by Olivia Chase
“Yes,” she whimpers.
The sound of her voice, the rawness, spikes my arousal tenfold. My cock is so hard it’s pressing into the bedspread. I thrust two fingers in her and eat her like there’s no tomorrow.
When she’s getting close, I stop.
“Oh God!” she cries out, frustration evident. “I… What…”
“Shh,” I say, kissing across her sexy belly curve, along the dip of her inner thigh, taking a bit of a nibble on the flesh there. She jumps in response, but moans. I file that away for future knowledge. “Trust me to please you. Let go.”
I can see the struggle in her eyes. The stiffness in her spine. She isn’t sure. But eventually she relaxes, her hands resting on the sides of her body, palms pressed to the mattress.
As soon as I see her give in, I shift her legs so her thighs are on my shoulders. Then I lick her from cunt to asshole.
That makes her clench in surprise.
“Don’t fight it,” I warn her, giving a small bite on her ass. “Relax.”
She takes several steadying breaths and looks at me. Her eyes are glazed over with need, hair mussed, nipples hard. She’s a fucking angel.
God, I’m already so tangled in this woman. I try to push that aside and think about what I’m doing. Making her come.
I spread her ass open and swipe a lick around her asshole. She stiffens but doesn’t move. Good girl. I let my tongue pleasure her there, tasting her forbidden hole. I can smell her pussy getting wetter, to the point that her juices begin to drip down and coat my tongue.
With fingers a bit more unsteady than I’d like, I press her cunt and her ass at the same time and slowly slide in. She’s clenching the bedspread, eyes wide.
“Breathe. Relax. I won’t hurt you, sweetness,” I say soothingly. “This will make you come so hard. Trust me.” I press kisses to her inner thighs and keep my fingers where they are until she starts to relax a fraction.
Then I begin to move.
Her ass and pussy are so fucking tight. Oh God, I want to plunge my dick inside her right now. It physically hurts. But I also know that I need her to come more than I need to myself. And I’ve never felt this before.
Phoebe relaxes around my fingers, which makes me feel lightheaded. I can feel her muscles squeezing me in pleasure instead of in fear. She’s panting, her breasts heaving as she bounces into my hand. “That feels amazing,” she breathes.
I push faster. She begins to buck wildly now, back arched, pussy soaked and dripping down onto her mattress. She’s quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Her body begins to grow flushed and her nipples are beads. I suck one into my mouth as I fuck her with my fingers.
That does it.
Phoebe stiffens, cries out, her cunt and asshole spasming around my fingers. “Oh God oh God oh God!” She’s digging into my shoulders, her nails almost piercing my skin, and I don’t fucking care. I want everyone to know that I was with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I want her to mark me as much as I want to mark her.
I lean up and bite the top of her breast as her orgasm is erupting, a small flash of pain to add to the pleasure. A mark.
When she finishes, her legs flop to the side, and I withdraw from her. Press gentle kisses to her skin. There’s a light sheen of sweat. I did this to her. I helped her feel something she’s never felt before. I should be fighting this feeling in me…this desire for possession. But right now, I can’t.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper, then go to the bathroom and rinse my hands. I come back and curl her against my body. She’s molten, her muscles languid. Having her lying beside me is the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever experienced in my entire fucking life.
I fall asleep.
The crowd is chanting my name.
My name.
When I started learning how to fight, I did it so I wouldn’t get fucking destroyed by guys bigger than me. I did it so people wouldn’t fuck with me. My father is a hard dude; having a son who couldn’t take care of himself was unacceptable.
I wasn’t going to be the one to drag the Beckett name down.
But I never fathomed that all these years later, I’d be standing inside this squared circle, listening to people scream and cheer for me.
I wanted it. Hoped for it. Dreamed about it. And here I am. Making it a reality.
Dustin Setters, my opponent, is staring hard at me from his corner of the ring. I’ve been watching him—been watching all my potential opponents. He’s crafty. The fights are gonna be harder now.
Al’s just behind the ropes, leaning over and talking to me. “Don’t forget. This guy has a mean right hook. He’ll throw it before you even expect it. Keep your guard up on your left side. And when you can, try to take him out as fast as possible. He’s not one you want to dance with long.”
I nod and put my mouth guard in.
The bell dings.
Adrenaline flushes through me, sets me on fire, and I bounce on my feet, keeping my guard up as instructed. The crowd is yelling; our coaches are yelling. But I’m locked on Dustin. Watching his moves. Studying him.
I think he’s injured his left ankle, because he’s favoring it slightly. I can use that against him. He won’t be as quick to pivot using his right hook, due to that injury.
I keep my guard up and manage to land a blow. Dustin’s head jerks back, but he stays on his feet. His brown-eyed glare is unblinking. I feel my blood pulse in response to the aggression I see clear on his face.
This guy isn’t going to be as easy to knock out.
Al’s lessons stick with me, how I need to stay nimble. Be ready for a real fight. I look for an opening. But it isn’t coming, not yet. Dustin manages to hit me in the jaw, and I reel. The crowd roars in response. I shake it off.
The bell dings. Back to our corners. Fuck.
Al comes over and rubs my shoulders, wipes my brow and gives me water. “He’s revealing his weaknesses. See that ankle?”
I take out my mouth guard, grin, and spit in the bucket. “Already did. I’m on it.”
“He won’t be as fast as he should be. Let him tire out a bit. Reserve your energy.”
I nod and put my mouth guard in. The bell rings for round two.
I’m ready.
This time, I let Dustin dance in the ring, feet all over the canvas. I keep up with him, but use fewer moves. Remain economical. He’s glaring at me.
Bring it, fucker. I’m ready.
He goes to swing a right hook, but I can see a twinge of pain in his face as his ankle contorts. He’s weak. He isn’t moving as fast as he should.
I deliver my blow. Right to his face. A smash heard ‘round the world.
Dustin’s body flies around from the force, and he sways on his feet for a moment before dropping to the canvas.
The ref is counting, but the crowd is already screaming my name in victory. Dustin manages to scramble to his knees, but he’s still too unsteady. Count to ten. He’s out.
I let my muscles relax their tension, and I feel the relief as everything comes to end, and now I’m one step closer to my final goal.
Al rushes the ring, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Nicely fucking done!” he says. “You have great instincts, kid.”
I let the praise carry me into the back room. It’s Phoebe’s day off, so I won’t see her here. I find myself missing her more than I should. I wish she’d seen this victory. She would have been proud of me, I’m sure.
I mean, I know she said she’s freaked by boxing, but surely I’ve been proving myself to her, right?
I strip off my gloves and the tape. Al is talking about strategy for the next round, who my potential opponents will be. I’m half listening, half thinking about Phoebe’s smile. I want to text her. See what she’s doing.
I miss her.
Holy fuck. The feeling hits me hard in the chest, like a sucker punch. My feelings for her are starting to run way deeper than I could have expected. What was meant to be just a flirtatious t
hing has turned into something else.
I need to fight this.
I need to, but fuck if I want to. Craving her feels like my dirty little secret.
Axel would have a fit.
Not to mention what the old man would think if he knew…
Al gives me more congrats and tells me to go home and rest. I nod and take his advice. Hop in my car. Make myself wait until I get to my house, take a shower, then crawl into bed before I give myself the luxury of texting Phoebe.
Kicked ass against Dustin, I write. You missed a good one. ;-)
A few minutes later, I get a response, and I can’t fight the squeeze my heart gives when I see those telltale dots showing up that she’s typing. Congrats!! I knew you could do it. I was gonna nag Diane to tell me about it if you hadn’t texted me.
My smile is so big and stupid that I was sure I’d be mocked for it if someone saw me. We should celebrate my victory.
I agree. What did you have in mind?
I was thinking that tasting you might suffice…
Oh! I’m… You make me blush all the time, you know? But I haven’t…um… She sends an embarrassed emoticon. So I haven’t, um, helped you. Don’t you want me to? You haven’t asked…?
Sweet, innocent Phoebe wants me to come for her. She wants me to come and she doesn’t know how to ask for it. My cock is instantly hard as I think about parting those sexy lips and sliding inside, the head of my dick in the back of her throat. Teaching her how to swallow me… Damn, I could bust right now from just imagining her sweetness.
If you’re offering, I’m willin. ;-)
So, I’ve…okay, I don’t have experience in it, but if that’s good with you, then yes.
Oh fuck. She’s so fucking beautifully innocent. And I just want to corrupt her, make her so dirty for me. Just me. The fact that she’s never done it but still wants to pleasure me is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I write, Sweetness, it’s absolutely okay. You’re stunning. I like you how you are.
The impact of that hits me after I hit send. I don’t just want Phoebe. I like her. Actually like her. Talking to her is the highlight of my day. And when I’m not talking with her, I’m thinking about her.
Missing her.
I’m getting in over my head. And the most fucked-up thing is, I don’t want it to stop. She’s like a drug, working its way through my system, bringing me a pleasurable feeling I keep chasing. I won’t let myself think about my older brothers…how they went down this same route when they fell in love.
But Phoebe and me, we’re not like that, I chant to myself. Yes, I like her. Yes, I crave her. But I’m sure as fuck not going to fall in love with her or anything.
I can want the woman and like her without it going anywhere else. It won’t. I refuse to let it.
You’re sweet, she writes back. Sweet and dirty. I’ve never known someone like you. Sometimes I’m not sure I can handle it. Lol
Oh, I’m sure you can handle it just fine, I tease.
I hope I’m given a chance to.
At those plain words, I’m so fucking hard that my cock is leaking precome. Phoebe is a naughty girl. I can’t wait to explore more with her. It’s been fucking hard as hell not taking her, but I don’t want to push. Don’t want to rush.
When we have sex, I want her to be ready for it.
But my God, it has to be soon, or I’m going to explode.
I pull up one of her pictures, the first one she sent me. The shy smile on her face. The sheets hugging her breasts. My breathing grows ragged and I reach down and grab my cock. Pump it a few times. I’m so hard. Hard for her.
Hard to touch her again. See her.
When I finally come, it’s not her tits I’m staring at.
It’s her eyes.
Phoebe
“Phoebe!” Diane yells, jarring me out of my haze. “I need you to contact Gunner Lewis’s coach and ask if that one form was filled out, okay? They never turned it in, and we need it before he fights. Go, go!”
I nod. It’s tempting to snark back at her, but I bite my tongue. I need this job, I need this job, I say in my head. Diane treats me like dog poo, but at least I’m getting paid experience.
I go to the office and grab the form in question, then head to the back where the fighters warm up. Gunner is on a bench, massive forearms resting on his muscled thighs, back exposed. He’s attractive, I’ll give him that. Lean muscles and a tall frame.
But I’ve heard some not-nice things about him from others over the last few days. How dirty he fights. Something about the coldness in his eyes turns me off. Makes me feel uneasy. Like his smiles are a glossy façade. Like there’s nothing behind it but grayness.
I go up to his coach with a polite smile. “Hi. Diane has another form Gunner needs to fill out.”
That gets the fighter’s attention. He jerks his head up and eyes me, gaze starting at my feet and moving slowly up my body. As if he’s undressing me. I flush—and not in the good way.
“Well, hello. You must be Phoebe,” he says smoothly. He stands, towering over me. His smile is practiced, the same one I’ve seen him giving to everyone else. “I heard you’re the woman basically keeping this show running.”
I suck in a breath through my nostrils and force a smile. “No, that’s Diane. I’m just her assistant. But thanks.”
He looks down at my breasts, not even bothering to hide it. My chest burns from the scrutiny, and I fight the urge to sink away from him. I don’t like the way he’s eyeing me. Like I’m a slab of beef or something. It’s uncomfortable to say the last. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says.
The coach laughs and thrusts the form at Gunner, along with a pen from his shirt pocket. “Stop flirting and sign this for the lady.”
He takes the form and signs it, then hands the document back to me. He makes sure to brush my fingertips in the process. “How can I resist such incredible eyes, coach? She’s stunning.” He quickly takes my free hand and captures it in his, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
Diane told me that above all, I have to treat everyone fighting with respect and deference. These men are the ones making our event, so I can’t react the way I want to—which is kick him in the crotch for being so slimy. So I paste on a smile and gently draw my hand away. “You’re too kind.” I step away and add, “Thanks for filling this out.”
“Wait.” Gunner stalks over to me. Peers down. Something about him is off. He’s attractive, but it feels like a piece of him is missing.
“I’d like to see you. Outside of here. Can I have your number? Maybe we can go out sometime.”
I can just imagine what Hale would have to say about that. Not to mention the fact that I have no interest in Gunner at all. So I hedge. “You’re really kind, but I shouldn’t. Good luck today in your fight.” I turn to go.
He follows me out into the main arena, sticking by my side. “So is it true then?”
“Is what?” I keep moving. Hale should be fighting any minute now, and I promised him I’d watch.
“You and Hale. Is that why you’re giving me the brush-off?”
That makes me stop in my tracks. Shit. Shit. Shit. How did he figure it out? I’ve been so careful not to be obvious in public. If Gunner has seen it, who else has? And God, if Diane finds out, she’ll fire me for sure. I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He quirks a brow and inches near me. Despite being dressed in nothing but satiny shorts, he’s a foreboding figure. “No? Then maybe he’s not that important to you…so there’s no reason for you to not give me your number.”
Damn, but he’s persistent. Why is he possibly interested in me? What should I do here? I can’t insult him. Diane would be pissed. But she’d be even more mad if she heard about me and Hale. Would this guy throw me to the wolves to get his own way? I can’t tell. “I…”
The bell rings, and the ref holds up Hale’s hand. His opponent is swaying on his feet, unsteady, clutching his gloved hands to his face.
/> I missed Hale’s fight.
My stomach sinks. “I…gotta go,” I say quickly and then take off.
“Talk to you soon, Phoebe,” Gunner says to my retreating back.
I hide in the office for a good hour. I’m nervous to come out. Thankfully, Gunner leaves me alone since he has a bout and doesn’t harass me in here. Maybe Hale didn’t notice that I missed seeing his fight. I should stop being a chicken shit and come out.
I exit the room and close the office door behind me. The fights are over for the night, the crowds departing, a low buzz of conversation still echoing in the arena as everyone leaves.
I head toward where Hale will be, in the back room, my heart in my throat. I didn’t do anything wrong here, didn’t respond to Gunner’s advances. So why do I feel guilty? Because Gunner was being aggressive, and I couldn’t just shut him down the way I wanted to. Stupid work rules. I hate having to tiptoe around this crap.
And I feel like I wronged Hale somehow.
Well, I didn’t wrong him, I tell myself. We are casually dating, nothing more. Another man talking to me isn’t any of his business anyway. The worst offense I did was missing his fight. Which wasn’t my fault.
I see Hale in jeans and a snug T-shirt sitting on his bench, not looking at anyone. My stomach sinks at the flatness in his eyes. “How are you?” I ask.
He slides his gaze over to me. “Oh, I’m great. Other than the fact that I saw you talking with fucking Gunner Lewis. Whispering back and forth. And you distracted me during my fight.” His eyes are hard, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
Warring emotions spring in me. Guilt. But mostly anger. He’s blaming me for his ring performance?
Not to mention there’s a thread of hurt in me underneath all of it. He’s the only guy I’ve been with. For anything. But he’s jealous and doubting me? Does he not think I realize what a slime-bucket Gunner is? Does he think I actually want that douche to hit on me?
Ugh.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you serious right now? Your fight has nothing to do with me. And I resent you pinning that on my shoulders.”