“More what?” I spread her moisture up and around her clit, rubbing my finger gently beside the swollen nub beneath the soaked lace. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need…you.” She looks back over her shoulder, bites her lip. “Was that enough? Do you need…more?”
I like how she blushes when she tells me what she needs. Her darkness touched with erotic innocence. “Yeah, darlin’, I do.”
“I can take it,” she says quickly.
“I know you can.”
And then I rip her panties away.
* * *
PENNY
Jack spins me around and positions me on top of the desk, leaning me back on my elbows, my burning ass on the cold, hard wood, heels on the edge. With rough hands, he spreads me wide, and I shiver, my sex damp and throbbing with anticipation.
His fingers trace a lazy path up the soft skin of my inner thighs, fingertips brushing over my mons, so light I catch my breath, silently willing him to give me more.
“I like that you’re bare.” He dips his head. Blows a warm breath over my clit, ripping a groan from my throat.
“I like it, too.” Although I had never thought about waxing down there until Amanda told me about the day she took Makayla to get waxed. She said Makayla cursed and screamed but later declared it was worth the pain. Once I heard that, I decided to try it for myself, although hiding my scars was a bit of a challenge. Still, the release I got from the pain kept me going for an extra few weeks, and it made me feel sexy on the outside when I was feeling ugly on the inside.
“Easily accessible.” Jack strokes a thick finger through my slit and pushes it fast and deep inside me.
“Ahh.” The press of his finger against my swollen tissue creates an erotic burn that sends tingles through my body. I struggle against the exquisite intrusion, and he slaps my thigh hard, adding fresh pain to the fire.
“Don’t move.”
My pussy clenches around his finger, and I rock my hips to move him deeper. He pulls out, tilting his head to look at me.
“Please, Jack.”
“You’re not ready.” He adds a second finger, watching me carefully as he pushes deep inside, sending waves of pleasure through me. I am so wet, so hot, so close to the edge I could come if he just picks up the pace. But I don’t want to. I want him inside me. I want a connection, not just a climax.
Jack pumps his fingers slowly in and out of me, alternating strokes with a brush of his thumb over my clit. My pussy throbs, swells, aches for more. I spread my legs wider, inviting. He hums his approval, but he keeps his steady rhythm. Thrusting. Striking. Rubbing. My body coils, tightens, and I lift my hips, uncaring whether I am asking for pain or pleasure.
“Now?”
“No.”
He withdraws, leaving me bereft. I pant for breath as he shoves down his jeans and boxers to his knees, freeing his cock from its restraint. Jack is a big man, and he has a cock to match. Thick, hard, and heavy, it bounces gently in my direction. I reach for him, and he slaps my hand away.
“You do that, I won’t last,” he says, his voice rough and raw. He sheaths himself with a condom from his pocket and shoves my skirt up over my hips. “Do you want this?”
“Yes.” I am so wet, so desperate to come that I will take anything he has to give me.
Jack swirls the head of his cock over my labia, dipping into my wetness. He brushes the swollen head over my clit, and my body shakes.
“Do you need to come?”
“God, yes.”
“Beg.”
“What?” I groan, poised on the edge of climax, my breasts swollen and aching, my pussy wet and throbbing, my brain fuzzed with lust.
“I want to hear you beg for my cock.”
“Please,” I whisper. “Give it to me.”
He slides his thick shaft all the way in, and I moan at the exquisite sensation. So hard. So thick. So deliciously hot. I rock my hips, angle myself for more.
He presses deeper, filling me, stretching me. I welcome the burn, swallow the erotic pain.
“You’re so slick, so tight,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna fuck you hard, and I’m going to hold your ass when I do because it’s going to hurt and I want to hear you scream for me. Bury your head in my shoulder so no one hears you. Use your safe word if you need to.”
Just the thought of pain so intense I might need my safe word sends a tremor up my spine, but he doesn’t give me a chance to think. His hands slide under my ass, and he lifts me against him as his fingers dig into my burning skin.
My eyes water from the pain, and I gasp, wrap my legs around him, throw myself forward, and bury my face in his shoulder. He smells of sweat and cologne and sex and sin. He smells of Jack, and I missed him.
“Yes.” He lifts me and slams me down over his cock until he is sheathed completely inside me. I moan, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and hang on for the ride.
“Good girl.” He pulls out and hammers into me, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. His hips piston back and forth. My nipples pebble beneath my bra. Sweat beads on my brow. Pain and pleasure blend into pure sensation.
Jack slides his hand between us, his fingers circling my clit. My muscles tense, and a violent climax rips through me, tearing a scream from my throat as my pussy clenches around his thick cock. He hammers into me, drawing out my orgasm, and then his arms tighten around me and he groans as he comes in hard, long, heated jerks.
He holds me against him until our breaths slow and our hearts stop pounding. Jack lowers me to sit on the edge of the desk and runs his hand up and down my back, through my hair, the whisper of a caress over my ass. Dazed, I look up at him, and he kisses me softly.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” he murmurs.
I relax against him, floating in a sea of calm. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me, and I didn’t know you could make me feel…like this.”
“Next time, call or text or just show up at my door or Redemption. I’ll give you my address. Promise me. Promise me and mean it.”
“I promise.” I rest my head against his chest.
“I want you to do something else for me.” He helps me down, and I lower my skirt and lean against my desk, watching as he disposes of the condom. He is still erect, still hard, and still glorious in his masculinity.
“What?”
“I want you to see a therapist.”
My blood chills, and I push away, letting my hair fall over my face to hide my burning cheeks. For a moment I felt normal. I should have known it wouldn’t last.
“Pen. Look at me.” His voice drops to that deep, commanding tone that makes me melt inside.
“Been there,” I say. “Done that. Dissected my entire childhood. I am who I am. I’m not going to change.” I grab my ruined knickers from the floor and ball them in my fist. “I’ve accepted this about me. I don’t think you can say the same about you.”
He flinches and I know I’ve hit the mark. “We’re not talking about me. And maybe you didn’t see the right person.” He pulls up his clothes and buttons his fly, then threads his belt back around his waist.
“I’m not going to let you make me feel like I need help,” I snap. “I’m not suicidal. I’m not going to hurt anyone. This is my form of release like going to the club is yours. Are we really that different, Jack? We both need pain—you need to give it; I need to take it.”
The front bell tinkles. Shoes thud across the wooden floor. Only someone with a key could be out in reception, and I have a sick feeling I know who it is. I brush past Jack and unlock the door. “I’ll see you at Redemption.”
If I thought he would let me so easily dismiss him, I am sorely mistaken. Something has changed between us, and I’m not sure what. He walks past me and reaches for the door. Then he turns, his expression soft and a touch wounded. “I’ll come by later tonight, and we can ta
lk. I’ve got to meet some sponsors over dinner.”
“I’ve got plans tonight. I’m meeting Cora, Blade Saw, and…Doctor Death after Fuzzy’s class.”
His face tightens. “Don’t even think about it.”
“He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with me.” I flinch at the unmistakable warning in my tone, but now I’m hurting inside, and I want him to hurt, too.
“Damn it, Pen—”
“Penny?” Ray’s voice echoes through the door. I reach around Jack and pull it open, abruptly ending our conversation.
Ray startles when he sees Jack in the doorway. “What are you…?”
“Ray.” Jack gives him a nod, and Ray watches him walk out the door.
Ray’s gaze flicks to me, and he lifts a questioning eyebrow. I thought there was only one way to put a man like Ray off an impending interrogation. But now I know another.
“We fucked on my desk,” I say.
And I close my door.
15
I promise I won’t attack you
PENNY
When I get to Redemption, I’m in a bad mood. I opened myself up to a man I thought understood me, only to discover he doesn’t understand me at all. I’m broken, damaged, and unfixable. And no amount of therapy is going to change that.
Worthless. No good…
With the monsters clawing inside me, I need to do something to relieve the pressure, and I need to do it fast, or, promise or no promise, I won’t be able to stop myself from cutting tonight. I briefly consider calling Jack and asking him for another round of mind-blowing, ass-bruising sex. But all that would do is reinforce in his mind just how broken I really am.
I change into my workout clothes, wincing at every touch of my tender skin, and walk through the gym to the fitness area where Fuzzy holds Punch or Perish. The warehouse hums with the buzz of cardio equipment, the rattle of speed bags, and the grunts and groans of fighters grappling on the mats and straining with the free weights. On a mission, I stand front and center of the group. I missed class yesterday and nothing pisses Fuzzy off more than people who miss class, except people who miss class and then show up without an excuse and don’t even make an effort to hide.
“What are you doing?” Cora whispers, coming up behind me. “He’s going to eat you alive.”
“I feel like being tortured today,” I tell her. “It’ll make for an easy class for the rest of you.”
Fuzzy’s eyes narrow when he sees me, and he walks right up to me and leans into my face. “Thanks for joining us.”
“You’re welcome.” My words drip sarcasm. But I want him angry. I want him to punish me. I want to feel pain.
“Were you sick or injured?” He runs a hand over his dark hair, closely shaved and bristly. Broad, thick, and heavily muscled, with rigid standards and high expectations of everyone around him, Fuzzy is the cop no criminal wants to meet and the instructor no one wants to piss off. Except me.
“Neither. I just didn’t feel like coming.”
The class draws in a collective breath and Fuzzy’s jaw tightens. “So you let down the team.”
“It’s a class. Not a team.”
Behind me, Cora gasps. I look over my shoulder and give the class an apologetic shrug. We are sort of a team, having bonded over Fuzzy’s verbal abuse and his penchant for working us until we throw up.
“Fifty push-ups on your knuckles for disrespecting your instructor.” He points to the mat. “Then you catch up with the rest of the class.”
“Seriously? Don’t you think the knuckle push-up thing is getting old?”
Cora moans quietly behind me. Fuzzy tips his head to the side and strokes his chin.
“You’re right. It is getting old. And since I was planning to get everyone into the ring today for a few practice rounds, how about we start with you? But instead of partnering with one of your non-teammates, you can partner with Shilla the Killa.”
“No!” Cora shrieks. “She’ll be killed.”
“She’ll suffer,” Fuzz says. “But she won’t die.”
Ten minutes later I climb into the practice ring. Shilla nods her head. All my classmates are gathered around, and a few fighters drift over to see what’s going on.
“If you stay in the ring for the full three minutes, you’re off the hook,” Fuzzy says. “Shilla’s going to give you a one-minute handicap, so that’s two minutes you have to stay on your feet. Try to remember the techniques we’ve practiced in class, your positioning, and footwork. If you tap out or if she knocks you out, then you’re my bitch forever.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I pump my arms like Shilla, although I have no idea why she’s doing that crazy move. Cora leans in and grabs my arm.
“You don’t have to do this. He can’t force you to fight or do push-ups on your knuckles. It’s not the army. Tell him where to go, and we’ll ditch him and go for a drink while we wait for the guys.”
“I want to fight.”
Shilla jumps up and down on her toes, and I follow suit, except she has very little in the way of breasts, and I’m in serious danger of knocking myself out before we even get started.
“You don’t know how to fight like this,” Cora wails.
“Despite being a mean SOB, Fuzzy is a good teacher,” I assure her. “I’ve picked up a lot in his classes. And don’t forget, I’m a white belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu.”
Fuzzy crosses the ring to talk to Shilla, and I clench and unclench my fists like I’ve seen some fighters do. We have attracted a considerable crowd, but the one person I do want to see isn’t among them.
“Climb the ropes.” Homicide Hank, a lean, wiry, red-haired fighter, leans against the ropes beside me. When Redemption was an underground fight club, he made a name for himself by climbing the ropes, screaming, and throwing himself on his opponents. Now that Redemption is licensed and regulated with a couple of pros in the gym, he has had to exercise more restraint in the ring and limit himself to unsanctioned fights. But since this is just for Fuzzy and I have no hope in hell of making it out alive, I give his suggestion serious consideration before finally turning it down.
“It wouldn’t give me much of an advantage,” I say. “But your screaming trick might work.”
“Bring it from the diaphragm.” He sucks in a sharp breath, ready to scream, and I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to ruin the element of surprise.”
Fuzzy blows his whistle to start the fight, and I take a page from Homicide’s book and run, screaming, directly at Shilla.
Bam. She sweeps my leg out from under me, and I go down hard.
Dazed but undefeated, I draw in a deep breath of disinfectant-scented mat and then jump up, ready for more.
Bam. I’m down again, having missed her standing beside me with her irritating sweeping foot at the ready. I glance over at the clock. Twenty seconds have passed. Only one hundred seconds to go.
Fuzzy calls a time-out and ushers Shilla to the corner, giving me a moment to breathe. Obviously, a direct assault is not the way to go. What can I do that she won’t expect?
I drop into the fight stance Fuzzy taught us. She’s known as a striker, so if I can get her on the ground, I can use the jiu-jitsu moves I practiced with Jack. All I have to do is sweep her leg before she sweeps mine. Shilla moves toward me. I sweep.
Bam. She catches me with a right hook because I forgot to protect my face. Now that’s the kind of pain I was looking for. Haze-inducing, gut-wrenching, knock-the-breath-out-of-me pain. I lie on the mat to catch my breath. Now, only seventy-five seconds to go.
Cora calls another time-out and helps me to my corner. Shilla hasn’t even broken a sweat. She lounges on the other side of the practice ring, talking to Homicide Hank, who seems displeased that she’s beating me up in the ring.
“You’re not going to make it.” Cora holds an ice pack to my cheek and hands me
a bottle of water. “This is utterly ridiculous. I sent one of the guys from the class to tell Torment. He’ll put a stop to it.”
“I can take more,” I tell her. “She pulled that punch. And I would rather be pulverized by Shilla than become Fuzzy’s lifetime bitch.”
Fuzzy blows his whistle to start the fight again. Shilla disarms me with a smile.
“I’m impressed you lasted this long,” she says, circling like a predator around wounded prey. “You’re tougher than you look in your frills and pastels and kitten heels.”
“It’s a disguise,” I say honestly. “Pretty on the outside to hide the ugly on the inside.”
She cocks her head to the side, considering. “We all have a bit of ugly inside.”
“Not as much as me.” I take advantage of her distraction by lunging forward. I try to sweep her front leg again, but she is ready for my amateur attempt and rushes me, her shoulder in my stomach as she takes me to the ground. I go down hard, and my tender ass protests the violent thud before my head snaps back and hits the mat.
“Jesus fucking Christ. What the fucking hell is going on?”
From my comfy position on the mat, I see Jack climb through the ropes. Fuzzy steps in front of him and warns him not to interfere with the fight. Jack grabs him by the collar and shakes him like he’s a rag doll and not a two-hundred-pound police officer and top MMA coach.
“Get out, Rampage,” Shilla says, standing in front of me. “I’m just playing with her. Fuzzy wanted me to scare her a bit.”
His head snaps in her direction, and he pushes Fuzzy aside. Shilla and Jack are very close friends, so I am shocked when he reaches for her, clearly intending to have her join Fuzzy on the mat.
But wait. Torment is in the ring, and although Shilla is a top-ranked female fighter, Torment is…well…Torment. He is the man, the boss, the king. Once an amateur underground heavyweight champ, Torment turned down offers to go pro but still trains every day. He runs Redemption with a tight fist, and he has a very low tolerance for anyone who breaks the rules.
“Stand down,” he orders.
Fighting Attraction Page 15