The Harder He Falls: 2 (So Inked) (20 page)

She chuckled and rose to her knees, scooting down until she straddled his hips. He grasped his cock and held it. She gripped his thigh to steady herself and lowered. He slid into her slick channel, the feel of his thick fingers brushing her folds only increasing the sensation rocketing through her.

“Mm, what now?” She couldn’t help rolling her hips with his thick length inside her, touching her nerve endings and stoking her desire.

Quin’s breathing was labored. His hands smoothed over her hips and splayed across her ass. “Lean forward.”

That would put her upper body between his legs, her legs spread on either side of his waist, and how exactly was this supposed to work?

“Are you serious?” She chuckled, unable to help herself.

“Come on, just try it.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward on her elbows, her legs spread wide. His hands plumped her ass and caressed her folds stretched around him. He applied a little pressure and she rocked forward on her elbows. The angle was foreign and new. Her jaw dropped as Quin guided her back.

“OhMyGod.” Her breath whooshed out.

“Fuck yes.”

“Ho-kay.”

She tossed her hair and peered over her shoulder. Quin was staring in open-eyed wonder at her ass, of all things. She moved her hips in a vertical circle and watched the pleasure ripple over his face, the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw went slack.

He pushed her hips again and she complied, sliding forward and back. Her head dropped down, too heavy to hold up. His grip tightened, muscling her into moving faster. With each thrust he bumped and rubbed her G-spot. Her breasts whispered over the sheets, her nipples tight peaks.

“Mm, god, your ass is beautiful.”

She chuckled and arched her back, changing the angle slightly. She moaned as bursts of colors blossomed behind her eyes.

“Quin,” she gasped.

“Yeah, it’s good. Keep going. Almost there.”

“I’m there,” she warned, the second before her muscles spasmed, hugging him deep within her body.

Her body went lax, but he still continued to move her in short, jagged thrusts. Her oversensitized nerve endings sparked sensation from her toes to her fingertips and everywhere between. Quin shouted and his knees tried to lift off the bed, but were held down by their interlocked bodies. His orgasm twitched the muscles buried deep within her, rubbing in just the right spot to send a ripple of post-orgasmic bliss rocketing through her.

She flopped on her stomach, unwilling to move.

“Come up here,” he said, directing her leg over his body and pulling on her arm until she sat up. He chuckled.

She crawled up the bed to lie next to him on her side, eyes closed and a hand tucked under her cheek. She listened to Quin’s feet hit the floor and his shuffled steps to the bathroom and back. He brought the sheet up to cover them and threw his arm over her waist.

“Where the hell did you come up with that?” she mumbled.

He laughed and had the decency to look a little sheepish. “I saw it in this porno—”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Hey, it’s not like I saw it yesterday. It was a long time ago and I always thought that position was hot. There’s just not, ah, a lot of women athletic or adventurous enough to try it.”

She propped herself up with an elbow and tucked the sheet around her. “Any other fantasies I should know about?”

He wound a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged. “You. A lot of you.”

Warmth spread across her cheeks. She was blushing about post-sex talk?

“You know what my fantasy is?”

“Hit me with it. Does it include whips and chains?”

“Ha! No. It includes you and pizza.”

Quin laughed and buzzed her forehead with a kiss. “All right, I’ll get the pizza. Want a beer or water?”

“Beer would be nice.”

He slid out of bed and grabbed a pair of shorts before heading downstairs.

She rolled on her back and stared up at the ceiling, a hand splaying over her chest. She cared about him. It was an uncomfortable feeling unfurling within her chest. Even if they didn’t work out, Quin was a good guy. The kind of good she’d trust her family’s legacy to.

Samurai—This element of traditional tattooing is rooted in the Japanese social class of the samurai. At its core, the samurai represents strength, courage, honor and justice of the highest ideal. Other elements ascribed to these tattoos are self-discipline, frugality, self-sacrifice and nobility.

Quin bounded up the stairs with the pizza and two beers. He paused in the doorway to the bedroom to admire Kellie. She sat up against the headboard, one knee tenting the sheet that pooled around her waist. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, hinting at the bare breasts underneath the silken locks. Rays from the setting sun bathed her in a warm glow. She had her phone out and chewed on a fingernail.

She was beautiful, sexual and wild.

He cleared his throat and proceeded to the bed. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.” She tossed the phone down on the bed and turned her attention to him.

He’d never seen this relaxed, easy side of her. They’d fought, screwed, yelled and blown off steam, but they hadn’t hung out. Even the impromptu lunch had been about relieving stress.

“Hope you like Shiner.” He handed the bottle to her before setting the pizza box on the bed and mirroring her pose.

“Did you bring any napkins or anything?” She flipped the lid open.

“Uh, no.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “Such a guy.”

“I can go get some plates.” He gestured to the half-and-half pizza. “I didn’t know what you liked, or if you didn’t eat something.”

Kellie snorted and selected a piece of pepperoni pizza. “Please, I’m second-generation American. Pizza is my native cuisine.”

He pulled out one of the bigger slices of cheese pizza, folded it in half and took a bite. It was warm, on the verge of being too hot.

“So.” Kellie turned toward him, a half-eaten piece of pizza in her hand. “Porno sex?”

Heat rose from his cheeks, so sudden his eyes were prickling with moisture.

“Oh my god, you’re blushing!” She threw her head back and laughed. Her breasts jiggled, which only made it worse.

“I’m sorry, okay.” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, by all means, please tell me your secret sex fantasies.”

“I don’t know what to say. Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No. Please, guys ask me all the time if I’m a porn star.” She took a dainty bite of food.

Humor evaporated, the pizza in his mouth tasted of dirt. “What?”

She glanced at him. “Quin, I’m a five-foot-nine Asian chick with double-D boobs. If you dare say you haven’t thought about me and porn in the same thought, I’d be shocked.”

Quin stared at her, rolling her words around in his head. Kellie was attractive, exotic and yes, her curves were more exaggerated than an average woman’s. But he didn’t want her to be a porn star, even if it was just with him. She deserved to be treated with respect, if he didn’t she’d kick his ass.

“What’s with the sour face?”

“I don’t like anyone thinking of you like that. Doesn’t it piss you off?” And wasn’t he guilty too?

“No. I can’t help that this was how I was born. It has its uses. I’m as guilty as the next girl of using her looks to get what she wants. It’s good economics. Does it make me a bad person? Maybe.”

He couldn’t see Kellie putting on a sweet face and buttering up some naïve guy to get what she wanted. But a schmuck at a bar who looked at her and saw a walking advertisement for sex? They got what was coming to them.

“Are you not speaking to me now?” Kellie selected a piece of cheese pizza and took a bite.

“Thinking.” He reached for his bottle and took a long pull. “Do you want to go see a movie?”

Her chewing slowed. “Can’t.”

The words to ask her why were on his lips. But they’d agreed not to pressure each other for more than they could spare. It sucked balls to honor that agreement, but he would show her he could.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” she asked after a moment.

“I am until six. We’re getting ready for the match on Sunday. You should come if the shop isn’t busy.”

“Sunday’s are hit or miss. Wait, shit.” Kellie reached for her phone and tapped a few buttons. “Carly’s going home Saturday.”

“Carly, that’s the girl who got hurt, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Better, but not so great. She’s in a wheelchair. They’re going to do physical therapy, but who knows? Pandora and Brian are more in the loop than I am. I think Brian’s going to work with her. He’s been there after all.”

“Brian.” He rolled the name around in his head. “Have I met him?”

“I don’t think so. He’s Pandora’s boyfriend, used to be in a band called Sucker Punch Sunday.”

“Yeah, I used to listen to them. Damn, he’s the one that lived through that crash, isn’t he?”

“The same. I’m done.” Kellie scooted down to lie on her side and pulled the sheet up under her arms.

He flipped the lid closed and put the box on the ground. Part of him wanted to seduce her into staying through the night. He liked the feel of a woman’s body against his when he slept, the way she fit against him.

“Are you going to take a nap before you leave?” He pushed her hair off her face.

The corner of her mouth turned up in profile. “Five more minutes.”

He chuckled and scooted close enough he could drape an arm around her waist. She leaned against his chest, her breath skating over his skin.

“You haven’t even asked me to stay longer. I’m going to get a complex and think you don’t like me.”

“I said I wouldn’t and I’m sticking to it. Doesn’t mean I want you to leave. If you stayed…” He sucked on her earlobe, swirling his tongue around the bit of flesh. “I’d make it worth your while.”

Kellie chuckled and slapped his chest. “That’s more like it.”

“So you’re going to stay?”

“No, I just wanted to know if you were tired of me.”

* * * * *

“Sorry, Coach. He’s offering me a contract and cash. My girl, she’s going to have our kid any day now.” Terrell rubbed a hand over his close-cropped curls.

Quin sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. Losing any of his fighters sucked balls, but he’d expected T-man to jump ship. He just wished it hadn’t been to Greg. Anyone else and this move wouldn’t have hurt. “I understand where you’re coming from. I’m a father myself. Well, I wish you luck, man.” He extended his hand.

T-man’s shoulders relaxed and the tension that had him coiled so tight all day released. He slapped Quin’s hand and shook it. “Thanks. Sorry about this.”

“It’s okay. It’s a business decision. You’re doing what you have to do for your family. I get that. I made a lot of choices that weren’t just about me. I appreciate you telling me up front. If your contract doesn’t work out, I’d be glad to work with you again.”

“Cool. Cool.” He nodded and flashed Quin a smile, his white teeth standing out against his dark chocolate skin. “You’ll have to come see the baby.”

“Call me and tell me when he’s here and I’m there.”

“I’m going to go clean out my locker. My girl’s been calling me to go pick up some Cheez Whiz and ice cream.” He shook his head dramatically. “Girl eats some weird stuff.”

Quin laughed. “When Penny was pregnant she used to dip pickle slices in cottage cheese. It was nasty.”

“Seriously?”

“I wish I wasn’t. I can’t look at cottage cheese without getting a little sick.”

“Shoot, I’ll get her all the Cheez Whiz and ice cream she wants then.” T-man shuffled toward the door.

“I’ll see you around.” Quin watched his ex-fighter leave and shook his head.

Terrell wouldn’t see a fight this year, maybe not even next. He had no attack. Most of the time his opponent took him to the floor and he only escaped being put into a submission hold by sheer brute strength. You couldn’t teach the fire that men like Jacob or Mouse had to take the fight to their opponent and deliver a knockout. Greg, his most vocal opposition, picking off Terrell was a calculated move against Quin. He’d gone for the weakest link. Terrell needed money and the promise of a career.

In the long run, Quin wasn’t losing much. A fighter who might never be ready to compete seriously. Terrell was a local, who had come to the gym on his own, had his own apartment and a part-time job, so he didn’t rely on Quin for housing. At the most it was a blow to his ego and a loss to the team. The guys would talk. And therein lay his real problem.

Quin rolled his shoulders and grimaced. This was not what he wanted to handle after a long day, especially right before the fight. He needed to tackle this head-on. Pushing to his feet, he went to the office door and sought out his coaching right-hand man, a former Olympic wrestling contender named Oscar.

The fighters were still half an hour from finishing up practice. Though they were divided between stations and coaches, the focus was on the pair in the octagon. Mouse and Jacob wore pads going through takedowns. Oscar was in the ring with them directing as Quin had been before Terrell stole him away.

Mouse’s nose trickled blood and he gritted his teeth. It was a tell he’d developed in the last few weeks that put Quin on edge. Jacob, on the other hand, didn’t appear to have a scratch on him. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and had his gaze trained on his opponent.

“Hey, Oscar, wrap it up,” he said to the stocky coach.

Oscar nodded and moved between the circling fighters. “Okay, you two—”

Mouse shoved Oscar aside and grazed Jacob’s chest with his fist. Though Jacob danced away from the larger man, Mouse kept coming, delivering punch after punch, forcing Jacob to retreat and defend.

“Fuck,” Quin muttered, scrambling for the gate on the octagon cage.

As good as Jacob was, Mouse was still better. Jacob’s feet got in his way and the moment he stumbled Mouse tackled him in a no-holds-barred takedown. The sound of him slamming into the ground was enough to make even Quin’s teeth jar.

“Mouse, Mouse, that’s enough,” he bellowed.

Oscar grabbed one of Mouse’s arms as he pulled back to strike again, but he jerked out of the coach’s grasp. Jacob had both arms up and protecting his face.

“Fuck all,” Quin growled and wrapped his arm around Mouse’s neck, hauling him up by sheer force of strength.

Oscar scrambled to help Jacob while Quin shoved Mouse toward the cage fence. The fighter pivoted and spun around with his arms up and gaze wild.

“Calm down, Mouse. Now.”

Mouse growled something incoherent and launched himself at Quin. For a split second time stilled. Quin could feel the brush of the cool air against the fine hairs on his arms, the way his skin prickled down his spine, the slight squeak of the mats underfoot and the mingling scents of sweat, blood and new plastic.

God, he missed this.

Quin grasped Mouse’s dominant right hand as he swung into his charge and tripped up the out-of-control fighter. Quin let the bulkier fighter fall on his face and backed up a few steps. In his peripheral vision he saw Jacob and Oscar on the outside of the cage. Good, because Mouse needed a quick lesson in humility and keeping his shit together.

Mouse pushed to his feet and started jerking off the pads wrapped around his legs and arms. He threw them across the ring until he was left with only his gloves.

“You don’t want to do this, Mouse,” Quin said. It was only right to warn him, even if Quin was itching to throw a few punches himself. In the fight-or-fuck scale, they were both set on fight.

They began to circle, bouncing on the balls of their feet and studying each other. Adrenaline heightened Quin’s senses, bringing the droplets of sweat beading Mouse’s brow into crystal clear focus. He saw two openings to attack, but allowed them to slide by.

Mouse attacked in a quick one-two-punch combination, striking out with his left leg at the last moment. Quin deflected both of the blows and sidestepped the kick.

It was his turn now.

He grinned, which Mouse didn’t miss. Mouse faltered at the feral baring of teeth and bounced back, putting space between them. Or he would have had Quin not charged the heftier fighter.

Quin pounded two blows into Mouse’s stomach as his opponent cuffed him on the side of the head. It was a glancing blow, but still enough to bait his fighting instincts. Quin answered with a solid blow to the side of Mouse’s face, sending the man staggering back.

A thrill of primal excitement shot through him as he followed.

“Keep your guard up, Mouse,” he yelled, even as he pounded several more blows into the man’s sides.

Mouse twisted and put distance between them. He still had a crazy glint to his eye, but he seemed a tad bit more lucid. A few blows to the skull could knock some sense into him still it seemed.

“Are you done, Mouse?” Quin strode after the retreating man.

Mouse didn’t answer, but his gaze narrowed.

“If you’re done we can get on with—”

In a lightning-quick move Quin had taught Mouse, Quin was slammed back on the mat. His head bounced off the ground and he grunted as the other fighter began grappling with him. The moves were automatic. Quin thrashed and bucked his weight. He pulled his arms up to protect his face and twisted when he couldn’t knock Mouse off. Mouse kept pummeling him, hitting dangerously close to his old injury. The muscles twinged, a reminder that he couldn’t take as much as he wanted to believe he could.