by Shandi Boyes
“Competition is stiff.” Not as stiff as my dick, but not a complete lie. “I’ve got to make sure my cockiness isn’t seeing me walk into this blind.”
I hadn’t really considered that the past month and a half. I’ve been victorious each week, but it hasn’t come without consequences. I sported a black eye for two weeks after my first bout, fractured my pinkie finger the week after that, and last week, I not only bruised my ribs, I cracked a couple of them as well. The longer I fight for Dimitri, the fiercer my competition is becoming. “My competitors’ ‘owners’ now know I’m not just a pretty face. I need to back up their claims with an impressive skill set as well.”
“Can I watch you fight this week?”
A stern “hell to the fucking no” sits on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth refuses to relinquish it. Demi isn’t stupid. She knows there’s no chance in hell I’ll say no to her when she’s lowering her plump lips down my shaft.
“Fuck, Demi, fuck!” I grunt out when her lips come to within an inch of the cropped hairs splayed across my pelvis. I’m not bragging when I say it isn’t logical for her to fit so much dick down her throat. I’ve got length—notable length— and girth, yet she sucks me down like she wants my load dispersed directly into her gut. “Just a little more.”
I grunt when my greediness for her to take all of me sees her releasing a gag. I know I’m packing heat, but unvoiced acknowledgment is so much better than spoken truths. That’s what my relationship with Demi is founded on. She knows I care like fuck for her. I’d put her above anything and anyone, but I don’t need to shout that from the rooftops for her to know. I merely have to show her, which I’ve done every day for almost two months.
“It’s not safe for you there, Demi. I’m not willing to risk it.” Do you have any clue how hard it is to talk when you’re being driven to the brink of ecstasy by delicate lips and an adventurous tongue? Take my word for it. It’s almost fucking impossible.
“I can’t stay here forever, Maddox. It’ll drive me crazy.” Like she is me when she swivels her tongue around my knob. After dragging her teeth over the tip ever so gently, she does a second prolonged lick. “Besides, Rocco said my uncle is away, so there’s no reason for me not to come.”
“Fucking Rocco.”
I realize I said my comment out loud when Demi murmurs, “He’s offered. I declined. I’d much rather fuck you.”
She thinks she’s being cute. I’m seconds from going on a murderous rampage—after I come. I’m a good fighter, but I am no He-Man.
I push Demi’s head back toward my dick before saying, “You shouldn’t be talking with Rocco. He isn’t a good man.” She greets him when he drops me off after every fight. She has no clue about his middle-of-the-night visits each Thursday. “But I’ll ask him what he thinks when I see him later today.” This kills me to admit, but Rocco is somewhat protective of Demi. If he thinks she’ll be in any danger, he’ll tie her ass to a dining room chair to ensure she stays out of the firing zone. “Until then…”
I don’t have to speak another word. With a smile that exposes she knows she’s won this battle, Demi swipes her tongue across the slit in the crown of my cock, then devours me like she’s never been fed.
It’s a highly-craved forty minutes.
“I don’t see an issue with it. Col is out of town. Dimitri is occupied. It might be a good opportunity to get her out and about for a couple of hours.” Rocco tosses a gym bag full of cash into the trunk of the Buick before slamming it shut, forgetting Demi isn’t aware of our morning rendezvous. “Shit, sorry. I forgot you’re keeping things from her.”
“I’m not keeping things from her. I’m…” I’ve got nothing.
“Telling porkies, pulling her leg, keeping it on the down-low. However you Irish fucks say it, you’re doing it.”
Despite what my pasty-white skin tells you, I’m only part Irish. I probably have as much Italian blood running through my veins as Dimitri. “Why is Dimitri occupied? He hasn’t missed a feature the past six weeks.” I can’t say I blame him. From the quick calculations I’ve done, each Friday night schedule pulls in an easy one hundred thousand.
“He’s… ah… got some family shit to take care of.”
In case his blubbering didn’t clue you in, Rocco is a shit liar.
“Fien?”
“Who?” Rocco fires back, once again showcasing his horrendous skills.
I don’t know who the fuck Fien is, but it’s clear she’s important to Dimitri. He could be in the middle of negotiating a record-breaking deal, and he leaves within a nanosecond of Rocco whispering her name into his ear.
Eager to end our conversation before he puts his foot in his mouth, Rocco nudges his head to the hanging open driver’s side door of the Buick. “Why don’t you get a head start, then you’ll be back in time to make your girl breakfast in bed.” I shake my head, the tingling in my balls from the best blowjob of my life still not enough to convince me to leave Demi in Rocco’s care. Furthermore, Saint is already on his way. He buzzed me thirty minutes ago, but before I can announce that, Rocco’s next set of words steals more than words from my throat. They wind me as well. “It’s the best way to start her big b-day.”
“It’s Demi’s birthday?” I was meant to articulate that in my head.
When Rocco nods, I snatch up his wrist to check the date on his watch. I knew Demi’s birthday was approaching, but with everything going on, I didn’t realize it was this close.
“Fuck!” I curse when Rocco’s expensive timekeeping contraption announces it is the twenty-first. It’s Demi’s first birthday as my girl, and I completely fucked it all up. “I’m a fucking asshole.”
“Relax,” Rocco says with a laugh. “Last year, she got a double shift at Petretti’s. I’m sure you can’t do worse than that.”
“She deserves better than some fucking eggs on toast, Rocco.” He lifts his chin but remains quiet, leaving me plenty of time to devise a much better plan. “Do this run for me—”
“No can do,” he interrupts before I can state all my terms.
“Then I’ll do a double run next week.”
Rocco shoves his tattooed hands under his arms before he arches a brow. “Who says there’s more than one run a week?”
I jog around the trunk, lean into the Buick, then pull on the trunk latch. “I’ve seen Dimitri’s crash pad. I know you’ve got more than a two-bit operation going on.” After removing the gym bag full of cash from the trunk, I shove it into Rocco’s chest. “Do this for me, and I’ll do two runs a week from here on out.”
A half wolf-whistle, half chuckle vibrates his lips. “Dimitri said you were gone. Yowie, motherfucker, you’re full-blown in love.”
His comment has my fists itching to smash his teeth in, but I hold back when he lowers my gym bag from his chest, but he doesn’t let go of it. “Two runs a week. I’ll be back Tuesday.” The urge to smack him into the middle of next week returns full pelt when he adds, “Give the birthday girl a kiss for me,” before he slides into the back of an SUV, leaving me with a plan but no way of implementing it without freeing Demi from the trap I caught her in seven weeks ago.
24
Demi
Nerves are in abundance in my stomach. I’m so excited, I feel the need to pee for every minute of every hour. Today I am twenty-two. I never thought I’d reach this day, much less have a reason to celebrate it, yet here I am being driven to a secret location by my boyfriend, who also happens to be the only guy I’ve ever crushed on.
I’d pinch myself if I weren’t afraid it would wake me up.
I haven’t left the cabin in a month and a half. It was stocked with supplies before we arrived, and anything we’ve used, Rocco turns up with like magic each Friday afternoon like he scoured our pantry before his arrival. I have no reason to leave, but I’m still grateful to be out of there. Claustrophobia makes no sense until you stare at the same walls day in and day out.
When Maddox pulls his bike down a dusty road many mil
es from the cabin, he squeezes my hands wrapped around his waist, drawing my focus to him. “This is going to be as tacky as fuck, but I hope you still enjoy it.”
I assume the unease in his voice is because he had to project it over the healthy rumble of his motorbike engine but am proven wrong when a large wooden building comes into sight over the horizon. It’s a big old barn in the middle of nowhere. There could be a fancy ranch attached somewhere, but since most properties this far inland come with thousands of acres, I could be wrong.
After parking at the side of the barn, Maddox dismounts his bike, removes his helmet, then helps me with mine. Once he has them stored in his saddlebags, he shifts on his feet to face me, smiling at the shock on my face. “Have you ever heard of Troy Gentry?”
“The highest-scoring player in the history of the NHL?” I roll my eyes. “Never.”
His smile doubles before he nudges his head to the barn. “He thanks this for his high-goal tally.”
Still confused, I remain quiet. It’s for the best. If I hadn’t kept my mouth shut, I might have missed the springs of curly blonde hair pushing open the barn doors to reveal an almost full-size hockey rink hidden inside.
“Sloane!” Maddox wiggles a finger in his ear, wordlessly protesting my girlie squeal that just burst through his eardrums, before he joins my race across the dewy grass to Sloane and Saint. I’ve seen Saint a handful of times the past six weeks, but I’ve only communicated with Sloane via phone and text messages. I’ve missed her so much.
“Happy birthday!” She returns my fiercely protective hug before pulling me back so she can drag her eyes over my flushed face and wide eyes. “A six-week romp-a-thon has made you all types of nasty.” Panicked that I look like a wreck stops filtering through my head when she adds, “Hook a girl up! I need recommendations on guys up to the task. You look smoking!”
My eyes shoot to Saint, stunned Sloane is seeking reps. Her texts made it seem as if she and Saint were still going strong like Maddox and me. Clearly, I read her messages in the wrong manner. There’s so much tension brewing between them, I’m shocked the ice rink hasn’t melted.
Although Saint acts as if Sloane’s comment isn’t grating his last nerve, his tight jaw tells another story. He’s pissed as fuck, but he refuses to nibble at the bait Sloane dangled in front of him. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. His signature move isn’t well known because it’s a rarity.
Eager to ease the tension suffocating the air, I ask, “What are you guys doing here? I thought you had a big exam coming up?” My final question is solely for Sloane. Although Maddox is also attending university, he does a majority of his studies at home. Since she’s prelaw, Sloane doesn’t have the same leeway.
“Stuff exams. It’s your birthday. That’s far more important.” After slinging her arm around my waist, Sloane nuzzles her nose into my neck. “I’m also dying to see your reaction to your very first snowstorm.”
Maddox waits for my confused gaze to shift to him before he motions up his chin, signaling to someone in the shadows of the barn to switch on the lights. When the hockey rink illuminates, I’m torn between sobbing and smiling. Foam snowmen dot the ice rink, and fluffy white froth is falling from the sky.
When I step closer to the rink, needing a moment to gather my composure, Sloane’s arm falls from my waist a mere second before Maddox’s torso warms my back. “The ice under your feet is real, but unfortunately, the snowmen are fake, and the snow is made from dishwashing liquid. I’ll take you to see real snow one day, but for now, this will have to do.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, mesmerized how the lights highlighting the rink make the bubbles pumping out of the machines above our heads shine like real snowflakes. “I love it.”
Needing an excuse for the wetness about to fall onto my cheeks, I rest my head onto Maddox’s chest and tilt my chin so the ‘snowflakes’ can land on my face. A smile curves my lips when blobs of teeny tiny bubbles splat onto my cheeks. They’re a little chilly, making it seem as if I am truly in the middle of a snowstorm.
I remain in my peaceful bubble for nearly ten minutes before the chill projecting off the rink becomes highly noticeable. Maddox moved away, lowering the heat roaring through my body by an easy twenty degrees. “Now it’s time for the true snow-day experience to begin.”
When he pulls a sheet off a snow sled, I giggle like my heart isn’t racing a million miles an hour. I’m not scared. I’m petrified I am seconds from blurting out three little words I swore I wouldn’t express until Maddox does first.
“Come on, Demi. Climb aboard. Once you’ve mastered the wimp whistler, we’ll move up to the big one.” Maddox thrusts his hand to an inflatable slide at the side of the rink. It looks like it should be hanging over the ledge of a swimming pool, but it’s lumped onto a massive circle of ice instead. “The Mad Max Mount.”
With memories of my past on lockdown and my mind ready for a new vault-load of better memories, I thrust my arms into the winter coat Sloane is holding out for me before shuffling across the ice.
One day of good memories won’t alter the horrible things of my past, but today’s moments are tomorrow’s memories.
Note for future self—ice-skating is harder than it looks.
My backside is bruised, the tip of my nose is red, and for once in the past six weeks, Maddox only gets some of the credit for my damp panties. I wore the pants and jacket kindly supplied by Mr. Gentry, but I landed on my ass so many times, the wetness of the ice eventually seeped through.
Did it make my smile any smaller the past two hours? Not at all. I loved every single minute at the skating rink. It was a true highlight of my life. I could easily go to bed now and say this was the best birthday of my life. But as luck would have it, Maddox still has a handful of activities for us to undertake today.
Stop number two is forty miles from the skating rink. It will occur without Sloane and Saint, who are currently enduring an awkward eighty-mile trip back to Hopeton on Maddox’s bike since he asked Saint to borrow his car. His poor planning exposes he was in the dark about Sloane and Saint’s switch from lovers to friends as much as me.
Sloane tried to secure herself an invitation for our next activity, but Maddox was quick to shoot down her endeavors. He said the rest of the day was solely about us, so you can imagine my confusion when he lowers the revs of Saint’s car so he doesn’t miss the turn-off for a shooting range in a country community many miles from Hopeton.
The chill of my hands weakens when Maddox curls his hand over mine before giving them a little squeeze. “The best protection a woman can have is the courage to protect herself.”
His words sting my eyes with moisture. They were beautiful and so very much on par with his personality. He wants to save me from the world, but he also recognizes he can’t do it alone.
“So, what do you say, birthday girl? Want to blow some guy’s nuts off?”
Laughing, I nod my head. “Does he have to be a paper silhouette, though? I know a few guys who need dismembering, starting with your brother, Saint.”
“Deserving, but still… ouch!” Maddox groans with a chuckle before he jogs around to open my door for me.
He’s seen me naked more times than I can count, brought me to ecstasy with his brilliant tongue only hours ago, and whispers dirty, wicked thoughts into my ear every single time we fuck, but today I blush.
What can I say? His old-school gentleman ways turn me on.
“This place isn’t free carry, Demi, so unless you want me frisk-searched, keep that grin on the down-low.” He grabs at his crotch in case his teasing tone didn’t get the point across. “Or I could strap you to my front and tell them you’re napalm.”
He kisses me before I can answer him. I don’t mind. I’m always up for being kissed, especially when it’s by him.
Maddox waits for the tingles in my pussy to extend to my toes before pulling away, then he drags his index finger down my nose, curls his hand around mine, then guides me inside.
I’m about to say fire when Maddox shocks me for the second time today. “Both.”
I don’t want a gun. I don’t know why. I’ve just never had a good vibe about them.
“All righty, then. Well, come on over and take a look. Perhaps you can test a few models in the range until you find your fit.” After gesturing for us to follow her to a counter with guns more suitable for novices, the clerk says, “I’ll need to see ID, though. Protocol and all. We can’t hand guns to any ol’ fool.”
The hits keep coming when the slip of my hand into my purse is halted by Maddox producing two identification cards. They’re driver’s licenses for New York State. One for me and one for him.
What the hell?
“Perfect,” the gun stockiest breathes out with a purr. “Now let’s get you weaponed up, Mr. and Mrs. Noble.”
“Please, call me Richard,” Maddox suggests, stoked our fake IDs passed the test.
“Or Dick,” I add on, ensuring Maddox knows I’m not comfortable with this. “He much prefers when people call him Dick.”
“Fake IDs, gun purchasing. Jeez, Maddox, were you at any time planning to update me on your ‘supposed’ plans?” He follows me into the firing range before guiding us to the booth Brittney assigned to us. My gun is pink and lightweight, but it still looks wrong being gripped by my hand, so I won’t mention the beast of a gun Maddox chose to test. “I understand where you’re coming from, and I get we joked about leaving this life behind many times the past six weeks, but we’re supposed to be a team.”
“We are a team, Demi. The licenses and guns are to ensure we stay a team.” After placing our guns onto a table behind our booth, he tugs down the earmuffs meant to protect my hearing from the gunfire booming around us until they circle my neck, then he secures my hand in his. “The licenses are new. I figured it would be best to test their authenticity somewhere less obvious.”