Champ

by Rhona Davis

  Just when I try to fully explain things, the ping of her cell phone catches her attention. She walks over to the coffee table and reaches into her bag, pulling out it out. I can’t wipe the grin off my face as I watch her read her message. She looks so damn sexy in that t-shirt of mine.

  “Is everything fine?” I ask.

  “It’s my editor. He wants an update.” She throws the phone down and dabs at her sleepy eyes. “Right, we’re leaving after breakfast.”

  “Don’t you want a tour of the city first?”

  “I think I’ve seen quite enough last night, thank you very much.”

  With my appetite now gone, I push the plate away.

  She’s pissed off. I get it. But in spite of my base urges, and the new day of instant regret, I meant what I said last night. No half-drunk fumbles. She needs to be fully sober when she screams out my name.

  I have a choice now—one simple choice. I can either tip-toe around her like a coward, or charm the fuck out of her; jump on her when she least expects it and show her, unwaveringly, just how crazy she makes me.

  Four weeks before the big fight . . .

  My window of opportunity is closing.

  We take an elevator down to the carpark of the apartment complex.

  My brand new Bugatti is parked at the far side; sandwiched between my Lamborghini and Ferrari.

  “These all yours?” she asks, her voice echoing through the vast garage space.

  “No,” I nod to the other side of the garage. “Those belong to the other residents.”

  Her eyes widen. “God, what do they all do for careers?”

  “Movie stars, lawyers, a few plastic surgeons . . .”

  She runs her hand over the silver hood of the Bugatti. “How often do you drive these? They look like they’ve never left the showroom.”

  “Only two have . . . the Bugatti and the Ferrari.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a waste?”

  I smile. “I like collecting things.”

  “What, like girls?” She raises a cynical brow at me.

  “Well, normally, if I really like a car, I keep loyal to it.”

  Before I’m tempted to jump on her, right then and there, I open the passenger door of the Bugatti and motion for her to climb inside.

  When I take my seat, I can’t help but notice her beautiful bare legs. She looks so hot in my shorts. She should wear my stuff more often.

  Damn.

  We make it about half way back to the Hamptons before I pull into a ditch on the far side of a country road.

  “What are you doing?” Sofia asks, looking around at the secluded surroundings with a frown.

  I lock the door. “Something I should have done last night.”

  She reaches for the door handle. “Oh no you don’t. You blew it, Mister.” Frantically, she jerks on the handle. “Let me out.”

  I lean back on the driver’s seat and smirk. “It’s a long way home.”

  She burns her gaze into mine. “I won’t let you fuck with my head, Connor. I’m messed up enough already without dealing with your shit too.”

  “I love you.”

  She snorts. “What?”

  “You heard.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  I jump over to her side and pin her to the seat. “I’m serious. I love you, Sophie.”

  Her brow creases.

  I sigh. “I didn’t make love to you last night because I wasn’t sure it’s what you really wanted.”

  “And that’s stopped you before?”

  “No, it hasn’t. You’re right. And I’m not proud of that. The simple truth is that what happened last night was the first time.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Wow, I’m so honoured to be the first girl you couldn’t bear to fuck.”

  She turns her head away from me, the nostrils of her nose flaring.

  “You got it all wrong. I want you, Sophie. But I want you pure . . . unclouded from alcohol or any kind of mixed up emotion. I want you when you’re sober and free.”

  “And how do you know it wasn’t last night? I wasn’t that drunk, you ass.”

  Her chest rises and falls.

  I think she’s turning to my way of thinking.

  Her brows lower. “And how can you love me? You hardly know me.”

  “I’ve heard you talking with your mom on the phone.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?” She starts for the door again.

  I hold her arms down. “Just listen to me, please.”

  Her resistance softens.

  “Sofia, I mean it. I love the way you care for someone other yourself, and that you work so hard to try and better things for your family back home. Not to mention how incredibly sexy you always look. But it’s not just that . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “We’re so similar that it scares me.”

  She struggles to free herself from my grip. “I am nothing like you.”

  “Yes you are. You’re a fighter.”

  Her eyes lock to mine—those stunning, dark and alluring eyes which are now glazed with tears. I am consumed by them.

  Uninvited, I push my mouth to hers. She tastes like liquid sugar. As her tongue finally yields to mine, I kiss her harder. Her hands glide over the muscles of my neck and chest as we both lose ourselves.

  I gently push her legs apart and pop open the buttons on her shorts. The thought of her tiny pussy hidden inside something of mine makes me so hard.

  I can’t wait a second longer. I pull down my pants and unleash my thick cock. She reels back on the seat, her cheeks flush and her wet mouth parted.

  I push in for another taste of her sexy lips.

  She reaches for my rigid dick, massaging the crown and pulling up and down on its length. My balls tremble with pleasure. The tight grip of her small hand makes me feel like coming right away.

  I snake my hand inside her shorts and find her moist entry again. Parting her swollen pussy lips, I begin to stab her with two fingers. The sweet scent of her cunt fills my lungs with such gorgeous aroma.

  “Fuck yes,” she gasps.

  I lift off her t-shirt and direct my mouth to her firm, perky tits—nibbling and sucking on her sweet buds. She tastes so fucking wonderful; like vanilla and honey.

  She jerks my cock harder and murmurs, “Fuck me.”

  I’m not wasting this. Not this time.

  I take out some protection from the car glovebox and rip open the foil wrapper with my teeth. I am frenzied with impatience now. Rolling the condom down my length, I watch her gasp at the size of my generous dick. Knowing she enjoys my body makes me even harder.

  I shift my attention back to her and place my hands on the curved contour of her womanly hips. She trembles under my palm, her breathing deeper than before. My thumbs hook under the material of the shorts, and I slide them down over her perfectly smooth and velvety soft legs.

  After freeing her feet from each leg of the shorts, she parts them wide. I almost lose my sanity as her flower spreads open for me.

  Looking into her pretty eyes momentary, I can see hunger burning in them. There is no ambiguity in her gaze anymore. This is what we both want.

  I climb on top of her, aligning my hips to hers, and direct my raging member to the top of her juicy folds. Pressing up against her puffy flesh, I push slowly and deliberately inside.

  She moans in surrender.

  I start to pick up pace; plowing in and out of her moist little cunt with a need I’ve never felt before. This beats everything, even the very first time I had sex.

  Her pussy lips are clamped tight around my thick cock. Each time I pull out or drive in, I can feel her skin resist. She is so impossibly tight.

  I jerk in and out harder, going balls deep now. “Oh yes,” I groan, “you feel so fucking hot.”

  She spasms and twists, dragging her nails across my muscled back. The more she scratches and digs them into my skin, the harder I fuck her gorgeous pussy. I use a finger to rub at her throbbing clit.
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br />   She buckles—her body arching back as I fuck her with my dick and fingers.

  My balls shake. I can barely hold onto my swelling pleasure much longer. Seeing her so deep in ecstasy has my cock ready to burst. It’s almost painful.

  “I’m coming,” she cries. “Connor . . . oh, fuck!”

  As soon as I feel her walls contract on my cock, and her juices run down to the base of my dick, I pull out of her—completely filling up the condom with my thick, creamy load.

  I roar as an orgasm rips through me like a thousand knives tearing through my core.

  I fall on top of her. My body drenched in sweat.

  She trembles.

  After a few seconds, with my head rested on her chest, I hear sobbing.

  I pull myself up and look down at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  She smiles as tears roll down her cheeks. “Of course I am, you shit.”

  She wraps her warm arms around my body and squeezes into me with a loving hug.

  My heart burns for her.

  Then—like any real situation that doesn’t exist in the pages of some cheap romance novel—a car pulls up behind us, shattering the scene.

  “Shit, shit!” She panics, covering herself with her coat. Underneath it she is completely naked, and her cheeks still carry the pink burn of a climax.

  I snigger.

  She punches me on the arm.

  I gesture for her to be quiet, and then roll down the car window.

  “Yes officer,” I say, as a highway patrolman comes up to the driver’s side.

  “You guys need help?” he asks, peering inside the vehicle with obvious suspicion.

  “Sorry?”

  He gestures to the car with a nod. “I saw you parked up in the ditch, figured you broke down or had an accident or something.” He stands back and examines the car, before craning his head back in. “Great car.”

  I fix my gaze on the long stretch of road ahead. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, Miss,” he calls out to Sophie.

  She shrinks in the seat and offers a meek—I’m-not-hiding-anything-but-I-really-am—sort of smile.

  I twist my mouth to stop from laughing.

  “Well, you folks can’t stay here,” the cop says.

  “No problem, officer,” I reply.

  Just as he walks off, he stops and comes back over. “Hey, wait a minute . . .”

  This is it. I can see it in Sophie’s face, too.

  “Aren’t you . . .” he hesitates. “Connor? Connor Patrick?”

  I nod, embarrassed at being recognized but thankful he isn’t about to arrest us for public indecency.

  He becomes animated. “Hey! Oh man, the champ! Hey listen, I’m not supposed to do this on my shift, but . . . do you think . . . ?” He flicks out a notepad and pen from the top pocket of his jacket.

  I hold my hand out of the window. “Sure.”

  As I squiggle my autograph into his pad, he looks over to Sophie. “Hey, I think I recognize you as well.”

  Just as Sofia goes to answer, I beat her to it. “She’s a famous reporter. She covers all of my fights.”

  “Really? Wow. What’s your name, Miss?”

  She begins to talk, but I cut in again. “Sarah. Sarah Mennnn—”

  “Sarah Mendez,” she finishes.

  I hand the officer his notepad back, which he examines with pride. “This is great. Well, you folks take care now.”

  I watch him walk away, through the rear-view mirror. When he’s safely back in his car, I turn to Sophie. “That was close.”

  She lets out a relieved laugh.

  “One of the perks of being world champ . . . you don’t get too much hassle from cops.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” she says, looking back at the patrol car.

  I start the engine and pull on the hand brake. “Good idea!”

  17

  Sofia

  As soon as Connor opens the door to his mansion, I charge past him and sprint upstairs.

  “Hey, where are you going?” he shouts out after me.

  “Shower. I feel yucky.” I stop in the middle of the stairs and look back down. “I mean, I feel yucky because I haven’t showered yet . . . not because—”

  He softly smiles in acknowledgment, stopping me mid-sentence.

  When I get to the bathroom, I fling off all of my clothes—well, his clothes—and examine my reflection in the mirror. This is where I should feel a sense of regret: Regret for my moment of indiscretion, regret for my blurring of the boundaries . . .

  But I don’t.

  In fact, I am seeing the most content woman on the planet staring right back at me. I am seeing a strong woman who feels wanted . . . desired.

  Fashioning my hair into a short bun, I turn the shower up to max and step right in. The feeling of ice cold water slowly changing to warm has all of my muscles singing out with relief. I arch my neck back and cross my legs together as the jet bounces off my skin. Now this is heaven.

  As I spread a liberal helping of orange zest shower gel over the curves of my tired body, my mind flashes back to what happened in Connor’s car. My breathing hitches as I remember the feeling of his cock pounding into me, and the passion in his eyes when he told me he loved me.

  I can’t explain how worked up I am for him. I could devour every inch of his beautiful body.

  Jesus.

  Connor Patrick, champion of the world, loves me.

  But I don’t love Connor Patrick, champion of the world . . .

  I love the Connor Patrick I’ve grown to know. The Connor Patrick who, as a kid, went through so much, and pushed on when most would have folded. I can’t think of anything sexier than someone who’s endured so much and still come out strong. It shows a level of character which is both wildly admirable and a major turn on.

  Pressing my hands against the glass of the shower stall, I let the warm water wash soap away from my eyes. As my body heats to the temperature, I begin to feel extremely horny. Unable to control the urge, I begin to play with my slick folds—letting the water blind me as I sinfully push a digit inside my greedy pussy.

  Just as I consider calling out for Mr. Bad Boy to come and join me for some wet and wild fun, I am beaten to it. As soon as the thought entered my head, he is right up behind me—his hard body crushing me into the stall with erotic purpose.

  I am prisoner to him. A prisoner to every action he so wishes to indulge in.

  He whispers in my ear. “You’re a naughty girl. Who said it was okay to touch yourself in my house, huh?”

  Surrendering my neck to his mouth, I moan. He gnaws and bites on my burning flesh with fevered relish. My nipples stiffen, hot under the weight of his naked body and the shower’s relentless flow of water.

  He squeezes a helping of shower gel into his large hands and snakes them across my belly, massaging my belly button and the curves of my dancing hips.

  I bite on my lower lip as his hands track down toward my hungry sex.

  Using the shower cubicle doors for balance, I shift my legs apart.

  A gasp escapes me as his fingers eagerly take over from mine. He slips two digits deep inside my snug pussy and begins to tenderly smear the gel over my folds and clit.

  “You feel so wet, baby,” he whispers in a low, gravelly voice.

  God, the way he says that.

  I fling my arms behind me, waist level, and pull him in closer. I can already feel his generous cock strain against the small of my back.

  Possessed with impatience, I sharply turn around to face him—my eyes held captive in his seriously wicked green gaze.

  His jaw is set.

  Every sinew of muscle, from his neck down to his abs, is bulging with desire for me. He looks like he’s just left the gym.

  I start to rub soap into that suit of steel-lined muscle, returning the favor of his own roaming hands by going straight for the rock-hard cannon between his chunky thighs.

  He screws his eyes shut as my tiny hands jerk on his magnif
icent cock. I pull on his shaft and run my thumb along the head, tugging harder and faster when I see him visibly shake with ecstasy.

  His eyes open again as my palms cup his shaking balls. I bite harder on my lip, already feeling an orgasm brewing.

  We don’t need to say a single word each other. In synergy, we both know what’s coming.

  He hoists me up into his arms and presses firmer against me, my back as flat to the stall as possible. I wrap my legs around his wasp-thin waist as he directs his cock toward my weeping entry.

  With one long push, he slides effortlessly into me. I cry with pleasure, feeling every hot inch of him drive deep. The swollen lips of my pussy envelop him perfectly—like a tailored made glove, we just fit.

  He begins to gyrate, pushing in and pulling out of me in slow, deep thrusts.

  I throw my arms around his neck as he rams me deeper, my hands grabbing at the short tufts of his wet hair.

  He soon finds my tits and starts playing with them; massaging my curves with frenzied delight and pulling at each erect nipple.

  “Harder,” I command. “I want to feel that cock go deeper.”

  He’s a good student. He starts plunging deeper and harder. The way he fills me up gives me a satisfaction that’s difficult to describe. It’s the best gift.

  He draws his hands away my breasts and joins in the action of his thrusting cock by playing with my snatch. The pads of his fingers press firmly on my beating clit, circling my labia with such loving care. He is so exceptionally good at playing with me that I swear he knows my body better than I do.

  I wail and thrash around as he lunges that meaty dick inside me with much more force than before.

  The inside of my stomach churns, like something violent is about to burst free. I stare at his face—his expression is contorted in concentration.

  I crane my head in for a passionate kiss. I want to taste his lips again. As soon as our mouths lock, our tongues dance with each other. I moan in his mouth as the walls of my pussy crush every gorgeous inch of him.

  It’s official: Fucking Connor Patrick is the single best thing in the world—even better than Nutella!

  “I’m coming,” he shouts.

  I gasp. “Wait . . .”