Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10)

by Amity Cross

  Mark chuckled softly as he did the same to me, ducking under my leg so he could remove my shoes and rip my jeans down. Standing over me, he kicked off his sexy scuffed-up boots and dropped his trousers. My gaze fell to his cock, and my insides twisted at the sight. He was hard, the length of him outlined behind the dark gray fabric of his boxers.

  Kneeling, he hooked his hands under my knees, forced my legs apart and pulled me toward him. His mouth latched onto my breasts one after the other, his tongue laving each nipple in turn as his fingers moved downward.

  He shoved his hand underneath my knickers, and a thick finger slipped over my clit, through my wetness, and delved inside me. Gasping, I tore my lips from his and began to work my body against his touch. Mark moaned softly as he explored, adding a second finger in with the first. His movements quickened, sending an unbelievable wave of pleasure through my nerve endings. If he didn’t slow down, I was going to come. Too soon…

  As if he’d heard my thoughts, he pulled his hand away and tore my underwear down and off, then made short work of his boxers. I palmed the length of his erection, stroking greedily.

  He lowered over me, his weight between my legs exciting me further. He guided himself along my wetness, massaging the underside of his shaft against my clit. Up and down, up and down… Oh, God, it felt so good, and he wasn’t even in me yet.

  Fumbling with my left hand, I managed to open the drawer on my bedside table. Mark’s gaze lifted, and he saw I was looking for a condom. He took over, ripping open a packet.

  His lips met mine again in a blistering kiss, and then the tip of his cock was pushing into me. Slowly, then all the way.

  He drove into me, faster and harder, his elbows on either side of me, his hands buried in my hair. He kissed me between breaths, devouring, controlling and completely dominating my body. I was his, and he seemed to want me to know. Maybe I should’ve been annoyed by the fact he wanted to claim me like some kind of animal, but at that moment, I didn’t care. He felt too good, his taste and touch driving me wild.

  I’d never had sex like this. Period.

  He grunted as he thrust, my own cries echoing from someplace far away. Our bodies slapped together, sweat prickled my skin, and before long, I was tipping over the edge. I came, quivering as he slammed into me, his pace never slowing. When the sensation began to fade, I moaned, already wanting to go again.

  He hadn’t come yet, so when he turned me over, I was putty in his hands. I would do anything to please him, to feel his release pour into me. Fuck, it was so dirty.

  He cradled me against his chest, hooked my leg back over his, and entered me from behind. Holy…

  He thrust, slapping into me, and he had me hard and fast. I was still riding high from the first orgasm, so when the second hit, it took me by surprise. I clenched around him, and I felt him tighten, his moans muffled in the crook of my neck.

  He jerked, then held, relishing the release that was pouring out of his body and into mine.

  When he pulled out, he tugged off the condom, tied the end, and dropped it onto the floor.

  Mark’s hands roamed over me, his lips searching for mine. Twisting around, I kissed him, our ragged breath mingling. We hadn’t said a single word the entire time, and as he held me close, I knew we didn’t have to. Words weren’t our strong point. Not yet, anyway.

  Oh, hell, I thought in the moments before I fell asleep. I’ve just fallen for the bad boy.

  12

  Storm

  Staring up at the roof of Callie’s room, I breathed in the scent of her perfume and frowned.

  We were at the morning after bit. She was still asleep in my arms, and I didn’t know what to do. It had been a couple of years since I actually slept next to a woman I’d had sex with. Sneaking out in the middle of the night didn’t count.

  The sound of heels clacking on the floorboards drew my attention. They clattered down the hall, past the bedroom door, and a moment later, the front door opened and closed. Probably her housemate. Awkward.

  Callie moved against me, her leg rising higher and higher until her thigh brushed my cock. Dammit. She was… She was too much, and I wasn’t sure I liked the way she’d taken over my every waking thought. I’d never dwelled on Lori this way even though I’d cared for her.

  Tracing my fingers up and down her spine, I closed my eyes and tried to quieten my swirling mind. She was perfect. Her curves felt good to the touch—soft, smooth, and creamy—and her breasts fit perfectly in my palms and the sex. Fuck.

  It was nice to hold someone in my arms and just…be. I’d missed this more than I’d realized I would, and that was what troubled me.

  Fuck. I was doing that thing again. The one where I was about to justify my knee-jerk reaction to happiness. Maybe this was my chance, but what if she believed the stories in the papers? She would find out I’d been keeping the mother of all secrets from her, and she would run straight to that pansy-ass fucker, Justin the firefighter. He was easy and normal. Not like me.

  Callie tightened her grip around my middle and moaned contentedly.

  “Hey,” I whispered.

  “Hey…”

  I combed my hand through her pale blonde locks.

  “What’s Storm R all about?” she asked, her fingers tracing lazy circles over my nipple.

  “That’s the name I fight under. Storm.”

  She snorted, and I felt her lips curve. “Really? Your fighter name is Storm?”

  “Don’t ask about coming to see me fight, either.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” she retorted. “Somehow, I don’t think I would like it. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  We fell into an uneasy silence. It was becoming clearer that we were great at physical interactions, but when it came to conversation, we floundered.

  “How old are you?” she asked after a moment.

  “Old enough to know better,” I retorted, earning myself a sharp pinch.

  “Stop it,” she said with a laugh. “Tell me.”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Now, how old are you? Don’t make me guess because I always get that shit wrong. There’s no way I’m risking your wrath.”

  “My wrath?” Her head lifted, and her gaze met mine.

  “Yeah.”

  Her fingers traced over my eyebrow. “Says the bad boy cage fighter my mother warned me about.” She couldn’t hold her serious expression and burst into fits of giggles.

  Flipping her over, I covered her body with mine and forced my thigh between her legs. She gasped as I began to move gently against her clit, and her smile faded.

  “Are you going to tell me?” I asked, my voice low.

  “Old enough to know better…” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned softly as my lips caressed along the curve of her neck. “But young enough to keep doing it.”

  “That’s what I like to hear…”

  Lowering, I kissed a trail over her silky breasts, across her stomach, and delved between her legs. As I laved my tongue over her clit and slid a finger inside her, I knew I wanted to keep doing it, too.

  For as long as she would let me.

  Still buzzing from my night with Callie, I went to The Underground in a much better mood than I had in more than a year. Everything seemed a little brighter, and it was weird as hell.

  Sitting at the bar, I sipped my beer and narrowed my eyes. Was it my imagination, or were people staring at me? Staring and whispering. It wasn’t unusual, but I’d been under the radar for months now. I’d gone to great lengths to make sure no one gave a stuff about me.

  Glancing up, I scowled as I spied a group of women stealing glances at me. They were talking heatedly about something, and then they would fire off glances in my direction.

  “What’ve I done now?” I muttered, wondering what the rumor was this time.

  It could be one of two things. That woman, whatever her name was—the one whose car I’d jumped out of at the traffic li
ghts the night I saved Callie—must’ve finally started to talk trash about me. About time. Or it was about me letting Hamish bash my face in. That would get the rumor mill spinning. He was the star of The Underground and was now with my ex, who used to be a bartender here. Everyone knew sweet, little Lori.

  Someone sat on the stool next to mine, and I rolled my eyes. No one ever sat next to me unless they were trying to start something. I wasn’t in the mood for games, not tonight, so I turned, but I wasn’t expecting to find Hamish sitting there looking at me like I’d sprouted a second head. The Irishman never came to the bar, which meant he was looking for me, and that never ended well for anybody. I had the black eye to prove it.

  “You had to go and ruin the one place where I didn’t have to deal with your ugly ginger face,” I drawled.

  “Is it true?” he asked, looking me over.

  “Is what true?” I scowled, not wanting to get into a verbal slinging match over my latest misdemeanor. Whatever it was.

  “Did you really pull that woman from a burnin’ buildin’?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” My blood ran cold, and I bristled, immediately going on the defense.

  “It’s all over the news, man.” He held up his phone and showed me the screen.

  ‘Disgraced UFC Welterweight, Mark Ryder, Saves Woman From Burning Building.’ My fingers tightened around my bottle of beer, and my lip curled. How the fuck… Callie wouldn’t have said anything because she didn’t know. Someone must’ve seen me and knew my face. I cursed under my breath.

  “Ryder, you—”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped.

  I didn’t have to read the article to know what it said.

  “I didn’t want anybody to know,” I muttered, leaning my elbows on top of the bar and fisting my hands into my hair.

  “That you saved a woman from bein’ burned alive?”

  I’d almost forgotten Hamish was still sitting there, and I picked up my drink, downed the rest of it, and flung the empty bottle over the bar and into the bin.

  “Hey!” Faye screeched at me, but I didn’t give a crap.

  Rising to my feet, I shoved down the urge to shout right back.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hamish exclaimed, grabbing my arm.

  Shaking myself free, I stalked off through the crowd, the staring and whispering getting on my nerves. I pushed out of the nearest exit, the door by the bar, and closed out the noise of The Underground behind me.

  It was a service entrance. There were empty beer kegs, old wooden pallets, and a dumpster. A pile of crates was arranged in a seating area for the bar staff, and an overflowing ashtray was on the ground with some empty beer bottles.

  My jaw tightened, and I couldn’t hold onto my anger anymore. With a cry, I kicked at the crates, sending one after another flying across the concrete. Picking up the bottles, I threw them at the brick wall, and they smashed, shattering into a million pieces.

  The door opened, and someone appeared, then yelped as they saw me in mid-breakdown and scurried back inside again.

  Grabbing a pallet, I heaved it into the air, but it didn’t get very far. It crashed to the ground, and I screamed an obscenity at it before collapsing against the wall, my chest heaving.

  I knew this would happen. I knew it, and I still went after her. I went after her, got tangled up in her well-being, and now I’d fucked it all up.

  Callie was wrong. She was wrong. It was about justice. When she saw this, she would look at me the same way everyone else did. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t handle seeing the revulsion twist her pretty face. I should’ve told her before I’d slept with her. Shit, I should’ve told her before I’d kissed her, but the pull was too strong. I’d never wanted a woman as much as I wanted Callie Winslow.

  I was ashamed of the man I used to be. There. I’d said it. I was arrogant, gullible, and selfish. I’d never physically hurt any woman in my life, but it didn’t matter. My reputation was stained by it all the same.

  Taking out my phone, I opened the messenger app I’d been using to talk to Callie.

  * * *

  Storm R: We need to talk.

  * * *

  The message was marked as read almost immediately, but the three little dots that meant she was writing back never appeared.

  13

  Callie

  The morning after our date, I woke in Mark’s arms, and we did it. Again. That man had some serious skills, and I was swooning. He was letting me in slowly—some of the barriers he’d put between us were beginning to come down. Some of the mystery was being solved, and my heart sang.

  After showering together, he left to go to the gym, telling me he had to fight tonight, and he would call me tomorrow. Not in the mood to do anything else but bask in the blissful memory of the most epic sex of my life, I went back to bed and did just that.

  The trill of my phone roused me from my lustful stupor, and my hand fumbled over my bedside table looking for it. When I finally grasped the annoying little rectangle, I pulled it from the charger and peered at the screen. It was a string of messages from Macy that ranged in variations of ‘The FUCK!’, ‘Have you seen this?’, ‘Is it him?’

  Opening the messenger app, I tapped on a link she’d included. When the page loaded up, my heart sputtered and almost ceased working entirely.

  ‘Disgraced UFC Welterweight, Mark Ryder, Saves Woman From Burning Building.’

  I scanned the article while my head swam, and my entire body tingled with hypersensitivity.

  It was only two years ago that a now infamous UFC ring girl came forward with allegations of violence against Ryder. She had bruising on her neck that police later confirmed were strangulation marks. She also made claims he’d harmed her in places that could be easily hidden, convincing her it was all part of a twisted sex game. Later, the woman alleged she realized she was in real danger and came forward.

  As a result, Ryder received a lifetime ban from the UFC, lost his sponsorships, and was financially ruined. The last he was heard of was when he returned to Australia soon after settling the matter out of court. Since then, he’s flown under the radar, but now it seems Ryder has made another name for himself. This time as a local hero.

  Two weeks ago, a shop front caught fire on Melbourne’s iconic Brunswick Street. It wasn’t reported at the time, but a woman, one Callie Winslow, was trapped inside by the flames. Ryder, who was in the vicinity, heard her cries for help and ran headfirst into the fire without a second thought, ultimately carrying her to safety.

  The true intention of his apparent selfless act remains to be seen, but is this the beginning of the comeback of the century? It could herald a new chapter in the life of the disgraced UFC star, the beginning of penance for his past crimes. Or it could just be a matter of right place, right time. We won’t know until the man himself comes forward. If he ever does.

  Holy fuck. Mark was convicted of domestic violence? I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath. I didn’t know what to think, but my knee-jerk reaction was to run the hell away as fast as I could. I knew he had issues, it was written all over his face, but this? Holy…

  Picking up my phone, I typed a response to Macy.

  * * *

  Callie: I feel sick. My bum is fizzing.

  Macy: Is that an autocorrect?

  Callie: No. Bum fizz is a thing.

  Macy: What the fuck is bum fizz?

  Callie: Haven’t you ever felt so nauseous that the skin on your bum cheeks and the top of your thighs tingle? It’s fucking weird, but I swear it’s a thing.

  Macy: Now that you mention it…

  Callie: I can’t believe… He choked some girl?

  Macy: It sounds legit, C. I’m frightened for you. You should dump his ass immediately.

  Callie: I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me, but this? I can’t…

  Callie: Did he do this for his career? Am I a publicity stunt? I’m such an IDIOT.

  Macy: It’s not your
fault. You didn’t know.

  Callie: Excuse me while I go puke.

  * * *

  Throwing my phone down, I fell back into bed and flung my arm over my forehead. He was too good to be true. The handsome, selfless, stranger who was interested in a roly-poly nobody like me. I wanted him to be different so desperately, and now he’d ended up being just like all the other douches out there. Worse, actually. He’d assaulted a woman.

  Puke, puke, puke.

  I was really regretting finding him in the first place. Why couldn’t I have listened to my gut instead of my heart? Why couldn’t I have just let it go? Now it was like the universe was playing some trick on me. My shop burns down, my rescuer turns out to be a domestic violence offender and… Bad shit always came in threes, so the trifecta was going to be a doozy. A real fucking doozy. Just you wait.

  Later that night, my phone pinged with a notification. It was a message from Mark that read, We need to talk.

  No, no we didn’t. He’d lied to me. Big time.

  He didn’t get to talk to me at all. Ever again.

  The insides of my eyelids felt like sandpaper. Every time I blinked, I shaved a layer from the exterior of my eyeballs. I would probably be blind soon. Technically, I already was.

  I’d ignored all the warning signs, even the ones Mark had given me himself, and just fell into bed with him the first chance I got. He’d saved my life, but that didn’t mean a single thing compared with what he’d done to that woman. One act of heroism didn’t negate violence against women. I’d been duped, and fuck, it stung like hell.

  The front door to my shop was unlocked when I arrived. It was right on five p.m., so I’d caught one of the builders before they had gone home for the evening.