Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (25 page)

And that’s not even what pissed me off the most. I wasn’t born yesterday. I get why she’d be intrigued. Heck, I’ve barely been able to keep myself from panting like a dog at his impressive physique. His broad shoulders are cut so perfectly it’s like he was sculpted by an expert hand. His brawny chest melts into his rippled abdomen, which I know from experience is as hard as it is soft. The perfect V that tapers beneath his black and white board shorts. All of that is enough to draw a woman’s touch.

But what makes me seethe is that she was touching his tattoo. I’ve seen Blake at training, but he never takes off his tee or sleeveless shirts. Even his promo picture is taken from an angle where his tattoo is hidden behind his bicep. So I didn’t even know he
had
a tattoo until today, and here this young, gorgeous bimbo gets to touch it? Before me?

When she scurried up beside him and grabbed his hand, he pushed her away like I expected. But I didn’t like it.

Even now, she’s pressing her body against his.

It’s time to make a statement.

I wiggle loose the tie of my bikini top. Blake rips his sunglasses from his eyes, green fire igniting his glare. Little Miss Big Boobs leans against his side. He doesn’t push her away or even seem to notice. His scowl pierces through me. I pull the strings away and out to my sides, marveling at his chest as it rises and falls faster and faster.

He’s pissed. Butterflies explode in my stomach. He tilts his head, a clear warning that I’m crossing the limit of his patience. Tempting a guy like him is dangerous. It’s immature, but so damn exciting that I can’t stop.

Moving my fingers to the white triangles of fabric that stand between my nakedness and 200 strangers’ eyes, I give Blake a daring smile.

“No,” he commands in a voice so deep I feel it between my legs.

When will he learn? I don’t take orders.

I flip up my top. Before the air registers against my skin, the heat of his chest is pressed against me. His arms wrap tightly around my waist, and he presses me back against a nearby wall.

He buries his face in my neck. “Fuck, Mouse. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“She touched you,” I growl with a ferocity that shocks even me.

We’re surrounded by people, lost in a crowd that feels strangely private. He sucks at my neck, and his hands roam my bare skin. I moan at his urgent touch, his loss of control mimicking my own. I grasp at his shoulders, urging him on.

“Don’t want anyone touching me but you.” With his large body keeping me blocked from the view of others, he grips my bare breasts. I gasp as he works my nipples. My knees grip his leg and he grinds into me.

“Get me out of here, Blake.” My breathless demand falls short.

“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” He reaches around my back, securing my top. I grin as he shimmies the front triangles with the utmost concentration for maximum coverage.

Without a word, he hooks his arm around my waist and walks me out, passing people who try to talk to him without even a glance.

“Wait, Blake. My sweater.”

“Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new one.”

I laugh loudly and try to keep up with his long strides as he leads us away from the pool area, through the casino, and to his car.

He swings open the passenger side door. “Up.”

I hop in, half-giddy and a lot anxious for the make-out session ahead. My body’s on fire, perfectly primed and eager for his hands, his mouth. Damn, but I don’t want a repeat of last night.

He climbs in the driver’s seat and turns the ignition. I lean over and place small kisses on his neck and shoulder. The smell of his sun-kissed skin sends my tongue out for a taste.
Mmm, so good.

“Mouse.” He grabs my hand and pulls it into his lap, pressing my palm between his legs. “Not gonna last long, sweetheart. Not with your sweet mouth on me. I’m gonna ask you to stop and—
fuck
—I need you to obey. I dig the rebel thing, I do, but—” I rub my hand between his legs, and his words fade to a groan. “I won’t have sex with you in a car.”

My lips freeze against his neck, and heat rushes to my cheeks. A man like Blake doesn’t put his lust on hold because of the past hurts of a woman. No, men like Blake are out for themselves. No concern for others. But here he is, again and again, putting my best interests above his own. I don’t know what to make of that, but I like it. A lot.

“Okay, Blake.” I kiss his neck one last time and settle back into my seat. “I can wait.”

He grimaces like the very idea of waiting is physically painful and puts the car in drive. As the minutes tick away, my restlessness increases. Unable to keep my hands off him for another second, I reach over to rest my hand on his thigh. His mouth ticks with a small smile, and he covers my hand with his.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I haven’t been excited about sex before. Even when Stewart and I first got married, as much as I tried to get into it, I always wanted to be somewhere else. With someone else. Hell, being alone would’ve been an improvement.

But I want this. And damn if it doesn’t feel incredible to be able to make a choice. Good or bad, mistake or not, it’s my decision.

Even if he breaks my heart.

I’m not sure that’s possible anymore. Whatever’s left of my devotion, I’ve pledged to my daughter. She’s my life. My heart. There’s room for fun, maybe even for feelings, which I’m definitely having for the strong fighter next to me. But love? I wouldn’t even know what that looks like, much less what it feels like.

So I’ll take this for what it’s worth. This dating relationship is good now. And when it goes bad, we’ll be friends and move on. It might hurt, hell, it could rock me for a few days, but nothing could be as bad as what I’ve already been through. Nothing.

Not even a life without Blake.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing thoughts of our relationship’s impending doom as far from my mind as possible. It works, and my mind clears.

“You all right?” he asks, his handsome face etched with concern.

“Fine. Just uh… trying to figure out what your tattoo says.” I study the large tattoo that covers part of his left pec and bleeds down to his ribs. It’s a military emblem, but I don’t know which one. “Is that an army tattoo?”

He laughs in a quick burst. “No, not army. Marines.”

Marines? Blake was a Marine? Damn, just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter. “How long were you a Marine?”

“Not long. Military school for four years, the Corps for two.”

I don’t know much about the military, but two years doesn’t seem like a long time to be in. “What happened?”

He looks at me, and even with his sunglasses on, I can see the shadows of his past twisting his expression into something defensive. “What makes you think something happened?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Shaking his head, he sets his gaze forward. Silence passes between us for a few seconds, and I decide to let it go.

“Dad was a colonel. Wanted his boys to follow in his footsteps. We did. Worked out for my little brother. Not so much for me.” He shrugs and drops it.

“I didn’t know you had a little brother.” I hope the subject change will relieve some of the tension in the car.

“Yeah.” He grins.
Thank goodness.
“Braeden. He just turned twenty-one. I’m trying to get him out here for my fight. You might meet him.”

“Is he as handsome as you are?” I smile at the very faint blush that colors his cheeks.
I made Blake blush!

“Nah. I’m way better looking.”

We laugh together and hold hands in silence for the rest of the ride. I vow to approach his hidden military past later if an opportunity presents itself. For now, I keep my mouth shut. With the possibility of what might happen once we get to his house, I have more important things to think about. And number one is to avoid a repeat of last night’s episode.

I spend the last few minutes of the drive casting Stew Moorehead from my thoughts. Gagging his memory and replacing it with the beautiful things I’ve experienced with Blake.

It’s time I shut Stew up for good. And nothing will do that better than a first time with a new guy.

Eighteen

Layla

We arrive at Blake’s condo, and he parks the Rubicon in his assigned spot. Neighbors mill about walking their dogs, bringing in groceries, and sitting on their patios, like most folks would on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. Laughing, we run up to his door hand in hand. Carefree and a little bit dangerous, like we’re a couple of teenagers ditching school to go make out.

He makes quick work of the door lock and I’m pressed against the wall, pinned there by his hips, before the door shuts behind us.

He doesn’t kiss me like I thought he would. Instead, he plants his hands on the wall on either side of me, caging me in. “Mouse.”

“Snake.” I know what he wants. Permission. It’s sweet, but he’s going to have to stop treating me like I’m breakable. I smile and tilt my head.

A low groan vibrates up from his chest. “Don’t want my rebellious girl. Not now when I’m aching for you. I want my Mouse.”

His Mouse
. I like the way that sounds.

He leans in close, his lips only inches from mine. “Been waiting too long for these lips, sweetheart. That drive was ridiculous.”

“Yeah, it was.” I laugh and curl my hands behind his neck. “Okay, Snake. I’ll bite.”

“Yeah? I like it when you bite.”

I suck a ragged breath into my lungs. How is it that he can seduce me with nothing more than his words? “Kiss me, Blake. Touch me.”

An agonized moan that sounds more like relief than pain slides from his lips as he brushes them against mine. “Fuck, is this really happening?”

Tilting my head and parting my lips, I give him my mouth as an answer, letting him dive in deep. His hands tangle into my hair, and he holds me close. Our tongues slide against each other’s in a slow dance timed to perfection. No awkward slips or messy coordination, but like we were made to fit together. My belly tightens, twisting with delicious expectancy.

He grips my hair tight, and the pleasure-pain shoots straight to my nipples and womb. I arch my back, pressing my chest into his in search of the needed friction. He slides his hand down from my hair to my back. One tug at the tie of my bikini top and his hand skates up to work the tie at my neck. The top falls between us, and our bodies press together skin to skin. Warmth from his chest penetrates mine. His muscles flex against my nipples, and a wave of pleasure washes over me.

He curls his big arm around me and grabs my bottom. Pulling me up, my legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me down the hallway. Not once breaking our kiss, I squeak in surprise when I go airborne and land flat on my back on his bed.

Standing at the edge, his eyes devour my topless body as he unlaces his board shorts. He moves his gaze downward, from my bare chest to my belly, before focusing on the waistline of my linen pants. “Need those off. Shoes too.”

I’m lying on my back, and there’s a trained fighter who’s double my size looming at my feet, but I’m the one with all the power. Blake has proven that my feelings are his main priority. And the hunger in his eyes, combined with the response his body is proudly showing, makes me feel sexual and dominant.

I hold my foot up toward him. “Nu-uh. You do it.”

He smiles a crooked smile and bites his lip. I stare, envious that it’s not my teeth sinking into the plump flesh. I lick at my lips, savoring the taste of his tongue that lingers there.

His shorts hang dangerously low on his hips. A light sprinkling of sandy brown hair trails from his belly button and disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts. His muscles flex as he pulls off one of my wedge sandals, then the other. My eyes eat up his body with gluttonous satisfaction, and I study his tattoo.

The illustration of the world with an anchor through it looks almost three-dimensional. Its detailed shading contains so many variations of gray that it almost seems to be made up of colors. Amazing. The eagle stands on top of the earth with its wings spread proudly. Above it, printed in striking bold letters, is
Semper Fidelis
. That, I know, means “always loyal.” But below the art, on his ribs, is something else in flowing, scripted letters:
Si vis pacem, para bellum.

What does that mean? There’s a story there, but I’ll be damned if—
Ooooh…

Blake’s big strong hands rub circles into the soles of my feet. I drop my head back onto the bed. “Mmm, that feels good.”

He chuckles, his laughter laced with arrogant pride. “This ain’t shit, Mouse. You’re in for a lot of feelin’ good.”

My tummy somersaults. I know he feels like he’s on a mission to reform my no-climax status, but I hope he’s not disappointed when it doesn’t happen. “Um… don’t expect too much. You’re dealing with sixteen years of bad programing.”

“Remember, Mouse. Nothing more than you’re willing to give. You can trust me.”

And that’s it. That’s what it is about Blake. I
can
trust him. It’s not logical to put my faith in someone like him, and yet here I am. When he tells me I’m safe, and that I can trust him… I believe it. To the core of my soul, I believe him.

He puts a knee between my legs on the bed and braces himself over me. His big body hovers and sends me shrinking back into the mattress. Trapped. My mouth goes dry, and I struggle to take a full breath.

As if reading the panic in my body language, he frowns. “Fuck.” Shifting to the side, he drops to his back and pulls me on top of him. “I’m not him.”

I pull in a shaky breath. “I know.”
Boy, do I know.

My heartbeat calms against his ribs, and my arms tuck in tight to his sides. The warmth of our skin ignites a desire to taste him. I run my lips along his tan skin. It’s unnatural for a man this strong and intimidating to be so soft. Moving lower, I concentrate on his tattoo, dropping kisses against his ribs. He groans and shifts his hips beneath me.

I smile against him at his restlessness. “This is really beautiful.” Peeking up from beneath my eyelashes, I find him staring at me.