Against the Ropes
Page 87
“It’s not going to happen, baby.” Max gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I would have to stop the unsanctioned fights. It was my dad’s dream to run a club like this. I don’t need anything more.”
“What about your own dreams?”
Before Max can answer, Blade Saw starts a game of Shake Shake Bang Bang, and our attention is drawn to the crazy man banging a shaken beer repeatedly on his head. However, instead of the usual hole forming in the side of the can, the top pops off and beer sprays all over me. Rampage, Obsidian, Homicide, and Jackhammer try to hold Max back. They fail. Blade Saw apologizes profusely when I bandage him up in the first aid room. I promise him he will be back to fighting in a few weeks.
Jake shows up with Pinkaluscious attached to his lips. Amanda flips out. I have no idea where she has been since she let me down at the door, but from her slightly disheveled appearance, I can guess. She deals with her first experience being dumped as anyone would. She becomes totally inebriated. After leading two rounds of the Chicken Dance in the ring, she races Hammer Fist up and down the bleachers, challenges Rampage to a wrestling match, and makes it through a few rounds of beer pong and quarters before collapsing on the bed in the first aid room. Max insists we take her home together in his limo. After I’ve tucked her into bed with a jug of water and a bottle of aspirin, we go back to his house. This time we don’t make love. We have sex. Wild, wicked, passionate, soul-cleansing sex. Afterward, we cuddle. We are back to normal. There is no more talk of love. I like it better that way. I think.
Chapter 21
I want minx
It’s Saturday morning and I have a post-party hangover. My mouth tastes like glue. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I have a pounding headache and my face is greasy with makeup. At least Max took off my dress, although if I remember correctly his reasons were totally selfish.
Max pushes a button and his electric blinds go up, letting in the evil sun.
“Bad sun. Bad Max,” I groan into the pillow. “Turn it off.”
Max chuckles and skims his hand down my bare back. “I have to be in Fontana at noon for work. One of our target companies is testing a new remote control device at a racetrack.”
“So is this the ‘wham bam thank you, ma’am, get out of my bed I have to work on a Saturday good-bye’ speech?” I groan.
“This is the ‘you wanted to know about me so now you get to see my work and you’d better get your ass out of bed and come with me or you’ll be sorry’ speech.”
“Too many words. Hangover brain overload.”
Max chortles and slaps my bottom. “Get up. We have to get you dressed, fed, and in the limo in an hour.”
“Fontana is at least a seven-hour drive,” I moan. “I’m not so good at sitting still for long periods of time while hung over and with a slapped bottom.”
Max rips the covers off the bed, exposing me to the cold air. “We’re going by plane. The flight is just over an hour. There’s more bottom slapping in your future if you don’t get up.”
I don’t budge.
“Makayla.” His warning tone makes me giggle.
“I’m thinking.”
“Don’t tempt me, baby. I’ve been waiting a long time for sufficiently bad behavior to warrant a spanking.” He caresses my bottom and my body heats up, yet again. Will it never end? Will we get to the point where I’ll come just from him looking at me? I flip over to remove the temptation of my overly round cheeks.
“Your personal plane, oh rich society dude?”
Max chuckles. “No. We chartered a plane for the trip, but Jason told me last night he can’t make it.”
“I was planning to wash my hair today, but I suppose I could come with you on a private plane to a racetrack, but I…uh…need underwear and clothes that aren’t covered in beer.”
“We’ll stop at Angel’s Bike Shop, just outside the airport. We’ll buy you some panties, and once we’re in the plane I’ll rip them off you.”
“How romantic.”
“I’m all about romance.” Max leans down to suckle my breast, and pleasure licks up the inside of my thighs.
“You’re all about sex.”
He raises his head and locks his dark, dangerous eyes with mine. “With you, baby, I can’t be anything else.”
***
Riding on a private plane with naughty “Biker Chick” emblazoned underwear hidden under my clothes is enough to send me into a frenzy of excitement. “Look!” I shriek and bounce in my cushy leather seat. “I can see the Golden Gate Bridge…and the ocean.” I sip my champagne and smile at the flight attendant who must be wondering how she landed a job with a drop-dead gorgeous passenger and his overexcited puppy.
“Santa Cruz…Monterey…Ventana…” I rattle off the names of the major cities and parks along the coast proudly demonstrating just why I got an A in geography.
No, I chastise myself. Do not embarrass Max. Try to appear cultured and sophisticated. Classy.
I take a chocolate-covered strawberry from the plate and nibble at the tip. So delicious. The chocolate breaks off and falls on my new yoga pants. No problem. Biker-style polyester cleans easily. At least that’s what Angel told me this morning in her deep, gravelly voice as she detached her heavily muscled arms from around Max’s waist. For some reason, I didn’t feel jealous this time.
I dab at the chocolate and check my stretchy, pink tank top for similar disasters. Safe. As is my Harley-Davidson hoodie. I am so glad Eva was out of town. The mean-looking Tweety Bird wearing a Harley-Davidson skull cap and leather vest printed on my bra and panties, would probably have given her a heart attack.
“What about your own dreams?”
Before Max can answer, Blade Saw starts a game of Shake Shake Bang Bang, and our attention is drawn to the crazy man banging a shaken beer repeatedly on his head. However, instead of the usual hole forming in the side of the can, the top pops off and beer sprays all over me. Rampage, Obsidian, Homicide, and Jackhammer try to hold Max back. They fail. Blade Saw apologizes profusely when I bandage him up in the first aid room. I promise him he will be back to fighting in a few weeks.
Jake shows up with Pinkaluscious attached to his lips. Amanda flips out. I have no idea where she has been since she let me down at the door, but from her slightly disheveled appearance, I can guess. She deals with her first experience being dumped as anyone would. She becomes totally inebriated. After leading two rounds of the Chicken Dance in the ring, she races Hammer Fist up and down the bleachers, challenges Rampage to a wrestling match, and makes it through a few rounds of beer pong and quarters before collapsing on the bed in the first aid room. Max insists we take her home together in his limo. After I’ve tucked her into bed with a jug of water and a bottle of aspirin, we go back to his house. This time we don’t make love. We have sex. Wild, wicked, passionate, soul-cleansing sex. Afterward, we cuddle. We are back to normal. There is no more talk of love. I like it better that way. I think.
Chapter 21
I want minx
It’s Saturday morning and I have a post-party hangover. My mouth tastes like glue. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I have a pounding headache and my face is greasy with makeup. At least Max took off my dress, although if I remember correctly his reasons were totally selfish.
Max pushes a button and his electric blinds go up, letting in the evil sun.
“Bad sun. Bad Max,” I groan into the pillow. “Turn it off.”
Max chuckles and skims his hand down my bare back. “I have to be in Fontana at noon for work. One of our target companies is testing a new remote control device at a racetrack.”
“So is this the ‘wham bam thank you, ma’am, get out of my bed I have to work on a Saturday good-bye’ speech?” I groan.
“This is the ‘you wanted to know about me so now you get to see my work and you’d better get your ass out of bed and come with me or you’ll be sorry’ speech.”
“Too many words. Hangover brain overload.”
Max chortles and slaps my bottom. “Get up. We have to get you dressed, fed, and in the limo in an hour.”
“Fontana is at least a seven-hour drive,” I moan. “I’m not so good at sitting still for long periods of time while hung over and with a slapped bottom.”
Max rips the covers off the bed, exposing me to the cold air. “We’re going by plane. The flight is just over an hour. There’s more bottom slapping in your future if you don’t get up.”
I don’t budge.
“Makayla.” His warning tone makes me giggle.
“I’m thinking.”
“Don’t tempt me, baby. I’ve been waiting a long time for sufficiently bad behavior to warrant a spanking.” He caresses my bottom and my body heats up, yet again. Will it never end? Will we get to the point where I’ll come just from him looking at me? I flip over to remove the temptation of my overly round cheeks.
“Your personal plane, oh rich society dude?”
Max chuckles. “No. We chartered a plane for the trip, but Jason told me last night he can’t make it.”
“I was planning to wash my hair today, but I suppose I could come with you on a private plane to a racetrack, but I…uh…need underwear and clothes that aren’t covered in beer.”
“We’ll stop at Angel’s Bike Shop, just outside the airport. We’ll buy you some panties, and once we’re in the plane I’ll rip them off you.”
“How romantic.”
“I’m all about romance.” Max leans down to suckle my breast, and pleasure licks up the inside of my thighs.
“You’re all about sex.”
He raises his head and locks his dark, dangerous eyes with mine. “With you, baby, I can’t be anything else.”
***
Riding on a private plane with naughty “Biker Chick” emblazoned underwear hidden under my clothes is enough to send me into a frenzy of excitement. “Look!” I shriek and bounce in my cushy leather seat. “I can see the Golden Gate Bridge…and the ocean.” I sip my champagne and smile at the flight attendant who must be wondering how she landed a job with a drop-dead gorgeous passenger and his overexcited puppy.
“Santa Cruz…Monterey…Ventana…” I rattle off the names of the major cities and parks along the coast proudly demonstrating just why I got an A in geography.
No, I chastise myself. Do not embarrass Max. Try to appear cultured and sophisticated. Classy.
I take a chocolate-covered strawberry from the plate and nibble at the tip. So delicious. The chocolate breaks off and falls on my new yoga pants. No problem. Biker-style polyester cleans easily. At least that’s what Angel told me this morning in her deep, gravelly voice as she detached her heavily muscled arms from around Max’s waist. For some reason, I didn’t feel jealous this time.
I dab at the chocolate and check my stretchy, pink tank top for similar disasters. Safe. As is my Harley-Davidson hoodie. I am so glad Eva was out of town. The mean-looking Tweety Bird wearing a Harley-Davidson skull cap and leather vest printed on my bra and panties, would probably have given her a heart attack.
