Lyssa laughed, and laid her hands flat on Silas’ massive chest to steady herself. Gazing hotly into his eyes, she lowered herself into his lap.
“Fuuuuuckkkk….”
The saliva, and her own eager wetness, was more than enough to smooth the ride. Like a piston sliding into a well-oiled cylinder, Lyssa sunk herself inch-by-inch onto Silas’ massive cock, and moaned as she felt herself stretched, and filled.
“Sapristi!” Silas gasped, as her warm, wet tightness enveloped him. He reached out with his big hands, and curled them around Lyssa’s tiny waist as she sunk lower, and lower, until she was skewered right on top of him.
“Oh, my God,” Lyssa’s eyes were wide. She felt like she was being skewered by a tree-trunk. “You’re so hard.”
“It’s been so long,” Silas groaned, as he used his big hands to rock Lyssa gently in his lap.
It was exquisite.
Riding the huge Spaniard, Lyssa found it difficult to remain coherent. His huge cock filled her deliciously – and as she rode back and forth in his lap, it moved teasingly inside her. Within seconds she was gasping; grinding her clitoris against Silas’ hipbone.
And Silas was equally intoxicated – reaching up to tear open Lyssa’s pajama top with a snarl.
Buttons pinged across the room, as he ripped open her pajama shirt, and revealed her pert, round breasts.
“Oh, God,” Lyssa groaned, as he cupped them with his big, calloused hands. “That’s so good.”
“I-I can’t hold out,” Silas groaned. “I-I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be,” Lyssa ground herself harder in his lap, riding him like a pony. “I-I’m nearly there myself.”
And then, like a tidal-wave, her orgasm crashed across her. Lyssa shuddered, and gasped, and felt waves of pleasure rippling across her body, as she climaxed for the first time in weeks.
That was too much for Silas to withstand. The moment her pussy tightened, and her eyes rolled upwards, he felt himself tip over the knife edge as well.
“Cariño,” he gasped, squeezing her breasts painfully hard. “My God, I can’t… I can’t…”
And then his cock swelled, and throbbed, and almost doubled in size inside of her – and, a moment later, Silas exploded like a firehose.
“Fuuuuck,” Lyssa groaned, as she felt herself flooded. She came again, shuddering at the warm, wet, delicious sensation.
For a moment, the two of them hung like that – joined in a shared moment of ecstacy. And then the last waves of pleasure swept Lyssa up, and threw her back to reality with a crash.
She flopped across Silas’ massive chest, gasping and panting.
Silas lay beneath her, still buried inside of her, and shuddered himself.
He stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head.
“When I first had that accident, the doctor warned me I might never feel anything below waist again.”
Lyssa opened her eyes, and smiled as they lay together.
“…but I felt that.”
She giggled, and stroked his stubbled cheek.
“So did I. And now my question is: how long until I can feel it again?”
Chapter Fifty Six
Lyssa
Hours later, Lyssa was awoken by the sun in her eyes.
She moaned, and rolled over in bed; too sleepy to notice it wasn’t the same bed she’d retired to the night before.
Instinctively, her arm flopped out – to curl around the massive shoulders of the man she’d expected to be sleeping with. But, instead, her arm just flopped onto empty pillows instead.
That woke her up.
Brushing hair from her half-open eyed, Lyssa lifted her head from the pillow and gazed across the empty bed – where Silas had been lying just hours before.
“S-Silas?” She struggled to sit up, her body aching deliciously. “W-where are you?”
But in the darkened bedroom – lit by a single beam of light slicing through the gap in the shutters – there was nobody else to be seen.
What was even more curious was that Silas’ wheelchair – the one he’d been confined to for weeks now – was still sitting by the door, equally as empty as the bed was.
Lyssa yawned.
She checked the time on her Nixon watch. It was a little after six in the morning; and from the sounds of it, nobody else was stirring in the house yet.
Throwing back the covers, she struggled out of bed. The floorboards were cold on her bare feet.
Lyssa shivered. She was wearing nothing but her torn pajama shirt. A dribble of cum was running down her thigh. Red handprints marked her breasts and hips.
She felt deliciously soiled.
But as lovely as the memories of the previous night had been, she had to find out where Silas was.
So, as she pulled back on her pajama pants, Lyssa tried to figure out where Silas would have gone. She figured she had a pretty good idea.
Chapter Fifty Seven
Lyssa
The sounds of fists-on-leather could be heard all the way from the other side of the warehouse.
Barefoot, Lyssa crossed the dirt floor, and heard the noises getting louder. Her guess had been right – Silas had woken up, and headed to his makeshift gym in the cool darkness of the old wine cellars.
Rounding the corner, she found the cool, dark room lit by the single, bare bulb hanging from the rafters.
And there was Silas, in nothing but sweat pants, pounding the hell out of the old punching bag.
He looked unsteady on his feet, and his body was pale and glistening with sweat. As he swung his big fists through the air, Lyssa could see that the effort of merely standing was as much work as throwing those punches.
But nevertheless he was there, on his feet, hitting the bag.
And that, in and of itself, was a miracle.
Thwack!
Dust fell from the beams overhead as Silas punched the bag.
Thwack!
The wood creaked.
Thwack!
The bag swung back and forth, absorbing hits that would knock a regular person clean off their feet.
Only after throwing a cannonade of punches did Silas finally slump back against one of the wooden beams, and gasp and pant in exhaustion.
And that was when he noticed her.
Looking up, Silas saw Lyssa standing, watching him.
“How long have you been there, cariño?”
“Long enough,” Lyssa told him. She padded across the dirt floor towards him. “You made it here all by yourself?”
Silas made no effort to straighten up.
“It took me a while,” he admitted. “But now I know I can stand… Nothing is going to keep me down again.”
Lyssa looked at the punching bag, swinging back and forth.
“So… So you think you want to start training again?”
“Ha!” Silas’ wolfish laugh echoed through the cellar. “No, cariño. I was just practicing. So I can feel what it’s like to move again.”
He turned to the pretty America, and laid a massive hand on her slender shoulder.
“I think we both know my days as a fighter are over.”
Lyssa’s first instinct was to tell him ‘no.’ He was a powerful, dangerous young man and she’d rarely seen somebody so intimidating and graceful in the MMA octagon.
But then she saw the expression on his face – one of peace and resignation. Silas had clearly come to terms with this.
Besides, after his defeat by Magnus Bjorn, and being nearly crippled by Wlodek Winogrodzki, she knew it would take a huge mix-up for him to ever find a place back in the super-heavyweight division.
“It just wasn’t meant to be,” Silas told her, as if reading Lyssa’s mind. “But I have a place here, now. And with the Buenaventuras trying to cause us trouble, I finally have something to contribute to Bodegas Batras, as well.”
Lyssa snorted dryly.
“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “It’s just a shame.” She reached over and squeezed Sil
as’ massive forearm. “You deserve to be in that octagon, living your dream.”
Silas pulled Lyssa into his massive arms, and looked down into her wide eyes.
“Maybe I was pursuing the wrong dream all along,” he told her. “Perhaps this was my wake-up call.”
And then he bent his head, and kissed her powerfully on the lips.
Chapter Fifty Eight
Lyssa
Doctor Montoya pulled off the latex gloves with a snap, and told Silas: “You can sit up now.”
With a groan, Silas Batras hauled himself upright on the examination table, and looked across the room towards the handsome doctor.
“Well?”
Silas, Lyssa and Celestina were all standing in the clean, bright examination room – waiting for the good doctor’s verdict.
“I think it’s good news,” Montoya nodded. “Not to mention, I think it’s about damn time. Not to offend you, but I’d suspected part of your problem was psychosomatic – and the moment you had motivation to get up out of that wheelchair, you realized you actually could.”
Silas remembered the moment he’d hauled himself to his unsteady feet, and plunged his fist into Bruno Buenaventura’s smug, sneering face.
“Oh, I had motivation alright.”
“Well,” the doctor warned, “as good news as this is, it’s early days. You still suffered a major injury. It’ll still take weeks of training to get back to full strength – if you ever even do.”
Silas nodded silently.
“I mean it,” Montoya warned. “You overexert yourself at this stage, and you could be back here before you know it.” He pointed a warning finger at the massive Spanish fighter. “One bad twist before you’re ready for it, and you could wind up back in that chair. Permanently.”
“I promise, I promise,” Silas raised his hands defensively. “I will take it very slow.” He looked the doctor dead in the eye. “I have spent enough time in that wheelchair to last a lifetime. Ave Maria I have this opportunity to get out of it.”
Montoya nodded.
“We’ll keep up with physiotherapy for at least another two months, and I want you to take it easy during that time. Don’t let that brother of yours have you hefting wine barrels about, or anything stupid like that.”
“I promise.”
“Well, good,” Montoya nodded. “So leave the wheelchair outside. I’m going to be happy to see you walk out of here.”
Silas smiled, and with a groan he slid off the examination table. Celestina was there to grab his burly arm, as the towering fighter swayed from side to side as he steadied himself.
“C’mon,” Celestina prompted. “I’ll take you to the front desk to book your next physiotherapy appointment.”
Lyssa made to follow Silas and Celestina out – but as she passed Doctor Montoya, the handsome physician reached out and grabbed her elbow.
Lyssa wheeled around – she didn’t like being manhandled.
“One second, Senorita Meadows,” oblivious to her irritation, the doctor held her back. “I just wanted to talk to you for a moment.”
He released her arm, and Lyssa brushed off her irritation. Looking at the way the handsome young doctor was smiling at her, it was easy to forgive him.
“I was just wondering about that coffee,” Montoya smiled, turning his head to make sure Celestina and Silas were out of earshot. “I never heard from you, after last time.”
Lyssa smiled.
“Slow your roll, buddy. It’s only been a couple of days.” But then her smile softened, and she reached out to touch the doctor’s arm. “But listen… It’s not that I’m not flattered – but with Silas up and about, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”
Montoya’s eyes narrowed.
“It’s only coffee,” he murmured.
Lyssa smiled mischievously.
“We both know it wouldn’t be ‘only coffee’. You’re a good looking guy, and any other time I’d have leapt at the chance.”
Doctor Montoya pursed his lips for a moment, and nodded.
He jerked his head towards the doorway.
“It’s him isn’t it?” He was clearly referring to Silas. “Is there something going on between you guys? Is that why you’re here in Spain?”
Lyssa felt her cheeks burn red a little, which pretty much confirmed Montoya’s suspicions.
“I didn’t come here for that,” she replied, which was truthful enough.
But even as she said it, her body shuddered at the memory of Silas’ hard, hot body lying beneath her.
Montoya accepted this gracefully.
“But if you change your mind…” He squeezed her arm.
“I’ll think about it,” Lyssa purred. “But it’s not like I’m here for long anyway. I’m flying back to America on Saturday.”
The doctor snorted.
“Then I fear Silas will end up as disappointed as I am.”
And as Lyssa gathered her things and headed for the reception area, she realized that Montoya’s words were ominously accurate.
Chapter Fifty Nine
Silas
Outside, the morning air was cool and brisk.
“We should get back to the van,” Celestina snapped, as Silas marched stiffly out of the doctor’s office. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Nonsense,” Silas wheeled around, bracing himself against a wall. “I was in that chair for weeks. I need to walk, now.”
“You need to listen to your damn doctor,” Alberte’s wife hissed, as she and Lyssa followed Silas away from the parked van, towards the narrow streets of Logroño. “Not to mention your sister-in-law!”
But Silas was clearly in no mood to listen.
Limping and stiff, he forced himself into a march, as he stomped down the narrow alleyway towards the center of town.
“Where are you even going?” Celestina hefted up her long skirt and followed him. “What’s gotten into you?”
And that’s when Silas reeled to a halt, and turned around.
Both Celestina and Lyssa skidded to a halt as he did that. After weeks of seeing him in a wheelchair, they’d forgotten how huge and intimidating this massive MMA fighter was.
“I’m hungry,” he told them both, his face breaking into a smile. “I’m hungry, and I want to satisfy my appetite.”
“But it’s not even ten o’clock, yet,” Celestina hissed back.
“Oh,” Silas grinned, “I’m not hungry for food.”
And with that, he wheeled around again, and started marching off towards the town.
As Lyssa followed, she saw that he was getting more sure-footed with every stride. There was a purpose to his limping gait, and a determination on his face she hadn’t seen since watching him in the MMA octagon, all those weeks ago back in America.
And as they reached the end of the alleyways, and strode into the open squares of Logroño, Lyssa suddenly realized why he was marching with such confidence and poise.
“I’m hungry,” Silas repeated – as he headed towards a little restaurant in the center of the street.
“No,” Celestina called after him, hurrying to catch up. “No, Silas. Not there. Anywhere but there.”
But it was too late. Silas was already half-way across the square – hand raised to throw open the door to the little taverna across the street.
A taverna with the name ‘Buenaventura’ hanging above the doorway.
Chapter Sixty
Silas
The door to the Bistro Buenaventura swung open with a crash.
A tired-looking waiter looked up from the tables he was scrubbing. Behind the counter, the barman nearly spilled his coffee in surprise.
And sitting in two comfortable chairs in the corner of the little restaurant, two shocked faces looked up.
Silas Batras stood framed in the doorway, and peered across the taverna towards the men in the corner.
Adolphe Buenaventuras, and his son Bruno.
“Buenos días,” he grinned, blocking the light fr
om the doorway with his massive, towering frame.
The bistro was just one of many local businesses owned by the Buenaventura family – notable only because it was where many of the men in the family congregated for coffee every morning.
That’s why Silas had known Adolphe and Bruno would be there – sitting at the table, sipping espresso, and oblivious to his oncoming arrival.
“Buenos días,” Silas repeated, taking a step into the empty restaurant. “I was just in the area, so I thought I’d drop in for a coffee.”
Chairs scraped against the tile floor, as Adolphe and Bruno stood up, to wheel around and face this uninvited guest.
Adolphe Buenaventura resembled The Godfather, from that old Marlon Brando movie. Given his business interests and influence in town, that similarity went beyond just his broad, grizzled face and crinkly grey eyes.
He even had the same Brando-esque look of grim determination in his eyes – even as he stood there, swaying from side to side, supported by his wooden walking stick.
Bruno, in comparison, was half the man he’d been the other night. His jaw was twisted and swollen, and his bottom lip was swollen like a polyp. He clearly hadn’t recovered from Silas knocking him out.
“Silas Batras,” Adolphe narrowed his eyes as he sneered at the uninvited guest. “To what do we owe this honor?”
Bruno’s eyes darted nervously back and forth between his father and the towering new arrival. Clearly his confidence had taken as much of a pounding as his face had.
“I figured I ought to say hello,” Silas crossed the room, his boots heavy on the creaking wooden floorboards. “Now I’m back from America, and all.”
Behind Silas, Celestina and Lyssa practically cowered. They were paused in the doorway – not sure whether to follow Silas into the lion’s den, or remain outside.
Silas didn’t seem to give a shit, though. As brave and fearless as he ever was in the MMA cage, he swaggered across the room and loomed menacingly over Bruno Buenaventura and his father.
Adolphe, to his credit, didn’t seem intimidated.
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 10