Spent - Part Three (Bad Boy Fighter Book 3) (3 page)

Luke’s gaze drops to the bowl of ice in my other hand. A smirk slowly appears across his lips as he begins to put together what I have planned. He willingly hands me the magazine and relaxes against the headboard, patiently waiting for my next move.

“Whatcha doin’, Tasha?”

Climbing into the bed, I straddle across his strong legs. His thick cock nearly brushes against my aching sex. I want to savor the sensation, but I can’t, yet. Instead, I don’t linger, moving down to the bottom of the bed and leaning towards him. I want this to be about him and his pleasure alone. I wrap my fingers around the base of his manhood, then with cold fingers begin to trace along his left pectoral with an ice cube. Luke gasps at the sensation and bites his bottom lip, his hazel eyes staring deeply into mine.

“Asking for forgiveness,” I smile before taking him deep into my mouth.

The noise from within the stadium is deafening. It’s the first match of Luke’s that I’ve attended since the attack and I’m quickly realizing why he’s been asking me to not come. The past few weeks he’s been winning, consistently. With each win, the crowds for his fights have been increasing exponentially. For a day event the turnout is huge. I’m excited for him. However, with the throng of people and the dense overlap of noise, I’m feeling myself bordering on a panic attack.

Cheers explode across the crowd as Luke stride into the cage. I take my therapists advice, breathe slowly and deeply and smile. Being around so many people is stressful right now, but it’s so nice to see Luke finally getting the recognition he deserves.

His competition, is announced through the crackle of a dozen speakers as Jacque Andreas, who follows shortly behind him. Andreas is slightly shorter than Luke, but far broader, making him look more menacing in comparison. I realize he’s a fighter I’ve watched before, perhaps at one of Derrick’s matches, a lifetime ago. Concern envelops me as I recall him being an aggressive fighter. I’m sure Luke can handle him, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less worried for his safety.

Even though I support Luke’s career, it’s still hard to watch him get bruised and bloodied up just so he can bring home a paycheck. Some days it feels like my entire life revolves around an endless cycle of hurting and healing. Luke talks about going down a different path after he graduates college. Secretly, I find myself wishing that he will eventually do something else, but I don’t dare tell him my hope. It’s his life and he needs to make the choice himself, without my influence.

I watch in awe as he rains blows upon Andreas. With every thrust of his gloved fists, his punches make contact with the bulky contender. There’s no arguing that Luke is good, incredible, in fact, at what he does. His body was built for this kind of intensity and contact. Silently, I make a promise to myself that, no matter if Luke decides to stay with MMA or choose a different path, I will support him. Even if it means a lifetime of blood and bruises, I will stay by his side, care for him and clean him up every time, long after the lights in the stadium have gone dark, the crowds have all gone home, and the impacts of fighting are only echoes and memories.

The round ends, leaving Andreas heaving heavily as his crew tends to him on his side of the octagon. Meanwhile, Luke still looks fresh and ready for more. There’s something different about him this time in the cage. He seems more determined and savage than his usual style. The thought crosses my mind that perhaps this change in style is born from my assault, but I quickly brush the thought aside, reminding myself the world does not revolve around me.

He’s got a new trainer. It’s probably just some new technique they’ve been working on…

Round two begins. Luke is pumped, fierce, and looking incredibly sexy as he prowls towards his adversary. I look on, pride swelling up within me, as I watch the powerhouse that is my boyfriend pummel into Andreas, clearly outmatched.

Luke jabs and dodges, dancing and stepping, his jaw set and eyes locked in focus. Then, as if he had grown tired of the game, Luke ends the fight quickly with a precise and impressive right hook against Andreas’ jaw, knocking him to the floor in one clean blow. Noise erupts amongst the crowd instantaneously.
 

I’m trying to be one of them, and look for the exaltation they feel at seeing the fighters clash and the victorious emerge, but my wiring is broken. The violence and the shouting feed my anxiety and I slink back down into my chair trying my best to block out the cacophony. I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply and focus on something simple and relaxing, like the memory of the way Luke’s body wash smells when I’m laying on his chest.

Strong hands grip my shoulders, quickly disrupting my thoughts. My eyes fly open, only to see concerned hazel eyes staring back at me. Luke smiles, soothing me, and in his gaze, the crowd around me seems quieter somehow.

“You okay?” He asks.

I nod my head, incapable of a verbal response. How he managed to get out of the cage and walk all the way to me in a matter of moments is beyond me, but I’m glad that he did. Glancing around, I notice that the crowd appears to be in just as much shock as I am. Traditionally a fighter would stick around to soak in the process of the victory.

“Lets go home, baby.”

“You need to be back in there.”

“No. There’s no disputing I’ve won. The only person who matters now is you. Everything else is just formality.”

His words and his smile are the only motivation I need. Quickly, I grab my things and stand up. Luke wraps an arm around my waist and leads me through the crowd. Onlookers watch us, likely crafting all sorts of fantasies about how Richards is a man who picks random women from amongst the crowd to reward himself for his wins. I don’t care what they think or say, because I know that in the end, I’m the only woman ever going to be in Luke Richards’ bed.

Luke and I make it through the press of his fans and out to the parking garage just in time before a panic attack takes hold from all of the excitement. It isn’t until we’re outside, away from the chaos of the arena, that Luke allows his arm to drop away from my body. I immediately feel the loss of his comforting hold, but I laugh when I notice why he moved away.

“You didn’t even take off your gloves before leaving the ring?”

He rips away at his gloves with his teeth, grinning against the material, “I saw a damsel in distress. Had to save her.”

I roll my eyes, “Why thank you, my knight in shining gym shorts.”

“Anytime, m’lady,” Luke winks as he takes off both of his gloves.

“You’re ridiculous,” I giggle.

“If it makes you smile, I’m happy to do ridiculous,” he adds as he wraps his arm back around my waist, his spare hand holding his gloves.

When we arrive at my car, Luke steps ahead and opens the passenger door for me. The cute grin stretched across his face, on top of all of his sweat and muscles glistening against the sunlight, makes me want to jump him right here in the parking lot. After our fun with the ice cubes, Luke’s patient care, love and and protection, I’m noticing I feel a little more open to his touch. And truth be told, I could really use some release of my own.

As I climb into the car, I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. Frowning, I retrieve it, wondering who would possibly be calling me on a Sunday afternoon. My eyes widen when I see the name on the caller ID. Between our kinky night and Luke’s fight today, I had forgotten about Detective Sloan’s email. Quickly, I answer the call.

“Hello?” I mutter into the device as Luke gets into the driver’s seat.

“Miss Hendricks?” Sloan’s raspy voice asks from the other end of the line.

“Yes,” I bite my bottom lip.

Fear rushes through every nerve ending in my body as I wait to hear the words from Sloan. His email already broke the bad news, but I still hold hope for justice. Luke looks over at me, waiting to start the car, a puzzled look etched across his face. In my desire to pleasure him last night, I’d forgotten to tell him about the email.

“You got my email?”

I close my eyes, “I know who my attacker was, Mr. Sloan. What further evidence does your department need?”

Sloan sighs on the other end, “I’m sorry, Miss Hendricks. There was no evidence in the house to indicate that Baptiste was your attacker. Campus cameras didn’t identify him, no witness has reliably placed him at your home, he has a solid alibi, and now he’s employed a typically aggressive lawyer, who has us unable to move. There’s really nothing more we can do.”

Rage courses through my body, “Nothing you can do? The man who tried to rape and kill me just gets to walk the streets, probably destined to rape other women? And there’s nothing your fucking department can do?”

Luke stares at me, wide eyed and angry. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly until his knuckles turn white. I can only imagine what he’s thinking, and judging from the look on his face, I probably don’t want to know.

“Miss Hendricks,” Sloan tries to console, “I really am sorry. I wish there was more that I could do, but my hands are bound. If you’d like, set up an appointment to come and discuss what’s involved in filing a restraining order against him.”

My face is red, and I am unable to hide the disdain in my voice, “You really think a piece of paper will keep that evil prick from attacking me again? Why the hell can’t you convict him on
my
statement?”

There’s a pause and I hear Sloan flicking a lighter on the other end of the line, which just pisses me off even more. The man can’t spend a few minutes on the phone to respect what this means to me, without lighting one up. I privately hope he burns himself.

“Look, I’ve done everything I can. Baptiste’s alibi is solid. The officers on your case… none of them are saying that you weren’t assaulted, Ms. Hendricks. We take these matters seriously. But, perhaps, in all of the excitement of the assault… Is there any chance you’ve misidentified your your attacker?”

Oh that’s it…

“Excitement!? Fuck you!” I yell into my phone before punching the end button.

Turning, I pitch the phone to the back of the car, wishing it would shatter to pieces. I sit back in my chair in a huff, incapable of seeing anything through a haze of angry tears welling up in my eyes.

“I know of a way to ensure that Derrick doesn’t come around ever again,” Luke finally mutters after a long period of silence.

“How? The cops won’t do anything.”

Luke stares straight ahead, “I wasn’t talking about involving the cops. I have… well, let’s just say I know of a few guys from my old street life that owe me a favor or two.”

I feel a chill at hearing his words and arch an eyebrow, “What are you trying to say, baby?”

Luke turns and looks at me with a matter of fact expression, “I’m saying that I can make
sure
Derrick doesn’t exist. He’ll never hurt you again.”

I swallow a lump that has suddenly formed in my throat, “You’re scaring me.”

Luke reaches over and pulls me to him, “I know insects that deserve better. He’s dangerous. Just say you want him gone, and I’ll make some calls.”

It takes me longer to answer him than I would like to admit. Sniffing, I consider everything he has just offered and what he’s revealed about his past, and draw a conclusion. I tilt my head up and look deeply into his hazel eyes. He doesn’t even look like my Luke right now. Instead, he looks like some handsome creature, consumed with bloodlust. He looks wild, and serious, and damn it all, sexy. It would all be incredibly hot, if the very real gravity of the discussion didn’t frighten me so much.

“Luke, I don’t care who you used to be. What I care about is who you are now. And the person you are now wouldn’t dare say something as ridiculous as that to me ever again. Do you understand?”

Luke drops his eyes and lets out a long breath. I can tell my man is lost. Battling with a way to fix things for me and for him. I squeeze his leg reassuringly, and he kisses me on the forehead with a soft smile before leaning forward to start the car.

My eyes flutter open as the car engine shuts off. I hadn't planned on falling asleep. Yet, the afternoon sun and the soft hum of the car as it drove down the interstate had lulled my insomniatic body into a ragged slumber.

For once, I didn’t dream. Lately, every time I’ve shut my eyes, all I can see is Derrick staring back at me. My body must have finally reached that point it could no longer handle the sleepless hours. Some internal override must have finally kicked in and forced me to rest as best as it could.

Drearily, I wipe at my eyes as I try to focus in on where we are. It takes me a moment to realize that we’re at our new house. The residence is so welcoming, yet so unfamiliar. Luke and I haven’t had time to really turn it into a home yet, so it still has that stale, almost foreign feeling whenever we step inside, as if the house itself hasn’t figured out if it accepts us or not.

Without looking at Luke, I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door. I have so much writing to do to for work covering Luke’s fight from tonight, that all I can focus on is getting to my computer. Before I can pull open the door, Luke’s firm hand wraps around my forearm.

“Wait,” soft hazel eyes trap my gaze the moment I turn to face him.

For a moment, I’m transfixed. His beautiful eyes bewitch me into a state of primal passion that has been tingling in my very core for days now, but that I have suppressed out of fear. I’m not going to be able to resist him for much longer. I can feel it in the damp folds of my sex. My womanhood is begging for him, pleading that he release me from this dark state of internal loathing I’ve ensnared myself within. Judging from the way he’s looking back at me, I can tell that my man is more than willing to save me from myself.