Battered Not Broken (16 page)

“Ally.” The sound of her name on his lips made her entire body tingle as he slid a hand behind the back of her head, guiding her until their mouths met.

His hips were still beneath her and his cock was motionless inside her, but there was an edge of passion to his kiss that echoed what they’d just done. He slid his tongue into every inch and hollow of her mouth before withdrawing with a sigh.

She lifted her eyelids to find him staring back, his eyes surprisingly focused. They were so close that their noses were nearly touching. As they breathed each other’s breath, she noticed for the first time that his irises weren’t just blue. In both eyes, inside all the shades of deep navy, sea blue and icy cyan, there was a ring of orange-gold. They circled the black of his pupils, thin, fiery rings of unexpected color.

Her focus was broken when he moved, gripping her hips with both hands to support her as he withdrew his cock from her channel.

A moment later, she was beside him on the bed, breathing a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been suppressing. Her body felt tired, the energy that normally kept her muscles firm utterly spent. Lying half-sprawled over him, she let her limbs conform to the hard planes of his body as her cheek pressed into the pillow.

“You look like you’re wearing a halo.”

“What?” His statement didn’t make any sense to her sex-fogged brain, which was buzzing lazily with satisfaction.

“Your hair – there are all these little curls sticking up, and the light coming in through the window is shining on them. It makes it look like there’s a ring of golden light around your head.”

She raised a hand, knowing her best effort wouldn’t be good enough to smooth her rebellious hair. Never mind sparring-hair – sex-hair was bound to be worse. In response to the slightest friction or hint of sweat or other moisture, her hair always sprang up into an aura of frizz. And the fact that she’d slept on Ryan’s couch and hadn’t washed or made the slightest effort to style her hair yet couldn’t be helping.

He caught her hand, trapping her fingers tightly within his. “I like it.”

A little heat crept into her cheeks as she tried not to think about what her hair must look like. Still, a tiny spark of pleasure lit somewhere in her middle. “Halo” was a nice way to put it. Caving under his blue gaze, she lowered her hand, her fingers slipping from his as they met the comforter. Instead of letting them rest there, she reached out and touched him, tracing the ridges of his abs with her fingertips before letting her hand sweep over his hip, following the hard lines of his body.

Her fingers hit a bump and a bolt of remembrance shot through her. “What happened here?” The scar tissue was a series of raised ridges and bulges beneath her touch. Maybe if she’d been more medically knowledgeable she would’ve been able to read the pattern of his injury like braille and make a guess at what had caused it. As it was, the irregular scar-scape was unlike any wound she’d ever personally seen or touched.

Chapter 9

“Shrapnel,” he said, “from an IED blast.”

Her curiosity turned sour. “Oh.” She’d heard of those – on TV, mostly. It seemed like she’d learned of people being killed by improvised explosives dozens of times on the news, if not more. “You were deployed to the Middle East?”

“Afghanistan. Spent about eight months there.”

She’d stilled her fingers when he’d answered her first question. Now, she let them trail a little lower, negotiating the twists and turns of the irregular scarring that was normally hidden by clothing, even the shorts he wore at the gym. “Is it still painful?” He moved so gracefully, it was hard to imagine that the injury caused many if any lingering issues. Still, the marks it had left felt serious beneath her fingertips. To create such scars, his wounds had to have been deep.

“Sometimes my leg feels a little stiff if I haven’t moved it in a while – usually when I wake up, but it’s not that bad. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse, anyway. They put all kinds of shit in those bombs – bolts, ball-bearings and whatever else they can think of that’ll rip someone apart. This—” he laid a hand on top of hers, pressing her palm flat against a ridge of raised tissue “—is like a scratch compared to the damage those things can do.”

Her stomach clenched as she remembered news pieces featured on TV and the internet – stories of soldiers and civilians caught in blasts that had resulted in loss of limbs, senses and often life. Her fingers seemed to want to curl against Ryan’s scars, seeking the firm muscle beneath. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

Maybe it was a lame thing to say – after all, who
wouldn’t
be glad? – but the thought of what could have happened had caused her breakfast to curdle in her stomach. It was still hard to imagine Ryan wearing camo fatigues in some desert – she’d only ever known him as a fighter in shorts, hand wraps and gloves. And now as a lover, in bed with nothing covering his body, scarred or otherwise.

The exhilaration of getting to know someone completely new – someone who’d made her heart beat faster from the very beginning – wasn’t all fulfilled expectations or sweet surprises. There was a sharp edge to the experience, one that frightened her a little while increasing her desire to get closer to him at the same time.

* * * * *

The girl with her legs wrapped around Ally’s waist had thighs like a steel trap. Doing her best to keep her breathing even, Ally planted her palms firmly on the girl’s hips and tucked her elbows into the inside of her competitor’s thighs. She could’ve sworn her ribs actually bent as she positioned herself, doing her best to ignore the fact that bile was slowly creeping up her throat as a result of her torso being squeezed so hard.

She pushed with all her might, digging her elbows into her opponent’s adductor muscles. Those were a tender area if there ever was one, but the girl didn’t want to budge and fought hard to maintain her hold. Too bad – Ally was tired of being stuck in her guard. Caught between a pair of almost unnaturally strong thighs that threatened to compress the life out of her, she was basically powerless to make any offensive move. Escape was the only option if she wanted to win the match – which she did, badly.

Slowly and painfully, Ally managed to earn a little wriggle room. A defiant tremor shot through one of her rival’s thighs, but it was done – there was enough slack for Ally to escape. As quickly as she could, Ally retreated from what had been a vice-like guard.

Wary of finding herself back in the girl’s crushing guard, she launched into a side mount, pinning her competitor to the mat. She was careful to keep her head down – tucking it tightly against the other fighter’s body was the best way to protect her neck from a chokehold.

The girl tried anyway, making an obvious play for Ally’s neck as she struggled to regain control.

No way was Ally going to let that happen. Especially not after her loss at the last Harbor City MMA Events women’s night two weeks ago. She’d already won her first fight and if she won this one, she’d be two-thirds of the way to victory and the Saturday women’s night prize purse. She could practically feel a check in her hand as she reached for the girl’s arm, grasping her by the bicep.

Her competitor recoiled with a grunt, attempting to wrench her arm out of Ally’s grasp.

It was too late. Ally folded it back, above the other fighter’s shoulder, pinning the bent limb against the mat. She was nearly cheek-to-cheek with the other woman and could smell the floral highlights her shampoo had infused her hair with. The scent was sweet, but her intentions weren’t. She inhaled and executed what would hopefully be a perfect paintbrush.

Her opponent struggled for several moments before slapping her free hand against the mat, palm down.

Victory. Ally released her immediately, then wiped sweat from her brow as she rose, first to a kneeling position and then to her feet.

The crowd was cheering. It wasn’t as big of an audience as there’d been the night before for the men’s fights, but it was gratifying nonetheless to stand in the center of the ring and listen to the applause as her muscles burnt from the exertion.

She could only imagine what she looked like – she was so hot that her face felt like it was on fire, and grappling did insane things to her hair – but who cared? She’d be paired for one more fight that night, and if she won that, she’d be the champion of her weight division. For the next two weeks, anyway. The thought was enough to put a smile on her face.

When she climbed out of the ring, Cameron was there congratulating her. She flashed him a brief smile before diverting her attention to the one member of the audience whose gaze she hadn’t dared to meet from the ring for fear of being distracted.

“Nice kicks,” Ryan said. “Nice fight.”

“Thanks,” she said, still half-breathless. Unlike last week, she hadn’t doomed herself by telegraphing any kicks. And though she and her opponent had eventually gone to the ground, it had been on her terms – she’d swept her competitor to the mat.

Ryan accompanied her as she made her way toward the locker room, eager to splash her flushed face with cool water from the sink.

“Here.” Ryan leaned in and something nudged her side.

A water bottle. “Thanks.” She took it from his hand and unscrewed the cap. “It’s ice-cold. Where’d you get it?”

“The fridge in Cameron’s office.” He grinned.

“Are you kidding? He guards that thing like it’s buried treasure.” Cameron was a certified water and sports drink hoarder. He hated when the gym members raided his personal mini-fridge, mostly because they’d stripped it bare several times, leaving him to discover that fact after a hard workout.

“He’s playing nice today,” Ryan exclaimed, “because I have something he wants.”

“What’s that?” Ally leaned against the wall outside the ladies’ locker room, letting the concrete block cool her sizzling skin.

“Me.”

“Whoa. I thought he had a girlfriend.”

“Ha.” A gleam passed through Ryan’s eyes. “I mean he wants
me
to fight next weekend.”

“Didn’t you already tell him you were planning to?”

“Yeah, but there’s been a slight change of plans. He’s rented out a larger venue for the weekend. He’ll need to fill most of the seats to make a profit. So, he wants to advertise something special to draw people in. That something is a fight between me and some guy he’s talked into coming down from Philly to compete. He’s supposed to be a total badass or something. Undefeated.”

“And Cameron wants you to defeat him?”

“Exactly.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I’d be there. But not before he promised me twice the usual prize money just for competing. More if I win. Oh, and he’s giving me some training sessions at no cost, too.”

“Wow, he really is in a generous mood. Are you sure he hasn’t got a crush on you?”

It was just a joke, but it was nice to watch the little gleam of wry amusement that flashed through Ryan’s eyes. That combined with the grin talking about the upcoming fight had given him, resulting in him looking the happiest she’d ever seen him. Well, sex aside – but that was different.

She let her gaze linger on his mouth, memorizing the cheerful curve of his lips. His smile helped to ease the tension she’d been carrying around the night before, when she’d seen him sick with pain. She was just beginning to get to know the different sides of him, and it was impossible not to love the side that drove him to fight and allowed him to smile.

* * * * *

The dish of enchiladas was still so warm that it nearly burnt Ally’s hands. She shifted her grip, trying to hold onto the handles only, so that her fingers wouldn’t touch the body of the glass baking pan as she walked between her mother and Melissa, approaching a white house that wasn’t completely unlike their own, though it was located in a different neighborhood.