Fight: A Stepbrother Romance Novella (6 page)

"You can't. Just let me do what I need to and get away from me."

There was another brief hesitation, and then she uttered words that sent a stark chill down my spine. "Use me instead."

In shock, I froze before whirling around to face her. My hands were bare, unprotected by gloves of any kind, or any wrap, so her smooth flesh yielded easily to the fingers I clamped around her upper arms. I couldn't help it, and I shook her lightly. "You have no idea what you're playing with here. I'm trying to do the right thing, not to scare you or hurt you. Just get the fuck out."

I saw her shoulders square, and her chin tilted up. Determination flashed in her eyes, and she put her hands on my chest. "Use me,” she said again. “I'll do whatever you want, or whatever you need, but please stop hurting yourself."

I should have pushed her away, and I should've persisted in sending her away, but I'm a no good dirty bastard. Instead of doing the right thing, I tangled my bleeding hands in her long hair, pulled her head back roughly, and slammed my mouth over hers. I wanted to make her hurt so I wouldn't hurt as much, and though it was the worst crime I could think of, I couldn't stop as I kissed her hard and rough.

***

Mia

What had I done? As his mouth ravished mine, somewhere between pleasure and pain, I asked myself that question. Part of me wanted to pull away and leave the gym, to run away and forget what I had seen. But another part of me, the part that was already caring for Paxton way more than I should, couldn't leave him in this raw state of rage to hurt himself. It had been a natural, almost easy, offer to take on his pain.

I was frightened, but not of Paxton. Even in this state, I didn't think he would really hurt me, though I probably have some bruises in the morning. I was actually more afraid of the raw lust he was unleashing in me, a complete lack of control I had never experienced before. I liked the way he pulled my hair, and when his teeth grazed my lips, I enjoyed the flash of pain. I didn't think I was a masochist, and I didn't think he was a sadist. There were no easy labels. We were just two people clinging to each other, coping as best we could.

He trailed a string of biting kisses from my mouth down my jawline and across my neck. He nipped hard at the bend of my neck, where the skin was so sensitive, and I yelped. In retaliation, I tugged sharply on his hair as I wound my fingers through it.

His mouth gentled slightly, and while he was still rough, there were certainly more pleasure than pain now.

I couldn't help small gasp of shock when his hands tore at my favorite red dress, reducing it to shreds of material on the floor in seconds. As usual, I hadn’t worn a bra, and he made a sound of delight at the discovery.

I cried out in surprise when he suddenly lifted me, but I wrapped my thighs around his waist as he carried me to the yoga mat in the corner. He dropped me a little less than gently, and the impact jarred my body, but he was soon atop me to soothe any discomfort. His mouth went to my breast, tongue and teeth devouring my nipple, making me cry out. I couldn't completely decide if I liked it or hated it, and I assumed it was some strange combination of the two. It certainly sent intense shudders through my body.

My nipples were so sensitive by the time he finished torturing both that I figured one more gentle flick of his tongue across the tip of either would make me come. He pulled away to shed his jeans and boxers, tossing them where he’d left his shoes and shirt. I had seen them on my way in. A second later, he was back between my legs, splaying my thighs wide so he could stare down at my core.

My panties were gone in a flash, the rending sound of fabric filling the air. If I was going to continue to fuck Paxton, I was going to need a new wardrobe, I thought with a flash of amusement. Thus far, he had managed to rip off every stitch of clothing I'd worn around him both times we’d had sex. Not counting the shower, because I had worn nothing then.

He went to my breasts again, avoiding the nipples this time. He bit me hard enough to make me yelp again, and he lifted his head. When I looked into his eyes, I could see some of that mindless rage had faded, and he looked remorseful.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

I lifted my hands, stretching to touch his shoulder as he started to sit up. "It's okay. I told you to use me however you need. I just want you to feel better, and I can’t deny most of it’s feeling pretty good."

His eyes widened, and he seemed disbelieving of my claim. I arched my hips and wiggled my butt. "Go ahead. See for yourself how turned on I am." I was a little embarrassed by the admission, but I sensed if I let him pull away now, it would only make his problem—whatever it was—that much worse. He’d add a heaping dose of guilt for what he’d done to me, though I had been completely willing and had made the offer.

Hesitantly, his hand moved between my legs, fingers trailing down my slit. His exquisite gentleness was such a contrast to his roughness of a few moments ago, and surprisingly, I found myself wishing for the rougher lover again. I was in the mood for that kind of sex—the biting, scratching, hair-pulling kind.

He sighed softly when his fingers glided easily into me, my sheath contracting to draw him in greedily. Even two of his large fingers were no match for the cock waiting between his legs, and I wanted it desperately. I scooted up and around, until I was kneeling in front of him. I wrapped my hand around his erection, and when he would have pulled away, I tightened my hold and deliberately pressed my fingernails lightly into his tender skin.

His breath hissed between his teeth, and though he had clearly found it uncomfortable, his eyes closed partially in his pleasure. I didn't pretend to understand why pain would give him pleasure, and I didn't understand why it had done the same for me. Right then I didn't give a shit about analyzing the whys or wherefores.

To my surprise, he didn't resist when I pushed his shoulder to urge him to lie down. He did, his hands balled into fists. I could sense the tension in him, and I knew he was barely hanging on by a thread. I didn't know if it would be better to help him regain his control or push him over the edge into letting loose completely for a little while.

I didn’t know how to help him, because I didn't know what was wrong, so I just surrendered to instinct. Leaning forward, I took as much of his cock into my mouth as I could and sucked forcefully, hollowing out my cheeks as I bobbed up and down his smooth shaft.

As he gradually relaxed, hands loosening, I increased the friction and gently grazed him with my teeth. He jumped, and his hands balled again, but not as tightly this time. I continued to tease him, licking and sucking, but not bringing him to release. I knew I was pushing him, but it felt like the right thing to do.

I guess I needed to know how much control he really had, even when he was out of control, and I figured maybe he needed to know the same thing.

Abruptly, he switched our positions, so I was pinned underneath him. His teeth were clenched, and his eyes flashed, looking wild and animal-like. Desire heated my belly, moving lower, and I wanted him to take me as he completely lost control. Sensing he might need permission to do that, I said, "I meant it."

"What?" He asked the question in a growl, as his fingers delved between my folds to play with my clit.

I arched my hips under the stimulation, even as I tried to focus on the conversation. "I meant you could do anything you want to me. I'm giving you permission. However you want to have me, or take me, I'm okay with it. If it gets to be too much, I'll let you know." I cupped his face in my hands, forcing his gaze to me. "I trust you to stop if I say so."

I could see his tension vanishing slightly, and some of the animal passion faded from his eyes, but not all of it. He was unrestrained, but within the bounds of his own control. It sounded confusing, even to myself, but I knew he was surrendering to some dark energy he needed to get out. I was still safe, and he would never truly hurt me. I completely believed if I told him to stop, he would immediately.

With wild ferocity, he kissed, sucked, and bit my body, leaving me writhing helplessly under the onslaught. It felt so good, especially when his mouth sought out the heart of me, teeth biting gently on my clit before his tongue surged deep inside me, almost stabbing me with the appendage.

It was rough, and it should have hurt, and I suppose it did a little, but the slight edge of pain only enhanced the pleasure. He parted my legs as wide as they would go, until I could feel the burn in my hip muscles. I didn't try to resist, because I didn't want to. He pushed one of my legs up, pressing my knee against my shoulder and bracing the back of my ankle on his shoulder.

I felt almost more stretched than I had last night, with my hands confined to the bed. Last night though, my ankles and feet had been free. Today, one was trapped under him, and the other was on him, with his hand holding me securely. I couldn't have gotten away if I’d wanted to. There was something deliciously gratifying about knowing I was completely at his mercy—I guess because I knew he had mercy.

He lifted my pelvis higher just by maneuvering my legs, and then his cock slammed into me. It hurt to the point where my eyes welled with tears, but it also felt amazing. By his third thrust in, I was accustomed to it again, and the pain had faded except for a dull ache that I knew would have been there no matter how gently he had taken me. It was just residual soreness from last night and this morning. I'd had more sex in the past two days than in the past year, and I'd never had sex like this before.

Paxton thundered in and out of me, clearly seeking something, and I didn't know if it was simply physical release, or if he sought something else. All I could do was hang on for the ride, literally and figuratively. I clutched his back, my nails digging into his skin. I knew I was scratching him, especially the harder he went, and the harder I pushed to meet each of his thrusts. There was something primal about raking my nails down his back, leaving my mark on him, and I couldn't stop myself.

He shifted our positions again. Somehow, he managed to make it so he was taking me even deeper, going so deep inside me I was almost surprised I didn't choke on his cock at the back of my throat. I’d never had someone fuck me so thoroughly, and I completely surrendered to it. I felt like he owned me, and I reveled in the sensation as our thrusts became harder still. Our rhythm had disintegrated to wild thrashing, as we both sought release, and I could feel my orgasm approaching. His cock was twitching inside me, and he must be near release too. I clung to him, digging my fingers into his back as his fingertips pressed deeply into the flesh of my ass.

With a mingled cry, both of us making nearly the same sound, we came together. It was a new experience to orgasm at the same time as a lover, but I couldn't imagine this kind of sex ending any other way. My heart raced, and intense pleasure filled me, obliterating any of the slight discomfort of which I had been aware before. The bite of his fingers against my skin, the soreness in my slit, and my aching nipples all disappeared in a blinding flash of euphoria. I only hoped it was the same for him.

Paxton

I couldn't believe I had done that. I had taken Mia like I was a fucking animal or something. Even knowing it was consensual, and that she had seemed to want it just as much as I wanted to give it to her, I still felt sick that I had been so uncontrolled.

In one way though, I also felt incredibly better. Perhaps I had found an even better outlet than beating myself to a bloody pulp as I thrashed on an opponent or a kick bag.

Her trust in me made an unfamiliar emotion well in me, causing warmth to fill my chest and making it almost difficult to breathe. She had to have trusted me, because not only had she verbalized it, but she had shown it. She had basically dared me to do my worst, completely confident that that would not encompass the point where I would cross the line and hurt her.

Guiltily, I acknowledged I probably had hurt her a few times, but she had never told me to stop. In fact, she'd seem to get off on it as much as I had. When her pussy contracted around me at the end, drawing out the most amazing orgasm of my life, I didn't see how she couldn't have enjoyed the experience.

I rolled over onto my back, wincing as I became aware of the scratch marks and the gouges in my skin. We had left our marks on each other, and for some reason, that made me grin like a damned fool.

Thankfully, rather than be offended, a similar grin crossed her face before she burst into laughter. I couldn't help chuckling as well, and it escalated to a full belly laugh, until we rolled together, holding each other in our mirth. I wasn't entirely sure what we were laughing about, and I didn’t think she knew either, but it was cathartic.

Slowly, laughter faded, until she was only hiccupping irregularly. I patted her back as she cleared away the last of hiccups, remembering how my mom used to soothe me in a similar fashion. Once she had fallen quiet, and I was no longer laughing like a loon, I asked, "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head against my chest, sending strands of her blonde hair fanning across my skin. I flinched when I saw the blood mixed into the soft tresses. I knew it came from my hands, but I still didn't like the sight of blood on her. I could have completely lost it, and it would have been her blood, not mine.

What the hell had I been thinking? As quickly as that, my mood threatened to nosedive from happy and almost relaxed back to darker, grimmer territory.

She lifted her head to look down at me. "No, I'm not hurting. I actually liked that. A lot." A sexy flush rose from her chest up her neck to accompany the admission, cluing me in to her embarrassment.

My moods were certainly erratic today, and I could feel myself calming down and backing away from the edge of despair. "I enjoyed it too, but I hate losing control. I could've really hurt you."

She tilted her head, licking her lower lip slowly. "Yeah, you could have, but you didn't. And if you needed to hurt me, I would have been okay with that. I mean not broken bones, or punching me, or anything, but if whatever is making you hurt is relieved by inflicting a little pain on me, I can take that."

I winced, recognizing the sentiment behind her words, but disliking that image of myself. "I don't want to hurt anyone," I said gruffly. Even as I uttered the words, I knew it was a lie. Part of fighting involved hurting others. For some fighters, that was a detraction they had to work through. For me, it had always been the other way.

I had to rein in the impulse to keep wailing on my opponent, to inflict pain long past the point where my victory was assured. There was a core of darkness inside me, and though is no surprise in light of my past, I hated that it had emerged around Mia. It was a good thing our fling was temporary, because I feared I might lose control completely some day, and the idea of hurting her made my heart seize for a beat.

Tentatively, she trailed her fingers across my bare chest, fingers stopping to trace a small network of scars dotting my chest. "Did you get these in the ring?"

"Octagon, baby." I corrected her with a wink, diverting her from the scars. Some of the scars on my body had come from fighting or training, and some had come from a life lived on the streets. Even a couple had been from crazy bitches who had wanted more than they had paid for, stuff bordering on the crazy-insane that I had refused to indulge.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I could feel my body freeze up, though I didn't want it to. "Talk about what?" I made my voice as mean as I could, hoping to deter her.

She shrugged it off, as though I was as gentle as a fucking kitten as she lifted her head further, shifting slightly so her torso rested across mine, and our eyes met. "Do you want to tell me why you're so upset? What made you so angry?"

For the barest second, I had the craziest urge to confess everything to her. Thankfully, common sense reasserted itself quickly, and I scowled. "There's nothing to talk about."

She sighed softly, her breasts pressing into my chest as she exhaled. My dick started twitching with interest, despite the intense workout it had just seen.

"Do you want to tell me why you left then?"             

I just stared at her stonily, making it clear that was a closed subject.

Another sigh escaped her. "Okay, then tell me what you did after you ran away, but before you became a UFC fighter?"

I wanted to shut down her questions and her curiosity, and I suppose I could have just gotten up and walked away, but she could always follow me. Hell, she could initiate this conversation any time she wanted to, unless I gave her the cold, ugly truth. I had a feeling it would scare her away, and after the controlled violence of our last sexual encounter, maybe that was for the best anyway.

"Wanna know about my life, sweetheart? You wanna hear all the juicy details? Would you like to know how I ran out of money less than a week after I fled this hellhole? How I tried getting a legitimate job, but I was afraid to use my identity since I was underage. There are no legitimate jobs for seventeen-year-olds who dropped out of high school to run away from home."

Her face softened with sympathy despite my cold tone. God, I hated how softhearted she was, and how it made me want to confess things I had buried long ago. I fought against the impulse, keeping my voice stern and my words chosen with deliberate care. "Maybe you'd like to hear about how a pimp recruited me for his clients? How I sold my body for three years, doing anything of the ladies paid for—and a few things for some male clients too. I preferred women, but I didn't discriminate. Whoever had the cash to flash could buy my services."

She let out a harsh gasp, and I expected her to pull away from me. Instead, she confounded me by leaning closer, putting her arms around me, and hugging me tightly. I didn't even realize I was responding to the embrace until my hands fisted into her hair, as they pressed against her back.

She rained kisses on my face before she spoke. "Oh, my poor darling, I'm sorry you had to go through that."

What the actual fuck? She should have been running for the door by now, not offering me comfort or empathy. How could she even begin to understand what life had been like for those three years? We might have come from similar backgrounds, at least for the four years I had been in this house, but we had nothing in common. I wanted to shove her away and ram a dose of reality down her throat, so why the fuck was I holding her closer?

"You said you had to do that for three years? What happened then?"

Without meaning to, my voice softened slightly, and I went from trying to shock her to simply explaining what had happened. I told her about meeting Lila, who owned a nightclub and caught me servicing a client in the bathroom. Instead of calling the cops, she had eyed me with cold interest as I tried to fight her bouncer. I had resisted the entire way as she’d had the man drag me into her office and shove me into a chair.

Solemnly, I had stared across her desk at the beautiful older woman, struggling to hide how her sophisticated poise intimidated me. I'd banged rich broads in the past, usually for hundred-dollar bills tucked neatly into my G-string or the waistband of my jeans, but none of them had achieved the same level of grace and class as Lila Barrett. I didn't know her name then, of course, and I had no idea that the classy lady in front of me was actually a big-time coordinator in the underground fighting scene.

She’d offered me a drink, and I had accepted it brashly, though I certainly didn't feel comfortable. Pretending like I was, I had stretched out my legs and taken the glass from her, wrinkling my nose when I took a long gulp to discover it was simply sparkling water. "What the fuck is this?" I had asked her.

The stunning brunette had burst out laughing, her bright red lips bowed to show her amusement "That's water, which you should stick to. With your new diet and training regimen, alcohol is a big no-no."

I had stared at her impassively, confused but not willing to show it. "What do you want from me, lady?"

Lila had smiled softly, and I had sworn she was coming on to me. She wouldn't be the first woman a good twenty years my senior who I had fucked, and I prepared myself for her proposition. I was already mentally spending the money on rent and crazy luxuries like food as I smirked and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting to hear her offer.

It had blown me away.

She hadn't wanted to fuck me. Instead, Lila had taken me under her wing, set me up with a trainer in a gym, and it even got me a better apartment so I was closer to the gymnasium and farther away from the temptation of selling my body for easy money. The first few months had sucked, as I'd had a lot of work ahead of me. Not only had I had to bulk up my frame, but I'd had to learn how to fight. She hadn't even let me anywhere near a match for the first four months, and I’d lost the first three she’d sponsored me in. I was ashamed and humiliated, ready to chuck it all away, but Lila had refused to let me.

Instead, she’d pushed me into a fourth match, along with intensifying my training. To my surprise, I had won that match. The thrill of victory had been a high, and training had helped me deal with my anger issues. Re-committed to the idea, I had thrown myself into training and competing, and eventually, I'd had the chance to cross into the legitimate circles. Now, I was on the edge of real success, and I had worked damned hard to get there.

I made no apologies for what I'd had to do to survive in the past, and it amazed me Mia seemed to accept it all with equanimity. Perhaps it was because it was my past. I didn't think she would be so blasé about me having been a male prostitute if I was still in the trade. Honestly, if I hadn't found a way out about life with Lila's help, I probably would've been dead by now anyway, so it would have been a moot point.

Afterward, we dressed, me loaning her the muscle shirt I'd worn earlier. Since she was more petite and a lot smaller than me, it hung to mid-thigh on her and looked more like a strange dress, or new fashion statement, than an oversized shirt her boyfriend wore.

I drew myself up short at that thought. I wasn't her boyfriend. I wasn’t anyone's boyfriend, and I never had been. I never would be. I had dated a few chicks for more than two weeks or so, but we had never labeled it, and when we had moved on or drifted apart, I certainly hadn't felt more than a niggle of regret. If I kept entertaining these kinds of dangerous thoughts, I'd feel a whole lot more than regret when it was time to walk away from my stepsister.

As I followed her out of the gym, tiptoeing back to her room, where she insisted on taking me to her bathroom to clean up my torn hands, I wondered if it was already too late. Had I started to fall for Mia?

***

Mia

I guess I should have been shocked by his revelation, but I'd sort of assumed that had been the way he had survived on the streets. His UFC biography was scant and vague, leaving a whole chunk of years unaccounted for, and I guess I was relieved it wasn't worse than he’d revealed. Having to have sex with strangers for money was pretty damn bad, but at least he hadn’t been a drug addict, a criminal, or a murderer. He hadn't been in jail, or doing a thousand things worse than having to sell his body.

It was in the past, and though I didn’t like the idea of someone touching him—okay, I hated the idea of any other woman having her hands on him, or any man—I didn't let it consume me. Telling myself we were in a short-term fling helped, even though I knew and refused to acknowledge my feelings were deepening a lot more than they should for someone I was casually screwing.

I bandaged his hands, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle, before I let him leave my room. I couldn't have stopped him anyway, and I think he needed some time to process everything that had happened.

Throwing myself onto my bed, I acknowledged I did too. I understood what had driven him to make the choices he had, at least in a vague, intellectual way. I couldn't actually imagine how he had ended up in that situation, or what it had been like, but I could empathize. Maybe I should examine why I was so understanding of the idea, when I guess a lot of people would be repulsed. I thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. It didn't matter why I didn't care too much about what he’d done, as long as I genuinely didn't care.

Probing deeply, I found only residual jealousy of the other women who had been in his life, which I knew was a silly reaction since they had paid for his time. Except Lila. He spoke of her with such affection, and perhaps love. Was it the kind of love between friends, or maybe mentor and mentee, or was it a deeper, sexualized love? Had Paxton ever been to bed with the other woman? I guess it was strange that I was more jealous of one woman in his life, simply because she was still in his life, than the number of women who had been his clients for three years.