by Quinn, Cari
He crawled across me like a big rangy panther and knelt between my splayed thighs while he struggled with his jeans.
“Need some help?” I leaned up on my elbows.
He swore and fumbled with his zipper. His hand shook, a nice counterpoint to my own full-body tremble. The only difference was that I was still trying to act cool and he was all heaving breath and clumsy fingers.
Somehow that unnerved me even more.
He got his jeans down and pulled out his wallet, unearthing a condom in record time. Then with his jeans still around his thighs, he rolled the latex over his erection and gripped my hips, pulling me forward. With one push, he surged into me right up to the hilt.
No hesitation. No foreplay. I didn’t need any. Apparently, neither did he. He groaned and hiked my legs higher, flipping them up until they rested on his shoulders. Then he bent me, folding my body like I was an accordion, jamming my knees to my chest and pumping so deep I couldn’t stifle my cries. He slanted his mouth over mine and timed the thrusts of his tongue to those of his cock, finding the rhythm I needed as if he craved the same.
Hard. Cruel. Nothing held back.
He slammed into me again and again, our sweaty skin sliding together and chafing at the points of contact. Matching his strokes, I arched to accommodate the depth of penetration we both sought. Back aching, muscles burning, I twisted and turned into a damn pretzel to give him the room he required to take every inch of me. I couldn’t open my thighs wide enough. My lungs didn’t contain enough air to fuel the kisses I couldn’t stop.
He seized one of my hands and pinned it next to my head. But I wasn’t afraid. He wouldn’t hurt me.
Or if he did, I’d love every minute.
His fingers wove with mine, a tangible anchor in the center of insanity. He used his other hand to squeeze and pluck at my breast. With a flex of his hips, he rubbed the base of his dick against me just right. Exactly right. The mattress nailed the wall again and again, springs squealing, wheels skidding over the floor. We were making so much noise. My sister flashed into my mind and disappeared as he let go of my breast to stab his fingers through my hair. Destroying the braid, streaking pain along my scalp.
I moaned, so turned on I couldn’t begin to quench the fire in my core. I didn’t know how to. I was right there with him, consumed by his strained features above me and the intense gleam in his eyes.
He bore down, plowing so deep that I think I blacked out for a minute. Ran out of oxygen, maybe. He clutched my hand, driving my knuckles into the bed, his breath a warm gust over my ear. It brought me back to reality against my will.
God, that euphoric darkness was so intoxicating…
“How close are you?”
With one question, he nudged me even further toward the edge. Did he really care that much about making me come? Most guys I’d met didn’t.
I’d been close when he slid inside me. Now I was trapped, dangling on both sides of the ledge, not going over either one. Stuck between frustration and bliss.
I reached down and touched myself without planning to. All I wanted was to soothe the ache.
He groaned. “Yes, baby, yes.”
I couldn’t think anymore. All I cared about was chasing the pleasure and making sure he found it with me.
He got there first, grunting out his release, his hold on my hand so painful I cried out in actual fear he’d snap the bones. How could I fight with a broken hand? Then his battering strokes eased and he swiveled his hips, angling into me with such precision that I splintered beneath him. Around him. Shuddering and moaning his name as I rocketed upward to bury my face between his neck and shoulder.
“Tell me you don’t want more of this.” He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him.
My vision blurred with sweat—I hoped it was only sweat—and turned him into an angry, vibrating haze above me. His body suddenly felt so huge and crushing now that I’d used it to quench my endless thirst.
“You tell me that,” he grated, “and I’ll fucking fight you.”
Sprawled beneath him, pinned by the overwhelming weight of his body, I couldn’t see beyond the thoughts I’d had for months. I’d fight him, make my money—more money than I could make that fast any other way, other than dealing drugs or becoming a high class hooker—and Carly and I would leave.
We’d leave the city, leave the daily struggle to survive every day. Leave him and all the men just like him. Glossy and untouchable.
New York represented my old life. Even though I’d left my aunt’s house upstate to come down to the city to fight, I was still too close to the shards of my past. To memories that hurt as much as they healed.
It had always been such a simple plan. So easy to execute.
Now it barely made sense.
I still had faith that I could use my wit and skill to outsmart Tray—Fox, dammit—in the ring long enough to get him to tap out. Even if I couldn’t, I’d still make more than I would in a regular chick brawl. If the crowds showed up to see my tits or to watch me get taken down, I didn’t really care as long as I got paid.
“Goddammit, Mia.” Abruptly, he pulled out of me.
I cried out, not because it hurt but because I hadn’t been prepared. He shot a glance at me, his eyes narrowed, the angle of his jaw as sharp as the blades carving me up inside. He disposed of the condom in the garbage can and fisted his hands on his thighs.
He knew what my answer was. What it had to be. Changing my mind now would feel like failure, and I couldn’t let myself down. I wore my scars on my body because the internal ones had scabbed over and gone numb. If all I was destined to feel was pain, at least it was mine.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Stuff like this didn’t happen to girls like me. He’d given me his coat and accepted me as I am, but that didn’t mean he would tomorrow. We’d barely even talked. All we’d had were fights and sex. For people like us, that was our communication. Actions showed the truth. Words were often lies. Sometimes pretty ones, but lies just the same.
“We make a deal.” His voice had hollowed out. He didn’t sound like the Fox I knew.
What made me think I had any sort of handle on him? Why did it feel like I did?
I rolled on my side and wrapped my arms tight around my stomach. My belly twisted so precipitously I prayed I wouldn’t be sick. “Terms?”
“The fight will be four weeks from tomorrow.”
I nodded. That was what I’d been hoping for. “Agreed. We’ll start setting it up.”
“You spend one night with me beforehand.”
That didn’t sound so bad. A couple of days ago, it would have, but this had been one hell of a week. “Fine.”
“The whole night. From dusk to daylight. My place. My rules.”
Swallowing hard, I nodded. My voice had deserted me again.
He gazed at the side of my face, nearly singeing my skin with the force of his stare. “What I say goes completely. If I want to fuck you and sleep with you in my arms, it happens.”
I shivered from the implied threat in his words. If he’d said he was going to beat me black and blue, I’d have faced him with my fists up.
But this?
I’d never slept in a bed with a man. I had a problem sleeping places I wasn’t used to in the first place. And he wanted me to curl up and…spoon? Or spork or whatever the hell it was called.
Not that I had a lot of choice. I’d begun to believe he would never say yes, even if I’d offered to do a naked line dance on his kitchen counter before giving him an upside down blowjob. This was almost a reasonable compromise.
“Okay.”
“Not saying that’s what I want to do. It could be anything. Absolutely anything, Mia.”
“Are you trying to warn me you like freaky sex or something? Like tie-ups or…anal?”
He didn’t laugh. I’d extinguished the light in his eyes completely.
“Anything goes. Either you say yes or you say no. No pussying out later.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He let out a long, anguished breath and tipped his head back. “I’m not hitting you in the face. Do you understand me? Nothing above the neck. No kicks either. It’ll be a straight wrestling takedown. No more, no less.”
Well, that would be a mighty fine show for the spectators. We’d shake hands and he’d force me to the mat. Then maybe we’d make out a little. Christ.
We’d just see about that.
“Fine,” I gritted out, hating that now I was a liar along with everything else. Because it wasn’t fine. He was going to fight me for real. I wanted that level of respect from him. That he knew I wouldn’t “pussy out” as he’d called it. That he understood I could damn well take it.
No one could break me. Not even him.
He stood and stalked over to my backpack. I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing when he took out my phone and handed it to me.
“Unlock it.”
For some reason, I did as he’d asked and returned it to him.
His fingers raced over the screen before he tossed the phone onto the bed. “I gave you Coach Timmins’ number. Use it. If you’re getting in the ring with me, I expect a certain level of performance.”
Like a dope, I rose to the bait. “Why? So you can check my form when you swan dive me to the canvas?”
He picked up his jeans and pulled them on. “Other than the night we agreed to, it’s probably not a good idea we see each other anymore.”
Even lying down, I reeled as if I’d been sucker punched. If I hadn’t already had my arms around my midsection, they would’ve clamped there to try to stem the wave of nausea.
And I’d thought he couldn’t take me down. How wrong I’d been.
Get up. Get on your feet. One shoulder up, then the rest will follow.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. What could I say? That he was right?
It hadn’t been a good idea the day he’d walked into Vinnie’s. Or the nights he’d waited for me. It hadn’t been a good idea that I’d set my sights on fighting him when he was obviously the only man who could bruise me internally without laying a finger on my skin.
My thighs were still wet from what we’d done together. And he was breaking up with me when we’d never even been a couple.
I’d never experienced what that was like. Probably never would. My mistake was forgetting my reality for a few moments. He was right to do this. We had nothing in common.
Except everything.
He tugged on his hoodie and bent to pick up the pieces of his T-shirt. I’d torn them off his body less than an hour ago. Without sparing them a glance, he dumped them in the trash.
Carmine wouldn’t like that he’d ruined his work shirt already. I’d have to add the cost of replacing it to the running tab I owed Fox. The number was already way too high.
Fox crossed the room to the door and bent his head, not looking at me. Funny, because I couldn’t look away. If this was my last glimpse of him like this, I’d take it without shame.
He’d made me into a junkie. The needle had just left me and I was already on the verge of begging for another fix. What would I be like tomorrow?
“Kick her ass,” he rasped.
For a full minute, I had no idea what or who he meant. Fighting had been one of my few reasons for living a few days ago. Now it was a footnote. An acknowledgement even I’d forgotten to read.
I rolled on my back after he’d gone. The rain drummed against the window. The relentless patter blocked out the static in my head and heart.
Then my eyes drifted to the bedpost, and the jacket still hanging there.
Nineteen
I had Friday off. One day of work, and I was already a free man until Sunday. Mia wasn’t working then. I’d talked to Carmine and told him we had a situation and should work together as little as possible.
Since Carmine thought I was some kind of frigging god in shiny shorts, he’d done as I asked and shifted things around. He’d also given me two new work shirts for free.
Good luck forgetting how I’d lost the first one.
A week ago, I’d had no clue who Mia was. Now she was the axis of my world. If staying away from her would keep her healthy, I’d do it.
If she believed my statement last night indicated that I’d given up my campaign to be in her life, she was insane. Kizzy—crazy name, crazier hair and all—had a point. My presence had thrown Mia off her stride. In our business, that could get you seriously hurt.
Or seriously dead.
Even knowing that, I hadn’t been willing to walk away without an end date to my sentence. I vehemently did not want to fight her. Just considering it made me want to break things and throw up—in that order. But that fight was the only carrot I had. If I didn’t dangle it in her face, what guarantee did I have that she wouldn’t split town with her sister without the money she claimed to need? She could always come up with another plan.
If she did leave, I might never see her again. I hadn’t even known her last name before I’d picked up her phone under the guise of giving her Timmins’ number. I’d gotten lucky that she’d gone with a standard email addy.
Before last night, I’d given her no indication that I’d even consider stepping into the ring if she waited on the other side. I’d had no choice but to offer her what she wanted in return for what I needed.
Her safe and alive.
And mine, even if I’d bartered for those twelve hours with the one thing I’d refused to do.
Tonight I’d do a search on Mia Anderson, much as my guilty conscience protested the idea. But if she wouldn’t give me anything to go on regarding her past, what choice did I have? At least maybe I’d find out more about her fight record from one of the underground blogs.
It might be a waste of time. The contents of most people’s lives never ended up in a web crawler. I had to find out for myself. I had to try something.
First, I had to put in my time at the gym.
Despite having a fight next Friday myself, I wished I could skip my daily session. I’d trained for an hour last night while I was waiting for Mia to finish work, and I didn’t feel like going back today. Truth be told, I was sick of the workout grind. This whole thing with Mia had proved to me that I had to get out. No more dicking around. I would fight Giovanni Costas next week and her three weeks after that, then I was walking away.
And that breakup would be a permanent one.
I had two more fights to get through first. Mia’s would be as exactly I said. Straight tactical takedown, end of story. She would try to mix it up with me, but I would shut her down as painlessly as possible. Now that I’d found a woman I could actually feel something for, she actually thought I’d harm a goddamn hair on her head?
Hell no.
Costas was a different beast entirely. I’d fucked around on my training for this bout, but I needed to get myself in gear. He was the new kid on the block, untrained, likely as green as grass. Rumor had it he had no problem skirting the rules, precious few that there were. Hunger and dirty tactics could make up for inexperience. They had for me early on, anyway.
So I couldn’t slack now. I wasn’t about to tarnish my near perfect record this close to the end because I was too cocky to get my hand off my balls.
I pushed myself through three hours at the gym. My day started with the machines, then I sparred with Timmins and a new guy, Emerson. Slater, my regular training partner and corner mate—and best friend—was on vacation, so I’d been doing the round-robin routine in his absence. Emerson seemed decent enough, and I’d probably spar with him again.
Assuming Timmins didn’t scare him off with his big mouth. Coach liked to bitch about his entire gym being overrun with yuppies. He had a Tray, a Slater and now an Emerson. Where were the Johns, Toms and Bobs nowadays?
My quip about getting plenty of dicks instead had been ignored.
After listening to my coach go off for no reason for ten minutes, I did suicide runs and a long solo routine with the
heavy bag. My final destination was the pool, where I swam laps and tried to ignore the brunette swimmer at my side. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to notice I wasn’t interested.
Her incessant attention led me to cut my swim short. How had I ever been fascinated by fake tits? Now I much preferred real breasts that fit perfectly in my palms. Ones with small pink nipples that got hard just from me looking at them.
I hadn’t spent nearly enough time on them yet, but I would. Those twelve hours I’d stolen of Mia’s life would fucking rock her world. Then I’d work on stealing more.
On the way out of the gym, I stopped by the PT office and grabbed a couple of brochures. I hadn’t really looked into physical therapy as a possible career, but the time had come. After only one shift, I knew I couldn’t work at Vinnie’s for the rest of my life. Hell, I couldn’t say I’d even stay in the city.
If I had a reason to leave.
I made one more stop before I headed out. Timmins looked up at my knock and waved me inside his tomb-sized office. He’d been around a million years and was one of the few guys who got his own closet.
“What’s the word, Knox?”
I dropped into the chair across him and tried to keep my knees from bumping into his desk. Failed. As usual. “I need a favor.”
Timmins rubbed his sandpapery jaw. The rasp made me hunch my shoulders. He wouldn’t like this request.
“Lay it on me.”
“I’m booking another fight after the Costas bout.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, not blinking.
I swallowed and resisted the urge to protect my balls. “It’s with a woman.”
Now he blinked. Many times, as if he were trying to rid his parched eyeballs of an unexpected irritant. Also known as me. “Boy, are you nucking futs?”
I had to smile at his attempt not to swear. Those attempts usually didn’t last long, but I appreciated the effort. I didn’t even bother. To me, a man’s right to use the word fuck as noun, verb, and adjective was as unalienable as the right to pledge allegiance to the flag.
