Stepbrother Fighter: A Love in Steps Standalone Novel

by Rachel Angel

  Now that I had some distance from him, a few things came to my mind a bit more easily. First, he’d never even told me what he did. Why not? Was he embarrassed about it? Maybe he was a stripper or something like that; heaven knows he had the body and looks for it. Rugged, rough and tumble, and completely the type of guy that you know could protect you. He was such an odd contrast to Pedro, one I shouldn’t even be making, but I did it quite effortlessly, not able to resist the urge. Pedro was highly polished, refined, and a man who was consciously aware of his appearances, always wanting them to look good. Ian, on the other hand, was completely good looking because he just did what he wanted to.

  One thing I couldn’t deny was that I still had the hots for him upon seeing him—immediately. After all this time, I felt a response to him that was unlike anything that I had with a man since him. It was emotional synergy just as much as sexual attraction.

  “Well, I’d better eat something or it’ll be a long day tomorrow,” I said out loud. I decided to go with my favorite guilty pleasure, a Hawaiian pizza, partly because it reminded me of the last time I was in Hawaii and partly because I really did love it.

  It would be about an hour for delivery and I decided to take a quick shower, wanting to get refreshed and not feeling like I wanted to even leave the penthouse that day. My evening would be devoted to food and prep work. That would hopefully take my mind off of other things. And if I got done early enough, perhaps a movie would help lull me to sleep so I woke up with no bags under my eyes. The cameras weren’t kind at times.

  Dressed in my pink velour lounging pants and a cute matching cami, I put a cardigan on as I walked to answer the door, excited for the pizza indulgence, along with a Diet Coke. When I opened the door, the pizza guy was standing there and he took me in with absolutely no realization that he was so obvious, which made me feel like I was standing there buck ass naked and forgot to put clothes on or something. Awkward!

  “Here you go,” I said, handing over $30 and then taking a step backwards so I could shut the door. Then I stopped, pizza in one hand and door in the other.

  “Pedro,” I said, in complete shock.

  “I couldn’t help but come. I missed you,” he said, walking past the pizza guy and into the penthouse, shutting the door behind him.

  “That’s sweet,” I said.

  “I didn’t realize how badly you needed me; pizza, from a shop, really?” he said, giving me a critical look.

  “Hey, if you’re going to slam the pizza, I’ll have to ask you to leave, sir. If you want some, by all means, you are welcomed to it.”

  “For you, I’d eat a piece of cardboard with anchovies drawn on it,” Pedro said, smiling at me as he grabbed the box from my hands and pressed his body against mine as he kissed my cheek. He was like a cool breeze on a hot day, feeling so good that all you could do is close your eyes and drift off into a blissful thought.

  “Now that is something that I’d like to see, but I won’t ask you to do,” I said in regards to the cardboard pizza comment. I suddenly felt relief that he was there, knowing that it would distract me from all the crazy thoughts going through my mind, and talk me out of a few of them, too.

  “How was your flight?” Pedro asked, taking a sip of Diet Coke and holding the pizza in his hand, observing it peculiarly. We were sitting on the couch, the pizza on the coffee table.

  “A talker and flirt next to me, but other than that, good,” I said. For some reason, I chose not to mention that I’d run into Ian. Not sure why, but I didn’t want him to ask me any questions, because I really didn’t have any answers.

  “You poor thing,” he said, setting his plate down.

  Then he reached for my foot and pulled it toward him and started to massage it with his strong, thorough fingers. It got harder and harder for me to eat because it felt so good, making me relax and my body become clay for him to sculpt.

  “That feels so good,” I said, leaning my head back and giving an appreciative moan.

  “Yes,” he said softly. He kept going, starting to talk in that growling low tone that always got me amped up because it showed his raw sexuality.

  “Mmm,” I managed to say. “I just realized, I forgot to give you a tour. The bedroom has a dynamite view of the strip.”

  “The strip, sounds interesting,” he said.

  I turned my head to look at him and winked. I knew what I wanted. Setting down my plate, too, I got up and ran into the bedroom. “Come and find me.”

  Pedro counted down. 3,2,1…

  I was already in the bedroom, standing there with my leg up on the mattress and my hands on the post of the footboard, acting like a stripper who was getting warmed up on her pole; only that wasn’t the pole I wanted. I glanced at Pedro’s cock and saw that he was already hard…so eager, always.

  Moving up and down slowly, I started to slide my camisole off, leaving my breasts exposed and alert, aroused by my own actions, as well as Pedro’s response. I playfully put one up to my mouth and nibbled it, inspired by his cat calls.

  Eventually, my hands were down in my panties and my fingers slid into me, making it so Pedro had no doubts about what I was doing. With one hand on the pole, my head tilted back, my long brown hair falling behind me and tickling between my shoulder blades.

  “I can’t take any more, my love,” he said.

  He’d remained still long enough and in two steps, he came over to me, ripping his clothes off as I slid onto the bed and waited for him. Not wasting a moment, he put his fingers into me and wiggled them around, getting me wetter and putting my juices on his fingers, and then he slid his cock into me, forcefully and filled with passion. It excited me greatly, so rough and intense, not at all a gentleman or a lover, but someone who had to have me and had no control.

  I was so aroused, so near to climaxing when he plunged hard and deep into me, I screamed out loudly, finally exploding with intense pleasure.

  Then there was a knock at the door. “What?” I mumbled. “Ignore it.”

  “I can’t,” Pedro said.

  He jumped up and wrapped a towel around his waist. I remained still, not the least bit curious about who might be knocking on my door. I only wanted more.

  A minute later, he was back. “Who was it?” I asked.

  “Wrong door,” he murmured and then he went down on me, making me forget any line of questioning I may have had.

  He stood me up and went behind me, entering me that way and began to pound on me harder and harder, the bed rocking and my moans turning to yells. It was so good, almost too much, but I felt like I would have died if he stopped. His hands reached around to my breasts and he squeezed my nipples roughly, each surge of pain only adding to my orgasm.

  Then there was another knock at the door, louder and more determined. Again, Pedro got up, but this time he slid his pants on. I saw that he was irritated and I wondered what was happening.

  I was still by the edge of the bed, looking for my clothes so I could get dressed and see what was happening. But before I could do anything, someone was coming around the corner, practically running, and I saw a wild face frantically assessing the situation. “Anabelle,” he said in a desperate voice.

  “Ian!” I saw the rage on his face.

  “Is this guy hurting you?” he asked angrily, pointing at Pedro like he was ready to punch him.

  “No, I’m okay,” I said, putting my hands over my body and looking around for my bathrobe. Where was it? Shit, it was in the bathroom.

  Ian seemed to be oblivious to the fact that I was naked, which made me glad, I suppose, but he was so mad looking that I found my heart pounding out of pure fear. Adrenaline began to course through my veins at the awkward situation I was in.

  Pedro walked over to me, giving me a scrutinizing gaze before turning around to Ian. “Who are you, and how dare you come in here. Get out.”

  Again, Ian asked, “Anabelle, is this guy hurting you? Is he supposed to be here? I thought you were alone.”

  I couldn
’t talk, but Pedro could. “Of course I’m with Ana. We are lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend. Don’t you understand what it’s like to make a woman scream from pleasure?”

  “I know what pleasure sounds like and I’ve never heard it sound like that before,” Ian said in a tense voice, his eyes narrowed as he assessed Pedro. “I’m here to see if Anabelle’s okay, not you.”

  I’d managed to slide on my pajamas, hoping that I could diffuse this tension before it turned into a fight. I felt so stupid, like such a fool. “Ian…I’m okay, really. This is Pedro. We’re seeing each other. He came tonight and surprised me with a visit.” I’ll admit, the last sentence was an explanation more than anything, but I felt compelled to say it.

  “Oh,” Ian said with a highly disappointed look. “I’d better go then. I came here because you’d asked me to, but clearly your plans changed. Sorry to bother you.”

  He turned around and walked away before I could say anything. If Pedro wouldn’t have been staring at me so analytically, I would have ran after him and begged Ian to stay. That was something I couldn’t at that moment, though. And it ate me up inside so much that I couldn’t sleep that night.

  Chapter 14

  With Pedro staying with me for a few days longer, the start of my new assignment was not what I had expected. I was so consumed by his desires to connect with me physically and emotionally, in every way possible, trying to ingrain himself on me through raw and aggressive sexual acts that sent my mind to the stars and my nerves into overdrive; it left me with very little energy for anything else.

  In a way, I was hyper-sensitive, everything he did to me led me to an ultra-intense sexual experience. It was almost unbearable at times. Then morning would come, and I could barely get up to go off to work.

  Today was an exciting day for me, because I was getting my first really big interview with a guy who was known on the MMA circuit as T-bone Wilson. He was up and coming, but his antics and Hollywood flair had gotten him noticed by the fans. He knew how to draw a crowd of on-lookers and wasn’t afraid to do anything necessary to ensure he made the highlight reels. Female reporters were one of his favorite targets, but I was ready for him and there was no way he was going to get to me enough to fluster me—or even come close. I would not be in his highlight reel. On the contrary, I was going to use him for me making the highlight reel from a kick-ass interview that wasn’t the same old thing.

  There T-bone stood, towering over me with his 6’5” frame—a beast in height amongst many of the MMA fighters. His body wasn’t bulky, but it was defined and surprisingly quick considering his height. This meant he got discredited and he was someone who used that to his advantage.

  “T-bone, the antics you like to pull, how much of them are the ‘real you,’ and how much is for publicity?”

  “It’s all me, baby,” he said, reaching out to me, but I was a step ahead of him, stepping backward so he couldn’t touch me while leaving the microphone close enough to gauge his reaction.

  “How do you continue finding success, then, when you are more focused on making a move on women than saving your moves for the ring?”

  He started laughing, first in a low and hardy grumble, and then it grew louder. “You’re a firecracker, Beauty, and every bit as gorgeous as what I’ve been warned about.”

  “Thanks, but enough about me. This is all about you, and you like that, right?”

  “You damn right,” he said, pulling a toothpick out of his pocket and putting it into the right corner of his mouth.

  “You’ve said that you’ve watched MMA ever since its rise to popularity, but you never wanted to be a fighter in it. In fact, you wanted to be a firefighter. What changed your mind?”

  “A few years ago, I saw The Masked Missile at an event, and the way that guy fought—all heart and emotion, and clearly pissed off at something. It got to me and I thought, yeah, that’s a guy I want to be like. He has his own code, doesn’t just follow some bullshit manmade code.”

  “Have you ever fought The Masked Missile?”

  “No, but I look forward to the day when I can,” T-bone said.

  “He’s undefeated in his career and you already have two losses, think you stand a chance?” I asked.

  “I guaran-damn-tee I stand a chance,” he said to me, shaking his head up and down. “But a little good luck hug could never hurt.”

  “So, you’re counting on me for luck? Maybe you should focus on the skills,” I said. It was sassy and I laughed when I said it, which made T-Bone laugh, too.

  “You’re all right, Beauty,” he said.

  That night, Pedro was going down on me with a voracious appetite that would have made me screaming “fuck me fuck me now.” It would have normally been intense and all-consuming because of his mastery of the sexual art form, but I was so distracted.

  The interview with T-bone had me thinking about The Masked Missile. That was the guy I wanted to interview and had been trying to land it all week. He was elusive, though, the opposite of T-bone because he wasn’t a huge fan of the media, doing just enough to fit the requirements that were necessary via his manager and the promoters. Guys like that typically had the more interesting stories. My instincts told me that. If I was going to land that interview, I’d have to be creative.

  “Ana, are you okay?” Pedro asked me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes, sorry, just a bit distracted,” I said.

  “What’s bothering you?” He moved up, slowly kissing my stomach, talking in whispers that bounced off my flesh as his lips traveled up my body until he was resting on one elbow, looking at me with his full attention.

  “This interview that I want, but can’t seem to get,” I said. “I’ve called his manager time and again, but he’s not taking interviews.”

  “Since when do you, the beautiful and determined Ana Cartier, just take that as the final answer. The woman I know pursues what she wants aggressively, which I’m rather fortunate to be the recipient of on most nights.”

  “You know what…you’re right,” I replied, noticing a spark in Pedro’s eyes that showed he was set to reignite his passions. Well, I was ready to have him go for it. Honestly, I didn’t know if I was in love with him, but I loved how he made me feel. What would happen if I was ever with a man that I loved as much emotionally as I did physically? I’d launch into orbit, that’s what!

  The next morning, I made my way over to Burn, which was the gym where The Masked Missile trained at. If I had to do a stake-out for the entire day, I’d do it. However, hopefully I could persuade him into a concession.

  As I walked into Burn, I was overcome with the smells of strong sweat, testosterone, and could hear the grunts and groans of people training full-out. I looked around and saw a few women going at it hard, but it was mostly men. From what I could tell from my first assessment, almost every one of them was an MMA fighter. Kind of strange that a guy who liked to remain very private like The Masked Missile did, would work out at a place like this. Just another thing that made him intriguing. I had to land that interview!

  “Can I help you?” a guy with a thick Brooklyn accent asked.

  “I’m looking for The Masked Missile. Can you point him out to me? Kind of crowded in here.”

  “If he ain’t expecting you, I ain’t pointing him out,” the guy said.

  “So he is here?”

  “Maybe he is, maybe he ain’t,” the guy said.

  “Mind if I stick around?” I asked.

  “Stay in the bleachers. Don’t need you getting’ in anyone’s way, buttercup.”

  I sat down, realizing that I’d just had an encounter with a guy who didn’t like the distraction of a female around when the big, tough and burly men were training. I had no idea if he knew who I was or not, and thought better of asking. It wasn’t the time.

  Sitting there and watching everyone, I didn’t see anyone who fit the physical description of The Masked Missile working out. Did he even work out with that black, Zoro inspired mask on? Wh
o knew? Did these people know who he was and were able to keep it that quiet? I doubted it. A theory quickly formed; this guy was working out here and acting the role of non-MMA, a person who loved fitness, and those who were fighters had no idea of it. Quite brilliant, actually, and mysterious in a provocative way.

  Hour after hour passed and I was no closer to getting near The Masked Missile than I was before I’d gotten to Burn. Maybe it was an off-day, or maybe I just missed him. And now I was starving, too. Well, it’s a wrap, I thought. I got up and left the gym, shocked that I’d just wasted six hours of my life sitting there on uncomfortable bleachers and watching people work out. I could even smell sweat on my arm from being around it for so long.

  Once outside on the sidewalk, I took a few steps and began to look for a taxi. My stomach was grumbling so loud. Then I selfishly thought, hopefully Pedro cooked something good.

  “Sounds like you could use a meal,” a familiar deep voice said. I turned around and was surprised to see Ian standing there, just a few feet behind me, leaning on the outside wall of Burn. His hair was wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

  “Ian! Hi…what are you doing here?” I asked, stumbling on my words and instantly confused by his presence.

  “Just got done working out,” he said.

  “You were in Burn?” I asked.

  “I was,” he said.

  “I was there for hours. How come I didn’t see you?” I asked. Now I was feeling suspicious about this.

  “When I work out, I’m pretty focused, and I was in the smaller gym.”

  “There’s two gyms?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Damn it, I wish I’d known that.

  I stared at Ian and could see his extremely ripped and muscular body clearly underneath the soft light blue t-shirt he had on. He was such an amazing specimen of a human being…lord, help me! “You look like you could be an MMA fighter,” I said casually.