Redemption (Cambria University #2)

by Sadie T. Williams

  My tongue slides over her slit, pausing for a few flicks over her clit, and she tilts her head back with the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard in my life. If my cock gets any harder, it might explode.

  I repeatedly alternate between sucking and licking her clit while my fingers thrust in and out of her wetness. Short licks, long licks, suck, repeat. As her moans grow louder, I can feel her impending orgasm on my fingers as her pussy clenches and unclenches around them. A few more minutes and…

  “Van, oh, yes, yes, ahhh…” She comes on my fingers, and there isn’t a more satisfying sound or feeling.

  I crawl back up her body so we’re face to face. Her eyes flutter back open. “Sweetest girl in the world.” I lick her off my lips before kissing her nose, each cheek and then claim her mouth again.

  I cup her face in my hands and drive my tongue into her mouth. Today is not the day for love making. Today, I fuck my girlfriend, hard. Because adrenaline is running through me whether I try to push the idea of the fight out of my mind or not. I need it hot, sweat-filled and fast. Get me in the right state of mind for tonight.

  I flip Maisy over and pull her up by her hips. “Is this okay?” I ask. I just want to nail her hard in this moment.

  “Yes, so okay,” she gasps.

  “I need to fuck you, Owl. I need to fuck you hard.”

  “Oh, God, yes, please,” she moans with her head turned to the side and her black hair spread over the white sheets. She looks so fucking sexy.

  I swipe my fingers from her clit back to her ass. My girlfriend soaking wet for me. I place my hands on her luscious, bronze ass and rub my cock along her crack. I dig my fingertips into the flesh and it turns a lighter shade with the pressure. Jesus, I may come like this.

  “Owl, your ass. Fuck. Me.” I can’t stop. I rub and rub my erection against it. She feels so soft and luscious. I bend down and kiss her ass cheek. I can’t help it.

  “Fuck me, Van,” she pleads.

  “As you wish, baby.” I let go of her ass and grab her hips tight. I drill my dick deep into her from behind and she lets out a passionate, guttural moan as I bottom out in her pussy.

  “You. Good. Baby?” I ask in between thrusts.

  “Yes. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop,” she replies in spurts as I continue.

  I pick up the rhythm and we’re in sync, just like last night, but this time it’s hot, primal… carnal. We’re in love, but we’re still fucking. This is why Maisy is my perfect woman. She knows what I need.

  “Owl, I’m gonna come soon.”

  “I’m there,” is all she says as I feel her pussy tighten and milk my cock with a new vigor I haven’t felt from her before. Fuck, if we aren’t perfect in the bedroom.

  “Maisy!” I grunt as I release inside of her, pouring all my passion, lust, fear, strength, weakness and love into her. A few more pumps and I release her hips. I flop onto my back and Maisy collapses onto her stomach, breathing heavy, covered in sweat, and completely sated. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you,” she replies as she rolls over, places her head on my chest and curls in next to me. “I love listening to your heartbeat. Like listening to the waves when I lived here. It’s comforting.”

  I’m glad I can be that for her. That’s exactly what I didn’t know I wanted to be, until I met Maisy.

  “Your eyes. Your ocean eyes are my comfort. I can get lost in those sapphires,” I reply as I kiss the top of her head.

  “Really? Because it was your emeralds that drew me in the first time I saw you.”

  “Emeralds and sapphires. Guess it was meant to be, Owl.” I smile as I think about the first time I saw her. The day I made that bet with Finn. Now, here we are. Been through hell and back again, only to have another bet bring us closer together. I’m hearing you again, universe.

  After some lunch and walking around L.A., we head back to the hotel so I can get ready for my fight. We haven’t talked about it. I can tell she’s nervous. Am I nervous? I’d be lying if I said no, but I studied Eduardo and Matthias in Chet’s office before volunteering myself. I’m bigger than Matthias and faster than Eduardo, judging from his size, but I would have offered anyway, even if I wasn’t. This is for Maisy. I will win.

  Maisy found a few fights from The Underground featuring Matthias on YouTube that spectators uploaded. Most of them were removed for illegal content, but a half dozen snuck through their filters. If football has taught me anything, it’s that watching game tape is crucial to success.

  Each fight looks likes it’s in a warehouse, like Chet said. There is an octagon-shaped ring set up with ropes, but it’s on a concrete floor. While boxing ring mats are not soft, they aren’t concrete. Both fighters look taped up – ankles, wrists, knuckles. No gloves. Also new, but my fist has hit bone before. Most of my fights have been outside a boxing ring anyway. I expect my hand will break at some point, but I should get some shots in first.

  Watching these with Maisy may have been a bad idea. Matthias is a machine in their makeshift octagon. He’s clearly been trained in some kind of martial art, or maybe a combo of martial arts, and appears to rely on his legs more than his opponents. He took down one opponent with a particularly brutal leg sweep – it was hard to tell on the shaky cellphone video, but it appears Matthias snapped the guy’s shin.

  *Ding* Maisy’s phone alerts. “It’s Chet with an address,” she says. “Five-eight-five-eight-four 194th Street North.”

  I immediately Google the address and Google StreetView shows me a warehouse. Well, no surprises so far.

  “Chet said we should be there by seven. There’s a trainer who will wrap you. You’ll be introduced right before. Is there a song you want?”

  “I get a walk-out song?” The idea makes me laugh.

  “This isn’t funny,” Maisy says, annoyed by my laugh.

  “It kind of is. It’s like they’re knock-off MMA. It’s just weird.”

  I can see the fear on Maisy’s face. “Come on, Owl. It will be okay. Your boyfriend is a strong, feral beast. I will defend you to my dying breath.”

  “Boyfriend?” she squeaks as her ocean eyes go from bright blue to a depths-of-the-ocean blue in a split second.

  Chapter 35: Maisy

  “Yeah, uh…” Van stumbles to find his words. This confident, magnetic force of a man is never, and I mean never, tongue-tied. But this, it makes me giggle. “Don’t laugh. That’s not cool, Owl.” He holds his heart as if I wounded him deeply. I love him best like this. Teasing and goofy. Well, second best, behind naked.

  “Is the Big Bad Van at a loss for words?”

  “Actually, the term is Big Dick Blake.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. I roll my eyes in response and he tackles me onto the bed.

  “If that’s how hard you hit, you’re never gonna get drafted,” I tease. He lets out a deep belly laugh and we both laugh until we can’t anymore. We needed this little relief from the tension of the impending fight.

  “Maisy,” he says as he rolls to his side and pulls me so I’m facing him. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

  “I kinda thought I already was, but yes, Van, obviously I will.” I smile, then lean in and press my lips to his. Those thick, tasty lips that may be busted up soon. The thought sickens me as I run my thumb over them. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything,” he says and he can sense the tension shift in my voice.

  “If it’s going badly. If you’re hurt. Tap out. Stop before something bad happens. If I lost you, I don’t think I would recover.”

  “Owl, I will be fine, but I promise.”

  ✽✽✽

  We arrive at the warehouse just before seven and as we pull up, I see Chet standing near a side door while people are filing through a large hangar-looking entrance. There are two bouncers and a rope to keep the line orderly. I guess Emilio takes this very seriously, which makes me more nervous.

  “This way,” Chet says as we approach, nodding to a side door.

  We follow Chet through the door, down a l
ong concrete block hallway, and down some metal stairs.

  “Each of the fighters has their own space. This one is yours.” Chet motions to what looks like a dozen makeshift hospital tents set up around the room, and there’s one marked Blake. That must mean there are six fights tonight. We pull back the curtain and there’s a small training table, a cart full of medical supplies and two folding chairs. Classy.

  “Think this is how they treat Floyd Mayweather?” Van jokes as he inspects the tray with tape, syringes, gauze, Vaseline, iodine, and suturing equipment. This is ominous.

  “You aren’t really trying to joke right now?”

  “Owl, I told you. I’m good.” He flashes me the brilliant smile. I’m going to pray he doesn’t lose any of those pearly white teeth.

  “Donovan?” a strange voice from behind the curtain asks.

  “Yup!” Van replies and as he does a tall, eerily thin man walks in wearing a white hoodie with the Monster logo on it, black cargo shorts, and Vans.

  “I’m your doctor, Phil,” he says.

  “Dr. Phil?” Van snorts.

  “No, just trying to break the ice. Name is Lincoln, but as cliché as it sounds, call me Doc. I’m The Underground doctor, so tell me what you need. We’ve got everything from Tylenol to ketamine, but I don’t recommend that before the fight. If you need some juice we got that too, but you don’t look like a juicer.”

  Awesome, steroids are legal here. Shouldn’t be surprised. I bet they’re going to juice Matthias up on some amphetamine-like substance so he’s a zombie who feels no pain and has incessant stamina.

  “I’m good there, man, but I could use some help taping up.”

  “For real? Your funeral, bro. What do you need?” Doc shakes his head in disbelief.

  “Ankles taped, and MMA-style hand wraps. Knuckles covered and wrist support.”

  “Got it. Hop up.” Doc pats the table.

  Van slips off his joggers to reveal his black Cambria football shorts. He said he has silk boxing shorts back in New York, but it’s not like they’ll give him an advantage here. He slips his t-shirt off over his head and Doc inspects his physique.

  “Sweet bird, man.” He nods toward the soaring eagle on Van’s chest.

  “Thanks.”

  I watch as Doc spends time wrapping Van’s ankles and hands. He rewraps one ankle because it was too tight, and after a few bounces Van is satisfied.

  “Thanks, Doc. Appreciate the help.” Van inspects the thick white tape around his hands.

  “Good luck, Blake. I’ll be here after for meds and stitches if you need them. Matthias is a beast, but I’m sick of him winning. I’ll be in your corner,” he says.

  “Hey Doc, can I talk to you outside real quick?”

  Doc nods and the two step outside together. Within a few minutes, Van is back inside with us.

  “Everything good?” I ask.

  “Yup. Perfect. Just needed to ask Doc for a favor. Owl, can you tie my shoes? Double knots,” he asks. I frown. “Owl, I will be fine. I promise.” He kisses my forehead.

  “Of course.” I bend down to his shoes because he can’t use his fingers while they’re taped into fighting position.

  As I’m leaning down tying his Nikes, Emilio, Eduardo and another thick bodyguard walk in. Of course, Matthias isn’t with him. He’s getting ready to fight.

  “Ay, Donovan. You look ready. I always inspect my fighters and their competition. Matthias is ready. Strong, quick… juiced.” Emilio smirks.

  “Good, he’s gonna need it,” Van replies unemotionally. He’s not giving anything away.

  “There a lot of people here. Your hype worked. They all want to see this All-American linebacker get his ass kicked by a street kid from south central L.A.”

  “That fight must be next week, because this All-American linebacker never gets his ass kicked.”

  Emilio laughs. “Perhaps I should bet on you tonight instead of Matthias.”

  “Only if you want to win money,” Van replies, acting uninterested while pretending to inspect his tape.

  “The last fight ended. Blake, you’re up. Ten minutes,” a small man with a thick beard says as he peeks his head inside Van’s tent.

  “Let’s go,” Chet says and shoulders past Emilio and his crew. Van and I follow back up the metal stairs and down a different hallway than the one we entered.

  “Van, Maisy and I will be front row, right in your corner. I won’t leave her side. Brock will announce the fighters, starting with Matthias as the reigning champ. Then you. Expect to hear lots of booing. Not many people bet on you tonight. Odds are not in your favor.”

  “I don’t care about the odds.”

  “Ladies and gentleman!” a deep voice booms over a speaker system set up around the large open space. The crowd is so large. Hundreds of people are here. I wonder what Emilio made on just ticket sales. I can see a ring roped off, but that’s about it. There are no bleachers or chairs. The floor is filthy, and I’m praying Van doesn’t get an infection of some kind from this. “This man needs no introduction, but fuck it. He’s gonna get one. Your hometown, homegrown, bad boy of The Underground…” He pauses as the crowd booms in anticipation, “Matthias ‘Meat Grinder’ Adamo!” And the crowd goes batshit crazy as “Welcome to the Jungle” blasts through the speakers. Matthias is cloaked in a red silk robe. He’s taped, looks greased up, and has on red spandex shorts and red boxing shoes. Shit.

  “You’re sure about this?” Chet asks one last time.

  Van nods, cracks his neck, and puts on that smile that makes panties drop. He’s so eerily calm.

  “And his opponent…” the voice booms and the crowd starts to boo loudly. “A rich bitch from New York City…” More boos. “A collegiate All-American linebacker…” Louder boos. “The next victim of the Meat Grinder…” Cheers echoes through the crowd. This is going to be a long fight for Van. “Donovan ‘Fluffy Unicorn’ Blake!” His nickname makes me laugh. He has a sense of humor even now, and the crowd, although Team Matthias all the way, chuckles at the introduction.

  As Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” starts blasting through the speakers the crowd goes completely silent. Between the Fluffy Unicorn and this song, they are stunned and very confused. The people standing between us and the ring part so we can pass. Then it happens. The crowd starts dancing to the music because, come on, who doesn’t know “Shake It Off.” “SHAKE IT OFF! SHA-SHA SHAKE IT OFF!” they sing as we walk.

  Van climbs between the ropes while Chet and I stand in front. Van rotates around, assessing the crowd. All eyes are on him, evaluating the finest specimen of man they have ever seen, no doubt. Matthias, who we can now see since he’s disrobed, is well built, but Van is bigger and much more ripped.

  Van’s dazzling them with his smile and flexing and winking at the ladies. I’m not jealous. I know this is for show. He needs the crowd on his side, because this is not a fair fight on Matthias’s home turf. Just then a pair of black panties – a lacy thong at that - flies into the ring and hits him in the chest. He bends, picks them up and twirls them around his finger. He walks over to Matthias, leans in, whispers something in his ear, smiles, and then slingshots the thong back into the crowd as they roar with approval. This man could charm the pants off of a dead president.

  Matthias is fuming. He’s as red as his shorts, and pacing like a caged tiger in his corner of the ring. Why the hell would Van make things harder on himself by pissing off his opponent before the start?

  There’s a referee, but I don’t know why. We were warned they don’t stop these fights until someone is unconscious. He calls the men to the center of the ring for the “rules.” I’m trying to find Emilio, but he hasn’t reappeared since we left him in the tent. The referee says something to each fighter, and they nod.

  The men go back to their corners and the referee starts the fight. Matthias looks like he’s going to rip Van’s head off. He comes out swinging at full speed as the crowd roars. Van sidesteps the advance and lands a blow directly to
Matthias’s temple, stunning him for a second. Matthias regroups, shakes his head, and charges again. Anger is pouring from every inch of his body. He swings and swings and swings while Van ducks and dodges every blow. Matthias is expelling a lot of energy early on. After another swing, Van ducks, but this time pops back up with an uppercut to Matthias’s jaw. The sound of the crack makes me cringe, but the crowd is cheering loudly.

  Again and again, Matthias charges, swinging, missing, and absorbing punch after punch from Van’s powerful connections. Jaw, temple, kidney, gut, cheek. Van is calm and calculated while Matthias is crazed and relentless. Yup, he’s juiced, because a normal human would not still be functioning.

  “Why hasn’t Matthias tried using his legs? In all of his fights we watched online he always won with a leg sweep into some kind of choke hold until his opponent blacked out.”

  “I don’t know, Maisy. It’s like Van fucked with his head and he’s all out of sorts. I’ve seen Matthias plenty of times, and I’ve never seen him act like this. He’s normally precise. He’s a shit-show right now,” Chet replies.

  It feels like it’s been an hour, but I check my phone and only eleven minutes have gone by. That may not seem like a long time, but there’s no stopping for rounds – no one gets a break. This is a dragged-out fight until someone submits.

  I look around again, searching for Emilio. I finally spot him with his two bodyguards, a few other men dressed in suits, and some scantily-clad women on an elevated platform. I wonder if they work for him in Vegas. If they do, they’re definitely high-class hookers. I can’t see Emilio’s face clearly, but his body language doesn’t look happy. I wonder if he’s going to lose money on this fight.

  Matthias is getting worn out. His breathing is labored and ragged. He hasn’t landed a single punch on Van, and he’s still so out of control with every movement. His trainer is screaming instructions at him, but he might as well be speaking Greek, because I don’t understand a thing he’s saying, and Matthias is clearly not listening.

  I hear Doc yell, “Just finish it, bro!” Van nods as if these two have been training together for years and he knows what that means.