Page 2 of Risky Fight

The door slams closed behind us with a bang that vibrates through the walls, as I push her up against it. She moans into my mouth when I kiss her, all her fight gone. She surrenders — I might allow her to try and boss me around occasionally but not between the sheets.

“Roark,” she says my name on a breath between kisses and it only makes my cock harder, “stop playing games, and fuck me.” Oh, she needn’t ask me twice. I wrap her preppy ponytail around my knuckles and use to gently tip her head back. Her blue eyes sparkle as she silently challenges me. I use my grip on her to guide her down the hallway to her bedroom. By the time I get her there I know I am not going to hold on long enough to make the first round good for her — not after two weeks of no sex. Fuck that, I need to take her right fucking now, hard, fast, and raw.

Pushing her down so she is bent over the end of her bed, her fucking bare ass sticking out of her skirt, I can see the shine of wetness on her pussy lips.

“Hmmm,” she moans loudly when I push her skirt up, exposing all of her. Mine. Lou has always been all mine, and I am about to claim her again, marking my territory so she can’t forget it. Even when I am gone because when she wakes up tomorrow with the ache of where my cock has been, I will be long gone.

“Fuck, yes,” I growl out as I sink my hardness into her tight wet pussy, her back arching up as she gasps. “You feel so fucking good, Lou.” I hate when I am preparing for a fight — I hate not being able to fuck her. To feel her sweet, tight, little cunt as it pulses with pleasure around my thick, hard cock. God, she is a sinful delight. Sliding slowly backwards I pull out, but not all the way before I slam into her again, all the pent-up sexual frustration of two whole weeks without her takes over and I lose the last sliver of control I had.

Nothing can stop me. Her moans, cries and screams only make me go more crazy. I fuck her like it’s the last time — like I can’t get enough of her to tide me over.

Thisisthe last time.

Chapter1 - Louise ‘Lou’

Present

I didn’t start the fight, but I will sure as fuck be the one to finish it. My knuckles are already bloody when I wipe my nose and spit on the floor of the sports-bar off the Main Street behind my apartment. It’s a dive bar, and full of shifty men and rowdy women from the rough side of the tracks — but it’smylocal watering hole.

“Not a fuck,” I say as a bar stool comes swinging at me and grab the legs using it to pin my assailant down on the floor. Squashing him like the bug he is. It’s the same dumb knucklehead who grabbed my ass and started this brawl, the audacity of this mother fucker. No one touches me and keeps their teeth long enough to tell about it.

Things are getting too wild. I see the barkeep calling the cops and I know it’s time to make an exit. I am racking up assault charges like I have a tab, and my brothers are too skint to pay bail again. Best I leave before I get taken out in police issued bracelets.

Scanning the room to find the fastest way out I see Will staring at me, his arms folded and a disappointed scowl on his face. He’s not impressed, and when I look back at the bar, the guy behind the counter shrugs and mouths, ‘sorry’. The fucking bastard called my boyfriend. The tattle-tailing-rat-faced-ass. I should climb over the counter and beat him. I’m considering it when Will grabs me by the wrist and starts dragging me though the war zone towards the door.

“Are you fucking kidding, Lou?” he asks, exasperated, and clearly annoyed he had to come out and ‘save’ me from myself again. “A bar brawl? What is wrong with you? The cops are on the way, Clyde kindly called me first, then them.”

Everything! Everything is wrong with me. I don’t even know why he’s dating me because all I do is upset or disappoint him. I don’t dignify him with an answer, he knew what he was getting into. I have never pretended to be anything but myself — and this is me.

Bloodied nose, busted knuckles, anger issues up the wazoo and a left hook that’ll drop a grown man like a sack of potatoes. The only kiss I actually like giving is a Glasgow one, and I am the furtherest thing from a lady he’s ever going to find. Somehow, he still sticks around, so it must be love, right? No other reason anyone would put up with the level of shit I dish out on the daily.

He’s pulling me towards his car, and I am digging in my heels for no reason other than just pure stubbornness. A large black SUV is coming down the street, and Will stops to let it pass before pulling me across to his parked car — but I stumble and almost fall on my face.

The driver of that SUV. It looked like him — but he’s not here. He left this city behind him, and me with it. Roark is a celebrity now. No chance he’d be driving by a dive-bar in the middle of the night on a Tuesday. I’m drunk, and got knocked upside the head, I must be seeing shit. “Are you that drunk you’re falling over your own feet?” Will berates me, but still helps me up and checks if I’m okay before opening the car door like a gentleman, always so sweet and kind, and fucking perfect. If I didn’t love him, I’d hate him.

“You didn’t have to come, I was fine,” I growl as the police lights flash past us on the way to the bar. Will looks at me raises a brow and shakes his head.

“Lou, you need to find something to channel this anger, a job or a hobby. You can’t keep on with risky behavior like this, you’re going to get killed or arrested, again,” Will lectures me.

I cross my arms, and turn my body away looking out the window, sulking like a child. We drive around the corner to my flat in silence, and as soon as he stops, I get out, slam the door and don’t invite him in. “Go home, Will,” I say when he rolls down the window to try and talk to me. I’m in no mood to be sexy, I’m bloody and angry and swear to fuck I just saw a ghost. It’s best I sober up alone. He pulls away in a hurry, his tires squealing.

When I turn to see his taillights disappearing, the same SUV passes my building driving slowly, sending a cold shiver up my spine. The sensation I am being watched — or in danger — sends me into fight or flight. I already fought tonight, so I flight, straight inside, checking the door is locked behind me and taking the elevator not the stairs. Once was coincidence, twice isn’t. That car followed me home, and I am almost certain its driver is a ghost from my past.

I Google him.

I stopped doing that years ago, but I need to reassure myself I am seeing things. That I’m drunk and cooking up wild hallucinations. Roark is fighting in the UFC, living the high-life across the pond, far, far away from here.

News articles populate my search screen, his pretty-boy fucking perfect face all over the page. Along with whatever arm-candy-whorebag accessory he has attached to him for the shot, even now it still churns my stomach. You’d think after five years I’d be less bitter. I’m not.

I am however seeing things, because according the interwebs, Roark is set to summer on his yacht in the Caribbean before a massive title fight against a debut fighter in the fall. He’s not here. I knew that, yet I swear I felt his eyes on me outside.

No one chooses to summer here when they have yacht in the Caribbean, I have to be rational. Turning on the tap in the bathtub, I talk myself down off the edge of insanity. I pour a cup of black coffee and undress myself. I took a few punches, and they’re starting to hurt. A soak, and a sobering up will fix most all of the night’s mistakes. I’ll mend fences with Will tomorrow once he has calmed his tits.

Maybe I do need a better job, or a hobby. I love working at the gym, but the pay is crap and I don’t get the same satisfaction I used to. I could be doing other things — if I could just think of one I wouldn’t hate. I don’t have the personality to work retail, the patience for corporate or the looks for anything sales related. Maybe I could work in personal security, like a lady bodyguard. I shut my eyes soaking in the lavender scented bubbles and think about it.

It wouldn’t hurt to try something new, it’s not like anyone would miss me where I am. They’d probably throw me a going away party and be stoked I am no longer causing chaos and hitting boys. My brothers would be incredibly happy if I got ‘a real job’ and Will might even put a ring on it.

Tomorrow I will make some calls, or I’ll wait until my swollen nose and shiner are gone. They don’t exactly shout ‘employ me’ to prospective bosses. I do okay where I am, it’s not like I need to rush out and get something else right away. I know — I’ll ask Callum to hook me up with an underground fight. That way I’ll have some extra cash and an outlet for my current rage situation until my mind calms down.

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