No Limits (The Fighter Series Book 6)

by TC Matson

  I chuckle. “So close, but I hold that power right now.”

  Her eyes are hard when she opens them to me. “You’re fucking teasing me?”

  I give her a hard thrust. “I want you so ready to explode that when I finally let you, the world knows you’re mine.”

  Leaning down, I suck on her tit, nipping at the sensitive skin. She jerks and snaps each time giving me a pleasing gasp.

  “I really want to touch you,” she says, desperately.

  I kiss up her neck and breathe against her ear. “I know you do, beautiful. Not this time,” I tell her gently. “If it gets too much, tell me.”

  I’m taking a daring chance showing her this side of me. But I need to know she can handle it. We can never grow if she doesn’t give me this outlet. It’s her turn to be vulnerably raw.

  I slam into her, pumping hard and playing with her clit. Her body ignites, and her skin flushes. Her mouth falls open as she pants. And then her pussy tightens. I jerk out of her, not giving her my dick to ride the first orgasm.

  “No. No,” she whines, arching her back.

  I watch as she comes, wriggling, convulsing and begging for me. She’s a beautiful sight.

  Grabbing her thighs, I flip her over and yank her ass high in the sky. I knead her ass, spreading her cheeks and digging my fingers into the soft skin. She’s soaked, her wetness dripping off her body.

  I press into her again and she breathes a strained moan. Twisting her hair around my palm, I pull her up, bringing her head to my shoulder. I pound into her. Her body gives me everything I need. Her moans full of pleasure. My other hand roams her, squeezing her, digging into her. I love the fucking feel of her skin.

  I can feel her body winding up again and I wrap my arms around her body and haul into her.

  “Play with yourself,” I demand, low and throaty. “Don’t stop. Even when you explode, don’t you stop.”

  I take her hand and guide her fingers to rub her clit. My fingers are wet from her when I straighten myself back to my knees. I grip her hips, leaning back slightly. She whimpers, her hand working hastily.

  Suddenly, she loses it. Loudly.

  “Don’t fucking stop. Don’t you fucking stop,” I growl. Our skin slaps as I pump into her savagely, feeling my own ending nearing.

  Her orgasm seizes her body. Trembles come in waves. But she does as she’s told and doesn’t stop playing with herself. Every muscle in my body contracts and I come so fucking hard. My room is a mixture of grunts and cries, the sound of skin, my dick driving into her.

  She collapses, face first and I’m right behind her. Drained.

  “I fucking love you,” I breathe, ragged.

  Chapter 25

  I wake from the best sleep I’ve had in a long time and stretch, tossing my arm over Jolie’s naked body and pulling her tightly against my chest. I do it to annoy her. My dick’s stabbing her in the back.

  She bucks back in a weak attempt to put distance between us. I slide forward and erase it.

  “Ugghhh.” Her groan is groggy. “You’re insatiable. Sleep. I need sleep.”

  I kiss the side of her neck with a chuckle. After fucking my manhood back, we fucked some more and ended on a slow love fest in the wee hours of the morning. Being away for Carter’s fight, I had some making up to do.

  She tugs the blanket over her shoulders. “Give me five more hours.”

  “I can think of all types of things to do to you for five hours.”

  “Better than sleep?”

  I flex my hips. “So much better than sleep.”

  She hides her smile into the corner of the comforter. “I have a headache.”

  “Sex will relieve it.”

  “I’m a virgin,” her voice cracks, holding back the laughter.

  “If you prefer to stay that way, then let me stick it in your butt.”

  This time she bursts out laughing and rolls over. Mad eyes and a smile. Man she’s beautiful. “No way.”

  “Can I fuck your titties?” I ask innocently.

  “Kyce!” she squeaks. “How did last night not wear you out?”

  I kiss her shoulder. “I can never get enough of you.”

  Slowly, I pull the covers, exposing her left breast, her nipple hard. I arch a brow and smirk, knowing she’s excited for me, and then kiss her pink pebble, circling my tongue around it.

  “Baby…” her voice is small. “I’m really sore from last night.”

  She looks embarrassed, a blush softly staining her cheeks, her eyes heavy with humiliation.

  I pop out of the bed, heading for the bathroom, and turn on the shower, adjusting the water before coming back into the bedroom to scoop her up. “I’m going to shower you.

  “You don’t ha—”

  “Shut up,” I say simply.

  I don’t put her feet down until we’re under the water. Leaning her back, I get her hair wet and it gives me the perfect view of her smooth beautiful body…with bruises. Purple and black shapes all over her skin, a group of them creating a black mass on her pelvis. My heart sinks.

  “Jolie. I didn’t mean to…” My horror steals my breath as scan her body. Bite marks on her tits.

  She smiles. “Love marks.”

  My eyes flash to hers. “Love doesn’t leave marks. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

  She splays her hands across my abs and I close my eyes disgusted with myself. “I hope this doesn’t mean it won’t happen again because I really…” she drags her hand up my chest, “really enjoyed it.” She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, sucking it in and chewing on the side.

  But as I study her, I see the questions in her expression. “I’ve never…”

  “Does that happen often?” she asks quietly.

  I exhale. “No. Something about you.”

  There’s a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

  I swallow. “You leave me powerless. You have it all in your palms. You make me feel really weak.”

  “If you only knew what you do to me,” she tells me, tiptoeing. Her tongue plays with my earlobe. “You make me feel safe. I know when you show me soft, you’re proving your strength,” she whispers.

  Her tits are rubbing against my chest. My dick is fully aware of her slick skin, her heated pussy close by.

  She sucks my earlobe into her mouth and gently bites it.

  It almost buckles my knees. I rest my palms on her hips to hold me steady. “You need to stop,” I warn.

  She cups my nuts, massaging them.

  “Jolie…” Her name comes out harshly.

  She smirks devilishly and drops to her knees. Lapping my nuts, her eyes stay on my face. She watches me watch her, water spraying everywhere. My dick is hard. And my girl is praying to it. She makes me feel like a god.

  Until she mutters, “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

  Now I’m a fucking god.

  She takes my dick into her mouth, sucking it, dragging her tongue along the bottom side and then twirling it under the head of my dick.

  “I can’t give you sex right now. But I can give you power.” With a flat tongue, she laps my shaft. “Use it.”

  My heart is pounding as excitement surges through me. “You’re a fucking goddess at my knees, Jolie.”

  Twisting my fingers into her hair, holding her with both hands, I give her what she’s offered. I fuck her mouth. She moans. I hum in pleasure.

  I watch, rapt, as she sucks me down. My dick reappearing and disappearing, her hand used as a block to prevent too much.

  “Can I go harder?” I ask, unsure if she can take all of me.

  Confidence shines at me when she rolls her view to me. She digs her nails into my ass, drawing me deeper. She strains slightly, trying to figure out a way to handle it.

  Holding her head, I pump into her. “Fuck yes,” I hiss, dropping my head back to the cold wall. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but this…this is fucking it.

  She cups my nuts, kneading. They begin to tighten. “Beautiful�
��” I warn.

  Pleasure is etched in her gaze when she flicks her eyes up to me.

  Over and over, I fuck one of the things I fell in love with about her. My dick hits the back of her throat… She’s humming her excitement, trying to catch her breath on the drag out.

  It’s all too consuming. I push and pull her, slamming into her. White lights burst and I fucking lose it.

  “Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” I chant, grabbing the top of the shower door and slamming my eyes shut. Violent and mind-bending pulses shoot through me as she sucks me empty.

  “Oh fucking hell,” I ground out and then moan so damn loudly the town next to us had to hear.

  My breath is labored, rushing in and out of me rapidly. Euphoria sizzles my muscles and sleep sounds pretty damn good right about now. But first…

  I kiss her swollen lips fervently, tasting my saltiness on her tongue. We’re both panting. “You deserve a fucking trophy for that,” I rasp. “I want to fuck you so badly. Give you the same orgasm you just gave me. Are you too sore to fuck my face?”

  She giggles, wiping her wet hair from her face. “That was just for you. Nothing in return.”

  I arch a brow. I could marry her.

  Marriage has never been in my vocabulary, but Jolie just brought me to my knees and sucked the smarts out of me. I’ve got to still be high from my orgasm.

  I clear my throat and shake my head, desperately trying to get rid of the horrid thoughts. “I’m going to cook breakfast.”

  I step into a pair of shorts when I hear the water turn off. A few minutes later, Jolie comes out and grabs one of my t-shirts and shrugs into it.

  “I like my clothes on you,” I tell her.

  She cocks her head to the side. “Am I allowed to steal one of your shirts?”

  My phone rings off in the distance, but I don’t go in search of it. Everything I need is standing in front of me.

  “For you to sleep in when I’m not there?”

  Her innocent smile is my answer.

  “That’s the biggest turn-on knowing you—”

  Someone bangs on my front door and then my phone rings again.

  I send Jackson to voicemail so I can deal with the asshole at my front door. “Fuck! I’m coming!” I shout.

  Fuming, ready to beat the fuck out of my visitor, I stomp to the door and jerk it open. “What the fuck is—” My words are gone.

  Jackson and Ryker look desolate. Shoulders are slumped, eyes bleak.

  Immediately, my stomach knots. Something is wrong. “What’s wrong?”

  They walk past me without a word. I push the door shut and glance to Jolie standing in the kitchen watching the weirdness in the living room. The air is so thick and tense. The vibe is off.

  “Kyce,” Ryker’s voice shakes, tears in his eyes when he spins to me. He clears his throat. “Mom died this morning.”

  Like I’ve been punched in the stomach, my air rushes from me. The floor under my feet drops out from beneath me. Frigid cold burns my skin, freezes my blood. My soul seeps from my body. Colors flash. A stabbing pain pierces my back. Blackness closes in on the corners of my vision. Panic bursts through my veins. The room begins to spin. My legs wobble and I stumble backward, dropping to the footstool.

  I can’t breathe. There’s no air. My throat tightens.

  “Dad wants us at the house. Sarah and Whitney are already there.” Jackson’s tone is distant and empty.

  My eyes burn. “How?”

  Ryker sits beside me, resting his forearms on his thighs, and looks straight in front of him. I’ve only seen him with tears in his eyes a handful of times. But the misery resting in them now compares to nothing I’ve ever witnessed.

  “She collapsed at the grocery store,” he says, the words barren.

  I’m vibrating. Insurmountable agony threats to explode, tearing me into a thousand shards. I close my eyes and the lump in my throat moves, unleashing all the pain. I drop my head into my hands. Jackson wraps an arm around me. Ryker only rests his hand on my shaking shoulder.

  We share this moment together. Our hearts breaking as one—brothers being crushed by the reality of life.

  Taking a deep breath, I jam my hand into my hair and pull, desperate to feel anything other than this. Something else other than the heartache.

  Jackson clears his throat. “Get dressed. We need to go to Dad.”

  Wiping my tears and getting to my feet on shaking legs, I see Jolie in the kitchen, tears streaming down her cheeks. I don’t know what to say. I have nothing to offer her. So I don’t say anything as I walk past her to get ready.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers behind me as I shove my feet into my shoes.

  “I have to go. Stay if you want, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Misery rides every numb syllable.

  From behind, she wraps her arms around my waist, burying her head into my back. “I’m so sorry, Kyce,” she cries.

  Agony numbs me.

  “Go home.”

  I grab my keys and wallet from atop my dresser.

  “I love you,” she says softly, stopping my feet before I walk out the room.

  I take a steady breath. Those three words I’ll never hear from Mom again…

  “Yeah. You too.”

  Dad’s sitting in his recliner, staring into the empty space in front of him when we get there. He looks to his grief-stricken trio of sons, his eyes weary and bloodshot, and scrambles to his feet. He walks straight into Ryker, pulling Jackson and me by the shoulders and into a hug. His body shakes as sobs rack through him. We hold each other up as a family, our foundation acting as a steeple as we all cry together.

  Funny thing about grief—it doesn’t care how big you are. It doesn’t care if you’ve won MMA championships, pulled a casino out of the dumps and grew it into an empire, or promise the sense of safety. It challenges the mentally strong. Daring it. It is and will always be more powerful than you.

  I’m not as nearly as strong as Ryker or Jackson—mentally or physically. I’m the fucking baby. Mom and I had a special bond. I was the last child she would bear and growing up, she made sure I was loved. She taught me to be strong emotionally and left the physical strength to the meatheads of the house. Ryker and Jackson have always been closer to Dad. Not me, though. I was team Mom, always getting extra cookies.

  Jackson and Ryker try to soothe Dad as he weeps. I say nothing. I’m at a fucking loss, floating down the same dismal river as he is.

  He coughs, clearing his throat and wiping his cheeks free of tears. After taking a deep cleansing breath, he sits back in his recliner, looking back into the empty void in front of him. “The hospital said it was a blood clot. Pulmonary something.” He grits his teeth, swallowing hard. “No symptoms. No on-sets. Just sudden. Someone at the store called the paramedics.”

  His words shake me.

  Mom died alone…

  Chapter 26

  I give Kyce space to grieve but stay close enough to comfort. He’s been understandably quiet and extremely distant. Two nights ago, I brought him dinner and ended up spending the night with him. He held me, but was rigid, secluded in his thoughts. I’m not pushing for him to talk. When he’s ready, he will. I know everyone deals with things differently, so I lay there, randomly letting him know that I loved him.

  After the wake last night, where he was distant and detached while everyone offered their condolences, he asked me to stay. No way did I refuse. Once I changed into his shirt and a pair of his boxers, I made him a salad from a bag topped with grilled chicken. He claimed he wasn’t hungry, but he ate the entire bowl. Then without a word, he took a shower and went to bed.

  Today was the funeral. It was small and intimate, beautiful and heart wrenching. Although I had only met Audrey a few times, when the sun came out, lighting up the skies, I knew it was her reminding her family to have strength to deal with today. A loving mother’s job is never done, even in the gates of heaven. Gracie, Jackson’s daughter, sat on Ryker’s lap in her cornflower blue dre
ss, her hair braided back, and cried through the sermon.

  Kyce stared in front of us, occasionally bouncing his leg. The muscle in his jaw worked feverishly.

  After the burial, we came back to Kyce’s parents’ house, where a family dinner had been planned. Whitney had food delivered, and Sarah and I help unpack it.

  “Go set the table, someone please.” Whitney sets the pasta on the counter.

  “I’ll get it,” Kyce says, his tone hollow as he slides off the stool in a daze.

  “I’ll help him.” Ryker disappears too.

  Whitney sighs, shaking her head. “He’s been spending hours at the gym since he got the news.”

  “Jackson’s been keeping himself occupied with work,” Sarah offers.

  I guess it’s my turn. “Kyce has just been really quiet.”

  Sarah glances to me with the saddest eyes and frowns. “Jackson’s worried sick about him.”

  “So’s Ryker,” Whitney adds.

  “I’ve been trying to keep him company,” I tell them. “But he’s been dis—”

  “I’ve got it!” Kyce’s voice booms through the kitchen, anger startling all of us.

  It moves us, all three of us sprinting toward the dining room.

  Ryker and Kyce stand in front of each other, fists balled up at their sides, testosterone slinging at the walls.

  “Mom put me in charge because you were always too selfish to do the simple tasks,” Kyce spits.

  “I’ll set the table this time,” Ryker growls and it’s so deep, it reverberates off my ribs.

  “The fuck you will,” Kyce scathes between gritted teeth.

  “Yeah. The fuck I am.” Ryker clears the distance between him and Kyce, his chest heaving as he looks down to his brother.

  “Ryker,” Whitney tries. “Not—”

  Suddenly, Harold bursts into the dining room—white lines forming around his tight lips, eyes blaring. There’s no doubt he’s pissed. “Your mother would be appalled at the language being used around the dinner table,” his voice is unforgiving and scarily stern. “I can’t believe you two.” He slams his palms on the table and it startles me to jump. “All your life. Always in competition with each other. For once, get your shit together and find a neutral. If not for me, for your mother.”