Royally Screwed: A British Bad Boy Romance

by Jessica Ashe

  Alison breathed short, shallow breaths while I slid into her slick wetness. She gasped as all nine inches filled her, but then she quickly relaxed as I leaned over her and slowly moved my hips.

  Her breasts moved gently in time with my thrusts, as Alison rocked her hips, letting me know she could take more. My mouth lowered down to take a nipple in my mouth as I sucked in hard, and then played gently with it between my teeth.

  Alison groaned again, and dug her nails into my back, adding small lines to the bruises already there from the fight. I moved my mouth to her neck, and bit gently, marking her somewhere I would be able to see the next morning.

  Her breathing quickened as she flung her legs around me, pushing me deep into her and kicking me as if I were a horse that she wanted to got faster.

  Who was I to disagree?

  “I want to feel you come on my cock,” I whispered in her ear.

  And you’d better hurry, because I’m about to explode.

  Her legs held my cock deep inside her as her pussy clenched hold of me, and wouldn’t let go until she’d screamed out every bit of air in her body.

  I released my own excitement, as her pussy contracted and pulsed around my cock, making it impossible to hold on any longer.

  We stared into each other’s eyes as we shook, exhausted and spent from our mutual release.

  There wasn’t much talking after that. The bench had made a good makeshift bed in an emergency, but it didn’t lend itself to a nice cuddle afterwards. That was never usually a problem. This time though, I found myself disappointed to watch Alison get dressed and head back to her hotel room.

  I had to conduct a press conference for reporters. That usually served as a good excuse to make my post match shag disappear.

  For once, that wasn’t what I wanted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alison

  I just did something very bad.

  Something or someone? Nora texted in reply.

  Someone.

  You dirty girl! I knew you two would hook up. Congratulations!

  I shouldn’t have done it. Now what?

  Where is he? Nora asked.

  He’s gone to a press conference.

  Don’t hide. Go watch the conference and see him after. Otherwise things will get awkward.

  Okay.

  So? How was it?

  I’ll tell you later.

  Nora and I talked about guys all the time, but it was usually her telling me about her relationships. I was the one who did the listening. Now I had a story of my own to tell.

  And what a story it was.

  I couldn’t process it all. I couldn’t process any of it in fact. What had just happened? It was all a blur of kissing, moaning, and orgasms.

  Then Elliot had left. He hadn’t had a choice. It’s not like he was running out after a hookup, but it still felt that way.

  I’d been on my way back up to my hotel room for a shower when Nora had suggested I go to the press conference. As usual, she was right.

  If I hid away in my room, then we might not see each other until it was time to get the flight home. The longer we left things, the worse it would get.

  My pass got me backstage for the conference, but I stood at the side and watched as Elliot sat at a table and answered questions. There weren’t that many reporters and cameras in the room—which was big enough to host a press conference after a heavyweight title fight—but it still amazed me that all these people were here to speak to Elliot.

  The questions weren’t exactly taxing.

  How do you feel after your victory?

  Do you think you deserved to win?

  How did you get the upper hand after those tense early encounters?

  Elliot mentioned that his team helped him read Milner’s tells, although he didn’t mention me directly. It wouldn’t help Elliot look intimidating if his next opponent knew that a young female doctor had made the difference in the last fight.

  Speaking of which….

  “Do you think you’ve done enough to earn a fight against Tyler Young?” a reporter asked.

  Tyler Young. The current UFC champion. The man Elliot wanted to fight more than any other.

  “I’m unbeaten,” Elliot replied. “I’ve never even come close to losing. I’m ready to knock Tyler Young the fuck out, but if the powers that be make me wait then so be it. Just know that sooner or later, I will face him and I will beat him.”

  “Will you fight here in Vegas?” the same reporter asked. “Or would you prefer to fight in England.”

  “I’ll fight him on the street or in a bar if I have to. I don’t care.”

  Elliot sounded passionate and angry as he spoke, but I knew he had his head screwed on the entire time. He was playing the crowd, just like he had done during the fight. The UFC wanted a showman, and with Elliot, that’s exactly what they got.

  Fighting was only the half the battle; you had to entertain as well.

  “What do you have planned for the rest of your trip, Elliot,” the reporter asked, no doubt trying to build a rapport with Elliot. Anyone with half a brain could see that Elliot was a rising star, so the reporters were laying the groundwork for later. Elliot knew that, but he used it to his advantage.

  “I have a few sponsorship events to take care of,” Elliot said. He turned his head to look at me standing on the side lines and smiled, before turning back to face the cameras. “Tomorrow me and a… friend, are going racing.”

  Was that a euphemism? It didn’t sound like one, but the British did use weird slang.

  The reporters had gotten the quotes they desperately craved, so the questions began to wind down.

  “Cheers, everyone,” Elliot said to the reporters as he got up to leave.

  Elliot headed straight over to me and kissed me on the cheek, just out of sight of the reporters. I blushed as his lips on my skin immediately brought back memories of him between my legs.

  Could we do it again? What was stopping us from heading up to his hotel room for round two?

  “Want to head upstairs?” Elliot asked.

  Nothing, apparently.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked.

  I could practically hear Nora screaming in my ear. Do it you fool.

  “Hell yes, I do,” Elliot replied.

  Right on time, my phone vibrated with a message from Nora. Don’t even think about going all weird and shy now. You’ve done the deed. Now do it again. And again. You need this!

  “Okay,” I said with a nod, as I slipped my phone back in my purse. “Let’s go.”

  Once I’d said the words, all the doubts faded from my mind. I practically ran in the direction of the nearest elevator, and Elliot wasn’t far behind. The second the doors closed, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me hard on the lips.

  It didn’t last long. The doors opened again soon after as a group of girls got on fresh from having used the gym. Quite what they’d used it for, I had no idea, because they hadn’t broken a sweat and still smelled of deodorant.

  One of the girls, smiled at Elliot, but the second he noticed he grabbed hold of my hand, and she soon looked away.

  The girls got off on the same floor as my room, but we stayed on for the short trip to Elliot’s penthouse.

  “You shouldn’t hold my hand in public,” I said, as he pressed his keycard up against the door.

  “Why the hell not?” Elliot asked.

  “You have a reputation to uphold. The UFC wants a player, not a fighter with a girlfriend. Not that I’m your girlfriend,” I added quickly. “But you know what I mean.”

  The second the door closed, Elliot’s phone rang. He went to dismiss the call, but then thought better of it.

  “It’s Percy,” he explained, his voice thick with frustration. “I’d better take it.”

  Judging by the look on his face, the call was well worth a short delay to our fun.

  “Well?” I asked, when he got off the phone. “Tell me what news is so good that
you’re grinning like a schoolgirl.”

  He didn’t say anything. Instead he picked up the remote control and turned on the television, flipping it over to a sports channel.

  “Percy accepted the terms of the fight,” Elliot explained. “The UFC is making the announcement now.”

  I watched the television as the chairman of the UFC sat down at a table, much like the one Elliot had conducted his press conference from earlier.

  Elliot buzzed with excitement as the chairman finally got to the point, after talking about the global appeal of the UFC for five long minutes.

  “I’m pleased to announce that the next championship match will pitch two of the best fighters the UFC has ever seen against each other. The match will take place in London, England, and it will be a true spectacle for our time. England versus America.”

  Cameras flashed while the chairman paused to milk the scene for all it was worth. I already knew what was coming. I stood next to Elliot and held his hand, as the chairman finally put the audience out of its misery.

  “The championship fight will take place in one month’s time between Tyler Young and Elliot Michaels.”

  “Holy shit,” I muttered, once the news had been confirmed. “You did it. You’ve got the fight.”

  Much to my surprise, I was happy for him. I shouldn’t be. Elliot was putting his body on the line again, and I hated that, but it was hard to begrudge him this opportunity.

  “It’s hard to believe,” Elliot admitted. “But right now, I don’t care. There’s some else I’d much rather have flat on her back right now.”

  I laughed, and turned to face Elliot as he grabbed my ass and effortlessly lifted me into the air. I squealed, and wrapped my legs around his waist, even though I knew there was no risk of him dropping me.

  Then my smile disappeared.

  “Put me down,” I yelled.

  “Not until we get to the bed,” Elliot replied.

  “I mean it. Put me down now.”

  Elliot quickly lowered me to the floor. “What the hell, Alison?”

  “Why is he on television?” I asked, pointing to a picture of a fighter on the screen.

  Elliot frowned, confused by my question. “They’re talking about the fight, I guess.”

  “What fight?”

  “What fight do you think? My fight with Tyler Young. That’s a picture of him after he won the championship.”

  I stared open-mouthed at the television screen. I hadn’t forgotten that face. It wasn’t one I was ever likely to forget. I could still see it as he pressed his lips against mine, despite my hands on his chest, pushing him away. Tyler Young must just be a name he used for fighting. I knew his real name.

  Tim Norton.

  Diary of Alison Harvey

  August 12, 2016 (one month ago)

  I couldn’t write in here yesterday. I tried. I don’t miss many days, but yesterday… I just couldn’t find the words.

  I still can’t.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Elliot

  I wanted to destroy Tyler Young more than ever.

  He was the champion.

  He was an arrogant dick—even more arrogant than me.

  And now he’d cost me an evening of sex just because his face had shown up on television.

  Alison had looked like she’d seen a ghost. And not a friendly one like Casper, either. She couldn’t get out of the room quick enough, and left me standing there with a hard cock and nowhere to put it.

  When I finally came to my senses—and the blood went back to my bigger head—I ran down to her hotel room, but she wasn’t there. Or she wasn’t answering.

  I might have been able to force my way in, or even have reception open the door for me because it was in my name, but it didn’t seem a good way to repair the relationship.

  Not that I knew what needed fixing. Or if there was a relationship to fix.

  She’d probably just had second thoughts about the entire thing. I wasn’t Alison’s type, and I’d bet good money she’d never been with a man quite like me before. Still, that was supposed to be a good thing. She certainly hadn’t been complaining at the time.

  I gave up for the night, but went back down to her room first thing in the morning. I knocked and waited, but no response. I knocked again, but turned to head back to the elevator.

  The door opened.

  “Hey,” she said quietly.

  “Hey,” I replied.

  I couldn’t profess to be an expert in women’s makeup—or men’s for that matter—but even I could tell she’d put a load on to cover up the bags under her eyes. She’d barely slept.

  “Sorry about last night,” she said softly. She did sound guilty which at least meant I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “No problem. I don’t mind you taking time to yourself, and we can slow down if that’s what you want.”

  She nodded, but I couldn’t tell if she was agreeing or just nodding along to the conversation because she didn’t know what else to say. That made two of us.

  “I never got the chance to mention this last night, but I have to go racing today to keep some sponsors happy. Percy usually comes with me, but I was thinking it might be cool to go together.”

  “I’m not much of a driver,” Alison replied sheepishly. “I fit just about every negative stereotype of women drivers imaginable. In fact, I think I’m responsible for starting some of them.”

  “I’ll be doing the driving,” I replied. “You’ll just be in the passenger seat. If it makes you feel any better, I can’t park for shit. Not when driving on the right side of the road anyway. My brain’s just not wired for it.”

  “I guess I could come,” Alison said tentatively, as if she were still searching for an excuse not to.

  “Great,” I replied, before she could change her mind. “Meet me downstairs in an hour. The sponsor has arranged for a ride to the speedway.”

  “Do I need to dress slutty and drape myself over the hood?” Alison joked.

  “If I say yes, will you do it?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, no, you don’t. Although if you want to dress slutty and drape yourself over me, I won’t have any objections.”

  “We’ll see,” Alison teased, before shutting the door and leaving me standing in the hallway like a lovesick teenager.

  When I went downstairs an hour later, I was amazed to find that Alison did in fact look kind of slutty. She’d slipped into a skirt that would barely cover her knickers when she was sat down, and a top that revealed so much of her chest, I immediately started having flashbacks to our session in the locker room.

  “Don’t laugh,” she warned as I walked up to her.

  “Oh, I’m not laughing. I’m wondering whether I can get out of this sponsor event, because I’d much rather take you somewhere more private.”

  “I look like a whore.”

  “Sure, but a Julia Roberts kind of whore. Think of me as Richard Gere but without the gray hair. And more muscles. And no rumors about me sticking—”

  “I had to go on a last-minute shopping spree,” Alison interrupted. “We’ve been cooped up inside this casino, but it’s over 100 degrees out there.”

  “Hey, like I said, I’m not complaining.”

  “Well I am. This was all I could find in the shops here. All the clothes are so tacky. It was a choice between paying through the nose for designer labels, or looking like this.”

  “I think you chose well,” I replied, as we walked towards the exit.

  “You’re only saying that because you can practically see my… well, everything.”

  “Yes, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Alison forgot all about her style choices when she saw the limo waiting outside to take us to the race track. I decided not to mention that limos were ten a penny around Vegas, and they weren’t usually driving people to race tracks.

  Alison hadn’t been kidding about the weather. It was easy to forget that Vegas was in the middle of a d
esert when all you did was hang around in hotels or walk down the strip. Now I remembered.

  This kind of heat felt barbaric to my British skin. We tended to panic when the temperature hit 30 degrees, but this must be at least 40 degrees. If global warming ever sent temperatures this high in England there would be national panic.

  I did a quick meet and greet with the sponsor and agreed to wear one of their baseball caps and a pair of sunglasses in some pictures. I hated baseball caps with a fiery passion, but the shades came in use. According to some experts, racing was easier when you weren’t blinded by the sun and could see where you were going. Who knew.

  “Who’s your friend?” Dave, a rep from the sponsor asked, as Alison bent over and looked inside the car we were about to drive.

  What a view.

  “She’s my… doctor,” I replied. Joking about Alison being my girlfriend, now sounded a little inappropriate.

  “She’s a doctor?” Dave asked. “Wow. Mine’s a forty-five year old man who’s fatter than I am. I bet you always have high blood pressure when she’s doing the test, eh?”

  I smiled, but quickly changed the subject in case Alison overheard any of it.

  “Shall we get on with the drive?”

  “Sure thing.”

  We walked over to Alison, who kept trying to pull her skirt down and her top up. She needn’t have bothered; it wasn’t helping.

  We both climbed into the car, and paused while the sponsors took some more photos. They were certainly determined to get their money’s worth.

  “You driven stick before?” Dave asked.

  “Yeah, loads. Most cars in England were still manual when I left.”

  “Cool. The car may look a little different inside, but that’s all just safety stuff. The essentials are all in the same place.”

  “It doesn’t feel safe,” Alison said nervously.

  “I know it looks like a heap of shit,” Dave said, “but I assure you it’s safer than any car on the road.”