Bruiser: A Lonely Housewife Embarks on a Passionate Affair with an Alpha Male MMA Fighter (2 page)

Chapter Five

Ava

“Others?” Ava demanded.

“A couple of years ago,” Brandon explained, “when the owners promoted me to start managing this place, I offered classes for special needs kids and at-risk groups. I offered them for free - we get kids bussed in from Trenton, and everything.”

Ava blinked. She’d vaguely been aware of his special classes, but didn’t realize they were that big.

“Last year? One of the kid’s parents even came up and hugged me,” the burly karate instructor continued. “Said my classes had kept her kid out of trouble and getting into fights. Her boy actually moved up a grade because of the discipline I’d taught him.”

Brandon sighed.

“I’ve been making a difference, y’know? Giving something back. And now all that’s going to go away.”

Ava sat there in silence, looking at Brandon’s flat, handsome face. She could have sworn tears were welling in his eyes.

“I-I had no idea,” she breathed.

Brandon reached over and squeezed Ava’s hand. She shuddered at the feeling of his hot, calloused palm curling around her fingers.

“It’s not me I’m letting down,” he breathed. “It’s
them
.”

And looking deep into his eyes, Ava could see that Brandon meant it.

For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Ava felt herself shiver at the intensity of it.

Then she coughed, and pulled her hand away, and pretended to look at the time on a wrist watch she wasn’t even wearing.

Hauling herself to her feet, the curvy mom started making for the door.

“It’s way later than I should have stayed out,” Ava explained, as she grabbed her bag and coat. “Clark will be worried about me.”

Brandon hauled himself up from the floor. He followed her to the front door.

“I’m sorry to lay this on you,” the big man sighed, unbolting the locks, and swinging open the glass doorway onto the parking lot outside. “I-It’s just a lot for me to deal with.”

Ava paused.

She looked up at the towering karate instructor – more than a foot taller than her diminutive 4’11”. He was a beast of a man – with those hulking shoulders, and hooked boxer’s nose, and brown eyes burning beneath a craggy brow.

But right then? He looked as lost and as helpless as a little boy.

Instinctively, she hugged him.

Chapter Six

Brandon

Ava wrapped her arms around Brandon’s massive waist, and pressed her head against his t-shirt-clad chest. He smelled of sweat and man-musk. It was exhilarating.

And Brandon squeezed her back – crushing her in his bear-like arms.

For a moment, they stayed like that, drinking in the feel of each other’s bodies. And then Ava looked up, into Brandon’s flat, rugged face.

He looked down at her, and her wide, brown eyes.

And then he moved to kiss her.

“Whoa!”

Ava stumbled back, pushing herself out of his bear-like hug.

“Oh, fuck,” Brandon released her immediately, and backed off himself. “I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Cassidy. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ava’s cheeks burned red. “I just didn’t want you to, y’know, get the wrong impression or anything.”

“No, no,” Brandon shook his head. “I just… That was…”

“No need to explain.” Fanning herself, Ava grabbed her bag again. “I-I need to get home.”

“Sure, sure,” Brandon nodded, and watched her make for the door.

But before she left, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Ava was wrenched to a halt.

Nervously, she turned and looked up into Brandon’s wide, brown eyes.

“Mrs. Cassidy,” he stammered. “
Ava
. Just so you know… I don’t do stuff like that.” His cheeks burned red. “I’m not, like… You know – hitting on all the moms, or anything.”

“It’s okay, Brandon,” Ava said. “Forget about it. I’ll see you for kickboxing tomorrow, okay?”

Brandon nodded: “Okay.”

And with a deep breath, Ava left.

“I promise,” Brandon repeated, calling after her. “I’m not the weird kid who hits on all the cute moms.”

But by then she’d climbed into her Buick and gunned the engine, already peeling out of the parking lot.

Brandon watched her go with a sigh.

Idiot
, he told himself. What had he
done
?

It wasn’t that hitting on Ava had been a bad idea. She was cute, and curvy. Kind of like somebody had got a full-length picture of Monica Bellucci and squished the aspect ratio. He thought she was adorable.

But she was married. And even if she wasn’t, he already had more than enough to worry himself in that regard.

And, as if reading his mind, Brandon’s phone buzzed.

He picked it up, and looked at the message on screen.

MIA

Hey, honey. Thinking of you. XXX

Brandon closed his eyes, and sighed.

That was
exactly
the sort of trouble he was thinking about.

Chapter Seven

Ava

Ava tore through the darkness in her Buick Enclave, hands trembling as the gripped the wheel.

How could she have been so fucking stupid?

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her mouth was dry. She had butterflies churning in her stomach.

She also felt a throb between her legs.

Goddammit
, she swore at herself. That was her
kid’s karate instructor
! He was
ten years younger than her
! She shook her head in horror. What must he think of her? Some old broad hitting on him.

Although, Ava told herself, technically
he
was the one who’d tried to kiss
her
.

And she’d said ‘no.’

So, no harm done, right?

Right?

Within minutes, Ava was pulling into the driveway of her townhouse. She cut the engine of the Buick, and sat in the darkness for a moment or two, taking deep breaths.

Looking in through the window, it was clear the lights were off.

Clark was probably in bed. He had to be up in a few hours, so she could hardly blame him.

And this way, at least, she didn’t have to confront him with the rosy glow of guilt on her cheeks.

Throwing open the car door, Ava crept inside.

The house was cool and dark as she let the front door click shut behind her. The only light came from the rows of comic book figurines, on display above the fireplace. Figures like Batman and Captain America stood frozen in place, with eyes or insignia lit by powerful little LED bulbs.

Her husband’s collection. Both impressive, and a little embarrassing.

With a sigh, Ava threw her bag off her shoulder, and slithered out of her coat. Then she did what she always did when she got home late – the rounds.

First it was up to the kid’s room, to check on on Lex and Harley. The opened the doors and peered in, to see her son and daughter each sleeping peacefully, bathed in the glow of their DC Super Friends night lights.

Then she opened the door to her bedroom, and peered in.

A bush of reddish hair was all that Ava could see of Clark. He was snoring softly, a great, big lump under the blankets.

She sighed.

Right now, half of her wanted to crawl into bed with him. To wrap her arms around his big, round belly and snuggle into his broad back and fall asleep next to the man she called her ‘teddy bear.’

But she felt
antsy
.

Tense.

But, more than that, she
felt
.

For the last five years, Ava had been a stay at home mom, balancing diapers and vacuuming. Sometimes her only adult interaction was when the mail man came.

Now Lex was old enough to go to karate, she’d had the opportunity to get out of the house and interact with adults again – in fact, she loved taking classes at the karate center herself. Back when she’d been at college, she’d dated a guy who did MMA, and sparring with him had been exciting, fun and sexy. The classes at BB Martial Arts Center reminded her of those days.

But what had happened tonight – that electric exchange between her and Brandon. That had been
something else
.

That had awoken feelings in her that she hadn’t felt for a long time. Certainly not since long before she’d met Clark. She hadn’t felt like that since her college boyfriend.

Ava shivered again.

And then a wild and reckless impulse over took her.

Glancing around the darkened corridor guiltily, Ava started peeling off her clothes – kind of like she did every night before bed.

But, this time, she crept back downstairs, into the living room.

Tossing her pants on the floor, and peeling herself out of her tank top, she flopped down on the couch in nothing but her panties.

Then, closing her eyes, she slid a hand down over her belly, and under the elastic waistband of her panties.

In her head, she remembered the exchange she’d had with Brandon. The hug.

The feeling of his big, powerful body wrapped around hers. The feel of his huge hands on her shoulders. The intense look in his eyes and he looked down at her, about to pucker his lips for a kiss.

Groaning, Ava imagined what it would feel like for his lips to press against hers.

And, as she pictured that, she slid her hand into her panties, and her fingertips slid through her pubic hair, until they found the lips of her pussy.

Ava lay on the couch, imagining making out with Brandon, and slithered her fingers between the lips of her pussy. She was already wet.

Swirling her fingertips around her clitoris, Ava imagined more… The feeling of Brandon’s weight, crushing down on top of her. The feel of his skin under her palm – that delightful combination of hard muscle and soft, meaty bulk.

“Huuuungh…”

God, she hadn’t… y’know…
touched herself
in years. But at the thought of what might have been… She couldn’t stop herself.

Ava imagined everything… The thought of pulling that sweat t-shirt off over Brandon’s head. Of pulling off her yoga pants. Of the feel of cold vinyl under her bare ass as the big, bear-like man pinned her to the floor and thrust inside of her.

“Fuuuuuck!”

And, like that, Ava climaxed on the couch.

Seconds later, as her heart stopped pounding, the housewife opened her eyes and found herself back in reality.

Lying on the couch in her underwear, hand stuffed down her panties – the eyes of dozens of Marvel and DC superheroes silently judging her from the shelves above the fireplace.

“
What
,” Ava murmured to herself, “has gotten into me?”

Chapter Eight

Brandon

With a groan, Brandon opened his eyes.

“Yo! B!”

Staring him right in the eye, just inches from his face, was his old friend Vinnie Del Priore.

“Yo!” the Italian barked again, and then reached over and patted Brandon playfully on the cheek. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Where have you been?”

Brandon yawned.

He was sprawled out on the leather couch in the kid’s playroom of the karate center. The sunlight was streaming through the windows, and without glancing at his cell phone, Brandon guessed it was around eleven o’clock in the morning.

“I was just taking a nap between classes,” the big man groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He scratched his head. “I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

“Well, you look like shit, man.”

And Vinnie Del Priore would know. He had some basis for comparison.

A slick little sports promoter, Vinnie had represented Brandon through high school and college – setting him up with MMA bouts and matches all through sophomore through final year. About half the trophies lining the walls of Brandon’s office came as a result of bouts Vinnie had instigated.

When Brandon had quit to pursue his law degree, he’d stopped working with the well-dressed Italian – but they’d kept in contact. For some reason, Brandon always knew he’d need his fast-talking friend again.

Now might be the occasion.

“Did you sleep here last night?” Vinnie sniffed the air suspiciously, as Brandon hauled himself to his bare feet. “It sure smells like it.”

“Yeah,” Brandon nodded. “I’m staying with my parents at the moment. I was here last night – figured my first class was at 5am.” He shrugged. “Why bother going back? I’m gonna sleep on a couch in either case, and this one’s a foot longer.”

Vinnie nodded.

The little Italian was poking around Brandon’s karate school – looking at the faded paintwork, and the crayon pictures pinned on the walls.

“So this is your place, eh?” Del Priore mused.

Brandon nodded proudly.

“It’s a fucking dump.”

“
Hey
!”

Vinnie wheeled around and smirked. Ever since he’d known him, Brandon had admired that smirk – it was the only thing that stopped his friend getting punched in the face a lot.

“Yo, no offense, B,” Vinnie shrugged. “It’s just… Kinda run down. Shitty location.” He sniffed the air. “And it smells.”

“I’m working on all of that,” Brandon promised. “When I got it off the old owners, they’d let it go to shit. I’m rebuilding it all.”

“Well, God bless ya’, kid – ‘cos you got your work cut out for you.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t called Vinnie here for him to state the obvious.

As if reading his mind, Vinnie asked: “So why’d you drag me down here? Traffic was a bitch.”

“I need your help, Vinnie.”

“I ain’t in the habit of lending money no more – not to a friend, anyway.”

“I don’t need money,” Brandon growled. “Well, I
do
. But I want to earn it myself.” He padded into the lobby, where a six-hour old pot of coffee was sitting. He poured himself a cup. “I need to raise some money,
quick
, to keep this place in business.”

Vinnie stood silently. That was one of the most effective tricks he pulled – it always forced people to divulge more than they’d intended to.

But Brandon was wise to his tricks.

“Forget
why
I need the money,” he snapped. “Just tell me if you can think of where I can get some.”

He shrugged. “I know I’ve been off the circuit for a while, but there must be
something
I can do to raise some quick cash. Training? Instruction. Shit, I’ll give massages if you need me to.”

Vinnie laughed, shaking his head.

“It was a weird fucking coincidence you calling me up,” he admitted, “because I’d been thinking of reaching out to you anyway. You still watch the fights?”

“Of, course,” Brandon shrugged. “I’m at Buffalo Wild Wings, every Saturday night.”

“So you’ve heard of James MacDonald?”

“The British Bulldog?” Brandon nodded. “I know him. That was a hell of a bout he had against Hannibal Alexander last month.”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You heard what happened to Baller?”

‘Baller’ was the nickname for Hannibal Alexander – an African American fighter who was trying to earn himself a Tupac reputation despite his Huxtable upbringing.

“I heard he got shit-canned for three months for picking a fight with MacDonald in a hotel lobby,” Brandon shrugged.

“It’s more than that,” Vinnie grinned. “The MMA committee overturned the results of his fight with MacDonald – probably because the Scottish bastard wiped the floor with him when they threw down in the Hilton. Kind of threw the original decision into question.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

Vinnie’s grin widened.

“Brother, they’re looking for a rematch. To throw MacDonald back in the ring with somebody to replace Baller.” He winked. “I was going to pitch ‘em
you
.”