by Shey Stahl
My words had a predictable effect on him, silencing his cocky side.
If only that worked for Stella, too. “You’re a dick,” she sneered, turning sharply on her heel to walk away. Only she didn’t, she couldn’t. In her eyes, she still cared. Giving me a once over, she licked her lips, slowly, Lucas tugging on her hand.
“I’d say suck it…” I grabbed my dick through my jeans. “But I don’t want your mouth anywhere near me.”
My crudeness did nothing to Stella. She was used to that side of me, but Lucas, he wasn’t pleased with my dick grab.
Reporters loved it.
Lucas reacted and shoved me back against the wall, into two reporters. “Shut the fuck up, ya pussy.”
Grasping his shoulders, I made him listen to me, fisting his shirt in my hands. “Do you really think that fuckin’ bitch is gonna be around after I win?” In the corner of my eye, I could vaguely see Stella’s mouth gaping open in response to me calling her a bitch.
Staring down at me, his defiant stare searched mine, looking for something I might never know. Weakness maybe. He wouldn’t see any of that shit from me.
Though he was my enemy in many ways, I could see what the ladies saw in him. Dark hair and baby blue eyes, with charisma to his loud-mouthed manner, he was a quick talker and yet, subtle with his jabs. He was burly, and easily had about fifteen pounds on me, not to mention a two-inch height difference.
What he didn’t have was my tenacity, my ability to see this through and that I would win.
“See you in the ring, Stone.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Come prepared.”
He laughed, reading the meaning behind my stare, nodding and stepping back. “I should say the same to you.”
There was a shot of pain that flashed in my eyes. I couldn’t help it.
Manny pushed himself between us, one hand on my chest, the other on Lucas. “Great for the press, boys, but it’s time for business.”
We parted, passing glares that could have shattered glass. We also signed the bout agreement, which meant it went out for a purse bid. Lucas being the champion was estimated to receive 45 million for the fight where I would be receiving roughly 38 million. Not bad for a night’s work. Sure, I wasn’t opposed to the money. I needed it now more than ever. But I would have agreed to anything at that point. I wanted the title back. And if I was being honest, it wasn’t about the title as much as it was about me, and what I needed to prove to myself.
This is a type of fighter who likes to exchange punches and relies on being aggressive and fighting on the inside.
I flew back to Seattle the next afternoon and then spent Friday morning with my dad. It hurt to see him not remember who I was but have such a connection with him. He called me boy and I never corrected him.
He was alone in his room, as usual, staring out the window, haunting memories living in his bleary stare. “How are you feeling today, Pops?” The door clicked behind me, latching shut.
His stare swept to mine, blinking rapidly and adjusting to the brightness of his room. I made sure the room was nice, accustomed to the lifestyle he had before moving here. Money was never a problem when I was younger. We had a nice house on Lake Washington growing up and when he got sick, the last thing I wanted was for him to be living by water.
So, I had moved him into my apartment downtown. Only problem there was when I wasn’t home, he’d wander the hallway and lobby knocking on doors and looking for my mother, who’d been gone ten years.
When I was thirteen, my dad was diagnosed with acromegaly, a hormonal disorder caused by overproduction of growth hormones by the pituitary gland. As a secondary disease, he suffered from diabetes and had a few strokes. After the second stroke, his memory of the present, the few years leading up to the stroke, had all but disappeared.
Dad smiled when he noticed me, lips turning up. “Hey, boy. Where have you been?”
He may not remember me but he expected me. “I was out of town for a few days.”
Remember me, Dad. I’m your son.
But did it matter that he didn’t remember I was his son? He still knew he had one and spoke highly of—Destry. So, did it matter to me he didn’t remember the cocky no good teenager I once was? Probably not. The memory he had of me was good. I should leave it at that and not the one where I punched him in the face for telling me Stella was bad news.
Sitting next to him on the black leather couch, I glanced out the window and the view of downtown Bellevue he had. It may not have been Lake Washington but at least I could still afford to have him in a nice facility.
Dad’s eyes shifted back to the window. He looked sad and ten years older in a week. My gut twisted, my heart thumping wildly. I hated seeing him like this when I knew the strong man he was to me growing up. He was now dependent on others. I used to think my dad was king of the world, unstoppable in more ways than one.
Not anymore. Disease had a way of doing that to you.
“I need to get out of this place,” he mumbled, his head resting on his hand, shifting his weight on one side of his wheelchair.
I knew when he was like that he needed a break from the routine in here. Usually when that happened, I took him to dinner or to a local fight or even a park. I couldn’t today. I needed to arrange it. Though he was here on his own will, and couldn’t be forced to stay, I didn’t like disrupting his routine.
I stayed a while and talked with him for an hour before he said he wanted to take a nap.
Back downstairs, I asked Kathy, his caretaker, if I could take him out for dinner on Monday next week.
“Yeah.” She smiled at me, her hand on my shoulder like the loving mother she was to many. “He’d love that.”
“Okay, I’ll be here around five on Monday for him.”
I HADN’T SEEN Tallan since I’d been back. On my way home from Bellevue, I sent her a message asking if she’d like to come over for dinner. She said she’d pick up some gyros from Yannis.
By the time I made it into Seattle, the Queen Anne area of the city had the Friday night vibe to it. While most in western Washington avoided Seattle, I enjoyed the rush of the city and the sense of adrenaline it provided. People swarmed the streets, music pulsing from open doors, occasional rumbling from trucks, and the ambience every city had. You either loved it or hated it.
I’d given Tallan a key when I left for Vegas, in case she needed it. More than that, I wanted her to have it.
“So, how’d it go?” Tallan asked as soon as I walked inside my apartment. She was there, digging through the bags of food for the takeout and arranging it on plates.
It was cute that she was comfortable enough to do this.
“Okay. He wouldn’t shake my hand.”
Tallan seemed annoyed by that, huffing out a breath, her hand on her hip. “What the fuck is his problem? Did you get in his face?”
The way she placed her hand on her hip gave me a nice view of her curves. Wearing jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt, I saw a hint of what I wanted, enough to make me want to see more.
No sex. Don’t think about sex. Don’t.
My problem was, the more I told myself not to think about sex, the more I did.
Leaning into the wall near the fridge, I looked at her, and then the food. “Let’s eat.”
Her brow scrunched. She wanted to talk, not eat. “Fine.”
We did and even after the first bite of the gyros, she was still staring at me, waiting for me to tell her what happened in Vegas. Maybe this was why I didn’t call her when I came home Thursday night. Avoiding her reaction?
But I didn’t think it was that. I think it was more of the uncertainty of why I had that reaction to Lucas in Vegas.
“No. I said a few things. Believe it or not, I hate confrontation.”
Tallan laughed, holding her hand to her mouth. “I’m not buying that one bit.”
“It’s true, honey.” I wondered if she noticed it was the first time I called her honey.
It went unnot
iced when she reached down at her feet to retrieve today’s newspaper. “Destry, you grabbed your dick at a press conference!” She tossed the paper at me. On the front page was the picture of me fisting Lucas’s shirt in my hands, his face inches from mine.
“Well, I wasn’t combative about it. I was smiling, see….” I gestured to my smirk on the black and white photo. Shrugging, I took another bite of my gyro. “I think I told Stella to suck it too.”
Tallan’s eyes widened. “You did?” She swallowed, choking down the food in her mouth. “I mean, you weren’t serious, were you?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “What the fuck would make you think I was?”
She never answered me.
Something told me to change the subject and fast.
On the floor, next to the door was Tallan’s bag with her laptop. Seeing that made me wonder about that article and what she decided to do with it. Yeah, I was pissed that she’d written something about me until I read it. In all the years I’d been fighting, I’d never had someone write like that about me. I’d only ever read lies. The fact that she painted a romanticized version of me made me realize not everyone had a tainted perception of who I was.
When we finished eating, I took Tallan by the hand and made her sit with me on the couch. It was then, settling back against the soft leather, I noticed there was music playing in my apartment, a sure sign she had been making herself comfortable here.
“Why haven’t you published the article?”
She blinked, slowly, trying to comprehend my change in topics from the fight, to this. Since I’d been arrested, the topic of the article hadn’t been brought up again. It needed to be. “I actually want to talk to you about that.”
“About what?” My heart sped with anticipation. I still wasn’t okay with what happened with Marcus and honestly, I wanted to find the fucker and kick the shit out of him for using Tallan like that.
“I’m not going to publish the article. Marcus and I talked about it and I told him I wouldn’t put it on his blog after what happened.” Drawing in a shaky breath, her eyes locked on mine, nervously dancing around but never settling. “I… want to write a book about you.”
The words hung in the air for a moment as I tried to process them. When I didn’t say anything, she panicked. “Never mind.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You want to write a book about me?”
Her lips pressed into a flat line, her cheeks pink. She swallowed, her breathing increasing. “Yeah.”
“What about?” I wasn’t that interesting for a book. Was she crazy?
She hesitated as if she was afraid of my answer. “Your life, dad, boxing… all of it. A story about a fighter. You know, like a biography, but told by me, as I see you.”
“Why?” Did I want the world knowing my life? Not really. As far as I was concerned, it was none of their business. Strangely enough, I understood why she wanted to.
“It’s a good story of redemption.” She took note of my apprehension and waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t have to say yes. I just thought it might be a good way for you to tell your side of the story. Everyone has all these theories as to why you are the way you are.”
I couldn’t get over the fact that she wanted to write something about me. “What would be in it?”
“Anything you want to tell me.”
“Anything about my life and us?” I wondered if she caught onto my meaning.
“If you want.”
Smirking, I let my hands wander over her thighs before placing her on my lap, her back pressed into my chest. “And this… will this be in the story?” I ran my hands up her inner thighs. Her body unconsciously arched back when my hands made it to the swell of her hips. “Are we talking about a dirty romance novel?
“No… and you said no sex.” Attempting to push my hands away, she squirmed around on my lap. “So stop that.”
“Let’s start with the no sex tomorrow.” I groaned in her ear. “Your ass looks too good in those jeans.”
“You have no self-control.”
She’s right. You don’t.
“No, you don’t. You can’t resist me and you know it.”
My right hand remained on her hip, my left slid higher over her stomach, palming her breast and then lower, returning to the juncture between her thighs. Fingers dancing over denim, I spread her legs wider earning me a gasp from tender parted lips that tasted of sugar and strawberries. I wanted to lick them, taste their sweetness and give her the sour that dripped from me.
Tallan breathed out, sighing, relaxing back into my chest. Inhaling, her body rose off mine, our hearts beating as one. Tracing the seam of her jeans, I went higher to the top button and then dipped inside until my calloused fingers found the wetness I craved.
Memorizing her tiny moans, I caught a vision of her, laid out, as vulnerable as I was every minute of my life. Void of sounds, I remained still, afraid if I moved, I would lose control and fuck her now. My breath came faster, panting against the side of her neck, chest rising and falling, the only sounds in the apartment besides the cracked window seeping the city through the silence.
Tallan arched her back and I groaned, my head falling back against the couch. She rocked back and my dick swelled, hard and so fucking ready for her to get me off. She rocked again, my free hand snapping to her hip, halting her. “Stop moving.” I told her, my body trembling against the movements. “This is for you.”
With my hand in her panties, my other hand moved back to her breasts, her chest rapidly rising, drowning out the noises in mine, the thoughts consuming my head.
Her wetness soaked my fingers, making it easy to slide in and out, a rhythm she matched and I had to once again, beg her not to move. “Stop fuckin’ moving or I’m going to stop.” My lips brushed her ear before I darted my tongue out and licked her lobe, once. “Stay still.”
Her whimpering filled the room. “I’m trying.”
She was, I’ll give her that much and maybe it was me and my need that was making this worse.
“Destry…” she begged. Her back arched and she lay against my collarbone.
I couldn’t keep her still, no matter how I tried to make her. My body still shook like the aftereffects of a sunburn: body in shock from the heat and scolded skin.
“Shhh, baby, let me get you off.” Raising my hand from her breast to wrap gently around her neck, her pulse thumping wildly against my fingertips, a steady beat only for me and my heart.
She did, giving in, sinking. Her legs opened wider, my fingers delved deeper. Gasping, my tongue darted out, wetting my lips and then her neck. At first my lips were soft, the lightest touch she could barely feel. And then I gave her more. I never held hesitation when it came to showing her how I felt, or what I wanted. Wasn’t me. I loved her, and worshiped her body like I owned it.
My tongue darted out, my free hand pulling down her shirt so I could kiss more of her neck and shoulder. She squirmed under my touch, fighting against me, her skin heating when I fisted her hair in my hands, angling her neck so I could kiss her deeply and then moved back to her neck.
My assault never let up. I was everywhere all at once. It was who I was. Sensing fear or someone giving in, I took advantage, my aggressive nature never easing. I gave until I had nothing left, until she forgot that anything outside of this, my hands and my mouth on her, even existed in the first place.
Tallan trembled in response to my mouth on her and my fingers gliding in and out until the intense pleasure ripped through her and she moaned. “Oh fuck!”
That’s right, let go. I’ll catch you.
She breathed in, holding it, flying, a rumbled noise underneath my fingers still wrapped around her neck, squeezing, electrifying those sensations I only wished I was submerged in. I wanted those noises slipping from her beautiful parted lips to take me so far under I would never find my way back. I wanted this, the grabbing, the passionate pleading eyes, the sliding against one another, and the beating of our hearts never knowing a
nything but the sound of the other.
Did she realize how beautiful she was like this?
When her breathing was evening out, I slid my hand out, up over the valley between her breasts to her lips. With a quick swipe over her bottom lip, I drew my fingers into my own mouth, sucking her sweetness.
Did she realize how dirty I was?
She laughed, her stomach tightening with the action, hips moving over my cock that I was sure had never been that hard. “You’re so nasty.”
“There’s nothing nasty about tasting you,” I said, licking the side of her face with my pussy-coated tongue. “It’s the best taste in the world.”
Tallan blinked, lashes snapping like lightning striking, denying me their light and then opened, revealing sweet dark chocolate. Wiping her hand down the side of her face, she smiled, the corners of her mouth quirking to reveal a little dimple on her cheek. “I missed your touch.”
Swallowing, my throat was dry, like a desert, my erection finally beginning to subside. My fingertips swept lightly over her clammy skin and down her arm. “I missed your beauty.”
TALLAN AND I took a shower and then sat outside on the balcony. She had a glass of red wine in hand while I stuck to water. The last time we were out here was three weeks earlier when I was accusing her of sleeping with Silas. Though the night hadn’t gone as planned, I wondered if she was thinking about it now. Was she remembering all the awful, hurtful things I’d said to her?
Her body illuminated by the city lights, hunched over the railing, peering at a city she had always known as home.
“What made you decide to get into fighting for a living?” she asked, sitting beside me on the wooden lounge chair.
“I was raised around it.” I told her, my eyes on the city and the noises, cars honking, music pulsing, a slow steady mist of rain. “When I first began to box, the idea of beating someone else up wasn’t appealing. And then I started to understand the discipline it showed me and I was obsessed with it. Everyday I’d run home from school and to the bar, sneaking down into the basement, unbeknownst to everyone else and practice. I wanted to see if I could hit any harder the next day or throw a combination like my dad did.” Tallan hung on my every word, her facial expression, one of fascination and excitement that I was sharing this with her. At first, it felt strange to share this with her. There was so much of my life that I didn’t open up to anyone about, not even Stella. But then again, Stella knew, as she was present for most of it.