“Do you have contacts in?”
“No. I didn’t want to wear them tonight. I figured they would be uncomfortable in the arena and I didn’t want to wear glasses either incase something broke out.”
“Like at UFC 229 between McGregor and Khabib when Khabib climbed the cage and jumped into the crowd.”
“Exactly, and you guys fight in a ring so it’s way easier to get out and cause some damage, as we saw tonight.”
A thought hits me, and I’m instantly reminded of the old saying, “It is not what you don’t know that gets you in trouble. It’s what you know that really isn’t so.” Some people attribute it to Mark Twain and some don’t, but that’s irrelevant. The thing I care about is how Ethan answers my next question.
“What did you think before the fight?”
“You mean when you were staring at me?”
Jackpot. Like most guys he thought it was all about him…and it couldn’t be further from the truth.
It was all about Ella, and he didn’t even realize it. His contacts were partly to blame and his Wall Street ego was like the other half of the equation.
Ethan makes big money in the world of finance and I would probably be working in the industry too, if I hadn’t gotten so mad when they up and left London.
When she up and left London.
I don’t say anything, just let him run with it.
“It was awesome, man. I wish my sis could have stayed around for the conclusion.”
“Why’s that?”
“Dude, he was knocked out cold!”
Yep, he didn’t even see or notice Anthony disrespect his sister.
“She can join us now. What’s her number?”
“You want to call her?”
“Yeah. I want to give her a ring.”
“She’s probably asleep. You know how she is.”
I grit my teeth and slide in closer and Ethan pulls out his phone.
“Ready,” he says as he scrolls to the number.
I take his phone from his hands and type the number into mine, storing it under “MINE.” I’m not taking any chance on not hearing the number properly with the music as loud as it is, or even the idea that he might give me a wrong digit…or ten.
I hand him back his phone and hit the green call icon on mine.
CHAPTER 4
Ella
I hit the pause button on the remote and stare at Oliver’s body.
His muscles are so thick, his chest so wide, his shoulder so broad.
His arms are down by his sides but they’re flexed, making his forearms look like coiled ropes.
It’s the part of the match just after Anthony upset him, just before the match starts.
My eyes wander up to his face. Wow.
His body is one thing but seeing a man who is so focused, so determined, so emotionally invested in something is sexy as hell.
I met a lot of guys at university who were just kind of coasting without any ambition and a kind of dullness to their eyes and their expression.
Not him. Every part of his being says he’s going to destroy that other boxer, and that’s exactly what he did.
It’s attractive because he has a goal, a plan, and he’s worked hard to achieve it. There can only be one heavyweight champion of the world.
And it’s beyond sexy because he knew I was there, almost as if he was knocking out Anthony for me.
I reach over and turn off the lamp on the small table next to the bed.
The only light in the room is from the TV, and the TV only displays him.
I put the remote down and slide my other hand underneath the sheets. No way I’m touching myself with the hand that was on that remote, but my other hand is still clean from the shower, and I don’t have time to go wash the other one right now, not that it matters much.
All that matters is the need I have right now. How insanely horny I am for him. How I want him so bad I can almost feel his presence in the room just by looking at him on the TV.
It sounds ridiculous, because it is, but I threw logic out the window the moment I spent the last of my money on the front row ticket to the fight, a flight, and this shitty Airbnb.
I’m not making a lot of money fresh out of uni, and everything I had managed to save is now gone.
I wouldn’t change my decision for anything.
What I saw tonight can never be duplicated. This fight will go down in history, and more importantly I’ll have an up close and personal history, a memento, in my mind forever.
But I want more…so much more.
I want him.
And as my first two fingers run down my slit and then start moving in a circular motion that’s exactly what I’m thinking about.
My eyes start to close as my mind slips off to another place…underneath him as he takes me and claims me as his forever.
Through the thin slits still open between my eyelids I stare at his image on the screen until my eyes close completely and my mind makes the fantasy feel real.
I moan out imagining him fucking me right here, right now, so hard that the headboard slams against the wall as his hips slam into me as he buries every last inch of his heavyweight cock inside me.
I know it’s big. He’s big everywhere, and I could see that protective cup underneath his trunks. I swear I saw it move outward when he looked at me.
I made him hard. I made him want me.
And damn I want him so bad right now, want him inside me.
My hand speeds up and my breath catches as I rub faster over my nub.
Suddenly my thighs quiver, I squeeze my eyes tight, and a high pitched whimper escapes me, just before my juices escape my body.
“Oh! Oh! Oooooh!” I say as I keep rubbing, sliding my fingers deep inside and then pulling them out.
My forearms flop on the sides of the bed as I try and catch my breath.
I just lay there, reflecting on what just happened. It felt so amazing, yet so hollow, at the same time.
A minute or two goes by, not that I’m counting or really even know, and my mind comes back to the present just as the TV screen goes dark from lack of activity for a certain amount of time.
I know the feeling. I’ve been “inactive” and “timed out” forever.
That needs to change. That’s why I’m here in the first place, to tell him how I feel.
I stand up and make my way into the bathroom, washing my hands when I hear something on the TV.
What the heck?
I step back inside the main room and see the TV is still off, the room only illuminated by the light from the bathroom.
Then I see it.
My phone is vibrating and lighting up at the same time.
I quickly dry my hands, carrying the towel with me, as I approach my phone.
The number isn’t blocked, and it’s local. Who in the heck has my number?
I got this number when I took my new position just a few months ago. It must be a wrong number, but why would someone in the U.K., looking at the number more closely I can see it’s a London number, be calling me.
Maybe my brother has a problem with his phone…and his flight.
I hate answering calls from numbers I don’t recognize, but that deep seeded human emotion of fear of missing out and not knowing is too great to push away.
I hit the receive button and bring the phone up to my ear, saying nothing.
“What are you doing?”
A chill shoots through my body and my back straightens, the hand towel falling from my grasp. I look down at my legs and see goosebumps everywhere. My breath catches and I clear my throat, to make sure the knot I feel in it isn’t going to completely betray me right now, not allowing me to speak.
“Who is this?” I say, knowing full well who it is.
His deep voice hits me right in the gut. I’m quickly reminded of the old saying that goes something like, “An American will believe anything said in a proper English accent.” He could tell me the earth is flat right now,
in that gravelly tone that comes across even more matter of fact through the phone, and I’d believe it.
“The man you ran from,” he says.
“I didn’t run from anyone,” I interject. “I…had to use the bathroom.” It’s true, but considering I waited over an hour from the time I took off to the time I did, that’s a bit of a stretch. Although I may believe just about anything he says right now, I’m not going to let him put words in my mouth…even if they’re true in this case.
“Come to The Cause.”
“I don’t know what The Cause is,” I say.
“It’s a club in Tottenham.”
“The overground isn’t running at this hour, and neither is a large majority of the underground.” I pause. “And I was just in bed anyways,” I say, not saying what I was doing in bed or who I was picturing when I was doing it.
“I’ll send a black cab to come pick you up. When can you be ready?”
“I won’t be ready because I’m not coming,” I say. “Don’t you listen? You don’t tell a woman what to do, you ask her.”
“I’m asking you to come,” he says.
“And I’m telling you no,” the words practically spat out in frustration. What in the heck has gotten into me? I’m pushing away the exact thing I want, but on the other hand if I have to pay a price that’s too great to achieve it, in this case my dignity, is it really worth it…especially in the long run?
He wants me on his terms, but I’m doing things on mine. Better yet we can do this civilly, as we should, and come to a mutually beneficial solution.
Oh my god, am I thinking in business terms right now? It’s well past midnight and I should be sleeping, but here I am standing naked in some junky Airbnb with my juices plastered across my middle, and dripping down my leg, and I’m negotiating getting the man of my dreams…and most of the negotiation is happening inside my own head!
I hear him breathe out hard on the other end of the line, and I wonder if my tough stance was too much. You’re negotiating, Ella…never speak first when there’s a silence. Let the other person break it.
“Ella,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
“I was thinking of taking in the sights. It’s been awhile since I last did that.”
“May I join you?”
“Certainly,” I say, feeling a bit like Mary Poppins now with this lovely conversation. It’s hard not to let a laugh slip out knowing this big, burly man who just became the heavyweight boxing champion of the world a couple hours ago is on the other end of this little chat.
His voice is just as manly as it ever was, it sounds so smoky and seductive I feel like I should put my phone up to my pussy and just ask him to rumble a few times, the vibrations sending me right into a second release.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“I’ll let that one slide,” I say. He should have asked me if he could, but I got what I wanted and he knows he’s not going to just push me around or kowtow to his wishes.
“Where are you staying.”
“One second,” I say reaching for the printout I made before I left. I rattle off the address quickly.
“That’s Tottenham. You’re close,” he says as if he could reach out and just grab me by my hair and pull me to his location right now.
“I need to get some sleep. Sorry,” I say. “It was a long flight and I have a big day planned tomorrow…a date even,” I say, trying not to laugh but also letting him know this isn’t the two of us “hanging out”…at least not to me it isn’t.
“Do you have a deadbolt on your door?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Shut it. Shut it now.”
“Oliver, you can’t—“
“Shut it, Ella. I’m not asking you I’m telling you. There are manners and then there’s your protection and safety. Do you know where you are?”
“Yes, I told you.”
“Don’t you remember that part of town from when you lived here?”
“I never came out this way.”
“For a reason,” he says.
“I’m picking you up at six, before the sun is up. Have your things packed because you’re coming to stay with me.”
“I already paid for this place.”
“Cancel it. Get a refund. Do what you have to do, but you’re not staying there another night.”
“I’ll lose the money.”
“I’ll give it to you out of my pocket. Listen, that area is not safe. You’re in for the night now so the smartest thing, even though it pisses me off to know you’re there and not with me where I can keep you safe, is to stay where you are. Just be quiet and go to sleep. I’m not trying to scare you, I’m just telling you. You’ll be fine. At six I’m going to be at your front door. Don’t open the door for anyone other than me, you understand?”
I nod.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Yes,” I say.
“See you at six,” he says and the call ends, not leaving me a chance to respond.
Just when I thought I had some sort of upper hand with him he took it right back, but in this case I can’t complain. I look around my room and realize how much better it would be to be out with him right now, not to mention how dodgy this area did appear just now.
But he wants to come get me in the morning, check me out of this place, and take me to his?
I set my phone back down and make my way into the shower.
The first thing I check is the pressure in the showerhead. It will do.
And speaking of “do,” I’ve got work to do…as in try and get all the pent up desires I possibly can out of me tonight.
Because if not the minute I walk into his home tomorrow I won’t be able to control myself.
CHAPTER 5
Oliver
I rap my knuckles on her door right at six in the morning. My teeth cringe as I hear how hollow this door is and wonder how anyone renting apartments can do such a thing, especially when they see the reservation comes though under a woman’s name.
I hear some noise on the other side of the door and my dick hardens immediately.
I should be running on fumes at this point, but my body is still full of adrenaline.
That’s what happens when a twelve-round title fight doesn’t even last anywhere near twelve seconds, but that’s only part of it.
The real reason is her.
I left the club immediately after my mandatory appearance was complete, heading straight over to her place and parking out front, standing guard throughout the night.
No way was anything happening to her.
The chauffeur asked me if I was sure I really wanted to stay parked there, suggesting we could drive around and come back…or that he could even pick me up later.
Not a chance.
One snarl in his direction and that conversation was quickly over.
On more than one occasion we had some shady individuals approach our car, which stuck out like a sore thumb, but once I rolled down the window and stepped out of the car any thoughts of criminal mischief were quickly scuttled just as quickly as they took off in the other direction.
Most crimes in this area are knife crimes, and to knife someone you have to get close, generally speaking.
No one wants to get anywhere near a man my size, especially when you recognize who I am, as almost all hooligans watch sports, and you have to wonder who else is in the car with me. I can’t be traveling without security, right?
Wrong.
I am security from now on. Hers.
And the minute I hear her say, “Who is it?” through the door, her sweet sounding angelic voice hitting me right in the stomach, I’m reminded exactly why I’m never letting her find herself in a situation like this again.
“It’s Oliver.”
“Who’s your best friend?” she asks.
“Your brother, Ethan. Until last night,” I say.
The door slow
ly opens and my jaw drops much faster.
U.K. Boxing Day: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 91) Page 3