by Vanna King
His phone rings. He checks the caller. He walks a few meters away from the table to talk on his phone. I use the chance to ogle his back. My goodness, that ass! So firm and perfectly shaped. He must live in the gym to get man buns like that.
He comes back to the table a few minutes later.
“Business?” I ask.
“I’m taking the day off.”
“Oh. Why?”
“You need to ask, goddess?”
By the look he’s giving me, I don’t think I’d be leaving this place today. But do I really want to? I’ve got time.
No. Leave. Now!
Yeah. One more day won’t hurt. Besides, I haven’t had enough of him. Not nearly enough.
I smile at him.
BRON
My chest is clenching in a weird way as I follow her every move, not wanting to miss anything. I want to know everything about her, but I don’t rush it. We’ve got all the time in the word for getting to know. I want to read her like an epic, getting surprised every day, always looking forward to the next page with great anticipation.
Fuck, I’ve become a lame-ass romantic.
I watch in fascination as she demolishes the dessert on her plate. The babe has a very healthy appetite. I fucking love to see her eat. The movements of her mouth, the little sounds she makes as she savors the food has made my dick harder than my usual morning wood. I think I’m developing a weird eating fetish from watching Leigh suck on a cherry and licking cream from her fingers. I imagine her lips and tongue on my—
“A cherry for your thoughts?” she asks me, a wicked smile on her shiny lips. I’m inches from hauling her from her chair and spreading her wide on the table. “How old are you?” I ask her instead.
She picks up another cherry from the cheesecake and sucks on it. “Seventeen.”
Shit.
She giggles. “You must see your face.”
“Tell me the truth,” I demand.
“I’m twenty-one.”
I smirk, relieved. “I’m glad I don’t have to shoot anybody who’d try to stop me from fucking your brains out again.”
When I hit past thirty, I set my boundaries on women. I go for twenty-five and above nowadays. Less than that is a shitload of drama waiting to happen, and I don’t need that shit in my life. Unfortunately for me, I still have some conscience left in that department. I want a woman who understands the game, not some starry-eyed novice who’d dream of everlasting love with me after the hot action. A heartless bastard that I am, I still hate to see a woman shed tears for whatever in me she thinks she’s losing because she’s too young to know better.
But I just broke that rule. She’s the exception to that rule.
She pops the cherry into her mouth, chewing it. My eyes are eating her up, and she knows exactly what’s happening to me, the little tease.
“Have you ever killed anybody?” she asks.
Curious little tease. “I’ve maimed a lot.”
The girl should be afraid of me. She has no idea what I’m capable of. But I see the excitement in her eyes instead. She has a perverse streak. My balls hurt now. I badly need to have her, feel her tight pussy wrapped around my cock again.
“I can believe that, what with all those muscles.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Should I be?”
She really has no idea who I am or what I was before, but she was probably too young during my heydays in the octagon, or she didn’t dig MMA. The women who follow the sport nowadays are a different breed, too. My beautiful Leigh seems too gentle for such a brutal sport, and I won’t expose her to it if I could help it. She will be my princess, and she will be protected. I swear that on my very life. “I could be a criminal. This is Vegas, after all.”
She stares at me then shrugs. “I’m not going to marry you or anything. I’m just going to fuck your brains out for another day.”
I laugh. Damn, she’s really something. If I hadn’t felt how tight she was last night, if I hadn’t seen her virgin’s blood, I’d think she’s been initiated into the art of seduction early. She knows how to handle men, and I’m not easy to handle. But she has me eating sugar from her palms since last night. I don’t normally acknowledge that, but I do now. It’s the truth, and fuck me, I love that she’s no shrinking violet.
“Are you sure your little pussy can handle my cock today? Aren’t you sore?”
Her cheeks flame. Bold one moment, bashful the next. She’s enchanting.
“I’ve been hard since I woke up. I haven’t relieved myself in any way, if you must know.”
She gulps. “Oh…”
“And I’m gonna fuck your brains out as soon as you finish eating.”
“Oh.”
She puts more food on her plate. “I’m not done yet.”
I grin. “Tease.”
She smirks and crosses her legs, leaning back in her chair, chewing leisurely. I’ll remember to tell the chef to put cherries on our regular menu from now on.
“If you must know, good things come to those who wait,” she murmurs lazily.
“It had better come with a U.”
She makes a face at me. Cute.
“These pastries are good. Really good,” she purrs.
I take a sip from my coffee and patiently torture myself by waiting until she’s good and ready.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, chewing on a chocolate-coated marshmallow.
I want to lick her lips. Then pour chocolate on her pussy and lick her clean. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving your virginity for me.”
She blushes, then gives me a haughty look. “I didn’t save it for you. You flatter yourself,”
“You did. You’ve kept it all these years, but when you saw me, you wanted to lose it to me. And you did.”
She rolls her eyes. “So smug, aren’t we?’
I grin. “Yeah, I’m feeling smug, alright. And I’m done waiting.”
LEIGH
He picks me up from the chair like I weigh nothing. I squeal, grabbing his shoulders for support.
He brings me to another cabana hidden behind tall hedges. This place is really awesome. White canvas drapes hang loosely at the corners of the cabana. A jacuzzi that could probably fit six people sits at the center and is already running, steam rising from the bubbling water. There are fully padded lounge chairs, a divan full of throw pillows, and Persian rugs adorning the shiny hardwood floor.
He puts me on my feet beside the jacuzzi. The smell of mint and eucalyptus waft into my nostril. He’s already poured the bubble bath. “Hmm, nice.”
I smile at him. God, a man who runs a bath for me? Be still my beating heart.
And he’s so divine-looking…and sweet…and the best lover…not that I’ve had other lovers aside from him, but I know, he’s the best one I’ll ever have in my whole life…and I just don’t want it all to end. Not just yet.
I touch his chest, splaying my hands over his hard muscles, tracing his tattoo with my fingertips.
“Get in the tub, baby,” he says. “Or you won’t get in the tub at all.”
I grin at him and turn away. I shimmy out of the robe.
Naked, I climb into the tub and settle on a corner.
“Ohhhh…” I sigh as the warm, bubbling water soothes my muscles immediately.
He loosens the ties of his track pants and pushes it down his hips, kicking it away. His cock was hard and even bigger-looking in daylight. And it’s mine. Mine for another day.
He steps into the tub and sits opposite me.
“Your body art is beautiful. Any particular meaning to it?” I ask.
“It’s a stylized dragon symbolizing the year I was born in the Chinese Calendar.”
“Yawrrr,” I purr. A dragon. There’s no doubt he is. “I love it. Is that a heart there in the middle?”
A look passes on his face. I’m not sure what it is, but it morphs into a soft smile. “Yes. A tribute to a beloved.”
/>
Beloved. He has a beloved. Why does that hurt?
“Beloved.” I laugh a little to cover the pin pricks I’m suddenly feeling in my chest.
“Something funny?”
I shrug. “Beloved. You say it with such ease.”
“And why not?”
“It seems at odds with your… lifestyle.”
“My lifestyle?”
“Surely a man of your sophisticated tastes doesn’t dabble in the romantic. I mean, you had five women waiting for you last night, and here we are,” I point out. I hope he doesn’t notice the accusatory tone in my voice. Jeeez. What rubbish am I spewing? It’s totally ruining the moment.
He stares at me, his eyes serious. “I meant my beloved mother.”
“Oh.” Shit. His mother! I splash water on my face.
He’s grinning now. “What were you thinking?”
I give him a big smile. I can’t help myself. “That’s rather sweet. You know what they say about men who love their mothers too much?”
“They’re mama’s boys?”
“No, silly. They will most likely treat their wives with utmost respect, love them unconditionally, and best of all, be faithful to them.”
Shut up, shut up! He’s going to cringe! Or laugh!
“Is that your dream husband?”
He’s neither cringing nor laughing. He’s looking at me seriously. “If he exists, yeah…”
“Would you take me as your husband then, Leigh?”
Aw, come on!
Chapter Seven
BRON
She throws back her head and laughs out loud.
She’s not taking me seriously.
I just proposed to her, and she’s laughing in my face.
“You are good,” she says, shaking her head. “You can be a stand-up comedian, you know? You can tell a joke with a poker face, except the women won’t be laughing. They won’t get past those big muscles, and they’ll believe everything you’ll say. Not me, though. Sorry.”
I sigh inwardly. I probably need a fucking ring. The biggest rock I can find in Vegas. Maybe that will convince her better. Shit, what was I doing proposing to her without a fucking ring at hand? I’ll get back to that later.
I’m supposed to be boning her again, but I’m stupidly suffering the symptoms of blue balls by delaying my orgasm for watching her.
“This place is really awesome,” she comments as she spreads bubbles on her arms.
She’s a nymph playing in the water, blowing bubbles in the air. I’m not the type who’d spend minutes marveling at a woman’s looks, but I am this time, not just in minutes but in all the hours that l’ve been with her. I’m fascinated with her from head to toe. I haven’t scrutinized her enough. I want to lay her on the bed again and inspect every part of her body, find interesting stories in every line, bump and curve. Here I fucking go again. “You can ask me questions, you know?”
“Okay, is this your place?”
“Yeah.”
“Like you live here?”
“Yeah.”
She nods. “Cool.”
“You will live here with me, of course. Unless you want a house on the ground with picket fences and all that shit.”
“Stop, will you?” she chides me.
Funny how I can picture out my future with her so clearly when I don’t know shit about her. But I just do. This is all new to me, but I’m willing to embrace these new things. I’ve lived a dangerous life as a fighter for a decade, and not once did I think that my life was important to someone other than the people who wanted to make money out of me. Luc is different, of course, but he’s the exception. But now, maybe I’ve just realized my mortality, and how fleeting it really is, when I met this young woman.
For the first time in my life since my mother died, I want to matter to a woman. I want her to care for me truly. I want her to love me.
Love.
God, is this it? The real deal?
I’m scared shitless. I don’t want to mess it up.
I curb the urge to pull her toward me again. I want her to relax in the warm water, soothe her battered muscles from our first lovemaking. I want to laugh at the way I look at it now. Not sex. Lovemaking. It’s getting weirder every minute, but I love it.
I love her.
Fuck.
Is this real? I’m fucking cynical about love, that’s for sure. After witnessing my father parade whores in front of my mother for years, my perspective on love and relationships was sorely altered. Thank God, he died before I could commit murder as a young boy.
My mother never saw me become successful. She committed suicide when I was fifteen, the year I started training in mixed martial arts at a local gym I was working at as a utility boy. I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from the loss of my mother.
I turned pro three years later and won my first fight that same year. I was so driven and ferocious in the ring I quickly made a name for myself as Badass Bronc, taken after my name. I didn’t know why my mother named me Bronco, but I’d always thank her for it. That name became a legend in the sport.
I dedicated my first championship belt to my mother and every belt in every division I’d conquered since then. I miss her so fucking much.
I retired a champion after a decade of dominating the octagon before my body could show the wear and tear. I became a businessman. I made wise investments with my winnings, formed connections with the right people, and they paid off.
Now, I have more money than I know what to do with, but I can’t forget the time when my mother died in that old hospital. We were so destitute I couldn’t even afford to have her remains laid in a decent coffin. I can afford a fucking shrine for her now, which I’ve built for her right in the middle of the casino courtesy of a world-famous sculptor, but she’s gone, and there’s not a day that I don’t miss her.
“Hey…”
I blink, her soft voice dissolving my bittersweet memories.
Damn, how in hell does a girl manage to give me the hardest boner and bring me back to the darkest moments of my past at the same time? It’s really incredible. I don’t even know her. But I intend to know everything about her.
I’ve never met anybody who I wanted to spend days and nights with on end, sharing everything that I have, everything that I feel. Now, the thought of not seeing this little Venus when I wake up in the morning is inconceivable. It would be unbearable.
These realizations are all bombarding me at the same time, all happening in less than 24 hours. I’d like to believe this is all a weird dream and it will vanish when I wake up. But if this is all a dream, I don’t want to wake up. I’ve turned into a Hallmark cliche overnight. Who knew?
“What are you thinking?” She’s moving closer to me.
“You’re asking me an important question, goddess.”
“Okay, I realized that my no-questions rule is no fun. We’re taking a hot soak in this gigantic jacuzzi in this awesome place of yours. What shall we do to pass the time?”
“I can think of a million ways if only your pussy can take it all.”
She playfully splashes water on my face. “Okay, let’s ask each other three questions each. Then no more.”
I’m peeved that she’s not clinging on to me like a fucking leech by now. All the women who’ve been with me transformed into insecure crybabies after one session of hot sex. They all turned me off big time, and I didn’t want to see them again. But I want this girl to cling to me like she can’t live without me, and she’s treating me like a one night stand that she can walk away from without a backward glance any moment. It’s irritating and mightily humbling. “Okay.”
“Who goes first?”
“Of course, ladies first.”
“Okay…tell me your biggest regret.”
“Baby, that’s heavy. You trying to dig into my soul?”
She gives me a mysterious smile. “Maybe. Maybe I want to know you in that sense, not your superficial identity, your name, or your credentials, because
I know you must be really something if you own a place like this in a city like this. I don’t want to know that side of you because everybody knows you that way. I want to know what no one knows, what matters most to you. Inside of you.”
I’ve been avoiding commitment for so long, maybe because I’ve never met someone I wanted to share what I am inside. But now, I feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet. She just asked me the one question that’s guaranteed to make me run in the opposite direction, and I’m sitting here, eager to spill my guts to her. Wasn’t I just thinking of the very same thing? Our minds must be wired together.
“My greatest regret is not being able to share the fruits of my success with my mother. I didn’t always have this. I started with nothing. We were so poor we hardly had any comfort in life, and I vowed to change it. I did change it. But she died way before her time, way before I could give her all this. There’s not a day that I don’t wish for another moment with her, to experience the comforts money can buy. But it’s not the money, really, but the thought that we’ve made it and we didn’t give up.”
She blinks rapidly as her eyes have gone moist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”
“Regrets are always painful.”
“Not in that magnitude. How thoughtless of me.”
“No biggie.”
“What about your Dad?”
“He died even earlier than my mother.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
“No, don’t be. He was a womanizing drunk who beat my mother and me to a pulp every chance he got. The old motherfucker was lucky he croaked choking on his vomit before I was big enough to kill him with my bare hands.”
Her eyes are pained, sympathetic. Female sympathy turns me off. But I want her to look at me like that. Like she cares. Truly cares about the man inside of me.
“What kind of regrets did you expect I had?” I ask.
“Is that my question No. 1?”
“Can we just talk, baby? I don’t want measured questions. I want to get to know you.”
She averts her eyes, looking pensive for a while, then she shrugs and smiles. “Okay. So, where were we?”