by Faye, Amy
He took a step, and then the instant his weight was down on his right leg he darted back again and shot in close and tight to the little Japanese, wrapping a thick arm around the guy's chest and bringing his knees up and in, hard into the guy's ribs.
The Japanese didn't panic for a moment, bringing his fist around in a wide arc to slam hard into Wes's side. The American groaned out his agony, swallowed his pride and his pain, and stepped back, moving his grip to the Japanese fighter's head and sending a knee up towards him, using all his might to pull that head so it was on a collision course with his knee, a hit that connected and sent the Japanese stumbling back a few steps.
His nose poured out blood down his mouth and down his face, sending the signal to everyone who cared to see that he'd taken a hit that meant something.
The blow in Wes's side ached already, an unpleasant sign of things to come. Still, he had to have come out at least equal from that encounter. The Japanese, however, didn't show any particular damage from the attack, taking his stance again.
If it wasn't for the blood coming from his nose, Wes wouldn't have known that he'd been hit the entire fight, where Wes could already feel his breathing coming harder. How was he supposed to win this fight, anyways?
The Japanese waited for him once again. An impassible wall that Wes had no way to defeat other than to figure out what was letting this guy kick his ass so completely. He took a deep breath, feeling the sharp, stabbing pain that came with the deepest part of that breath, and forced himself to slow down.
He had to win this fight, but if the crowd didn't like it… well, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to be coming back here again. It didn't matter that the crowd didn't love the fight, as long as he got paid and kept his feet under him.
Thirty-Nine
Minami
Minami watched the fight with her hands half in front of her eyes, and when Wes took the hard wallop in the side, she knew that she had made a mistake coming to the fight at all. He'd be alright if she just waited at his apartment.
He was a fighter. This was normal for him, the same thing he did every day practically. But watching fights, really watching them, that wasn't her thing. Especially when the other guy was obviously a talented karateka.
She took in a deep breath and forced her hands into her lap, stood up, and shouted out. "Wes! Kick his ass!"
He must have heard her voice, because he turned just for an instant. She repeated the shout again. This time he didn't turn, but she could see the way that he reshaped his shoulders, forced himself back into good posture. He knew she was there, and that was all she'd hoped to accomplish by shouting out for him.
He went back to circling, his legs less spritely than they had been. If he was going to win this, he'd have to figure something out.
The karateka stepped in closer as well, daring Wes to attack. When he didn't, the Japanese formed up and waited for the attack that was sure to come in time.
Wes went in with a low kick, which the karateka took on the thigh seemingly without noticing. The two continued their circling, watching each other, neither giving nor asking any quarter.
Wes ducked his head, then and when he brought it back up he brought a heavy fist up with it. The Japanese weaved his head back and then suddenly spun and a high kick arced seemingly out of nowhere, clipping Wes hard on the ear. Minami shouted out her disapproval, a feeling under her skin making her feel as if she'd taken the blow herself.
"Watch out!"
The fight continued that way. Wes went in, tried to attack, and missed. The Karateka hit another hard blow, but not hard enough to knock Wes to the concrete.
Wes swallowed down breaths hard, one of his eyes starting to swell shut from where the kick had been reinforced with a back-fist to the eye.
"What are you doing! Kill him!"
The shout coming from the crowd came loud and hot, and Minami found herself shouting along with them, words of encouragement and pleading, begging Wes to find something inside himself to win the fight that had gone so badly against him so far.
Minami watched in slow motion as the next attack coming from Wes sailed wide as the Japanese moved back at the last instant, another high, arcing kick catching Wes right in the face. Wes crumpled to his knees, like someone had cut the marionette's strings, and for a moment she thought the fight was over.
The Japanese took a long, loping step and started to throw a wide, spinning kick that would ensure the ending, the first aggressive thing he'd done the entire fight. Wes slumped lower, sending the kick sailing high. The fight was over—
Or, wait. At the last instant, Wes's arms wrapped around the pivot foot, and then he rolled himself over, sending the Japanese to the ground. Wes pulled himself back up to his feet, still clutching at that ankle and twisting.
The Japanese kicked up his other foot, caught Wes with a hard heel to Wes's sternum, but he didn't let go. In fact, he wrenched hard, as if he was trying to snap the foot off, and the Japanese groaned out his pain and turned over to try to alleviate the pain.
Wes let out a roar and brought a foot down heavy on the Japanese fighter's hip, adding insult to injury, and started wrenching harder. When he finally let go, the Japanese took a second to try to recover himself, and in that moment Wes moved over and took a firm two-handed grip on the Japanese fighter's hand, pulled up, and sat down.
The sick cracking sound went through the crowd, deep down into Minami's bones. The screams of pain that followed weren't nearly so biting, nearly so deep inside her, didn't effect her nearly so much as that sound of the man's elbow shattering.
His shouts of 'give, give' barely made a dent in her. Minami let out a long, unsteady breath, the violence before her an alarming display that she couldn't begin to understand or cope with. Minami pushed herself up from the folding chair and started to move toward the edge of the crowd. Wes could find her out in the parking lot, because she couldn't stay here, not one second longer.
Minami gulped down air, trying to find the strength to stay standing, the sight of the smaller man's arm snapping, the way that the awful crack went through the crowd…
Wes found her a while later, sitting on the floor and trying not to think about anything.
"Are you okay?"
She looked up at him, saw the way that even after several minutes he was breathing hard, the way that his arms hung limply at his sides—nothing like the way that he'd looked before.
"You need to get to a hospital, Wes."
"This?" He gestured with his eyes down at his broken and bruised body. "Nah. I'll be fine."
"I'm serious—you look bad."
"Not as bad as the other guy, though."
Minami's eyes shot closed and she tried desperately not to think about it. "No, not as bad as him."
Wes reached down to help her up, but Minami thought that he looked like if she blew on him too hard, he might fall over. She took his hand but didn't use it to support her on the way up.
Minami guided him into the passenger seat of his car, took his keys and started driving him back to his apartment. They drove in silence a while, until finally Wes broke the silence.
"What about your father?"
"I told him."
"Good for you." He laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "He's not coming after me again, is he?"
"No."
Wes smiled. "Good to know. I was serious, you know—about what I said. I want to marry you. I don't have a ring, yet, but…"
"I know you were serious, Wes. And when you're ready to ask me to marry you, I will."
She didn't have to look over to see the smile across his face, but when she did, it still felt good.
"So you're out of the old man's house, huh?" Minami nodded without taking her eyes off the road. "Then you should know—I have trouble. My sister, back in New York. She's…"
Minami nodded, reaching across the divider in the car and taking Wes's hand.
New York, huh? She could do with a change of locati
on. And if Wes was willing to go back, it would at least be nice to meet his family—just once.
Hopefully it wouldn't be so bad as his meeting with hers had gone. She squeezed his hand again before putting both hands back on the wheel.
"When do we leave?"
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The emotions that surged through Deirdre shouldn't have surprised her, but they did. She was going to get away. Going to be free. He'd promised it, all that time ago. Weeks. And then that had turned out to be wrong.
Now here he was again, telling her that he would take her away. She should have been so many other things. Happy, or angry that he hadn't let her go sooner. Or excited. She felt… numb. Tired.
She could already feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up into a little ball, but she had worked to break herself of that when she was still little. She'd thought that she was done crying after she'd been given to the witch.
But that hadn't been the end of it. Then she'd cried over so many different things, but she could understand them, at least. So why was she crying now? She got what she wanted, and she just—
She found herself leaning into Gunnar without realizing that she'd started to, her head pressed into the oddly comforting space between his shoulder and neck, sobs racking her body and tears streaming down her face.
She needed to get ahold of herself—needed to figure out what to do. Needed to figure the route back home. They needed to get moving. But instead she just stood there and cried. The only thing that broke her out of her reverie was the feeling of Gunnar's arm, wrapping around her.
She almost didn't realize what she was doing until her lips were already on his. When she pulled away for breath and then pulled him in for a deeper kiss, she had already decided what she was going to do next.
Gunnar let her kiss him. He wasn't sure what was going on in her mind, but clearly it was upsetting her a lot. Then she kissed him again. This time he kissed her back, the worries of what he was going to do next slowly retreating.
He replaced them with the feel of her warm body pressed against him, contrasted against the cold of the night. He felt himself stirring in his pants, but he held himself off. She needed whatever she was going to need, but he'd let her take the pace.
Her lips left his, both of them breathless, and then she pulled his head into the crook of her neck. He planted a firm kiss, letting his teeth scrape lightly across her skin and enjoying the soft mewling sound she made at the sensation.
He wrapped his arms tighter, pulling her into him, wanting to feel every inch of her pressed up against him. Wanting to explore with his hands. The tiny whispers of doubt and uncertainty kept his hands from cupping her ass and testing its firmness.
She seemed to be under no such compunction, running her hands across his body and up his shirt, her fingers dancing across his muscles, tracing a light, tickling line. She pinched his nipple softly, sending a spark of mixed pain and pleasure.
Gunnar bit down on her throat, his teeth digging just enough into her soft flesh to draw out a moan. He wanted her badly. It was pure agony to remind himself that no matter how much he wanted her, he wasn't going to do anything that she didn't push first.
That said, her roaming hands gave him tacit permission—he let one hand drop, cupping her firm round ass cheek in one large, powerful hand and giving it a squeeze. She didn't pull away, didn't protest, so he had to guess that she didn't mind too much.
He used his other hand to test the softness of her chest, enjoying the fullness and weight of them in his hand—and then he stopped. Pulled away and tried to catch his breath. The cold night air burned his lungs and brought him back to reality.
"Are you sure?"
His own voice sounded strange to his ears. Hoarse, almost needy. Nothing like the confident man that he usually felt, this was unfamiliar territory with a woman who he had everything but a good reason to do this with.
She pressed in against him, not answering, her lips tracing the line of his collar bone, and it took every ounce of self control not to take her right then. If she wanted him, then she'd have him—but he wasn't going to let it go this way, at least.
He needed it to happen right. He pulled her body back in close, pressing her back against the side of the cart, forcing her to feel his hardness and his presence until they overwhelmed her.
His hands explored the soft curves of her body, the long lines of her legs. They were exposed below the knee, and he broke from the kissing to expose more, his hands tracing the inside of her thigh, teasing dangerously close before backing away.
Something in his mind snapped. Before he knew what he was doing Gunnar had Deirdre pressed back against the cart. Deirdre's eyes were wide, and for a moment he thought that she might try to stop him, but she didn't push him away and he didn't wait for her to.
One of his knees pressed forward, separating Deirdre's trembling legs. She rocked forward, her body betraying her arousal in its pursuit of pleasure. A button popped off of her blouse, opening it further from enticingly low-cut to downright scandalous.
One of Gunnar's powerful hands reached inside, pulling a plump breast free. He took a moment to enjoy the large, bronze nipples before he took one between his lips.
Deirdre's fingers laced into his long hair, wrapping themselves in tangles and pulling him in closer. She continued to rock her mound up and down his powerfully muscled thigh, shuddering and mewling in the pleasure that both of them hadn't been able to deny wanting since they'd started this.
He switched to the other nipple, his fingers coming up to pinch and tease the already-hardened nipple that he'd just abandoned. The cold made it pucker and between the feeling of his hot mouth on one breast and the cold air on the other she pressed into him with abandon.
He took her hand into his and moved it to the hardness at the front of his trousers, moving it for her for a moment before returning his attention to her free breast.
When he pulled away, Deirdre tried to keep him pressed in, tried to keep the delicious feeling on her breasts, but he wouldn't be distracted.
With an easy motion he unlaced the belt that held his trousers up. Deirdre's attention automatically fell onto his hardness, standing proud of his body. She took it in her hand, rubbing up and down. Gunnar wasn't going to have any of it.
"Use your mouth."
She went down to her knees, his hardness still in her hand. Uncertain. He could feel the tension building, feel the need inside him. Deirdre gave the head an experimental kiss, looking up to Gunnar for guidance. He took her head in his hands and gently guided her, showing what she wanted.
She could barely take an inch at first, but as she started to take more and more control she found space in her mouth, allowing him deeper and deeper in her throat, each bob of her head seeming to add a little bit more. He could feel release building with each passing moment, his hand tightening on her head, pressing with increasing urgency into her throat.
With a cry he felt himself shoot once, twice into her waiting mo
uth. Gunnar struggled to calm his breathing as the need inside him continued to burn. He dropped to the ground beside her, pressing Deirdre onto her back.
For a moment Deirdre looked down at him quizzically as he dipped his head between her thighs, and then with the first experimental lick her head shot back to the soft earth, and the question was answered.
His tongue found the hardened bud at the top of her lips, his fingers testing her folds. Slick with arousal, he was able to enter her easily, wiggling his fingers, stretching and exploring her velvety cunt. He enjoyed the way that it seemed to suck onto him, her body trying to get as much pleasure as it could from his ministrations.
Deirdre writhed above him, her body overcome at the new sensations, trying to grasp for something, anything that would help her to withstand the onslaught of pleasure that racked her body. His tongue lapped up the sweet nectar that moistened the way for him.
Gunnar felt his hardness stirring, felt himself readying, but he held himself back, continuing to explore the folds of her pussy with his fingers and tongue. Deirdre's body stiffened, her hands finally finding purchase in Gunnar's hair again and pulling his face into her, her legs wrapping around his head.
The little nub of her clit looked so enticing—he pulled it between his lips and sucked lightly and she let out a howl of pleasure that he had to believe someone must have heard, grinding his face harder into her mound as she rocked herself against him. He let her ride out the pleasure, his fingers continuing to explore her. Preparing her for what was to come.
As she relaxed, letting him free, he spread her legs. Now it was time. Her hips came up off the ground just a bit, settled onto his thighs and lining him up with her. Gunnar's sensitive cock rubbed up and down her entrance, getting the head slick with her arousal. Deirdre purred out her pleasure when he lined up the head with her opening.