Page 21 of Risky Fight

“Roark,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, “I hate you, and I hate that my body won’t just let me hate you.” Her words prickle, as her legs fall further apart, inviting my touch.

I nod, understanding her hesitation. “I know,” I reply honestly, “but I want you to know that I’m here, and I’m going to make you love me again. You will be my wife, and my lover, and in my bed, you will be my whore.” She sucks in a breath as I push her knickers aside and sink a finger into her wetness. Her pussy pulses, and Lou’s eyes glaze over, needy and desperate.

She is staring at me, looking into my eyes not blinking, I hold her gaze, baring my soul to her. In this moment of vulnerability, there’s an unspoken agreement between us. We’re both afraid to fully let go, but we’re also drawn to each other like magnets. Stroking my finger in and out of her softly, I tease her clit with my thumb, and she moans, her head falling back.

My cock strains against the zipper of my pants, and when I look down to where my fingers are teasing her perfect tight little pussy I want more — I want to taste her. To make her come until she screams my name.

Holding her thighs apart, I drop to my knees. She looks down at me as my tongue strokes over her sensitive clit. She was already close — aroused and chasing her release. I can taste her excitement, and when I start to lick, and suck and play with her pussy she puts her fingers in my hair, wraps her thighs over my shoulders and fucks my face like she owns it.

Another whine escapes her, she is begging, both wanting more and trying to escape the grip I have on her. Holding her right there, I pause and whisper across her thighs, “Just let me taste you, Lou, don’t fight it. Come, come on my tongue and scream my name.” I pull her forward against my tongue, devouring her until she is needy mess.

I stand up and unzip my pants, my eyes on her dripping wet pussy the whole time, I grind my hard cock on her pussy. The movement makes her squirm as it touches her clit, but not giving her what she needs — Lou is desperate to be filled. Her body movements, the primal sounds she makes all tell me how desperate she is.

She is squirming and lifting her ass, trying to get more. I look into her eyes as I force my cock into her with one thrust. She jolts from the sudden but intense pleasure, my cock stretching her wide, her mouth open as she tries to make a sound.

“Say yes,” I demand and her eyelids droop as she whispers the word I want to hear.

Her tight quivering pussy takes my cock as I plunge in and out, not caring who can hear us. The wet sounds of flesh on flesh, my grunts and her moans, is so fucking hot. I can hear the desk shaking and moving with the ferocity of how I am fucking her. Lou’s legs are wrapped around my waist while my cock is balls deep inside her, crossed at the ankles so I can’t pull all way out.

Her body starts to jolt from every thrust as I fuck her straight through her orgasm and into another. Pussy milking my cock as it clenches around me with every stroke, I push deeper holding her against me. “Lou,” I moan out because I am so fucking close to losing it.

“Don’t stop,” she screams, her legs wrapping tighter around me her body grinding against me shuddering as I move over and over her g-spot, “I will fucking kill you if you stop now,” she pants out as her eye roll back and body succumbs to an intense orgasm.

My own follows, as I grip her hips and shove myself so deep I touch her cervix, and empty myself in her. Filling her with every drop of my come, I don’t pull out, but I kiss her, our lips meet again, the kiss becomes a dance of conflicting emotions—love, anger, desire, and forgiveness all intertwined. It’s a moment of healing, of bridging the gap that time and pain had created. It’s an apology and a promise.

But just as quickly as the passion flares, we pull back, catching our breaths. The intensity of our feelings leaves us both breathless, and I gently cup her face in my hands.

“We have a lot to figure out,” I say softly, “but I don’t want to let go of what we once had. You’re mine Lou, you just need to accept it.

Lou nods, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Yours,” she admits, “but I still hate you.”

Chapter13 - Lou

The way things happened has unsettled me, because I just gave in and let him use me like that. My stupid body just reacts to him, I have no control over it. Roark took me from the office to his bed, and I did not protest. I don’t know how to fight him, to fight this stupid arrangement, but I will find a way.

This morning we sit across from one another at the breakfast table in a silent standoff, neither of us say anything but we stare daggers at one another. If looks could get me pregnant, I’d be having octuplets. He sips his coffee and eats his egg white omelette, his fighting career might be over but he still eats like one. God it must be boring not to love food. I can’t imagine eating that bland shit day in and day out, I like salt, and taste. I like to drink and have fun and stay up late.

Fighters can’t do any of that, they live in this bubble where they eat, sleep, and live fighting fitness. All the while missing out on life.

“When will Nolan be home?” I ask since he didn’t come back after swimming, he obviously stayed over with Roark’s stepsisters. I miss him but wouldn’t tell Roark that. The little guy has gotten under my skin, I know how he is feeling.

I’ve tried to make him feel better, distracting him from the harsh reality of losing his mama. But I see the sadness in his little blue eyes. I wish I could take it away for him, no kid deserves that. I see Roark trying his best to be a good dad, but kids need their mothers at his age.

“We will fetch him this afternoon, together. I thought you might like to get out and we can announce our engagement to my family.”

“Our what?” I question, as there is no ring on my finger, and I have not agreed to their stupid fucking arrangement. No one asked me to marry them — I hate being told what to do. He knows that.

“Our engagement. I have someone coming in this morning to show us rings. Then we can make it public.” Public. He has got to be joking. I’m not making some crazy, forced, arranged marriage public.

“Public to whom?” He can’t believe that I am going to just go with this crock of shit, “I don’t recall being asked to marry anyone, I also don’t recall saying yes. I am certainly not going to pretend this is anything other than what it really is. You bought me, I am sure the public will love that story. In fact, let’s go public so I can tell them.” I fold my arms, and watch as his jaw tightens and he puts his knife and fork down.

“I am going to go workout, then we are choosing a fucking diamond to put on your pretty finger. While I am busy I suggest you check your attitude, pull yourself together and put your perfect trophy wife mask on. Because if you fuck up, Lou, I will make sure you really are sold. I bought you, and I can get rid of you if you no longer serve the purpose for which you were purchased. Do you fucking understand me? I tried to do this nicely, to show you that I actually care for you, but you are being a bitch.” He pushes his chair back, gets up and strides out of the dining room without another word.

I am being a bitch? My own brothers sold me, those fucking assholes. In fact, I want to see them, to set the record straight on what family is. Because they have clearly forgotten. I’m sure my father is turning in his grave so fast he will cause quicksand in the cemetery.

Actually, if we are announcing this to family, I want mine included. I stomp my way down the hallway to his very fancy-fancy home gym. Roark has headphones on and he his punching the heavy bag like he might be mad at it. I don’t go straight in, I watch him. I used to watch him all the time, how he always trained harder than anyone else in the gym.

His whole body moves, like he is floating around the bag, a ballet dancer with a bite. His entire body is a finely tuned murder weapon, and as I watch him, I wonder if he can really give this part of him up? Or will he chase the high of underground fights, and illegal matches to scratch his itch. Fighters don’t retire, the break or they die — quitting just isn’t in their DNA. Roark’s entire identity is fighting and losing that would mean he has no idea who he is anymore.

---