it through all your other obnoxious texts.”
She grinned like I’d given her a huge compliment, and I accidentally smiled back at her. Maybe I owed her the tiniest bit for the ring girl incident. It’d certainly sparked me into action. Most likely would’ve only made it another day or two before cracking anyway, and not that I’d admit it out loud, but when it came down to it, I knew she just wanted me to be as happy as she was with Shane.
Too bad that wasn’t in the cards.
Unless…
Nope. I can’t ask her to stay. I won’t.
Then I’d be exactly like her family, selfishly asking her to give up everything of hers so I could have what I wanted. That was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to the issues we’d have trying to pull off a relationship. Like how I was far too rough for someone as sweet as she was, and so was my lifestyle. And how even if she did stay, I’d end up neglecting her for the gym, not because she was less important but because it was my family’s livelihood and legacy, and in order to keep it and my career afloat, I had to give my all to it. Anything less would mean tapping out, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.
Brooklyn plopped down on the couch across from the desk and crossed one leg over the other. “I can’t help but notice you look happier than usual, even with that giant pile of paperwork in front of you.” She leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, chin on her fists. “Did something happen over the weekend? Maybe you worked out some of that pent-up tension you h
ad brewing for, oh, at least a decade or so?”
The desk chair squeaked as I reclined it as far as it would go. “I hit the punching bag this morning. Felt good.”
She tilted her head, packing a whole heap of disappointment and incredulity into the gesture. Obviously she didn’t buy it, but toying with her was too much fun for me to come clean quite yet.
“So, about the report… How about you give me a quick overview and save me some time?” I stretched the paper toward her, and she whipped it out of my hand, nearly giving me a paper cut. She lifted it closer and squinted at the figures.
“Everything’s paid, but our trash service raised their rate, so I did some price comparisons and found out we could save about thirty bucks a month if we switched. I know it’s not a huge deal, but—”
“Every penny counts. I’ll make a note to call them tomorrow.”
“Well, when you didn’t reply, I figured you were busy and called them myself. The guy over the phone originally insisted he couldn’t cancel it without talking to you, but I reminded him of your size and temperament, reiterated how busy you were, and then asked if he really wanted to get on your bad side. And he decided to go ahead and cancel the trash service.” She added a smug grin.
My sister had her hands plenty full with her art and work at the gallery, but the odds and ends she took care of here always made a huge difference. She knew all the right strings to pull—even with me, clearly. “Have I mentioned how much I appreciate your help?”
“Not in a while, but you might want to save your thanks till you hear what else I want to talk to you about.”
Right as I was about to come clean and tell her that her evil plan had worked and Chelsea and I had humped like bunnies all weekend, she said, “I think we could add an early class on Monday and Wednesday—I sent out a survey, and several of our members said they’d like to fit in a session before work. The gym’s always pretty empty at that time, anyway, and since Adam’s our resident early bird, he said he’d be willing to teach it. Shane agreed to cover it when Adam’s in training camp, but in case there was crossover, I wanted to check with you before pulling the trigger. It might mean you have to cover a few early classes here and there.”
