At the end of the session, Jules was panting wildly, and sweat was pouring off him. His dark brown skin looked like varnished wood.
“Fuck, bro,” clambering out of the ring, Jules practically flopped to the floor at his brother’s feet. “That was fucking bullshit, man.” He clambered up, gasping for breath. “Three hours in that fucking ring and I didn’t learn nothing.”
Thwack!
Before he’d even finished that word, Hannibal threw a punch at his younger brother that would have cracked most people’s noses.
And like a jack-in-the-box, Jules’ elbow swung up, and blocked Hannibal’s big fist with a meaty smack.
“Fuck!” Jules staggered back, clutching his stinging arm. “What the fuck, bro?”
Hannibal massaged his aching hand.
“Didn’t learn anything?” He scoffed. “Could have fooled me, bro.” And then he made another feint, and once again Jules lifted his elbow to block the would-be-blow instinctively.
As if suddenly realizing what he’d done, Jules’ eyes opened wide.
“See, I told you,” Hannibal slapped him on the back. “It’s got to be pure instinct. You wait to try and figure things out and you’re gonna have four fingers and a thumb leaving an indent in your face.” He squeezed Jules’ shoulder, and looked into his brother’s eye. “You keep practicing every day, and whoever this Sam Hudson piece-of-shit is, he won’t be winning by a knockout, that’s for damn sure.”
For the first time that day, Julius Alexander looked up at his older brother with respect and appreciation.
“Thanks, bro,” he admitted.
“You can thank me by getting a good night’s sleep,” Hannibal guided his little brother towards the door. “You’ve got class tomorrow, and then I’m going to teach you the good stuff.”
With a grin on his face, Jules followed his brother out into the cool evening air.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kristen
It had been four days since their encounter in Jules’ dorm room, and for a moment Kristen was worried that Hannibal Alexander had completely forgotten about her.
He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. He certainly hadn’t turned back up to the house – which, given his dad’s furious attitude, perhaps wasn’t surprising.
But for a girl who’d surrendered something very special – not to mention to a man she had no business sleeping with – it was all a little nerve-wracking.
But then on the following Monday morning, as she stepped out of her morning class into the crisp, dry air, Kristen found Hannibal’s Bentley idling at the bottom of the building’s steps and her handsome stepbrother waiting for her outside it with a bunch of flowers in his hand.
“Oh, my God,” Kristen trotted down the steps, clutching her book bag to her chest. “Hannibal! I hadn’t expected to see you!”
And she wrapped her arms around her stepbrother, and crushed her face into his deliciously broad, firm chest.
Hannibal rubbed her back, his touch purely platonic.
“I felt bad I hadn’t spoken to you,” the big, black fighter admitted, as she peeled herself off of him. He handed her the flowers. “I’ve just had a lot going on, y’know?”
Kristen snorted.
“I do know. I was looking at the attendance records.” She gazed up at her towering stepbrother. “Jules has been going to every class this week, and he’s not late on any assignments any more.”
Hannibal smiled wryly.
“Pops says I’m a bad influence, right?” He snorted. “Seems my way’s better than his.”
Kristen nodded in agreement, and then looked down and sniffed the bouquet of flowers he’d brought her.
“Thanks so much! These are…” She wanted to say ‘lovely’ but she didn’t quite think they warrented that compliment. “These are… very nice.”
Hannibal snorted.
“They’re lame,” he admitted. “I bought ‘em from Trader Joes.” Kristen narrowed her eyes, and saw he’d tried to peel off the label revealing the un-princely price of $4.99.
“I still love them,” she gave him a hug again. “Now, what are you doing here?”
Hannibal peeled her off of him, and walked around to the passenger door. He swung it open for her.
“I’m here to take you to lunch.”
Kristen’s eyes lit up. She was starving.
Grinning, she slid into the warm leather seat and let Hannibal slam shut the door after her with a comforting clump. Then he crossed to the other side, slid behind the wheel and the powerful engine rumbled into life.
A few moments later he was powering the big car uptown, and through the ornate stone gates of Keney Park.
“There’s nowhere to eat up here,” Kristen said, peering out of the window in confusion. She looked out across the green parkland, as Hannibal pulled the Bentley to a halt in one of the parking lots, and cut the engine.
“Who needs to go to a stuff restaurant,” Hannibal grinned, throwing up the door. A moment later, he was opening her door for her, and helping Kristen out. “I have a surprise for you.”
And he did. Out of the back of the car, he produced a wicker basket covered with a checkerboard cloth.
“A picnic?” Kristen’s eyes widened. “I haven’t had one of those in a while.”
Her cheeks hurt from grinning so hard, as she followed Hannibal out into the grass, and they found a spot to sit down overlooking one of the ponds.
Methodically, Hannibal laid out the contents of his basket – a French baguette, soft cheese, some carved turkey breast and a bottle of wine that Kristen recognized instantly (she was a poor college student, after all) as Trader Joe’s notorious “Two Buck Chuck.”
Hannibal shrugged, popping the cork on the cheap Shiraz and glugging the contents out into two wine glasses.
“I know it’s not fancy,” he admitted, “but I’ve got what you might call a ‘cash flow problem’ at the moment.” He passed Kristen a glass, and she looked into his warm, brown eyes as they chinked. “But I’m gonna get that sorted out this week, too.”
“Hannibal, it’s perfect,” Kristen smiled. “This is the sweetest thing anybody’s done for me in… Well, like, forever.”
Hannibal smiled back, and they sipped the wine looking into each other’s eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kristen
As far as picnics go, it was a short one. After all, there wasn’t exactly a lot of food to go around. But the two of them ate happily, and drank their wine, and enjoyed each other’s company in companionable silence.
Eventually, Hannibal checked the time on his G-Shock.
“I’ve got to go pick up Jules soon,” he sighed.
“Can you drop me back at school first?”
“Of course.”
Kristen sighed.
“Well, this has been nice.” She reached over and squeezed Hannibal’s big hand in hers. “Can we do it again soon?”
“You bet.”
And then her eyes flashed.
Glancing around mischievously, Kristen bit her bottom lip.
“So how much time do you really have?”
Hannibal cocked his head on one side.
“W-why do you ask?”
Kristen giggled, and then reached over to grab Hannibal’s hand, and drag him to his feet.
“C’mon,” she wrenched the big man after her, and dragged his lumbering weight towards the bushes nearby.
“B-but what about our stuff?” Hannibal threw a glance over his shoulder, at the picnic basket and half-finished bottle of wine they’d abandoned on the grass. “What about mmmugh!”
The mumble came as Kristen dragged her stepbrother into the bushes, and a stinging tree branch flipped back and slapped him in the face.
Blinking and stunned, Hannibal found himself in the undergrowth, hidden from view.
Kristen dropped to her knees, crouching in front of him.
“K-Krissie… What are you… oh, fuuuuck.”
His pretty ste
psister was unbuckling his pants, and wrenching them down around his thighs. A moment later, she was wrangling his half-hard cock from the confines of his boxer shorts.
“You surprised me,” she purred, looking up at him with mischievous blue eyes. She stroked the length of his thickening shaft. “It’s only fair I return the favor…”
And then Hannibal’s knees nearly gave way, as Kristen opened her mouth and enveloped the head of his huge, black cock.
“Oh, fuuuuck,” Hannibal groaned, as he felt the warm, wet, delicious sensation of her mouth on his shaft. “Oh, Jesus.”
“Mmmpgh,” Kristen mumbled happily, saliva drooling down her chin.
She sucked and slurped on Hannibal’s huge shaft for what seemed like forever – even reaching up to massage his heavy, egg-sized balls with her pale, slender fingers.
Soon, it all got too much for her stepbrother.
With a snarl, he grabbed a fistful of Kristen’s hair and pulled her mouth off his cock. His dick plopped from between her lips, splattering his face with saliva.
“Stand up,” Hannibal was pulling down his pants further. “Fucking stand up, and turn around.”
A little stunned, Kristen did exactly what she was told.
She stood up, and turned her back to him. As she did so, Hannibal grabbed the waistband of her sweatpants, and placed the palm of his other hand between her shoulder blades. As if she weighed nothing, he effortlessly bent her over.
“Fuck!” Kristen yelped, bracing herself against a tree as Hannibal folded her in half.
Bent at the waist, she could do nothing as Hannibal wrenched down her sweat pants and panties – exposing her bare ass. Then, kicking aside her legs, he positioned herself behind her, and she felt his back hands squeeze the flash of her upturned ass.
His thick, saliva-slick dick nuzzled between the cheeks of her ass.
“Oh, shit,” Kristen bit her bottom lip, feeling Hannibal adjust himself; nestling the head of his cock at the entrance to her pussy.
And then he thrust.
Kristen’s pussy was dripping at that point, and his cock was already slick with her saliva. He sunk inside her effortlessly; stretching and filling her inch after inexorable inch – until her fingernails dug into the tree’s back and she pushed her hips back to skewer herself further onto her stepbrother’s enormous cock.
“Oh, shit, Krissie,” Hannibal groaned, stroking her back as he sunk fully inside her. “You’re so fucking sexy.” And then he started to thrust – fucking her hard, and deep, and so mercilessly that she had to lift one hand to her mouth and bite her fist to stop from moaning.
They fucked like wild, rutting animals – this towering black man thrusting into the curvy, tanned white girl. It was undignified, and slutty, and totally inappropriate – and Kristen loved every second of it.
Within moment, she felt herself on the brink of orgasm. When Hannibal slithered his fingers into her long, blond hair and tightened his grip – bending her head back like she was on reins – Kristen squeezed shut her eyes and groaned wetly.
“Fuuuck,” her whole body shuddered as she came. “Oh, fuuuuuck.”
And then, as she shivered in the delicious aftershocks of ecstasy, Hannibal started focusing on nothing but his own pleasure.
He fucked her like a rutting bull, sinking so deep inside of Kristen that it was painfully delicious. She moaned, and gasped, and then shuddered with another orgasm as she felt his big dick swell, and throb, and finally spurt inside of her.
“Oh, fuuuck,” Hannibal groaned, as he emptied his balls into Kristen’s eager pussy. “Oh, God, yes…”
And then they were done.
For a moment they stood there, Kristen still bent over and Hannibal still buried in her right to the hilt.
Finally, as his cock started softening, she pulled away – mewling in disappointment as his thick, hard meat slithered out of her.
“Oh, shit!” Kristen giggled, slapping a hand between her legs as the departure of Hannibal’s softening cock was followed by a deluge of cum; running down her thighs in a hot, pearlescent river.
She’d be leaking all day, she realized; and actually felt kind of proud about it.
Hannibal pulled up his pants. He ran a hand over his closely shaven head, and watched as Kristen pulled her own sweat-pants up uncomfortably.
“I-I’m sorry,” he grinned. “I just had to have you.”
“Don’t you apologize for a thing,” Kristen giggled, standing up on tip toe to kiss him. “You brought me lunch. The least I could do was offer you dessert.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hannibal
“Yo, Baller!”
Mike Siro interrupted Hannibal as he was giving Jules a basic introduction to take downs.
“I got somebody here I want you to meet,” the old trainer shouted up to the boxing ring, as he crossed the room. “I’ll have Danny work with your brother for a while, okay?”
Danny, another young kid from the gym, pulled off his gloves and jumped into the boxing ring just as Hannibal clambered out of it – jumping barefoot to the creaking floorboards beneath.
“What have you got for me, Mike?” Baller yawned, looking over his shoulder and watching Danny throw his brother to the canvas. “More wannabes with big wallets and unrealistic expectations?”
“Shut up and follow me.”
It had been a week now since Hannibal and Jules had rolled back up to Fire & Iron, and Mike Siro had been as good as his word. He’d hooked Hannibal up with two middle-aged white guys as clients – who eagerly paid more than two hundred dollars for an hour’s tuition from a ‘real’ MMA fighter.
But as Mike led Hannibal into his office, the fighter could tell this was something different to the normal dog and pony show he had to perform.
Stepping into Mike’s dingy office, Hannibal was surprised to find two people waiting for him – a burly, blond man in a tight, tailored suit, standing next to a pale and beautiful young woman with long, chocolate-covered hair.
“Baller Alexander!” The blond man stepped up and offered his hand, in that slightly-too-aggressive manner of men anxious to have their ‘alpha’ status recognized. “Zis is a pleasure.”
As Hannibal wrapped his fingers around the blonde man’s hand, he instantly recognized him. After all, it would be difficult not to.
“Manfred Schumacher,” Hannibal nodded, shaking his hand with a grip just as vice-like as the other guy. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Manfred Schumacher was a veteran European MMA heavyweight – “Brickhaus” was his nickname, although most sportswriters knew him unofficially as ‘the other Schumacher’ – referring, of course, to the infinitely more famous Formula One driver.
“I heard you’d come back home,” Schumacher sneered in his thick German accent, something reptilian about his smirk. “Zat vas, as you Americans say, ‘a tough break’ in Vegas.”
“Yeah,” Hannibal grunted. He was humiliated that one of his respected peers had heard the sordid story.
“No matter,” Schumacher snorted. “You beat the Englander in the octagon the previous night. Zat’s the only victory that matters.”
“I guess,” Hannibal shrugged. He didn’t want to point out that the MMA committee had annulled the result, in addition to suspending him.
“Vell,” Schumacher clapped his hands. “Your misfortune is my viel glück. I vish to take advantage of your tutelage.”
“My what?” Hannibal asked.
“I want to train viz you,” Manfred explained. “You see, I have a fight myself in six weeks time – and you are uniquely qualified to prepare me for zis opponent.”
Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. He knew it was without the German even having to say anything.
“You’re fighting James MacDonald, aren’t you?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Hannibal
Smelling money, Mike Siro gave them a tour of the gym.
Manfred Schumacher didn’t seem very interested. He was more inte
rested in talking to Hannibal.
“Herr MacDonald and I go vay back,” Schumacher explained, as they walked through the racks of weights, and across the vinyl mats. “In fact, my lovely girlfriend here,” finally, he introduced the quiet, beautiful white girl with the gorgeous brown hair. “She vas once engaged to him.”
The girl’s hazel eyes flashed with anger as she heard that introduction – but she extended a slender, elegant hand and introduced herself:
”Her English accent was so crisp and posh, it could have cut cystal.
Schumacher slapped her on her pert little bottom.
“Meine kleine Foxy,” the German sneered, licking his lips as her eyes flashed angrily. “You could say she has made things rather… personal between us.”
Hannibal snorted, looking the beautiful girl up and down suspiciously. She was the classic English rose, with porcelain skin, big green eyes and a slender, pert little body. He wasn’t sure if she belonged on a fashion catwalk, or an episode of Downton Abbey.
“I’ll, as you Americans say, ‘cut to the chase,’” Schumacher sneered crookedly. “I vant you to prepare me for zee fight viz MacDonald. Teach me everything you learned – his strengths, his weaknesses… Anything I can exploit.”
Hannibal narrowed his eyes.
He hated James MacDonald. The Limey prick had humiliated him twofold – stealing his girl, and then defeating him in front of dozens of sleazy tabloid reporters.
To watch his rival beat him? That would go a long way towards salving Hannibal’s scalded ego.
But even as he pondered that, he felt a stab of guilt. It didn’t seem sportsmanslike – to team up behind another fighter’s back and plot his downfall.
There was that old expression: “There is honor amongst thieves.” Did that count for MMA fighters, too?
“If you’re having a clash of conscience,” Schumacher leaned in a little too close, and breathed mint-scented breath hotly into Hannibal’s face, “perhaps this will change your mind: I’ll pay you five thousand dollars for the privilege.”
Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 10