by HJ Bellus
I sit at the island ready to dig into my food when I notice Jag giving me an odd look.
“What?” I set my fork back down.
He looks down to my chest, his brows furrowing even more. I follow his glance and pull out the black t-shirt. He clears his throat, stifling a laugh. It takes me a few beats to make out the saying. Ladies. Then there’s an oversized arrow pointing down to another set of words. Free Protein Shake.
“Jag!” I look up to him, smiling like a loon. “Only you. I swear sometimes I fear for your sanity.”
“Baby girl, I’d say you look good in anything, but I’m having a tough time finding it right now.”
I quirk up a brow and shrug. “It could go both ways. I mean the protein thing.”
“Last time I heard, sticky sweet honey is pure sugar.”
Heat from my chest creeps up my neck, leaving behind red splotchy marks. The man is so crude. And I find his dirty talking sexy as hell. I focus on my breakfast, knowing this banter could go on forever. Bacon. I focus back on the delicious, perfectly fried strips of heaven.
Jag leans back on the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles as he shovels in his half dozen eggs and bacon. He doesn’t stop there, pounding a protein shake he whipped up in his blender. He’s so damn sexy as he works his way around in the kitchen. His biceps flex with each movement, his divine chest on display.
One night I accused Jag of tanning and teased him about how much he spent on tanning packages. He indulged my humor before telling me he was half Mexican. For a second, I thought he was joking because he’s Jag and nothing is off limits. Then all the puzzle pieces fell into place—the salsa bar, his moves, and the times he’s spoken Spanish. When he speaks to me in Spanish, I’m a goner.
“Are you serious, Jag?” My fork clatters to my plate. A Willie Nelson song just ended, and now SpongeBob SquarePants fills the house with a fast-paced annoying as hell song.
Jag rocks his head back and forth while shimmying his shoulders to the beat and then belts out every single word keeping up with the tempo to Our C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E S-O-N-G song.
My stomach hurts by the time he finishes. I’m bent over the stool clutching my aching gut.
“What?” Jag’s bare feet come into view.
I look up to him with tears in my eyes. “I’m not going to even ask.”
“What?” He crooks his head to the side and puts his finger under my chin.
“How do you know that song? The reasoning behind your random as hell playlist.”
“I can take a lot, darling, but when it comes to SpongeBob, I draw the line. He’s a god in my eyes, and if this thing between us is going to work out, you need to show him respect.” Jag manages to get this all out with a straight face.
I wait for the smile or sly grin to come, but it never does. He remains stoic and as serious as he’s ever been. I flatten my lips in a straight line and clear my throat, clueless how to respond. Jag’s hands go under my arms. He lifts me up on top of the counter. His palms spread my legs as he licks his lips. His fingers slide up and under my black lace panties. In a seductive dance, he pulls them off and then tosses them over his shoulder.
“Have I ever told you that you’re a fool?” He glances up at me.
I nod. “A fool for you.”
“Yeah?” His fingertips glide back up my thighs.
“A fool in love.” The words are out before I think about them. A powerful message I can’t take back, and, in fact, don’t want to. Jag has managed to seal my fate. He’s a force I could never walk away from no matter how hard I tried.
“Say it again.” He brings up a hand to cup my cheek.
“A fool in love.” I pause, adding more this time. “With you. I love you, Jag.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m in love with you too.”
Jag steps back, causing my chest to tighten. He runs his hand through his hair, stopping at his ponytail. “I’ve never spoken those words to a girlfriend.”
“I’ve never spoken them and meant it,” I reply.
“Another first for us.”
“Yeah.” I nod my head.
He steps back up to me, gently pressing me back until I’m spread out on his island as if I were a breakfast buffet. And to Jag, that’s exactly what I am. He makes every part of me feel beautiful right even down to my flaws.
“This needs to come off.” He grabs the hem of the t-shirt, helping me ease it off. It lands on the hardwood floor right next to my panties.
His head dips between my legs. I’ll never be used to this man going down on me. My spine stiffens, but not as bad as the first time or when he forced me to ride his face. Don’t get me wrong, the sensation is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s getting used to feeling so exposed.
Jag blows on my exposed core and then darts his tongue, lapping between the folds. My back bows up, begging for more.
“One more thing.” He stands back up.
“Jag!” I perch up on my elbows. “Are you serious?”
His hand cups my core, applying the perfect amount of pressure to tide me over. “Come to my fight tomorrow?”
“Are you serious? You stopped to ask that?”
“Answer me,” he demands, flicking my clit with his thumb.
I can’t hold back the moan that escapes and the way my body writhes on the smooth surface on the countertop.
“I have to work,” I manage to get out as his thumb keeps a steady rhythm.
“You have it off. I talked to Jill.”
“You can’t keep doing that. I’ll be homeless.”
“No, you won’t. Move in with me.” His thumb presses hard into my clit this time, ramping up the sensation brewing low in my belly.
“No, you’re ridiculous.”
“Come to my fight tomorrow.” He sinks two fingers inside of me.
“Jag.” My legs grow weak and part further open. “I’m not Layla. I don’t think I’d enjoy watching you fight.”
He ignores my protest.
“Answer me,” he growls. Jag is in his demanding alpha mode where he won’t be denied. It didn’t take me long to recognize the determination in his eyes and his tone of voice that leaves no room for argument. Broody, demanding Jag is hotter than hell.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll be there.” I reach up and grab the back of his neck, tugging him back down.
“Move in with me.” He brings me right back to the edge of falling over before lightening the pressure.
“Jag.”
“Answer me.”
“This isn’t fair!” I fight to buck my hips.
He steps back.
“You’re a dirty, dirty boy.” I point a finger at him.
“Is that a yes?” He cocks his head to the side.
I grab the hem of his boxers and tug him to me. “Put your face in the place now.”
Jag sinks back down, his lips against my core. His laughter vibrates on my skin, sending chills racing up my spine.
“Don’t laugh.” I swat at his head.
“You trying to use a dirty line on me is the funniest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Get to work, slugger.” I wink at him then pluck the band from his hair. I run my hand through his dark locks until he has me melting back against the counter.
Chapter 10
Jag
The locker room door slams. Boss glances up at me as he strides in. “You ready, boy?”
I give him a jerk of the chin, the adrenaline already igniting in my veins. The need to get into the octagon consumes me and my every thought. My knuckles ache, thirsty for the high of knocking someone on their ass. It’s an addiction I’ll never be free of.
“Bast looks good,” Boss taunts me. “In the best shape I’ve ever seen him.”
“Heard he’s kicking everyone’s ass after finally leaving Titan’s Tribe. The guy is on fire,” Cruz adds.
They’re goading me. Poking and pestering me. It’s doing the trick. Anger flares up inside of me. This isn’t jus
t any fight. It’s a fight of a lifetime. There’s no belt on the line. Oh no, something way more valuable. My pride.
Bast is the son of a bitch who knocked my ass out. It was the last fight for me in a long time. My pride suffered too much, and my head was a fucking mess. The fucker didn’t stop at just knocking my ass out. He took it to social media, taunting the fuck out of me and my fans. He had no boundaries, even chirping about Layla and Ash and how Ash shouldn’t have been a pussy and finished the job.
I’m shocked Boss has even allowed him in his gym tonight. It only leads me to think Boss is counting on me to knock the prick the hell out.
“Listen up, men.” Boss slams down a clipboard on a table. The sound reverberates around the room. “There’s been some chatter, and I’m going to lay that shit to rest. Monty and Ash Chandler have been out on probation for the last six months. Monty’s brother in law, Landon, has re-opened the Titan’s Tribe gym. He’s training fighters. We all know Monty and Ash are never allowed in our circuit again. That doesn’t mean they won’t be lurking in the shadows. Keep your heads on straight. We’ve got Layla and Bella covered. You take care of you and your own. Eyes on the prize, men, and nothing but heart, fire, and desire. Their toxicity will not touch us this time.”
There are a few seconds of murmuring before the men acknowledge Boss in a chorus of encouragement. My blood has gone from simmering to a full-out boiling. Memories flash back of a beaten and shattered Layla. Cruz going fucking insane after he learned Ash, Layla’s ex, attacked her in an alleyway, nearly beating her to death. He went off the rails and straight to Titan’s Tribe gym to beat the fuck out of Ash right after dropping me cold when I wouldn’t hand over my keys. I know for sure if the cops didn’t show up in time he would’ve killed Ash and his father and be serving a life sentence in the state prison.
The sickest part of all was Layla’s mother was in on the plan to shake Layla up. It took a turn for the worse when dick for brains Ash couldn’t control his temper. The woman stood by and watched her flesh and blood be beat into an unconscious state. In some eyes, she redeemed herself when she came forward telling the truth. She ended up getting off scot-free and bailed out Cruz so he could be with Layla in the hospital. Then she did what she does best and disappeared. It was for the best. When I love, I fucking love big. It wouldn’t have mattered that she was a woman and the love of Boss’ life. I would’ve finished her.
I study Boss and his calm and collected poise. It reassures me he has everything under control. There’s a permanent restraining order on Ash and Monty to stay away from Cruz, Layla, and Bella. It doesn’t settle right with me that they’ve recruited family members to start back up the gym. Anything associated with the Chandlers is a seed sent and nurtured straight from Satan himself.
Layla pops her head in the door. Her smile lights up her face. It wasn’t too long ago she loathed this sport with everything inside of her. It wasn’t easy growing up with a single parent and seeing him come home beat to shit. Her abuela was her rock. That woman was a rock for all of us, even her son, Boss. He was the boss back in the day. The man has more titles than most fighters. He still holds records. In an ironic turn of events, Layla fell in love with the sport because of the man she fell in love with when she returned home a few years back to discover her abuela on her deathbed.
“It’s go time.” She wipes her hair out of her face. “Trick, this is your ten-minute warning.”
Trick in his quiet manner stands, and his trainers follow him into another room. Cruz and Boss linger behind. I damn well know they’re waiting for me to crack. I hate I’ve let them down so much they have to worry about me. Words are meaningless at this point. It’s going to take action to cement the fact I’m back stronger and better than I’ve ever been.
Layla pokes her head in again. “She’s here.”
Her smile is contagious even though I’m in fight mode.
“Send her back.” I rap on the table in front of me.
Cruz and Boss take this as their cue to exit the room. Every fighter has their rituals before and after fights. Some are more superstitious than others, doing the same routine from the moment they wake up. Not me. I fucking do as I will and then party hard after a win. Until now. I have to see Sunni before the fight. Mostly to make sure she’s here.
Goddamn, she was too fucking adorable the other morning sprawled out on the counter fighting me every step of the way only to have her greed for pleasure win out. She will be moving in with me. She practically lives there anyway, and she needs out of the shitty neighborhood if only for my peace of mind.
“It’s insane out there.”
I glance up, rattled from my thoughts, to see Sunni. Her long, caramel straight hair cascades over her shoulders. It shines under the lights. Her makeup is a bit heavier, and Jesus have mercy, those shorts.
“You listened.” I stand and go to her.
She nods. There’s something different about her tonight. There’s a lightness about her presence and a hint of confidence that turns me the fuck on.
“Good girl.” I grab her hip with one hand and run the other over her hair. “Love this. Didn’t think there was anything better than your wavy curls.”
She remains silent.
“And those fucking shorts, baby girl.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m supposed to knock out my opponent with fists, not my rock-hard cock.”
This earns me a chuckle.
“You look hot, Jag.” She places her palms on my chest, digging her fingertips in. She’s never said so, but I know it’s a form of a security blanket for her. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Yeah?” I dip my head to trail my nose up the length of her neck. “Means everything to me you’re here.”
“I’m nervous, not going to lie. I’ve never been to anything like this.”
“Another first.” I wink.
“Yeah, another,” she whispers.
“And after I kick this douche bag’s ass, I’m going to fuck you, Sunni.”
She inhales sharply but doesn’t say a word.
“There will be plenty of time for making love in our future, don’t you worry about that. After several nights of devouring your fine ass body, I’m going to make it mine. Fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days and never want another.”
“Another first,” she whispers in confidence. “Hurry up and win already, baby.”
“Fuck,” I growl into her forehead. Her grip on my t-shirt tightens. “You are persistent about me knocking this fuckface on his ass with my boner, aren’t you?”
She laughs then snorts. Sunni buries her face in my chest, the action adorable. I’d love more than anything to give her hell about the snort. But I have to get my head back in the fight. Grabbing her cheeks, I tilt her head up and press my lips to hers. Sunni takes control of the kiss, nearly making me nut in my gym shorts. She kisses me like she craves to be fucked. She nips at my bottom lip then swirls her tongue in my mouth again.
A knock on the door has us parting. Boss enters not long after with tape in his hand.
I whisper in Sunni’s ear. “Gotta go, baby girl. I do not doubt if I put my hand down those sinful shorts I’d find your pussy hot and wet for me, soaking your pretty panties. Keep it that way.”
Sunni’s lips part then she snaps them shut. With one final kiss, I swat her ass and guide her to the door. She pats my chest one final time before whispering in my ear.
“They’d only be wet if I was wearing panties.”
With a wink, she begins down the hall. Her juicy ass sways with each step, her long, lean legs driving me nuts.
“Sunni.”
She peers over her shoulder, waiting for me.
“Tonight, I’m making history. A TKO with my cock.”
Her laughter fills the hallway before she disappears into the mouth of the crowd. I shut the door, muting the outside noise. I turn to see Boss cutting strips of tape and shaking his head.
“That girl undoes me. I’m so fucking rock-hard I c
ould knock out Bast with my…”
“Jag.” Boss fights to stifle a smile. “Don’t need details. Shit, I fear for your sanity, kid.”
“It’s a damn serious health issue at this point. Can’t waltz into the octagon with Woody Woodpecker jabbing through my fighting shorts.”
“I walked in on Layla and Cruz last night, his ugly hairy ass staring right back at me.”
“Enough.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Woody has officially deflated after sister banging talk.”
Boss growls then laughs. He pats my shoulder when I take a seat next to him. “Good to have you back, son. You keep me young at heart and drive me batshit crazy.”
Chapter 11
Sunni
Layla spots me and begins frantically waving me down. I do my best, winding between all the bodies still milling around. I had planned to take a seat in the back row, keeping my identity less visible. It seems Layla has other plans including the front row.
“Saved you a seat.” She points to the chair next to her. “Even though we’re in the front, I tend to stand most of the fight.”
“Thank you.” I glance at the metal folding chair and then back to her.
“He’s going to be just fine, honey. No need to worry.” She pats my shoulder. “You look like you’re going to puke.”
“I feel like I’m going to puke.” I fidget from one foot to the other. The only thing keeping me grounded is the lingering scent of Jag.
“You’ll get used to all of this.” She gestures with her hand. “It took me a bit even though I grew up in this scene.”
“I don’t know about that.” I ease down on the folding chair with my knees growing weak.
“After Jag takes the first uppercut and has blood flowing down his face, your adrenaline will kick in, and you’ll be screaming at the top of your lungs.”
My eyes grow wide, and my stomach takes a dip, sending a wave of anxiety through my core. Layla rattles on about her nerves and the different bouts. The detail she goes into and the glow on her face as she talks about each fighter encourages me. I try to keep up and fail miserably. The one thing I grasp is something about a tap. If a fighter taps on the mat, they lose. It’s the worst way to lose, as if giving up or something. Hell, I think I’d be flat on the mat tapping like a bitch the second my opponent walked into the cage.