FORCE: Alpha Badboy MMA Romance (29 page)

“Uh huh. No fucking surprise there.”

He took her mouth again, wrapping his arms around her waist and binding them together again in a soft, deep kiss.

He unlocked the door and ushered her down the hall where Roger was still leaning against the wall. He had lost the blood soaked towel, but his nose had a new angle to it.

“You’ve got a fucking killer right cross. But, I should know that —” Roger shook his head as his voice sounded every bit like Mick from Rocky.

It was his way of putting the cap on the bottle. Fighters fight. In this world, you can’t hold a grudge every time you take a hit, especially when you’ve got it coming. It didn’t mean Cameron didn’t still want to skin his ass raw, but he was willing to leave it for now.

Roger knew deep down he was a fucked up asshole, and he had every bit of what happened coming to him. Cameron gave him a nod as he guided Victoria down the stairs and out the back door.

“Do you think he heard us?” Victoria whispered into the side of his chest.

His girl was still so worried about everyone and what they thought.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. That last scream of yours shook the pictures off the goddamn wall.”

Cameron couldn’t help but give her a hard time. If she only knew there was no greater pleasure for him than to hear those noises and know he was on the other end of that shit.

“Oh God —” Victoria hung her head, darting her eyes back over her shoulder like someone might be watching.

“Get in the car, little girl. You said you didn’t want me to tell anyone. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to be sure they knew.”

He watched as the pink in her cheeks turned to cherry red, and he closed the car door, his head cleared and he knew what he had to do.

His brain was still spinning from the epic feeling of her pussy as well as the shit storm Roger and Larry had brewed up. But as he looked at her, he saw the little girl that stood hiding behind her mother’s skirt that day they arrived to the bungalow on North Welmont Avenue with their suitcases.

“What are you looking at?” Victoria looked out the window to her right then back at Cameron with a wry smile. “Something interesting out there?”

“I’m looking at you.”

He didn’t think her cheeks could rise another shade of red, but he was wrong.

“Well, stop it.” She gave his arm a punch.

“Listen, I know this thing between us has amped up fast. But, I want you to know — for me — I’ve been planning and dreaming of you for so long I can’t even remember every way I’ve imagined taking care of you, making love to you. I was pissed in there, and I took what I needed and gave you the same. You know me — talking is not my thing — but you need to know where I stand. I’m done and gone when it comes to us —” He reached inside the pocket of his leather jacket.

“I know that fuck hurt up there, and I’m not fucking sorry. You deserved that, and you needed it.”

“What is that?” Her eyes widened as he held out the little box.

“Open it.”

Cameron felt the tender hooks sink in as she took the small white box with the red velvet ribbon from his hand.

“God Cam — really? It’s —” Her eyes darted from the box to his face. “How — when were you —l”

“I told you, I’ve been planning this for a long fucking time. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of surprises saved up for you little girl.”

“Why do you keep calling me little girl and babygirl? I’m far from little—” She halted on that last word as Cameron’s jaw set, and he gave her the glare.

“Don’t go there.” Cameron made it very clear any reference to her size, shape, looks or abilities in any negative attribution would be met with a swift and harsh hand on her ass.

“Sorry.”

Victoria looped her finger under the gleaming sterling silver chain and dangled the small tag pendant in the air trying to catch a glint from the single security light that flickered over the parking lot.

A one-carat solitaire glimmered from the center of the round tag which hung from necklace’s toggle clasp. Babygirl’ inscribed in a half circle around the diamond in intricate old English engraving; the same type style that so many fighters have tattooed on their bodies.

“Come here, I want to see how it looks.” Cameron reached out.

“But, maybe I should wait, you know, I mean everyone is going to notice.”

“Good. I want them to notice. What are you so afraid of? I don’t give a fuck what people think, I only give a fuck about us. Most of them are fucks and dumb-ass twats anyway, especially around here.”

Cameron reached his hands around the back of her neck, feeling the silky strands of chestnut hair as he worked the pendant around and fixed the toggle down just below the indent where her neck met her chest.

“I don't know. I just do. I’ve always been that like, I worry about Dad getting mad, I worry about what everyone thinks. I don’t like people looking at me.”

“Your Dad is always mad. He’s given you shit for years while you slaved away doing everything he fucking asks. And for what? Does he thank you? Tell you how amazing and smart and funny and beautiful you are? No. He talks to you like you’re some indentured servant. Just because he’s your Dad doesn’t mean you have to take that shit from him. You may as well live your life, do what you want — he’s going to act like an ass either way, but at least you will be doing your own thing for once.” Cameron’s fingers played with the little tag then pulled it and — as intended — the little toggle tightened like a choke chain.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ve never had anything this nice before.”

“I know, and that shit’s going to change too.”

Cameron kissed her tenderly, slowly — his hand on the back of her neck feeling the racing of her pulse.

35

Victoria couldn’t be sure when she was dreaming and when she was awake. Cameron’s torso was warm and hard against her back and his arm nestled around her waist as she slept. She felt so small curled into his massive form.

The thinnest fingers of white morning light were just beginning to fight their way through the November clouds as she listened to his steady breathing.

His face was just behind her neck; each exhale warming the spot between her shoulders and where her hair fell below her ear. Right where he left several deep red and purple marks from his teeth.

Five days had passed since Cameron heard Topher’s voice on the message and proceeded to break Roger’s nose, three ribs, and came within a flea’s jump of killing him right on the office floor.

Roger had kept his distance since that day, and Cameron was never a man of many words anyway, so it wasn’t like they were missing any long, deep conversations.

But, there was the invisible mist of impending doom that hung over all of them. Like the scent of the seasons when they change. You can’t describe it, you couldn’t tell when it started and when it end, but it was there nonetheless.

Cameron kept himself held tight, never one to give too much away; Victoria could feel the gears tightening and turning with each passing day. Something was in the works, but he made it very clear she was not to ask, and not to worry about the mess their fathers had gotten themselves in.

For once in her life, she felt safe and only gave the difficulties they were in a fleeting thought. It did tickle at her when she was doing payroll or doing balance sheets for the gym, but she tried to leave it in Cameron’s hands.

Then, there was the sex. She didn’t have many girlfriends over the years, but she sat in on enough conversations with other women to realize that Cameron was not your average lover.

It seemed that his soul mission was to bring her pleasure. Or pain — but the lines between the two became increasingly blurred when it came to their intimate time together.

Sure, he enjoyed himself too, but the things he did — the way he watched her face, engulfed her body with every part of his — it was so much more than just a physical union. It was like he wanted to bind their souls and their spirits together when they made love.

And, well, there was the other thing. Victoria figured out exactly what being his babygirl meant.

Her ass had been turned over his knee more than once and he introduced her to some other intense forms of submission. He knew exactly how far to push her, exactly what she needed, and she felt closer to him than ever.

He honored her with his attention, his touch, his bite — he worshiped her body, and she tingled laying here now with his warmth behind her.

Her fingers traced the still pink lines around both wrists where Cameron tightened the black rope on them last night. Victoria felt her belly flutter and flip, instinctively she curled into him as he slept.

She could feel his growing erection pushing against her even as he slept. Already feeling herself growing slick and hungry, she shifted — turning her head and breathing in his scent.

The intensity of his eyes were as much a source of her pleasure as everything else. The connection she felt with him was unlike anything she thought two humans could achieve.

He returned late from his workout last night, Victoria long asleep when he snuck in, naked under the covers and woke her with his fingers.

“Who does this belong to?” he rumbled as his hand clamped down over the the slip of fabric between her legs.

“You.” Her sleepy voice answered the sirens call as he slipped her panties down.

He peppered soft kisses and worked her with his fingers. He alternated his kisses with small nibbles on the back of her neck until he raised her leg and entered her from behind.

He was insatiable, and he had cum inside her again last night, Victoria loved the feel of his cock as it swelled and exploded. It made her eyes flutter, and her body warm just thinking about it.

Being a mother was not something she considered before Cameron. But, when they were together she felt like she was home. They weren’t new to each other, and she felt cocooned in his safety, his familiar power.

Life had changed so much in such a short time. She still fought moments of doubt. Wondering if she was caught up in this foolish fantasy and Cameron would wake up one day and be gone.

Victoria slipped out from the crisp white sheets. Cameron was an enigma; most people would look at him and think he lived like an animal. But he would put any military bunkhouse to shame. The bed was always tight with sheets as crisp and clean as any five-star hotel.

Even his taste in furniture was surprising. Warm tones of caramel, cream, and deep brown contrasted with the clean white walls and rich stout colored wood trim. She followed the soft light that streamed under the blinds on the window and wondered if she was in a Pottery Barn ad instead of the bedroom of a tattooed warrior beast.

And, there was the money. He saved, probably still hoarding the first dollar he ever made when Larry broke down and started paying him a nickel an hour for scrubbing the toilets at the gym.

Victoria still remembered the day he showed her his first savings account. He walked four miles and crossed eight lanes of Woodward Ave. to open his first account when he was ten years old — his pockets packed full of change and crumpled dollar bills.

He still had that account and a few others. Cameron made money in lots of sanctioned and illegal fights over the last 20 years, in addition to the paltry sum Larry paid him before he left the gym six months ago. He always seemed to have enough, but Victoria knew it wasn’t the kind of money needed to take care of the sea of red that their fathers racked up with their years of bad bets.

Cameron was smart when it came to money, but school never set quite right with him.

He teased her yesterday over breakfast about how much she always studied. Cameron graduated five years ahead of her, but a year behind his peers, and just barely. His mind worked in its own way, not a slave to society’s conventions and rules.

He was as smart as anyone she ever met, but he held little patience for sitting in lined rows of desks for hours listening to someone lecture him on the virtues of algebra or the economic modalities of the original British colonies.

Her stomach growled as her feet touched the hard warmth of the dark wood floor. She tiptoed, careful to skip the third plank in front of the door as it screeched like a rat as the whack of the metal trap came down on its neck.

Victoria heard a deep sigh from the bed, froze, and watched as Cameron’s arm lengthened across the bed She held her breath then he settled back into a steady, soft breathing and she made her way toward the kitchen.

As safe as she felt, there was always the nagging, gnawing in the back of her mind. Like a child when they are awaiting their punishment. In her weak moments when she allowed herself to think about it, the situation with Topher seemed insurmountable.

His refrigerator was as much a juxtaposition as the neatness and organization of the small house. Small plastic containers were lined up in neat rows labeled with each day of the week.

Each contained all colors of the rainbow, fresh greens, beets, beans, grilled chicken, and broccoli. He ate at least six times a day, and there wasn’t a bag of chips or frozen pizza to be found.

Luckily, when it came to what Victoria wanted, he encouraged her to eat healthy, but there was no interest in monitoring or limiting what she ate. He made it very clear, he adored each inch of her body, and he did not want to see bones sticking out.

He gave her a sidelong glance when she brought the box of blueberry Pop-tarts over in her messenger bag, but it was more a matter of her health than anything about her weight.

He put his foot down when she tried to bring in a twelve pack of Diet Coke. He growled and lectured her about the dangers of Aspartame and the other chemicals that rotted your brain and your gut and he had no intention of letting her hurt herself even with something as widely accepted as a diet soda.

He cooked, too. Every night they made dinner together, then he would go off most nights for another workout or sparring session at Reggie’s gym. It quickly became comfortable, familiar, but still, Victoria felt her heart race and her blood rush in her ears whenever he touched her or locked those piercing blue eyes on her.

The small, neat white kitchen sparkled in the dim light of the November morning. She opened the cabinet to pull out the coffee.

Greeting her, sitting next to the canister of organic Sumatran coffee he insisted on buying her at $56.00 a pound, was another white box with the now familiar red velvet ribbon. A handwritten note leaned there waiting for her.

“Babygirl, two weeks ago today you took me inside you for the first time and my mind, body and soul became yours and your’s mine.”

Alone in the kitchen, a smile curved her lips as she slipped the ribbon onto the counter. Inside the box, was a set of diamond earrings, Old English script letters, one ‘B’ and one ‘G’ with diamonds set inside.

As she slipped the earrings into place, she felt the pull of darkness, unable to keep the fingers of doubt from clutching around her throat. This magical new world teetered on a precipice and even though she trusted, she knew the very real possibility that whatever happened could be the end of Southside, but also the end of them and even worse.

Growing up in Southwest Detroit, you learn things that most people would never know. Men like Topher did not rule by some politically correct form of street democracy, they ruled by force and intimidation.

That intimidation came from a cruelty that left people with fewer fingers or a limp — or sometimes, an empty spot at the dinner table that would never again be filled.

The cogs in the wheels were churning and turning. Exactly how far one of them would end up crushed in the formidable power of Topher MacGuire’s cruel dynasty remained to be seen.