by A. S. Teague
I stand behind her, appreciating the view directly down her shirt. It suddenly dawns on me that any of the guys in the gym can have the same view while she’s working if they just walk behind her. I make a mental note to have Tripp write a new dress code policy. Then I grasp her shoulders and squeeze.
Her head falls back, and she looks up at me. “I love you, Ryker, but Jesus, I’m ready to go home. How much longer?”
“Not too much longer, doll. Just gotta hit the treadmill once more.”
She grumbles. “How did my Friday nights turn into this?”
Bending at the waist, I pull her earlobe between my teeth. She moans, and I take the sound as permission to keep going.
I slide my hands around the front of her neck, flatten them on her chest, and slowly slide them into her shirt to cup her breasts. Her nipples harden when my fingers graze them, and my cock begins to thicken.
“Mmmm… Ryker, let’s go home. Hurry up and finish your workout,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut as I caress her breasts.
“I just need to do some cardio. Which I could easily do. With you. On your desk.”
Her eyes fly open, and a devilish twinkle appears. “Now that you mention it, I could stand to do some cardio, too.”
I capture her lips with my own, taking my time as our tongues glide together. After pulling one hand from her shirt, I run it down her side until I reach her thigh and then pull her skirt the rest of the way up, exposing her sexy-as-fuck pink lace panties.
I cup her between her legs and rub my thumb along the soft swell of her clit. She moans into my mouth and fists the back of my head, anchoring my mouth to hers. When her hips begin to grind against my hand, I increase the pressure.
Rebecca continues to ride my hand. Her breathing becomes ragged. Her body begins to quake, and I withdraw my hand.
“Nooooo!” she cries out as I spin the chair so that she’s facing me.
I quickly pull my shorts down, my arousal bobbing in her face. I grab her under the arms and then lift her up and out of the chair. She wraps her legs around my waist.
“Condom,” I growl.
“I’m on the pill, Ryker. Fuck the condom.”
I don’t need her to tell me twice. Turning, I fall into her seat. She straddles my lap, and with one swift motion, my cock is sheathed in her slick warmth.
“You feel incredible,” I groan. I hold her hips still, savoring the feel of her pussy around my cock without a condom for the first time.
I flex my fingers once, then loosen my grip, and she begins rocking back and forth. I pull the neck of her shirt down and, curling my fingers into the cup of her bra, expose her breast. Her rosy nipple is peaked, and I bring my lips to it, kissing her breast before sucking her nipple into my mouth. She throws her head back, crying my name out.
“I’m close,” she pants.
I release her nipple and murmur, “Let go, doll.”
It takes just two more thrusts for her to find her release.
Moments later, I find mine, more intense than ever before, as her name tumbles from my lips.
Her body sags, and she rests her head on my shoulder.
I brush her hair off her neck and kiss the hollow space where her shoulder meets her neck.
“Mmmm…” she murmurs.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Workout done. Let’s go home, baby.”
***
A week later, I’m working on submissions when Tripp calls me into his office. After jumping out of the cage, I hustle over to the doorway he’s standing in.
“Yo, man. What’s up?” I ask.
He’s grinning. “You’re looking good in there, Hawke.”
I shrug. My body’s not nearly what it was when I fought last. The knee injury that sidelined me before my suspension still gives me trouble, and I find myself having to push through the pain.
My diet has gone to shit, too. When you’re broke, you eat what you can afford, and unfortunately, most of the time, that’s processed crap that isn’t much better for your body than not eating at all.
Rebecca has insisted on grocery shopping for me weekly since I started training. I can’t afford to eat the way that’s necessary to get back into shape, but it still stings to let her pay for anything. We had a fight that had rivaled a cage match, and much to my dismay, she won handily.
She insisted that I can pay her back once I win my first purse, but even that wasn’t enough to convince me to agree. But then she played dirty, which she is becoming famous for, and threatened to cut me off in the bedroom. That is enough to make me agree to damn near anything. I promptly bent her over the bed and fucked the smug smile of victory from her face.
I shake my head. “I’m lookin’ okay. I’ve still got a lot to work on. I need to focus on my stand-up some. My nickname’s ‘The Stryker’ and right now, I couldn’t knock out a fly.”
Tripp chuckles. “I’ll make some calls, see if I can get you into a boxing gym for a few days.”
“I know a place!” a voice chirps behind me.
I turn and see Rebecca strutting over in a pencil skirt and stiletto heels, her long, blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. Her white shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and if she wore glasses, she’d be every guys’ hot-librarian fantasy.
Enjoying the view, I remind myself that I’m a lucky SOB to have her warming my bed at night. When she finally reaches us, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her to me, breathing deep through my nose and getting a lungful of her.
She squirms under my grasp. “Ew, Ryker. Let go. You’re all sweaty.” She slaps at my arm, and I release her.
Smirking, I tell her, “That’s not what you said last night.”
She rolls her eyes. “I also wasn’t at work, you ass.”
Tripp chimes in with, “Y’all are making me sick.”
Rebecca peers around me and tells him, “Don’t be a jerk just because the Ice Queen called it off. Again.”
He crosses his arms. “I broke up with her, fuck you very much.”
Rebecca waves the clipboard she’s holding at him. “Whatever.” She looks back at me. “I know a gym! It’s an amazing boxing gym in Indianapolis. Run by former Champion Slate Andrews.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard of the place.” Tripp nods. “I’ll give them a call, see if they can get Ryk in.”
“No need.” Rebecca smiles, “I’ve already called. They said any time.” She looks down at her clipboard and flips through the pages. “I booked a flight and hotel for you…uh…for next week.”
Taking Rebecca by the arm, I pull her over to the side, out of earshot of her brother. “You weren’t gonna run any of this by me?” I growl.
She wrinkles her brow. “I just did.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut and tell her, “No, you didn’t. You just told me what I was gonna do. You didn’t ask if I wanted to.” I open my eyes and look at her. “What if I have shit planned for that day? What if I don’t want to go to fucking Indiana in the middle of winter? What if I think this is all a terrible fucking idea?”
She slides the clipboard to one arm and, with her free hand, grabs my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. Dropping her voice, she tells me, “You don’t have plans for that day. Did you forget I make your schedule? Yes, Indianapolis in winter probably sucks, but you’ll survive. Pack a jacket. And this is all a fucking fantastic idea. After all, it was my idea.” She winks, and then drops my hand.
I want to tell her to stop trying to run my life, but I don’t even get a valid argument formed before Tripp calls out, “If you two are done having your pow-wow, there’s something important I need to tell Ryker.”
“We’ll finish talking about this later,” I tell her.
She nods. “Yeah. Later.”
I get the feeling that the only thing we’ll be discussing later is how I’m getting to the airport, but I decide to drop it.
Tripp’s sporting a goofy grin as we file into his office. He sits behind
his desk and steeples his fingers in front of him. I settle into one of the chairs across from him and notice that the leg of the other chair is bent. Rebecca perches on the edge, and it wobbles.
Hooking a thumb at it, I ask, “What happened to your chair, man?”
He grimaces. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?”
Rebecca rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything, so Tripp speaks again.
“Just got off the phone with Max Avery.”
My heart begins to hammer at the mention of the biggest agent in mixed martial arts.
“Seems that Prescott’s gotten wind of your upcoming return.” His face splits into a wide smile. “And let’s just say Avery and Prescott are chomping at the bit to get something scheduled with Ryker Hawke.”
Worried that my heart may explode from the exertion, I force myself to calm down. Silently, I tell myself to breathe in and out. I begin counting, a technique Gram taught me when I was a kid and would get upset about being picked on.
“This is great news!” Rebecca nearly shrieks. “Tripp, tell me everything. I want exact words!”
Still focusing on my breathing, I stop counting to listen to Tripp relay the conversation.
“Apparently, someone”––he cuts his gaze to his sister—“sent an anonymous e-mail to Dax, informing him that Ryker was training again and gearing up to make a comeback.”
I don’t have to ask if it was Rebecca. She’s beaming with pride. While she beams, my stomach somersaults, and I have to fight a wave of nausea back.
“Anyway, Dax forwarded the e-mail to Avery and told him to find out if it was true.” He looks over at me. “Says that he refuses to take another fight unless it’s a fucking championship bout against you.”
The nausea intensifies, and I have to swallow the bile in the back of my throat. I’ve been working my ass off, and I’m nearly ready to step into the cage again. In fact, I am hungry for it. But I assumed that my first fight back would be against a cupcake opponent, not the current champion of the light heavyweight division.
Rebecca squeals and claps her hands together. “Oh my God, this is amazing!” She turns in her chair and asks, “Isn’t this fantastic news, Ryker?”
Absentmindedly, I nod.
Tripp continues. “Seems like our anonymous e-mailer also sent video of Ryker training. Avery says Prescott is very impressed.”
His words snap me out of my haze. Pinning Rebecca with a stare, I growl, “You fucking e-mailed footage of me training? Have you lost your mind?”
My mind whirls as I try to imagine why she would have thought it was a good idea to ever send video of me training, especially in secrecy.
She scoffs. “Uhm, excuse me. But who said that it was me who sent the e-mail in the first fucking place?”
“Oh, come on, Rebecca. Despite the fact that I’ve agreed to any of this, I’m not stupid. Who else would have sent it?”
A deep voice rumbles behind us. “I did.”
Rebecca and I turn in unison toward Tripp’s door and see Breccan standing there. I have no idea when he came in or how much he heard, but I’m shocked at his admission.
Rebecca jumps to her feet and rushes over to him. Then she throws her arms around his shoulders, lightly pecking him on the cheek. “You’re an evil genius, Brec, ya know that? Gah, I wish I’d thought of it first!” she gushes.
My blood begins to boil, and I push to my feet, the chair groaning beneath me. “What the fuck, man?”
Breccan returns Rebecca’s hug and then takes a step farther into the office. We’re standing a few feet apart, both tensed, and Rebecca stands between us, her head swinging back and forth.
“You beat me at the charity exhibition back in September,” he says.
“Yeah, so?” I snap.
“No, Ryker. You beat me,” he admits.
When I catch his meaning, my eyes widen.
“Exactly,” he grumbles. “I didn’t take it easy on you. You just out-and-out kicked my ass. After not having trained for eighteen months. That’s the reason I said yes when Reb asked me to train you so that you could fight again. I knew that, if you could easily hand me my ass without having stepped foot in a cage for that long, your career wasn’t over.”
I’m too shocked to say anything. The exhibition was tough, but I assumed that Breccan had taken it easy on me.
“Honestly, man? It didn’t even matter to me anymore if you had taken the drugs. I know the kind of man you are. I figured you had your reasons. We all have our demons.” He lifts a shoulder. “So, yeah, I sent that fucking e-mail. I sent footage of you training. Because you deserve your damn belt back, and I’ll be damned if you’re gonna go back in there and have to claw your way to the top.”
The fury I was feeling toward Breccan dissolves, morphing into gratitude and a sense of…camaraderie?
I stick my hand out, and he grasps it, shaking one time.
“Ah…thanks, man,” I say simply.
He lifts his chin and then drops my hand. “Don’t mention it.”
We awkwardly stare at each other until Tripp asks, “So, should I call Avery back and tell him to get the fucking fight set up?”
Pushing a hand through my hair, I tell him, “Yeah. Get that shit set up.”
Rebecca claps her hands together again, jumping up and down. “Get back to work!” she says, slapping my ass.
I trudge out of the office. Instead of going back to the cage, I walk into the locker room and sit on one of the benches. Dropping my head between my knees, I fight back the nausea that’s threatened to overwhelm me again.
A moment later, the door opens and, turning my head, see Rebecca’s long legs striding toward me.
“Ryker? You okay?” she asks, dropping down beside me. She rubs circles on my back.
I swallow hard and then mumble, “Yeah, I’m fine. Can you just give me a minute?”
She doesn’t stop rubbing my back, and I sigh, realizing she’s not going anywhere.
“Talk to me,” she whispers.
I lift my head and look over at her, seeing the concern written all over her face. Bracing my hands on the bench, I push to my feet and then shuffle toward the row of lockers. The feeling of dread that’s rooted in the pit of my belly doesn’t go away. Instead, it intensifies, and I become angry.
Smashing the heel of my hand into one of the lockers, I bark out, “Fuck!”
“Ryker! What the hell is going on with you?” Rebecca shouts behind me.
I spin around to face her. “Nothing! I said I’m fine. I just need you to give me a minute!”
She stands and takes two long strides to get right in my face. If she were anyone else, I would shove her away from me.
“Bullshit,” she spits. “Tell me what you’re thinking!”
“Fine! You wanna know what’s wrong with me?”
“Yes!”
“I’m fucking terrified!” The moment the words leave my lips, a weight lifts off my chest. “Jesus, I’ve been outta the game for so long. What if I go back in there and make a fool of myself? What if all of this hard work and money and time is a waste? Jesus, what if I embarrass Breccan and Tripp? What if I let you down?”
Her eyes, which were blazing with anger, soften. She places her hands on either side of my face, her fingers sifting into my hair.
“Oh, honey,” she whispers. “You will never let me down.” She places a soft kiss on my lips. Then she pulls back and smiles. “I swear to God, Ryker. I’m so fucking proud of you. The work you’ve put in. Your passion and drive and commitment. Nothing will change that. If you win, I’ll only be prouder. But, honey, if you lose, I’ll still stand on every rooftop in Atlanta and scream that you’re my man. Because it’s not your record that I love. It’s your character.” She gently taps my chest with her finger. “It’s you.”
Her words ease the last of the dread I was feeling.
I decide that she’s right. How many times did I tell the kids over the summer that being a champion was about more than just
a winning record? It is time I start listening to my own pep talks.
Squaring my shoulders, I kiss her forehead and then tell her, “You’re right.”
She steps away from me and crosses her arms. “You’re damn right. Now, get your ass back out there and finish training.”
I give her a salute and drawl, “Yes ma’am,” before marching through the locker room doors, her giggles echoing behind me.
Sitting in my chair behind my desk, I watch Ryker work on his ground game with one of the other trainers. He easily puts the guy in an armbar, causing him to tap almost instantly.
I clap my hands and let out a, “Whoop!” Then I pop a gummy bear into my mouth. “Hey, Ryker!” I shout.
He looks over.
“Take your shirt off!”
Ryker gives me the bird, and I giggle.
“What? If I’m gonna be forced to spend yet another day watching you train, the least you could do is make it interesting for me!” I retort.
He makes a show of pulling his sweat-drenched shirt over his head. After spinning it around on the end of his finger, he throws it in my direction, and I squeal when it lands on my desk with a soggy thump.
“Gross!” I shout, picking it up with my thumb and forefinger and dropping it on the floor beside me.
He gets back into training, and I watch as his abs flex with the exertion. I’m reminiscing about the last time I watched those abs flex under my fingertips when the phone rings. Still fantasizing about Ryker’s naked body, I place the receiver to my ear.
“Team Undisputed,” I say, absentmindedly.
“Rebecca?” a voice I don’t recognize croaks on the other end.
“This is she,” I reply. “Can I help you?”
“Dear, it’s Gram.”
I instantly snap to attention. “Gram? Are you okay?” I ask, worried.
“I’m fine, dear. Just not feeling well. I think I need to go to the doctor. Is Barney busy?” she asks, her voice cutting in and out.
Ryker’s in the middle of an intense sparring session, so I relay the information to Gram.
“Okay, darling. Don’t bother him. I’ll be okay.”
There’s no way I’m going to ask Gram to wait to go to the doctor, so I tell her, “Gram, I’ll take you.”