by Josie Kerr
Nanda halted. “You know, I can’t even remember. You two enjoy your dinner.”
“We’ll bring you something back, okay?”
“Sure.”
Nanda practically ran into the other bedroom of the suite and shut the door behind her. God, that sucked. She wandered into the bathroom and turned on the tap of the Jacuzzi tub. She wasn’t going to use the jets, knowing the nastiness that probably lurked in those pipes, but she definitely was going to have a nice soak with a trashy book and some music.
As she sank down into the tub, she thought that the only thing that would make this better, other than not being at a nice hotel because she was essentially running from a psychopath, was if she had been able to grab her brand-new waterproof toy before she left her trashed bedroom. She had just opened her book when her phone buzzed with a text message.
You hanging in there?
Nanda grinned and returned the message, indicating that she was doing fine. After a bit of small talk via text, Dig asked her what she was doing. Nanda grinned and took a selfie. When she didn’t get a response, she texted him.
Nanda: You there?
Dig: Yeah. All the blood rushed from my big head to my little one.
Nanda snorted but then almost choked when Dig sent her his own selfie of his hand wrapped around his hard cock.
Nanda: Call me.
The phone immediately rang.
“You are so fucking hot, Nanda.”
Nanda giggled. Giggled? Oh God, girl. Get a grip.
Dig chuckled. “Man, you are so cute when you giggle like that. Makes me even harder ’cause I remember you giggling that first night.”
“I giggled because your beard tickled the insides of my thighs.”
He let out a lustful moan, and she knew he was jerking off.
“Dominic DiGiacomo, are you being a dirty boy and touching yourself?”
Another needful groan. “Damn it, Nanda. You’re going to make me nut before I can really enjoy myself.” Another low, guttural grunt. “Touch yourself for me. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Nanda put her feet on either side of the tub and dipped her hand between her folds. She flicked the sensitive nub with her thumb and then rolled it between her thumb and forefinger.
“I can hear you breathing, so I know you’re touching yourself. Tell me how.”
“I’m rolling my clit in my fingers. I wish that it were your fingers, though.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re rough. And thick.” Nanda slipped two of her fingers inside herself. “Oh, yeah, totally not the same.”
She listened to Dig breathe heavily as she worked her fingers in and out of her core.
“Put another finger in.” She obeyed and told him so. “Tell me how it feels. How it stretches you.”
“It does, but not as much as your cock.” She grunted as she pushed three fingers in up to the second knuckle. “God, I could ride your cock for days.”
“Nanda, when this fight is over. . .you and I. . .we’re going to go somewhere for a week, and you can do just that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Better make it two weeks. One week for fucking, one for recovery.”
“Say that again.”
“I’m going to fuck you for a week. We’ll get room service so you won’t have to walk anywhere.”
“Say those first five words for me.” She sucked in a ragged breath.
“I’m. Going. To. Fuck. You.” With each word he growled, Nanda pushed her fingers in deeper and harder. “So. Fucking. Hard.”
And then she exploded, letting out a high-pitched whimper that ended with a little growl when she heard Dig roar with his own climax.
They were quiet for a few long moments, each trying to catch their breath.
“Damn, Dig, you didn’t even last twelve hours without breaking the rules.”
“I can’t not break the rules when it comes to you.” He sighed. “Damn. What the hell are you doing to me, Fernanda Maldonado?”
Nanda sucked in a breath. She didn’t think he realized he said that last bit out loud.
“Babe?” Dig’s voice was sleepy now, heavy and languid, much like her limbs felt.
“Yeah, Dom?”
He chuckled. “I like it when you call me ‘Dom.’ No one’s called me that in a long time.”
“Noted. Yeah, Dom?”
“Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Nanda clicked off the phone. So much for not being a distraction. Dammit.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Dig watched Nanda bend over the counter, her pants stretching taut over her ass and making him think of all sorts dirty things that they hadn’t gotten to do during that hedonistic weekend when she had called him.
“You better keep your eyes on the other prize, man, or you’re not going to live long enough to get that belt.” Tig gave him a serious look and shook his head. “Seriously, Dig. You need to tone that shit down. Even C has noticed you looking at Miss Sassy over there.”
“Well, shit.” If even Colin, who was notoriously clueless when it came to interpersonal dealings, knew that he and Nanda had something going on, then Junior, with his almost supernatural sense of hanky-panky, was due to beat the shit out of him for banging his sister. Shit.
“DiGiacomo! In the cage! Now!” Junior scowled at Dig from under a helmet as he pounded one fist into the other open palm.
Tig whistled through his teeth. “Oh, man. Good luck, buddy. I’ll be sure to get rid of your porn stash before your folks get here to gather your worldly belongings.”
Dig chuckled. “You know I don’t have a stash, but be sure to clear my browser history. Oh, and wipe my phone, too.” Shit. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to wipe his phone, period, especially after last night. During playtime with Nanda, he’d accidentally hit the record button on the phone and now had a beautiful commemorative soundtrack of their activities.
Dig jogged over to the cage and hoped for the best.
Ninety minutes later, Dig sat on a bench, none the worse for wear, and thought about his sparring session with the elder Maldonado. Something was off with Junior, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with him personally, or even with Nanda. He considered asking Junior what was up, but in the end, he decided not to and headed up to his room.
As he approached his apartment, he could see the second door ajar, indicating that Nanda was most likely there. He poked his head in the door just as Nanda was zipping up her duffle. He saw the suitcase at the foot of the bed, also closed up tight, and the closet open and emptied.
“Where are you going?”
Nanda jumped and emitted a little shriek. “Dammit, Dom. You scared me. Don’t sneak up on people.”
“I didn’t. You were just a million miles away.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge.”
“You need me to take the edge off?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Nanda chuckled quietly. “Lose the eyebrow wiggle. It’s not a good look on you.”
“Hmph.”
“Oh, don’t pout, you big baby. That’s an even worse look on you.”
“Boy, you’re crabby. You’d think after last night—”
“Nuh, uh, uh. Shut it. We’re not talking about last night, and we’re definitely not repeating last night.”
“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that.”
“This time I’m sticking with it. Dom, this is a title elimination fight. This is a big deal. You haven’t had this kind of a chance since . . .”
“Yeah, since C got me to the mat and pounded the shit out of me.”
Her face softened. “And since Damon Pierce broke your arm during a quote, unquote sparring session. Honey, I didn’t realize he hurt you that badly. No wonder you hate him.”
Dig didn’t want to think or talk about Damon Pierce right then. He wanted to talk with N
anda, and then he wanted to take her to bed and make love to her, or at least feel her curled against his body. Taking a chance, he told her this.
“Dom, I’m a distraction. And I work here. It’s going to be hard enough keeping out of your way during the training sessions. I don’t need to make it even harder by intruding in on your downtime. As much as I don’t want to, I’m going back to the hotel to stay with the lovebirds.”
“If you don’t want to stay there, stay here.”
“Were you not listening to what I just said? No, Dom.”
“Nanda, baby . . .”
“Don’t call me that, Dig, okay? It just makes it harder.”
“Hey, Nanda, you got your shit together?” Junior poked his head into the small bedroom. “Oh, hey, Dig. You gave a good session today. Sorry I wasn’t up to snuff. I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”
“Man, everyone has off days. No worries.”
“That is it! If you don’t get your heads in the game, I’m going back to Newark.”
“No!” Dig and Junior said simultaneously.
“Then get it together. Both of you. Dios. Fuckin’ fighters. Get my shit and take it out to the car, Junior.” Nanda pushed past both of the men and stomped out the door.
Junior scoffed. “What the fuck is her problem?”
Dig shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Junior slammed his hand down on Dig’s jiggling knee.
“Mano, you need to get some chill before you get in there.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Dig hadn’t set foot anywhere near the Raptor Pryde training center since he’d decamped for DS Fight Club after the whole Pierce business.
Fucking Damon Pierce. They’d been sparring partners for a few years, with Jett Raptor overseeing their training. That all had come to an end when Pierce had deliberately broken Dig’s arm during a sparring session for the express means of getting a spot in an exposition fight against Colin. Dig still didn’t understand why Pierce had resorted to such extreme measures, but he had, and ultimately, Pierce paid the much higher price of expulsion from the Raptor Pryde roster and being blackballed from all the fight clubs. Well, all the fight clubs except for Doyle’s South, which wasn’t an option as he had inflicted purposeful and excessive injury to Colin.
“Dig, have you heard a word I’ve said?” Colin’s blue eyes bored into his as he hung over the front seat. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”
“Sorry, C.” Dig shook his head. “It’s just going to be weird going in there, is all.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I haven’t talked to Pryde, except in passing, since the whole Pierce dustup. That whole situation was all sorts of fucked up. I still don’t get it.”
Junior expelled an exasperated sigh. “Gordo, I’m telling you, it was because of that loca, Andrea. She had to be at the root of all the bullshit, and if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on her having something to do with Tripp as well.”
Colin ran his hand over his face. “What a fucking mess.” He blew out a breath. “But that’s in the past. Andrea’s still locked up, Tripp is Lord knows where, and Pierce is persona non grata within the fighting community in Atlanta and probably everywhere else. So we just have to make it through this press conference and keep our eyes on the prize.” Colin’s eyes met Dig’s in the rearview mirror. “Right, Dig?”
“Fuck yeah. Eyes on the prize, baby.”
And a big fucking prize it was: a chance at the heavyweight title. Dig hadn’t been this close to a title fight in almost four years, since the last time he fought Colin. He’d lost that fight, but only just, and then Colin had announced his retirement, which threw the whole division into an uproar.
Dig had received the typical mandatory six-month medical suspension after the signature “Ice Cold” Carmichael ground and pound and subsequent knockout, and just when he was ready for another run at the title, he had tweaked his back and had torn a tendon during some ill-advised sexual adventures with two contortionists, resulting in yet another medical delay. Not his finest moment.
By the time he got healthy again, sixteen months had passed, the heavyweight champion belt had changed hands two times, and his ranking had fallen from Contender to the lower top ten, causing his trainer to dismiss him from the roster.
When Raptor Pryde offered him a position on their team, he jumped at it even though it would mean moving away from his native Midwest. So he moved to Atlanta and became part of the Raptor Pryde team, but he still didn’t get a fight until the ill-fated exposition fight against Colin.
The DS Fight Club team pulled into Raptor Pryde’s lot, and Colin turned the engine off.
“Wait.” Paddy Doyle turned around and looked each of the other three men in the SUV in the eye. “Every one of you has a beef with this club. For fuck’s sake, even I have a beef with this club. Keep your heads. All of you. You know they’re going spout some sort of shite because they always do. We’re the bigger men, the better men, right? I said, right?”
With a whoop, they all headed into the enemy’s territory.
Things went smoothly until after the official press conference when Jett Raptor opened his big mouth and spouted off some bullshit about Bailey, and Colin just about lost his mind. The former heavyweight champion of the world reached over the table that Raptor sat behind, balled Raptor’s shirt in his fists, and pulled him up.
And even when Colin screamed in his face, Jett Raptor just smiled and insulted Bailey again, prompting Colin to let him go. Raptor fell back into his seat with a thud, but still smirked, and Colin went over the table, his hand raised.
Junior intercepted Colin’s fist, murmuring, “C, do not do this. I know he deserves it, but don’t do it, mano.”
“ ‘Mano’? Is that kind of like ‘papi’?” Raptor continued smirking.
Junior leveled a death glare at Raptor. “Just shut the fuck up, Raptor. I didn’t have to stop him.”
Dig put a heavy hand on each of their shoulders. “Guys. Remember? Cool heads.”
Colin and Junior stepped back and seemed to relax until Ricky Elliot, Dig’s slated opponent, piped up with a smart comment about ice and blow jobs, and Dig lost his cool, turned, and slammed one fist into the tabletop and stopped his other fist mere centimeters from Elliot’s face.
Paddy and Bruce Pryde emerged just as the Raptor Pryde fighter stammered an apology.
“Is there an issue here?” Pryde looked at his partner and his fighter. “Jett? Elliot? Is there?”
Colin cleared his throat. “No, there’s no problem.” He waited a beat. “We’ll beat you fuckers at the fight. Come on.”
Colin turned to leave, Junior and Dig following him, with Paddy giving Pryde a knowing, worried look and then trailing behind them.
“That a promise, Carmichael? Or another empty threat?” Jett Raptor called to them.
Colin chuffed a laugh but kept on walking. Without turning around, he said, “That is a fucking promise.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Nanda knew something went wrong at the press conference the moment the DS Fight Club crew returned to the gym. Paddy barked at a young fighter, scaring him half to death. Colin had stomped to his office without even saying hello, and Junior growled that he had to go get ready for his flight to New Jersey for a training session so she needed to be ready to leave in twenty or she could find her own fucking ride. And Dig just stood at the counter of the front desk, hands and jaw flexing, completely agitated.
“You clean up well,” Nanda remarked to Dig, hoping to break the ice enough to find out what the hell went down that morning.
“I look like I always do, and you know that,” he snapped.
“Sheesh. Never mind.” Nanda went back to folding invoices, a scowl on her face.
“Sorry, Nanda. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Take what out on me?”
Dig scrubbed his face
with his hands and then told her the post–press conference conversation. Nanda got angrier and angrier as he related what happened, and by the end, she was ready to go see Raptor to administer a beat-down herself. She forced herself to calm down, knowing that a confrontation would not help matters at all.
“How do you handle this?” Dig’s jaw was still clenched, but Nanda could sense his distress underneath the rage. “I mean, this is bullshit, right? Did people react like assholes back in Newark?”
“When he first came out, I remember some bullshit with some of my ma’s brothers saying that it was because he lived with women and didn’t have a man in the house for a role model. She shut that down really quick by reminding them that they were his male role models.”
“Good for her.”
“After he got out of the army, and people found out he was a boxing champion, and then later when word got out about what he went through, people got that he was strong and patriotic, and it didn’t matter who he loved or who he fucked.”
Dig exhaled loudly. “What I can’t figure out is Raptor’s problem. Is it with Junior, or is it with Colin?”
“Or Raptor may just be a homophobic asshole and it doesn’t have anything to do with either of them. He doesn’t like losing, and he uses hateful language to distract the people and sponsors from that fact.” Nanda shrugged. “You know the MMA fan stereotype—a dumbass meathead bro who is only interested in the violence of the fight, not the technique or the training that goes into making an athlete. Raptor feeds off of that shit. You’ve seen him swagger into interviews, spouting off macho bullshit. Heaven forbid that a fighter be a nice guy who’s not a manwhore. And you know what makes me sicker than anything? Any sort of community service he does has to have maximum coverage. He always has to get credit. I hate guys like that, you know? Fucking asshat.”
She finished her diatribe with a fierce look at Dig, who stood opposite her with his mouth open.
“What?”
“That was pretty awesome,” Dig said with a surprised chuckle.