Fighting for Honor

by Dani Wyatt

The guy.

  The same guy I’ve been fantasizing about all night.

  Everyone knows about my brother, Sam. How he fought Ground and Pound for a bit but never quite cut it, then got caught up in the underground Papa Pain fighting scene. It didn’t turn out well for him. Lots of those fighters do more than fight. They run guns, shake down businesses for protection...all sorts of thuggish behavior.

  He didn’t quite fit in with that crowd either and when he said he wanted out of the more nefarious activities, it didn’t go down well. They set him up and he went down for illegal weapons and possession with intent to distribute, which I know couldn’t have been true. He hates drugs and while he may be a meat head and fighter, he was never a gangster.

  All of which means I know more than I’d like of that world and that’s why my boss sent me instead of one of the more seasoned reporters. He didn’t even want me to call first, said just get in my car and drive there before anyone else had the chance to get to him.

  I hemmed and hawed, tried to find excuses not to go, but in the end, he’s the boss. He knew I was there when it happened and told me this was my chance to shine. So, I pulled up my big girl panties, took a shower, changed into seven different outfits, then set out to drive back to the scene of the crime.

  The crime being the ruin of my panties and the newly installed porn channel in my head, starring the dark-haired Adonis and myself.

  I think I’ve been holding my breath ever since.

  I take a quick look in the rear-view, spreading some pink cherry gloss on my lips, popping them together a few times and checking my teeth for evidence of the bag of Hot Cheetos I munched on for the hour and a half drive here from Boston. I’m not a tiny girl, never have been, and that’s not going to change. I like to think in terms of curvy, but I know to a lot of guys would use a different term. Usually I don’t care, but right now every cruel word and sidelong glance is coming back to me as I imagine what I’m going to say to Stone when I see him.

  It’s the longest walk I’ve ever taken from my car to the bar door, and I’m so nervous I bring my hand up and knock twice before I snap back to reality and grab the handle, pulling the door open as I try to keep my head screwed on straight.

  Inside it’s humming, about as busy as last night with a football game on the three big-screen TV’s, and I shiver even though heat is coursing through me as I scan the room. Time slows, and it feels like an eternity before I spot him coming out from the back hallway, my skin immediately goose-pimpling like it’s ten below freezing.

  Desire floods through me as he catches my eye and I hold my breath, telling myself to stay professional, his gaze sticking to mine as he makes a straight trek through the tables and crowd toward me.

  He comes to stand right in front of me, silent, and I feel so small; like he could lift me up and press me against the wall if he wanted to.

  And, God, I wouldn't object to that at all.

  “You’re here.” He finally says after we stare at each other for what feels like an hour.

  “I am.” I lick my lips, trying to remember why I’m here. With monstrous effort, I extend my hand and he takes it in his, sending chills of desire through my entire being. “I’m Maggie Floyd. I’m a reporter for The Virtual Register. Seems your fight here yesterday has gotten a bit of attention.”

  “I don’t care about that, except that it brought you back here.” He replies, his deep voice reverberating through parts of me I didn’t know I had.

  He holds my hand for a moment longer and I feel like he could crush it with an easy squeeze. He’s so close, I glance down at his arm and see just how thick it is. Veins snake around the flesh and I finally understand the term ‘forearm porn’.

  “I...” I stutter, not sure what to say as I try to remember why I’m here: a story, not a fairytale. “I’d...like to ask you a few questions. Get an exclusive interview about the video that’s going viral everywhere. About who you are, how you learned to fight like that...”

  I struggle to not melt into a puddle at his feet as his grip tightens on my hand, bringing just the right amount of pain to make me think this is about us, that he doesn’t want to let go. The idea is ridiculous, obviously nothing more than me projecting my own one-sided desire, but for a moment I fall down that rabbit hole, wondering what it would be like to be desired by someone like him.

  Then, as quickly as it came, his grip releases, and disappointment floods through me.

  “I’ll answer anything you want to know. If it’s you that wants to know...” There is a note in his voice, a hint of something like a challenge. I struggle to find a reply, but as I cock my head to the side he continues: “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Cheers explode around us as the BU scores a touchdown and we both glance at the TV then back at one another.

  He reaches down and takes my hand again, gentler this time, giving me a look that rattles the little bit of professionalism I have left.

  “Not here. Too loud, I’ll take you upstairs to my apartment.”

  “What?” My cheeks heat at the thought of being in his personal space, but he turns and begins to lead me through the bar toward the back, where a staircase leads upward.

  He stops for a moment and lets a big guy pulling beer from the cooler know that he will be upstairs. The guy looks from me to him, then gives me a wry smile and a nod, and with that I’m being led forward ,wondering why I seem to have lost the power of speech.

  As we make our way upstairs, I notice how clean the place is. I guess for a bar, I expected something different. The walls and stairs are painted white, not a thing is out of place, and there’s a scent of cedarwood or evergreen. Something fresh, hanging in the air. As we ascend, the noise from the bar softens and all I hear is my heartbeat.

  But what I notice the most is, his hand never leaves mine.

  When we reach the top of the stairs, he opens a door and draws me inside, closing it behind us.

  The space is large and open, but homey. I expected it to be dark and depressing but it’s quite the opposite. It’s warm, sparsely decorated with simple furnishings, but inviting. Even though the bedroom door is open and the bed hasn’t been made, the same general cleanliness is evident everywhere, from the neat bookcase stacked with books on criminal law to the bare floorboards that look like you could eat your dinner off them.

  In the bedroom, along with the unmade bed, I see suitcases and boxes, and I wonder if he’s just moved in. Or is moving out.

  We take a few more steps inside and he turns to face me, and I nearly drop my laptop bag when I see those dark eyes narrow, examining me.

  “This is your place?” I ask, stupidly, then try to recover. “I mean, you said it’s your place. It’s nice.”

  “It’s fine. It’s nicer now.”

  I’m confused and look around again, my eyes hovering over the boxes and bags in his bedroom. “You just moving in or?”

  “I was moving out. Not now. Change of plans.”

  I clear my throat, trying to figure out how to juggle what I’m feeling with what I’m supposed to be doing here.

  “So,” I level my voice. “You were moving, now you’re not. Where were you moving to and why the change of heart?”

  He shakes his head, then shrugs. “California. Had a job. Lost it before I even started.”

  “Really?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happened?”

  He shakes his head. “That fight. That video. That’s what happened. It’s okay. Found another reason to stick around. Things happen for a reason.”

  It’s my chance to turn this back into an interview, so I try to steady myself and push my shoulders back, pulling my hand from his and looking around the room. “Can we sit?”

  I pull my laptop bag in front of me, hoping to cover my hardening nipples which I’m sure must be visible from space right now. Stone rests a hand on the center of my back and I try to hide the fact that that simple touch has me about to throw myself at him.

  “Sure. W
e can sit.”

  He walks us over to the kitchen table, pulling my chair out and sitting me down before running his hand down the back of my hair, and I swear he leans down and draws in a deep breath like he’s smelling me.

  As I clear my throat and unzip my laptop case on a shiver, I give him an awkward smile in response to the way he’s staring at me in silence. There’s a masculine scent to him, spicy and yet fresh. My concentration is shaky as handfuls of papers and business cards from inside my bag fall onto the floor.

  Dammit.

  I lean over and gather the debris with my heart still racing and my mouth dry.

  “Can I get you a drink?” He asks, drawing my attention. “We have about everything you could want...I can go downstairs to the bar if I don’t have it up here.”

  He’s polite, but there’s a rumble in his voice that sounds like restraint.

  Maybe it’s not just a drink he wants to offer me.

  Dirty thoughts pervade my mind and my cheeks heat, but this time I’m absolutely sure it’s just my own projection of what I’d like to offer him, not what he’s offering.

  “Water is fine.” I log onto my computer and bring up the document with the list of questions I prepared in haste before I left to head his way, then take my phone out of my bag and ask, “Can I record our conversation? It will help me when I write the article.”

  He fills a glass of water, then sets it on the table in front of me. “If it will help you, then of course, yes.”

  He runs a hand down his face then takes a seat next to me. Not across from me, next to me, spreading his legs wide; one massive forearm resting on the top of the table, the other hanging down by his hip, as he regards me with that dark look that has my pussy wet and my nipples tingling.

  I try to keep my breathing steady, but it’s a struggle. “Okay, so. Is there anything off limits you don’t want to talk about, before I start?”

  “Nothing is off limits with you.”

  His answer makes my body stiffen, my heart skipping as he continues to stare at me, and I shift in my chair, sitting up straighter. Desire is making me slick, and I press my legs together, but that only seems to make the problem worse.

  My mind is spinning, there’s so much I want to know about him, but much of it has nothing to do with the fight. My thoughts are in the gutter as I glance from my laptop to his chest where the white t-shirt pulls across the muscles underneath, muscles that look so hard and defined I’m sure he could throw me over his shoulder with little effort.

  I nip into my bottom lip and start with the first question on my screen.

  “Okay, so you fought off three professional G & P fighters here at the bar yesterday. How do you think you were able to take them all down when you were outnumbered as you were?”

  He pauses for a moment and I swallow hard, waiting until he answers.

  “I protect me and mine. At all costs.” He licks his upper lip, his expression nearly unreadable.

  “So, that was your mom, correct? So, you protect your family.”

  “I protect what’s mine. That includes family, yes. It also includes people that don’t even know they are mine. Yet.”

  The way he says it has my fingers shaking as I type on the keyboard, sure I’m reading into his answer more than is intended. I don’t know how, but he seems to grow larger as he leans forward, his arms resting on his thighs as his words careen around in my head, wishing, hoping beyond hope, that they might apply to me.

  “Next question...” His voice rumbles.

  Can I see your cock?

  Thank God, I manage to keep that question silent, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from betraying me, drifting down and sticking to the spot where I see the clear outline of a hard on.

  He chuckles under his breath and I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering how I’m going to get through the next hour.

  5

  Stone

  WHEN THE FRONT DOOR of the bar opened and I saw her silhouette, I knew. All the plans I’d made led me to this moment. Even losing the job, it was part of something bigger, and for the first time in my life I understood the insanity of love.

  I’d been on the verge of crazy since she disappeared from the chaos yesterday and I don’t blame her after what happened. She must have been terrified. I’d started digging around in my own clumsy way, trying to figure out how to find her. I’d overheard a couple of the group that came off the bus talking about an online journalism and blogging conference they’d all been to, so I started trying to figure out something about her there, but I’d not gotten very far.

  That fucking video is everywhere though, and by ten AM I’d already had to walk away several times from douchebags looking for their fifteen minutes of fame. An opportunity for every cocked-up asshole who thinks he can fight striding in here with their testosterone needle in the red, trying to provoke me.

  So, when I saw her standing there, I knew I wasn’t going to let her go again. I’d been given a second chance and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.

  When she said she wanted to interview me, I knew that even if Diane Sawyer walked in and asked, the answer would have been a solid no.

  But for her? All I have are yeses.

  There’s no logic to it. I don’t know her, don’t know anything about her. The thought occurred to me that she might even be married. The idea nearly crushed me. I checked her finger out and, thank fuck, there’s no ring.

  Yet.

  It’s been a long fucking time since I was interested in any female, and no one ever came close to making me want them like I want her, as crazy as that sounds.

  But from the moment I set eyes on her yesterday my heartbeat changed. She’s in every thought. The little bit of sleep I managed, she danced in every dream.

  My cock was instantly stiff when I first looked at her, with that chocolate-brown hair and that plump, smackable ass. That’s nothing compared to her striking blue eyes. Oh, and her tits. Jesus, there’s not a part of her that doesn’t turn me on and now that she’s here, sitting right next to me, I’m shifting around on my chair trying to do what I can to control my steel pipe boner that is threatening to make an appearance in whatever way possible.

  Another thing, I’ve never considered where I would put down roots. What sort of home I wanted. Now, with her this close, all I want to do is ask her about her hopes and dreams. What kind of house she might want, how many kids...

  Fuck. I’ve never thought of that before, but now my unruly dick is already dripping with cum wanting to be inside her. This is something primal. From a time long forgotten except in the dark recesses of my DNA.

  Being this close to her, her scent is ingrained into my memory. Thoughts of pulling her hair, bending her over the table, shoving that skirt up over her ass and tearing her panties from her wet, warm pussy before driving myself inside of her...

  Thoughts of spreading her wide, right here on my kitchen table, of feasting on the heaven between her legs, her pussy swollen and drenched from the orgasms. Her voice screaming my name until everyone in the bar knows exactly what we’re doing. Her sweet voice begging me for more while I suck on those luscious tits and whisper in her ear that she belongs to me now. That I’ve claimed what is mine and it will forever be so. I’ll breed her until there’s no getting away from me.

  The thoughts are intrusive, unavoidable, and they’re making it hard to concentrate on the interview she’s supposed to be conducting.

  When I leaned forward after telling her I protect what’s mine, she let out this little sigh and I breathed in deep, wanting to take it inside me.

  Now she’s typing on her laptop as I keep my forearms on my thighs, not wanting to scare her away if she were to take a look at my crotch and see the monster waiting to pounce on her.

  She asked me questions, I answered as best I could, but truth is I’m so focused on her, I barely know what I’m saying.

  “So, when you were in the midst of the fight yesterday, what were you thinking? What thoughts go through your
head when you are in that moment?”

  I snap my tongue against my teeth, wondering if her obvious nervousness is because of me or just the interview. Or, worse than either of those options, perhaps watching me yesterday and seeing that violence has left her terrified.

  I would hate myself is she was frightened of me.

  “All I’m thinking is I want it to be over.”

  She raises her eyebrows as though she only half believes me. “That’s it?”

  “Yes. And no. My conscious mind wants it to be to over, my unconscious...more like I’ll win at all costs. Like I said, I protect what is mine. It’s like a switch flips and I hate it, but I’ll win. I’ll put them down.”

  “Did you know they were professional fighters?”

  I shake my head.

  “Would you ever meet them in the cage? They’ve commented on the video posting, challenging you to a real fight.”

  “Nope. I fight when I have to. For what I have to. For honor, if need be, but never for pride or ego.”

  “Well then.” She looks up at me from under those dark lashes with a sweet smile. “Thank you for your time. Would you mind if I got a few photos of you downstairs in the bar?”

  She pushes her hair behind both ears and I swear I see her shiver, then a blush catches on her round cheeks. I want to tell her how much I want her. All of her. That I know it will sound crazy but I want to hold her through a scary night. I want to touch every part of her and memorize the sound of her breath. The texture of her skin.

  “Whatever you want.” I answer, already laying out my plan to keep her here for the rest of the day. She’s packing up her laptop as I add, “Just leave it up here. We can come back up and get it later. Safer up here.”

  What I want is for her to be next to me for the rest of my life, but I’ll settle for today.

  For now.

  The flicker of suspicion I see quickly mixes with a twinkle in her eye and she turns those soft lips upward, making me think of how they will feel around my cock.

  “If you say so.” She finishes, zipping the bag closed and leaving it on the chair where she was sitting, her backpack on the floor next to the chair.