Smash: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (Includes bonus novel Rock Hard!)

by Hamel, B. B.

  He fucked me hard like that, grabbing onto my hips, thrusting deeper and deeper. I kept my face against the comforter, biting into the fabric to keep from crying out. I had to be a little quiet or else risk our parents hearing us. He didn’t seem to mind one bit, though, as the slap of his skin against my ass rang out again and again.

  He reached out, rubbing my clit as he slammed into me, grinding his cock deep between my legs. I rolled my hips as he grabbed my hair, pulling me back against him. His hands roamed my body, cupping my breasts, touching my clit, rubbing my nipples.

  I rocked back against him, sliding up and down his cock, riding him backward. “I love fucking you from behind,” he said. “I love this ass bouncing on my cock.”

  “Make me come,” I gasped, barely able to hold back. “I’m so fucking close.”

  He pushed me forward again and began to thrust into me hard and rough. I could tell he wasn’t holding back, and I loved it. I took his thick cock as he thrusted deeper and deeper, pushing into me. I moaned with abandon, losing myself to the motion of his hips, of his body, of our sweat.

  I felt it begin to build as he gripped my hips. “Come for me, wife,” he grunted. “Come on this dick.”

  The sound of my ass against his body as he fucked me rougher, his strong hands gripping my hips, it all drove me crazy. I felt the orgasm start in my pussy and spread out in wild waves, causing my muscles to contract, my whole body to spasm.

  “Cole,” I groaned, low and deep as I came. “Fuck me, Cole.”

  “Shit, girl,” he grunted in response. I felt his cock slamming into me as I came, long and slow and deep, it rolling through my body like thunder.

  And as it began to ebb and slow, he grunted. “Fuck,” he said. I felt him pull out of my pussy and heard the condom get ripped off.

  I turned around as he jerked himself off. I watched as his thick cum covered my chest, shooting in thick ribbons all over my tits and nipples. I smiled as he came for me, low and hard.

  And then it was over suddenly.

  We lay there in the bed, panting together. The ferocity and the power of the orgasm all made me completely exhausted, even too tired to clean the cum from my chest. He helped with that, though, using his T-shirt.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  “I know,” he replied. When he was finished cleaning me off, he lay down next to me.

  We stayed like that for a while, covered in sweat, wrapped in each other’s bodies. I felt safe and right, like I was glowing.

  Fortunately, our parents weren’t home or they were totally oblivious. Either way, we climbed into the shower together, letting the warm water soak us. He mainly held my hips against his, kissing me softly.

  “We should talk,” I said.

  “Nah,” he replied. “I’d rather just fuck you again.” His lips lingered on my throat.

  “Later,” I said, smiling. “We should talk about this fight.”

  “We don’t have to.”

  “I can’t let you make this deal, Cole.”

  “It’s okay, Alex. It’s already done.”

  “What if you lose?”

  He stopped and looked at me seriously. “I won’t lose.”

  “How can you know? What if something happened?”

  “I won’t lose,” he repeated, looking into my eyes.

  And although I knew it was probably just his normal cocky, confident swagger, I believed him. Underneath all that arrogance, there was an extremely strong and competent man. He was a fighter and always would be. I had to believe in him.

  “Still, how do we know Trent will follow through with all this?”

  “His business manager is drawing up a contract. I’ll sign it, he’ll sign it, and we’ll be done.”

  I nodded to myself. “Seems risky, though.”

  “Alex.” I looked at him. “There’s nothing else in this world but risk. Sometimes you have to jump and just trust that you’ll land.”

  I nodded slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

  “I know you do.” He kissed me again softly.

  “This doesn’t mean you get to keep calling me ‘sis’ or ‘wife,’ you know,” I said when we stopped.

  “Well, that’s just not true.”

  I looked away, smiling to myself. “Try it and see what happens.”

  “Okay, sis.”

  I splashed water at him and he laughed, blowing it back at me.

  “Not exactly a big deterrent, wife,” he said.

  “Okay, now you asked for it.”

  The rest of the night was spent in the shower, making our bodies come again, wrapped around each other.

  And then again, back in the bedroom. All through the night it was him and everything he was doing.

  I knew what he wanted, and he knew what I wanted. The problem of the fight still hung loosely over our heads, but for some reason it didn’t seem so bad. The uncertainty wasn’t bothering me as much as it had before.

  I was learning to live in the moment with him.

  I was learning to give in to what I wanted, even if it was wrong.

  Chapter Eighteen: Cole

  I could feel the sweat roll down my back as the low roar of the crowd began to wash over me.

  Across the thin mat of the ring’s center stood Trent, staring back at me with a menacing grin. I smiled back and nodded, just to see how he would react, and I watched as he turned away.

  People were saying things to me. I nodded their way, so they understood, but really I was far from there. I was in my own head, in my own zone, slowly feeling the calm rage build up in my body.

  My eyes roamed out over the crowd and I spotted her, sitting in the front row: Alexa, her hair piled up on her head, staring back at me. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. The crowd roared again and I looked away, afraid that the sight of her would sap the rage from me.

  The last few days had been a blur of training. Ronnie offered to help work with me, and together we worked harder than I’d ever worked before. I lived and breathed the fight, learning everything I could about Trent, and I felt like I was as ready as I ever would be.

  But two days ago, I totally stopped my training and prep. There was such a thing as too much preparation, and I had decided I didn’t want to burn out. Instead, I got my workouts through Alexa, fucking her night and day and basically spending as much time with her as I could.

  Because after this fight, who knew what was going to happen. If I lost, Trent could publish those pictures and tear our family apart. I’d never fight again, of course, but that seemed like only a distant problem, an issue someone else would have to deal with.

  The only two things I cared about were Alexa and beating Trent until he bled.

  The ring announcer said something, and Ronnie shoved me toward the center. The ref was giving the usual bullshit prefight talk, and so I stood there listening while Trent tried to stare me down.

  There was no fear in me. There never was. Every time I fought, I never felt like something bad could happen. Instead, I was calm, as calm as I’d ever been in my life. Finally, the ref finished, and I went back to my corner. Ronnie had left the ring and was standing just outside the cage.

  “Remember,” he yelled, “kick him in the face.”

  I grinned and nodded. “The fucking face,” I yelled back.

  Ronnie gave me the thumbs up, and I looked back across the ring at Trent.

  He was shaking his muscles out. I felt no jitters and had no reason to warm up any more. I’d already spent the last two hours slowly going through my prefight routine. I was as ready as I was ever going to be. The only thing I needed was the sound of the bell.

  My hands were wrapped and covered, and I could feel the slight stale breeze from the venue’s air conditioning. The lights were bright and made the ring hot as fuck, but that didn’t matter. It was the same venue that I had won my last match in, which was good. I felt comfortable, even though the crowd was twice as big and three times as loud and everything was being broadcast on TV. None
of that stuff bothered me.

  I stood there, breathing in and out. In and out. Deep and loose.

  And then the bell rang.

  I moved forward, my hands held up, moving loosely on my toes. Trent came at me right away, throwing furious blows.

  We exchanged punches like that. He wanted to go for a fast knockout, but that was a mistake on his part. I held my own, using my hands as much as my feet, but he was clearly prepared for my kicks. Trent was a good stand-up fighter, maybe one of the best, and in the past I had always had to take him down to the mat to win.

  But I didn’t want to do that. I felt the rage twist inside me as I fought back, throwing a furious punch that landed, followed by another kick. He stumbled, and I could have pressed, but I didn’t. Instead, I took a half second to prepare my next attack. I could have taken him down right then and there, maybe even won the match through a submission hold, but I couldn’t.

  He came back at me, throwing heavy blows. I took as good as I gave, one punch after the other, and I could feel my body was battered. We were circling each other, diving in to attack like hungry sharks, pulling back bloodied and bruised.

  It was one of the most brutal rounds of my life. When the bell rang, ending the action, I pulled back to my corner. Both of us were bleeding from cuts on our faces, and I spit a bright red clotted ball of blood, probably from a tooth.

  “What are you doing?” Ronnie yelled over the noise. “That shit was brutal.”

  I nodded, not able to speak.

  “You got to get him down, man. You can take him there. On your feet, you’re even. Any shit can happen. But down there, man, you can take him.”

  I nodded again, drinking water.

  “Fuck him up, Cole. Fucking murder him.” He backed off as the next round was about to start.

  I stood, feeling the rage, embracing the crowd. I couldn’t look at Alexa, because I knew her concern would change my mind. I wanted to get back in there and punish Trent with my fists until he knew who the real fighter was.

  So that was exactly what I did. For another round, I stood my ground and fought him, trading blows like boxers. It was the slowest and most painful round of my life. Our injuries were piling up, but neither one of us was willing to give an inch. I could sense Trent’s frustration, because he probably thought he should be able to win the match on his feet.

  But he was incredibly wrong. He had no clue how evenly matched we were standing, how much stronger I’d gotten over the last year. Trent was a good fighter, but he was nothing compared to what I had become.

  I landed some strong kicks to his body. I could tell he was hurting by the way he moved, could tell that he was frustrated and wanted to lash out. He was going to get sloppy. I just had to make sure that I was ready to capitalize when he finally stumbled again.

  The second round ended like the first one had, both of us bloodied and bruised. We were scheduled for eight, but at the pace we were fighting at, we’d never make it. One of us was going to collapse from exhaustion.

  The next round happened and the next. Both times Ronnie screamed at me to go for the takedown, to wrestle him on the ground, to try to get the submission hold. But both times I ignored him, deciding to stay on my feet instead and slug it out with Trent, toe to toe. I never backed down, never gave ground, and although I was bleeding and hurt in a thousand different places, I could tell that I was winning. Not on the scorecard, maybe, but Trent was getting sloppy, frustrated.

  I had something to prove. I needed to show the world what kind of fighter I was. There weren’t many men that could stand up to Trent the way I was, fighting him in his preferred style. There were even fewer that could step in and take him down at any moment.

  The fifth round began. I could feel one of my teeth was loose, and Trent’s left eye was almost swollen shut. We looked insane, and I was almost surprised that the ref even let the round begin. But we were out there, face to face, going at it again.

  Trent was getting sloppy and loose. I could see the anger etched on his face, pure and unbridled rage. I felt calm, though anger simmered below the surface, propelling me forward. Still, he was throwing wild haymakers, trying desperately to knock me out.

  I got stupid. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I was probably more dehydrated and exhausted and in more pain than I had realized. But as we were fighting, one of those desperate haymakers landed directly on my jaw.

  I heard the crack of my teeth smashing together and the collective scream of the crowd.

  I staggered back, shocked. I took a sharp breath, but my whole head was foggy and swimming. I took another step back as Trent came at me. I barely had time to get my hands up to defend myself as he began to rain blows on me.

  I was falling. I knew I was falling. My eyes were wide with terror as I lost my balance, spilling backward.

  Alexa. I had failed her. I’d never fight again. But worst of all, I was letting her down.

  And then something caught me, held me up. I thought it might be my guardian angel, pushing my body back into fighting position. It took me half a second to realize that I was leaning against the wire fence that circled the ring.

  Trent’s fists rained down on me, and I could vaguely hear Ronnie screaming. I knew the ref would stop the fight any second if I didn’t get myself together.

  Leaning back and using the fence to give me some momentum, I launched myself at Trent in an almost suicidal move. I ate another punch to the jaw that sent my head reeling and made my thoughts fuzzy, but my body toppled into Trent’s.

  We crashed down onto the mat together.

  The crowd had become a low, sluggish noise happening somewhere far away. I could feel Trent’s slick skin and hear the grunts coming from his face as he struggled to get away from me.

  I forgot who I was and what I was doing. The whole place seemed spooky, eerie, like a nightmare. Something seemed to be crawling from the ceiling, something made from lights. People were saying my name, or something like my name, chanting it over and over and over, distorted and vaguely real, something that meant me but wasn’t really what I was called. My body was lightness and my skull was darkness, and they were at war.

  And then I snapped back into reality.

  Before Trent could struggle away, I grabbed his shoulder. Everything came back to me in that moment, and although my head was still light and I was still barely holding on, I knew I had him. He was on his back, helpless, and I grabbed his body and yanked him toward me.

  He fought back, but he didn’t have good technique. Frankly, he was sloppy, still trying to get in punches as we grappled on the ground. His blows were weak and had no force because he had no leverage. Meanwhile, I was winning the battle for positioning, and ultimately that was going to win me the war.

  After a moment of struggling, and taking another weak shot to the nose that didn’t do much more than sting, I got him onto his back. I sat down on his chest as our hands fought for dominance.

  All through the fight, I had shown him again and again that I wanted to pound him. I wanted to punch him, make him bleed, win by knocking him out. I wanted to go for the big, showy blow to the face.

  That was exactly what he must have been thinking. His hands and body were guarding his face from my fists, so busy that he left himself open for one of the simplest submission moves in all of fighting.

  I slapped his one shoulder down and slipped my hand between his arms, grabbing his triceps. I made a fist and he instantly went to guard, which was what I wanted. I pushed his face to the side and swung my leg around his head, keeping my hips low.

  And then I rotated my hips, rolling to the side and tearing his arm out along with me. I hooked my legs over his face, shoving him down to the mat, and I twisted his wrist and shifted my hips, putting a tremendous amount of pressure on his joint. His arm was spread out wide across the length of my body, and I had complete control of him, the arm bar locked and finished.

  The room was silent. The ref was down in Trent’s face, but Trent r
efused to tap out. He was struggling, shifting his weight, moving his hips, screaming in pain.

  I wasn’t going to let him up. I could feel the bones of his joints wrenching, and I knew they were about to break.

  “Tap!” the ref screamed.

  “Fuck,” Trent responded, in agony.

  I was sick. I was sick of the fight, sick of Trent, sick of the stress. I wanted it all to be over, to be fucking over. I wanted it to end.

  I shifted my hips farther and violently wrenched his wrist. It shattered with a satisfying crack.

  He tapped the mat, and the ref pulled us apart.

  It was all a blur. One second I was breaking Trent’s wrist and elbow, and the next I was standing in the back locker room, drinking a bottle of water. The cheers of the crowd, the interviews and congratulations, it all felt like it had happened to someone else.

  The locker room was packed. There were media people, most of whom Ronnie was talking to, but there were also other fighters and promoters and industry people milling about. It felt more like a party than a locker room.

  After a minute, Ronnie turned back toward me. “Man, I can’t believe you broke his elbow,” he said.

  “Wrist too,” I grunted.

  He grinned. “Good point. Can’t forget that.”

  “I think my tooth is loose.” I wiggled one of my molars.

  He laughed loudly. “You fucking kidding? Have you looked in a mirror yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  He reached into a locker and produced a hand mirror. I grabbed it from him and stared at my face. I was bloody and bruised and looked like a piece of meat someone had pounded on for an hour. I barely looked like myself. Hell, I barely looked human.

  “Fuck,” I said. “I used to be so pretty.”

  “You’ll get there again.”

  I tossed the mirror away and sat down on a bench. “Tough match,” I said.

  “You’re not kidding. You okay?”

  “I don’t need a doctor, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Nah, man. You just look . . . depressed.”