Nicola stretched out her arms and balled her hands into fists, clawing at the bedclothes. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, and when she closed it, a fold of cotton was clenched firmly between her teeth.
Oh, shit, she thought to herself. He’s licking my ass.
And Silas was, without hesitation or self-consciousness.
His thick, rough tongue was swirling in circles around Nicola’s tightly clenched little asshole, and poking and prodding at it wetly.
Like with everything else, Nicola was fastidious about hygiene – so the only thing Silas tasted was soap and body lotion. That was why he feasted on her; rolling his tongue into a point and probing her ass experimentally, until it opened up to accept him.
“Oh, fuuuck,” Nicola growled, clawing at the sheets. “Oh, fuck me, that’s so wrong.”
It was so wrong, but she loved it.
“Oh, cariño,” Silas laughed, pulling his face from between Nicola’s cheeks. “You didn’t think it was wrong that night in Vegas…”
Nicola’s cheeks burned red at the memory.
Wiping his lips and chin, Silas stood up, and loomed menacingly over Nicola as she lay face-down on the bed.
He looked down, at the plump, pale globes of her pert ass.
“Oh, fuck me,” Silas grinned. “I am going to send you to bed sore tonight.”
Chapter Thirteen
With strong hands, Silas grabbed Nicola, and flipped her over.
She squeaked at the indignity – being thrown from face-down to staring at the ceiling in the space of a heartbeat.
And then suddenly Silas was towering over her, looking down with a dirty grin on his handsome face.
“Oh, you fucking beautiful puta,” the looming Spaniard grinned, stroking his rock-hard erection. “I’m going to send you back sore.”
And Nicola groaned, and her eyes flashed defiantly.
“I’d like to see you try.”
With that, Silas reached over to the bedside cabinet – the one he hadn’t kicked into oblivion earlier. There was a small bottle there – coconut oil.
Grinning, the menacing Spaniard popped the top, and splodged a glob of white gloop into his palm.
Still staring intensely into Nicola’s eyes, he reached down and slathered his straining erection in coconut oil, until it gleamed in the light hanging overhead.
“Oh, you’re going to beg your husband to let me stay,” Silas growled, as he slathered himself in oil. “And you’re going to beg for me to do this again to you…”
And then, with a growl, he grabbed Nicola’s ankles, and hoisted her slender legs up high, over her head.
“Oh, you cocky fucking bastard,” she squirmed, as Silas bent his knees and lowered himself into position. “You arrogant little prick.”
But there was nothing little about Silas Batres’ prick – especially as he grabbed the root of it, and positioned it between the cheeks of Nicola’s ass.
The swollen, gleaming head of his oil-slick cock nuzzled between the cheeks of her ass.
He pressed his hips forward, and his cock pressed inexorably against her tightly clenched little asshole.
And then, staring intently into Nicola’s eyes, Silas began to thrust.
“Oh, fuuuuck,” Nicola groaned, as she felt the relentless pressure against her back door. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
Her arms flailed wildly. She balled her hands up into fists, clutching at the sheets.
Silas grinned, staring into her eyes as they grew wider and more frantic.
He kept pushing.
“Oh, fuck!” Nicola groaned. “Oh, fuuuck!”
And then… pop.
Silas’ tongue bath, and a slathering of coconut oil, did the trick. Surrendering to the relentless pressure, Nicola’s ass popped open, and the swollen head of Silas’ cock popped past the ring of resistance and sunk an inch inside of her.
“Oh, fuuuuck!” Nicola groaned, squirming and writhing on the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
But Silas kept on the relentless pressure; and Nicola’s ass surrendered. Inch by inch, his thick, throbbing dick sunk home until Nicola’s eyes rolled upwards and she honestly thought she’d pass out from the intensity.
And then, finally, he was inside her. Every inch of that thick, beautiful cock, buried in Nicola’s tight, clenching little ass.
“Oh, fuck,” she groaned, reaching up to clutch Silas’ beefy arms. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
He grinned as he looked down at her, and then slowly began to thrust…
Chapter Fourteen
Nicola’s ass was exactly like her – tight.
As Silas thrust into the moaning wife, he grinned at the feeling of opening her up – reaming her like the manipulative little puta she really was.
But as in all things, Nicola gave as good as she got.
“Oh, fuck me,” she groaned, as Silas hovered over her, thrusting into her ass. “Oh, Jesus, that’s so good.”
And then she took one of Silas’ hands, and clamped it between her legs.
Opening her eyes, the beautiful wife looked up into Silas’ eyes, and demanded: “Make me cum.”
Silas grinned.
Taking his thumb, he slid it between the dewy lips of Nicola’s pussy. Instantly he found the swollen numb of her throbbing clitoris.
With practiced ease, he began to rub it.
“Fuuuuck,” Nicola groaned, throwing her head back in pleasure.
Silas grinned, and fucked Nicola’s ass even harder.
This was the perfect combination, he mused. Fucking another man’s wife – in the ass, no less – and her having the wherewithal to actually be into it.
Rubbing her clitoris relentlessly, Silas fucked Nicola in her tight little butt, staring down into her eyes to watch her squirm, and wriggle, and moan in discomfort and pleasure.
“Oh, you fucking cunt,” Nicola groaned, as she neared orgasm. “You worthless, Spanish, wetback bastard…”
And then Silas tipped her over into the oblivion of orgasm, and Nicola wailed in pleasure.
The beautiful wife stiffened, still skewered by Silas’ huge cock. Her eyes opened wide, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, and her pussy quivered, and then spurted wetness over the both of them.
Her orgasm was like a nuclear detonation – and immediately afterwards, she flopped down lifelessly onto the bed.
Which suited Silas just fine.
The sight of her climaxing on his cock was more than he could stand. Thrusting as deeply into Nicola’s ass as he could, the burly MMA fighter squeezed her hand, and unloaded deep inside of her,
His cock swelled. His balls tightened. He spurted his load deep into Nicola’s ass.
“Fuuuuck,” she groaned, as she was flooded with his hot wetness.
For what seemed like an eternity, they hung together in orgasm. Then, balls drained, Silas slumped back and his softening cock slithered from Nicola’s ass with a ‘schlurp’.
She flopped back onto the bed; feeling the hot wetness of Silas’ cum running down the crack of her ass.
“Fuuuuuuck.”
Silas grinned. Panting, trying desperately to catch his breath, the MMA fighter stared down at Nicola triumphantly.
But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction that he deserved.
Looking up, Nicola smiled a mocking, wry grin.
“If only you fought as well as you fucked,” the wealthy wife groaned. “Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Chapter Fifteen
Even bitches have hearts.
Both drained and satisfied, Nicola and Silas struggled to get their shit together.
Silas pulled on his sweat pants. Nicola located her panties, lying on the hotel suite floor.
“I’m not even sure why I’m bothering with these,” she scoffed, standing there with Silas’ load dribbling down her thighs. “It’s not like he’d even notice I’m not wearing them. The last time Jared so much as felt me up was when he was drunk.”
“Well,
you’re a very beautiful woman,” Silas responded, looking at the glint in her eye as she heard that. “Maybe you coming back home with no panties will be the wake-up call he needs to treat you right.”
Nicola laughed, standing there, disheveled and freshly-fucked. She looked strangely beautiful when she wasn’t howling in mocking laughter.
“Jared doesn’t get jealous,” she explained dryly. “He gets even.” She struggled to put one foot, and then the other, inside the legs of her sticky panties. “If he even so much as suspected what went on tonight, I’d be in a divorce court quicker than you can blink.”
And then she looked at Silas menacingly.
“And you’d be flying back to La Rioja… In a box.”
The Spaniard snorted.
Jared Hedberg didn’t scare him. He needed the balding cabron, that was for certain; but he wasn’t scared of him.
“So,” Silas growled. “What are you going to tell him?”
Nicola wriggled a little as she adjusted her skirt. She felt sticky, and used, and not a little sore. It was delicious.
“I’ll tell him to keep you on the books,” she promised. “For the next couple of fights at least.”
And then the beautiful wife looked up, into Silas’ eyes.
“But you better start winning some, Silas. Because if you don’t, it doesn’t matter how well you fuck me. Jared’s going to ship you back to Spain like you were leftover pizza.”
Silas Batres snorted.
Pulling Nicola into his arms, he kissed his sponsor’s wife hard on the mouth. She tasted of sweat and chardonnay.
“My days of losing are at an end,” he promised. “The next time Jared arranges a match for me? They’ll be picking the other guy’s teeth up off the canvas.”
Nicola gave a rare, sincere smile. She kissed Silas on the mouth, and looked deep into his eyes.
“I hope so, you arrogant bastard,” she swore. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Silas snorted, and kissed her hard on the mouth again.
But while she closed her eyes, and surrendered into the kiss, Silas Batres kept his eyes open.
Even as he made out with his sponsor’s wife, he was plotting.
For as fun, and sexy as the evening had been, it had begun from a dark place – Silas had been beaten, and humiliated, and was helpless to the mercy of Jared Hedberg and his slutty, beautiful young wife.
Never again, Silas swore.
Oh, sure, he’d fuck Nicola again. He might even cash more checks from Jared Hedberg’s checking account. But as far as he was concerned? The arrangement they’d had was over.
Silas needed to find a new sponsor, and new opportunities.
If he was going to be a champion, it was going to be on his terms – and the next time he and Nicola made love? She’d be begging him.
With a snort of pride, Silas pulled his lips away from Nicola’s, and told her: “You’d better get upstairs.”
And Nicola nodded, and reached for her pocket book.
As the would-be champion watched his sponsor’s wife walk out of his hotel suite, he had no idea of what lay ahead of him.
But he was excited to find out.
Round 3
British Bulldog
A FIGHT NIGHT Romance
By Simone Scarlet
Chapter One
James
The old boxing motto – “Never bet on the white guy” – isn’t quite so accurate in the hardscrabble arena of MMA – but that sure as hell didn’t make James MacDonald feel any better.
It was the fifth round of his bout against Hannibal ‘Baller’ Alexander, and the African American most definitely had the upper hand.
Hannibal had twelve pounds on MacDonald, and none of it was fat. Swinging those meaty fists of his like sledgehammers, the heavily-tattooed American fighter was relentlessly punishing his opponent.
James – known to his fans as “the British Bulldog” – had started strong; but now five rounds in, he was near exhaustion. His lean, muscular body was dripping in sweat, and every time he lifted his fists, they felt like they had lead weights tied to them.
“You gettin’ tired, boy?” Dancing around him, Hannibal took a swing that James only just managed to deflect with his elbow. “You wanna call it quits, England?”
Pow! James threw a haymaker that collided brutally with the black fighter’s head, knocking him back. Absolutely stunned, it took Hannibal a second to shake off the blow – and MacDonald used that time to back off, and give himself some space.
“I’m Scottish, you twat,” he growled.
Hannibal just flashed his mouth-guard, and came in swinging again.
Of course, backing off had been a mistake. After getting that lucky punch in, James should have gone for the kill. That was the only way he was going to win this thing – by spotting an opening and just hammering it home.
But to do that, he’d have to get within range of Hannibal’s legendary 70-inch reach – and if the bigger, stronger fighter got him in his arms, it might as well be over.
“C’mon,” Hannibal mocked, taking a swing at James again. “You gonna hit me, or what?” And then he easily knocked aside the punch James threw, and landed his own glancing blow across the back of the Scotsman’s head.
James staggered back – and nearly went down.
But he kept on his feet. He had to. As long as he kept swinging, that clock kept ticking down – and at this stage, his only way out was to run out the timer and leave victory or defeat up to the judges.
But the next minute and a half? It promised to be the longest in James MacDonald’s life.
Chapter Two
Toni
“And the winner, by split-decision, is Hannibal Alexander!”
Up on the balcony, Toni Rome wrapped her slender arms around herself, and watched as her boyfriend was announced the winner of that brutal five-round MMA bout.
As the referee hoisted Hannibal’s beefy arm into the air, the crowd went wild. Cheering, and screaming, and hoots and catcalls.
Toni just sighed. Baller would be fucking insufferable after this.
She’d watched the match with the same cool indifference she did all of Hannibal’s fights. Growing up in a bad neighborhood in Los Angeles, the slender black girl didn’t have much of a taste for violence. She’d experienced too much of it herself growing up.
But tonight, she’d kind of got into it. There was something oddly poetic about her foul-mouthed, tatted-up boyfriend slinging punches with that handsome, clean-cut white boy.
James MacDonald, he was called. “The British Bulldog.” Tall and lean, with a movie-star’s square jaw and reddish-blond hair that flopped over one eye like he was a matinee idol.
“Damn fool’s too pretty to make it in the MMA,” Hannibal had mocked his opponent before the fight. “Maybe if he’s lucky, I’ll break his nose for him. Make him look the part.”
Toni liked the Scotsman’s nose just the way it was.
She felt intensely guilty for doing so, but she’d been secretly rooting for MacDonald throughout the fight. There was something oddly heroic about the way he danced across the canvas – throwing punches with the precision of a swordsman, instead of just swinging his 20 pound meat-hammers left and right, hoping for a lucky hit.
But at the fight wore on, she saw that Hannibal was wearing him down.
That’s how Hannibal did it. There was nobody he couldn’t break if they gave him long enough.
She sniffed miserably.
That had certainly been true for her.
She and Hannibal had been together six months now – ever since her agent had set them up on a blind date together.
“He needs some cred, baby,” Frank had told her, explaining why Hannibal’s fight promoter had reached out to them. “Kid grew up in Hartford. He was on the damn honor roll. Ain’t nothing ‘Baller’ about him.”
Whereas up-and-coming hip-hop star Toni had the opposite problem. Her mix-tapes and YouTube videos had gotte
n her out of the ghetto; but she needed clout and publicity before the record company would ever gamble any real money on promoting her.
And so that’s how she and Hannibal had got together – and for better or worse, it had worked this far. She got the public visibility of dating a major MMA star, and he got some street cred for dating one of the baddest girls in hip hop.
But Toni wasn’t going to lie. Sure, they lived together, and fucked once or twice a month – but they both knew their relationship was more like a business deal than a romance.
And as Toni watched her boyfriend down below, punching the air and cheering his own name, she felt nothing inside.
No love. No warmth. Just an empty pit.
Maybe that’s why she’d wanted Hannibal to lose tonight – because losing might have taught him something.
He was a spoiled kid from Hartford, who’d never had to struggle for anything in his life. Losing might have reminded the arrogant bastard that even he had to work for something every once in a while.
But, instead, Hannibal’s winning streak continued – and his arrogance would just grow.
Toni sniffed miserably.
One of these days, it would grow so big that Hannibal wouldn’t need her any more. And, when that happened, she wasn’t sure if it would be a blessing or a curse.
“Yo! Toni!”
It was Frank, her manager. He was standing at the doorway to the VIP box, peering in expectantly at her.
“You ought to get your ass downstairs. Give him a kiss or something.” A big, burly black man, Frank had made himself successful by wrangling his clients into doing what was best for their careers, even when they didn’t feel like it.
“Okay,” Toni nodded. Taking a deep breath, she turned and headed to the doorway.
In a moment she’d have to fake a smile, and fake some laughter, and fake that her relationship with Hannibal wasn’t making her feel dead inside.
And that ate her up inside more than anything she’d had to do to escape the ghetto.
FIGHT NIGHT #1: Three Story MMA Romance Bundle Page 7