“Comedian. Hilarious.” I grin through my sarcasm. The girl’s a little strange, funny, but definitely off.
“No, I came to Vegas to find peace.”
“In Vegas? This place is the definition of uncontrolled chaos.”
She opens her water and leans back in her chair, eyes forward, quiet. “Yeah, makes my search harder.”
“I take it you haven’t found it?”
It’s then her eyes find mine; a small smile tilts her lips. “Not yet.”
If it were only that easy to find peace, you could take up stakes and move somewhere new, leaving behind the shit you don’t feel like carrying. Too bad all baggage isn’t carry on. Some of it latches on whether you want to bring it or not. I’m living proof of that, but I keep my mouth shut, leaving Mac to discover that on her own. Although, if her nightmares are any indication, my guess is she’s already learned it.
“Where’d you move from?” I take a swig of my shake.
She puts down her pizza and looks at me. “You’re not having any?”
“Nope. Dropping weight. Fight this weekend.”
Her face pales. “Fight?”
“Yeah. UFL ninety-four. I’m on the ticket with Blake.”
Her hand moves to cup her neck. She swallows hard. “Do you um . . . do you have to?”
Is she kidding? “Yeah, Mac, I have to. It’s my job, not to mention a great opportunity and smart career move.” I laugh, shaking my head. Why does she look so nervous? “You should come.”
Eyes wide, she gapes at me. “Yes, er . . . no?”
Leaning in, I rest my elbow on the counter. “Yes and no?”
Nervous laughter bubbles from her throat. “No, I don’t want you to fight, but yes, I’ll go.”
“Don’t want me to fight?”
“I, uh”—she studies her knees—“hate watching you get hurt.”
She must’ve seen my fights in the past, but the last fight I had on live TV was over a year ago before she moved to Vegas. Which reminds me, she never answered my question.
“Where did you live before Vegas, Mac?” I can’t place the feeling, but something feels off. My therapist would probably tell me that having a person in my home for a prolonged period of time is bound to make me a little paranoid.
Paranoia is something I’m used to, the feeling that eyes are on me even in my own place. Mac said she’s been watching me, but damn, for how long?
“Nothing,” she whispers.
“Huh?”
She turns to face me completely. “Before here, I lived in Nothing, Arizona.”
No fucking way? That’s the last place I lived before Vegas. It’s nothing more than a town you drive through between Kingman and Vegas. What are the chances that Mac lived there too?
I shrug, acting casual, and finish off my shake. “That town as boring as its name?” I can’t tell her that I lived there too. She’ll ask questions, and the only answers I have are not anything I want to share with anyone. Ever.
“You’ve never been there?” It’s a question, but something about the way she asks makes it seem like something else.
“Why would I ever need to visit a place called Nothing, Arizona?”
“Yeah, um.” She shakes her head, picks up her pizza and brings it to her lips. “I guess you wouldn’t.”
After Mac finishes another piece of pizza, I clean up the kitchen. She offers to help, but I need to do it on my own to alleviate the anxiety that hums below the surface.
She sits at the island. We talk about The Blackout and exchange crazy stories about Trix. I make sure to stick to subjects of the present and don’t probe too far in the past. By the time I’m drying my hands, Mac’s doubled over laughing and I’m leaning back enjoying the view.
“She walked out buck naked and asked for a smoke?” The wide mouth grin she’s wearing is contagious.
“Yep, didn’t even seem fazed.” God, I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Wow, that’s upsetting, but strangely not at all surprising.” She must sense me staring as her laughter dies and our eyes meet.
“I had fun with you today.” It’s not a lie. I did. It’s been so long since I had a day that wasn’t focused on the band, fighting, or all the other shit that rolls around in my head. Not to mention the victory I’m feeling at going out with Mac and having her over in the same day. Guess Darren was right. I am capable of more than I think.
“Me too.”
She’s so beautiful and even more so now that I’ve gotten to know her better. In the few moments that we’ve flirted and I’ve purposely on accident put my hands on her, I’ve felt good. Even now, I want to do it again. The impulse to drag my knuckles down the side of her face, sift my fingers into her hair, and take her lips is overwhelming, not disgusting.
“It’s getting late.” She pushes back from the island and stands from her barstool. “I better go.”
No! “Yeah.” I check the clock. Ten p.m. Damn. “I’ve got to be at the training center early.”
She moves from the kitchen toward the living space, and I grab my keys. I tell myself that letting her go tonight is okay because I’ll get to see her in a couple days. She not only agreed to go to my fight but she even said she’d be fine in the UFL wife-seating area. They’re close to my corner, and as nervous as she seems, it’ll be good to have her sandwiched between Raven and Layla.
Clicking off the TV, I watch her move toward the front door. The visual of her in my condo reminds me of everything I’ve overcome in the short span since watching baseball at Jonah’s. The usual weight that lives in my chest is still there, but only a fraction of what it was before. I take a deep breath and relax into the new freedom.
Damn it feels good. I’m greedy for more.
She’s at the door, bending forward to get her shoes, and I’m ready to push myself one step further.
My body responds before my brain registers it. In three quick strides, I’m at her back. She straightens, not knowing I’m right behind her, and the sweet island smell of her hair wafts beneath my nose.
I do the only thing I can.
I lunge.
~*~
Mac
“Oh my . . . shit!” I’m pressed face forward against the closed door of Rex’s condo. The cool wood seeps through my thin cotton tank while the heat of his body is at my back. A small prickle of fear crawls over my skin before I feel his lips at my neck.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He growls his apology against the tender flesh below my ear. “I had to touch you.”
I hold off a moan and concentrate on not falling limp in his arms. His hands find mine splayed against the door. He interweaves our fingers, fisting my smaller ones in his, and pushes them up above my head. I’m helpless. Incapacitated by his strength and the position he’s put me in.
“Rex . . .”
He flexes his hips against my ass as a reprimand of some kind, but it feels like a reward. A groan of pleasure falls from my lips, and my head drops back against his shoulder.
“You okay?” He runs his lips up and down the side of my neck, dragging that damn piece of metal along in strokes of pure torture.
“Yeah, just . . . more.”
The low grumble of his laugh rolls against my back, sending shivers of ecstasy and anticipation down my spine. I arch my back, requesting his touch.
“Aw, fuuuck.” He slams his hips into me, and the feeling of pure steel at my lower back robs me of breath.
He hasn’t even touched me, and we’re fully clothed, but a few more of those and I’ll fall apart in a blistering orgasm that’ll knock my legs out from under me.
“Here’s the way it’s gonna be, baby.” He drops a lingering kiss at my neck. “I need to be in control.” Another slow kiss at my jawline. “Nod if you understand.”
I nod quickly. Anything, whatever, just please don’t stop.
His hands holding mine flex. “These stay here at all times.” He nuzzles the nape of my neck. “You smell fucking amazing.”
“Rex—”
“No talking.” He growls against my skin, but this time there’s more than hunger laced in his response. It sounds like pain.
I nod again and roll both my lips between my teeth, biting down to keep from talking. This needs to be perfect for him. Whatever is about to happen, I owe it to him to put my own desires aside to make this easy on him.
“It’s not about taking pleasure from your body; I’m not alone in this.” He runs his nose from my temple to my ear. “You let me know if I’m doing something you don’t want. Then you speak.”
I’m lost in the feeling of his strong body pinning mine. Assaulted by mental images of what’s to come, anticipation floods my body. The sharp pinch of his teeth at my ear clears my thoughts.
“Nod if you hear me, baby.”
I nod again and he rewards me with a long firm thrust of his hips. “Atta girl.”
My head falls back and to the side, opening up my neck in submission to him. He takes my offer and dives in, licking and sucking until I’m writhing with need. Goose bumps race up my arms, and I imagine all the places I wish he’d move his attention to.
“Fuck, you taste so damn good.” He pulls my skin between his lips with a fierce suction that I feel in my nipples. “Bet you taste even better down here.” He bends his knees and thrusts between my legs.
“Yes!” I slam my mouth shut, biting back my reaction as it dissolves into a moan.
His hands flex against mine. “I was hoping you’d test me.”
He nudges my ankles farther apart and I gladly step them wide. His knee slides in tight between my legs with a firm pressure. So close to where I need him, but not quite there. The tease is maddening.
“Fuck, you’re burning up down here.” He presses in, slides his leg back then forward, creating delicious friction. “So damn sexy.”
Moving his hands together above my head, he grips both my wrists with one hand, freeing up one of his own. Please, touch me.
I rub my breasts against the solid door, hoping to relieve some frustration, but it only cranks me higher.
“I’ve got you.” His free hand slides at my belly between me and the door. He tucks his hand beneath my shirt and glides it up to my bra. “I knew your skin would feel like this. Soft.”
I want to scream at the top of my lungs for him to touch me, pinch me, hurt me. I don’t care. Just put me out of this misery. Instead I wait, panting to the point of hyperventilation as I give him control.
He glides his fingers along the wire cup of my bra, and just like with his knee, he’s so close.
A tiny growl of frustration escapes my throat, and he chuckles against my back.
“You trust me?”
I nod, over and over, big and exaggerated. Hell yes, I trust you! Put your damn hands on me!
He curves his fingers beneath the cup of my bra and pulls it up to completely expose one breast. I bite my lip to avoid crying out in pleasure.
He cups my breast with his hand, molding it and making it his. “Perfect.”
His powerful thigh is pressed in firmly between my legs, his big hand wrapped around my breast, held captive by him, and I’m overcome with sensation. I turn away from him at my shoulder and press my forehead against the door. He rewards me by scissoring my nipple between his fingers, back and forth, back and—Oh yeah, it’s coming.
I push back, rolling my hips against his thigh, searching for the right combination of pressure. He steps in tighter, probably trying to keep me still, but it’s too late. He’s brought me to the brink with his orgasm-inducing domination combined with his barely there touch. The contrast is intoxicating. Beautiful.
“Mac . . .” It sounds like a warning, but I’m too close to slow now.
His fingers grow tight around my nipple, and the shock of pain sends a blinding wave of pleasure between my legs. I arch my back, pressing into his hand for more while simultaneously shifting my hips so I can get his thigh where I need it.
Just . . . a little . . . closer.
I whimper in frustration, and in an instant, I lose his hand. “No—”
My protest is cut off by a gasp when he cups me between my legs. “You come when I tell you to.” It doesn’t sound like a demand, but a request. “I need it like this.” His long fingers dig in. So good, so, so good. “Nod if you understand?”
Was that a question? I’m desperate. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, especially now.
I nod and immediately feel the pinch of his teeth at my shoulder. He groans against me as his fingers press against my jeans.
“More . . .” Dammit, I know he doesn’t want me to talk, but I’m so close.
His tongue glides up my neck to my jaw and his breath heaves. The thunder of his heart pounds against my back, and for the first time, I realize he’s just as worked up as I am.
My hands tug against his hold, but he doesn’t let them go. I grind my hips down onto his hand, rolling in waves. More. Just a little bit more.
He moans, low and primal and so damn hot. “Fuck it.” He pops the button of my jeans and slides his hand down first inside the denim and then beneath the lace of my panties.
My breath catches in my throat and my eyes slam shut.
“Aw, hell.” He grinds his hard-on against my ass in perfect time with the thrust of his fingers.
I fantasize that he’s braced above me, his tattoos dancing over muscles that coil and flex with every plunge of his hips. I imagine him dipping down to take my mouth, our tongues sliding together as we drink every last drop from one another. The powerful command he’d have over his body as he slams into me again, and again, and even harder before—My belly tightens and my toes curl.
“Oh my . . .” I throw my head back as the orgasm rips through my body. Blinding light flashes behind my eyelids as the intensity of it wracks me with jolts of pleasure. Heat washes over me in wave after wave of euphoria.
Slowly coming back into my body, I’m aware of Rex’s hand, no longer between my legs, but splayed against my belly. His thigh is back, pushed in tight and supporting my weight. He’s holding me up.
Every muscle feels like Jell-o, so I allow his assistance and fall back into his support. He releases my hands and the tingling of blood rushing back to my extremities is oddly heady.
I’m falling softly back to earth, awareness coming back to my body and mind.
All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and give him complete control. Instead I forced him—not so forcefully—to get me off. My cheeks flame. How could I be so selfish?
“Rex, I’m . . . I messed up, didn’t I?”
He buries his face into my hair and breathes in deep, but doesn’t answer.
“Rex?” I can feel the pound of his heart, erection still rock hard, and his heavy breathing against my back. “Babe, talk to me.”
Nothing.
Thirteen
Mind over matter is what they say
Make the hurt go away
Time heals
I make appeals
And still I suffer anyway.
--Ataxia
Rex
What have I done? So consumed by the lure of Mac’s body and the gentle sounds falling from her lips, I was out of my mind with need. Even now, my arms wrapped tight around her and my thigh firmly snuggled between her legs, her body calls to mine.
Nausea savagely slices through my gut. I swallow to push down the sour burn in the back of my throat. I lost control. The evidence of that is standing proudly and pressed against her lower back. It throbs with awareness. We’re alone. My bed is just yards away from where we’re standing. I bite my lip to keep from rocking my hips and giving in to be consumed by the aftermath of my sickness.
The stabbing pain in my gut twists. No. I can’t do that to her. The best thing I can do is get her away from me before I do something stupid.
“You’re scaring me.” Her soft-spoken words spear through me, adding to the shame.
God, she must think I’m a freak. Slamming her
against the wall face first, holding her body captive. I fucked this up. My one chance, the opportunity to feel normal with a girl who doesn’t shy away from my quirks, and I messed it up, dirtied what we had by losing my shit.
“I’m sorry.” I can’t pull back from the heat of her body, afraid of the fear and disappointment I’ll see in her eyes.
She lightly runs her hand against my forearm. Cautious. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Her other hand reaches back, curling around the back of my head. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re okay.”
Her words wash over me, and I exhale a shaky breath. She continues to comfort me in firm and stable strokes of her hands. My muscles respond, relaxing a fraction with every pass of her tiny hands.
“I want to hold you. Can I turn around?”
Tension returns to my shoulders. Hold me?
“Let me help you.”
Help me what?
Knowing I can’t keep her pressed against the door all night, I drop my hands from her belly and step back. I can’t bear to look at her, so I study my socked feet. I feel a tiny shift in the air and know she’s turned around and looking at me. I’ve never felt a stronger urge to crumble beneath the weight of a person’s eyes.
“Rex, you didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me?” The anger that laces her words seems misplaced.
Confusion, I’d understand. Disappointment, maybe. But anger?
“I . . .” Fuck! What can I say? I don’t want her to be mad.
“Look at me,” she says, the thickness in her demand is unmistakable.
As much as her body responded to my touch and she begged for more, she couldn’t possibly want me, not like that. I hook my finger into the elastic band at my wrist and snap it hard. I pull my chin up and give her my eyes. It’s what she deserves after what I did. Her narrowed eyes study my wrist. I snap the elastic again and she jerks.
“What are you . . .?” She gives me her eyes, and I force myself to hold her stare. She looks scared, but not of me, more like for me. “Please tell me you don’t regret what happened between us.”
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