Page 10 of Big Wild Fighter

I shudder at his words, my head tilting back as I let the sensations wash over me. His hands grip my thighs more firmly, spreading them and baring me to him. My lace panties are fully exposed to him now and I can feel the tension in his body as he holds himself back. It’s intoxicating, knowing how much he wants me and how much restraint he’s showing.

When he grows tired of the teasing and suddenly latches his whole mouth onto my sensitive mound through my panties, I letout a mewl. My hands fly to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I try to steady myself.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and filled with promise. “I’ve got you, Grace. Just let me take care of you.”

His hands slide up my thighs, his thumbs brushing against the lace of my underwear, and I can feel the heat of his breath against me. Every nerve in my body is on edge, the anticipation building until I feel like I might come apart from it. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls aside my underwear, and then, finally, his mouth finds me with no barrier, and the world tilts on its axis.

The first touch of his tongue is soft, and teasing, and it sends a wave of heat crashing over me. My breath catches, and I grip his shoulders tighter, my fingers digging into him as my head falls back. He hums against me, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through my body, and I feel his grip on my thighs tighten, holding me in place as he works my clit with a slow, devastating rhythm.

He alternates between soft, languid strokes and firmer, more focused movements, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with a precision that leaves me trembling. The heat builds steadily, a pressure coiling deep within me, and I can’t stop the soft moans that escape my lips as he pulls me closer and closer to the edge.

A particularly loud moan slips from my lips and he sucks at me harder causing me to see stars as I climb impossibly high.

“Marlon!” I gasp, my voice shaky as the sensations overwhelm me.

His response is a low, satisfied growl that vibrates against me, and it’s enough to send me spiraling. My body tenses, the pressure reaching a fever pitch before it shatters, a wave of pleasure crashing over me so intensely that I can’t do anything but cling to him as he continues to move, drawing out every last bit of sensation until I’m left breathless and boneless against the counter.

When he finally pulls back, his hands gentle on my thighs, I look down at him, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. His dark eyes meet mine, and the intensity in his gaze sends a fresh wave of warmth through me.

“You’re incredible,” he says softly, his voice filled with awe as he presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh before rising to his feet.

Before I can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s both tender and possessive. I can taste myself on him, and the realization sends a shiver through me. His hands cradle my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks as he deepens the kiss, and I feel like I’m falling all over again.

Chapter Six

Marlon

I run a hand down the front of my shirt for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s the nicest button-up I could find in the rushed hour I spent at that boutique downtown. While the fit is decent, I can’t help but feel like I look like a kid trying to dress up for picture day. The sleeves are stiff, the fabric smells like it’s been folded in plastic for way too long, and the collar is choking me.

Why the hell am I nervous? I’ve stood in octagons with opponents twice my size, faced down journalists who were practically frothing at the mouth to take me down a peg, and fought in front of sold-out crowds who either wanted me to win or see me get my ass kicked. But somehow, meeting Grace’s parents is making me sweat like I’m cutting weight.

I glance at Grace out of the corner of my eye. She’s radiant tonight—her hair straightened out from the usual brown curls and pulled into some kind of loose, effortless updo that probably took her all of five minutes to perfect. She’s wearing this flowy navy dress that makes her look both elegant and approachable, and her smile as she glances at me puts me at ease. For a second.

Then she reaches over, brushing her hand lightly against my arm.

“You’re going to do great,” she says, her voice soft but amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in my head.

“How can you be so sure?” I mutter, shifting in my seat as we pull into the driveway of her parents’ house. It’s modest but well-kept, with a wraparound porch and a light glowing warmly from the kitchen window. It looks like the kind of place where people sit down for Sunday dinners and talk about their days.

She leans closer, and her perfume—something floral but clean—fills my nose. “Because I know them. And I know you. And I promise, Marlon, they’re going to love you.”

I snort, trying to cover up how her words make something in my chest tighten. “What if I embarrass myself? What if your dad hates me?”

Grace laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes everything else fade into the background. “Trust me, my dad’s probably already a bigger fan of yours than I am. He used to stay up late to watch your fights on TV, and he won’t shut up about how he saw your match against Rivera live last year.”

“Rivera? That was one of my worst fights.”

“Exactly.” She grins. “He loved the underdog comeback. And my mom? She’ll win you over as soon as she brings out dessert. Just don’t let her intimidate you—she’s got a sharp tongue, but she’s all bark.”

The truck rolls to a stop and I put it into park. “Stay there.”

Hopping out I jog over to Grace’s side, pulling her door open and holding out my hand for her to step down. She gives me a reassuring smile before stepping out.

Shoulders drawn back and head high, she marches toward the house. Closing the door and locking the truck, I follow her lead, my palms suddenly slick as I smooth them on my jeans. This wasn’t in the plan. Hell, two weeks ago, I was just passing through town, looking for a distraction from the grind of training, the press, and the constant expectations. Grace was supposed to be a momentary reprieve, not the woman I’d be nervously meeting parents for.

But she’s different. And now here I am, standing in front of a house that smells faintly of barbecue and lavender, wondering if maybe—just maybe—I’m falling for her.

Her dad, Frank, meets us at the door with a grin that could rival the sun. He’s a stocky guy with salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of warm energy that instantly makes me feel a little less like a fish out of water.

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