Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance

by Claire Adams

  I lowered myself into her, the wet, tight heat of her pulling all the air out of my lungs. I panted against the slope of her neck, buried deep in the incredible sweetness of her. Then, she wrapped her legs around my waist and started a rhythm against me that I had to answer. Our lips found each other again and we caught each other's cries of pleasure as our bodies crested. I poured into Kya, falling deeper into her than I ever thought possible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kya

  Shocked by Fenton's lips against mine, I pushed my hands up over the hard ridges of his chest. The taut friction of his muscles under my fingertips parted my lips in awe. He took opportunity of the opening to plunge deeper into the kiss. I slid my hands up and gripped the hard ridge of his shoulders as his hands slid around my back and locked me against him. Every chiseled contour of his body fit my curves and I melted against him.

  Fenton kissed me with an insatiable hunger. I was starved for his lips on mine, our bodies shifting and fitting closer together. All of the threats and the terror were nothing compared to being apart from him. I curled my body closer and opened myself further to his devouring kisses.

  His hands pressed my shoulders to his chest then slid down to the curve of my back. I arched against him as he leaned to taste more from my moaning lips. When his wide hands pulled me up against him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on. Fenton strode across the living room, his lips so intent on mine that my head spun. I was glad for the solid strength of him, the locked muscles of his arms wrapping me close. Too dizzy to know anything but him, I wrapped my legs around his hips.

  Fenton moaned as I pressed close to him. He moved his hands down farther, one iron arm supporting me while his other hand caressed the bottom of my thigh. The trace of his fingers left a shiver of electricity that lit up my senses. The jolt of it rocked me against him and his kisses slowed as his breath grew heavy.

  I opened my eyes as he lowered me to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. His eyes burned like blue flames as he gently cradled my head and settled on top of me. Then, his eyes dropped back to my lips and he groaned, still hungering for more. I tangled my hands in his black hair, answering every twist and taste with my own cries of pleasure.

  My dress had already fallen up to my waist, but I tugged to bring it higher. Fenton's hands followed and slipped underneath the hem, pushing back the light fabric as he explored higher to the curve of my hip. His hands against my bare skin ignited my whole body.

  "Please, Fenton, I want you. Just you," I whispered through wet kisses. I tugged his shirt up and over his head before our lips found each other again.

  He answered by rearing back onto his knees and pulling me up against him. His hands swept up the sides of my body under my dress and pulled it off over my head in one easy sweep. As I fumbled with his belt and buttons, he unclasped my bra. He caught my breasts in eager hands, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a sheer caress that caused a lightning flash of desire.

  I lie back on the lush rug and let him trail kisses down my leg as he tugged my panties free. Fenton then pulled himself up over me, the virile ridges of his muscles skimming my curves. I opened myself to him, pulling him down for a kiss. When he lowered himself into my wet, tight heat, the air flooded out of his lungs in one long guttural groan. He panted against the slope of my neck, buried deep.

  One shift from him and I cried out at how he pressed so perfectly into the throbbing center of my pleasure, spurring me to wrap my legs around his waist and start a rhythm he had to answer. His breath was still ragged as his lips sought mine again. I smiled against his sweet kisses and he caught my cries of pleasure as our bodies crested together. He poured into me, touching me deeper than I knew as possible.

  When we could breathe again, Fenton sighed. "Why did you go after those men? I need you safe. I need you right here."

  I ran my fingers through his hair and down the strong stretch of his back. He rolled on his side and tucked me against him, his eyes still questioning me.

  "I didn't think about being safe," I said. "I'm not used to having other people worry about me."

  "What about your parents? I imagine the Allens would not approve of their daughter chasing thugs across Las Vegas," he said. He cradled my head in the crook of his arm and combed my hair out across the rug.

  "I've been on my own since I was eighteen. They died just before I went to college," I told him.

  Fenton stopped his caresses and leaned down to kiss me. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

  "I'm just used to taking care of myself," I said. "How about you? Does the Morris family keep close tabs on you? Or do you call every Sunday like the dutiful son."

  He chuckled as he reached for his pants and got up. "Speaking of Sundays, I could eat an entire Sunday dinner right about now. Do you suppose the kitchen is stocked in this place?"

  I sat up and shielded myself behind the sofa. He was opening and closing cabinets, comfortable in his state of half-dress. I skipped the bra and settled for tugging my dress back over my head. I still felt the shockwaves of my orgasm as I tugged on my panties and joined him in the kitchen.

  "You look like you could use a drink," he said with a wink. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and a pitcher of fresh orange juice. "Looks like that chef left you fully stocked, even though he disapproved of the company you keep."

  "I don't mind your company – if you can do something good with those eggs. I'm starving," I said.

  Fenton laughed and handed me a mimosa. "Lucky for both of us, I make a mean omelet."

  I leaned on the counter and the neckline of my dress dropped open. His eyes tripped over me and his breath caught. I felt my cheeks get hot, and I stood up and laughed. After what we had just done not twenty feet away, it was ridiculous to still feel shy.

  "I like this new look on you, Ms. Allen," he said. "It might suit you more than the whole buttoned-up thing you've been working."

  I ruffled my hair and shot him a look, happy when he fumbled the spatula he was holding. "I don't know, this time last year, I was in Palm Springs at a golf tournament. Five star everything without the gambling. Not too shabby."

  "Did you have any fun?"

  "No," I slid onto a stool to watch him cook. "My job was to secure another five-year contract with a long-time client. All he wanted was a steak dinner. It was three days of sweltering temperatures outside and long conversations about golf."

  "I think Vegas is agreeing with you more than you'd like to admit," Fenton said.

  I rolled my eyes. "In Vegas, I've been a half-inch away from a disaster the entire time."

  He slipped a perfect omelet onto a plate and slid it towards me. "Only if you count getting blackout drunk at a nightclub party, waking up in a strange man's bed, upgrading yourself to a high-roller's suite, and then following a pair of gangsters that turn around and kidnap you."

  I took a bite of the omelet and almost forgave Fenton for the twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes. "Don't forget, I also picked up your duffel bag for you."

  "After you crashed a bare-knuckles underground fight."

  "I think you mean 'thank you,'" I tipped my head and gave him a pointed look.

  He laughed again, an eruption of sound that made my stomach flutter. "You're right. Thank you."

  He finished his breakfast in big bites and went to the door to retrieve the black duffel bag. I tried not to watch as he fished out his phone and scrolled through the messages. One he read made him pause and then he quickly texted a response.

  I swiveled on my stool, uncrossing and crossing my legs in his eye line. "Don't tell me those other agents contacted you. I'm fine if you and I are not doing business, but I am very competitive woman."

  Fenton crooked a black eyebrow at me. "How competitive?"

  "Very," I said. I slipped off the stool and walked barefoot to him. When I drew near, he looked down and noticed my nipples pushing hard against the thin fabric of my dress. I nodded and raised myself on my tiptoes so we were on eye
level. "What if I want you all to myself?"

  "Yes, please," he said.

  His hands slipped around my waist, but I pulled my lips back from his hot mouth. "Just you and just me," I said.

  He did not answer. Instead, he gave me a wolfish grin and tightened his arms around my waist. I could not resist and our lips met, the kiss melting away my resistance. I ran my hands up the washboard ridges of his bare stomach, my fingers flexing over his hard male body. Once I reached his shoulders, it was a sweet relief to press my breasts against him.

  This time, his lips were soft, his tongue leisurely exploring mine. We tangled and tasted, retreated and smiled. I kneaded the taut stretch of his shoulders and let my fingers slowly work upwards to his thick black hair. Fenton let his hands rove up and down the curve of my back, then along the sides of my body. Slowly, his warm hands brushed against the sides of my breasts.

  He smiled against my lips again and dropped his hands to tug at the hem of my dress. It slipped up slowly, tickling and tantalizing me as he drew it up my body and finally over my head. I raised my arms, gasping as my breasts bounced against the heat of his bare skin. Fenton stopped to admire where we pressed against each other then dropped his lips to mine for a deep thirsty kiss.

  I stepped back, fully intending to break the spell. It was nearly morning and being with Fenton was an insane thing to do. He followed me, our lips never parting. We kept going until the stool bumped into my back. Then, he lifted me onto it, pressing himself between my legs. I felt the hardness of his desire and melted. He pulled aside the thin barrier of my lace panties and slipped inside, both of us sighing into a kiss as he pushed deeply.

  Fenton moved slowly, the press and pull driving me wild, even as our kisses stayed long and languid. He lifted both his hands to my face, brushing back my hair as our bodies surged together. When the climax spilled over me, he drank up my shuddering moans, then buried his face in my hair and held me gently as he drove himself to finish.

  A sweet moan escaped my lips when he finally slipped himself out and we parted. Still, he held my face with both hands and kissed me again. "If it’s alright with you, I'd like to stay here," he said.

  "I suppose," I said. I reached my feet to the ground but hung on to the counter, my knees still quaking.

  "I'm going to shower. You should draw yourself a nice bubble bath." He smiled and picked up his black duffel bag. He headed to the smaller bedroom and left me the master suite with the marbled bathtub.

  I stood for a moment longer, unable to find my balance. My mind, all my senses, felt like a soaring flight. Was I floating or falling? I shook my head and let myself consider the wild changes that would take over my life if I fell in love with Fenton Morris.

  A knock on the door saved me from stretching into unknown thoughts. I adjusted my dress and answered the door.

  "Is Fenton here? He told me I could come and stay." The woman at the door was hardly wearing a dress. The silver straps criss-crossed her body, between glittered lotion.

  I looked at her from her crystal platform heels to the wild, streaked extensions in her hair. "I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked.

  "Dana Maria," the stripper said. "Fenton asked me to come over."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kya

  The stripper stepped around me in her impossibly high heels and walked straight across the suite to Fenton's room. She left the door open and I could hear her call out to him.

  "You came! I'm so glad. Just give me a minute," Fenton replied. The shower turned off and their voices dropped lower.

  I stood in the doorway and could not hear what they said. Did it matter? There was only one real reason he had invited such a woman to join him in his room. I heard him come out of the bathroom. I turned on shaky knees and disappeared into the master bedroom, before he could see me through his open door.

  My hands shook as I dug through my suitcase. Stuffed far in the corner was the black bikini I had packed at the last second. Lounging by the pool had been the one luxury I was going to allow myself on this business trip. I fumbled with the ties, but got the bikini on. I tugged a wispy sundress over the top, found my sunglasses, and raked my fingers through my loose hair.

  In the living room, I rushed to find the pair of sandals I had left by the patio door. Just as I slipped them on, I heard the other bedroom door handle rattle. I darted across the suite and made it out the door before Fenton could say anything. I fled down the hallway and into the stairwell, unwilling to be caught by the elevator and forced to hear whatever flimsy excuse he had.

  There was nothing he could say. I read the whole situation wrong. The swirl of emotions had been entirely on my part. I wanted to blame the adrenaline, the slow ebb of excitement after my dangerous encounter with the fight fixers, but that was a lie. I had wanted Fenton from the first moment I saw him in that Vegas nightclub. It had all meant something to me. To Fenton, though, I was just another conquest.

  I found a lounge chair in the already blazing sun and lay down. I hoped to bake the chill out of my heart, but there were tears welling behind my sunglasses. It was ridiculous to cry over Fenton Morris. He was not worth tears, no matter what he had made me feel. He was the type of man to invite another woman into the suite minutes after we had been together.

  "Would you like me to bring you something from the bar?" a waiter asked.

  "A mimosa," I said. "Wait, no, skip the orange juice and just bring me champagne."

  I gave the waiter my suite number. I was already in debt to my boss for the room, so I might as well enjoy it. And, I hoped the bubbly burst of alcohol would offset the eroding sadness I knew too well. The last time I felt so alone was after my parents had passed away. Strangely, that thought gave me some comfort. The way I had pulled myself out of that grief was to set my feet firmly on a practical path. I was the only one that was going to look out for me and it was better to focus on that than Fenton.

  I dug my phone out of my purse, glad I had grabbed it before I fled. The champagne arrived as I checked my bank accounts, paid a few bills, and calmed myself down. I was fine. Everything was up to date. It did not matter if my love life was now a complete disaster because everything else was neat and orderly.

  I tipped the flute of champagne and finished it, then checked my email. I sent a few professional responses, scheduled some phone calls, and felt my head clear even as the champagne fizzed through my system. The last email I checked was from my real estate agent. My offer on the house had been accepted and everything was set pending an inspection.

  I clicked the link and scrolled through the photographs of the house for the hundredth time. It was perfect – in a comfortable neighborhood with room for easy improvements that would boost my equity immediately. It was small with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, but there was more than enough room for a single woman. I imagined walking through the empty rooms on my own and closed the browser window. Maybe being out on the road for work was not such a bad thing.

  I rewrote the email seven times, but finally sent a response to my real estate agent. The inspection was set for the next week. I would be home from Las Vegas by then and would move forward with the purchase of the house. If anything, I would fix the house up and sell it as soon as possible. It was a good investment.

  Thinking about my finances, I calculated the loss I was taking on the luxury suite. That plus the loss of my bonus would make things tight for the next year, unless I found another client and made it count. My first thought was Mario Peretti, but he was too closely linked with Fenton and the thought of Fenton made my stomach flop. I shoved the sadness away and racked my brain for a new business strategy.

  There was a large golf tournament in town. Not only did I have an excellent business history with golfers, but it would piss Fenton off to see me back with the country club set. If he cared at all. If not, I wanted to be as far from him and his rule-shirking type as possible. I pulled up the golf statistics for the tournament and started studying the players' numbers.
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  "I don't care what people say about him, I find him irresistible," I overheard the woman three lounge chairs over say to her friend.

  "Really? I suppose he does have sexy eyes.,” the other woman said.

  I kept my eyes on the golf statistics and prayed they were not talking about Fenton. The last thing I could handle was hearing other women drooling over him.

  "Come on, tell me you don't think he's handsome," the first woman sat up and thrust a magazine at her friend.

  "Polo shirts are not really my thing. He looks kinda stuck up."

  My shoulders eased and I was able to turn my head. The women were looking at a tabloid magazine with the headline "Oh My God!". Underneath the bold letters was a clean-cut, all-American man with short, cropped brown hair. He did have sexy brown eyes, minus the devilish glint that Fenton's often showed.

  I looked again and recognized the man on the cover. I had met him minutes before Fenton came to speak to me at the nightclub. I studied the tabloid cover the women held up and almost laughed out loud. The man held a golf club over his shoulder – he was a professional golfer!

  "Excuse me, what's his name?" I asked the women.

  They looked up from their magazine and both their jaws dropped open.

  "Jackson McRay," a voice behind me said.

  I turned around and caught myself before gaping like the other women. He was even more handsome in person than his cover shot and his smiling brown eyes were fixed on me. My bikini instantly felt too small, but I could not reach my sundress without wriggling all around.

  "We met the other night," he said. "Remember?"

  "Yes, I do. I mean, I remember. Sorry, my name is Kya," I said.

  Jackson chuckled and sat down on the lounge chair next to me. "I remember," he said.

  The waiter approached and I drew a complete blank when he asked if I would like another drink. I stared up at him, trying not to feel Jackson's eyes sweep over my body.