Never Choose Flight (A Fighter Romance Novel) (8 page)

We burst into his place like two teenagers into a house where the parents were on vacation. I unbuttoned his shirt while my lips pressed against his, and we stumbled back and fell down onto the couch, me on top.

My swollen lips mashed against his as I undid the final button, and then my small hands slid around either side of him, holding him in a tight embrace. His tongue found mine, and they played, sliding from mouth to mouth as our bodies began to grind. We were still dressed, apart from his unbuttoned shirt, but we just could not hold back.

I sat with one leg on either side, and my hands played with his body. It really was impressively muscular. Not a single bit of flab. Pretty much the opposite of mine.

But his hands played with me as well. He grabbed onto the bottom of my shirt, and pulled it up over my breasts. Fondling each other like there was nothing else in the world ever worth doing. Kissing each other like we’d drown if we ever stopped. Humping. Thrusting. Gyrating like we weren’t wearing pants.

I could feel it growing. I pressed down on it between my legs, applying pressure as I moved back and forth, back and forth, never letting the seal our mouths had created breaking. Every movement grew it more. Got him harder. Made me wetter.

He was pressing hard against the inside of his jeans. But I didn’t want to move on yet. I wanted to make him wait. I knew what he wanted. He wanted what most men want from their girlfriends. But I also knew that I was on top. And he wasn’t going to get it until
I
decided the time was right.

And for now I just wanted to continue kissing. We hadn’t kissed at all our first night together. And now I never wanted us to stop. It was like a game. My lips felt smooth against his. His tongue felt adventurous, and I couldn’t help but remember where it had been before. How it had made me feel. What he’d done to me afterwards.

I was just getting wetter. I couldn’t believe he was kissing me. Dating
me
. All these years thinking I was unattractive. Worrying about my weight. And now I’d landed the man of my dreams, to kiss all I wanted. It wasn’t a weight problem afterall.

And then I decided to stop. I sat up straight on him, with his manhood between my legs, pressed against my warmest parts. And I looked down at him. And he looked up at me.

I sat there. It would seem like I wasn’t doing anything, but I was doing quite a lot. I was teasing. I wanted him to ask for it. Maybe not directly - but somehow. I sat there perched on top of him and looked down, smiling.

“So…” he finally said, “do you want to…”

I slid off his lap onto the floor in front of him.

“What are you-”

I pressed a finger to his lips, and then slid my hands lower. Undid his belt, and then his pants. I slid them down around his ankles, and then looked at him for a moment.

He was big. I’d felt it before, but now I was seeing it. In the dim light from the kitchen, I stared at it. And I loved how it looked. Every part of him looked exactly how I’d hoped.

Slowly - so slowly I was practically still teasing - I began to move my hand towards him. And then I touched him. I grabbed hold of his hardness tightly, and started to move my hand up and down, watching his face as I did. Maintaining eye contact.

I could tell what he liked. I could tell what he wanted more of. I could tell what he didn’t want
too
much of. All of this by just staring into his eyes while I tried different things. Little gasps for breath. Twitches in his leg muscles. Throbs. All of it guided me towards what exactly he wanted me to be doing with him.

I got into a rhythm and he started to moan. That’s how good it felt. He couldn’t hold back. Couldn’t keep the noises of pleasure within - they were simply too powerful. And then I kicked it up a notch.

Without breaking eye contact, I leaned my head forward. I wrapped my soft pink lips around the tip, making sure to let the saliva fall where it may. And then slowly, eye contact maintained, I began to bob up and down.

I kept the same strategy that I’d used before. Watching carefully. Picking up
every single
hint that he dropped about what he liked. And after a bit of adaptation, I was only doing things that he liked. He liked it deep. He liked it fast. And I liked to give him what he wanted.

I fell into a natural rhythm. Something that was as comfortable for me as it was pleasurable for him. And then I just watched him writhe in pleasure. Felt him throb. Tasted the drips that came out early - and savoured that flavor.

The whole time all I could think of was how happy I was. Happy that I was in this position. Doing this not only for a man who I thought was incredibly beautiful - but a man who I was
seeing.
Dating. A man who wanted to try me out as his girlfriend.

And a dangerous man. A strong man. A fighter. I’d never done this for anyone like him.

You might think a manly man would be more conservative with his reactions. He would hide how he was truly feeling in a situation like this. But if Malcolm is any indication, that is exactly wrong. He was fully open with how everything made him feel. From his breath to his touch, he was not ashamed of how good it felt. And he wanted me to know, every step of the way.

Eventually he started to throb with a fast enough rhythm that I was going to miss my chance. So I pulled back and stared at it again. Soaking wet. Slippery. As hard as the rest of his body.

Then I stood up. I dropped my pants, and panties while he prepared himself. And I got back onto him - one leg on either side.

Slowly I lowered myself onto him, and accepted him into me. He embedded himself deeply inside of me, pulling me open. I was fully ready for him - watching him enjoy what I was doing was more than enough to get me going as well.

With my breasts still exposed, pressed right up near his face, I started to move. Nothing fancy. Nothing over the top. Just a basic rhythm that came to me from the primal part of my brain. The part with no goal other than pleasure and survival.

It was too much, and I began to gasp with every rotation. I could hardly keep the rhythm steady with the wave of pleasure rolling through me, but I persevered. Up and down and up and down. I tried to concentrate on that, but my mind was continually torn away by the feelings it was causing me.

He was feeling it too. The same sensation felt from the other side. His breath was deep, and over time it became sharp and fast. I could tell that he was trying to resist. Trying to prevent the inevitable. But I was not going to stop. I was not going to slow down. It was going to happen, whether he wanted it to or not.

But I knew that he wanted it. I could feel it in him. I could hear it in his moans.

Near the end I actually picked up the pace a bit. I wanted more. More of the same. More of that amazing feeling that it gave me. And I got exactly what I wanted.

And then he went over. I felt his final climax throbbing inside of me throughout my entire being. Every square inch of my skin became ultra-sensitive. I could feel the air. I could feel my socks. I could feel his breath on my exposed chest. And I could feel how incredibly relaxed every muscle in my body had suddenly become.

I stayed there, on top of him, for a moment. I felt like I was in the perfect position. Like nothing would ever feel as amazing as this. Like my entire body had been submerged in a perfectly warmed bath. After hours with an amazing masseuse who knew my body perfectly. And just the right amount of wine.

But it hadn’t taken any of that to get me there. All it took was an amazing evening with an amazing man. With my amazing man. Malcolm.

* * *

Eventually I got off of him, and he went to clean himself up. I cleaned myself as well, and then the pants went back on. We sat back down where we had been on the couch, and held each other close. It was nice. Just plain and pleasant.

Eventually I broke the silence. “So what’s going to happen?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We were both so worried about getting into this. Getting started with our relationship. And now it’s begun. You were worried about your fighting. I was worried about my safety. And I guess now we get to find out if any of our worries were worth worrying about.”

“Yeah,” he said, holding me tightly. “I hope that nothing goes wrong. Honestly, I just wish I could stay here on this couch with you forever. I’ve really never done anything like that before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never been with a woman like you.”

I looked at him. “My question still stands.”

“You’re just so caring. That all felt so good. It’s like you knew exactly what I wanted the whole time. And you’re just so,
so
beautiful.”

I blushed and looked away.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You get that, right? How incredibly good looking you are?”

I let out a bit of a laugh. “I think you might have the two of us confused.”

“No,” he said. “I’m talking about you. Jessica. You are incredibly attractive.”

“But what about…” I started. I had never really talked with anyone about it before. “But what about my extra weight?”

“You don’t have any,” he said bluntly. “You have just the right amount of weight for you.”

I was about to protest, but he carried on.

“I’ll admit I’ve been with a lot of girls. Plenty who are like the ones you see in magazines. Skinny right down to their bones. You could count the ribs. And that’s not what I like at all.”

I looked at him.

“You’re a woman,” he explained. “And women have a shape to them. They’ve got breasts. They’ve got hips. And nice round bums. All of those things disappear on super skinny women. Not that there’s anything wrong with that - clearly lots of guys dig it. But I like women. And you, your body, your shape, it’s all the epitome of womanly. Every contour of your being fits the definition of woman perfectly.”

I was smiling at this point. How could I not be?

“So seriously. When I say you’re beautiful, I mean it. I’m not just saying it to boost your ego, or your self confidence or whatever. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re a beautiful woman, Jessica. And I am amazed and surprised that you’d want to go out with a guy like me.”

I laughed again.

“What?”

“A guy like you,” I said. “How could I not want to go out with someone like you?”

“Well,” he started, but I didn’t let him continue.

“If I’m a model woman, then you are without a doubt a model man. Strong. Every inch of your body is muscular. And they aren’t lame gym-muscles, or steroid-muscles. They’re muscles you got by doing manly things. I know that you could protect me if I ever need it. I know that you can carry me, and help me with anything I’m not capable of. And you dick is just the
perfect
size and shape for me.”

He laughed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. It was nice having it all laid out on the table like that.

We chatted a bit more and then eventually moved to bed. Kissed a bit more and then eventually fell asleep. I set an alarm on my phone so that I would not be late for work.

I drifted to sleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, and it felt like forever passed by before my alarm woke me up. I snuck out of bed, but before I was out of the room I saw that Malcolm was sitting up as well.

“You don’t need to wake up yet,” I said. “You can sleep more if you’d like.”

“I don’t need it,” he said.

I hopped into the shower and decided that before the next time I slept over, I was going to buy a second set of my soaps and shampoos to bring to this house. One bar of soap really just didn’t cut it.

The water ran hot over my body, making the whole thing shiny the next time I looked in the mirror. And for a second, I saw myself not from my own eyes, but from his. I saw exactly what he was talking about. The quintessential female form. Standing in the mirror, staring back at me. It felt good.

I dried off and got dressed, and there was a good smell coming from the kitchen once again. I sat down and a plate landed in front of me - pan fried potato wedges, a boiled egg, and some toast with jam and cheese.

I ate wildly, not scared of him seeing me enjoying the food. “Where on earth did you learn to cook like this?” I asked.

“Military.”

I looked up at him. “You were in the military?”

“Yep,” he said. “Not deployed for long. But I learned how to make good meals out of the basics - eggs, potatoes, bread - among a few other things.”

“Is that where you learned to… fight?”

“The military is where I learned how strong I could be if I worked for it. But I learned a whole slew of other things that I wish I hadn’t, so I left.”

“Can you just leave the military?”

“Leave,” he said, “or be dishonorably discharged. I managed to get out before I went entirely insane.”

“What was it?” I asked. “Why did you have to leave?”

“They teach some fucked up shit in the bootcamps. Mainly just that it’s alright to kill people. That some people deserve to die. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but having that mentality for long enough will really ruin a person.”

“Gee,” I said.

“And after I killed a few I learned pretty quickly that I did
not
have that mentality. No matter how hard they’d worked to get it into me. It didn’t stick. I felt awful for every death I’d caused.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Then one day my squadron leader commanded me to storm a house. He told me to exterminate anyone living in there. He acted as though it was only the enemy, but I knew there were women and children in there as well. He told me I didn’t have a choice, so I proved him wrong. Threw a couple punches, he tried to fight back, and then I knocked him out cold. Gave him a good solid kick to the ribs before heading to the office and accepting my discharge.”

“That sounds pretty rough,” I said.

“Eh,” he said. “I guess so. I haven’t really been able to hold down a regular job since then. Don’t have the patience. But I also have managed to avoid killing anyone since I returned, so there’s that.”

“Looking on the bright side,” I said.

“Almost always,” he said.

“So is that where your rule comes from?”

“Which one?”

“Never say no to a fight.”

“No, I had that rule from way earlier in my life.”

“Where does it come from?”

“Childhood,” he explained. He was just being so incredibly open with me. I guess he figured that now I was his girlfriend, we might as well stop keeping any secrets. “My mom explained it to me. She said that when you get into a confrontation, of any kind, you always have two choices. Fight or flight.”

I nodded.

“She said it applied to everything. School: would I run away from the work, or fight for good grades. Would I try to escape from girls I liked, or would I fight to win them over. She said that when she got pregnant, that was a conflict for my dad. And he chose flight. He split before I was even born. Wasn’t strong enough to stick around and fight for me. Fight his bad habits and become a father.”

“Wow,” I said.

“And so my mom taught me that rule. Not directly. She didn’t come up with it for me. But I hate my dad, and I do not want to end up anything like him. And so I never choose flight. For me, it’s fight every single time.”

I let that sink in for a minute, and then I realized I was late. “Shit,” I said, “I’ve got to go.”

“Yes you do,” he said.

“I don’t have a lunch.”

“I’ll stop by,” he said. “We can get something together again.”

“That sounds amazing,” I said, walking towards the door.

I pulled it open, gave Malcolm a kiss goodbye, and then I was on my way to work. It wasn’t until I was almost there that I remembered what had happened last time I’d been at work. Derek had gotten his nose broken.

* * *