Page 88 of Back in Black

He raised her hips in his hands and, after one long, heated look at her wet sex, leaned down and put his mouth to her.

She dropped back on the bed. His tongue slicked into her, tasting her deeply, and that was enough to set off aftershocks of pleasure. When he stroked over her clitoris, she jerked from the too-intense sensation. But he held her secure, and there was nowhere for her to go, no way to escape the rasp of his tongue and then, all too soon, the gentle suction of his mouth.

She sobbed as the sensations escalated too quickly again. She twisted, alternately lifting to him and drawing away until, faster than she realized possible, another orgasm shook her.

Drew kept her locked to him, taking everything from her, moaning against her as her body quaked.

This time when the orgasm waned, he rushed to get a condom, cursed as he rolled it on, and then came back to her. He hooked an arm through one of her legs, opened her again, and thrust deep. He gave her no time to recuperate, already driving fast and hard, shaking the bed, gasping with each penetration.

“Christ, Gillian . . .”

Overcome by lethargy, Gillian barely managed to get her weakened arms around his neck. Amazing. And yes, outrageous. Wonderfully so.

Not with any other man could she have so completely let go. But with Drew . . . well, she loved him, so much so that it scared her.

Drew’s face tightened; his jaw locked.

She knew he was close, she could feel the power building in his body. “Kiss me, Drew.”

With a growl, he took her mouth. Even as his release hit him, he continued with a rapacious kiss that left her lips swollen and her heart soft with emotion.

Sinking down onto her, Drew struggled to even his breathing.

Gillian stroked his back, smiled to herself, and whispered, “You were right.”

Half a minute passed before he worked up onto his elbows. “Always.” He took a few more deep breaths. “What was I right about this time?”

Gillian couldn’t help but laugh. The man didn’t lack confidence. “I am very relaxed right now. Not a tense bone in my body.”

Instead of smiling, he gave her a profound, intense look chock-full of emotion. “Just remember that I’m the one with the cure, all right?”

“Oh, definitely.” The way things were going, they would both be tense again in no time.

It was going to be one hell of a day. But thanks to Drew, she at least had a plan. Now that her anxiety had lessened, she couldn’t wait to implement it.

“MY brother was such a fan of the sport, and he thought he was so invincible. He badly wanted real recognition, but the SBC wasn’t interested.”

“How old was he?”

“Bill was nineteen. So young.” Her small laugh was one of irony. “I was only twenty—but I always felt way older than him.”

It wasn’t unheard-of for fighters to be that young while building their careers at smaller venues, on a path to the SBC. Brett wondered if her brother had gone through the right channels, with the right training, or if, like many, he thought he could find a shortcut to fame. “Who did he train with?”

“I don’t know. None of us really knew what he was up to. Bill was always a quiet kid who struggled with fitting in. He wasn’t the best student or the most popular guy in school. He wanted . . . I don’t know. A way to get recognized, I think.”

To Brett, that didn’t factor in. MMA fighters comprised every personality type imaginable. Some came from wealthy families, some from poverty. Some had known great popularity, where others were total misfits. What the successful ones had in common was talent, training, and heart.

“He was so excited when a small group of organizers invited him to participate in an unsanctioned night of bouts. He . . . he told me about it, and he begged me not to say anything to our parents.”

Shit. Brett rubbed her shoulders. “Even at nineteen, he was a legal adult, Audrey, able to make his own decisions. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I believed him when he said it was safe, when he . . .” Tears welled in her eyes. “When he told me he’d be fine and nothing bad would happen.”

Now wasn’t the right time to point out the gulf that lay between an unsanctioned amateur fight night and the professionalism of trained athletes competing.

Instead, he pulled Audrey over to sit on his lap. “You were there? At the fight, I mean?”

She nodded. “It was so awful, worse than I’d ever imagined. Things were okay at first, even though I flinched over every hit either of them got in. Then the other fighter hit Bill right in the temple, and when it rocked him, he leaped in and kept on hitting him. My brother just sort of covered up, trying to deflect the blows. The announcer called it a ‘flurry of punches,’ and that’s what it was. One strike right after another, over and over again.”

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