Fighting Hearts

by Annabeth Saryu

  “No way,” he growls. Usalv pins my arm to one side and goes back down on me, his mouth filling and creating a void at the same time. His relentless tongue plunges in and out with all the force and speed that I crave at the moment, but will no doubt punish me later. He goes faster and faster, until my insides pulse at the same speed and rhythm on their own.

  I cry out a loud and guttural wail that’s impossible to suppress or control. As my orgasm explodes, Usalv’s mouth clamps down on my most sensitive part, pressing and releasing in perfect tempo.

  When it stops, he lets go of me, allowing my parted legs back together. I fold my knees and bring them up to my chest and cradle myself in a fetal position on top of the counter.

  Usalv runs a possessive hand over the curve of my hip as he watches me. I close my eyes, wishing him away but not wanting him to go.

  He bends down over me, and his lips find my neck and cheek before they rest alongside my ear.

  “Hey,” he whispers. “Sweet Lou?”

  “Mmm?” My exhausted, wordless response sounds distant even to me.

  He places a soft kiss on my lips. I can smell and taste myself on his whiskers and tongue. “You forgot to say stop.”

  Then he slaps the fleshy part of my butt, just enough to make it sting.

  My eyes fly open just in time to see his back retreat. I lift my head off the counter and watch as he takes his keys and phone from the table, and pockets them without a backward glance. He exits the kitchen and a few seconds later, the front door closes with a deliberate, controlled thud.

  Oh fuck.

  15

  “Hey, girl!” Macy steps away from the brick façade by the bar entrance and waves to me.

  “Hey, you!” I bend down for a hug, careful to avoid the smoke and flick of ash from her cigarette. “Watch that damn thing, would you?” My words are harsh, but my tone is gentle.

  “Sorry. I know you hate these things. So do I. Or so I should.”

  Macy’s been through hell, and we all have different ways to cope, but I hate watching her self-destruct right in front me.

  I shake my head. “Does Paul know you’ve started back up again?”

  “We haven’t had a conversation about it, but he probably suspects.” She pulls one hand out of her pocket and studies a half-empty pack of cigarettes. “Hmm…should I stretch these out until he arrives? Or smoke myself silly until the last possible moment?”

  “Whichever.” I smile at her despite myself. “But please quit again.”

  “Trying. But…I think I’m waiting for Paul to come home now. I just don’t feel that stressed out when he’s around.” She gives me a strained smile. “I never did.”

  “When he’s back?” I ask.

  “Early next week. A month, just like they said.” She takes a long drag, burning the cigarette down to the butt. “I’m planning his welcome home party at O’Shea’s. It’s a week from next Saturday.” Macy pauses to grind it out in a large metal ashtray. “You should bring someone.”

  “Thanks, Macy.” I glance up at the door. “Looks like the place is filling up. Want to go in?”

  “Lead the way.”

  The small bar occupies a prime location on this trendy street. Macy and I wanted to check it out a while ago, but then life happened. When I texted her for a meet-up this morning, she’d immediately suggested here.

  The atmosphere reminds me of our usual favorite places. A pleasant buzz of chatter hangs in the air, neither too loud nor too quiet, while a familiar song that I can’t name plays in the background.

  “Quick! Grab it, Macy.” By a stroke of pure luck, a couple pawing each other abruptly desert a tiny bar table hidden behind the entrance rail.

  “Good call.” Macy’s tiny frame inches between the rail and table. It’s a Friday night free for all, but Macy scrunches her way to the far side of the table, making it impossible to tell how long she’s been sitting there to others hunting for a seat in the crowded bar.

  “What I can bring you tonight?” a waitress in a white shirt and black pants asks when she appears.

  “Kirschwasser?” I reply.

  “Yeah, we got that.”

  Macy shoots me a surprised look. Most nights we split a pitcher of some exotic beer she chooses.

  “Neat, please.”

  The waitress nods and looks at Macy.

  “Irish cream,” she replies.

  “Kilkenny, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t know you were such a big brandy fan,” Macy remarks after the waitress leaves.

  “I’ve always preferred hard-A when I drink,” I reply.

  She shoots me a stunned look. “Well, why the hell didn’t you ever say so?”

  “I’ve never minded your choices before.” I give her a pointed look. “At least when it came to beer.”

  “Oh?” Macy raises her eyebrows in response. “What’s on your mind, Louise?” She folds her hands on the table.

  “My dear, dear friend…” My voice is gently tinged with cynicism. “How the hell did Mike find out that I was staying at Usalv’s? Because he sure the hell didn’t get it from me.”

  “Guilty.” She raises her hand. “Well, fuck, Louise I had to tell him something when I called to cancel the day Usalv came over and you gave us the ditch. Which wasn’t very nice, by the way.”

  “You heard what happened to Mike, right?”

  “About his eye? Yeah, he told me he got hurt at the gym. So what?”

  I lean forward. “Mike got his ass kicked in a quasi-professional brawl that he started with Usalv.”

  “Usalv?” A red flush creeps across her pale face.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh my God.” Her hand flies to her mouth.

  She gives a grateful smile as our drinks are deposited onto the table. The waitress looks at our faces and leaves quickly.

  “Macy, I’m not interested in Mike. Please stop trying to get us together.” My voice is calm and firm.

  She takes a sip of ale, and her features transform into a stoic mask. People in healthcare who deliver life-changing bad news learn how to school their expressions.

  It’s a skill that comes in handy for other occasions, too.

  “We’re not destined to balance each other out,” I insist. “I’m not going to make him less indecisive; he’s not going to make me less intense.” I pause and look her straight in the eye. “We’d drive each other bat shit crazy.”

  Macy’s stoic mask dissolves into a look of deep resignation. It’s a rare moment in our relationship.

  “After Tim, you were in a world of hurt,” she reminds me. “You said no to dating, not no to Mike. We’d all hoped that when you were ready, you’d give him a chance.”

  My stomach feels like it just got kicked. Hard.

  “You were all so close,” I explain. “Mike was everywhere we went. Every time. I was trying to keep things casual and polite.” My temples throb gently, but the pain is manageable. “I thought you of all people knew my true feelings.”

  Macy exhales slowly. “Deep down, I probably did. But we’d all love to have you as part of the family. I guess that got in the way.”

  “We?”

  “Paul, Mike, and me,” she admits in a sad voice.

  “Thank you.” I swallow hard and feel tears well up in my eyes. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  “God, Lou, please stop,” Macy gushes. “I’m so sorry. To you. To Mike.” Her teary eyes meet mine. “I really was trying to help you both be happy. Please believe me.”

  “I have no objections to happiness, and you meant well, that’s who you are. But no more. Please.”

  “Well, you could do worse,” she jokes.

  “Macy…” I warn her.

  “Mike’s easy on the eyes, and he’s got more money than God. There’s still time… Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  Macy snorts. “Girl, you’re only positive when you’re off the market.�
� She gives me a curious stare. “Are you?”

  It’s a bit unsteady but I manage to laugh. “That’s a good question.”

  “You know, you have to own some of this Mike shit. You never gave me a heads up about Usalv. I had no fucking clue.”

  “I wanted to, believe me,” I insist. “But with Paul’s injuries and all my new stuff, it just didn’t happen. Never the right time, or enough of it.”

  “Tell me now,” she presses. “What’s going on with you?”

  I give her an assessing look. If I can’t confide in her, who can I tell?

  “In the last week”—I lean my head in—“I’ve been bumped, pumped and humped. Licked, flicked and wicked. Plucked, sucked, and—”

  “I knew it!” Macy shoots her fist into the air. “The way he looked at you, like he wanted to swallow you whole and didn’t give a tinker’s damn that I was right there. I knew he’d have you flat on your back the first week you moved in there.”

  I give her a silent nod of acknowledgement but say nothing.

  “Is everything okay?” Macy’s glee evaporates.

  “I don’t know.”

  “My God, Louise, you don’t look happy. You should be happy… Why aren’t you?”

  “In girl code?” It’s our shorthand for discussing personal topics in public places.

  Macy looks around the bar. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Because…” I lower my voice and lean toward her. “The boys have yet to bat.”

  “What?” Macy’s high-pitched response draws sharp glances from a nearby table.

  “It’s the God-awful truth,” I mutter.

  “Are you saying”—she looks around the bar and ducks her head—“that he hasn’t taken out the toolkit?”

  “Not even a glimpse of the batter’s box.”

  “Hmm…” Macy throws an arm over the back of her stool and stares up at the light fixture for a moment. “So what happens?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply in my best clinic professional voice. “After I…come, we’re done.”

  She nods. “Does he get lift off?”

  “I’m pretty sure he does. Whenever I’ve had contact with his bullpen, he seems rock solid. But every time I try to take his pants off, he tells me later. Then he gets me off, and later never comes. No pun intended.”

  “But does he finish himself?”

  “I don’t know. This morning he made me come twice, and after—”

  “Twice? Without using any heavy equipment? Jesus Christ, Louise.”

  “I know, right?” My frustration returns at the memory. “But I’m barely done and he’s off like a shot to the bathroom. And, then—”

  “Yeah?”

  “He takes a shower with the door locked.” I pause. “Today I asked if we could shower together, but he said he needed to hurry.”

  Macy throws me a thoughtful look. “So he knows his way around your powder puff, he gets lift-off, but the final act is a cliffhanger?” She pauses and shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe he’s saving it up.”

  “Oh my God. You really think…?”

  “It certainly possible. Maybe Usalv’s still on the V-team.”

  “A virgin?” I sit back stunned “That’s not funny, Macy.”

  “I ain’t laughing, Lou.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose.” It’s a moment before the shock passes. “But I don’t think so. He would have said something, right? I mean, does he really think I don’t notice we never arrive at home plate?”

  “Well…” Macy crosses her legs and folds her hands across one knee. “Maybe if you’re…satisfied, he thinks you don’t mind.”

  “So I don’t care if things are that one sided as long as I’m getting mine? How flattering is that.” I coil a strand of hair around my finger and pull until it hurts. “Of course, maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the problem.”

  “How are you the problem?” Macy asks.

  “We never talked about any kind of sexual relationship before I moved in. It started in a weak moment for both of us. Maybe now that it’s happened, he’s just passing the time until I get my own place.”

  “It’s possible.” Macy renders a blunt assessment. “Does he ever refuse when you initiate things?”

  “I don’t initiate. He does. Well, not exactly.” I sigh in frustration. “If we’re both home and neither one of us need to leave, it…just happens.” I shrug, confused.

  “I remember those days.” Macy smiles off in the distance before her focus returns. “Maybe things have caught him off guard too. Cut him some slack. And talk to him.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Every time I do, he puts me on my back and goes to town.”

  “Ahh, the avoidance orgasm. A very effective tactic.” Macy’s sage tone bristles. “If you want answers, then it’s time for you take control.”

  “Take control?”

  “Yes. Insist that he give you what you want. On your terms.”

  “And how do I do that? Get out the whips and chains? ’Cause I gotta say, that’s not really my thing.” I’m equal parts joking and serious.

  “It doesn’t have to be.” Macy gives a short laugh. “Just let him know that if he wants to continue, that are some things you’d like to try, too.”

  “And what if he says no?”

  She rolls her eyes. “If you’re doing it as much as you say, it won’t be that easy for him. But if you think he might try to go there, then you’ve got have a seduction plan prepared.”

  “Seduction? As in thongs and see-through negligees?”

  “Hell, yes.” Macy whips out her phone and does a search. “That stuff really amps things up in the bedroom. Or wherever. Oh look!” She holds up her phone. “Vic’s is still having a sale! You need to get down there.”

  “Hold on a sec,” I put out my hand in front of her phone. “Say I do this, say it works. What does this tell me? Other than he likes sex, long legs, and a nice rack?”

  “Let’s break this down.” Macy bangs a pensive rhythm on her chin with her finger. “You need to know if this…preference…he’s got is something he’s willing to compromise on or if it’s a serious hang up that you need to deal with. Or walk away from.”

  “Walk away?” My stomach sours.

  ‘You two got all down and dirty before either of you came clean about what you wanted out of this. It’s too soon to say how it’ll end up. But sometimes you start off not knowing. It happens.”

  “It sure does.” Reality sinks in, slow and painful. “I never thought I’d find myself in a situation like this.”

  “Like I said, it does happen. Not all relationships start with candy and flowers or romantic weekends at quaint B&Bs.” She covers my hand with hers on the table. “But now that you’re in it, don’t fall for him and then find out later you’re not compatible that way.”

  I nod in agreement. “So…seduction?”

  “Seduction.”

  16

  “Louise? It’s me.” My duffel bag hits the floor and I take the stairs two at a time before she can stop me. “I’m going up to have a shower.”

  We haven’t spent much time together since last Friday morning, right before I left town for my weekend fight. When I got home Sunday night, she’d already left for work and begun the grueling rhythm of twelve-hour shifts for the week.

  I’ve worked hard to avoid her since, leaving before she arrived home or coming back after I thought she’d be gone. It’s killing me to be away from her, but it’s the only way to give my self-control a break. Since we met in the locker room, I haven’t had straight-up sex, or even wanted it with anyone but her.

  So I take what I can get.

  She’s frustrated, even worried, and I’ll need to explain soon. But my physical issues and sex drive are not a discovery best made in the heat of the moment. But no matter how I go about it, it never goes well for me.

  The upside is the further that conversation gets kicked down the road, the longer Sweet Lou will be in my life. And that’s a trade-off I�
��m willing to make for as a long as it works.

  I hurry through the bedroom door, tossing my keys and phone on the dresser. As I pull my black T-shirt overhead, a low husky voice startles me.

  “So how’d it go?”

  Holy Christ.

  The T-shirt I’m holding floats to the floor, while my jaw drops like a broken drawbridge. My feet are planted in place and I feel myself staring, but it’s impossible to pretend otherwise or look away.

  Sweet Lou the sex kitten lies on her stomach in the middle of my king-sized bed. Standing at the door gives me a clear view of her pert, perfect, thong-adorned ass and those endless lithe and lean legs. That super-short slinky nightie is completely sheer, tied together around the back by an oversized black bow, while her breasts jut out of a sheer, lacy push-up bra.

  “Louise?” I rasp, while my tongue and throat take on a sandpaper-like consistency. “Wha-at are you doing?”

  “I’ve missed you,” she explains as she swings her legs onto the floor and sits up, giving me a full view of her naked front through the sheer nightie. “It’s been a long week. For both of us I think.”

  My downstairs, semi-torqued since finding her purse hanging from the banister, roars to life, heavy as lead, and hot as a volcano. I glance sideways and measure the ten paces to the bathroom door. Close, but nowhere close enough.

  “It’s nice to see you too, sweetheart. What’re you wearing?” Fuck it, I can’t help myself.

  “Let me show you.” She saunters over to me, wearing sky-high silver stiletto heels. Louise is a tall woman, but with those shoes, she’s over six-foot tall and almost eye-level with me.

  She stops in front of me and spins around slowly. “Do you like it?” The sex kitten smiles at me over her shoulder.

  “You know I do.” My eyes never leave the cutout lace waistband of her thong.

  “Good.” Sweet Lou turns back around, tilts her head up, and kisses me. Those X-rated lips are slick with deep coral gloss, but it smears off in no time, leaving the naked taste of Louise on my mouth and tongue.

  Her taut nipples strain against their sheer lace cups. As she rubs her breasts against my bare chest, their movement scrapes my naked skin, making me shiver with waves of arousal.