by Jo Raven
“Great?” He’s smiling faintly, though his eyes look sad. Why is he sad?
I lift my head and touch his bruised jaw. He winces when I stroke the scab over his split lip. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, until my head rests against his chest. I listen to his heart race. He swallows hard, and his hand caresses my hair.
Then he strokes the line of my cheek and lifts my face to kiss me. His lips close over mine, rough and warm, and his tongue slips into my mouth, tangling with mine.
He devours my mouth, both hands coming to cup my face. He’s breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling, pressing on my breasts. I don’t know how it’s possible to want him again, to want more when I’ve just come undone under his touch.
“Fuck, Auds...” He pulls back, licking his lips. His eyes are dark with desire. “I want you so bad.” He groans deep in his throat. “You should go.”
“Why?”
“Because if you stay, I can’t guarantee I’ll hold back like last time. I’m not sure I can.”
I kiss him again. His taste is amazing—like mulled wine. The idea of getting him naked, touching him until he gets lost in pleasure... I want to see that look on his face again—the wonder, the pleasure, so intense it borders on pain.
“What do you have in mind?” I whisper.
“I’m gonna take off your clothes, piece by piece.” He lifts my hair, trails his fingertips down my neck. “I’ll kiss you everywhere, every inch of your bare skin. And then I’m gonna sink inside you so deep.” His lashes lower. “I’ll make you come until the only word you can speak is my name.”
My heart races. My whole body throbs with excitement and a bit of fear. I know, if I can admit it to myself, that I’ve waited for him. And now that he’s telling me what he’ll do, I need him more than ever.
Then he lowers his mouth to my exposed neck, sucking on my pulse, and the fear flees. I love him. Always have. Even when I tried to hate him.
His hands drop to the hem of my T-shirt and skim up my ribs. I know he’ll take care of me, like every time. I trust him.
No matter what, when he’s with me, he puts me first.
He caresses my breasts through the flimsy fabric of my bra until they ache and heat pools between my legs, while his lips still trail over my neck, raising goose bumps.
God, he smells good—of sexy boy, musk and soap.
“Your mom won’t like this,” he whispers, and I start laughing, but he slips my bra down and his hands are on my bare breasts, stealing my breath. It’s as if lightning has touched me, electric currents zipping from the tips of my breasts to my core.
Then he’s peeling my clothes off—my T-shirt, my bra, kissing every inch of skin he bares, like he said he’d do. His lips are soft, the scabbed-over wound rough, and when he licks my breasts I arch into his mouth. He lays me back on the sofa and pulls down my leggings and panties all in one move.
He bends over me, kissing his way down, brushing his lips over the scar on my belly, on my thigh.
“Ash.” I need to feel his body on mine.
He looks up, his eyes hooded. As if he’s read my mind, he drags his T-shirt off, revealing that droolworthy chest of his. A bruise in his side catches my eye, but he starts unbuttoning his jeans, drawing my gaze to the fine dark trail leading down.
He slides his jeans down his hips along with his briefs, and good god, who could blame a girl for losing her train of thought? I’ve seen him before, but this time somehow feels different. There’s no hesitation as he bares himself to me and reaches down to stroke himself, his eyes closing briefly.
God, he’s drop-dead gorgeous—from his short dark hair to his muscled chest to his flushed cock.
Then his eyes open, locking on mine, and he gives me one of those devastating, sexy half-smiles of his. He produces a condom from somewhere, deftly tears the package open and slips it on. I want to tell him I’m on the pill, have been for a long while.
But he leans over me, stretching his long body over mine, and my mind goes sort of blank. His arousal presses, so hot, against my belly.
“You have no idea how pretty you look, naked underneath me,” he says softly, brushing his mouth over my cheek, along my jaw. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I want you,” I say, winding my arms around his neck. “But there’s something I have to tell you.”
He stills. “What is it?”
God, this is embarrassing. “I’ve never gone this far before.”
His gaze goes wide. “You serious?”
Heat washes up my face. Telling him I’ve secretly waited for him just sounds so very lame. “Yes, on both accounts. I’m serious. And I want you, now.”
Right as I’m starting to panic that I’ve ruined the moment, his eyes warm up. “I’ll be careful. I’m glad you told me.”
And then he’s pressing into me. He’s whispering my name and then he gives a little sudden push, filling me up. It’s shocking and painful and amazing at the same time. He kisses my neck, my breasts, my mouth until I relax again and the pain begins to fade.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice strained as he holds very still.
I nod.
He exhales and shifts, pulling out, pushing back inside. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
With each drag of his hardness inside me, the pleasure mounts—a throbbing, maddening pulse low in my body, a pressure rising to a breathless crest.
This is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. My hips lift and I clutch his back, drawing him deeper inside.
“Christ, Auds, fucking hell.” His teeth grit. “You’re driving me crazy.”
Good. Because that’s exactly what he’s doing to me.
Chapter Sixteen
Asher
I’m going to come here and now. Holding back isn’t an option—and yet I have to. I want to make it good for her. Shit, it’s her first time.
So I do the only thing I can think of: I pull out a bit and grab my dick, pressing the base and gritting my teeth to stave off the inevitable.
“Ash?” Her eyes are wide, a bit confused. She’s spread out beneath me, so utterly kissable.
So that’s what I do next: I kiss her again, kiss her rosy nipples, her neck, find her mouth.
Then I thrust inside her again, and fucking hell, every time it feels better. My balls are drawn up so tight it hurts and the pressure behind them is unbelievable. She’s velvety soft, hot and tight.
She moans and rolls her hips, robbing me of breath. Sparks shoot from my dick up my spine, setting me on fire.
“Auds!” I rock inside her as deep as I can and I distantly hear her cry out. She clenches around me and that’s my undoing. “Oh god, Auds.”
Oh fuck, I’m coming, her orgasm triggering mine. Fireworks go off behind my eyelids.
I said I’d make her cry out my name, and in the end I’m the one doing it, saying her name over and over as the pressure crests and erupts, making me jerk and shake.
My heart’s pounding its way out of my chest. I fall on top of her, my arms like rubber, as I draw breath after breath.
She shifts underneath me and I swallow a moan, still trapped inside her. Jesus, I’m crushing her. I lift myself on my elbows and look down at her face.
She’s smiling. “That was...”
“Awesome?” I wink and she laughs.
A wave of protectiveness washes over me. I’ll do anything to save that laughter, that look of bliss in her eyes.
“It was awesome, yes.” She trails her fingertips over my mouth and I nibble at them, making her squeal. That makes her clench again around me and I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head with aftershocks.
“One sec.” I gently pull out of her and remove the condom. My legs feel like jelly, but I stumble to the bathroom and dispose of it before returning to her.
My ribs ache, and my jaw throbs from the fight the night before, but I feel so good I don’t care. My body still hum
s with pleasure, and there’s a weight off my chest.
She came back to me. Hope burns so bright it pushes the doubts away.
“Do I remember correctly—did you say you brought food?” My stomach growls at the thought.
She snickers. “What a romantic thing to say, Ash.”
I shrug and smirk. “I can make it romantic.”
She looks doubtful, and yeah, maybe romantic isn’t the right word—but when I pull her to sit between my legs and feed her spicy fish balls and curried noodles she seems to enjoy it.
She also wiggles a lot, grinding her sweet ass against me, making me hard all over again. Distracting me.
“What are you doing for New Year’s?” she asks later, breaking the spell.
“I have no plans,” I mutter.
“Then spend it with me.”
A sweet ache forms in my chest. I live day to day, and shouldn’t make promises. But I do it anyway because there’s nothing I want more. “Okay.”
She smiles and twists around to kiss me. “I have to go. Dakota is back today and we’re meeting to study together.”
A reminder of how different her life is from mine. I watch her pull on her clothes, going a little cross-eyed trying to see if her nipples show through her pink bra.
“Want to come over tonight?” She tugs down her long sweater. “Ash?”
“Hm? Oh.” I have to fight tonight. God knows how I’ll emerge from the club. Showing up on her doorstep covered in bruises and blood won’t go down so nicely. “I can’t. I have to be somewhere.”
“Where?” she asks softly.
“Just somewhere. It’s a club, called The Bulldog.” Why the hell am I telling her this? “Need to take care of something.”
She’s worrying her lower lip with her small, white teeth. So sexy. But her eyes are worried. “Okay. Want me to come with you?”
God, no. I shiver. What we’ve done—the fact she’s come to me, the awesome sex—is that a sign I should talk to her after all? Tell her where I’m planning to be tonight and the reasons for it?
She’s come and stayed.
Maybe it’s time to stop running? She says she cares, and she’s showing me just that. I have to trust it, trust the feeling. Trust her.
“Ash.” She’s looking at me, all worried-like.
Sweat sluices down my back. Okay. I’ll tell her. My heart trips, then starts again.
Then her damn cell phone buzzes. Tearing her gaze from me, she fishes it from her huge handbag and a frown draws her brows together. “Crap, I’m late. Dakota is waiting for me outside my apartment. Gotta go.”
I deflate. “Yeah.” Speaking of signs...
“Just come over. Come now, with me.”
I shake my head.
Her green eyes glimmer. “Ash... Please don’t go tonight.”
I freeze. She knows? “Why?”
“Just... stay out of fights.”
I groan, run my fingers through my hair. “I can’t.” I can’t not go. I can’t lie. I can’t hide. She’ll know the moment she sees me tomorrow that I’ve been fighting.
Her expression shutters. She moves quietly away from me. She grabs her stuff and opens the door of the apartment. Hesitates. Her slender back is tense. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have to.”
Knowing I’m telling the truth doesn’t help one fucking bit when she leaves without saying goodbye.
***
I’m about to leave for The Bulldog, when a key turns in the lock and the door opens.
Erin. Not my biggest fan. She wrinkles her pretty nose when she sees me.
Good thing I’m dressed, I guess.
“This place smells like sex,” she spits and marches off to her room, slamming her door shut.
Ow. I go to open the window, air the room.
Fuck, the look of disappointment on Audrey’s face is branded in my memory. I don’t know what to do: Fighting is the only way I can see of getting out of the mire, and the one thing that seems to tick Audrey off.
Violence. Can’t say I blame her.
Talking to her is gonna be like pulling teeth. Shame and no small amount of panic roll around in my mind. Hey, Auds, know what? I have no place to stay, and no money, and did you know I haven’t even finished school? And right now the only way for me to get money is fighting in an underground fight club, an illegal place with drugs and betting, run by the Russian Chicago mafia?
She’ll probably run the other way. Because sex’s one thing, but she doesn’t know shit about me. To her I’m still the boy she used to play with in her neighborhood, the boy who kissed her in high school.
That boy’s gone.
I grab my things, stuff them into my duffel bag, rub a hand over my face. Time to go.
Walking through the cold, snow-covered streets, I think about the year that’s about to come to an end. Nothing’s changed. My life’s still a mess. The heavy feeling in my chest feels more like fear than fury, but I think of my dad, of my brother who left me behind, and anger comes rushing back.
By the time I reach the club, I seethe with it. I’m ready to fight.
And fight I do. They give me a different opponent this time, a huge black guy with arms like tree trunks. He comes at me like a wall, and crashes into me, throwing me down on my back. I barely have a chance to roll before he pins me, and then I scramble back to my feet. I’m quicker than he is, leading him in a deadly dance around the cage. I dodge his punches and kicks, keep my guard high. Take some pounding. My arms will be black and blue come tomorrow, and I even take a hit to my already bruised ribs.
I hold out and keep back.
Until I see my opening. I move into the guy’s guard and throw an uppercut that snaps his head back and knocks him down. Then I’m on him, on his chest, punching his face.
Crimson fountains. Familiar sickly sweet smell of blood and sweat.
Hands pulling me back, up, lifting my hand in victory.
This is bad. This isn’t lessening my anger; it’s sinking me into bitterness and more pain.
Suck it up, Ash. What other choice do you have?
“You got one more fight,” Johnny says, pulling me to the side. “Do you have one more fight in you?”
“Sure.”
“And can you do this every night of your life? When your bones have been broken more times than you can count, after so many concussions your brain isn’t straight?”
What is he going on about? Is he serious, telling me this stuff right after a fight, still inside the cage?
“Just let me fight,” I say.
“You got potential, kid, and technique. Told ya. You should really be fighting legally.”
I jerk my arm free of his hold. “I’m here to fight now.”
He mutters something and gestures.
The fallen fighter is taken out and the new one brought in.
***
“Here you go.” Johnny pushes a wad of cash into my hand. “Get outta here.”
I fumble with the bills. There isn’t much, but my left eye is closing shut already and my jaw hurts so much I don’t want to talk. Not to mention my whole left side and my back... Fuck.
Blood dribbles down the side of my face. Carl has slapped a Band-Aid over it but I guess it isn’t doing much to stop the bleeding.
Stumbling to a bench, I sink down, clenching the dirty money in my fist. The third fighter that was sent into the cage with me was out to kill me. Maybe the rules weren’t explained to him beforehand? He slammed my head so many times into the floor, Johnny had to pull him off me.
Christ, my head’s killing me. Just what I need.
“Take these painkillers when you get home.” Johnny presses two pills into my hand. “You’ll need them if you want to sleep tonight.”
I look up. “Thanks.”
“Go get some sleep, boy. Go get a job and a girlfriend and don’t come back here.”
“The fuck you say.” I crush the pills in my fist. “I told you I wanna stay.”
“I can’t let you.” He looks regretful. The hell? “I can’t let Jake Devlin’s boy get killed down here.”
“You said no killing.”
“Accidents happen. You’re too young. You got a future. Your dad—”
“Fuck my dad.” I get to my unsteady feet. “He’s an asshole and has no say in this.”
“Don’t talk about your dad that way. I have a say. And I can’t allow you to fight here anymore.”
“What? No.” Panic grips me. I grab his arm. “Johnny, don’t do this. Please.”
“You should be in college, not throwing your life away.”
“You think I want this?”
He removes my hand from his arm. “If you don’t, then what are you doing here?”
“I need the money, man.”
“Are you into drugs?” he asks, frowning. “You in a gang?”
“What? No.”
“Good. Then go back home, kiddo, and leave this life behind.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t.” I’m going to puke all over Johnny’s shoes. Blood fills my mouth, making me gag. “Need to fight.”
Carl mentioned a big tournament scheduled for New Year’s Day. That’s my chance to fight and get some good money.
Johnny sighs. “Go get some sleep and come back tomorrow in the afternoon. We’ll talk.”
Talk about what? He isn’t listening to me. But I nod anyway, heft my duffel and leave in search of a place to spend the night.
I spit blood onto the street. My whole body aches and by the time I stumble into the busier downtown streets, the pain is making my breath hiss on every step.
I lick the crushed pills from my hand, bitter as bile. Where am I heading?
A question that can apply to my life as a whole. I stagger past lit bars and dingy hotel fronts. No vacancies. No fucking place for me to stay. It has to be close to midnight and my duffel weighs like a ton of bricks.
Audrey. Her name, her face is a whisper in my mind. Maybe I can call her, ask to crash at her place. Even if that means letting her know everything, risking not seeing her again. I’m so tired.