by Nikki Wild
We didn’t talk about it to one another. It was better that way.
But I didn’t even try to lie to myself anymore. My stepbrother was absolutely hot. When he opened up to me, he showed me something new, something I hadn’t seen before…tenderness. Compassion. I mean, he already had a stunning figure, but seeing this new side of him seemed to go a long way with me.
And I almost gave in, when I noticed how erect he was at my touch. It crossed my mind to just go for it, stroking him through his shorts.
But that was dangerous.
Look, don’t touch, I thought to myself. Even if it weren’t wrong…even if you’d be fine living a double life under your parents’ noses…he’s abandoned you before.
He’d emotionally betrayed me in the past. Nothing would stop him from doing it again, and while I was willing to entertain a fantasy or two for the time being…I still wasn’t willing to give him that power over me. If I let him do that and walk out on me again, chasing some bullshit dream of being a man or whatever he was doing…it would shatter me to my very core.
And that’s why I had backed away.
But the fight was an opportunity to see the man that Sawyer had really become. He’d never let me see that side of him, how vicious he could be when it was just him against some other fighter, determined to beat him into complete submission.
That was the real Sawyer.
If what he said was true, he was a careful, powerful fighting machine. He’d mentioned that he got into a sort of “zone”, and I figured it was some kind of zen trance. He’d never call it that, obviously, but he made it sound like he shut off his head and let instinct take over.
I had to see it. I’d never seen Sawyer for what he really was – he’d only shown me the same old bullshit antagonism up until now, and while I liked the open, friendlier Sawyer – it still wasn’t what he really was, not completely. Maybe it was closer to the truth than what he’d let me see, but the darkness inside him was still foreign to me. It was this mysterious, carefully guarded secret that he was determined to keep from my sight.
Well, you don’t get to decide that, I told myself as the night approached. I have every right to see what sort of man I’m spending months alone with.
In the meantime, I kept myself occupied. Now that I was somewhat more comfortable with Sawyer, I was willing to make the logical next step. After all, it was a long summer, I’d been reading a ton of books already, and what else was there to do?
I withdrew my vibrator from the hidden little spot in my bathroom – after all, I didn’t need Sawyer coming in here for whatever reason and discovering the stupid thing. With a little bit of fresh lube to help get things going, I lay down in bed and started to fantasize.
My go-to was a daydream about Sawyer and that training bag of his. He’d punch the ever-living daylights out of the bag as I relaxed in the pool, eating up the eye candy. Maybe I’d slip up onto the ground surface, dripping with water, and pick up a towel to dry my hair. He’d watch me with a hungry, primal state, and I’d bring the damp towel over to him and dry him off with it.
He’d stand there and let me feel his body through the towel, staring me intently in the eyes as his erection noticeably grew. I’d continued to towel him off slowly, until I finally let the towel fall to the wayside. My fingers would hungrily trace his muscles, sliding up those impossibly strong arms and trailing down his washboard abs. He would place his hand on my shoulder, and as my fingertips graced the top of his boxer shorts, he’d tug my hair hard, exposing my throat for him.
His lips would find my neck, tracing with his tongue up to my ear, but he’d push me down onto my knees.
“Pull it out,” he’d command.
I’d understand what he needed, and reach down into his boxer shorts. His weapon would be already at attention, and I’d pull it free, dropping his shorts to his ankles.
“Go ahead,” he’d tell me.
I’d part my lips around the bulb of his cock, driving my lips down. My hot, wet mouth would welcome him in – a pale imitation of what was to come. His hands would wrap around my head, forcing me to take more and more of him in. My lips would bob on his cock, sucking him down, until he gasped and groaned and released his seed down into my throat.
But it wouldn’t stop there. He’d unpluck my strings, letting my bikini fall to the ground, but then lift me up over his hardened shoulder and carry me inside. While I continued to drip from the pool everywhere, he’d carry me through the house and outside to his motorcycle. He’d place me down beside it, coercing my hands down onto the seat, and demand that I hold onto it – but keep the machine from bouncing off of its kickstand with the force of our motions.
He’d line his thick, juicy cock up with my wet pussy – still lathered with my saliva – and shove it deep inside me.
I’d gasp, clutching onto his ride as he in turn rode me; my body would welcome him inside, and his hands would clasp onto me. One hand would reach forward and grasp my shoulder; the other would clench into my hip. While he held me in place and thundered his pelvis against mine, I’d let out a series of moans, completely content that the driveway was a substantial distance to the road.
He’d pull me back against him, his arms wrapping around my body and keeping me close; his hand would clasp around my mouth now, and I’d taste the salt on his skin as his fingers partially entered my mouth. He’d hold me out towards the road, showing me off as we fucked, until I finally succumbed to my climax against him. Once I finished trembling, he’d continue to use my body for a few minutes, maybe on all fours in the grass, until he finally came again.
The fantasy was awesome, but I found myself stopping most of the way through. It just wasn’t doing anything for me. I knew that I couldn’t have him – and I knew that I couldn’t trust him. He had already proven to me how he rewarded trust, and I had spent five years trying to live without him in the meantime.
Great, I sighed, pulling the vibrator free, mulling over how long I was going to lay in bed feeling sorry for myself before I cleaned it off. I finally start accepting that I lust for the guy, and I can’t even bring myself to finish.
Sixteen
Sawyer
Pensacola, Present Day
The night of the fight was the first time that I’d been nervous since the announcement. Something felt wrong; I couldn’t directly put my finger on it, but there was an air of mounting tension all around me. It threatened to choke me, forcing itself into my lungs.
Quit it, I thought to myself as I sat in the waiting room, waiting for the signal. Stop psyching yourself out. There’s no reason to lose the match before it starts.
When the referee appeared through the door, it was a familiar face from the early days at this venue. I followed Vinnie into the ring, hanging around the opposite side in anticipation of my contender. Vinnie was quite a character – thin as a mop, he was an upper-forties Italian guy with leathery skin, a full head of hair, and a thick brush of a moustache. I’d seen brooms with less structural integrity than that proud bush he kept beneath his nose.
“I’m surprised you’re still around,” I told him.
“Heh. It’s a job. Welcome back, amico.”
“Same to ya.”
We hovered around for a moment in the cage, waiting on my opponent. I’d always met my fighter before the brawl – sort of an unspoken “Friends out here, fighters in there” sort of arrangement. The general camaraderie of the underground sport dictated a certain degree of mutual respect, regardless of whatever happened. It’s how we kept things civil. But Luke had changed the rules for this one, and all I had to go off was the name.
Vinnie checked his watch. Something was wrong.
“Paging Jabberjaw!” He boomed out, over the rustling of the crowd. “I repeat, paging Jabberjaw, coward apparent of the New Horizons Cage! Jabberjaw, if you’re in the building, quit wasting my fucking time!”
The crowd gazed around, but nobody seemed to be stepping up. Vinnie and I shared a quick look, and Luk
e started to subtly panic in the front. He was calculating what to do – there’d never been a no-show, and he was wondering if he’d have to request a volunteer from the audience.
In hindsight, that might have been a good draw, too. Step right up! Challenge the underground cage fighting legend, Bonesaw! Only at the New Horizons Cage on Saturday nights!
“Luke, is this guy even here?” I called over to him.
“Yeah, I just saw him not ten minutes ago…”
Vinnie had met the end of his patience, and boomed out another hefty call. “Last call for the yellow-bellied Jabber–”
Someone pushed out through the front, near the stairs. Vinnie stepped over and let him in, and I finally got a good look at my mystery opponent. As the gate closed behind him, he turned to face me with a familiar smirk.
“Recognize me, Fucker?”
The realization dawned on me. “Slippery Pete.”
“That’s right, shit-stain…” My old friend grinned evilly. He’d grown his hair out and dyed it black, but as soon as the dots connected he was unmistakably the ghost from my past. “You done gone and pissed me off, yeah? Payback’s gonna be a total bitch…”
“Payback? For what?”
“It should have been YOU! YOU should have been in the ring when the police came, not ME! You think I didn’t notice you disappear right before the fucking raid? They took EVERYTHING from us!” He bristled with rage as he said his bit, ignoring the crowd, Vinnie, any of them. “The whole place goes down and you fucking got away scott-free. You know how long I’ve been in prison?”
I realized what it must have felt like – down on the ground, handcuffed.
“I wasn’t the one who sold us out,” I said angrily, “I climbed out a fucking window and ran for it.”
“What, so you’re a fuckin’ coward now? You think that makes it better?”
“What about Gary?” I asked. “What about the others?”
“Fuck the others! Who the fuck cares about them?” He shouted. The crowd was eating this up – they thought it was part of the show. “But my old man didn’t even make it to fuckin’ trial – he was murdered in the middle of the night! When his friends were gonna squeak, someone had him executed in revenge! I barely made it out of the fuckin’ cell block alive!”
“And you blame me,” I observed.
“Of course I fuckin’ do,” he growled. “I don’t care who called the police. I figure it was you or your buddy Naysayer who played that card.”
“I’m not Naysayer’s friend.”
“You’re the one who fuckin’ worked with him,” his finger angrily jabbed my way. “You escaped retribution while the rest of us rotted in a goddamn jail cell. You were the fucker who got out of that mess and skipped out to paradise. Judgment has come…and it is time for your punishment to be paid.”
All the while that he told his little tale, I quietly studied him – his stance, how he moved, his musculature. In the time since the police raid on Happy Pat’s, he’d clearly refined himself into an efficient, streamlined fighting machine. Five years ago, he’d been a scrawny but powerful fighter, focusing on honing his fists into steel. But now…he had trained himself to the limit, sculpting every detail into a work of art. His body was built to weave effortlessly at a second’s notice. The way he moved, I could see that swift footwork and lightning-fast reflexes would put him exactly where he wanted to be for every second of the match. Prison had made him hard, but he was going to be every bit as slippery.
The name suddenly made sense.
Jabberjaw.
Jab ‘er jaw.
I’d thought it was a stupid name, but it was a warning – I wasn’t facing some dumb chatterbox who hoped to distract me during the fight. I was going up against someone who moved insanely quickly, throwing rock-hard thrusts that I could barely predict. He might as well have gone with Payback or Fisty McFuckYou.
There was no way I could have prepared for this. I was built to be a quick but mighty powerhouse, withstanding blows and delivering crushing defeats. What I faced was the most efficient glass cannon I’d seen – someone who could withstand maybe a pair of solid punches from a fighter like me, but someone who I’d never hit.
What faced me in the cage wasn’t Slippery Pete anymore.
It was my worst nightmare.
“Now that sharing time is over, maybe we can get this shit-show back on the fucking road!” Vinnie called out over the hushed crowd, “I’m proud to announce the return of the legend, a man who has shed blood in this very cage time and time again…Boooonesaaaaw!”
The crowd went wild, but my senses were all tuned towards my opponent, who only sneered with their cheers.
“His challenger is a relative unknown to these parts, but an up-and-coming contender from the west coast,” Vinnie declared loudly. “Apparently, these guys have some fucking history, huh?”
The crowd roared in reply, splashing beer and shouting at the top of its lungs.
“A vicious cage fighter, hailing from the seediest depths of Phoenix, Arizona…I give you the lightning, the wise-cracker, the Jaabbeeerjaaaw!”
The crowd booed, and Jabberjaw thrust up his fist in pleased recognition. “Fuck all y’all sons of bitches!”
Vinnie continued loudly. “As a special treat tonight, all restrictions are lifted. No tap-outs, no guild rules. This is an unregulated bout with anything-goes rules until knockout!”
“What?” I hissed, turning to him while the crowd exploded. What the fuck is going on? This isn’t underground cage fighting…this is a fucking duel.
“Luke,” Vinnie contested quietly to me.
I turned towards the proprietor with a vicious glare, who cowed under my rage. Darren looked panicked, glancing from Jabberjaw, to me, to Luke.
“Luke! What the fuck did you do?” Darren glowered at the owner, but I couldn’t hear the sheepish response over the roar of the crowd.
“Thought, you know, I’d liven shit up,” Jabberjaw told me as the crowd still cheered. It was clear that they wanted blood, and that they were happy that they were clearly going to get it. “Been a long time after all, Fucker. After I paid my way into this fight, I would have been fine with just smacking your shit up and down the cage. But then a little birdie told me about the, uh, financial troubles…let’s just say I had some winnings to blow, and I thought, you know…why the fuck not? Let’s make it special.”
“You staged this,” I realized. “You want a bloodbath.”
“You’re goddamn right, shit-stain.”
Vinnie was clearly disturbed, but his hands were tied. He called out in his booming voice to quell the crowds. “On this side, the reigning veteran, Bonesaw. On the other, the challenger, Jabberjaw. Gentlemen, when the buzzer begins…”
He stepped out from between us and through the gate, closing it behind himself. When I heard the distinct lock sound, I turned towards him with a betrayed look. Remorse covered his face – so, on top of everything else, Luke had also been paid to lock the cage and keep me trapped in here with this monster.
Understanding the ferocity of my predicament, I turned to face my opponent, lifting my fists. He turned and spat onto the floor, a malevolent grin across his face.
The buzzer sounded, and Vinnie called out.
“FIGHT!”
Seventeen
Saffron
Pensacola, Present Day
Sawyer had probably thought that he was being clever all that week. He had made no mention of the coming fight, or of any identifying details on where it might be – although I had already figured these details out, as I mentioned before. That’s why, when the night came, I lazily enjoyed some food in front of the television as he nonchalantly pretended that he wasn’t about to wander out in the city and knock somebody’s teeth in while an audience cheered.
He still clearly trained for it – and even still insisted on doing it at home. While we were slightly awkward around each other, after the erection incident, I didn’t shy away from swimming outside
while he trained. I didn’t watch him as much, and he didn’t look over at me as often, but we continued our unspoken companionship. I liked to think of it as some sort of support, maybe. Perhaps he didn’t even really notice.
It was clear to me that he was growing tenser at the night approached. He neither trained the day before, nor the day of – obviously letting his body rest for the coming match. However, he was on edge the whole day, aimlessly wandering around the house but unwilling to leave or talk to me about it.
“You seem frustrated,” I observed casually, reading a magazine on the couch. “You want me to help with that?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, ignoring my tease.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Your nose is buried in a fashion mag.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Shut up.”
I shot him a filthy look – he stopped, looking apologetic.
“I’m sorry. There’s just a lot on your mind.”
I closed the magazine, hiding a smile. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Sure you can.” I leaned up, grasping onto the top of the couch as I peered impishly over it. He was wandering around the foyer nearby, and he glanced briefly in my direction.
“That’s a good look for you,” he observed.
“Huh?” I directed my attention to my mess of hair, batting at it a little. “Why do you think so?”
“It’s cute. Natural.”
“Riiiiight,” I chuckled, blowing a few strands out of my face. “You’re just distracted.”
“Yeah…I guess so.”
“Why don’t you go relax, huh? Pool’s probably warm.”
“I don’t have time,” he muttered, glancing up at the clock.
“Sure you do. It’s not even –”
Oh crap. How did it get so late?