Champ

by Rhona Davis

  No.

  I don’t want this to end.

  Not now.

  I want him in me for all of time. This sweet surrender, our bodies tangled as one.

  He pulls out of my entry and whips me around. Although startled by his brutish action I give in, pushing the peach of my ass up for him so he can work my pussy from behind.

  He doesn’t hang around. There’s no subtlety between us anymore.

  He drives straight into my slit and pumps me even harder than before. I feel his head slide against my throbbing clit—dragging the flesh as he pulls, and pushing the flesh back in as he jerks his hips forward. There is no space left inside me. He stretches me out completely.

  I moan.

  I scream.

  I make every possible sound I can make as he stabs me hard and fast.

  Then . . . a slap.

  My ass stings with a sweet tinge of pain.

  “Ooh,” I cry. “Fuck yes!”

  “Bad, bad girl.”

  He smacks me again, then again—over and over as my whimpers of pleasure increase.

  I squeeze my eyes tight. “I’m coming. Connor . . .”

  He wraps his fingers around my throat and buries himself even deeper. “Not until I say so.”

  My hands ball into fists and my toes curl, as I try my very best to satisfy his naughty demand. It’s an almost impossible feat not to let the stars, which pool at my sex, gush out. His hot penis driving into me, his hands paying attention to every contour of my body, my nerve endings pulsing with electricity . . .

  With a soapy finger, he prods and circles the rim of my anus. I purr with anticipation.

  Yes. Yes, Connor, please do it.

  I can feel him recede from my punished sex and push the crown of his dick against my pursed anus.

  He uses more shower gel to lubricate my ass and then, slowly and very carefully, eases inside.

  I jolt forward. The scream in my throat catching before it can project. I’m mute with shock.

  With one hand braced on my shoulder, and the other pawing at my wet pussy, he rocks in and out of my butt.

  I grit my teeth. The pain is real—his nine-inch dick now plowing my butt with a furious rhythm.

  “Fuck! Connor . . . I’m coming again, I’m—”

  He roars and stumbles back, shooting his load all over the drenched floor of the stall.

  Predictably, the walls of my defence shatter at the same time of his release and I match his roar of ecstasy with a wild and unabashed scream.

  We both slide down the glass of the shower cubicle, our limbs twisted around each other as the warm jet of water continues to rain down on our skin.

  My head rests upon Connor’s bare chest. His heart beats a slow and relaxing rhythm.

  I stretch my legs out. The luxurious sensation of cool satin sheets, brushing over my toes, makes me beam with a smile. We’re on his king-sized bed, and here I am—his queen.

  I laugh to myself.

  It all seems so corny. Just a couple of weeks with Connor and I’m gushing over him like some lovesick teenager. For heaven’s sake, I let him take me any way he wanted.

  How’s that for trust?

  Looking up at his gorgeous face, I see a satisfied smile play across his lips. I wonder what he must be dreaming of as he peacefully sleeps.

  My hands roam over his exceptionally toned body—each finger gliding over firm muscle. Even as we rest I can’t keep my hands off him.

  As I cradle into his warm body I start to wonder if his frank confession of love gives me the ticket to broach the subject of his mom. I would love to tell him the things his brother and trainer tragically never could. Bring him some peace perhaps. I wonder if it would be the catharsis he needs, or if it would just risk bursting this bubble we’ve created.

  It scares me a little.

  Strike that—it scares me a lot.

  I don’t want this to end. Anything that could jeopardise this slice of paradise is a something I just don’t think I can stomach. But at the same time the idea of him going through with his fight, after all of the rumors and the words Monty said, outweighs my own selfish needs. I want him to be safe. To not befall the awful end his brother succumbed to. Connor may be an exceptionally gifted fighter, but at the end of the day he’s still made of flesh and bone.

  I roll over to my side of the bed and reach down for my bag. Pulling out the passport picture of his mom, I bring it close to my chest. I look at Connor once more, to make sure he’s still asleep, and then study the photo.

  Behind the beautiful smile of this woman is an undeniable sadness. I can see it so clearly now— this strong lady’s smile contradicts the turmoil in her life.

  I remind myself of the date by flipping the picture over: 1997.

  That’s the year I’m sure she walked out on her violent husband. If Connor was six, the photo had to have been taken at the very end of that whole messy affair.

  Sure, I’ve suffered my own share of pain—losing my dad being at the very top of the list—but I can’t begin to imagine what this lady went through. Giving up her kids, being frightened every day that her cruel bully of a husband would come looking for them all. The awful choice to leave her kids in care must have been so heart breaking. And that’s understating it.

  Connor breaths heavy and shifts on the bed. I shove the picture back inside my bag and close my eyes.

  Just as I think he’s still holding onto sleep, my phone rings.

  I reach over to the nightstand for my phone, dropping it as soon as my fingers clasp its edges.

  Shit.

  Jumping out of bed, I pick the phone up.

  “Who is it?” Connor whispers.

  I glance at him before answering, and then smile, “Work.”

  He winks at me and breaks out into a grin, his body stretching and pulling across the length of the bed.

  God, he looks so sexy.

  18

  Connor

  “Is everything okay?” I ask Sofia.

  Standing at the door of the kitchen she smiles, all the while keeping her attention locked to her phone. “Yeah, I guess so.” Her nose crinkles and she finally looks up. “What’s that smell?”

  “Eggs.”

  Her brows meet.

  I hold up a frying pan in one hand. “I finally managed to cook the perfect egg. Thought I’d make up for the disaster earlier.”

  She chuckles. “Congrats.”

  I walk toward the breakfast bar and pull out a stool for her. I already set a plate on the counter before she came down. “Come, you can be my test subject.”

  “Connor, it’s two-thirty in the afternoon.”

  “Anytime is a good time for sunny side up. Come on. I’ve slaved over this.”

  “I wish I could,” she says with a solemn tone.

  “Sophie, I promise, I’m not trying to poison you.” I dash over to the stove and scoop the fired egg out of the pan. “Just a little bite . . . please.”

  She pauses for a moment. I can see her mouth turning sideways, one corner of her lips pulling up. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and saunters over.

  “Good girl . . . here.” I hand her a set of cutlery and clasp my hands together, waiting for my culinary vindication.

  Somewhat reluctant—and probably only doing it to appease my excitement—she rips off a piece of egg white with the side of her fork and places the morsel into her mouth. After a few small chews, she smiles and gives me an approving nod.

  I fist pump. “Yes!”

  She giggles. “Oh my god, you are so adorable.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That makes me sound like I’m a puppy.”

  “Cute then.”

  I scoff. “Even worse.”

  I pull her up to her feet and place my lips to hers. She smells so sweet and sexy; wearing a beautiful perfume which already has my cock twinging with anticipation. She murmurs something as my lips massage hers, but I keep her close—one hand on the back of her neck, and the other on he
r lower back.

  After a beat, she pushes away from me.

  “What’s wrong?” I say.

  “I’m sorry. I have to pack and head back to the office.”

  “What? Why?”

  “That was my boss on the phone. He wants to have an urgent meeting with me. Catch up on the progress of our story and stuff.”

  “Tell him you’re still digging. Do you want me to put him off?” I reach for the nape of her neck and pull her back in. “Come on, baby. We can spend the whole afternoon in bed.”

  She pulls away again, her body straightening. “As tempting as that sounds, I really must go.”

  She runs her soft fingers up and down my left cheek. “I’m sorry, Connor, it’s my job.”

  I reach for her wrist and take her warm hand in mine. “Okay then. What time will you be back? I’ll cook dinner, and—”

  She shakes her head and looks down to the floor.

  “Sophie, are you sure everything’s okay?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I mean, yes. It’s not like that. It’s just . . . every time I have to report for duty I get this sick feeling. Like when you have to see the principal at school . . . know what I mean?”

  “No. I never was an academic kid.”

  Her gaze fixes to mine. “Everything is fine, I promise. I just have to do some work from time to time. It’s what I’m paid to do. I’ll be back soon.”

  I check the clock on the kitchen wall. “What time do you think you’ll be back? I can have dinner ready by seven, maybe eight.”

  “Don’t worry. You can tell the chef not to bother tonight.”

  I puff my chest out. “Baby, the chef has the day off. I’m cooking.”

  She sneers. “Really?”

  “Yeah, is that so hard to imagine? You liked the egg, didn’t you?”

  She nods and looks like she’s holding in a smile.

  “Well then,” I continue. “Seven it is.”

  “I really wish I could, but . . .”

  I pull back and lean against the breakfast bar. “God, okay . . . here comes the next excuse. All right then, I’ll take you out if my food bothers you.”

  “Connor, I’m sorry. I’m going back to my apartment for the night. Straight after the meeting.”

  My eyes round. “Why?”

  “I need some more clothes.”

  I swat the idea away with my hand. “I’ll buy you more clothes. We’ll head downtown. There’s some exceptional designer stores on East Hampton’s Main Street.”

  She folds her arms and shoots me a stern look. “Connor.”

  “Okay, okay. You get what you need. Fine. But before you go, I need to do something.”

  “What?”

  I drag her in by the arm and kiss the face off her. Her perfume, her hard little body, the warmth of her tongue, the taste of sweet sin on her lips . . . I can think of nothing better. After a minute of passionate kissing, our lips pull apart.

  “I’ll miss you,” I softly tell her.

  She doesn’t answer. I swear I can see a tremble in her jaw. Suddenly a feeling of fear swirls in my gut.

  “You better come back, Sofia Chavez. We’re not done yet.”

  “I already told you, I will.” She clears her throat and snatches her gaze from mine. “Anyway, you need to train. You’ve been slacking off.”

  I squeeze her butt. “It’s not like I haven’t been working up a sweat.”

  She bites on her lower lip and walks over to the kitchen door. “I mean it. Do something productive while I’m gone. You need to focus.”

  “Sophie . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember what I said to you, in the car?”

  She stays silent.

  “I meant it.”

  Her mouth opens slightly. Just when I think she’s about to say those words back to me—the words I ache to hear—the sound of a message on her phone steals her attention away.

  “To be continued?”

  Her lips twist into a full smile. “I’d like that.”

  “Got everything? Bag, phone . . . keys?”

  She scratches behind her ear as she examines her overnight luggage. “I think so.”

  “Are you sure you want to take a cab? I can drive you to the office.”

  She fixes her gaze on me. “No. I mean, thank you and everything, but it’s fine . . . honestly. Anyway, I need to remember what it’s like to ride in a car that doesn’t cost the same as my entire apartment block.”

  I smirk.

  Opening the door, I escort her toward the waiting cab. She looks so fuckable in her business suit slacks and tiny leather jacket.

  I offer the cab driver a small bundle of notes and tell him to drive safely.

  When Sophie climbs in the back of the car, I reach out for her hand. I want to drag her out again and take her up to bed. Every single moment that I’m awake all I can think about is her.

  “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

  She nods.

  I close the door of the vehicle and watch it drive away. As it approaches the end of the street, she looks back through the window and smiles—one hand placed on the glass.

  My heart hurts. Even though she said she’s coming back, I feel a great pain. Just a second apart from her is too much.

  When the car is well out of view, I take a deep breath and tell myself to toughen up.

  I’m the world champ.

  I can survive this.

  Once back inside the house, I walk to the kitchen to clear up the dishes. Thinking that Sophie and I would enjoy a full day of hot sex, I gave housekeeping the day off. Seems like a waste now. I hate domestic chores.

  I run the hot water tap and shove a plate in the sink. Before squeezing soap onto the kitchenware, I’m alerted to a notepad on the worktop.

  I pick it up and briefly skim through it. It’s her Filofax, full of addresses and contacts. It looks official enough for her to miss it.

  As I begin to sprint out after the cab, I stop myself. She’ll be long gone by now.

  Instead, I find my cell phone and give her a call; a great excuse to hear her soft, sultry voice.

  I wait for a few moments before giving up . . .

  There’s no answer.

  19

  Sofia

  The finest coffee shop in New Jersey is predictably busy for a late afternoon. The place is a variable smorgasbord of life: Office workers, housewife book clubs catching up on the latest Danielle Steel novel while swapping dirty suburban gossip, and kids on their way home from school, dropping by and using the place as a hangout.

  Trying to spy Adrian through the bustle, I double check the address on my phone to make sure I’ve got the right place.

  “Sofia, over here.”

  My gaze shifts to an arm excitably waving in the air, the owner clearly Adrian. He’d be hard not to spot really, with his shock of red hair, his rail-thin six foot tall frame, and ill-fitting excuse for a business suit.

  Relieved, I navigate through the cluster of tables toward him.

  “Adrian.”

  “Sofia, you’re looking well.”

  He stares at me intensely for a moment, which kind of makes me feel uncomfortable.

  “Something’s happened to you.” He runs a thumb across his jaw. “I can’t think of what it is, but you’re glowing somehow.”

  I roll my eyes and take a seat opposite him. “Spare me the journalistic cross examination crap. I’m in the same game as you, remember? That shit doesn’t wash with me.”

  He grins. “Of course it doesn’t. But I’m sure there’s something—”

  “Knock it off will you,” I cut in. “Just tell me why Bill asked us to meet up. What’s all this about?”

  “Err, hello . . . finest coffee shop in New Jersey over here.” He motions to the empty space in front of me on the table. “What do you fancy?”

  “Coffee. Black.”

  “Like hell you will. The chocolate cherry amaretto lattes with gingerbread shavings in this place
are to die for.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. Adrian is so persuasive and—although I’d only admit it to myself, to save his ego from swelling—quite likeable.

  Adrian clicks his fingers at a young barista girl who’s wiping down a neighboring table.

  She huffs and slumps over. “Yeah?”

  “Two of those choc cherry amaretto lattes please, oh and a couple of those vanilla wafers you have at the counter.” Adrian winks at me. “May as well treat ourselves on the company’s petty cash.”

  I shake my head, smiling to myself.

  When the waitress saunters off to fix our order, Adrian gets straight down to business. “Didn’t Bill tell you anything?”

  “No. Hence why I asked you.” I raise both brows.

  “Jesus, okay, no need to be so sarcastic. Well, anyway, it’s about Connor—”

  “What about him?” I sharply interrupt.

  “Have you heard the rumors about the loaded gloves?”

  “Sort of. Why, what have you heard?”

  “Ever spoken to a guy named Monty Weathers?”

  “No,” I lie. I want to hear what Adrian’s found out before I fess up.

  “He’s the old trainer of Adam Patrick, Connor’s brothe—”

  “Yes, I know who Adam is. So?”

  “So, I got him to talk.”

  “What?” I shout.

  A hundred eyes land on us and I immediately lower my voice, leaning forward. “What? When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday. Bill sent me over to his old gym. The place is closed now. Derelict. I found Monty drinking in some dive of a bar. He told me that someone warned him about running his mouth off. It was hard to get him to spill at first, but it only took a few beers before he was putty in my hands. Some real shady cats got heavy with him.”

  “Gangsters?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you think the wraps were an inside job?”

  “Sophie, I know it’s an inside job.”

  “It’s?”

  “God, you’re not very good at this are you? It’s still happening.” He looks off to the side and sighs. “It’s so fucked up.”

  Before I can press him, the waitress comes back with our drinks. Suddenly the floating concoction in the mug doesn’t look all that appealing.