Falcon (Own the Skies Book 3)

by Emma Nichole

  Frank leads me around one last hallway and we step onto the arena floor, and I’m instantly overwhelmed.

  “Holy shit,” I say, and Frank just laughs.

  There are easily twenty thousand people here, all waiting and eager in their stadium seating.

  Flashes from cameras, both cell phone and large professional ones, give a strobe light effect to the arena. The energy in here is vibrating, and shockingly, it doesn’t make me more anxious. It kind of excites me.

  Frank leads me to my seat, but not before introducing me to the security guard who is standing on the arena floor just a few feet from my section.

  And just like that, I’m left to my own devices.

  I pull out my cell phone and snap a couple photos to send to Rose; then I fire off a text to Falcon, letting him know I’m safe and sound in my seat.

  I hear the chatter as a group of people descend the stairs toward my section and start filing in to the row behind me, and one specifically makes my eyes roll into the back of my head.

  Great.

  “Color me surprised.”

  I don’t even have to turn around to know who the voice belongs to, but I do anyway. I will not be a catty female. I just won’t do it.

  “Hello, Jennifer. Nice to see you again.”

  “He didn’t offer to put you in something a little…” She glides her eyes up and down my body with the most disgusting look on her face, like I’m nothing but trash. “…less homely?”

  Take a breath, Faith.

  I fight down the urge to comment, but then I remember what Marco said. I take in the expression of disdain on her horrifically painted face and the fact I can see the track from her hair extensions and reply with a simple. “Actually, I just didn’t want to outshine you.”

  “Please.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “No one could. Falcon likes it when I wear this black dress. I thought he’d appreciate stripping it off of me later.”

  “You sound very sure of yourself,” I add, my tone dripping with sarcasm. She is standing with her hands on her hips and her boobs so pushed up; I’m shocked she isn’t suffocating in them. “Oh, to have your confidence.”

  She gives me a wicked grin before turning to speak with a group of women, dressed much like her, who have come to sit in the row behind me.

  I do my best to tune them out and focus on the scene in front of me.

  I’m just a few rows back from the wall separating the crowd from the area where the trainers stand. It’s set up like a concert in the round, really, except the stage is a large octagon with a cage around it.

  There are people flowing all around, adjusting cables, bringing towels, checking cameras and across to the side, I can see the table that houses the media and the commentators for the night.

  There are so many varieties of people here. I can turn to my right and see a full group of college-aged kids, but if I turn to my left, I can see a father there with his two young boys. As archaic as fighting seems on the surface, it really does give so many people a common interest.

  There are five fights leading into the Falcon’s main event fight and with each on that passes, I grow more and more anxious.

  There is way more blood than I thought there would be. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting, really.

  My father was always a big boxing fan, but that was like a dance almost with its ballet-like footwork and tests of stamina and skill.

  This is brute strength, backyard brawl, may the best man win type of shit.

  I’ve seen Falcon train. I’ve seen him work out and I’ve seen him fight in YouTube videos online, so I know he is more than able to handle himself in the Octagon, but that doesn’t stop the bubble of nerves building deep in my chest.

  “He’s next.” I hear Jennifer tell someone behind me. “I can feel him between my legs already.” I can only roll my eyes in response.

  Is she laying it on extra thick because I’m right here and she saw us together, or does she really behave this way all of the time?

  I watch as the crew comes out to clean off the mat inside the cage as everyone resets for the final fight of the evening.

  It’s a well-oiled machine, this place. Everyone has a job and they do it quickly so everything moves along without issue.

  “Faith?”

  I hear my name from the aisle beside me and sweep my head around to see a familiar face.

  “Joe. Hello.” I lean over to give him a small hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Marco wanted me to head out here and make sure you were all right and have everything you needed. I told him I’d make sure.”

  I’d be lying if I said the thought that his mind is on me at all while he’s prepping for a match didn’t make my heart beat a little faster. That fact must be written all over my face because Joe instantly comments on it.

  “You know, he had that same look back there when he asked about you.”

  “Tell him I am perfect and I have everything I need…and to be safe. Please. Make sure you add that last part, okay?”

  “He needs another person on his ass about staying safe, so believe me…I’ll tell him.” He throws me a wink. “Enjoy the fight, oh, and don’t pay attention to the riffraff behind you. Ignore it. We all do.”

  I giggle and lean in to whisper to him, “She’s truly the worst, isn’t she? I’m not being petty or catty?”

  He whispers back, “No, dear, she’s a demon bitch from hell, who reads too much into things that didn’t really matter.” He gives me a pat on the back and heads back down to the main floor, flashing the pass around his neck so he can go back to where Falcon and the other fighters are waiting.

  He didn’t need to do that, but it’s like he could read the anxiety on my face. He was telling me, without saying it outright, regardless of what any of the other women behind me say, and no matter what they did with Falcon, it didn’t mean anything to him.

  I mean something to him.

  I have to. Otherwise, why would he say the things he says and do the things he does?

  I don’t have time to dwell on it too long because the lights begin to dim once again and the emcee for the evening takes his place in the middle of the Octagon.

  “Ladies aaaaaand gentleman. I trust you’re all nice and warmed up for the main event. The finale. The pièce de résistance. Masen vs Wyrez” His voice booms over the PA system so loudly that it vibrates deep in my gut and the crowd goes beyond nuts.

  Screaming, yelling, and chanting: I just take it all in. I can hear the steady chant of, “Falcon. Falcon. Falcon,” over and over until it’s nearly everyone in the room.

  “We all know who you’re here to see, especially the ladies.”

  With that, the belt riders behind me screech and scream, bringing nearly all of the attention squarely on them, which is what I’m sure they were aiming for.

  The emcee just laughs. “Exactly like I thought. Well, we shouldn’t keep you or them waiting any longer. Let’s get this started, shall we?”

  The crowd goes wild once again and the spotlight in the middle of the Octagon shuts off and before long, a different, louder voice sounds over the PA system.

  “Ladies and gentleman, weighing in at two hundred and fifteen pounds…Jose Wyrez!”

  A hip-hop song I don’t recognize begins blasting into the room and lights of all colors give a fiery show as Falcon’s opponent makes his way into the cage.

  He’s not as tall as Falcon, but I can tell from here he’s bulky and his muscles are impressive.

  And with the way he stalks around, smiling and cheering, I can tell he’s incredibly confident in himself.

  “And now… weighing in at two hundred and nine pounds…Marco…Faaaaaalcon Masen!”

  Blue lights flash all around the arena and the song “Bartholomew” by the Silent Comedy blasts from the speakers.

  His entrance music. His tone. His colors. His aura.

  I’m swimming in it, letting it consume me, and the minute I see h
im step out from behind the wall to make his way to the center of the arena, my heart is nearly beating out of my chest.

  Nothing else matters in this moment because my eyes are on him, watching every move he makes as he steps into the Octagon. He’s wearing a black shirt that looks very much like the one I’m wearing and red compression shorts that hug his strong thighs with his Falcon logo down the leg.

  His trainer steps into the corner with him and starts to wrap tape around his hands then slips the fighting gloves over them. I can see from here that Falcon gives his fingers a wiggle then closes his fist a few times to test the fit.

  I take in his process and watch him in his element. He’s got this aura emitting from him that is impossible for me to describe. It’s almost vibrating the air around him. There’s a smile on his face and he’s hopping back and forth from foot to foot. He shakes his arms out to stay loose, then he leans over to ask Joe, who has just appeared at his side on the outside of the cage, a question. Whatever Joe says in reply must please Falcon because his smile grows tenfold and then his eyes sweep over the crowd.

  He’s looking for me.

  I stand up straighter and watch as his features soften the moment our eyes meet.

  He gives me that cocky grin that makes me feel weak in the knees then he holds a hand up, showing me two fingers.

  Second round.

  He’s calling his win. Knockout in the second round.

  All I can do is laugh and give an exasperated shake of my head, which he returns with an even bigger smile before he turns his attention back to the task at hand.

  Round one ends in a flash. Each man got a few punches in and Falcon took Wyrez to the mat, but the round ended before it could progress any further.

  I stand still, with my hands folded in front of my face like I’m praying, watching as the referee signals it is time for round two to begin.

  Falcon attacks quickly; throwing first a hook then his leg swings through the air, connecting with the side of Wyrez’s head, and he stumbles backward into the cage then falls to the ground.

  Falcon takes this as his chance to take the power position on top of him and land blow after blow to his head. Then body. Head. Body. Head. Body.

  The ref gets onto his hands and knees beside the two men and finally taps Falcon on the shoulder, calling the fight.

  The crowd erupts in a roar of cheers and he releases his opponent and throws his arms into the air, cheering right along with them.

  He peacocks around the Octagon, soaking in the moment, and I’d be lying if I said the sight wasn’t the most incredible turn-on of my entire life.

  Seeing him up there, so alpha, so sweaty, and arrogant, it makes wetness pool in between my thighs. I want nothing more than to march into that cage and take him right there for everyone to see. I want to stake my claim on him.

  I feel a rush an Alpha Female, Amazonian, Wonder Woman energy coursing through my veins as I watch the media descend upon him, asking questions and snapping photos.

  He takes it all in stride, giving them everything they need, and any photo they want. I wish I could hear what he was saying. I wish I could hear the laugh that is undoubtedly echoing from his lips when his tosses his head back at something a reporter asks him.

  I’m lost in the moment, lost in watching him when I get shoved as someone tries to move past me.

  “Jesus, zoning out much? Pay attention. I have a winner to go congratulate, if you know what I mean.” Jennifer smiles as she moves around me.

  I don’t say a thing, ignoring her just as Joe asked me to do, and watch as she heads back up the stairs toward the main level of the arena.

  I am gathering my things and go to pull out my cell because I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be going now, when a deep voice says my name from the arena floor, “Faith?”

  I look down to see the same man who brought me down to my seat.

  “Hi!” I say, shoving my cell back into my pocket.

  “Mr. Falcon asked that I come get you and bring you back to him.”

  I bite my lip and try to hide my obvious excitement. Get a grip, Faith. You are here with him. Obviously, he wants to see you.

  I wonder what Jennifer will think about this when she gets to him, and I’m already there. My inner Mean Girl is fist pumping.

  I step down onto the floor and follow Frank through the crowd of people zigzagging all around.

  Falcon is no longer in the Octagon, so I’m assuming he’s already been escorted to the back.

  We make our way down the walkway that the fighters made their entrances on and slip around the seats and enter into a hallway of sorts.

  “Falcon’s room is the third on the right,” he tells me, but doesn’t leave me to walk alone. He’s just communicating so I know.

  Security stops us briefly, verifying my badge then let’s us through.

  His door is open when we arrive, and I see him in all his glory, still dressed in his shorts and sans shirt.

  But his hands are free from gloves and tape.

  “Delivery for you, Boss,” Frank says, and Falcon turns to see my face.

  “There she is,” he says, with a tone that makes my skin tingle and melt off my bones.

  “Here I am.”

  I know the moment Frank leaves us alone because Falcon and I both react simultaneously, colliding with one another in a fit of hormones and adrenaline.

  We are all hands, tongues, scrambling feet, and need.

  He reaches around me to shove the door closed, but doesn’t bother locking it.

  “If it’s important, they’ll knock, and then they can fucking wait,” he growls against my lips. “You look so fucking hot in my colors.”

  “I thought I was going to come right there in the stands watching you. Oh my God, I never thought I’d like it so much. Like seeing you like that.”

  He stops long enough to unbutton my jeans and shove them down my body along with my panties.

  “This is going to be quick,” he says, as he lifts me from my feet, spinning me around to pin me on the opposite wall so I can see the door, but his back is facing it.

  I reach between us to tug and pull at his shorts He gives me a hand and pulls them down just enough for his cock, rock-hard and ready, to spring free.

  I can smell his all-consuming, pure male scent of sweat, plus the mix of the bodywash he used prior to leaving this morning, and I decide right here and right now, I’ll never be able to smell it again without instantly going weak in the knees.

  He pushes my T-shirt up to expose my bra beneath and then with both hands, he tears the cups down, giving him full, uninhibited access to my breasts.

  The fabric and underwire are forcing them up higher than normal, like they are being presented to him, and he takes full advantage with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

  “Fuuuck,” I moan aloud, dropping my head back and letting it thud against the wall.

  “Not quite yet. That’s next.” He punctuates that sentence with a bite to my left nipple, which only pulls another cry from my lips.

  “Then hurry the hell up. I’m dying here.” I shift my hips to coax him into me.

  He slides his nose along mine with that fucking grin on his face that I want to lick off, and then he hitches my legs up, wrapping both of them around his waist. I’m open…exposed…for the taking, and honestly, I want nothing else in the moment.

  He gives my lips a tender kiss and nibble before he shifts his body, bending his knees a bit for a better angle, and thrusts forward, impaling me entirely.

  I’m rewarded with a deep, heady growl in right my ear, and I nearly come on the spot, just from the animalistic sound coming from his throat.

  We find our rhythm. It’s not fast, but it’s not lazy or slow. It’s this perfect combination of needy and selfish. We need each other so desperately, but don’t want this too end too quickly.

  I wrap both arms around his neck and dig my nails into his shoulder then glide them up to grip the back of his head when
he buries his face in the crook of my neck.

  I can feel heat building in the tips of my toes, like I’m being dipped into warm water feet first. My thighs are trembling, and my clit is throbbing with each thrust. His pelvis kisses it with every movement, and an involuntary purr leaves my lips as it does.

  I almost don’t notice the movement by the door. Honestly, most people wouldn’t, but it’s the small blade of light that slices over my face when it barely swings open and an overly made up face pokes into the room, without permission and completely uninvited.

  Jennifer.

  She stills completely when she takes in the scene. Falcon fucking me with all his might into the wall, still sweaty from his fight, still in his trunks, grunting, and giving me everything he has.

  Calling me his. Telling me how good I feel and how tight I am.

  She hears every, single word…and when my eyes connect with hers from across the room, pure, alpha female pride boils in my blood and a wicked grin spreads over my face.

  That’s right, Jennifer…he’s mine.

  I wish I could take the look of shock on her face and freeze it to keep in my back pocket forever. I’m never one to be petty, but the look on her face is nearly orgasmic in and of itself.

  He shifts just a bit and sinks in deeper, letting the head of his cock graze that spot deep inside of my body, and it’s as if he struck a match in my core.

  My mouth drops open and I screw my eyes closed as the walls of my pussy begin to flutter and contract in orgasm.

  He follows me over the edge, pulsing and shuddering inside of me while laying kiss after kiss along my now sweaty neck.

  As the moment fades, I open my eyes to look at the door and our audience has fled, having learned a very significant lesson.

  Don’t fuck with a real woman.

  Chapter 23

  Falcon

  “Thanks, guys. Have fun tomorrow night, okay?” I say, as I sign a few autographs for a couple young boys who have approached me in the hotel lobby.

  “We really hope you win. You have to. Braxton White can’t hang with you. He just can’t,” the little brown-headed one says.