I groan in mock exasperation and flop down onto my bed.
“By the way, did you like that hold I put him in? That was for you.”
“Trust me, I could tell. If felt like you were cheating on me.”
Caleb gets quiet for a few seconds, and his eyebrows raise. “Cheating on you, huh? Does that mean what I think it means?”
I turn pink as I realize what I said, unsure how to react. “Um…well…”
Caleb pulls his shorts down, and all the words melt out of my mouth as my eyes land on his massive cock. Caleb slides his hands down to its thick base and squeezes the shaft. “Or is this just a phase you’re going through? You’re just a sweet little girl without a dirty thought in her head, and it’s all my fault for getting you so confused, right?”
God, he’s so cocky. I’d smack him across the face and tell him he’s full of himself if my hands weren’t busy pulling my dress off.
Caleb shoots me a wicked smile and climbs onto the bed, ripping my dress over my head and throwing it into the corner of the room in one clean motion. Then, his hands wrap around my wrists and push my arms down into the mattress. “Emma, Emma, Emma. How many times am I going to have to fuck that sweet little pussy of yours before you realize what we are? How many times am I going to have to make you scream my name?”
Caleb has a way of leaving me speechless. I make a couple noises in response to his questions, but none of them really resemble a word. Caleb’s eyes are on fire as he watches me squirm, pulling my arms way above my head and wrapping one huge hand around both of my wrists.
My eyes go wide as is other hand slides down my body, from my clavicle to my rock hard nipple to the bottom of my ribcage to my bellybutton to my aching clit. It isn’t until he rolls the firm pads if his fingers across it and I try to squirm that I realize he has me totally pinned down.
“I think we both know what the truth is. Whatever happens next, win or lose, I don’t give a shit as long as I’ve got you. This isn’t a temporary arrangement, and it never was. This is fucking real.”
Caleb pushes his finger up against my clit, slow and hard. “Isn’t it?”
I moan and nod, but Caleb starts rubbing faster, sending fireworks of arousal through my whole body.
“Not good enough. I want to hear the words come out of those perfect lips. Are we going to keep fucking, or are we temporary?”
“We’re…going to…keep…fucking!”
I don’t know what sends me over the edge first, Caleb’s hand on my clit or me saying the words I’ve been denying even to myself ever since we met. Either way, as soon as the word “fucking” comes out of my mouth, I put my lips on Caleb’s mouth and come like I’ve never come before.
“Fuck, Emma.” Caleb reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a foil packet. “I never thought you’d actually say it.”
Caleb rips the packet open, sheathes himself, and then thrusts himself inside me. He doesn’t take his mouth off mine until we both come again, collapsing down onto the bed and kissing some more.
All because I made a joke about him cheating on me. Me and my big mouth.
Chapter 23: Caleb
I’ve done some crazy shit since I started fighting, but nothing compares to the past couple of days. Normally, I get at least a week or two between fights to train up for the next one, but that’s not how it works at this tournament. They do one fight a day, which means that with every passing round, my opponent gets more and more exhausted. I’d be lying if I said it was easy; almost everyone I’ve fought has brought me down on the mat at least once, but it’s been three days and I’m still fucking here.
So far, it’s been obvious every time I’ve brought someone down onto the mat that they don’t want it like I do. Maybe it’s because I’m kinda fucked if I don’t win, or maybe it’s because I’m pissed at guys like these for what they did to my brother.
Honestly, it might be much simpler than that, though. Maybe I just want to show off for Emma. The morning of my second fight, she came out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel and told me that if I won my fight, I could spend the rest of the day doing whatever I wanted to her. Talk about fucking motivation. So I told her I’d think about it, and then when we got to the arena and she found her seat, I whispered what I was going to do to her into her ear and her eyes went wide as fucking dinner plates. No fighter on Earth was going to stop me from taking her back to her house and keeping my promise.
And we’ve had the same deal ever since. She sits right up in front squirming in her seat, her panties tucked away in my locker, thinking about every little thing I’m going to do to her curvy-ass body when I win.
This definitely isn’t how I used to motivate myself. Thinking about some random groupie out in the audience giving me sex eyes during a fight used to be a one-way ticket to the mat. Thinking about Emma, though? I’m pretty sure it’s making me better.
It’s a good thing, too. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her this whole fucking summer.
My quarterfinals opponent gets me on the ground and tries to bite my ear off. I flip him over, put him in Emma’s favorite hold, and he’s done for. The crowd thinks that’s my signature move or some shit, and they go crazy every time I do it. I try to do it on my semifinals opponent, but he’s a slippery motherfucker, and I can’t seem to keep him on the ground. He gets a really good punch on me that makes my ears ring for a couple seconds, but my next punch sends him to the ground.
After the fight, Emma gets me some ice for the bruise on my head, and we stick around to watch the other semifinal to see who my opponent’s going to be.
The other semifinal is a skinny looking dude versus this massive Russian guy called Thrasher who’s got to be well over 7 feet tall and looks like a human rhino with shaggy black hair. You can probably guess who won.
“I can beat that guy. I’ve beaten a guy that big before.”
Emma looks at me skeptically. “You have?”
“Yeah. He was really fat, though.”
Luckily, when we get back to Emma’s house, she forgets all about Thrasher when I remind her of what I whispered in her ear before I got into the ring this morning. I told her I was going to make her strip naked, tie her to the bed with her own panties, and then lick her clit nice and slow until she’s begging for my cock. And as soon as she drops her last piece of clothing on the floor and my eyes run up and down her naked body, I know that I would beat a guy twice Thrasher’s size if it meant I’d get to keep doing this.
***
The crowd likes Thrasher more than they like me. I know this because they’re chanting his name as the two of us climb into the octagon. They’re wasting their breath, though: this dude definitely doesn’t know English, not even the word “Thrasher.”
I keep my eyes closed and my body perfectly still until the announcer yells “go” over the loudspeakers. Then, I pounce off the side of the ring and start moving back and forth in front of Thrasher. Hopefully, I’m faster than him, and I’m definitely lower to the ground, so hopefully I can use his own weight against him if he tries anything stupid.
We stare each other down for a ridiculously long time, and then Thrasher charges, forcing me to dodge out of the way. He’s faster than I think he is, so I end up having to turn my back to him to get away. As I try to get myself grounded again, I catch sight of Emma, who looks simultaneously scared as shit and desperate for me to win. I told her that if I won, she could pick any scene from her dirty fucking romance novel, and I’d do it to her. Needless to say, she’s my biggest fan right now.
Unfortunately, the one second I spend looking at Emma was a mistake. Thrasher’s body hits me like a truck, almost taking me off my feet as he drives me towards the side of the ring. I try and catch him off guard with a sucker punch up towards his jaw, but he catches my hand in his before I can reach his face.
Shit. We both know what’s coming next. Thrasher crushes the shit out of my hand, to the point where I think I feel something break. At t
he exact same moment, he twists my arm backwards and brings me down to the ground, where he puts his stupidly big arm around my neck and pulls me into a headlock.
This is the point where most people would start to think about giving up, but instead, I take a deep breath, filling my lungs before Thrasher’s arm can cut off my airway. Thrasher yanks hard on my neck, and the crowd starts to chant his name again, expecting me to tap out any second. I can’t exactly get out from under his body, and there’s no way I’m breaking the headlock, so I do the only thing I can do: grab the back of his massive neck, pull it down into my shoulder, and put him in a headlock of his own. Normally, this isn’t exactly the world’s smartest strategy. In theory, I should run out of air way before he does, and if he gets frustrated, he could put a dangerous amount of pressure on my neck.
The thing is, though…I don’t give a fuck about that. I’m not tapping out. I’m not giving up. I’m taking Emma to that afterparty even if I have to do it as a fucking ghost. And I’m hoping that dedication will buy me just enough time that Thrasher runs out of air before I do.
Either the crowd’s gone dead, or I can’t hear them anymore. The only thing I can hear is Thrasher, thrashing his head around and trying to break my headlock. I’m pretty sure my face is starting to turn purple at this point, but I keep Thrasher in the headlock, causing him to press his mouth up against my ear and start cussing me out in Russian.
Yeah, keep doing that. Keep using up your air. If you do, I just might have a chance. I knock the side of my head lightly into Thrasher’s nose, and then I do it a couple more times. I’m not trying to do any damage; I’m just trying to piss him off enough to keep cussing me out. The hard part is not laughing at how annoying I’m being. Who thought all that teasing Emma would come in useful in the ring?
And it’s actually fucking working. Thrasher’s using up a lot of air, and I can feel his grip on my neck weakening just a little bit. I’m worried it’s still not going to be enough, though. There’s white noise creeping into my field of vision, and everything’s starting to go blurry.
Fuck passing out, though. I made Emma a promise. I need to keep her safe. She’s mine. She’s mine and I’m hers.
What the fuck is Thrasher doing to my back? Is he trying to get me to cough? He’s slapping it like he’s trying to swat a mosquito. And why’s the crowd cheering?
Wait, is he tapping out?
Three or four pairs of hands come in between me and Thrasher, pulling us apart. I gasp for air and open my eyes, coming back to reality as the cheering gets louder and the crowd gets up on their feet.
I think I actually fucking won. My first reaction is to start laughing, but when I have enough energy to stand up, I pounce into the center of the ring and roar into the crowd. I am the fucking Beast, after all.
There are two guys in suits in the ring with me. One of them holds my hand up in the air while a third guy comes into the ring with an insane looking trophy covered in diamonds. When he hands it off to me, I lift it over my head and roar again, and the crowd starts chanting my name.
But it’s weird. I just won the craziest fight of my life, and it feels good. Just good. Not great. Not amazing. My brother doesn’t come down from the rafters and thank me for fucking saving him. My mom doesn’t run up into the ring and tell me she knew I had it in me. I knew that shit wasn’t actually going to happen if I did something like this, but I don’t think the heartbroken little 14 year old inside me did.
The more I look out at the crowd, the less I want to be here, so I give them a wave goodbye and climb out of the ring. Then my eyes land on Emma. She’s crying her eyes out, and she runs up and hugs me as soon as I get down from the octagon. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her like I’m never going to fucking let go.
“Oh God, I thought you were going to die up there.”
“No fucking way. We’re not done yet.”
I pull Emma away and wipe the tears off her cheeks with my good hand. Then, I grin as I watch her eyes light up when she remembers the promise I made to her before the match.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here and do some reading.”
Chapter 24: Emma
How do you dress for an afterparty full of dangerous criminals you’re trying to report to the FBI? I brought a couple different outfits, but I’m worried that all of them look like I’m trying too hard. Finally, I settle for the tastefully low-cut blue dress I wore to senior prom. It’s kind of the same thing, right? After spending way too long trying to go for a “I totally belong at your event” look, I decide that I’ve probably gotten about as close as I’m going to get, and I come out of the bathroom and show it to Caleb.
“How do I look?”
“Insanely fuckable.”
I could say the same thing about Caleb: he’s all cleaned up, shaved, and wrapped up in a tuxedo that makes his massive frame look powerful in an entirely different kind of way.
“Well, you’re going to have to keep your hands off until we’ve got enough info to give to Agent Woods. If you’re all over me like you were at our parents’ wedding, no one’s going to want to talk to us.”
“Yeah. You’re right. But as soon as we’ve got what we need…”
Caleb shoots me a devastatingly sexy look and raises his eyebrows. “You’re fucking mine.”
***
This is crazy. People who look like they stepped off the set of The Godfather keep coming up and shaking Caleb’s hand and telling him how much they loved his last match. I didn’t really think about it before we arrived, but we’re basically the guests of honor, so just about everyone wants to come and talk to us.
And the venue is incredible. We’re in the back room of some kind of super fancy hotel, and there are chandeliers the size of Gina’s car hanging down from the ceiling. Everything’s so nice and classy-looking that I have to fight off the urge to network. Instead, I sneak away while some ancient guy with a thick Russian accent tries to recruit Caleb to something called the “Trans-Siberian Warriors League” and pour myself a glass of $2000 champagne.
They’re still talking when I get back. “Alright. Yeah. That’s…very interesting. I have to talk to my girlfriend about it before I move to Russia, but you should call my manager and we’ll keep talking.”
Caleb puts his arm around me as he says the word “girlfriend.” He’s been calling me that all night, and every time he does it I get this warm, tingly feeling in my chest. Or maybe that’s just the champagne.
The Russian guy nods and walks away, and Caleb leads me in the other direction.
“Trans-Siberian Warriors League, huh? Sounds fun.”
Caleb laughs. “Hey, that guy was offering me 750K a match.”
“So am I going to have to buy a parka?”
“I don’t think so. But shit, if it wasn’t for you, I might actually fucking think about it.”
“Well, I’m sorry I’m keeping you from making millions punching guys in the face in Siberia.”
“You’re worth it.” Caleb puts his hands on my sides and kisses me hard. I open one eye and look around the room, just to make sure that nobody’s looking at us weird, and then I go back to kissing Caleb.
“Hey,” I say, pulling away, “No one’s coming up to us. Maybe if we keep doing this, they’ll leave us alone long enough to get some pictures.”
“Now that’s a plan I can get behind.” Caleb grabs my butt, and I almost spill $100 dollars worth of champagne on his tux.
After a few more minutes of kissing, sneaky groping, and dirty talk, Caleb pulls out the phone and starts taking pictures. I was super nervous about this part going in, but it seems like half the people here are too drunk to care about a horny couple taking an impromptu photo shoot. Caleb tells me where to stand, and then I smile for the camera, and then we do it again.
“Alright, yeah, I’m pretty sure we have half the party. What do you say we get out of here and take the party back to your bedroom?”
That sounds like a great idea, for about a mill
ion different reasons.
Leaving the party is by far the most stressful part, though. Are we leaving too soon? What if someone thinks that we’re hiding something? How many people do we have to say goodbye to so that it’s not weird? By the time we manage to get out of the room, I’m starting to shake. It doesn’t help that we have to go through three doors guarded by the scariest bouncers I’ve ever seen before we’re back in the hotel lobby.
Out in the parking lot, Agent Woods pulls up beside us in a black SUV. “Do you have the phone?”
“Yeah. If I give it to you, are we good?”
“Sure, if you’ve got the pictures.”
Caleb hands Agent Woods the phone through the car window. “See for yourself.”
Agent Woods takes the phone and opens up our photo album, and starts swiping through them. I blush as I realize that I’m basically making sex eyes at the camera in every single picture, and that these pictures are probably going to be used as evidence in a bunch of major criminal cases. Oops.
Agent Woods looks up from the phone. “This is incredible. As far as I concerned, you can consider your charges dropped.”
I didn’t realize how good it would make me feel to hear that, but when I do, I start to tear up and almost kiss Caleb right in front of the FBI agent who knows we’re stepsiblings. Thankfully, I catch myself, but I’m pretty sure she knows what’s going on by now. She’s got a knowing smile on her face.
“Now, if I were you, I’d be careful about associating with California Kings for a while. There’s a chance the whole organization’s going to go down hard.”
Caleb laughs. “Yeah, you’re not going to have to worry about that. I’m not going back. I have more important things to worry about.”
And that’s the thing that makes the tears start falling. Agent Woods thanks us again for our time, rolls up her window, and drives off into the night. I watch her SUV, go, wait until it’s completely out of sight, and throw my arms around Caleb, kissing him hard under the hotel lights.
Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 13