TKO (A Bad Boy MMA Romance) (21 page)

              Even with his shades on, I could see the terror in Nick’s face at this revelation. He gulped, backing away as though he fully expected Marc to fly into a murderous rage. But Marc simply shrugged.

              “Well, you two are good for each other, then. Invite me to the wedding,” he remarked simply, turning away and taking me by the hand as we walked off down the hallway.

              “You’re gonna regret this! You’ll never do better than me!” Selena screamed after us.

              But Marc and I looked at each other and he was grinning the kind of carefree smile I had never expected to see on such a serious face. He looked like he’d won the lottery. I mean, he
had
just won an immensely important match, but I think that most of all he was just glad to have won… me.

              As we stepped out into the evening air, I caught sight of Alice waving at me from several yards away. She was getting into the SUV with Trina and Dequan, who were waving, too. It was understood that I would go with Marc. He was the one who needed me most right now.

              Marc wrapped me in his arms and held me tight, his hard body heaving with emotion as we stood there locked together. I’d dreamed of this moment every night for weeks, and now it was here. Despite everything, we had wound up in each other’s arms again. I knew it would be a struggle to make things work, to compromise our wildly different lifestyles, but in my heart I was sure that it would be more than worth it.

              Finally, both of us had to give love a fighting chance.

              “Are you kidding? Jameson has been the leading middle-weight for years, there’s no way an up-and-comer like O’Brian could take him out this late in the season,” I said between bites of toast, glaring at Alice from across the table.

              “I mean, sure, Jameson’s got the experience, but he’s getting
old
!”

              I gave her an incredulous look, and I opened my mouth to argue more as I stuck my fork into a piece of egg when Gemma coming downstairs grabbed my attention.

              “Knock it off, you two,” she chided, stepping into the kitchen with a small magazine in her hand and giving Alice a light bop on the head with it. I shot her a “take
that
” look across the table, but Gemma gave me a smack too when she reached me. I gave a huff, but she leaned down and planted a kiss on my mouth that quieted me.

              Alice rolled her eyes across the table as she finished her breakfast. “Alright, Gemma, I’ll leave
you
to set Marc straight when it comes to the boxing championships. I don’t know what fights he’s been watching, but he must be stuck in the 80s. I’ve got to get to practice, my instructor wanted to meet me at the rink early today.”

              “Alright, sis, take it easy, alright? We’re still going to try dinner at that Spanish place tonight. Save room for tapas!”

              Alice grinned as she got her bag and headed for the door. “Um, I literally always have room for tapas? Later!”

              As the door shut, Gemma and I were left alone in the kitchen, and her lidded eyes fell on me as she smiled, her hands slipping around my shoulders.

              It hadn’t taken long since the fight for me and Gemma to move in together. But that bachelor pad I’d been used to near the Strip wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to bring her and Alice to live. Fortunately for us, the prize money from that fight and the next half-dozen I won was more than enough for me to sell the place and buy a new one on the outskirts of the city.

              Now we were in a villa that had a gorgeous view of the desert, and it had all the Spanish-style ranch charm that I missed about my old hometown. It was just like everything I’d envisioned when I was growing up, long before all this money was even in my wildest dreams.

              But not even that could have come close to rivaling the love I had with Gemma.

              “Hey,” she said softly as she brought her face down to rest on my shoulder, leaning into my cheek.

              “Hey,” I said back, a grin playing across my face.

              “I never would have thought any of this would come from you walking into my session, you know,” she said, nuzzling me gently, and my hand reached back to stroke her leg as I turned my neck up for her. “Maybe we ought to get your muscles torn more often.”

              I chuckled, turning to meet her lips in a kiss, my tongue delving into her. “If we do, it might take a lot more healing to get me back in shape.”

              “Let’s see what we can do,” she said in a low tone, and my cock was already stiffening when she started to slip her shirt off.

              She was wearing nothing but a shirt and leggings, and as the former was tossed across the room, exposing her breasts, I wasted no time in wrapping my hands around her, bringing my mouth to her nipples and sucking on them ferociously. Her gasps filled the room as I helped her work her leggings off, leaving her totally exposed before me there in the kitchen. I tore my own shirt off, exposing my rippling muscles as I trailed down to her cunt as her hands ran up and down my sides, feeling every muscle, every part of me that gave me strength.

              Standing up, I lifted her as if she were made of paper, sitting her on the kitchen table as I buried my face in her lower lips.

              “Oh, fuck,” she gasped as my tongue lashed out, drawing across her slit in a long, deep motion. I started working my tongue into her relentlessly, plunging into her depths before running it up to the little hooded nub at the top, each stroke evoking a shiver from her.

              I took her in the morning a lot. When we woke up next to each other, looking into her gorgeous, endless eyes drove me absolutely wild. I did it so often she looked forward to waking up all the more, knowing I’d soon be inside her.

              And I didn’t want to disappoint her.

              I felt her muscles start to tighten as I drove her forward to climax, and even as her hands pressed against me, my machine-like rhythm urged her on mercilessly. Just as I felt honey flooding my face, each tongue stroke drawing out more and more as she neared her climax, I pulled my mouth back, and she gasped desperately.

              “Please,” Gemma gasped, “please don’t stop, Marc!”

              I pulled my pants down, revealing my long, thick cock, its crown bulging and needy, dark with desire. I spread her legs with my hands, holding her by the ankles before I impaled her with my shaft, driving myself in all the way to the hilt, and immediately, her cunt clenched around me as she cried out in orgasm.

              As I started bucking into her, she writhed in my grip. I could hold her up if I wanted to, holding her out as I pistoned in and out of her with unstoppable strength, my every muscle tightening and relaxing with warmth that we could only achieve together.

              “God, Gemma,” I breathed as I reveled in the feeling of her all around me, “I never want to let you off me.”

              “Fill me up, Marc,” she begged, her hands clenching on my thighs as I grasped a handful of her hair, bending down to suck on the flesh of her neck.

              My bucking grew faster and faster, balls slapping against her less as they began to tighten. I felt her tightening and releasing over and over as I climbed that hill to ecstasy. Her head was turning as she squirmed, unable to control her body as she gave herself over to sensation.

              I let my head roll back as I felt myself nearing the point of no return. Our bodies longed for this so long that I wasn’t going to deny them a single thing.

              My mouth opened, and Gemma braced herself, anticipating that sweet reward just before my seed shot out into her, emptying itself from my powerful, masculine cock and into her depths, filling and warming her insides as she clenched her legs around me, screaming out as I poured all of myself into her. I kept pumping as I released myself, and she pushed her hips up into me as much as her own strong body could muster, claiming as much of the seed as she possibly could.

              When it was finally over, I drew my cock out of her slowly, her body going limp on the table as we both breathed heavily, looking into each other’s eyes lovingly. A smile played across Gemma’s lips as she looked at me.

              “Better save all that strength, you know,” she breathed. “We’ve still got a day of training ahead of us.”

              “This is just the warm-up,” I said, running my hand up and down her side as my cock fell out of her, still stiff. “But I think we’ve done a good job working this into the workout routine.”

              She slapped me on the thigh with a laugh as she sat up. “Okay, we
cannot
do it on the gym floor again, someone’s going to walk in on us eventually.”

              “Don’t know that unless we find out,” I said innocently, but she rolled up the magazine again and I ducked away as we laughed together.

              Finally, I took her hand and helped her stand to her feet, and once she was up, she wrapped her hands around my waist, and I brought my forehead to meet hers as we looked at each other.

              “You know,” she said with a smile, “I guess we do have appointments at the gym we should be getting to.”

              “Yeah,” I said in a husky tone, “but I spent six weeks away from them already.” I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger, pressing my lips into Gemma’s briefly. “They can wait another hour.”

The End

Olivia Lancaster is a lover of animals who lives in Seattle, Washington. When she’s not taking care of her foster pets – currently three dogs and a cat – from a local shelter, she’s fostering tons of romance ideas in her brain as she waits for the perfect bad boy to make his way into her life.

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Please continue reading below for your bonus story, BOSS by a friend of mine and fellow author, bestseller Victoria Villeneuve.

Declined. Insufficient funds.

I tried to hide my embarrassment from the cashier as I mumbled an excuse about how my direct deposit should have gone into my account. She just gave me a bored look and asked if I was still going to buy the items. I dug out $2 from my purse and handed them over, my face red. I grabbed my no-name pasta and jar of red goop labelled as tomato sauce and left the grocery store.

I knew I was running short on cash until my next unemployment check came in, but I didn’t think I was
that
low on funds.

Slowly making the ten minute walk back to my apartment, I put my groceries in the single kitchen cupboard and looked around. Calling my apartment shoebox-size was being way too kind to shoeboxes. I could walk ten steps from the front door to the back wall; the ratty, stained old couch that doubled as my bed took up most of the room. My laptop – the only luxury I owned – was on the tiny coffee table, and the bathroom to my right was such a tight fit that if I ever wanted to close the door to pee I had to go into the shower stall to make the room to close it.

It’s not exactly what one expects a girl who went to one of Boston’s most exclusive private schools to live in, but hey, it was my home. And it was way better than the alternative.

Unfortunately, there were parts of it that weren’t so great. It turned out living in New York City on your own, without being in contact with any friends or family, wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

I left home went I was seventeen. I had just graduated from high school, with great grades from the Moreton Academy in Boston. One of those fancy schmancy private schools, you know, with Ivy crawling up the walls and teachers with British accents. Field trips to Yale, the latest-and-greatest equipment, that sort of thing.

The rest of my life wasn’t quite so posh.

For two years I’d been living hand-to-mouth in Seattle. Working minimum wage jobs, living in this tiny apartment, barely having enough money for food. My mom tried calling me for the first few months after I left, but eventually gave up. I didn’t want to talk to her, not after how she’d treated me.

A year ago I’d started working at a local grocery store. It was good work. It was easy. All I had to do was ring customers through and occasionally stock shelves. I made a tiny bit more than minimum wage, my boss was actually not a horrible person, and I didn’t want to die every time I knew I had to work like the hellish restaurant job I’d gotten before the grocery store.

Unfortunately, three weeks earlier I was laid off, since apparently business was not doing well. My boss told me he was sorry, and I understood, but I hadn’t had any luck finding anything new since, and the $200 a week I was getting in unemployment was not getting me very far.

I put some water on the stove to boil and collapsed onto the couch, closing my eyes. Trying not to think about the fact that my rent was due in a week, and there was absolutely no way I was going to make it. Trying not to think about the sixteen resumes I’d dropped off in the last two days and had yet to get a single call back. Trying not to think about the fact that I might never get out of this poverty hole, trying not to think about what my future was going to be like. At this point I just had to think about the cheap no-name noodles and tomato sauce I was going to eat, and then the next episode of
Person of Interest
that I was going to watch online.

I swore I was going to buy a Netflix subscription when I could finally afford it.

The water began to boil and I immediately dumped some pasta in, not wanting to use up more power than I had to. I wondered how long I could get away with not paying the bill before the company disconnected me.

Nuking some pasta sauce in a bowl, I listened as the microwave whirred away. A few minutes later my sauce was hot, the rotini cooked, and I even scrounged up a bit of cheese to grate on top from the back of the fridge. I sat down at the computer and loaded up the video streaming site I’d found, ready to watch a bit of TV and forget about all my problems for just a little while.

Of course, first an ad played.

“
You all know him as America’s billionaire badboy. But does Kiegan Hunt really have bigger balls than us mere mortals?”

I almost choked on my pasta as the camera cut to a shot of a man in his mid-twenties, with blonde hair that had that sexy just-got-out-of-bed look, an upper body whose huge muscles were covered in tattoos and a smile that, despite everything, made me want to melt.

“Tune in every Tuesday at ten on NBC to watch Kiegan Hunt and one random person take on the same challenge, and see who comes out on top.”

The camera changed to a montage of two people taking on various challenges: driving a car off a parking garage and into a pile of cardboard boxes, eating some sort of insect, diving off a cliff in Hawaii.

The ad only lasted for thirty seconds, but I knew it had ruined my plan to just relax. I hadn’t thought about or seen my stepbrother in two years, but a lifetime’s worth of bad memories suddenly came flooding back.