Reckless Love
Page 7
I didn’t know how we got to his car, but damn, I had been so happy when I saw it that I’d flipping squealed. He had dug his keys out of his pocket and opened the back door, guiding me into the backseat…
• • •
I woke up with a gasp, my breath coming in pants. I dreamed about that night often, and the throbbing ache between my legs needed to be taken care of.
Now.
I had a vibrator, but knew from experience that after waking up from one of these dreams, I hardly had to touch myself, I was already so close to the edge. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes again and imagined what it would have been like if Ian had followed me into the backseat of his car and closed the door, if he had pulled me forward and spread my legs.
My finger circled between my thighs, and I imagined Ian’s smoldering eyes locked on mine as he ripped off my wet panties. Frantic, I’d hurry to open the front of his jeans. He’d pull his pants down just enough to free his cock, which I knew would be huge and hard. He’d slide a finger inside me, and when he felt how hot and ready I was, he’d climb over me and thrust into me so hard I’d cry out and come apart instantly.
He’d hold himself still as the wave of spasms rocked through my body and then slowed. Then he’d slowly pull out and push inside me again, and as he increased his pace, he’d wrap his arms around me, pulling me close and holding me tight.
I’d shiver from the sheer pleasure of it, and run my hands over his rock-hard back muscles up to his shoulders as he moved faster, pushing harder and harder. Then he’d slip his hand down and lightly press a thumb on my throbbing clit. My nails would dig into his back as I came apart again, crying his name.
A real orgasm tore through me at that point, just like it always did. As I came down from my self-induced, Ian-inspired release, I was again reminded of how that night had actually ended…
• • •
That night we’d kissed frantically on the dance floor, and he’d carried me out to his car as we pressed together in heated passion.
But when he guided me into the backseat, he didn’t follow me as he should have. Instead, he promptly backed away from the car with a tight look on his face that I couldn’t quite read. Then he closed the door, leaving me more alone than I had felt in a long time.
I was hurt at first, but then I got angry, like terror-alert-level-orange angry. Was I not good enough for him? I fumbled with the door handle until I opened it and got out.
“What the hell?” I snapped.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he shook his head and ran a hand over his hair. “I just can’t do this.”
“Why not? There aren’t any cameras here. This isn’t an adult movie shoot that your ‘future wife’ might see, so what’s the problem?”
“Get in the car. I’ll take you home.” His expression shuttered and I could no longer read his face, as if he’d cut me off not just physically, but emotionally.
“What the hell was that?” I said. “I thought we were going to have some fun. What happened?”
He shook his head and looked away. “Nothing, I just shouldn’t have started this in the first place. I don’t have time for this right now, I have a fight in two days. I need to stay focused.” He wouldn’t look me in the eyes anymore.
Did he just say he didn’t have time for this? For me? Familiar negative emotions came roaring back before I could stop them. I felt like I’d been punched.
I was used to this by now, to people not having time for me. I’d been dealing with this all my life. But for some reason, hearing it from Ian hurt more than it had in a long time. I thought we’d made a real connection. He’d come to my rescue on the dance floor and had been sweet and easy to talk to.
Stunned, I’d realized that despite my checkered past, I’d never felt quite so rejected before. So I’d dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands, but the pain couldn’t stop the stupid tears.
Without another word, I had rushed to a nearby taxi stand, got in the back of the first one, and slammed the door.
Five
Ian
The office at the gym was smaller than my own at home, but Chris had managed to squeeze in a dingy cracked-leather sofa, along with an old desk and bulky chair. I tossed my bag in the corner and shoved a pile of towels off the couch to make room.
Chris reached behind his desk and pulled a protein shake out of his mini fridge, then tossed it to me. “Heads up, bro.”
I caught it and shook it before unscrewing the cap. The shit was green and thick, which no drink should ever be. It tasted like blended dirt and leaves. I took a deep breath and chugged it down in as few gulps as I could manage.
I shuddered. Even though I drank the same nasty breakfast every morning, I never got used to it. It was just one of the many brutal things I willingly put myself through, because it took sacrifice to become a pro MMA fighter. And knowing I was close to achieving my dream fueled me to keep pushing.
“I had a call yesterday with Shannon,” Chris said, and I perked up. Steve Shannon was the manager of several pro fighters. If I could get a match, even with one of his newer fighters, I would be almost there. “He wants you to fight Gator. He’s set it up already for two months from now.”
“Gator,” I repeated. There were several pro fighters in my weight class I thought I could beat, and he was one of them.
Game on.
“He’s a wrestler, so we’ll need to work on your ground technique. I’ve got a guy coming into town next week to train with you.”
• • •
I woke up with a gasp, my breath coming in pants. I dreamed about that night often, and the throbbing ache between my legs needed to be taken care of.
Now.
I had a vibrator, but knew from experience that after waking up from one of these dreams, I hardly had to touch myself, I was already so close to the edge. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes again and imagined what it would have been like if Ian had followed me into the backseat of his car and closed the door, if he had pulled me forward and spread my legs.
My finger circled between my thighs, and I imagined Ian’s smoldering eyes locked on mine as he ripped off my wet panties. Frantic, I’d hurry to open the front of his jeans. He’d pull his pants down just enough to free his cock, which I knew would be huge and hard. He’d slide a finger inside me, and when he felt how hot and ready I was, he’d climb over me and thrust into me so hard I’d cry out and come apart instantly.
He’d hold himself still as the wave of spasms rocked through my body and then slowed. Then he’d slowly pull out and push inside me again, and as he increased his pace, he’d wrap his arms around me, pulling me close and holding me tight.
I’d shiver from the sheer pleasure of it, and run my hands over his rock-hard back muscles up to his shoulders as he moved faster, pushing harder and harder. Then he’d slip his hand down and lightly press a thumb on my throbbing clit. My nails would dig into his back as I came apart again, crying his name.
A real orgasm tore through me at that point, just like it always did. As I came down from my self-induced, Ian-inspired release, I was again reminded of how that night had actually ended…
• • •
That night we’d kissed frantically on the dance floor, and he’d carried me out to his car as we pressed together in heated passion.
But when he guided me into the backseat, he didn’t follow me as he should have. Instead, he promptly backed away from the car with a tight look on his face that I couldn’t quite read. Then he closed the door, leaving me more alone than I had felt in a long time.
I was hurt at first, but then I got angry, like terror-alert-level-orange angry. Was I not good enough for him? I fumbled with the door handle until I opened it and got out.
“What the hell?” I snapped.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he shook his head and ran a hand over his hair. “I just can’t do this.”
“Why not? There aren’t any cameras here. This isn’t an adult movie shoot that your ‘future wife’ might see, so what’s the problem?”
“Get in the car. I’ll take you home.” His expression shuttered and I could no longer read his face, as if he’d cut me off not just physically, but emotionally.
“What the hell was that?” I said. “I thought we were going to have some fun. What happened?”
He shook his head and looked away. “Nothing, I just shouldn’t have started this in the first place. I don’t have time for this right now, I have a fight in two days. I need to stay focused.” He wouldn’t look me in the eyes anymore.
Did he just say he didn’t have time for this? For me? Familiar negative emotions came roaring back before I could stop them. I felt like I’d been punched.
I was used to this by now, to people not having time for me. I’d been dealing with this all my life. But for some reason, hearing it from Ian hurt more than it had in a long time. I thought we’d made a real connection. He’d come to my rescue on the dance floor and had been sweet and easy to talk to.
Stunned, I’d realized that despite my checkered past, I’d never felt quite so rejected before. So I’d dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands, but the pain couldn’t stop the stupid tears.
Without another word, I had rushed to a nearby taxi stand, got in the back of the first one, and slammed the door.
Five
Ian
The office at the gym was smaller than my own at home, but Chris had managed to squeeze in a dingy cracked-leather sofa, along with an old desk and bulky chair. I tossed my bag in the corner and shoved a pile of towels off the couch to make room.
Chris reached behind his desk and pulled a protein shake out of his mini fridge, then tossed it to me. “Heads up, bro.”
I caught it and shook it before unscrewing the cap. The shit was green and thick, which no drink should ever be. It tasted like blended dirt and leaves. I took a deep breath and chugged it down in as few gulps as I could manage.
I shuddered. Even though I drank the same nasty breakfast every morning, I never got used to it. It was just one of the many brutal things I willingly put myself through, because it took sacrifice to become a pro MMA fighter. And knowing I was close to achieving my dream fueled me to keep pushing.
“I had a call yesterday with Shannon,” Chris said, and I perked up. Steve Shannon was the manager of several pro fighters. If I could get a match, even with one of his newer fighters, I would be almost there. “He wants you to fight Gator. He’s set it up already for two months from now.”
“Gator,” I repeated. There were several pro fighters in my weight class I thought I could beat, and he was one of them.
Game on.
“He’s a wrestler, so we’ll need to work on your ground technique. I’ve got a guy coming into town next week to train with you.”
