by Eve Langlais
He was almost as adept at cutting himself off as I was.
“I would’ve finished but you didn’t want me to.” I shrugged and lowered my gaze to his throat. Such a vulnerable place. I’d nearly kissed him there before he’d shoved me away. “You could’ve had my hand or my mouth. I’m up for anything.”
He cupped my chin and dragged my face up to his. “How about if I take you inside and lay you out on my bed and make love to you until you scream?” He stepped closer and spoke against my mouth, moving my lips with his. Puffing his breath into me and making it mine. “And then, when I’m finished, what if I spread your legs and lick your sweet little pussy until you’re begging me to slide into you again? You up for that, baby doll?”
I was so shocked I couldn’t even work up a sneer at the annoying endearment. That was the only reason I could find for what I said next.
I’d live to regret saying it, that was for certain.
“I don’t even like that,” I whispered, with all the dismissiveness I could summon.
I didn’t want anyone’s face between my legs. It seemed horribly intrusive. Especially a guy who, minute by minute, was making me want to kick his ass even more. Pretty soon I’d be willing to do it for free.
He didn’t react for what felt like forever. Then his lips curled into quite possibly the most smug grin I’d ever seen. “Yet.”
Damn if I didn’t clench with need.
I pulled free of his hold. This time he let me go. I zipped up his jacket to the neck, meeting his gaze one last time before I walked away. It was getting to be a habit with us—me leaving him hanging—but at least I didn’t run. In fact, I walked as slowly as my chilly legs would allow.
My pride was my most enduring friend.
When I turned at the corner, I looked back over my shoulder. He still stood in the same place, a looming shadow in the dark.
Chapter Ten
Tray
I headed out early the next morning. Sleep had been an impossibility, so I eventually gave up and dragged my ass to The Cage. A few other people had arrived early too, but most of my favored machines were available. I warmed up on the treadmill before moving on to the rowing equipment and the pull-up bars. Quality time with the weight bag came next, then a lengthy sparring session with Joe, the first guy I’d ever fought. Despite being as grizzled as a Kodiak bear, he’d picked up some speed, and I ended up with a couple more bruises than I’d expected.
“Good job, man.” Rubbing my side, I grinned and bumped his fist after the match. Damn, maybe I really did need to start laying off the carbs.
I’d miss my bagels. But if I had to go cold turkey on bread products, at least I had bacon to ease the pain. And smoked ham. And Italian sausage smothered in peppers, onions, and horseradish sauce.
Joe followed me into the pool and sat on the edge while I did laps. Lots of laps. Even after the workout, my head still felt muzzy from lack of sleep. That wasn’t the only area of my anatomy that had filed an official protest.
Let’s just say my entire body—every part—had been awake all night.
“So you’re up against Costas soon. Heard he’s a scrappy one,” Joe said when I surfaced.
I grunted a noncommittal reply. I wasn’t excited about the fight. It was just what I did. Something to fill the time. The days of me living to get in the ring were long gone.
“Lots of buzz around the bout. Hard to believe you’re the old kid on the block now. You’re what, twenty-two?”
“Three. You know fighters don’t last long ’round here.” Some got bored and quit. Some got hurt or aged out. Others ended up in another kind of cage, one with steel bars instead of rope. “I’ve been in the game awhile.”
“Which makes you a target.” Joe leaned forward to nail me with a penetrating stare. “Be honest now. You’re getting ready to hang it up, aren’t you?”
I ducked my head again and came up dripping. I rubbed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath of humid chlorine-scented air. All tactics to delay replying to Joe’s question. I already knew the answer, but that didn’t mean I was ready to say it out loud.
He was a decent guy, one of the best I’d fought. Joe had taught me Muay Thai. My favored low kick was a modified version of the roundhouse he’d shown me years ago. Even so, he was still a competitor. I trusted him—to a point.
“What makes you say that?” I slicked my hand over my scalp.
“Brother, I’ve known you for a long time. Your passion is gone.”
It wasn’t gone entirely, as proven last night with Mia. Just her name echoing in my mind had my poor neglected cock rearing to life in the warm water. But she was the exception.
She was also the reason I’d been up all night, hard, angry and frustrated.
And confused.
I pulled myself out of the water to sit next to Joe. “What do you know about female MMA fighters?”
He scratched his bristly jaw. Joe was closer to forty than thirty, yet he’d almost kicked my ass this morning. In the eyes of some people who weren’t me, he had.
The guy was right about one thing. Passion was the missing ingredient. If you had it, any goal was in reach. Without it, you might as well go belly up at your opponent’s feet.
One reason among many it was time to get out. I didn’t want to get myself dead before I had a real chance to live.
“You mean here? In the city?”
“Yeah. I didn’t even know there was a circuit.”
“Oh, there’s a lane for most cars. You feel me?” He flashed a wide smile. His teeth were stained from coffee and chew and probably things I didn’t want to think about. “There are some broads who fight in Brooklyn, most of ’em outta Mark’s. They don’t draw in the crowds like the fellas do. Except for the gawkers. They see a pair of flapping titties in a sports bra and line up with their dicks in hand.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “Better than fuckin’ porn.”
I gripped the edge of the pool in tense fingers. It wasn’t my problem, but I hated the idea of men circling around Mia as if she’d been provided for their entertainment. She’d come to expect guys to treat her that way outside the cage too. When I turned her down, she’d practically fainted from shock. My throbbing balls still hadn’t forgiven me.
And that little speech I’d given her about fucking her then eating her out? Had tormented me all damn night long.
I supposed I deserved it.
“You ever hear of a girl named Mia?” I tried to keep my voice even. Casual.
“A fighter?”
I nodded, chest tight.
Joe started to shake his head, then he scratched his chin again. “Actually, yeah. I have. She’s brunette. Tall for a female. Cut.”
My neck tensed. For fuck’s sake, I was afraid to hear how far she’d gone in the lifestyle I’d lived for years. None of this made any fricking sense. “Extremely.”
“I didn’t remember her at first because she’s not connected. Girl’s more like a ghost than a fighter. She doesn’t hang around the circuit. Just gets in, gets out, and goes home.”
“Is she good?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. She needed it too much. I didn’t know why—or who—she was fighting, but her desperation had rubbed off on me last night. I could still taste it if I swallowed just right.
That most likely made her miles more dedicated than I was. It also made her a risk—to herself. Desperate people weren’t real good at looking out for themselves.
“I can’t say I know that much about her, Fox. She’s built for it, I’ll say that.”
Between the nickname and the echo of what I’d said to Mia last night, my mouth was in perpetual sour lemon mode. “Jesus, why didn’t you ever tell me what that meant? All these years I thought you guys were calling me fast.”
Joe laughed and thumped my back as he lumbered to his feet. With his bulk, it was a damn miracle he could move like he did. “You ain’t as fast as you used to be, boy, but you’re still pretty. Take what you can get, leave the rest.�
�� He ambled away, whistling.
He’d been saying that for as long as I’d known him. I’d lived by that motto, contenting myself with whatever I didn’t have to stretch too far to grab. Fighting had challenged me once. Not anymore. If I’d ever scrapped to get by, those years were in the rearview. Somehow I’d turned into that lazy, indulgent rich boy I’d always been afraid of becoming while still wearing the façade of someone who gave a shit.
Unlike Mia.
Shaking off the tension that still hadn’t dissipated, I got to my feet and strode into the locker room to get changed. I had some research to do.
Under an hour later, I found myself at Mark’s Gym. I’d suited up in my warmest hoodie, which only offered a modicum of comfort considering my hands were raw from last night’s adventures in hypothermia. If anything, the temperature had dropped even further, and Mia not only had my coat, but my gloves. The streaky gray sky promised more snow soon, and where was I? Staring at the peeling paint above the door of the gym I hoped was hers and wondering what the hell I was doing.
I still had my workout bag over my shoulder. Not that I’d be able to use anything in it while at Mark’s. This was a women’s facility, and my still overinflated twig and brassed-off berries would not be welcomed inside.
So I used what I had, and left the rest.
“Hey sweetheart,” I murmured to the first chick who came along.
Her militant stride proclaimed she didn’t mess around. She stopped at my salutation, though she stood ruler straight and glared. This one would not easily fall prey to my numerous charms.
“Yes?” she barked.
It took me a moment to answer, because the way her bangs lined up perfectly with her pitch black eyebrows fascinated me.
Lack of sleep was making me insane.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said in what I hoped was a non-confrontational voice. Patience had never been my strong suit. “Maybe you can help me?”
“There aren’t any little girls here, freak. Are you on one of those pedo watch lists?” She already had her phone in hand. She’d probably commence scanning a FBI database for my picture at the first wrong move.
Belatedly, I realized my hood obscured a good part of my head. No wonder she thought I was some kind of creeper. I shoved it back. “No pedo here, just a fellow fighter.” I gave her my most disarming smile and stuck out a hand. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? Tray Knox?”
She narrowed her eyes until they were slits. “Fox?”
Goddammit. “Yeah. Fox.” I drew back my hand when it became obvious she thought I had a communicable disease.
“What’re you doing here?” She smirked. “Turning tranny?”
“I’m looking for someone. Name’s Mia.” I hoped a first name would suffice, since I didn’t have a last. That would’ve been useful information, but I was known for my looks, not my mind.
“Oh fuck no. Don’t tell me it’s for real. You’re actually gonna fight that bitch?”
I nearly defended Mia’s unseen honor before acknowledging that wasn’t the best tack to take with present company. “You’ve heard she wants to fight me?”
“Who the eff hasn’t? She’s been telling everyone ’round here, thinking it makes her seem hard. Like a dude like you’s ever gonna fight some white trash pussy like her.”
I crossed my arms. “Is that so?”
She cocked an eyebrow and got up in my face. Hello, crash course 101 in women’s MMA. So far it didn’t look much different than men’s, minus the big pair of cans currently grinding into my pecs. Her nipples felt like nails.
“You trying to tell me you’re seriously considering fighting her? You wanna get thrown in the slammer when you break one of her gel tips? Dumb hick fuck.” She reached up and slammed the side of her hand into my head.
It actually hurt. Damn, these babes were something.
“Back off, Vanity.”
I braced at Mia’s husky voice. My brain kicked in just as the angry brunette spun around.
“Yeah? Who’s going to make me?”
Mia didn’t look the least bit concerned. She wore a pair of loose sweatpants, knotted at the waist and a baggy T-shirt that revealed one of the straps of her sports bra. She still had on my jacket.
My body braced even further at that. I’d never had a woman wear my clothes before. It was sexier than I would’ve guessed. Even if Mia hated me, she was walking around wrapped up in my smell. It was basically a built-in deterrent to every other male within pissing distance.
Couldn’t say I minded either.
Ignoring the girl she’d called Vanity, Mia lifted a brow in my general direction. “Can I help you?”
She had cojones, all right. Even I would’ve been hard-pressed to turn a blind eye to someone who was practically snarling in my face.
“I believe we have some business to discuss.”
“Do we?” Mia tilted her head and her loose ponytail unfurled a bit around her cheeks. In the bright light of morning, her bruises were more pronounced, their mottled colors less hidden by makeup. She almost matched Vanity’s girled-up camo gear. “Unless you have an answer for me, I was pretty sure we’d…discussed all we needed to last night.”
“I don’t think so.” I turned my smile on Vanity, who only looked marginally more friendly than she had before. “Thank you for your help. And the hit to the skull. It helped me wake up.”
Shaking her head, she looked from me to Mia and back again. “Dumbasses.” She slammed her way into the gym.
“Think I should’ve comped her some tickets to the Costas fight?” I dragged my hood back up.
Mia snorted and hefted her impressively large gym bag as she headed for the door. I would’ve offered to carry it for her, had I not been afraid to risk harm to my personal area.
“What did you need?” she asked over her shoulder, dismissing me without the words.
She hadn’t looked me in the eye yet, and I wasn’t sure if that was because she’d almost gotten me off, I’d held her during her freak out, or she wasn’t going to deal with me until I consented to what she wanted.
Which was not going to happen.
That didn’t mean I necessarily intended to tell her that now. She’d rubbed my dick last night solely to get her way. She thought I was easily played. Pliable like dough. All she had to do was jerk me off, bat her pretty lashes, and boom, I’d kick her ass. Think again, buttercup.
But if she liked playing games, I was happy to oblige.
“You said you wanted to fight me,” I said cheerfully. “Normally, I get some credentials or some tape to show me who I’m dealing with. I’ve never heard of you, so I’m not agreeing to anything until I see what you’ve got.”
She hissed out a long breath. The cut on her upper lip seemed better, but the bottom one still looked mangled, despite being glossed with some kind of cream. “Fine.” She jerked her head toward the gym. “Come on.”
I pulled my hood farther down. “Sure I won’t grow a pair of ovaries by coming in?”
“Nope, I’m not sure at all. Since you seem to be straddling the line already, this might push you over the edge.” She shut the door in my face.
Smothering a grin, I opened it again and headed inside. I wasn’t immediately flattened by a wave of estrogen or assaulted with an eye-popping array of tampon dispensers, so I figured I could handle it.
I followed Mia down a narrow hallway to a scarred door very clearly labeled Ladies. Since no men were allowed here, I didn’t understand why it just didn’t say John. When I voiced that sentiment, she snapped, “We have male trainers, dumbass.” And left me standing in the hall.
Dumbass must be the most popular endearment in this part of town.
I propped a foot on the wall and waited, impatiently bouncing on my heel. A couple of women wandered past and sized me up. Some of their looks were speculative, some wary, some downright lewd. One of them didn’t lift her gaze from my crotch the entire time she pelted me with questions about my identity. Two of th
em called me Fox. No one called me Tray.
By the time Mia emerged in her sports bra and a pair of tiny bike shorts that made her ass look like a pair of puffed-up marshmallows suspended on two sexy sticks, I was considering a number of sexual harassment suits.
She compensated for the over attention I’d received by proceeding to give me absolutely none for the next two hours. It was like our previous afternoon at the bar, except in this case I got to watch her hot as fuck body do an assortment of moves that shouldn’t be performed outside a bedroom. Even watching her run churned me up.
While she jabbed and kicked and spun like a damn ice skater without the blades, I studied her form. She worked out with a male trainer and a female one sporting excessively curly blonde hair with the obvious camaraderie that came from fighting together for a long time. She seemed like such a lone wolf that I was surprised she had a network at the gym similar to mine. I even saw her laugh. Not often, but now and then.
Her endurance intrigued me, and I wondered what would truly wear her out. Even while she was guzzling water and mopping her sweaty brow, she never seemed genuinely tired. She showed the same seamless, unflappable grace at the end of her session as she did at the beginning. I’d never seen a fighter quite like her before.
And Mia was definitely a fighter. The usual discordant gym noises surrounded me and the usual scents filled my nose, but she took all my focus. She had some deficiencies, specifically the way she blocked kicks with her feet rather than her shins and her tendency to forget to properly guard her core, but overall, I was damn impressed. She worked on a number of disciplines during her session, from Brazilian Jiu Jitsu to Muay Thai to Karate and appeared nearly flawless at them all. She possessed all the single-mindedness and determination I lacked lately.
If I’d thought she would’ve gone for it, I would’ve suggested she get with Timmins at The Cage. He had the kind of experience she needed to improve. He probably wouldn’t take on a woman fighter though. He was hopelessly old-school. Still, she had the kind of skill that could go far, all the way up to the pros if she wanted to.