Page 81 of Last Round

“You’re hurt,” I try to reason with him. But it's hard to think straight as he resumes sucking and tonguing my nipple.

“Not nearly as much as my cock is aching to sink into that tight little pussy of yours.” He drops one of his hands, continuing to hold my wrists in the other, as he slips it between us and sinks two of his fingers inside me. “You’re so fucking wet,” he groans as he pumps them.

“But… you’re hurt…” I try but fail to remain clear-headed. It’s impossible when he knows exactly what buttons of mine to press.

“Be a good girl,” he urges. “Give me one, just one, then you can take care of me.” Killian means business as he fills me with a third finger and increases his tempo. Between that and the merciless tongue fucking he’s giving my nipple, I’m helpless to resist his request.

I stop fighting because, let’s face it, I was destined to lose. As my orgasm nears, I realize I’m the one fucking his fingers; he’s long since stopped thrusting and it’s me chasing my own pleasure.

“That’s it, firecracker, come for me.” Killian’s mouth crashes to mine as he swallows my climactic cries. When I come down, he’s cradling my face while still kissing me.

In this moment, all the hollowness from earlier is gone and my heart feels so full—like it might burst. And, for the first time, I believe it. We can do this, me and him. Sean, the businesses, my scumbag ex… all that will work itself out. Because this, right now, him kissing me is everything, and nothing that feels this good could ever be wrong.

Tense

Killian

Everyoneatthegymcan sense the tension between Sean and me. It’s thick, heavy. It’s conducting this negative energy that has everyone in a foul mood. While a few people are wisely staying clear of the drama—pretty much just Declan and Luke—other staff and fighters are taking sides without even knowing what we are in a disagreement about.

Everything here has become toxic.

This stupid contract, money, Gideon smearing our names if we don’t keep up our end of the bargain won’t mean shit soon. Because it won’t be long before this place crumbles all on its own. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It just wasn’t until now that I became certain.

I don’t want to be a trainer.

Fighting will always be a part of me and I still enjoy jumping in the ring and sparring with a few guys for the hell of it. But this life, it isn’t for me, not anymore. Working with someone like Luke was easy. He was receptive and open to what I had to say.

Tony, this fucking hotshot, he knows everything (at least he thinks he does) and is going to do it his own way—no room for any feedback. Sure, the dipshit has talent. There is a reason he’s the number one name talked about in his weight class. But without being open to criticism, he’s going to top out sooner rather than later. His career will be hot, fast, and over as soon as someone like Luke makes it to his level and takes it from him.

Luke is hungry. He wants to be the best and will take any opportunity given to him to be better. He’s embraced my advice, probably the best I could ever give him, that you’re only as good as your last fight.

That’s only part of it though. Because win or lose, we get paid afterIl Douche’smatch and I will never have to deal with the dumbass again. No, the real thing grating on me, as I waste precious moments that would be better spent coming up with new ways to make my girl come, is the fact I can’t stop thinking about him and Molly. Wondering just exactly what sort of relationship they had.

Molly has been very tight-lipped about it. While she’s at least made it clear the sex left something to be desired, and that has inflated my ego enough to ignore the fact that I’m interacting with someone who has stuck their dick in my girl—it’s not easy and I have many fantasies of removing that appendage from him—there’s still this nagging in the back of my mind that won’t shut up. The red flags are all there. I’ve seen them several times over the years. But she won’t let me in on that part. I don’t know how bad things were. Or maybe they weren’t at all and it was just shitty sex. Again, I’ve gotten the pleasure of helping several women out of sexually frustrating relationships.

Which makes me believe that at the end of the day I’m reaching. Desperately trying to find some sort of justification to pummel his smug ass. Because, let’s face it, even though it makes me a hypocrite given my history, I hate knowing someone else has had her. But I can get past that, because again I have no room to talk. On the other hand, I can’t handle interacting with the bastard every day—especially when he’s dangling money and threats over our head.

Damn it, I miss my bar. Things would be much easier if I were there and Sean was here, dealing with his mess. Being just a trainer for a few weeks, and only visiting K.O.’s to make an appearance on our key nights, has made me realize how much I miss that place.

When this is all over and this ridiculous contract is up, that is where I want to be. I don’t care what Sean thinks. Not anymore. If we’re getting adivorce, he can have the gym. It was his idea anyway. He’s the trainer, not me. I want the bar. That’s where I belong now, not here.

“Is that the only move you have?” I yell at Tony. He waves me off. He’s sparring with Dominic. Another reason I hate training: I have to stand by and watch. I can’t even fuck around in the ring. Why? Because I need to observe him fully and I can’t do that while I’m focused on blocking his blows. That first day was meant to give me a taste of his fighting style and determine who best to pair him against. Dominic is in the same weight class and their styles are perfect opposites, making him an ideal opponent.

“He’s open,” Rusty, another one of our training staff, calls out. He’s standing in Dom’s corner. Dominic takes the hit. Lays Tony out flat. I ring the bell and stop the fight.

Tony gets off the mat in a huff before tossing his gear on the ground. “That was bullshit.”

“You were open; he took it,” I point out. It was a clean hit.

“Yeah, if I had a coach in my corner—”

“If I had a fighter who listened.” I punch into his chest with my finger. “But nothing I say makes it through that thick skull of yours.”

“I don’t need this.” Tony exits the ring.

“Walk away. I don’t give a fuck,” I call after him. “I can’t train someone who won’t listen.”

“Then stop talking and show me, old man. Get into this ring, skip the fucking safety crap, and fight me.” Tony grins. “Unless you’re too scared. I mean, look at you. It’s pretty fucking pathetic getting your ass beat by a pencil pusher.”

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