Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance

by Chloe Ellison

  “Oh my... Fuck.” I pressed myself against his face, and ran my fingers through his hair when he performed. Masterfully I might add, like almost passing out because you forget breathing type of good. “Not yet, I’m not ready.” I begged him to stop, but had no willpower or bodily control. His tongue was hitting at all the right places, and I was making noises I didn’t know I could. He hadn’t been underselling himself as a lover, and he took me to the edge and over it only minutes after our having started. “Ahhh…” I squealed, and my body seized up all over. Everything shook, tingled, and I called out his name.

  “That was the single sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life.” Cage was postured up over me, smiling. I covered my face with my forearm, and giggled. Exhaustion swept over me, and my heart rate was up in the stratosphere.

  “You are very good at that.” I said, blown away and euphoric.

  “Anytime you want it. And I mean anytime. Here, under a table, in the back seat of my jeep, morning, noon, night. In the shower, after the shower. During breakfast.” he was all over me, rubbing on my tits and smiling non stop. “When you wake up in the morning.”

  “That sounds incredible.” I said, smitten all the way through. “How about now?” I asked, eager to test his offer. “Oh, God.” he dropped back to work like a gun went off at the starting line. His tongue was a tool made for delivering me pleasure. I writhed beneath him, squirming around beyond my own control. “Ugh, ugh.” I was in agony, sensitive to the touch but insatiable. There would be no such thing as enough Cage.

  “Mmm, mmm.” he slurped and sucked, spreading around my wetness. “Now I need it.” he said. I could feel a hint of his strength in the way he gripped me. When he hoisted my ankles up by my head and got into position. “Tell me how much you want it.” he said, holding his cock in one hand, my ankles in the other. I grinned, and sucked on the tip of my finger while nodding. “You are too sexy.” he said, and laid the tip against me.

  We kissed while he pressed it inside, slowly, an inch at a time. My arousal helped me take him, his girth. I was filled, and stretched to accommodate him.

  “Cage, go slow.” I begged, thrusting back against him.

  He drove me wild. The way he lightly dragged his fingertips over my skin, and gripped handfuls of my backside. His soft kisses, and the taste of his tongue. Our bodies were joined, and we glided from position to position.

  Cage held me by the hair, and took me hard from behind. A few minutes rough, and then we would downshift back to sensual kissing. Every gear was pleasant.

  “You make me so hard.” he whispered into my ear, controlling my every movement. “On your stomach.” he made me lay flat, and then pulled me to the corner of his bed, so my legs hung off the edges. Cage dropped to his knees, and put his face between my cheeks.

  “Oh my God.” I moaned into the blanket, digging and biting to redirect my agony. His tongue found my sex, and he went down on me from behind. When I turned my head, I saw his face buried, and his hand stroking himself. His mouth was a wonder of the world, and his tongue seemed to know my body. “Baby.” I hoped it would never end.

  When he was inside me again, my legs were wrapped around his waist. Nothing was going to stop my release. My body was shaking, and I couldn’t keep my eyes straight.

  “Ugh, Cage!” I called out, quivering. He maintained steady rhythm, while I climbed higher and closer to getting off.

  “I want you so bad.” he grunted, pushing himself deep. He was on the verge, and we came together with our lips locked. “I love you.” he said.

  “I love you too.” I whispered it back. I could feel him seizing, cumming.

  “Ugh, fuck. I love you.” he said it again. I was in the middle of orgasm, and hearing Cage moan that he loved me was in the moment, almost too much for me to handle.

  “I love you.”

  We crashed back down to reality together. I was tingling, a mixture of post coital and drunk. I giggled to myself, knowing parts of what happened were a mistake. The I love you, no condom. Leaving it in. The excess dripped onto his sheets, but I couldn’t move an inch. I was falling asleep, and drooling.

  I heard Cage go into his bathroom and shut the door. That was the last thing I remember of being awake.

  “Angela! Hey, gotta go.”

  My eyelids were heavy, and I forced them open. I could feel the alcohol fatigue, and knew I drank too much.

  “What?” I was butt naked, and didn’t know what was happening.

  “Cab driver is like two minutes away. Get dressed.” his words registered. I couldn’t believe it, he was kicking me out.

  “Time to quit it now or what?” I asked, drunk and grumpy.

  “It’s not like that. I want you in my bed not out of it, but I have court.” he said, and tossed me my clothes. “Let’s go.”

  He walked me out, and opened the door for me.

  “Give me a kiss.” he leaned in, and gave me one for the road. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You better.” I said, and nearly collapsed into the backseat.

  “Hey, aren’t you Cage Edwards?” the cab driver asked, recognizing him from the front seat. My eyes were closed but I could hear their exchange.

  “Ugh, yeah. Hey man, the girl in the back is mine. Get her home safe for me okay?” Cage asked, and slipped him some cash.

  “Sure thing champ.”

  I fell asleep in the cab on the way, but made it in safe.

  Twelve – Cage

  Woke up late as fuck, with a splitting headache.

  “God dammit.” I rubbed my eyes, and then temples. Alarm clock said it was 10:45, I couldn't remember if it was fast or slow. Court was at 11:30. Probably wouldn't make it on time, hopefully the lawyer would.

  My body wasn't used to the beating I was putting it through. I had drank four nights in a row, the pinnacle being my display with Angela. Ugh, wish I didn't drink so much. Dry mouth, fatigue all over. Hunger. Thoughts of her riding me the night before were fresh and vivid.

  I stepped into my bathroom, and looked into the eyes of the demon in the mirror. Maybe a hot shower would put some life in me.

  Hard dick made it difficult to piss. Wasn't sure if it was morning wood, or left over from the night before. Angela. That woman was my prescription, and provided everything a beast required. The sound of her voice when she climaxed, the feminine whimpers. The hair stood up on the back of my neck just thinking about it. I had to have seconds, and thirds. I wondered if a billion helpings would come close to quenching me? I hoped to find out.

  I had just enough weed left to make me chill out. Some people do pills, I smoke the ganja.

  A two minute shower covers only the hot spots. Armpits, ass, balls, feet, face. Get out and get dressed as quick as possible, all the while ignoring my phone, the one that has been going off at thirty second intervals since God knows how long before I woke up in the first place.

  The lawyer said dress nice, look presentable. I'm not really one to put on monkey suits, not even at press conferences when I am making a million bucks guaranteed. But whatever, I trust him to know how to do his job, and so I slipped into a white button up. Everything else, things like shaving, would have to wait. There was no time. Two eye drops to help hide the hangover and high, and a quick rinse and spit of minty wash. It was showtime.

  “You got this Cage.” I made finger guns at the mirror, but my energy was still dragging. Weed is a miracle, but reality is a mother fucker. “Hello?” I asked, heading out the door, and answering my phone.

  “Cage! Where are you? It's eleven eighteen!” it was my lawyer, Victor, and he was shouting.

  “Not so loud, dick. My head is pounding.” I said.

  “What? Please tell me you are on the way.”

  “Almost. Like, I am heading out now. Fifteen minutes if traffic is cool.”

  “Cage, you can't be late for court. Dammit. Get here as fast as you can!”

  “Aight.” end call. People can be so dramatic. If everything worked out, I
would show up three minutes late. The jeep was on E, and I was in need of my morning coffee fix, so it ended up being a tad later. 11:48 when I walked in. There was a whole load of jackass reporters waiting for me outside. If I hadn't already been in trouble, one of them may have been given the opportunity to wear the champ's coffee.

  Victor Henderson, my lawyer. Cool dude, expensive as fuck, but cool. Short little black guy who always had on a three piece suit. He was waiting for me when I walked in, and immediately pointed to his watch. Every eye in the courtroom turned in my direction. I smirked, but wasn’t really in the mood, at all.

  “My bad.” I said to Victor.

  “It’s fine. I talked to the judge, he’s letting it slide.” he said. “You look like hell.”

  There was a whole slew of bogus charges that the GED PD had put together for me. Fuck them, that’s the reason I had to have such an expensive lawyer in the first place. I was cool with assault, that’s what you get when you punch someone in the face in public. I understand and am okay with this. But when you add in a whole bunch of other shit for no purpose other than trying to “make something stick”, then we have a problem. Assault with a deadly weapon? Fuck off with that. Because I fight? I couldn’t believe it. There were more too, inciting panic, destruction of property, even tried to put the blame on me for providing alcohol to a minor. That one got thrown out.

  We would plead not guilty to all of the charges if it came down to it. If they wanted to put me in a cage or reach into my wallet, they were going to have to earn it all. I knew that the footage was grainy, and that it was impossible to tell who started things. Everyone saw me punch the beer bottle through homeboy’s face, but most of the other damage I did was on the down low. I was willing to lie, or do whatever the fuck I needed to do if it was in my best interest when it came to my freedom.

  Victor didn’t want to go to court. He wanted to take a plea deal, but what they were offering was shit. They wouldn’t knock it off with the deadly weapon thing. Sorry for being a bad ass. Doing martial arts was a positive thing, and they were putting it on me like I was some fucking psycho because I was interested in combat. Same crime different time? Makes no sense to me. If I had a deadly weapon he wouldn’t be breathing, period.

  We countered. I would take the panic,destruction of property, and an assault charge. I didn’t like it one bit, but Victor assured me that he knew what he was doing. They liked our offer, because they would still get jail time and money off of me.

  “If we try this deadly weapon thing, it can end really bad. Especially for you Cage. Imagine the jurors after seeing footage of you knocking someone damn near dead in the ring, and then doing the same thing in that club. Think they will see you as a deadly weapon? I know I do.” he was right.

  “So I am going to have to do six months for this?” I asked, in a private side meeting with Victor.

  “Six, but that could be reduced to four with good behavior.” he said. I was well aware that I would likely be facing some time, but I had still thought there was a chance I’d get off with a slap on the wrist. Some community service maybe, and a fine. The judge didn’t like me or the sport of MMA, and wasn’t happy with my being late. “The problem is Cage, at your level of income, it's about mitigating risk. We go to trial, you can realistically end up with 3 or more years. This is an in and out deal. It sucks, but it's a bump. You'll get out and move on.”

  We took the deal. That night was turning into a serious fuck up, and I'd really set out with no ill intentions toward the dude at all. I wanted to walk away. It's that split second, the moment that gets you. The ability to withstand that when ninety nine percent of people wouldn't, that's what separates the greats from everyone else, and I'd failed the test. Gotta learn the lesson. It was me alone who would pay that price, and I would face it as such.

  “I understand that we have agreed on a plea?” the judge asked, looking at the paper over his reading glasses.

  “Yes your honor.” Victor said.

  “Mister Edwards. Can you please stand?” the judge asked. I stood, and approached the microphone. Speaking in public has never really been my thing, nor have people who perceive themselves as having authority. “I understand that you are a world champion athlete, and that there is a lot of money at stake here, but this is a very serious matter. The man you allegedly assaulted received over 50 stitches on his face, and could very well be taking civil action against you. There were ten thousand dollars in damages, and multiple innocent bystanders were injured.” he was reading something off of a piece of paper, and peered at me over his reading glasses when he stopped. “Mister Edwards?”

  “Yes your honor?” I asked, looking straight ahead instead of at him. It is a little trick I learned when I was young, dealing with cops and other power hungry douche bag types. They hate it for some reason when you don’t look their direction, like it is the ultimate sign of disrespect or something. I'm must obliged therefore to give it to them.

  “Well? Do you have anything to say regarding the incident?” he asked, his voice with a nasal drone. People expect you to be conditioned to suck the dick, I'm not. As long as this heart beats, I won't be. I looked over at Victor, to see if I had anything to say regarding the incident. He looked down, and tried to be subtle about shaking his head.

  “No your honor.” I said. “I plead the fifth.”

  There were a few snickers from the crowd behind me, and the judge removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

  “Mister Edwards, you have already accepted a plea. Your answer is not incriminating.” he said, referring to his official dork court manual. People like him, places like courtrooms, are the very reason I elected to pursue a career in mixed martial arts.

  “I answered the question. No, I don’t care to elaborate on the incident.” I said, reinforcing it for the dumb dumb wearing a freaking robe in public.

  “You strike me as someone who doesn’t accept responsibility for themselves. Do you do anything for your local community?” He asked. Here we fucking go, people like this guy. If I had him behind a shed with no chance of being caught, I'd test what you think about human morality.

  “I help the economy by living in it.” I said.

  “That’s your only contribution?” he asked, voice flat and nasal.

  “Strip clubs. I make lots of twenty dollar college fund donations.” I adjusted my collar. The judge was giving me the look your teacher does when you are getting out of line. “I was going to help kids, but I hate them.” I added, fighting hard against showing him the unique shape of my middle finger.

  “Very good Mister Edwards. I bet mama is proud. Six months, enjoy.” he pounded his gavel.

  “Fuckin’ dork.” I spoke up so he would hear me.

  “Excuse me?” his eyes were googly. Like he really couldn't believe I said something so outrageous. His mom comment had me boiling, plus I'm short tempered after a night of drinking with no breakfast. The calming affect of marijuana had worn off. I turned to walk away, but he followed up.

  “Mister Edwards, I can still hold you in contempt!” he yelled.

  “Your power trip is showing.” I said, and decided to go with the full on fuck it approach. I showed him my middle finger, turned it sideways, upside down, and right side up again.

  “That little stunt will add 10 thousand dollars to your fine, and another month to your prison stay.”

  That was that, I was going to prison.

  Chase was gonna live with coach, and I would probably be stripped of the belt if I hadn’t already been. Lucky I didn’t do sponsors, or I would have had to feel that sting too. Funny thing is, I wasn’t too worried about that. Coach was a better influence on Chase than I was, and I find the concept of carrying around a golden belt that signifies a title that you accept a bit obnoxious. Where is the humility in an oversize belt that you can literally stare into, and see your own hubris? And people say I’m cocky. I never wear that thing. I would have given it to mama if she were still around.

/>   My worry was that I would be missing out on Angela. It was early on, but I’m an all in type of player. She already had her hold on me, but who would say that she was willing to wait? Or even consider waiting. My sentence started immediately. From the courtroom to the jail house. On the way I visualized the next day, week, and month. The world would be going on around me, and images of her body, grinding against mine while I take her, would haunt me.

  Thirteen – Angela

  Even with the inside angle I missed the story. It was Bryan who texted me and asked if I heard what happened with Cage. It wasn't a good feeling that washed over me when I received it, and my fears were confirmed when I checked the internet seconds later.

  Not only had he been sentenced to jail time, the video of him flipping the bird to the judge had gone viral. I watched it a few times myself, angry that he was unwilling to take court seriously. There was no potential benefit, all he was doing was being an ass. After all the depth he had showed me the night before, his hairpin temper had cost him again. Then there was the quote about how he hated kids. Intentionally lying, solely to piss off the judge. Brilliant.

  True strength, is pliable. It knows when to attack, not simply how to. Inciting him was too easy, and continuously cost him. The ability to be humble, it wasn't something I was seeing in Cage.

  So much for a followup date, and out the window went my feature story painting him as a nice guy deep down. The public had seen enough of him to make up their minds. To them Cage was nothing more than a talented punk. He was being moved from one cage to another, and the TFC quickly distanced themselves from him and the situation.

  The following is an excerpt from their official statement; TFC will respect the decision made by Judge Tony R. Lincoln in the case regarding Cage Edwards. Edwards is officially suspended, indefinitely. Edwards is also stripped of the 185 pound world championship.

  It was hard to believe that the very night before his fall from grace, I was in his bed, on top of and beneath him. The mind blowing sex had been the result of our raw attraction and rare connection. Cage never let on that he might be going to jail for what had happened, so it came out of nowhere and hit me in the stomach. I hadn't been looking to develop feelings for anyone, quite the opposite. Before Cage, my whole life was focused on career. I gave him a chance and it didn't work out. Problem being that it wasn't that easy, I couldn't go on and act like nothing had happened. I'm the type who can get along with the vast majority of people, and connect with them on some level, but I can only fall hard for a select few. That goes for friendships, as well as love interests. Once I was hooked, I could be kept for life. But I would not date an immature boy who spends his life in jail, one who was pissing an immense amount of ability and hard work down the drain with his actions.