Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance (10 page)

Chapter Thirty

Hannibal

There’s nothing quite like being woken up in the morning by the delicious sensation of a girl’s lips wrapped around your cock.

And that morning, as the light shone through the grimy dormitory window, that’s exactly what happened to Hannibal Alexander.

He groaned, prizing open his eyes. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt dry… But there was the most exquisite sensation between his legs, as something warm, and wet, and sucking worshipped his straining morning erection.

Hannibal lifted his head from the pillow, and stared down the rippled vista of his muscular stomach. His crotch was covered by a curtail of dirty blond hair, bobbing up and down in time to the delicious slurping, sucking sensations on his cock.

Kristen was waking him up with a blowjob.

“Oh, fuuuck,” he groaned, reaching down to slither his fingers into her hair. Kristen looked up, peering out from between the curtain of her hair, his glistening cock held on one hand, and spittle dribbling down her chin.

“Good morning, handsome,” she purred. And then she opened her mouth, and enveloped his throbbing, black cock again.

“Oh, Christ,” Hannibal flopped back into the bed, and lifted his hips – sinking his dick even deeper into Kristen’s sweetly sucking mouth.

He groaned, and squirmed, and squeezed shut his eyes as she licked, and slurped, and then multiplied the delicious intensity of her exquisite blowjob by gently massaging his heavy, egg-sized balls at the same time.

“Oh…. Oh, fuck…” Hannibal reached out and grasped the edges of the tiny, twin-sized bed. “Oh, God, Kristen… I can’t…”

And he didn’t.

As his balls churned, Hannibal squeezed shut his eyes and felt himself explode into Kristen’s mouth.

His swollen cock spurted like a firehose, and his 21-year-old stepsister eagerly swallowed each salty spurt. She gulped them down, throbbing pulse after throbbing pulse, until Hannibal’s balls were empty and he had to beg for mercy.

“T-too much… Oh, God…”

With a ‘pop’ Kristen let Hannibal’s drained cock plop from her lips, and the naked girl slithered up his torso, and planted a wet, salty kiss directly on his lips.

For a moment Hannibal wrinkled his nose – tasting his own cum on her lips. But then the softness of her lips against his worked their magic – and even his freshly-drained cock made a feeble throb in response.

Satisfied with the kiss, Kristen rolled into the crook of Hannibal’s arm and rested her head on his enormous, tattooed chest.

“I thought you deserved to be woken up like that…”

Hannibal stroked her hair.

“If I was guaranteed a wake-up call like that every morning, I’d never get out of bed.”

Kristen giggled.

For a moment they were silent, listening to the slamming of doors and the pattering of feet in the corridor outside.

The other students were awake and active; and leaving this dormitory truly would be a ‘walk of shame.’

“So, what’s the plan?” Hannibal asked.

“I dunno,” Kristen admitted. “Could you drop me off at class? I’d prefer your dad to think I left super early in the morning, rather than simply didn’t come home at all.”

Hannibal chuckled.

“Shit, that suits me. I’m in no hurry to have my old man tear me a new one again.”

Kristen rubbed his chest.

“So what are you going to do?”

Hannibal stared up at the drab ceiling tiles overhead.

After a moment, he said: “I’ll head back to Mommas. She’ll be pissed at me, sure – but that’s hardly anything new. Change my clothes, grab a shower…”

“And then what?”

Hannibal turned his head, and looked deeply into Kristen’s blue eyes.

“It might not be my fault, all this fucked up shit going on in our family. But while I’m here, I can do my mother-fuckin’ best to fix some of it.” He snorted derisively. “You said last night I was the closest thing to an adult in our family. Maybe it’s time I started acting like one.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Hannibal

At a little past eleven in the morning, Hannibal pulled the burbling Bentley to a halt outside Jules’ ghetto-ass apartment building and reluctantly climbed out from behind the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

Casting a suspicious look up and down the street, he swaggered down the pathway to the beaten up metal door, and then hammered his big fist on it loudly.

Silence.

He hammered again.

A muffled groan from within.

A few moments later, as Hannibal kept pounding the door, there was a mumbled cry of: “Okay, okay, stop that mother-fuckin’ racket!” And then he heard the deadbolts being pulled back, and Jules’ haggard, pale face emerged through a crack in the door.

His red-rimmed eyes blinked as he struggled to focus.

“H-Hannibal? What the fuck you doing here, blood?” He checked his watch, and narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Shit, dawg. What time is it?”

“It’s time for you to get to class,” Hannibal replied, shoving open the door and stepping into the apartment.

Jules staggered back as the door was thrown into his face.

“What the
hell
, bro?”

But Hannibal wasn’t looking. He was surveying the dingy apartment. It stank of weed and booze, and on the dingy sofa in the corner were two half-naked, strung out black girls who looked like they charged by the hour.

“I see you’ve been spending your winnings responsibly,” he snorted.

“Hey,
fuck you
,” Jules spat, as he slammed shut the door. “I saw TMZ. After you won that fight back in November, you blew ten grand on a threesome with those porn star twins.”

Hannibal blinked.

That was absolutely true.

“So what the fuck are you doing here, Baller? You here to give me another hard time?” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I don’t want to hear any more lectures.”

“Well, tough shit,” Hannibal growled. “You’ve got a lecture in an hour. I checked your schedule online.”

Jules blinked. He stood there, swaying slightly, and hissed: “I dropped out, man. Same as you did.”

“The
fuck you did
,” Hannibal hissed. “You’re going to that lecture, and
every
lecture after that. You dig?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jules spat. “You’re not the boss of me. You dropped out of college and did
fine
. I’m gonna do the same.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

“Get your fucking books. I’m driving you to class.”

“The fuck you are!” Jules took a menacing step forward, but Hannibal didn’t even flinch. “You don’t get to fuck off for a year, and then come back like we’ve all still got to listen to you.” He pointed an accusing finger at his brother. “You lost that privilege the moment you turned your back on me!”

“Well, I’m
back
,” Hannibal growled. “And I’m going to make things
right
.”

“How?” Jules spat, and he was loud enough for one of the slumbering girls to stir. “
How
are you going to make things right?” He followed up in a loud hiss: “My telling me to go back to school? Fuck that. My dream is fight – just like you do.”

Hannibal wheeled around, towering over his little brother. Jules staggered back a little, clearly intimidated.

“You mean that?” Hannibal demanded.

“W-what?”

“I asked if you
mean
that,” he repeated. He pointed a finger at his brother. “Are you gonna
commit
to fighting? Or is it just another half-assed scheme you’ve got going on to avoid facing up to your real responsibilities?”

“Fuck you, man,” Jules spat. “I’m
committed
. I’m gonna be a mother-fuckin’ champion, just like you.”

Hannibal snorted.

“Well then, I’ll do you a deal.”

Jules blinked.

“You get your book back and get your ass in my car,” Hannibal spat, “I’ll take you to my gym after class. If you’re
serious
about fighting, I’m gonna teach you everything I know.”

Jules blinked.

“W-what?”

“I mean it,” Hannibal promised. “I’m not going to do what Pops does. I’m not going to try and make you live your life on his terms. If you’re
serious
about fighting in that MMA league, then I’ll support you every step of the way.”

Jules blinked.

“Y-you mean it?”

“I mean it,” Hannibal repeated. But then he added: “But I ain’t screwin’ about, Jules. You’ve gotta commit – to your schoolwork,
and
to your training. If you don’t, you’re gonna get into that octagon in two weeks time and get your fucking ass whooped – and that’ll be
nothing
compared to what I’ll do to you if you fail class.”

Jules blinked.

Hannibal knew what was going on in his head. Jules was just like him – arrogant, self-confident and stubborn as a fucking mule. But Jules had always been the smarter one; and even hungover and strung out, Hannibal’s younger brother clearly recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Let me kick these hoes out, and grab my book bag.” He walked up to one of the sleeping girls and nudged her with his foot.

Hannibal held up his hand.

“First lesson about the MMA lifestyle, bro,” he warned. “As long as you keep calling ‘em ‘hoes’ you’re gonna have to pay for ass.” The towering MMA man looked down at the first girl as she blearily looked up at him. “Let’s get these
lovely young ladies
out of here.”

And hearing the compliment, and realizing that it was directed at her, the strung out hooker on the couch smiled, and clambered to her naked feet.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hannibal

Fire & Iron
was a rough, redbrick gym in one of the older districts of Hartford, and Hannibal knew it well. Before he’d moved to Vegas, he’d been going there three times a week for nearly fifteen years.

Parking the big Bentley across the street, Baller turned to his brother, sitting in the passenger seat with his book bag clutched across his chest, and warned: “Be cool, okay?”

Jules snorted.

“I mean it. These people are like family to me.” Then he paused. “At least they were.”

“Yeah, I know
that
feeling.”

Hannibal ignored him.

He threw open the door, and side by side the two brothers crossed the street and pushed open the heavy metal door of the old gym.

Inside it stank of Clorox and body odor. A rickety metal fan clattered above them, and the floorboards creaked as they stepped inside.

“Dayum,” Jules looked around at the racks of iron weights, and the boxing ring set up in one corner of the warehouse-like gym. “This place is like something out of a history book.” He snorted. “Shit, bro. Couldn’t we have just gone to LA Fitness or something?”

“LA Fitness doesn’t have him,” Hannibal snapped, and pointed a thick finger towards the older man swaggering across the floor towards them.

“Well, as I live and breathe, it’s old Baller Alexander, right back where he started from.”

The old man was short and stocky, with slicked back grey hair and a mouth that looked like it had too many teeth in it. Without any hesitation, he threw his arms around Hannibal and squeezed the big fighter, patting him on the back and grinning: “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Good to see you too, Mike,” Hannibal squeezed back. As they broke apart, he jerked his thumb towards Jules, and said: “You remember my little brother, right?”

“Wow, haven’t you grown?” The old man held out a calloused, arthritic hand. “Remember me? Mike Siro? I gave you karate lessons for a while, back when you were a kid.”

Jules awkwardly shook his hand.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“So, Baller,” Mike Siro turned to his old friend. “I heard about what happened in Vegas. Tough break, man.” He pounded the big, black fighter in the ribs. “I always warned you though; you need to focus on your groundwork.”

Hannibal’s lips narrowed.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his defeat by submission at the hands of James MacDonald still a painful topic of conversation.

“So what can I do for you boys?”

Hannibal jerked his thumb towards Jules.

“For better or worse, by little bro has got himself into a fighting league. I wanna teach him some tricks to avoid getting his ass whipped.”

Siro snorted.

“You came to the right place.” Turning to Jules, he asked: “What’s your background? Boxing? Wrestling?”

Jules looked awkwardly back and forth between the two of them.

“I… I don’t have a background,” he admitted. Then, cheeks burning, he added: “But I’m good at groundwork. I beat that last guy by submission.”

“Ha!” Hannibal snorted. “
Barely
.”

Jules shot him a hateful look.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you two get up into that ring, and show me what you got.” He pointed to the old boxing ring, which looked like it had stood there for a century or more.

Jules and Hannibal nodded, and Jules headed off to the changing room to get into some shorts.

That left Hannibal and Mike alone for the second, and the old man looked up at his big, black protégée with concern.

“You said your little brother’s mixed up in a fighting league? Here in Hartford.” His eyes narrowed. “The only one I know that would let a kid like
him
in is…”

“…some illegal fight circuit? Run out of warehouse outside of town?”

Siro snorted. “Sounds like the one I’m thinking of.” He shook his head. “Run by some reverse-carpetbagger called Rodney Callahan. That whole circuit’s bad news, Baller. You don’t want your brother mixed up in it.”

“No, I don’t,” Baller nodded. “But you know what us Alexander boys are like. Jules won’t take no for an answer – so I figured if I can’t talk him out of it, at least I can teach him what I know.”

Mike Siro didn’t look convinced.

“Listen, you know what my brother’s like,” Hannibal shrugged. “He gets his mind fixed on something for a couple of months, and then he loses interest. I reckon the first time he gets a real smack-down, he’ll quit faster than he did karate class.”

Siro snorted.

“I hope your right. I’ve heard stories of people getting into a
lot
of shit because of that Callahan dude.” He leaned forward. “You keep an eye on your brother, you promise?”

“Hey, nothing’s going to happen to him as long as I can help it,” Hannibal promised. “He’s an ungrateful little shit, but I don’t want him to get hurt.”

And that was when Jules reappeared, in a long pair of shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt.

Hannibal snorted.

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” he repeated, leading his brother to the boxing ring, “but that sure doesn’t mean I’m not going to smack some sense into him this afternoon.”