I certainly had nothing to compare this to. Maybe an intense, scorching hot night like last night was how it always was with Tuck. But I hated the thought of him with other girls, so I shoved it out of my head. Last night, I’d felt like he’d been as into it as me, if that were even possible. How he’d told me I killed him. He couldn’t stop telling me how beautiful I was, how much he loved hearing the sounds I was making. He seemed to bask in me, never want to leave my side.
Of course he wasn’t by my side now. It made me a little nervous. Maybe things hadn’t gone as well as I’d thought? Maybe he hadn’t liked the way I’d fallen asleep after the second long-drawn-out orgasm. He might have realized I wasn’t his match, didn’t have the stamina and experience to play all night like he needed.
I wanted to build up the stamina. With him. He could train me. A wicked smile crept across my face, there in my bed in the morning sunlight. We both had a lot of drive and discipline. What if we focused all of that on giving each other pure pleasure? A tingle thrilled through my body. I wasn’t going to fight this anymore. I was tired of being the good girl.
I didn’t know how he was feeling, but I couldn’t wait to see him again. Hopefully our plans to drive over together to the fight still held. I wanted to be with him, in the car as we headed there together, by his side at the match, his woman. I wanted to scream for him cageside, scream his name in the crowd so he’d hear me, feel me there. Afterwards, I’d soothe him if he lost, kissing him, making him feel better in all the ways he’d need.
And if he won? I felt a flutter low in my belly. I somehow knew he would. I could feel it in my bones. He’d be the master of the fight tonight. And then he’d be the master of me. And I couldn’t wait to give myself to him, completely, fully, the way I’d been dying to these past five weeks.
It seemed hard to believe, what with the mind-bending orgasms I’d had last night, but I was wet again. I brought my hand down to my petals and petted myself, felt the heat growing. Tuck. His tongue, how he’d growled against my quivering, slick flesh. He’d eaten me with such ferocity, but also so gentle, reading my every response, knowing exactly when and how to coax exactly what he wanted from my body, from my mind.
Tuck. I couldn’t wait to be with him tonight.
§
The driver moved the car slick along the L.A. freeway, maneuvering through traffic, finding a way to keep pushing forward at all times. At five o’clock, the late July sun still shone bright. Tuck sat beside me, coiled tight like a cobra ready to strike. He held my hand and didn’t say a word. I could tell he was getting into the zone, getting ready to climb into that cage and give it everything he had.
The minute I’d seen him earlier that day in the kitchen, all my worries had ended. I’d stammered something apologetic about falling asleep and he’d stopped me, taking me into his arms.
“I wore you out, girl.” He’d looked at me with pride. “Better get used to it.”
Then he’d told me tonight he wanted me to wear the green dress I’d worn at the Bastille Day party.
I had it on, sitting next to him in the limo. The silk clung and melted to my skin. The skirt rode up so high I still couldn’t believe I’d worn it in public, and was about to do so again. But the thought of Tuck wanting to see me in it, of pleasing him when he looked out at me from the cage, there was something animalistic about it. He did something so primal to me, making me feel consumed by need. I wanted to do it for him, giving him anything he wanted.
The driver took us around to a back entrance at the hotel. A bodyguard with a headpiece let us in. I could tell this fight would be big. The hotel was nicer and bigger than his last exhibition fight. I hadn’t wanted to make him nervous by asking, but I wondered what would happen if he won? Would he go pro? I didn’t honestly even know what that meant. Did you join some league? Was there an induction ceremony? I had no idea about this world he was entering into, immersing himself in, and I’d been so busy avoiding him I’d never asked him these questions.
Now wasn’t the right time. Now, all I did was hang on to his huge hand as he guided me through the underground maze of hallways.
“Have you been here before?” I asked, marveling at how he knew where to turn right, then left.
“Weigh-in, yesterday.”
A couple of guys wearing the shirts from his L.A. gym met him in front of a room. They fist-bumped, clapped him on the back, huge and pumped with testosterone.
“Ready to crush?” one asked. Tuck just growled in response. A man of few words, but crazy skills. A shiver traveled up my spine.
“I’ll show the lady to her seat,” the other offered, taking my arm.
“She’s with me,” Tuck said, pulling me to his side with a hand around my waist.
“OK, then.” The guy took a step back, getting the message.
We walked into a simple room with a few lockers, bench seating, a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. A door led to a bathroom. Tuck’s coach greeted him warmly, shaved head gleaming in the lights, his neck as thick as his head. I remembered Tuck had told me this L.A. gym was one of the best. That must mean this coach was at the top of his game. He looked it.
He looked at me, questioning.
“This is Jewel,” Tuck said, hand at my back. “She’s with me.”
“Good to meet you.” The man accepted my presence, giving me the nod. I didn’t know anything about this world, but sensed I’d entered into some inner circle.
Tuck and his coach began talking about the fight that night, his strategy, what he should bring right out of the gate. I sat on the bench, nearby but giving them space. I knew he’d been training for this all summer, but I couldn’t really believe what he was about to do. Willingly, voluntarily stepping into a cage with a trained heavyweight fighter, expert in boxing, wrestling and kickboxing. The other guy sounded fearsome.
I felt privileged to be there, and realized Tuck, the guy I’d seen surrounded by his network back in New York, was really on his own here. And he’d chosen that. A man who easily could have rested back comfortably the rest of his life, never lifted a finger, and he’d chosen this instead. I loved that about him.
Love? Where had that word come from? Now wasn’t the time to think about it.
Tuck warmed up, punched the bag some, bounced light on his toes, took advice from his coach. The adrenaline coursed through him, the tension building. The muscles corded thick in his body, his veins standing out.
“In ten,” a man let us know, poking his head into the room.
Tuck came to me, walked me into the corner and held me tight against him. I could smell him, animal musk, ready to throw down. I trembled in his arms, excited, frightened, aroused. He pressed his forehead to mine and we stood there together, arms around each other, saying nothing, feeling everything.
Then we broke away and a guy from his team led me to my seat. This time I was only three rows away. I’d be able to see everything. Amped and nervous, on edge and excited, I could barely sit down.
The crowd had to be twice the size of the first event. I wasn’t good at judging numbers, but I had to guess several thousand people were there, TV cameras, an announcer in a tux, three judges sitting at a table. The lights blared, music pounded, the crowd screamed and cheered. It was on.
The first fight passed by quick. It didn’t go past the first round. One guy took down the other a first time, then a second, then the third he gained advantage and his opponent tapped out. Simple as that.
Sometimes. The second fight went long and bloody. Each pounding fist to the head I winced, imagining it was Tuck. He’d be next. Would he be the one taking the beating, cut and bleeding and staggering right before my eyes? I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d probably become the first woman in MMA history to jump into the cage and try to stop the fight.
But the minute I saw Tuck again, my heart soared with confidence. He had this. He stood there while the announcer trumpeted his arrival, The Crusher, the Eminem song he’d chosen as his anth
em blasting through the arena. The crowd went wild, screaming, yelling, up on their feet. More than last time. I could tell he was gaining a following, people coming to see him fight, people rooting for him to win.
My stomach clenched tight as he walked down, all power and muscle, none of the theatrics of some of the earlier fighters with their hands in the air encouraging more cheering, or taunting and vamping for the crowd. Tuck was all business, a gladiator to the fight, eyes on the prize. The hard driving beat thumping, the packed crowd roaring, my heart pounded in my chest. Outside the cage he stripped down to shorts and when he stepped in, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
Neither could any of the other women in the crowd.
“I want you, Crusher!” I heard one scream.
Another one went in for it, straight and direct. “Fuck me, Crusher!”
I wanted to claw their eyes out. Mine. My man.
All muscle, his tattoos under the lights, sculpted and huge. I shook with excitement, the adrenaline shooting through me, the screams and heat and lights pounding through my veins. His opponent looked fierce, covered in tats and spitting fire. He stood an inch shorter than Tuck but looked thicker. I’d never understood the appeal of sports like these, or any sport really, until now. Now, I got it. Hand-to-hand combat, so elemental, so primal, battling it out. It got right to the core of our deepest, basest urges. Tuck was introducing me to all kinds of those.
Before the bell rang, Tuck looked over at me, straight into my eyes. I couldn’t breathe, the intensity was too much, all rugged male power, his chest glistening and bare as he looked out at me. My sex clenched in response to his maleness, his domination. I knew he’d win.
Always on his feet, ducking, weaving, Tuck got in some hard jabs and uppercuts and a few vicious roundhouse kicks and knees. Every hit made me gasp. I couldn’t believe what he could do.
It went to round two. I didn’t see why it had to, he’d dominated round one. But in the second round, Tuck came out pummeling. It hardly took him a full minute to land a solid punch to his opponent’s jaw, making him fall to his knees. Then Tuck maneuvered him into a chokehold. The crowd went wild. The man next to me started yelling, “Rear naked choke! Rear naked choke!” I had no idea what that meant, but I could tell it was good for Tuck. The referee in the cage called it. Tuck won the fight.
Triumphant, he raised his hands to the crowd but he looked straight at me.
“Tuck!” I screamed, knowing he couldn’t hear me above the roar, but he could see my lips move. He’d know I was screaming his name. I‘d known he’d win, but I still couldn’t believe he’d done it. So much adrenaline coursed through me, so much heat and excitement. Screaming and jumping up and down, I wanted to run full-throttle into the cage and throw my arms around him. But I held back. There’d be time for that later on that night.
It seemed to take forever for the hoopla to subside. Ring girls and announcers and promoters and sponsors and coaches and teammates and then more ring girls and other girls who just wanted to throw themselves at him. Tuck had gone to the next level. I didn’t know if that meant pro or what, but he’d clearly raised his profile, impressing all the right people.
I stood and watched it all, trembling with emotion, dying to touch him, until finally Tuck left the cage, catching my eye and motioning for me to meet him back in the locker room. Even back there he was surrounded, everyone wanting to congratulate, waiting for him after his shower to hype him up, telling him how big he was going to get, how far he could take this. Tuck listened and thanked and let them have their time. But he barely took his eyes off of me. We were both waiting, wanting, our minds already on the time when we could be together.
Finally, he extricated himself, convincing the throng he didn’t want to party. Really. Not just saying that. With me by his side, they got it, giving me a few lecherous looks until Tuck nipped that in the bud. A warning look and a growl and they’d shown more respect. I was Tuck’s woman.
I didn’t know what it all meant, couldn’t think much past tonight—hell, I could barely think at all. I could only feel, the heat in his large hand as it gripped mine. The feel of his powerful thigh brushing against my own. The promise in the pressure from his hand at the small of my back.
Until finally we were alone together in the back of the car, the driver taking us home. We didn’t waste any time, our lips finding each other the second the door closed. He drew me onto his lap and held me like he never wanted to let me go. He had several cuts on his face and I had to be careful, but I felt like I had to kiss him or I’d die. In the darkness of the car, our mouths, tongues, and lips met, stroking, seeking, each kiss growing deeper, more passionate, more needy. The more I got of him, the more I wanted. It enflamed me, emboldened me, made me crazy.
When we got home, I could barely stand to walk in past the front door. I wanted him to fuck me straight up against the exterior of the house. But for once he showed more decorum than me, taking me inside, sweeping me along until we made it to the living room couch, the place where he’d eaten me out last night.
The place where I’d go down on him tonight. Suddenly, it was all I could think about. Like the porn video he’d been watching that night I’d seen him jerking off. The woman down between the man’s legs, his hands on her head. I wanted that. I wanted to serve Tuck that way, show him how much I felt for him, treat him so right after his fight that night.
Slowly, shyly, I pulled away and stood up from the couch. I still held his hand.
“Where are you going?” he asked, sounding slightly drunk though I knew it was only on my kisses.
Smiling slyly, in answer I simply knelt down, my hands on his thighs, my body in-between his legs. His eyes instantly blazed with heat.
“I want to taste you,” I whispered, quiet, but he heard it, his eyes on me rapt as I reached up to the waistband of his pants. He raised his hips and I pulled them all the way down, freeing his giant cock. It sprang up, so hard, veins running along its length.
“Jewel,” he whispered, hot. He held himself still as if he couldn’t believe this was happening as I reached over, slowly, taking him reverently in my hands. He felt so delicious, so huge and pulsing, alive with need, so male. I wanted to explore, touch, taste him.
“I want you in my mouth.” I breathed heavy, fascinated by his cock, a drop of pre-come forming on the tip. Licking my lips, I bent down and kissed his crown, softly. It felt so smooth and hard against my tongue.
He moaned as I took him slowly into my mouth. Like hot steel velvet, so male, powerful and strong. I could taste the pearl of his come, liquid heat, so tantalizing.
“Mmm,” I moaned, licking him.
“Jewel,” he groaned, his hand at my hair, fisting it. The need and hunger rolled off of him in nearly palpable waves. He was so big, I didn’t know how I was going to take him into my mouth, but I wanted to. I wanted to swallow him down and suck him so good.
With the tip of his cock in my mouth, I looked up at him and licked, then gave him a full, wet suck. He hissed, his eyes closing for a moment in bliss. Feeling a heady rush, my pussy clenched. He loved this, and I loved my newfound power. Everything he’d given me the night before I wanted to give back to him, that unbelievable crazy build up, the mind-bending loss of control.
He was so big it was difficult to take him in, but I relaxed my throat and pulled him in full and wet. He swore as I did it, sucking him down deep, licking and sucking him like the most delicious candy I’d ever tasted.
As big as he was to start with, he grew bigger, longer, thicker. I had no idea how I’d take him into my virgin pussy. His length and girth almost made me gag, my eyes watering with the effort, but I wanted this, I wanted more. I began working up and down on his cock in a rhythm, wet, sucking. He grunted and began thrusting into my mouth. I could feel the raw, animal lust grow in him, the need.
He brought his hand to the back of my head and pushed me down on his shaft, but not forceful, just testing. I moaned in response. I liked it. I wante
d him to use me, teach me how he liked it, show me how to do it right for him.
“You suck so good,” he groaned, guiding my head down. “Just like that, baby.”
I sucked and moaned, taking him in deep, my sex throbbing and slick as I worked. He grew even more excited and started pushing me, forcing my head down, working me in a rhythm to suck his dick. I loved it. I moaned, kneeling before him as he started to fuck my face in a harder, faster rhythm. My panties grew soaked, my juices practically dripping down my inner thighs. I wanted to be his little slut. I wanted him to make me suck his huge cock, make me swallow all of his hot come.
His balls tensed. I cupped them in my palm, stroking them as I sucked. His breathing grew more labored, the muscles in his thighs rigid.
“Yes, suck it,” he groaned as he forced my head down, making me take all nine inches of him deep down my throat. I nearly gagged but I did it. I wanted all of it.
“I’m going to come,” he growled. I moaned, I wanted every drop. I sucked and swirled my tongue, focusing on taking in all of his hardness. His come rocketed out, hot and salty and perfect, deep into the back of my throat. He made a deep, guttural sound as he exploded, overcome with lust and pleasure and satisfaction. I nearly came, too, at the sound of him, my pussy wet and quivering in response. I drank all of him down, every last drop as he groaned and swore and pumped everything down my throat.
“Fuck!” he called out, breathing heavy, his hand pulling at his hair. “That was…holy shit.”
Proud, licking my lips, I smiled up at him. He dropped his head back onto the back of the couch, spent. I’d done that. It felt so good. Reaching down, he pulled me up and onto his lap.
“What have you done to me?” He buried his face into the crook of my neck, nuzzling me, scenting me. “That was…baby, that was crazy.”
Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance Page 18