Lately, David “the Beast” Harker, one of our heavyweights and a prime candidate to win the heavyweight championship, has entered a downward spiral. He’s lost both of the last matches he’s fought—a prior unheard of happening in the Beast’s impressive record of only one loss over a career spanning thirty plus matches. He’s been surly to the media, way beyond the image bravado many fighters in this industry use to psych out their opponent. And he’s missed three meetings Daniel has called with him.
It all started when we signed for a match pitting him against current heavyweight champion, Jacques St. Pierre—media darling and a force to be reckoned with in the ring. I’ve never known the Beast to get so unnerved by an opponent, and my gut tells me more than this upcoming title match is bothering him.
I drive over to the Strength gym where our fighters practice and train. There I find the Beast sparring with another heavyweight inside one of the three smaller practice cages we have. He doesn’t notice me approaching the wire mesh until I call out to him.
“Hey Beast,” I say, and his massive head turns. “Come here.” I curl a finger at him.
He glowers. His midnight black, short hair curls behind his ears and is plastered against his skull with sweat. It beads his wrinkled forehead and runs down into his hazel eyes. “What do you want?” he growls, then goes back to sparring.
“Daniel wants us to have a little chat.” I cross my arms over my white t-shirt, which is clinging to my small but pert boobs in this summer heat. Even though the gym is air conditioned, I still haven’t cooled off after the walk from my car over black top that’s pouring out waves of oppressive warmth.
He still practices with his sparring partner, as if I’m not even there. I sigh, run a hand through my long, straight blonde hair and walk to the gate that leads inside the cage. Then I march over to the grappling men and grab the Beast’s arm.
He whirls around and his sparring partner backs up. The Beast pins me with flaming eyes and all six foot fives inches of his thickly muscled self towers over me. “I’m busy.” He shakes my hand off.
I put my hands on my svelte hips and stare at him with my baby blues. “And I said Daniel wants us to have a talk.”
“You’d better go, man,” his sparring partner, Keith Gonzalez, interjects. The fighters respect Daniel immensely and his word is law to them.
The Beast huffs an obviously disgusted breath. He inhales slowly, filling his massive chest with air, and continues to give me a sour stare before he stalks off to the locker room, mumbling, “I feel like I’m a fucking little kid being sent to the principal’s office.”
I mouth “Thank you,” to Keith, who gives me a smile and raises a fingerless glove to signal “Welcome,” before I follow the ill-tempered heavyweight.
I find him sitting on a bench, shedding his shorts and gloves when I walk in. He glances up, gives me another look that could wither flowers, and says, “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I think you’re lying about that.” I sit next to him, trying hard not to get distracted by his toned, sweat glistening body, now naked.
He gets up and heads towards the showers. Another diversion tactic, I know, but the Beast should also know me well enough by now to figure this won’t stop me. For a short time he and I were lovers, so I’ve seen it all before. And growing up on a farm with three large, crazy brothers has made it so that there’s little a male can do in front of me that embarrasses me.
Still, I also suspect he may try to divert me further through seductive means. So I steel my resolve and promise I won’t get sidetracked by hot, wet naked maleness.
He’s already under one of the communal style showers, soaping up with full frontal nudity on display. I tell myself to not be an uncontrollable horndog and remember my task at hand.
I touch his soap slickened bicep. “We’re friends, David. You can tell me what’s bothering you.”
He dips his head back, closes his eyes, and lets the hot spray run over his hair. “Nothing is bothering me.”
“Then why did you lose those last two matches? Why are you blowing Daniel off and crapping all over the media when they try and talk to you?”
His beautiful-ugly face twists in a deeper frown, then its rugged planes relax and he sighs. “I just don’t want to talk about it.” As he focuses on me, his thick, full lips turn up in a lecherous smile. “You should really take those clothes off. You’re getting all wet.”
I look down at my white t-shirt to find it is soaked through from the close water spray, and I’m wearing no bra so my nipples are showing through. This time it’s me who casts the frown his way, because I know exactly what he’s trying to do: evade the issue for one more day.
“No way.” I shake a finger in his face (or as close as my five foot four self can get to his face). “This is important, and you’re not gonna knock me off track.”
He snakes a massive arm out and encircles my waist. “But we had fun together those four months last year, didn’t we?” I’m drawn tight against his chiseled, beefy brawn, and my hands can’t help but mold to his slippery pecs.
“We can’t do this here,” I protest, pushing away from him, even though I don’t really want to. “You know Daniel’s rules. Fighters and management can date, but we can’t screw around on Strength’s property.”
He rolls his eyes at me and takes my hand, trying to bring me closer again. “Like Daniel’s gonna find out.”
“If someone comes in to shower, he sure will!”
But it’s too late. His head dips as his big arms wrap around me again. I could refuse the kiss and I should, but instead I let him pull me farther under the warm shower spray as his hands slip under the wet t-shirt now glued to my breasts and abs. His warm, full lips press against mine and my tongue snakes out before his can, tasting mint and desire inside his mouth.
His tongue draws mine farther in, teasing as it twines and untwines from mine. His teeth graze along my bottom lip as he urges the sopping t-shirt up over my head then throws it to the watery tiles. I trace the ripples and curves of his muscle, let my palm explore the flat plane of his abs as my hand moves lower.
He yanks my equally sodden shorts off and they pool in a wet heap around my ankles. I’m not an underwear kind of gal, so I’m now naked and pressed tight against him. I kick the shorts away as my sex throbs with horniness. I hadn’t planned on giving into his seduction, but it’s been a while and I’m too far gone to want to stop now.
My body responds to him naturally, instantly, as his mouth sweeps across my cheek in a trail of tiny kisses that become sensual bites as he moves to my neck. I coil a hand around his cock and begin to explore, stroke, his erection as water cascades down around us.
His lips close around my nipples and his tongue flits over the stiffening tips, making them pucker and tingle even more. A hand trails down my belly and settles between my legs, spreading them so he can caress my sex. Two wide fingers splay my labia and glide up and down the length of my slit, which now pulses with hungry need. He teases my hole with these fingers, not quite entering me enough to give satisfaction but enough to spike my desire higher and drive me mad. Then his touch slides forward to my clit, which he pinches between his thumb and index finger, rolling it between them and suckling my nipples until I come right there and then, shivering against his now kneeling form as my knees go weak from the orgasm.
When the bliss begins to subside, I tell him to stand because it’s my turn. With a gleam in my eye, I’m sure, and a smile on my lips I dip to my knees and stroke his impressive cock. He isn’t circumcised, and the thick extra covering of skin has now drawn back from the glans with his erection. I use this extra skin to further please him as I stroke him, making sure to guide it back and forth for added friction with each pump of my hand. He groans out his satisfaction and lets his head fall back on his shoulders. The shower’s spray cascades over his glistening black hair and trickles down the harsh angles in his face.
Keeping his foreskin back and close to
his balls, I dip my head and slather my tongue beneath the ridge of his penis. As I do this, I pump his extra sheathe of flesh up and down the top part of his shaft, to midway down his cock. Then I tongue his pre-cum spurting hole until he begins to buck his hips forward. I take the entire plump glans into my mouth and suck hard while still using his foreskin to please his shaft.
With my free hand, I reach between his legs to fondle his scrotum. I take more of him into my mouth, lapping along his slick shaft as I do so. While my lips and tongue glide up and down his cock, I suck a bit of his foreskin into my mouth, using this also to make my hot, wet mouth work him skillfully. He raises up on his toes briefly and gives a groan that is deep and part growl. I tighten the hand still around his shaft, squeezing and releasing in time with my pumping mouth.
I pluck at his balls while I deep throat him, drawing more of his foreskin into my mouth and sucking hard on it as it encases his cock once more, along with my mouth. I’m close to finishing him when Keith enters the showers.
“Sonofabitch,” our intruder exclaims. “Sorry.” Then he promptly turns around and leaves the area.
“Keith!” I yell after him, getting to my feet and leaving the Beast with an unsatisfied hard on as I run from the communal shower stall. I hear his laughter rumbling after me.
In the locker room, I snatch up a white towel and wrap it around myself. I find Keith quickly getting dressed. He holds up his hands as I draw near.
“Don’t worry, Bella,” he says. “I won’t tell Daniel. You have my word.”
Catching my breath after the shower make-out and the mad dash, I breath a relieved, “Thank you.”
Keith gives a small smile that brings out the cute dimples in his cheeks. “No worries. You were there for me when Elena almost left me. You’re advice helped saved our marriage. I got your back.”
I give him a quick hug and say “thank you” again before I dash toward the showers once more, not wanting to let the Beast get away before we could have our chat.
But he is already in the locker room, sitting on a bench near his open storage cupboard and getting dressed. He flashes me a cheeky smile as I draw near.
“You’re not getting out this.” I wag a finger at him.
He shrugs, the sassy expression never leaving his face. “Looks like you’ll have to catch up with me first, unless you plan on driving out of here with me in that towel.”
I glance down at my dripping self, clad only in the white terrycloth. Then I think about the sodden lumps that are my clothes, still sitting under the shower spray.
“Thirty minutes,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll be at your apartment by 2 PM and you better be there. We’ll discuss what’s going on with you over lunch.”
He stands, walks around me, and says, “Maybe I’ll be there and maybe I won’t. You’ll have to catch up with me before you can get any info.” Then he slaps my ass and strides away.
Before he disappears out of the change area, I throw an empty soda can at his triangle shaped back.
***
I screech to a stop outside the Beast’s apartment 15 minutes later. “Where are you?” I demand, after punching his number into my cell and he answers.
“Shit.” He chuckles. “I didn’t think you’d be that fast.”
I glance up to see him jogging down the stairs that lead to the building’s foyer. He looks right, spots me, flashes a cheeky grin and sprints for the parking lot.
“You are not getting away from me this time,” I shout into the phone seconds before it goes dead.
I hear him yell, “Come catch me,” over his shoulder before he climbs into his restored 67 Mustang and roars out onto the asphalt.
I know it is dangerous, and normally I am an impeccable driver who observes caution and follows the rules, but today adrenaline and the need to find out what the hell is going on with the Beast fuel my rashness and my lead foot against the peddle.
I rumble off after him in my vintage Porsche, weaving and bobbing through traffic and hoping if anyone gets pulled over by the cops it will be him and not me. I take a curve at one intersection too sharp and almost have a head-on with a bus full of senior citizens. Breathing a sigh of relief after I narrowly miss them, I look for the Beast’s cherry red Mustang amidst the traffic ahead, but there is nothing. I’ve lost him, it seems.
I slow a bit, but still keep it up over the speed limit as I enter another intersection. Still I have hope I’ll catch up to him, so I search the road ahead. However my hope deflates more with each scan that turns up nothing. But as I draw near the end of the street I’ve just turned onto, my defeat becomes the smug gratification of a win. There is the Beast, stopped beside my favorite deli by a cop almost as tall and big as him.
The Beast kicks one of his tires when he sees me. The cop finishes writing out his ticket, hands it over, nods in my direction, and then drives off, leaving the MMA with me and his shame.
It is my turn to offer up a smug grin. “Hop in. Lunch is on me.”
He narrows his eyes. “I could jump in my car and just take off again.”
I glance over my shoulder and point down the street to where the cop who’s just written him up is parked, watching us. “You sure you wanna chance that? Might impound you this time. Never know.”
He grumbles low as he plugs some money in the meter. “Fine, but I get to choose where we eat. You’ve got terrible taste in food.”
H directs me to a place called the Greek Oven, telling me they have awesome tzatziki and souvlaki to die for. Once we are half way through our meal, I prod him to fess up.
He throws down hi skewer full of spiced pork and says, “All right, but it has to remain between you and me.”
“I have to tell Daniel. You know that. But, beyond that, it’ll be strictly confidential.”
He doesn’t look pleased but he agrees. “Here’s the deal…” He lets out a long sigh through his twice broken nose, scratches his stubbled chin. “Jacques and I … well … we go way back.”
I wait for more but he just stares at me—more like grimaces—as if he thinks I should be reading the answer out of his thoughts. I’m no psychic, unfortunately. “And so…” I wave my spiced meat skewer at him to indicate he should continue.
“So.” He heaves a large sigh that makes his massive chest colossal, then he drops his gaze to his plate before he once more pins me with his green-brown eyes. “We were lovers.”
I almost choke on my meat skewer. Then a hot vision of him and Jacques kissing and fucking pop into my mind. I felt my panties grow damp before I shake the erotic thought from my mind. “Wait a minute, but you and I…” The truth dawns on my momentarily sluggish brain. “You’re bisexual.” I shrug. “Okay, so what’s the big deal?”
He rolls his eyes at me and grumbles, “You know how it is when you’re in MMA, in sports of any kind, and you’re a guy. You can’t be gay or bisexual. The press and the other fighters would smear this all over, and I don’t want the hassle it’ll bring.”
“Sweetie, this isn’t 1980 anymore.” I pat his hand and give him a compassionate smile. “You can come out. Hell, gay marriage is legal in some places. The GLBT community is more and more accepted and influential than it ever was.”
He snorts at this. “Not in sports, yet. You remember what happened to Robbie Rogers?” He leans his mighty elbows on the table and I have to hold it down on my end so it won’t lift. “Or how about Justin Fashanu?”
I look at him, feeling the sadness in my gaze. There is nothing I can say to that, at least nothing springs to mind. The two men he has mentioned were former English football players who had come out as gay with some devastating consequences. In Robbie’s case he left the sport, but in Justin’s case he took his life.
Then I think of another case in hockey. The son of a hockey general manager named Brian Burke had come out and received a great response. Brendan Burke had raised more awareness of homosexuality and homophobia in hockey and had been lauded for it. I tell him of this, but
his face just sours more.
“Yeah, and he died in 2010 in a car accident.” He clenches his jaw and pauses.
I feel more deflated than ever and realize he is right. Not a great example, I decide, as I play with my fork and search for words.
“Sorry,” the Beast says. “I didn’t mean to be an ass.” He reaches over and covers my small hand with one of his huge paws. “I just really want to keep this low key, and so does Jacques. Maybe one day we can come out, but…” He shakes his head sadly. “I just don’t think the MMA world is ready for it yet.”
I nod, feeling compassion for him in that moment. “I promise no one will know beyond me and Daniel. But Daniel has to know, and why has this been bothering you so much? I mean, in terms of effecting your fighting?”
He drains his wine glass before he speaks again. “Things between Jacques and I ended badly. We haven’t seen each other since.” He shrugs. “I guess I’ve been self sabotaging, being a coward. I wasn’t ready to face him.”
I reach over and stroke his beefy bicep. “It’ll be okay, hon. You guys are both amazing fighters. Go in there and bring us a heavyweight title belt home. I know you can do it.”
He nods, smiles a smile that is wide and genuine in the relief it shows. “Thanks, Bella.” He strokes the fingers of the hand he clasps. “It felt good to get that out to someone. I’m not ashamed, and I hate acting like I am, but sometimes you can’t reveal all your secrets, you know?”
“I understand, sweetie.” I get up and hug him, placing a big kiss against his temple as I do so.
***
I return to the head office of Strength Inc., ready to tell Daniel about what is bugging our Beast, but when I enter his office I find it will have to wait. One of our top investors, Richard Winfrey, is here. He’s a billionaire who’s had his fortune passed down to his through old money. The investments he puts into sports he considers his “toy fund,” but the amount he’s sunk into Strength Inc certainly isn’t chump change.
BDSM Mega Boxed Set Page 7