She remained still in her chair, looking down at the remains of her dinner. His words rang through her, yet she still couldn’t fight what was in her head. She took a sip of her white wine, washing the taste from her mouth. When she dared to look up, he was at her side, kneeling. He spun her chair around to face him. Taking her hands, he placed them to his face, allowing her to feel the grooves and edges. The bandage from the last match was still there as she placed her hands gently to the sides of his face. She wanted no more damage to be done.
Micah edged his body forward, leaning into her. Powerful and imposing, he took what was his, as he kissed her head, her ears, and her lips. Her hands smoothed out the muscles in his neck, as the sensation once again took ahold of her. Without a thought, she bit down on his lip and gently sucked.
His strong arms tucked around her waist as he stood. He carried her to his bedroom, her legs straddled against his hips, locking fiercely with his back. He tossed her effortlessly into the silk black sheets. She squirmed, moving herself forward towards the top of the bed, but he pulled her legs back towards him, his eyes flaming with cherry and cedar embers.
His hands once again grabbed her hips forcefully, as he unbuckled her jeans. She lay there, powerless to what he was about to do, but eager to see what he could. His lips edged their way up her naked calves and thighs, stopping to gently tickle the curve of her knees. Further and further he went, following the map and the lines of her body.
As he hit the top of the fabric of her ivory colored panties, he knelt before her, as she could see a tiny bit of his shaven head peeking at the top of her stomach. He growled as he removed them and then continued tracing her peaks and valleys with his lips. As his lips parted her own, she gasped, feeling his wet, hot air linger inside her. His tongue forced its way inside hitting the soft, tender spot hidden deep within her caverns.
He was unrelenting as she cried out. He could feel every inch of her quiver and shift, as she only went further, longer, and faster. As she built up, arching her hip higher into his mouth and face, he used his fingers to massage and caress, a sweet contrast from his unforgiving kisses.
With one sudden burst, he felt it happening. Every inch of her lit fire, her hands grasping at his head and then falling to the side dramatically. Her entire body slumped back down onto the sheets. Where he rest his head, he could feel her pulse slowly ease back downward with her descent. She was wordless, and his work was done.
He slowly eased himself up to the top of the bed towards her, her hair matted from pushing against the covers. He kissed her gently, as she could taste the juices of her own body mixed with his own. She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she thanked him, kissing his cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath still.
He laughed, almost surprised at the polite gesture. He hooked his hand into her own, and rested on her chest as she fell into a deep sleep.
A man is holding me down, straddling my body. He is reaching towards me, gripping and grasping at what is not his. His breath makes little pools of air clouds before my face. I am moving my body, struggling to push him off. But he’s too strong. He’s too strong. He has it. He has what is mine.
I can see his face. I can see every bit of it staring at me, looking down at me with contempt. Does he smile? I don’t remember. But he looks me into the eye as if he to say, “This is your fault.” And before I can make another attack. He is gone. And I am here, laying in this puddle, broken.
Alice woke up in a panic. Gasping for air, she sat up and pulled her hair into a makeshift ponytail with her fingers. Micah’s room was dark, too dark. Wasn’t it only about 9 p.m. when she was last awake?
She heard the man next to her breathing softly into the downy pillow next to her. From her position, he almost looks vulnerable, like she could kill him at any second without warning. But instead of disturbing him, she squirmed quietly out of bed and grabbed her jeans and panties from the floor. Navigating the condo’s hallways, she grabbed her purse off of the couch and opened the doors out to the exit.
The streets of Micah’s neighborhood were empty, nearly deserted. Yet a cab was still circling the intersection. She hailed it and gave the driver directions back to her place. She watched Micah’s apartment as they passed the doorway. From the darkened windows, she could tell that she had made her escape successfully.
Looking at her phone’s watch, it only read 1 a.m. Micah would be awake in a couple hours to head back out to the gym. When he does, he will certainly notice her absence, but he will not know why. He will not understand why she would leave him in the middle of the night without a warning. And he would not understand why she wouldn’t pick up her phone or answer her door.
Instead, it would be Alice who would carry the weight of her sacrifice. She opened her phone’s contacts, finding his name in the list of M’s. “Goodbye Micah.” His name disappeared in a split second, erasing her chance of ruining what meant most for him: his career.
Chapter 11: Running Towards
“He’s here again,” Caroline said, more annoyed than riveted. It had been the fifth time in the last week Micah had pounded on their door, shouting for Alice. “Do you want me to do anything about it?”
Alice was busy painting, finishing the piece of work she had started last week. She ducked her head to the side to face Caroline and shook her head, “no.” The two went back to their business. Caroline continued to get ready for her shift while Alice played Picasso. The pounding was just another part of their daily scene.
Micah stormed away once again from the hunk of wood standing in his way. He knew he could easily tear it down and walk straight into Alice’s room. But he refrained. Something was up, and he knew it. The way that she had departed him, how she failed to show up to his title match, how she avoided his attempts to see her at work… everything about it was so sudden and abrupt.
As he stood outside of his car, he glanced up once again at her bedroom window, hoping for something, anything from her direction. After a long beat, there was still nothing but silence. He instead got into his car, racing away from the scene. His mind raced with his next plan of action.
Back in the apartment, Alice put down her brushes and curled up into her bed. It had been the longest week of her life. From her distance, she had watched as Micah struggled to grasp what had happened between the two of them. She had to justify to Caroline that it was over and that it wasn’t more than just a fling gone bad. And she had to face Pete and let him treat her like a personal punching man at work as punishment for her rebukes.
What she was going through was something she would have to face alone. She knew that. This was her choice to let Micah go and let him blossom as the fighter to protect the ones that he loved. And from the looks of it, from what she could decipher from the news and MMA chat rooms, she knew she had made the right choice in regards to his career.
After Monday’s second knockout win at the title match, reporters and sponsors had begun to chase him down, hounding him with much perseverance. Coach Dean was practically salivating after the Monday match as he thrust the paperwork into Micah’s face. He used the words dream and made it over and over again as if they would break through the beaten man before him.
Micah had dreamed that this day would come when he would be fielding offers from huge city sponsors and match organizers. Yet, despite his phone always ringing and cameras constantly flashing, he failed to see anything but the gaping hole Alice had left in his world. Even the crowds of women who suddenly fought their way through his staff to get to him felt colder. None were Alice.
Even finding solace at the gym had become impossible. His triumphs had made him more of a celebrity than ever with children surrounding him for autographs and other MMA fighters attempting to gain his favor. He kept his head down and instead focused on the tasks before him. He was a machine as he ticked off his training list one by one. Run, jump, spar, run, jump, spar. It was on repeat three times a day, every single day.
Dean’s shouts had become le
ss and less. He spent more of his time instructing photographers where to stand to get the best shots and angling potential sponsors for logo placement ideas. The times he did interject, it was to tell Micah what he was doing right. He was playing the part of good cop, the fuzzy warm and inspirational coach. And Micah could see right through it.
Today’s last photographer flashed his bulbs of the night, taking a picture of Dean draping his short arm around Micah like a proud father as he stood in the center of the ring.
“What are you doing, Dean?” Micah whispered as his frustration and suspicions built.
Dean looked up at him, his arm still draped over his shoulder. “What do you think I am doing? I’m making you famous. Now that you’re back to normal, you’re gonna be a superstar.” He patted him on his back, as he walked away towards his office.
The words back to normal rang in Micah’s head. How could he be normal now when every part of him was somewhere else, somewhere in Alice’s bedroom begging her to return? The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
Micah followed the man, jumping out of the ring to catch up. He kicked open the coach’s door, not caring who would see or notice. Micah’s voice shot through the small cinderblock space, “I don’t want it Dean. I don’t want all of this fake bullshit.”
“Yeah, you do. This is part of the game, Micah.” Dean sat back in his leather reclining desk chair, studying the boy he practically raised in the ring. “There’s sacrifices we all have to make.”
“You mean like Alice! What the fuck did you do to her?” Micah grabbed the man by the collar, raising him to his feet. Dean stepped back, distancing himself from the clear danger in front of him.
Dean responded defensively, “I didn’t do anything to her. I told her the truth. I told her that she was a distraction and that you were risking your career focusing on her instead of the matches. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
Micah began to walk the distance of the office, shocked at this man’s ability to put the match before anyone’s happiness. Dean returned to his desk, sitting back at the chair, facing away from the steaming Micah.
“She was just some random piece of tail,” Dean said, irritated. “There’ll be others. Why get so wrapped up in that little cu—” Dean’s obscenity was cut-off as he had only a second to glance at the tattooed fist landing on his face, slumping him off of his chair and onto the floor. He withered in pain, cursing loudly.
Micah began to run, outstretching his fingers as he went. Adrenaline had pumped back into his veins as he could feel the fire. As the gym goers all watched the door of the coach’s office, he slipped out, running out the door and past the parking lot. He turned the corner, past the photographer packing up his gear into his car.
He kept running. The pavement jumped under his feet as the blistering sun beat down on his shirtless back. His head was clear, his mind made up. Each step was one closer. Each mile was one more he could leave behind.
The streets became more familiar as he entered the town of Steubenville. The sports arena became more visible as he could hear her voice in the distance cry out to him, “You better win.” He passed the Tick Tock Diner where he could glance a blur of Caroline waitressing a table. Alice, however, was not there.
He instead moved on, circling her street, waiting for someone, anyone to come. After several minutes, an older woman exited the brick apartment building, leaving the door open for a quick Micah to dash in. He raced up the stairs and tapped quietly on the door. He could hear her footsteps move inside the apartment. Her shadow told him that she was right outside the door.
“Alice! Alice! I know you are in there. I know you can hear me.” He yelled into the door, unsure if he was even right. “I know what Dean said to you. I know you want to believe him and protect me. But he was wrong. He was wrong!”
He pounded his fist into the painted wood. Alice jumped on the other side. Her head had been against the door, nervously listening to his shouts.
“Alice. I swear if you do not let me in, I will break down this door.” She stepped back, unsure of what to do. She could certainly believe that he was serious with his threats. He began to count a warning, “One! Two!”
“Don’t you dare!” He could hear her voice followed by the sound of the metal locks unlatching. She flung open the door to him as he stepped inside, not even caring for an invite. She looked tired and paler than before. She was wearing a blue and purple sundress covered by a tan painter’s apron. Small bits of red paint dotted her face like freckles. A streak of gold was tangled in her hair.
The two looked at each other, each unsure of what to say next or how to proceed. This was new, uncharted territory. Neither of them wished to disturb it.
Micah spoke first, lowering his voice, “I know what Dean said,” he reiterated it, emphasizing the name of his coach. “He did this to us.”
“He was right, though. Wasn’t he? I got out of the picture, and you became this champion overnight.” She looked like a child being admonished.
“No. No!” He raised his voice as his hands shot to his head. He stepped closer to her, as she moved away in response. He cornered her against the wall of the living room. “Alice. Please, listen to me. He told you all of that to get you to leave. He wants me to be this unfeeling, uncaring machine. I don’t want to be that anymore. I don’t want to be just a fighter. I want something more, and I want it with you.”
She shook her head, unbelieving his words. “Micah…” It was all that she could say.
“Being in the ring is all I knew, but now I know you. I know that you are more than just a title or a picture for my mantle. You, Alice, are what I am supposed to be fighting for. Let me fight for you. Screw it if I win matches or make it big. You are all that matters.”
His longer index finger lifted her chin further towards her face. “Alice. It’s you.”
She looked into the pools of his eyes, deep and unyielding. Her own hand reached out to his chest feeling the trickles of sweat that had pooled on his skin. She took him in once more, the way his long, strong arms protected, not held her in her place.
Her voice, sweet and innocent spoke with such certainty, “I want you too, Micah.”
Without another word spoken, he kissed her, his hands rustling through her hair and guiding her face and neck to meet his. The two slipped down the back of her dress as she gave in, washing herself in his warmth. He pulled her closer, tighter, longing to feel every inch of her body tangled in his own. He walked backwards towards her bedroom, as she followed, still locked.
He found the zipper of her dress and yanked down gently, as the dress peeled off of her body and onto her bedroom floor. She climbed on her undone bed, as he pressed his weight onto her. He nibbled on her ear, repeatedly whispering, “It’s you. It’s you. It’s you.”
Her foot edged its way to the waistband of his pants as she slid the training shorts off of his body. She could feel that he was already ready, but her hand still teased the skin around his length, softly stroking the inches as he moaned into her shoulder. He bit down onto her flesh as she wrapped her entire hand around, gently pulling and pushing rhythmically.
His breath arched and spiked, as she softly kissed the scars around his chest and shoulder blades. Without any hesitation, she effortlessly guided him into her in time with the motions of her hands. The curves of her pussy were warm and damp, as he let out a powerful roar. He dived in, the call of her beckoning him further inside. Her hips circled, creating an undertow with each of his pushes.
As the two sped up, she lifted herself to meet him, grasping his face with her hand and pulling him farther into her, as he fell fast into her bare chest. His lips teased her pink nipples, circling around with the timing of his thrust. Her hands grasped the pillows around her head, as the sensation of him inside her built further and further to her climax.
She cried out his name over and over again. Each time she uttered it, she could feel his body start to curl and tense. His arms shook, as his head arched
back. A long, otherworldly moan passed from his throat, as his head shot back quickly. He released, sending shots of quivers down her spine.
After a long moment, he began to kiss her again, as he slowly eased out. He found her hand in the mess of blankets and pillows and placed it to his face. She curled up against the expanse of his chest, as the two looked once more at each other.
In that moment of sweet exhaustion, Alice knew that her fight was over. She had been the victor. What lay before her was for her and Micah to decide. They could go all in, fearlessly defending what was built in this bedroom and in the spaces of their lives. Or she could tap out.
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The ground is cold, gravelly, and wet. I think it’s raining. It’s got to be raining. I mean, why else would my hair be soaking wet, clinging to the rocks and shards of glass on the ground? I try to lift my head, to shake it out from the grime, but I cannot. I am pushed back down again. Or do I lay it back down? It’s hard to tell. Everything is so dark, so cold. I am surprised I can feel at all.
Hooked (The Submission Fighter Book 1) Page 8