by Lily Zante
“Did you?” she asks.
I had a speech prepared, words I wanted to say to her, but we're both standing and kind of dancing around one another. If this was a boxing ring, it would be the part where we start figuring each other out, and nobody is ready to throw any serious punches yet. “Yes.”
Her eyes widen, as if she’s just missed a step and not managed to fall. My eyes take in her appearance once more. “Did you come straight from work?” Even though our conversation is stilted and polite, there are undercurrents of longing floating in the air.
“I was out with Gerry.”
I wasn’t expecting that fucking answer. “You spent the evening with him?” I'm not jealous. I know Harper doesn't give a shit about the guy. She's not that way inclined. I can’t see her getting friendly with a guy in order to secure a better position at work. But I hate that he got to spend time with her and I didn’t.
It’s my fault entirely, and I intend to make it up to her. I’m so frustrated and wired up from not seeing her that my cock comes to life as we stand and make small talk.
She shrugs. “I needed a distraction. I needed to do something, otherwise I would have called you, or come over, or done something silly because I’m confused and annoyed with you.”
She what? I like that she feels this, even though I didn’t want her to feel those emotions—I’d rather that she was happy—but I know I’m to blame for being distant with her.
“You're not silly,” I say, reaching out to stroke her face. “I’m the one who messed up. I didn't mean to say that stuff to you. It’s just been so hard lately.”
It is getting harder with each passing day. There is so much stuff floating around in my head the closer I get to the fight.
“Are you worried?” she asks. Her expression softens, and she inches towards me. I tense, knowing that if she reaches for my face, I won’t be able to push her away. I missed her, but having her here facing me, staring at me like she wants me, is a whole other level of trouble. I feel so out of sorts right now that I don’t know how to be around her.
I texted her because I was lonely, and because I needed her, but now that she’s here, I see that I’ve just led temptation to my doorstep.
She takes a step towards me. “I understand. You don't have to explain, Elias. This fight means a lot to you, and I know I’m a distraction.”
I reach out and place my hand against her face. She leans into it, her cheek resting against my palm.
It takes a second of us looking at one another and then she's in my arms, tiptoeing up to kiss me. Her soft little mouth slides over mine and I melt.
I said I'd make it up to her, but she's the one who made the move, and the speed of it startles me.
It also ignites my pent-up desire. We kiss feverishly, and in between kissing and touching, she tells me she missed me, and that she's glad I texted her. All the while she rains tiny kisses all over my mouth, and her soft hands steal around my shoulders.
“I’m better when you’re around me,” I tell her.
My cock turns rock hard and her moan tells me she knows. I wrap my arms around her waist. She's so tiny, I can wrap one arm around her easily.
I have plans to taste her again, and I’m already salivating at the idea of stripping her slowly. She sucks my lower lip, and her hand snakes down my body. My breath hitches when she feels me through my clothes, her fingers gripping and stroking me in turn.
I moan against her lips. “Harper…”
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with need.
“I can’t...” I attempt to move her hand away but she's like a woman possessed. My resolve is weak, and weakens further when she starts to rub me harder.
Fuck. If this isn't the best feeling. I’ve been wanting to taste her pussy ever since I sent her that first text, but she's in control of me, and I can’t stop her.
I don’t want to.
“No, no,” I begin to say. The fight is only next week. I should hold out, but she grabs the moment to kiss me hard, her tongue exploring my mouth as if it’s lost its way.
I kiss her back, and we go at it like wild things. Her smell, her taste, her lips, her tongue. Everything from the sauna room night comes flooding back.
I pick her up and walk with her over to the sofa. I sit back, and she straddles me again and we kiss for the longest time. Her hands are all over me, over my T-shirt, then under, while our mouths are joined. My hands go for her arms, her face, her breasts as I try to get those stupid little buttons on her shirt open.
I'm so hard, I think I'm going to explode.
I want to stand by my promise. I want to make it up to her, and plant my face between her legs again, but she slides down the length of my body and throws off her jacket. I hold my breath, waiting for her to whip off her shirt, my mouth watering at the thought of my mouth on her breasts.
I try to get up, because the curtains are half drawn, but she has other plans.
She stares at me with hungry eyes, her lips moist. “Let me have a taste,” she begs. “Just a tiny little taste.”
My mouth falls open, just like the front of my jeans which she’s managed to unzip. She frees my cock from the boxers.
“No,” I say, but it takes a serious amount of willpower for me to move her hands away. I can't have her do anything. I need to stay pent-up.
But she's on it.
Her lips swallow me, and I fall back, my jaw spasming as I fight to keep it together. I haven’t had sex, or this, for months.
Gratitude seeps through me as I sink deeper into the sofa, enjoying her soft, warm mouth on my cock. It’s the most beautiful sensation I have ever experienced.
She takes her mouth away, and stares at me. “Do you want me to stop now?” she asks, her voice all innocent, despite her swollen red lips. I can’t speak, or think, and I am close to coming. Or passing out.
I don’t want her to stop.
She licks my length, then my tip, and I jerk as if she’s thrown a hot rock at me. A grumble hitches in my throat. “Don’t… stop,” I stutter.
She moves her fingers up and down with an expertise that surprises me. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want Lou to blame me if you’re not at your peak.”
She’s killing me.
I pant out a breath because speech eludes me.
“I’ll take that as permission to carry on,” she teases. Then she laps at me again before slowly sliding her lips around me. She takes all of me in her mouth and I practically moan in gratitude. I fist my hand in her hair and try to hold back for as long as I can. I’m engulfed in wet heat, blood races through my veins, heightening my senses. She keeps a rhythm going, her hot mouth and fingers worshipping my poor lonely cock for the longest time.
She has rendered me completely helpless, and I lose it. I don’t even have time to warn her or pull away.
She drains every last drop, leaving me soft and boneless. My amped-up frustration seeps out of me slowly. I relax. I become weightless. I float.
She gets up and sinks against me on the couch.
After a while I manage to put myself back in my boxers but it’s a little longer before I can speak. She turns to me, bringing her knees up on the couch, and nestles against me with her hands on my chest.
I feel like Samson after Delilah cut off all his hair, but I don’t regret this.
In fact, I love her for it.
I shift my position so that I’m lying on the couch, and she snuggles in my arms. We stay like that for the longest time, and I suddenly think how I could get used to this.
I could get used to having Harper around. It’s the softest thing, her touch, her softness, her need for me.
I reach down and brush her hair away, not because it’s fallen over her face, I can’t see if it has or not, but because I can do it. Because I can reach down and feel her soft skin, and her warm face. She takes my hand and kisses it, then clasps it within hers and brings it to her chest. I breathe out louder than I intended.
; “What?” she whispers.
Don’t leave.
But instead, I say, “Shh… let me get some rest.”
She starts to lift her head. “I should go—”
But I gently press her head against my chest again. “Just for a while,” I whisper.
“Just for a while then,” she says, resting her head against me again. “I’ve already broken one of your rules—”
“Shhhhh,” I murmur, then, “I gave you permission.”
She lands another kiss on my chest. My lips curl up. I want to fuck her so badly. And make love to her, as gently. I want to worship every inch of her body and not leave the bedroom for days. I tell myself that day will come, after the fight. Right after the fight, if I have any energy left to spare. “You’re going to be my post-fight prize,” I tell her. This earns me another chest kiss and a grope of my cock. Holy shit. I wish I could give her free rein to do as she wants. Her fingers are dipped in magic and so is her mouth. “Post-fight,” I say, with difficulty, because I’m starting to get another boner and moving her hand away from my balls takes all of my willpower.
“I look forward to it,” she tells me, and places her hand on my bicep instead. It’s a safe-ish area. Not entirely safe. Harper’s fingers anywhere on my body aren’t a good idea. Especially because I’ve had a taste of her and I want all of her. I force myself to forget the sex, and to enjoy just holding her.
I hit and I am hit all day long—not too hard, because I'm preserving myself—but this, a woman's touch, is a rarity for me. My weary body, pushed beyond all limits, isn't used to the softness that Harper offers me. Everything disappears when she's around. The punches, and pushups, the strain on my body, my aching muscles.
She is my most unlikely savior, and now I want to hold onto her for longer.
I feel my eyes grow heavy and I hope I fall asleep, because sometimes, even after all these years, I still see his face. I see him beckon me as I'm walking down the hallway. I always try to be with Nina, because he won't look at me when Nina's around, but a few times, he managed to get me on my own.
Growing up, I told myself he didn't invade my body; that he made me do things to him. But that’s a lie I’ve told myself over the years. It makes me want to retch just thinking about it.
There was a reason I sought out the gym. There's a reason I hit so hard. When I’m in the ring, it’s not Jake, or Santos or Garrison I see in front of me. It's Swain. He’s the one I want to kill. It’s his face I want to smash, his ribs I want to crack, his skin I want to tear. That’s why my aim is laser-sharp and powerful enough to kill a man.
Because there is a man I want to kill, and his face is on the face of every opponent I’ve ever fought.
Chapter Thirty-Three
HARPER
* * *
He’s snoring. It's a gentle sound, not so much a snore as heavy breathing.
I lift my head and look at Eli sleeping. I'm in love with this man and I realize this with a certainty only now, in this moment as I watch my sleeping giant. I bite back a smile, and restrain my hand from stroking his face, but then I run my fingers around his lips tenderly. He let me in again just when I thought we were done.
I want him. I want him in my bed. I want him inside me. My nights have been restless because of all the things I see us doing, naked and sweaty and all over each other.
I shift slightly, then prop my elbow on the armrest, and look down at him. But he starts to stir, as if he can sense I'm looking at him. His brow furrows, and he lets out an angry sigh. I move back a little.
“No,” he hisses.
He's dreaming about the fight. I lower my head.
“Don’t want to.”
Don’t want to what?
Maybe he’s not dreaming about the fight. He starts to move his head, starts to move his body, and then he jerks violently, causing me to fall off the couch.
His eyes snap open, and he looks dazed. There's a look in his eyes I don't recognize, and he scares me, because he doesn’t look like the Eli I know. I scoot back on my bottom and it seems to snap him out of whatever dream state he was in.
Then he seems to see me on the floor.
“Shit,” he cries and is on the floor in an instant. “Did I push you?” He takes my hand and pulls me to him. We're both on the floor, both staring at one another as if we didn’t have that intimate moment not so long ago.
“Bad dream?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. “Eli?”
He stands up, then helps me up. “I get them sometimes. Haven’t had one in a while.”
My concern for him wipes away my fear and I put my arms around him. “Were you dreaming of Garrison?”
He looks at me, puzzled, as if it’s the furthest thing from his mind. His gaze drops to the floor. He looks defeated and it unnerves me because I've never seen this look on his face before. He looks broken.
“Eli,” I whisper, feeling fearful now. He sits on the sofa, but this time it’s as if he's been knocked down, as if the life has been sucked out of him.
I'm on the floor, kneeling between his legs, holding his hands, my face tilted up towards him. This powerhouse of a man looks so much smaller all of a sudden. I can’t understand, can’t believe the transformation that just occurred. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere good.” He looks as if he could curl up and die.
“Hey,” I say, taking his hand, kissing it. I make a stab at it. “If you were thinking about the past, it’s gone. It has no power.” I wait for him to deny it, but he doesn’t. His eyes are locked into mine and he’s listening. I wish I could make him forget, I wish I could wipe my hand over his face and erase all those memories, but I imagine that these things don’t disappear so easily. I lift up from my knees, so that we’re nose to nose, and hold his face in my hands. “That man is a piece of worthless shit. He can’t hurt you now. Nobody can.”
“I know.”
“Whatever he did, you’ve put yourself back together again.”
He nods, then closes his eyes as if the pain is too much. I kiss his hand again because I want to kiss away all the hurt. “You overcame everything.”
“Sometimes, I don’t know if I did.” He shakes his head as if he’s trying to get out an image that’s stuck in his head.
I touch his lips, then rest my forehead against his, as if it might transport the good thoughts from my head into his. He opens his eyes. “There were others. It wasn’t just me. I can’t forget their faces.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know how to comfort him. But I try. “You’re the bravest and strongest man I know, Eli.” I’ve led a gilded life, and I’ve known a lot of douchebags but I’ve never known survivors, the people who graft, and have had such awful, miserable beginnings that getting through each day is survival, not living.
But Eli came into my life and now I am forced to share a sliver of his horror. And even that is too much for me to stomach. So I do what I can, I will take this beautiful, brave and broken man and I will try to make him whole again.
People think he’s strong; most think he’s an underdog getting into a fight he has no chance of winning.
They don’t know the Eli I know. They don’t know of the horrors he has already lived through. Fighting Garrison is tame compared to what this man has been through.
“I love you,” I tell him, with our foreheads pressed together. I move my head away an inch because I want to look into his eyes, but his eyes are closed. “I love you, and I believe in you, and I feel lucky to have met you. I don’t know of anyone who’s walked your path and still come out fighting the way you have. You’re already a champion in my eyes, Eli.”
He opens his eyes, and they’re shiny. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s going to cry, or if it’s because he’s so happy.
Chapter Thirty-Four
ELI
* * *
A load has been lifted.
Harper isn't just the woman I dream about, she's become my therapist, my analyst, my salvation.
I told her my deepest, darkest, dirtiest secret, and she didn't turn away from me. She told me she loved me, and she said the things my heart needed to hear.
It's a double-edged sword though. She comforts me and calms me. She gives, and cares, and I need that. I need it more now that I have a taste for it because I've never had that kind of loving. But it's also a distraction. Her softness is my Achilles heel. She's made me soft. Made me think and probe deeper, and a week before the big fight, this isn't where my head needs to be.
But with Harper, I feel as if I can finally start to trust again.
She left that evening, even though we both want to spend the night together, it’s a waiting game now. We will get that night one day soon.
She told me about Gerry behaving like a douche, and I told her that he likes her. She still refuses to believe it. He wants her to come to the fight. I want her to come to the fight, and she told me she will, even if she has to pay for it out of her own pocket.
Whether she’s there with Gerry or not, I know she’s going to end up in my bed once the fight is over.
I'm at Nina's place, a small apartment, probably smaller than mine, and a few blocks away from me. It means we're close enough to be there for one another in case either of us are ever in any trouble. We’re also far enough to be out of each other's hair.
She's made dinner.
“Do you ever think of Grampton House?” I ask, as I fill the water jug up.
She lets out an exhale and stops ladling out the stew. “Why are you thinking of that now?”
I breathe out slowly. “I’m anxious about the fight.”
We sit down to eat.
“Are you sure that's enough?” she asks, all motherly and concerned, and not wanting to discuss the other matter.
“It’s enough.” I’m inwardly debating on whether to persist. It's a miracle that we got out of Grampton House when we did. That we both did. But sometimes, I wonder what happened to the others. He used others too, but I'm glad he stayed away from Nina. I'm glad that Swain used me, and left her alone because that’s what he promised me.