I Need You (Learning to Let Go) (10 page)

Sara slowly made her way to the nightstand, carefully stretching her arm out to flip the switch off on the lamp. Barely an inch away from the button, Darrin’s hand shot out from under the covers, grabbing her wrist, making her scream in surprise. As he flipped onto his back, Darrin pulled Sara by her arm until she was practically flying into the bed. Before she could even get her bearings, he was hovering over the top of her, nuzzling her ear. Soft lips began to pull on her sensitive lobe, as Sara tried to still her ragged nerves. Darrin continued to nibble, and then he moved to her neck and across her jaw until they were looking eye to eye with each other.

Darrin gave her a panty-melting grin as she continued to catch her breath. Finally, she cleared her throat to talk, “How did you know I was in here?”

Huffing before he answered, “It’s pretty hard to sneak up on a Marine, Sara. Besides, I heard you pull in the driveway.”

Sara pulled her eyebrows in tight as she playfully smacked him on the chest. “Damn it, you scared the shit out of me, Darrin. Don’t do that again!”

Darrin just laughed as he rolled off the top of her onto his side, pulling her backside tight against him with one arm as he settled into bed again. “Ok, I won’t.”

Sara couldn’t help but wriggled her ass against his thick erection, earning a growl in her ear. “I was going to be a gentleman and let you go back to sleep for a while, but I don’t think you want that, do you, my little neko?”

Rolling in his arms to face each other, Sara rubbed her nose against Darrin’s as she whispered, “No.”

Darrin briefly kissed her lips before saying, “Good answer, doll baby.” His kisses started out slow and sweet, until Sara nipped his bottom lip, causing a hiss to escape from his throat. Crushing her body into his, he ravished her mouth; his tongue dancing back and forth, coaxing hers from her mouth. The sensual dance was setting off wave after wave of intoxicating pleasure that made Sara hungry for more.

She rose on top of him, straddling his thighs as she pulled her tank top off, tossing it behind her. She hadn’t taken the time to put a bra on, sure that she wouldn’t be wearing clothing for long, anyway. Darrin made a soft O with his lips as his brows knitted together, his hands inching up and over her ribcage to cup her breasts in his hands. She tipped her head back and sighed at the sensations of his calloused fingers plucking at her nipples, making her moan with delight. Darrin pulled on them again until she cried out, and he quickly let go. He smoothed his hands over the tightly peaked nubs, as he said, “Sorry, I guess I’m a little overexcited right now.”

He sat up enough to wrap his arm around her waist, lifting her off him and laying her out on the bed next to him. Leaning over, he carefully kissed and sucked on her tightly pebbled nipples until she was writhing underneath him. He kissed his way down her belly, before pausing to unbutton her jean shorts and pull them off her body, leaving her in just her panties. With a deep groan, he grasped the satin material of her string bikini panties, and pulled until the sides broke apart.

The shredded material fell to the sides and he stared at the nestle of curls covering her sex. He carefully spread her labia, and licked a path from her channel to her aching clit. She almost screamed, as he held her legs down, and did it again, and again, making her legs shake under his hands. He released her legs, kneeling in between them as he swirled the head of his cock into her wetness. Sara knew that it wasn’t going to take much to set her off at this point; she was beyond ready to explode.

Darrin slowly guided his shaft inside, inch by inch, until he had worked the entire length in. He pulled out a just a tad, and then swiveled his hips a different direction as he pumped back in. Repeating the motions until Sara was panting, Darrin pulled all the way out, before uttering, “I got ya, Sara,” and slammed into her as he held her hips down to keep her body from flying back. He did it again, but this time he lifted her ass off the bed, slamming back in so hard that she could feel his cock brush her womb. The last punishing thrust made her scream his name over and over as an outpouring of pleasure coursed over her skin, and out through her fingertips. Darrin continued to pump in and out until she could feel his cock swell inside and his hot seed filled her, as he groaned long and hard.

Sinking into the bed next to her, Darrin continued to pant as he lay on his stomach with his arms tucked underneath him; eyes closed, but his head was turned towards her. After a few minutes, his breathing had evened out, and he mumbled, “Did I even say, ‘Hi’ doll baby?”

Scooting closer to him, Sara lightly scored his back with her fingernails until goose bumps broke out across his skin. She brushed her lips across his, before answering, “Hi, baby.”

He closed his eyes again, groaning as she continued to scratch his back. “That feels good.” It didn’t take long before she could sense that he had fallen back asleep.

Sara sighed as she cuddled up next to him, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace. She pulled the covers back over herself, careful not to cover him up too much, or he would wake up sweating. Her body sated, her mind at peace, Sara succumbed to a restful sleep for the first time in over two weeks.

T
he smell of old, rank, sweaty socks greeted Chris Lake as he pulled open the back door of “Lefty’s,” his home away from home for a good portion of his life. The tattered old boxing club was one of the few strictly boxing emporiums left in Kentucky; most places tended to mix in trendy martial arts to stay popular. Lefty was a former professional boxer that had taken one too many beatings in the ring in his twenties and the circuit physicians would never clear him to box again. He took most of his pent-up frustration and anger out on his wife, beating her senseless and then passing out in a drunken stupor. That is, until she found out she was pregnant.

Lefty straightened out for a while, and even became a doting father when their son showed at an early age that he was skilled in the boxing ring. That boy meant everything to Lefty, and he passed all his boxing skills onto the wiry but tough boy.

Unfortunately, the passion for boxing was lost on Chris Lake when his father passed it on to him. Chris was happy to have his father’s undivided attention, and to make him proud, but he didn’t feel the same pull to give everything to the sport that his dad once had. Chris tried to make his father proud, but when he didn’t win a fight, the beating he got at home was ten times worse. Then his dad started drinking again, and gambled away almost everything. When Chris’ mother died of cancer, the only bit of humanity left in his father disappeared, and all that remained was Lefty, the cold-hearted bastard that would rather throw you under the bus, then help you get on it.

These days, Lefty still trained all the seasoned fighters, leaving the training of the newbies to some of the hapless bastards that hung around. Most all of the trainers here could easily pick out a fighter that would be able to go toe to toe for ten rounds with some of the toughest knock out kings. The ones that bothered to show up that didn’t have the right mix of power and fire, quickly ended up as “shark bait” for the veterans to spar with. Usually they were hauled out of the ring unconscious.

It was easy to spot Lefty in the far ring, cursing a blue streak at a sweat soaked beefy, heavy-weight that was bleeding profusely from the nose. As Chris inched closer to the ring, Lefty was yelling through clenched teeth, “Fuck, Jordan, you gotta pull your punches at least until half way through, ya hear me? You won’t pull us in shit if you keep knocking ‘em out before the first bell, got it?” He made his last words stick with a hard slap on his back. The giant just nodded his head, before walking over to the edge of the ring, fumbling through the ropes and down the stairs.

The old man just stared after him, shaking his head, muttering,
“Fat fuck, never gonna amount to nothing”

Sitting down in one of the plastic chairs sitting ringside, Chris waited until Lefty stopped sputtering, before clearing his throat. Spinning around, Lefty smiled when he spotted him, then limped over with his hand outstretched. Not able to return the smile, Chris simply stood up from the creaky chair as they shook hands.

“What’s a matta with you, Chris? Ain’t happy to see your old man?”

Chris simply stared into his father’s cold eyes as he answered, “Sorry, getting fucked over by my
old man
left a bad taste in my mouth.”

His father slapped him on the arm, making Chris’ insides tighten. His whole body hurt after the fight last weekend; the fight he narrowly lost in the last round, and only after his trainer popped his mangled shoulder back in its socket. There was no way that the fight was fair. His opponent was strung out on something, and his punches were weak, but they landed with the heat of a heavyweight. Chris was more than sure that his gloves were lined with plaster, but since all of his recent fights were hosted by the Underground Ring, there were no officials to keep things fair.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Chris. Business is business. You had to see this comin’, didn’t ya?”

No
, Chris thought, he hadn’t seen this clusterfuck happening to him, at least not twice in the same year. He had come home from college in Colorado last November when his father had ended up in the hospital after his bookie, John Paul Ryant, had his thugs beat him with a crowbar, breaking nearly half of the bones in his body. Pops owed him almost ten Gs by the time he decided to collect in pain.

Being a lightning fast boxer, with a lethal right hook was something that Chris wanted to keep buried, as well as any connection with his father. Sure, he enjoyed a few sparring rounds here and there at the gym, but he had no intention of being one of the old man’s pawns in the illegal as fuck, no holds barred, near-death matches that the Underground Ring held. A few badly placed bets on the wrong guy landed Pops so far under John Paul’s thumb, he couldn’t get back out. Pops was always hedging bets, or promising suckers a double payout if they threw a fight instead of giving it their all. The last guy that he convinced to take a dive, had changed his mind half-way through the fight after he won a few rounds, and decided he’d much rather be a winner than rich. Rumor had it that the guy was admitted to the hospital the day after the fight with two broken knee caps.

Chris got a picture texted to him the night his dad was beaten, almost certainly from John Paul or one of his thugs. John Paul was well aware of how much money Chris could earn in the Underground Ring, but he had no interest in participating. His father had taken his love for the strength, confidence and sheer determination that boxing required and twisted it into a disgusting blood-bath for betting spectators.

There was a span of time after Chris graduated from high school that he had done some fighting for John Paul, but that was before the bastard had become the soul-less money whore that he was now. Chris was able to get out from under his greedy hands, making an honest living far away from Kentucky. More often than not, he spent his time at legitimate boxing clubs, or sparring, or even training for a few local fights. It wasn’t how he wanted to make his way through life, but it was a means to an end. He needed to have a way to make enough money to support himself while in college in Colorado.

It was there that a professor befriended him, encouraging him to participate at a local BDSM club, giving him another way to focus his aggression and release it through pleasuring someone that was totally under his control. Dominic Pearce had helped him to further his ability to read people, making him almost lethal in a fight.

So Chris trudged home to Kentucky to be John Paul’s pawn until Pops’ debt was paid off. Then he had to do it again this spring when he gambled away his home. Chris didn’t realize until it was too late that his father had purposely stacked the odds against him in that last fight, to earn an even bigger payout. Chris was a sure winner, and it was becoming increasingly harder for anyone to make money on his fights. The last fight had won back the deed to the house, but also had given Chris three cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and blurry vision in his left eye.

“No, Pops, I didn’t see my old man fuckin’ me over for a buck.”

With narrowed eyes, his father pinned Chris’ glare, leaning forward until their noses almost touched. “I taught you everything you know, you ungrateful fuck. You weren’t makin’ us money any more. I had to do something.”

Chris put his hands on his father’s shoulders, shoving him back as he stood up straighter. “Yeah, me too. I’m out. You’re on your own.”

His dad tipped his head back, roaring with laughter. “What the fuck? You think you’re gonna get a college degree, and make something of yourself that doesn’t involve your fists?” Pops’ hand possessively gripped the back of Chris’ neck as he tried pulling him back in towards him. It was a dominance move that Pops did with many of his fighters.
Need to remind them who holds all the cards
, he would always tell the other trainers.

Chris ignored the question as he used his good arm to break his father’s grip on his neck, brushing his hand away. “If you know what’s good for you, old man, you’ll clean up your act. I won’t come back to bail your ass out again. You get in deep with John Paul anymore, and he’ll kill you.”