The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  He opens his mouth to talk to me. This better be good. Here we go.

  “Whaaaaas up?”

  He’s a real modern Romeo, this one.

  Immediately, I feel the contact of a hand ever so subtly across my buttocks and I freeze, grab the hand and stop it from the touch I don’t appreciate. It seems to amuse him as I speak slowly, making sure my words are clear as my painful grip remains on his wrist. “I will do more damage to you if you try that again.”

  “Easy. It’s called being nice,” he replies.

  “It’s called harassment. Go away, little boy,” Delphine shouts.

  I drop his hand. “You should tell my boyfriend you’re only being nice. And you really don’t want to see his possessive side. I can tell you, it isn’t pretty. You might know him. He’s just about to fight in the ring. He is a complete raging animal.”

  His face turns as white as a ghost, but my attention is averted when an eruption of a tumultuous roar deafens my ears. My eyes swing over to the other side of the arena.

  There he is.

  Lenic “The Tempest” Reevus bestrides the bare-knuckle boxing world like its undisputed heavyweight champion. His self-belief is near bulletproof: he knows he is faster than his opponents and his opponents know it too. His dominating presence has the spectators screaming and chanting his name even before he enters the ring, carrying an air of intimidation born of being a world champion.

  "You’re so hot, Tempest. I love you!" some girl screams at the top of her lungs behind me, almost deafening my ears.

  "I love you!" I hear from every angle of the arena.

  The Tempest remains an island of calm amongst the chaos.

  When three girls start screaming their offer for a foursome, I feel like I’ve fallen down into a sweaty pit of horny sex-malnourished girls. Watching the hysteria of The Tempest’s rabid, obsessed, and frenzied fan-girls swarming the arena, I smile to myself. Because I am the only girl here who has a date with The Tempest. And the only place I want to date him … is in his bedroom.

  If he wins.

  But it isn’t a matter of if. It is just a matter of time. Because there is no doubt The Tempest is going to win tonight. I know it. Delphine knows it. The screaming crowd of delirious women know it. It wouldn’t surprise me if Lenic’s opponent knows it too.

  Jumping through the ropes, The Tempest roams the crowd. I watch as he scans the arena, searching for something … searching for … me.

  The stage erupts in a blaze of light and my heart thumps wildly. His smouldering gaze focuses entirely on me. It is like the rest of the world disappears and we are the only two to exist, standing in the darkness, and all I can see is the piercing stare of The Tempest’s eyes, searing into mine. Stilling me. Drinking me in. Shrinking me into submission.

  He touches his forefinger to the corner of his eye, then points it towards me, a slow curling of his lips. He wants me to know that, without a shadow of doubt … he is going to be the champion of this fight. He is going to win.

  And then he is coming for me.

  I think my heart stops beating with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I watch The Tempest fight in the ring. The spectators are going mental. The Tempest is genius in motion; a beautiful, fantastic riot of a man.

  The crowd is raw and loud, and something fiery and uncontrollable builds inside my core. I want him to carry me back to his bedroom again, but this time, this time he needs to follow through.

  It is awe-inspiring the way he moves in and around the ring, dancing with his opponent. He is tight and fast, full of power — fresh, electric, exciting power. Every movement and punch and dodge is meticulous and strong and dominant. Bare-knuckle boxing is such a violent sport, but there is a sportsman of grace in the way The Tempest plays his opponent. I find myself finding beauty in his sweet, honeyed brilliance inside the ring. I also find myself utterly drenched between my legs and on the verge of an orgasm.

  Delphine opens her mouth and shouts something, but I don't hear it over the sound of the raucous crowd or maybe it is the ringing in my ears. Or maybe, just maybe, it is the rush of blood through my veins when I watch The Tempest in the ring.

  Watching him go toe-to-toe against his rival is like watching fire: a combustion of pure skill, hard work, melodic footwork, and intelligence that forces his opponent into surrender. Just like that.

  This fight is over.

  The Tempest crushed his opponent right from the start, giving him no time to breathe or think. The fight is over in record time.

  Just for a single moment, no one moves, no one makes a sound … and then, all at once, the whole place explodes, with everyone cheering and clapping and calling out for more, and the vibration of their stomping feet echoing through the ground. It is incredible.

  In the course of my time with Lenic, he has bore many titles, though none greater than Champion.

  And tonight that is what the crowd is chanting in a chorus as the ringmaster lifts The Tempest’s hand in victory and the announcer declares him the winner.

  The Tempest’s hysterical fans go wild, chanting his name in a frenzy. I hear Delphine join in.

  “I am going to screw his brains out!” I shout to her.

  “Lucky bitch!”

  With my heart pumping hard, I watch him jump down from the ropes and descend fast on me. The deafening screams of the crowd and the PA system announcing his victory seem very far away in this moment.

  The Tempest doesn’t play up for the crowd as he should — blood dripping down his face, lip split, nose bleeding — and as I appraise his injuries, our eyes meet. I watch the crowd part, people getting out of his way, instinctively afraid of his size and his strength.

  “You’re too fucking sexy,” he growls, panting out of breath once he reaches me. I note how the blood from the cut on his eyebrow drips down his face like a tear.

  I have a dazed look on my face — a blend of intoxication and pure sexual fatigue from watching him fight. I feel satiated just from feasting my eyes on his beautiful muscles working fluently in the ring. But when I gaze up at him now, I feel starved with a sexual appetite I never knew I was capable of possessing.

  He licks his lips, his mouth parting a little when his eyes devour my dress. I am almost terrified by the amount of unruly hunger I see in his eyes.

  “Nearly lost the goddamn fight. Couldn’t focus with you teasing me in that dress — Jesus Christ, Felicity, every man here is looking at you, it’s driving me insane.”

  His eyes flash dangerously now, threat mixed with arousal, and I swallow thickly, trying to push through the fog of carnal passion to speak coherently.

  “Lenic—”

  “They don’t get to have you.”

  He tugs my hair back. It is so unexpected, here, in the throng of a cheering crowd, and I gasp almost into his mouth as he covers my lips with his, in a rough, bruising kiss. It literally stops my heart from beating. His tongue forces its way into my mouth, and I feel little bolts of electricity flow through my body. Hot, cold, and electric.

  I hear a few wolf-whistles holler out amongst the buzzing crowd, and some girl shouting, “Lucky bitch.” I suspect it is Delphine again.

  He pulls away, breathing heavily, trailing a firm finger up my neck and then thrusts my chin up, forcing me to take him in. I hold my breath until I feel like my lungs are going to burst, and a dizzying heat starts in my core and spreads down to the tips of my fingers.

  “I told you I’d fight for you. I told you I’d win. Remember this, Felicity — I mean everything I say to you.” When he nudges the pad of his finger higher in dominance, I let out a throaty pleasurable groan, submitting to his unswerving hold. The corner of his lips twitches. “I’m finally taking you backstage.”

  He straightens to his full height, and growls with enough authority to make Seventies Sideburns skittish and move away. I smile wide as the little boy cowers visibly. Lenic is a big man, and I and everyone in the arena can sense his weight, his strength, his power. />
  He could overpower any man. He always makes me feel like I am wrapped up in a warm cocoon, keeping me safe. And it feels good. I feel good.

  I feel … protected.

  Holding my hand, The Tempest leads me out of the arena. I can see people filming us on their phones and I just manage to hear Delphine shout to me, “Ring me when he’s done giving it to you — you’re my ride home.”

  I curse inwardly, regretting the decision to opt as designated driver. I wanted to be prudent this evening, ensuring myself I wouldn’t say anything or do anything embarrassing. But Delphine can’t handle her beer and she is on her fifth bottle. That means getting done by The Tempest in every single position humanely possible, as I grip onto his bugling fighter biceps, all night long, is off the table.

  FML, number whatever.

  As we pass through the curtain, continuing on backstage, a few of the charity event organisers stop and stare at us. I simply bow my head, unsure of Lenic’s intentions, and trail along after him, hand still entwined with his large one. We eventually reach what I presume is the locker room. Lenic shoulder opens the metallic door with an impressive slam, and kicks it shut behind us with more force than necessary, finally releasing me.

  Panting from the fight just won, his eyes roam over my body with a greedy, appraising look, stilling on my nipples erect from the slight chill in the air, then up to my eyes. Breaking into a sultry grin, he does the one movement that kills me. He traces his tongue slowly across the top set of his teeth and around the corner of his lips. It’s almost become a warning of his, this one movement with his tongue. A warning that he has seen something he wants, and he won’t stop until he gets it.

  There is so much that I want to say right here as we stand in the stale sweaty air of the locker room, a few steps apart, but Lenic steals the spotlight. “Every guy in the world now is gonna envy me," he says hoarsely.

  I run a hand through my long hair seductively. Jessica Rabbit … eat your heart out. His eyes track the action and he growls lowly.

  "They all already do," I correct him, setting my clutch purse down on the bench.

  His eyes narrow as he takes in my words. Unwrapping his wrist supports, he hurls them on the bench. I watch as Lenic wipes blood off his nose, and then he looks at me with a smirk, that cocky overconfident shit he always does, like he is goddamn Superman and he can’t die. But then even Superman has kryptonite.

  And I guess … that’s me.

  “Is it broken?” I ask.

  He stands there, wiping a swath of blood across his forearm. “Hardly feel it,” he replies confidently.

  “Your face is far too pretty to be broken.”

  He grins, slamming open a locker and grabs a T-shirt. “Here, catch.” He tosses it over to me and I catch it. “Put it on. Had it made especially for you. Made sure to get it in your colour.”

  I glance down at the sky-blue T-shirt. “You remembered?”

  He nods. “I remember everything you say. It’s all locked up in here.” He knocks a finger twice on the side of his head. “Gotta make sure your eyes pop, Hazelnut.” His attention moves down to my cleavage. “And other things.” He teases me with a sly smile. “Other lovely things.”

  Unrolling the T-shirt, I laugh.

  ‘The Tempest’s Number One Fan Girl’ is printed on the front in bold white letters.

  “And what makes you so confident you’re my favourite bare-knuckle boxer?”

  He sweeps his tongue across his lower lip. “That dress tells me all I need to know.”

  He instructs me to check the back matter and I laugh even harder when I read ‘Sponsored by JUICED’.

  He stabs a finger in my direction. “Next fight — you wear this. Leave that dress for me. Only me.”

  Shooting him a self-assertive smile, I place my hand on my hip. “Next fight, I wear suspenders and a corset, Ape Man. You are not my boyfriend. And even if you were, you don’t get to tell me what to wear. You’ll never own me.”

  He shakes his head, but instead of The Tempest’s customary glare of do-as-I-command, he lets out a deep throaty chuckle. His brief laughter reaches his eyes and makes his boyishly handsome face even more gorgeous. My heart skips a beat.

  “That’s what I like about you,” he says, slowly prowling towards me. “You don’t take shit from me.” I step back. “Running away?” he asks with a cocky smile. I roll my eyes, then lick my lips, my eyes travelling the tall length of his pumped body. He holds out his hand, twitching it forward in a ‘come-hither’ motion. "Come here," he orders softly.

  My legs have a mind of their own and I find myself adhering to his command as I step towards him. He presses his body firmly against mine, wrapping his arms around my waist like a snake. Heat on heat.

  My eyes scan his shredded biceps that circle me before coming back to his eyes. I look up at him with a glint in my eye. “I like watching you fight.”

  “You do?”

  I nod, biting my lip. “Fast and dirty. Just the way I want it.”

  “Is that right?” His hand travels up my side while he kisses the weak spot on the nape of my neck, finally scraping his teeth against my skin in a rough sort of love bite, just hard enough to startle me. “You were wrong,” he whispers into my ear. “Blue isn’t your colour … red is.”

  All of a sudden, he lets out a throaty groan, and my pulse doubles as he spins me around and pushes me up against the set of lockers, slamming the palm of his hand against the locker right beside my head. “Forget the date,” he rasps hoarsely. “I’m done waiting.” He seizes both of my wrists and pins them behind my back with just one of his hands.

  “The door’s unlocked—”

  My head swims as he takes my mouth with savage force, and I return it with reckless abandon, a shudder wrecking havoc through my whole body. His mouth is hot and lethal on mine, as hot and lethal as the boxing match we just came from. My restrained hands beg against his, desperate to wrap around his thick neck, but he grips tighter, deepening the kiss. He groans against my mouth and pulls me impossibly tighter to him.

  He releases me, and we tumble over to the bench, a mass of limbs and lips and lust. Still pumped from his fight, he forcefully pushes me on the bench. The piles of towels, clothes, and other articles slide out from underneath me and I reach out to grab his bulging biceps for balance. His muscles flex beneath my hands and while the feel of his strong arms distracts me, he bends down and takes my swollen lips.

  His kiss is hard, his tongue invading and demanding. Lenic isn’t a man who asks for cooperation. He just takes it, and I yield to it like honey to a bee.

  The hardness between his legs puts pressure against my lower stomach as he thrusts into me and I moan loudly. I snake my hands into his hair, and suddenly both of our hips are moving against each other. My body surrenders to his as he roughly pushes my legs apart and moves between them with fervour.

  When I whimper and rub against him, he groans throatily, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, then withdraws, and thrusts again. He nips at my lower lip and then soothes the small pain with a lick of his tongue. I clutch the back of his head, trying to pull him back into the kiss, but that beautiful bastard chuckles against me and resists my efforts with a tug of his teeth on my bottom lip.

  "Don't tease me," I whimper, fisting my hands on top of his hair and pulling hard.

  He hisses, his eyes blazed, hot and dark. “How badly? How badly do you want it?”

  “Lenic … please...”

  His mouth takes mine again, fierce and rough, almost hurting me, but makes my body buzz with excitement. He plunders my mouth with his tongue, nipping here and there. The room spins around me as he presses my back against the bench, his hand going down my body sensually, until he parts my willing legs with them. I shiver as his warm hand massages the inner curve of my thigh.

  We are in danger of being caught. Not that I give a damn right now. Lenic is here. That's all that matters, that he is with me, and he smells of sweat and man and power, and it
makes me wetter and more needy, almost on the verge of cumming.

  He growls low in his throat as his fingers slip into my folds. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

  “I learn from the best,” I breathe out, desperate to feel him inside of me.

  “You’re too fucking sexy,” he rasps.

  Our mouths clash together, teeth and tongues and lips meshing frantically in another bruising kiss. Lenic wraps his hand around the back of my neck to hold me to him. With his other hand, he pulls me to the edge of the bench, locks eyes with me, and then thrusts two fingers into me. His thick rough fingers part my tight, wet passage and a deep moan vibrates from his chest.

  “Christ, I want to fuck you hard," he moans, taking my mouth once more as he pulls out his fingers and thrusts them back in again. My answer is to simply whimper against his mouth and arch my back.

  “Lenic … do it, please,” I beg. I am so turned on right now, and even though he has only been touching me for a few seconds, I am on the precipice of an orgasm.

  “I want to, baby,” he rasps, plunging his tongue into my mouth in a hot, searing kiss.

  He slams his fingers into me — wild thrusts, hard enough to shake the bench. I climax instantly from inside, wave after wave of ecstasy breaking over me as he drills his fingers into me, his tongue assailing my mouth until I am breathless.

  Then I feel a shot of fire down my spine, slowly flowing out in waves as my clit combusts underneath his thumb. But the waves don’t end there. I start to feel a tightening from deep inside. It feels like every inch of me is burned up in white-hot lust as I cum from deep, deep inside. My whimpers and moans get louder and louder as my heart literally stops from feeling multiple orgasms at once.

  Holy hell.

  His kiss becomes sensual, slower and tenderer, as I moan into his mouth, feeling the aftershock of being tossed off a cliff and freefalling into a tsunami of pleasurable waves.