by Amy Faye
His nose poured out blood down his mouth and down his face, sending the signal to everyone who cared to see that he'd taken a hit that meant something.
The blow in Wes's side ached already, an unpleasant sign of things to come. Still, he had to have come out at least equal from that encounter. The Japanese, however, didn't show any particular damage from the attack, taking his stance again.
If it wasn't for the blood coming from his nose, Wes wouldn't have known that he'd been hit the entire fight, where Wes could already feel his breathing coming harder. How was he supposed to win this fight, anyways?
The Japanese waited for him once again. An impassible wall that Wes had no way to defeat other than to figure out what was letting this guy kick his ass so completely. He took a deep breath, feeling the sharp, stabbing pain that came with the deepest part of that breath, and forced himself to slow down.
He had to win this fight, but if the crowd didn't like it… well, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to be coming back here again. It didn't matter that the crowd didn't love the fight, as long as he got paid and kept his feet under him.
Thirty-Nine
Minami
Minami watched the fight with her hands half in front of her eyes, and when Wes took the hard wallop in the side, she knew that she had made a mistake coming to the fight at all. He'd be alright if she just waited at his apartment.
He was a fighter. This was normal for him, the same thing he did every day practically. But watching fights, really watching them, that wasn't her thing. Especially when the other guy was obviously a talented karateka.
She took in a deep breath and forced her hands into her lap, stood up, and shouted out. "Wes! Kick his ass!"
He must have heard her voice, because he turned just for an instant. She repeated the shout again. This time he didn't turn, but she could see the way that he reshaped his shoulders, forced himself back into good posture. He knew she was there, and that was all she'd hoped to accomplish by shouting out for him.
He went back to circling, his legs less spritely than they had been. If he was going to win this, he'd have to figure something out.
The karateka stepped in closer as well, daring Wes to attack. When he didn't, the Japanese formed up and waited for the attack that was sure to come in time.
Wes went in with a low kick, which the karateka took on the thigh seemingly without noticing. The two continued their circling, watching each other, neither giving nor asking any quarter.
Wes ducked his head, then and when he brought it back up he brought a heavy fist up with it. The Japanese weaved his head back and then suddenly spun and a high kick arced seemingly out of nowhere, clipping Wes hard on the ear. Minami shouted out her disapproval, a feeling under her skin making her feel as if she'd taken the blow herself.
"Watch out!"
The fight continued that way. Wes went in, tried to attack, and missed. The Karateka hit another hard blow, but not hard enough to knock Wes to the concrete.
Wes swallowed down breaths hard, one of his eyes starting to swell shut from where the kick had been reinforced with a back-fist to the eye.
"What are you doing! Kill him!"
The shout coming from the crowd came loud and hot, and Minami found herself shouting along with them, words of encouragement and pleading, begging Wes to find something inside himself to win the fight that had gone so badly against him so far.
Minami watched in slow motion as the next attack coming from Wes sailed wide as the Japanese moved back at the last instant, another high, arcing kick catching Wes right in the face. Wes crumpled to his knees, like someone had cut the marionette's strings, and for a moment she thought the fight was over.
The Japanese took a long, loping step and started to throw a wide, spinning kick that would ensure the ending, the first aggressive thing he'd done the entire fight. Wes slumped lower, sending the kick sailing high. The fight was over—
Or, wait. At the last instant, Wes's arms wrapped around the pivot foot, and then he rolled himself over, sending the Japanese to the ground. Wes pulled himself back up to his feet, still clutching at that ankle and twisting.
The Japanese kicked up his other foot, caught Wes with a hard heel to Wes's sternum, but he didn't let go. In fact, he wrenched hard, as if he was trying to snap the foot off, and the Japanese groaned out his pain and turned over to try to alleviate the pain.
Wes let out a roar and brought a foot down heavy on the Japanese fighter's hip, adding insult to injury, and started wrenching harder. When he finally let go, the Japanese took a second to try to recover himself, and in that moment Wes moved over and took a firm two-handed grip on the Japanese fighter's hand, pulled up, and sat down.
The sick cracking sound went through the crowd, deep down into Minami's bones. The screams of pain that followed weren't nearly so biting, nearly so deep inside her, didn't effect her nearly so much as that sound of the man's elbow shattering.
His shouts of 'give, give' barely made a dent in her. Minami let out a long, unsteady breath, the violence before her an alarming display that she couldn't begin to understand or cope with. Minami pushed herself up from the folding chair and started to move toward the edge of the crowd. Wes could find her out in the parking lot, because she couldn't stay here, not one second longer.
Minami gulped down air, trying to find the strength to stay standing, the sight of the smaller man's arm snapping, the way that the awful crack went through the crowd…
Wes found her a while later, sitting on the floor and trying not to think about anything.
"Are you okay?"
She looked up at him, saw the way that even after several minutes he was breathing hard, the way that his arms hung limply at his sides—nothing like the way that he'd looked before.
"You need to get to a hospital, Wes."
"This?" He gestured with his eyes down at his broken and bruised body. "Nah. I'll be fine."
"I'm serious—you look bad."
"Not as bad as the other guy, though."
Minami's eyes shot closed and she tried desperately not to think about it. "No, not as bad as him."
Wes reached down to help her up, but Minami thought that he looked like if she blew on him too hard, he might fall over. She took his hand but didn't use it to support her on the way up.
Minami guided him into the passenger seat of his car, took his keys and started driving him back to his apartment. They drove in silence a while, until finally Wes broke the silence.
"What about your father?"
"I told him."
"Good for you." He laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "He's not coming after me again, is he?"
"No."
Wes smiled. "Good to know. I was serious, you know—about what I said. I want to marry you. I don't have a ring, yet, but…"
"I know you were serious, Wes. And when you're ready to ask me to marry you, I will."
She didn't have to look over to see the smile across his face, but when she did, it still felt good.
"So you're out of the old man's house, huh?" Minami nodded without taking her eyes off the road. "Then you should know—I have trouble. My sister, back in New York. She's…"
Minami nodded, reaching across the divider in the car and taking Wes's hand.
New York, huh? She could do with a change of location. And if Wes was willing to go back, it would at least be nice to meet his family—just once.
Hopefully it wouldn't be so bad as his meeting with hers had gone. She squeezed his hand again before putting both hands back on the wheel.
"When do we leave?"
Rogue Lover
Contemporary Romantic Suspense
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
"Shut up and kiss me."
His dancing fingers found their way to her core, his palm pressing against her mons as his fingers spread her folds and teased the hard, pleasurable nub at the top. A spasm shot through her, shooting her eyes open wide for an instant before she let them slip closed again.
He started to probe her depths, finding them already slick with arousal, and then curled his fingers, stirring up pleasure that Erin hadn't felt in any of the exploration she'd done of her own body before.
She tried to catch her breath, tried to regain her composure. Roy added another finger and kept stroking that spot inside her, her body tightening, her back betraying her and offering her breasts to him in spite of her embarrassment.
He let her head down just slowly enough to avoid banging into the mirror behind her, and then yanked her sweater up.
"God, you have great tits," he growled, his voice ragged with arousal.
"No I don't." She could barely get the words out, as his fingers continued to take her breath away from her.
"Shut up," he commanded, and she couldn't argue with him any more. He pulled the orgasm forcibly out of her and left her pooled up on the counter for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and carrying her out of the bathroom and dropping her ass-first onto the bed.
"You're sure about this?"
Erin answered by pulling her legs apart a little more for him. He took one ankle in his hands and lifted it over his shoulder, then lined himself up against her waiting lips and slid inside.
God, she hadn't—this was—she couldn't find words to describe any more. She could feel his cock jerk with every deep thrust inside, could feel him hitting her perfectly, deep enough that it almost hurt. His cock stretched her just to the point of pain, the spiral of feelings and emotions driving Erin absolutely crazy.
Reason tumbled off a cliff, and the delicious feeling of oblivion right around the corner, about to overtake her, forced her hips to push back against him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the hotel to harmonize with a voice of pleasure that sounded remarkably like her own.
Roy pulled hard on her nipples and hit her again right where she needed it, and then her entire body tensed up as an orgasm ripped through her. She could feel his rhythm getting erratic, as well, as he got close. She could feel him much more closely, now, as her body tried to learn every nook and cranny of his cock in the time it took for her orgasm to subside.
When he finally slid into her, jabbing against something deep inside her, one last time and started to cum, she felt another shock of pleasure run through her, prolonging the orgasm another precious few seconds as he twitched with each potent, ropy shot of cum.
He looked at her for a long moment before leaning down and kissing her.
"Is it always like that?"
Roy smiled at her. "More or less."
"Can you fit in my suitcase, then? I need to take you home with me."
He moved his still semi-hard cock inside her and stoked the fire inside her that she'd thought had died down after her orgasm.
"No, not quite. But I've still got plenty of time left in the day."
One
Erin Russo had already put her badge on its usual place right on her belt, and didn't realize that it shouldn't have been there until she was already out the door. It was odd, not being on-duty. She had forced herself not to even bring it with her, and then somehow it had ended up in her luggage anyway. Her work suit—that is to say, her only suit—was there, too, and she had laid everything out the way she always did at home.
Only, she wasn't at home, and she wasn't going to work. Which should have made it uncomfortable and unusual to go around getting ready for work, but somehow she had barely realized that she was doing it.
When she had finally been told, point blank, that she needed a vacation, she thought it would be a relief. She'd finally have time to pick skiing back up again. She hadn't been on a mountain since she was fifteen years old, and now here she was, with a great view of the Tetons. Erin stripped off the suit, already regretting bringing it.
Those weren't the kinds of clothes that you needed on a skiing trip. But the ever-present 'what if' was always there. What if she needed to impress someone? What if she needed to look serious? What if she had to have a suit for something?
She hung it back up on the rack, promising herself that this time she wouldn't go straight for it the next morning. Then she changed into tight-fitting winter clothes that didn't flatter her breasts nearly as much as she might have liked. Then again, she thought, there wasn't nearly enough of them to be flattered, looking down at them sadly. Barely enough to fill her small hands.
She moved on from beating herself up over it and forced herself to keep on going. She slipped her wallet into her pocket on the way out and grabbed the keys to the rental car. She didn't need a new car, but it was impressing her enough that if she did, she might buy one. Reasonable, solid gas mileage, comfortable—it was a nice experience. Almost nothing like the heap she drove to work every morning, but it couldn't have the history she had with that old Jeep.
Her first stop was by the ski rentals. A man who looked like he thought he was God's gift to women smiled at her with a grin that reminded her of David Hasselhoff and asked if she needed any instruction. For such a pretty lady, he could always justify a discount, no problem.
She didn't have the heart to tell him no, so instead she told him hell no, and if he gave her a line like that again, he'd be taking a ride down the mountain on a stretcher. He laughed like she'd been joking, and maybe she had been. Somehow she suddenly wanted the suit back, and the badge that went along with it, just so she could prove that she was off-limits as long as she wanted to be.
Erin carried a pair of skis over to the counter, where David Hasselhoff still leaned back, giving her a smile that you could run a deep-frier with, and paid for her skis and poles. The man took her ID and, to Erin's great frustration, read her name out loud. How terribly predictable.
She took her card back once they'd run the credit through and seen that she wasn't likely to run off with their equipment, and huffed out of the room. She'd been expecting something like this pretty much since she started working at the station. It had made it easier not to go on vacation, when she realized that every vacation would be full of assholes trying their best to ruin her time.
She stepped into line behind a couple of teenagers who looked like they had all the money in the world and had decided to come to Wyoming as a change of pace from Switzerland. They were talking about the usual sort of nothing that she had come to expect from rich teenagers.
Erin closed her eyes a minute to try to calm herself down. She was being a bitch and she knew it. That generally meant, and this was the challenge, that she had to stop. But it was just so tempting, and there wouldn't be many other chances to confirm that she'd been absolutely right to forgo vacation time for seven years running.
But according to the Captain, while that was all fine and good for most of them, she was getting wound up way too tight, and she needed a break. Specifically her, as if she was doing something wrong getting the highest close-rate in the county.
Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a complaint. They gave her full pay for a week's vacation, and she intended to use it either getting back into her childhood hobby, or proving that there was no reason to take vacations. Either seemed about as good as the other, because even if she didn't have a good time, she was going to have a good time giving the Captain shit about it afterward, and that would more than make up for the week of dealing with assholes.
Besides, out there in the cold, she always had the option of popping in her ear-buds, and then she wouldn't hear a god damn thing. She took one step closer to the front o
f the line, not far now. Half of the teenagers had left and the others had continued the conversation as if they hadn't noticed their friends' absence.
Erin finally decided to stop subjecting herself to the frustration and nestled one of the earphones into her ear, enjoying the tight fill inside. Then she pulled out her phone and started the music. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. So she'd made a playlist full of songs that she'd loved as a teenager, and she was going to make a very strange weekend of reliving her life before the move out to the coast.
She kept the music quiet enough that she could almost hear over it, and kept her other ear open. As if any moment she might suddenly need to hear something. A voice behind her was accompanied by a tap on the shoulder.
"You new in town?"
She craned her neck over, not wanting to get her skis turned around. "Just visiting," she said.
The man behind her was hard to see through all the clothing, but his voice was at least friendly enough. She gave him a chance to say something more.
"Yeah—I guess we all are, aren't we? Or, most of us, anyway. I just—well, I was behind you in the ski rental, and I'm sorry how those guys treated you."
"Yeah, well." Erin could hear how bitchy her voice sounded, but with Britney Spears pumping quietly in her ears she was starting to feel better, so she really hadn't planned on being any ruder than normal. "Sometimes you have to deal with it."
"Well, maybe someone should give them a talking-to."
Erin liked the sound of that. Maybe they would like talking to her. She was good at talking, when she wanted to be. She was especially good at talking when there was something on the line. And she was an exceptional talker when the guy was across a metal table, handcuffed down and she could smell the scumbag on him.
Well, the handcuffs would be difficult, but the rest—they sounded perfect for it, frankly. The man behind her pulled his scarf down and his hat off, then held out his hand.