Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance

by Harper, Callie

Fuck. I stepped into the cage, took my pep talk from coach, and dove in. You didn’t always get what you wanted in life, but you couldn’t let that stop you. You had to keep going, relentless, after what you wanted at all costs.

  It was a tough match up. He was a judo guy, a black belt, and all he wanted to do was try to immobilize me and force me to tap out by locking my joints or getting me in a strangle hold. It was the kind of fight promoters hated, with long stretches of time looking like nothing was happening, just me and him locked in a struggle on the mat, each one trying to gain advantage.

  With my wrestling and jujitsu background, I knew how to hold my ground, but it wasn’t my favorite kind of fight, either. I liked staying up on my feet, timing my jabs and uppercuts, seizing the right moments for a solid kick. One of the reasons I’d chosen this L.A. training camp was the mixed methodology. If you were strong at one part of the fight, Coach forced you to focus on your weaker skills. The more I studied kickboxing and boxing, the more I loved it and realized the game changer for me would be building up my standing aggression technique.

  That didn’t happen tonight. We grappled on the floor for one round, two, then three. The judges called it a draw.

  No resolution, no release. Just like my life.

  Back in the locker room, I showered and dressed. Some guys came over to tell me it was a good fight. But mostly they left me alone. I knew it had been a good fight. The guy had a reputation for his take-downs and he’d brought his A-game on me. It hadn’t been enough to win. But I hadn’t sealed the deal, either. I’d let the win slip out of my hands.

  With a loud, still unsatisfying bang, I slammed the palm of my hand against a metal locker.

  “Tuck?”

  I heard her soft voice behind me and wondered if I’d made it up.

  “Can I come in?” she asked, tentative. “The guys said it would be OK, but…”

  I turned around, my hand still up pressing an ice pack to my forehead. Jewel stood there, her eyes filled with concern as she walked toward me.

  “Are you OK?” she asked. “You definitely won that fight. I don’t know what the judges were thinking.”

  I cracked a smile. She made me do it. I liked the sound of her blindly in my corner.

  “He fought hard,” I said.

  “You fought harder,” she insisted. “A draw is bullshit.” Fire in her eyes, hands on her hips, she stood radiant and fierce. I loved it.

  “You came.” I knew I was stating the obvious. She was right there in front of me. But I’d thought she hadn’t come and my brain was taking a while to catch up.

  “I stood in the back. I’m sorry. I have a hard time watching all of it.”

  “You don’t like watching two grown men pummel each other?”

  “I don’t like watching you get hurt.” She looked, concerned, up at where I’d been cut. Again, I’d managed to not get too banged up. A grappling match tended to leave less marks than punches and kicks. But I still felt sore as fuck.

  “It’s not bad.” I removed the ice pack. She winced anyway when she saw my cut. She must not know what a bad beating looked like. It made this look like a playground scrape.

  She stepped closer and took the ice pack from my hand. Reaching up, she brought it to the abrasion on my forehead. “You need to keep icing this.”

  “Are you a bossy nurse, Jewel?” We stood close and I could smell her hair, lightly fragrant like lavender.

  “I’m sure you’d be a terrible patient,” she grumbled, still pressing the ice pack to my head.

  I slid my hand along her waist, fitting it warm against the small of her back. “I’d take my time healing if you were taking care of me.”

  I could feel her shaking slightly under my touch, quivering at my nearness. She wore a thin t-shirt and I could feel the warmth of her skin through the cotton. Her breathing revealed a slight hitch, but she teased me back, “If it took you a long time to get better that would make me a pretty bad nurse.”

  Leaning down to her, mouth at her ear, I whispered, “I do like the idea of you being bad.” With a slow, teasing tongue I licked her ear, down at her earlobe, then sucked the tender flesh.

  “Tuck,” she panted, hand up at my chest. “We can’t.” She held herself taut, not melting against me like I wanted, like I could tell she wanted.

  With my hand by hers, I circled her wrist, so delicate and small under my large fingers. She was so sensitive on the inside of her wrist, her skin so soft and pale. With my rough, calloused thumb I stroked her and felt her pulse jump.

  “You want to,” I insisted, husky.

  “That doesn’t matter,” she protested, strained, jaw set, eyes closed.

  Her softness, her breathing, her smell. The swell of her breasts barely touching my chest, how she’d feel if I crushed her against me. I could grab her ass, grind into her, take her nipple between my teeth and suck, then bite. I wanted to hear her cry out, the way she’d made herself as she’d watched me come.

  “You’re killing me, Jewel,” I growled, low and gruff.

  “We can’t.” Her words came out strangled, forced from her throat. She didn’t want to resist any more than I did.

  But she left just the same, turned and walked right out of the room. I stood there and let her do it. Sometimes you had to lose a battle to win the war.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jewel

  He has me up against the wall. Sweaty and desperate, I’m writhing beneath him, frantic for more. He’s fucking me hard, pounding, stretching me with his cock and I’m drenched, mewling and bucking up against him. I want to grab, claw, clutch him to me closer if that’s even possible, but he’s got my wrists pinned up over my head. He has complete control and I’m raw with need and lust.

  I’ve never felt so dominated, so completely taken. My thighs are open wide, my ankles hooked around his waist. He’s huge and he’s pounding me hard into the wall, his hand grabbing my ass, positioning me exactly where he wants me, where he can get the best access, the most depth.

  “More!” I scream and I don’t even recognize my voice, I’m so wild.

  “Do you like taking my cock, Jewel?” he growls, low, dirty and demanding.

  “Yes!” I scream. I want to talk dirty for him. I want him to make me.

  “You like how I fuck you?”

  “Oh, Tuck! Yes!” I’m so close, shuddering, quivering, I can feel the climax build and grow, the waves of release so close to the surface. Wild, I grind my pussy onto his shaft, needing this more than anything I ever have in my life.

  My heart pounding, my body glistening in sweat, I opened my eyes. I propped myself up on my elbows, disoriented, squinting at the early morning sunshine peeking through the shades of my bedroom. I was not up against a wall, not with Tuck. I was alone in my bed, about to have an orgasm from a dirty, filthy sex dream about my stepbrother.

  With a groan, I flopped back onto my pillows. My sheets were tangled and twisted around my feet. I was going insane. All this pent-up longing, the heat, the desire, it was threatening to consume me.

  I couldn’t do this much longer. But I still had five more weeks. And today was our parents’ last day in L.A. Then, it would be just us, me and Tuck, alone together under one roof.

  Our parents had been living with us for the past week. I’d barely seen him. Except for at the fight.

  Holy shit, that fight. Standing pressed up against the wall, my heart had stopped when I’d seen him enter the cage. He looked so menacing and powerful, all male. All that energy and aggression, raw passion and prowess, my breathing picked up the second I saw him. He’d taken off his sweatshirt, revealing his rippling muscles and tattoos. My pussy had clenched, wanting his heat, wanting to touch and close the distance between us. I needed to touch him, taste him, trace every inch of him with my fingers, my tongue. I didn’t even recognize the person I’d become.

  Back in the locker room afterwards, he’d looked so bruised and battered, inside and out. I knew he was a fighter, I’d seen that fire in him
, his determination and drive, so to go all-out for three rounds and then be handed a draw, it must have killed him. I was pissed off about it. It seemed so unfair! He’d been wronged! I’d wanted to storm down to the judges and give them a piece of my mind. Were they blind? Because I could book them appointments with a good optometrist and hook them up with some glasses. Then they could actually judge a fight and see who was the winner. Tuck had won that fight, no question in my mind, from the second they’d gone at it.

  I’d wanted to take care of him in that locker room in so many ways. I’d wanted to soothe his injuries, his pain, make him forget, give him a way to take out his frustrations, a release for that pent-up energy.

  But I’d walked away and so now here I was, sweaty and panting and alone in my bed at 5 a.m. on a Saturday. Wondering how I’d survive once our parents left town. Tomorrow they were headed off to some resort in Baja. I didn’t know if Tuck’s father worked. It seemed like he hadn’t worked a day since he and my mom had hooked up, he certainly never headed into an office to clock in some hours. I knew he’d been born rich, inherited the majority of his wealth from his grandfather. I guessed it was just second-nature for him to play all day.

  Leland. Technically I could call him my stepfather, but that seemed way too permanent for the arrangement they had going on. Hell, I didn’t even always call my mom, Mom. Sometimes I called her Candice and she liked that. It made her feel young, like we were sisters. Totes cute, right? Gack.

  No wonder I’d hid behind my baggy sweats and books. Anything to avoid the desperation that reeked off of my mother, all the injections and lifts, all the time and effort with creams and salon treatments, the money she spent on clothes when we didn’t always have a ton to throw around. With her it was all about appearances, the external, what was on the outside was what mattered most. No wonder I’d focused all of my energy on the inside.

  But now, for the first time in my life, I wondered what I’d been missing. Tuck made me wonder. I’d been hiding my whole life, worried and scared about being vulnerable. What should I do now, when I’d met a man who made me want to let down all my defenses? I wanted to surrender, feel, let myself go wild, explore physical pleasure. What was all the fuss about? Now I really wanted to know.

  §

  “What are you doing tonight?” I’d heard him come into the kitchen, known without turning around that it was Tuck. I recognized his footfall, sturdy and strong. I still started when he spoke, as if I’d been holding my breath and waiting to hear his voice since we’d last spoken, after his fight three days ago.

  “I’m not sure yet.” I kept focused on making my breakfast. Yogurt and strawberries. I’d wash the strawberries, cut off their green tops, then cut them into pieces. If I kept myself busy enough, maybe I’d manage not to climb up my giant, hot-as-sin stepbrother and beg him to take me against the refrigerator. That might not go over so well with our parents, walking in on that scene.

  “You should play poker with me.”

  Oh, how easily he got me to look up. He looked gorgeous, as usual, his morning jaw scruffy and unshaven. I bet it would rub up against me if we kissed, rough against my soft cheek. And I bet I’d like it.

  “No.” I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself around this man, not at all. And our parents would still be home tonight. Gone tomorrow, though.

  “Why, you have plans? Going out with Mike?” His voice got an edge to it.

  “I might.” Mike, Maria and I had talked about going to see a movie, a new summer blockbuster. It promised action, disaster, aliens, rescues and all three of us thought the lead actor was pretty hot. He looked a little like Tuck, less rugged and more pretty Hollywood, but enough similarity that I could imagine enjoying watching him on screen for a couple of hours.

  “I think you’re chicken.”

  “Say what now?” I turned to him, still holding my knife from the strawberries. Didn’t he know better than to taunt a poker champion such as myself?

  “You’re scared.” He reached out a hand and gave me a teasing shove on the shoulder, the lightest whisper of a touch. It still made me tingle and shiver.

  “I’m not scared.” My voice came out breathier than I’d intended.

  He took a step closer. “Then show me.”

  We stared each other down. I really could look into his eyes for a long, long time, so many hues of brown, all melting together, hot and chocolaty. He couldn’t be more sinfully delicious.

  I knew I shouldn’t say yes, but the problem was I wanted to. I missed being around him. My body craved him. This past week of avoiding each other, sharing space with my mother and his father, I physically ached in his absence. There was a long list of why this all was crazy, not the least of which was the fact that I didn’t even know if I really liked him. I didn’t feel like I knew him, yet, the real him. Was he the drunk, spoiled playboy I’d seen in New York only months ago? Or this man I’d seen the past few weeks, driving, pushing, entirely focused on one goal? Either way, I wanted to say yes. So I did.

  Then my mother came into the kitchen and we both went our separate ways. Until that night.

  §

  Eight o’clock Saturday night, I knew our parents had left the house. They had reservations at some hot spot and plans after that. I had no interest in hearing about it, how amazing Leland was to have gotten them into such-and-such restaurant, how so-and-so was likely to be at the party they were headed to afterwards. How my mom still got excited about all that crap, I had no idea. You’d think it would have gotten old for her by now, she’d started modeling at 14 and been around celebrities ever since. She didn’t like it when I did the math, but at 38 that meant she’d been running this circuit for 24 years. That was a long time, lots and lots of drinks and photos and dresses. But she loved it, ate it up, and I realized she couldn’t wait to show Leland to all the people in Hollywood who’d written her off as a has-been. A career come-back was a coveted asset, but snagging a billionaire? Priceless.

  Tuck was already downstairs when I finally left my room. I’d spent longer than I cared to admit choosing the right casual outfit. He knew me well enough to know the kinds of tents and baggy tees I usually chose for a Saturday night around the house, same as a Saturday night out on the town. So now I didn’t want to come off as too obvious. But I also wanted to look good.

  I decided on a lightweight cashmere sweater, something my mother had bought me and I’d never worn. Light as a feather with a scoop neck, the deep lush green brought out the vibrant color of my eyes and hair. My mother really knew how to accentuate assets. It wasn’t until now that I’d wanted to do it for myself. I still wore yoga pants, I didn’t want to overdo it, but I did choose a newer, form-fitting pair. In the mirror, I felt like I’d struck the right balance.

  When he saw me, his jaw nearly dropped. I could see his lips part, the heat build in his eyes. I guessed he liked me in the sweater, the lines of my bra slightly visible beneath the light, soft cashmere. I blushed, I hoped not too deeply, delighting in his response.

  “Ready to play poker?” I asked sitting next to him, trying to seem composed. I had to keep boundaries up tonight. I’d let myself see him, spend time with him, maybe close my eyes for a moment every now and then and bask in his heat, his scent. But this party needed to stay polite. He was still my stepbrother, and we never knew when our parents would get home.

  “What are the stakes?” he asked, shuffling the cards with expertise.

  His hands were so large and he used them so well. I cleared my throat. “You don’t want to play like last time?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve tried truth. How about this time we up it to dare?”

  Dare. Huh. That was more dangerous. Then again, if I won, and of course I would, I could get something I wanted. Something that might help me survive the remaining weeks I still had to share with him in this house.

  “OK, dare,” I agreed. “But just one. Best of 15. Winner gets to choose the dare.”

  “Best of 7.”

&nbs
p; “Best of 11,” I compromised. “There’s only two of us. This might go quick.”

  “Planning on folding a lot?”

  “Talking about yourself again?”

  I could see him smile at my trash talk as he dealt out the cards. Then he paused. “Let’s agree on the dares now. I don’t want you welching.”

  “Welching!” I drew my hand to my chest in horror. “Me, welch? I’ll have you know I always come through on a bet.”

  “Good to know.” His eyes were on my hand, pressed between my breasts. With the sweater drawn tight against my chest, you could see the outline of my bra. I’d chosen a lacy one. I couldn’t help myself.

  “So, when I win…” I brought my hands up, clasping them together at my chin. “When I win, I want you to promise to keep your hands off of me for the rest of the summer.”

  “Oh, Jewel. I could never promise that.” Dark, silky, heated, the man had the sexiest voice I’d ever heard.

  “You have to.” I insisted. It might be my only chance of making it through the next five weeks. He always seemed to find a way to touch me, brush against me, toy lightly with a curl in my hair, press a hand to the small of my back. Even the slightest contact felt electric, making waves that echoed in ripples along every sense for a long time after. It wasn’t fair.

  “That’s not even a dare,” Tuck countered.

  “OK, I dare you to keep your hands off me for the rest of the summer.”

  Tuck smiled. “If you win—”

  “When I win—”

  “Like I was saying, if you win, I’ll keep my hands off you. Until you beg me to touch you. Then, all bets are off.”

  “Oh really? Until I beg you?” I tried to keep my voice steady. Just him saying the word “beg” made me start to throb. Deep down I knew he could get me there, work me up so badly I’d beg for exactly what I should be trying to fight. If I let him.

  “It’s a deal then?” Tuck pressed. “If you win, hands off. Until you ask for them on.”

  I rolled my eyes. The arrogance of this guy was unbelievable. “Fine, yes, that’s my dare.”