Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (58 page)

“Yeah,” Zack said, still slightly
breathless, as he pulled himself up to look down at me. “We are not allowed to
break up again. You feel too good.”

I laughed, running my fingers through his
hair and pulling him back down to kiss him lazily.

“So if we can’t break up again, then
you’re not allowed to engage in any more public displays.”

Zack chuckled, kissing me on the lips
lightly before he lifted himself up and sank down onto the bed next to me.

“Well, two of those were your own public
displays,” he pointed out. “The thing with dumping my food on me, the thing in
the weight room.”

I rolled my eyes, giving him a playful
shove.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, smiling. I
felt good all over—I couldn’t believe how good I felt. It just felt so right to
be in bed with Zack; nothing could be better. “So neither of us will throw any
kind of public fits anymore. If we have a problem with the other person, we
will talk to them privately.”

Zack pulled me around, holding me close to
him.

“I can agree to that,” he said, his hands
beginning to wander over my body once more. “God, Evie,” he murmured, burying
his face against my neck as he cupped my breast, giving it a careful squeeze.
“I wanted to tell you so many times—as soon as you showed up again in my life,
all I could think about was you.”

I blushed, hiding my face so that he
wouldn’t see.

“Yeah, well, I was miserable without you,
too,” I admitted, blushing a deeper red. “I kept thinking of you moving on,
worrying that you’d never really thought of me as anything special, just
another piece of ass.”

Zack pulled me up out of hiding and kissed
me on the lips hungrily. His hands trailed over my body with more than just
soothing intentions, and I knew in a moment we’d be right back at it again.

“Evie, I am missing out on the party of my
football career. If that doesn’t tell you how important you are to me, I don’t think
anything could.”

I laughed aloud, shaking my head and
trailing my hands down along his chest, past his abdomen, to find his cock by
touch. He was already starting to get hard again.

“I suppose that means I should do
everything I can to make this night just as awesome as it would be if you were
with your teammates at a raging arty, getting drunk.”

Zack grinned, lifting me up on top of him,
positioning me over his hips. He thrust into my hand, reaching down to stroke
me to another fever pitch of arousal.

“Evie, baby, you already have. Now, how
many more times can we do this before we have to get dressed and go back to my
place?”

I leaned in and kissed him.

“Let’s take our time.”

Zack thrust up into me slowly and I moaned
against his lips, knowing that everything was finally right—and that we weren’t
going to get shaken up by anything else.

The
End

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THE
FIGHT

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Claire Adams

CHAPTER ONE

Fenton

The
bells and buzzes of the slot machines reminded me of the game shows my mother
used to watch. Not that she ever had time to sit and watch television. It was
the soundtrack to dinner, dishes, laundry – all the things a single mother did
when she got home from a double shift. There were no jackpots or double bonuses
for my mother. No giant checks or sudden floods of gold coins. I thought about
the charity ward at the hospital, with those same game shows on the tiny
television mounted in the corner. The casino floor depressed me.

Then, as always, I
thought of my father – how he could decide one day that he could walk away and
never look back. He must not have had a conscience or a spine. It took hard
work to have a family, harder work to keep it. Maybe they were too young when
they started, too poor. All I knew was I would never be him. I'd take the
punches he taught me to throw and I would fight my way to the top.

I stopped at the video
poker machines and turned around. The damned casino was a maze. I was supposed
to be near the entrance, not halfway to the wedding chapel. It was unreal how
every row of flashing screens funneled me towards food, alcohol, or matrimony.
I peered over the rows but could see no clear path, except towards the
Vegas-style altar. Neon lights, stereo bells, and a worn aisle that used to be
white.

I spun back the way I had
come and saw a flood of powder blue and white. A wedding party in retro tuxes
and wide, fluffy skirts blocked the way. They paused to have a picture taken
with an Elvis impersonator, too short and swarthy. While the groom hooked his
lip up and pointed to the sky, his groomsmen padlocked a fake iron ball to his
ankle.

They were too young, but
maybe the groom had money. Or maybe her daddy had a bank account she could
access during the lean times. Or maybe I was witnessing the makings of yet
another divorce statistic. She laughed, swatted away the groomsmen, and held up
the ball and chain like a trophy. Cameras flashed again and the happy couple
laughed. He sneaked in a quick kiss and she smiled against his lips, her
bouquet of cheap carnations crushed between them.

"Oh my God! You're
that fighter! The one on the poster in the elevator, and the lobby, and the
giant billboard outside," the bride cried as she escaped her groom's
embrace.

"The one you've been
drooling all over," a bridesmaid said.

"We all have,"
another bridesmaid smiled.

Fluffy skirts surrounded
me. The bride grabbed my arm and wriggled as close as her double-fluffed white
dress allowed. "Fenton Morris," she said.

"His eyes
are
as blue as the posters," the
shortest bridesmaid said.

"Don't let me keep
you from your happy day," I said.

"Come on, Trish, our
turn's in ten minutes," the groom said.

"Yeah, Trish, don't
be late on my account." I gave the arm she had looped through mine a
squeeze. "What would your husband say if he saw us together?"

"Technically, I am
still single," Trish said.

Her groom looked me over
and swallowed hard. Then, he remembered his posse of groomsmen. "Don't
make me fight him for you, honey."

"Oooh, that would
make a great picture!" Trish let go of my arm and clapped.

Her husband-to-be took a
ridiculous stance. I could have knocked him flat without taking a step. Trish
threw her hands up in mock terror. I gave in and held a fist near my smile long
enough for the camera to flash.

"Thanks, man. Good
luck in the big fight," the groom said.

I decided the hell with
navigating the impossible casino floor. The next bank of slot machines led me
to a bar. I ordered before I sat down.

"On the house, Mr.
Morris," the bartender slid me a beer.

"Suite comp?" I
asked.

"Personal
opinion," the bartender said. "I'm not a big fan of that Mario
Peretti. Too much show and not enough fight."

"Thanks," I
said. "All I want is the fight."

"Exactly why you've
gotten this far this fast. No hype, no branding, no flash. Just fast
combinations and a killer instinct." The bartender poured us both a shot
of whiskey.

"Suppose you see a
lot of fights working here," I said.

"Almost makes it
worth it." He leaned his elbows on the bar and scanned the crowd.

A man with a fanny pack
had broken from his bus group to grab a quick drink. The umbrella poked his eye
as he tipped it back. A couple with matching rotund waistlines perused the
happy hour specials. A clump of young men ordered too much and drank too fast,
about to lose all the cash they came with in one night.

"Next one's on
me."

Kevin Casey, my slime
ball manager bellied up to the bar. The bartender frowned, but went to get the
gimlet Kev ordered.

"Guess I'd be surly,
too, working here," Kev said. "That's why I've got you, right,
Fenton? Fight our way to the top."

A quick jab to his throat
and he'd be gasping for air and flopping like a fish on the casino floor. I
curled my hand around my beer instead. Kev was worth the irritation, because he
got things done. Somehow, he disgusted everyone, but still lined up the best
fights, the top suites, and the sweetest deals.

"Speaking of my bank
account," Kev said, "how about you sign off on a few endorsement
deals while we're here?"

"Why are we always
talking about your bank account?" I asked.

"‘Cause my happy
bank account means your career is healthy." Kev took his gimlet and sipped
from it with a loud lip smack.

"I don't fight
better with someone else's name on my shorts," I said.

"Not better, but
smarter. You gotta work this thing for all it’s worth right now," Kev
said.

He was right – his most
irritating habit. I would make a hell of a lot more money fighting with
sponsors and slapping my name on any product line that came along. The two
heavyweights of my thoughts slogged around the ring again – make a lot of money
versus do it all alone and keep my name for myself.

I was glad when the woman
at the front desk rolled her suitcase over a Chihuahua's foot. The yapping pet
was snapped up into the arms of a platinum blonde, reality show star. As
beautiful as she was, with curves that barely stayed within her stretched lace
dress, it was the other woman I looked at again. She gave the dog a prim look
and then apologized to it, ignoring its owner.

"I'm sorry. I was
not expecting a dog in a casino, especially not under the wheels of my
suitcase," she said. "You poor thing."

Before the b-list star
could react, the woman turned back to her place in the check-in line. She
smoothed down the collar of her white blouse. Her pursed lips did not hide her
full mouth. I liked the way her curves pressed against the cotton of her shirt.
Her black pencil skirt was as stiff as her posture, but the rounded silhouette
made my mouth water.
 

"Yeah, I'll give you
– she's a looker," Kev said.

"The reality show
gal?" I asked.

"No, the Ice Queen
there. You know, half the guys in the industry have a bet running on who beds
her first."

"You know her?"
I kept my eyes on her as she folded her hands on her suitcase handle and waited
her turn.

"I wish, if you know
what I mean." Kev made an orgasmic face that soured my stomach. "She
gets all the white-collar athletes, you know, tennis and golf, even bowling.
Guess she comes from Ivy League stock and has been making a killing for some
vitamin supplement company."

"What do you mean
she gets all the white-collared athletes?" I asked.

"They're happy to
sign with her, like I said, because of the bet. Kya Allen is a career good
girl. Not your type at all," Kev said.

"Really. You know my
type?" I asked. "What if my type of woman is 5'5", copper blonde
hair, curves, and sensible cotton?"

"Nah," Kev slid
off his barstool and slapped a few bills next to his empty glass. "I'll
introduce you to your type. She's waiting for us over near the craps tables.
Wants to blow on your dice."

He gave me no choice but
to follow. Kev set me up at the head of a craps table and would not take “I
don't gamble” as an excuse. Within minutes, I lost one hundred dollars and then
won seventy-five.

When my luck changed for
the better, I met Talia. She pressed an impressive display of cleavage against
my arm and blew on my dice, as Kev predicted. Her silky black hair tickled me a
lot lower than my shoulder.

"Any chance you know
the way to the bathroom?" I asked. "I don't want to end up in line
for the buffet."

"This way," Talia
said.

I followed her swaying
hips all the way into the men's bathroom and into the large stall at the end of
the row. Her teeth nipped my neck before I got the door shut. I slipped the
latch into place and she had my belt unbuckled.

"Mixed Martial Arts
gets me all hot," she said.

Her breasts bounced free
of her strapless sheath dress and I cupped them with both hands. I teased her
dark nipples to hard nubs and then had to taste them. A few licks, and she
shimmied her dress to her waist. There was nothing in my way above or below the
crumpled band of fabric. I trailed a hand up her smooth thigh to find her ready
and wet.

It was too late. I had
been all charged up before she wriggled up to me and let me grip the generous
curve of her ass. Now, as much as I wanted to be better than horny in a
bathroom stall, Talia had me hard and pulsing in her hand. I tore open the
condom wrapper with my teeth and let her expert hands take care of the rest.
Whatever had got me going, I needed this release.