Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance (16 page)

Agent Woods pulls a phone out of her pocket and sets it on the table.  “So here’s what’s going to happen:  you’re going to win the tournament, get invited to the gala, and bring Mrs. Grant with you as your date.  Once you’re inside, you’re going to use this phone to take pictures of her, making sure to get as many people in the background as possible.  Once you have at least twenty clearly visible partygoers on camera, you’re going to leave, turn the phone over to us, and we’ll drop all the charges against you.”

“But only if I win.”

Agent Woods nods.  “If you lose, we might still be able to drop your charges, but it would require a more…long-term relationship with us.”

Caleb leans over the table, looking Agent Woods dead in the eye.  “I’m not going to lose.”

“Um…”  Agent Woods turns to look at me.  “If this party is full of mobsters…won’t it be dangerous to walk around with a phone taking pictures?”

Agent Woods shrugs.  “That’s where you come in.  We think the party’s going to give Caleb the benefit of the doubt because they’re huge fans of the fighters, but it’s going to be your job to make it look natural.  The more you act like Caleb’s date, the easier it’ll be to get those pictures taken.  If you do get into trouble, there’s a number loaded onto the phone you can call, and we’ll send someone up to help you.”

I’m not exactly excited about this offer, but it could definitely get a lot worse.  As far as I’m concerned, saying yes is pretty much a no-brainer.  Luckily, Caleb feels the same way.

“Alright.  As long as I don’t have to snitch on any of the other fighters, we got a fucking deal.”

Agent Woods extends her hand across the table, and Caleb shakes it.  Then, she shakes mine.

“Pleasure doing business with you.  We’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, she’s gone. 

Chapter 22:  Emma

What’s gotten into me?  Caleb hasn’t even come out of the locker room and I’m already on the edge of my seat.  Shouldn’t I be a little more concerned about the fact that Caleb’s about to fight four incredibly dangerous knockout matches in a ring with no refs, with the best case scenario being that we have to go to a party full of criminals and conduct a sting operation?

Maybe it has something to do with the surprisingly professional vibe of this event.  I was expecting the worst when we drove out into the middle of nowhere and pulled up at a big, abandoned-looking warehouse 45 minutes outside of town, but the crowd here is almost weirdly classy.  Yeah, there are still a bunch of pierced, mohawked bad boys like there were at Sinners, but they’re mixed in with powerful-looking guys with suits and supermodel-looking girls.  The vibe is kind of like a Vegas boxing match, except without the cameras everywhere.

Or maybe it’s because every time my mind starts to wander and I think about the hundreds of ways this could all go wrong, I shift in my seat and remember that I’m not wearing panties underneath my dress, thanks to Caleb.  He told me he would fight better if he knew I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my dress, and even though I’m pretty sure that’s just an excuse to make it easier for him to fuck me later, I don’t want to take any chances.  Anything to give Caleb an edge.

The fighters come out, and the crowd starts going crazy.  Apparently, just because this crowd has more money doesn’t make them any less intense than the crowd at Sinners.

Caleb’s opponent comes out first, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I see that he doesn’t have any weapons on him.  He’s a lumberjack-looking guy who’s almost exactly the same height and weight as Caleb.  From the neck down, he could almost be Caleb’s body double—provided he spend thousands of dollars on tattoos.  He’s probably the first guy I’ve seen at one of these fights with a completely bare torso.

Whoever he is, the crowd loves him; they go crazy when he steps into the octagon.

By comparison, when Caleb starts walking down the aisle, the clapping is much quieter.  It feels like no one knows who he is. 

Caleb doesn’t seem to mind the lukewarm reception, though.  He climbs into the ring like he always has:  eyes blazing, smooth and graceful, every muscle coiled and ready to pounce.

Instead of an announcer, a voice comes over the warehouse loudspeakers, introducing both fighters by their pseudonyms:  Beast vs. Montana…although I guess Montana could be that guy’s real name.  I bite my lip as the countdown gets to one, waiting for Beast to push himself off the ring and charge at his opponent and hoping that he can catch him off guard.

But when the count hits zero, both fighters charge, smacking into each other in the center of the octagon and forcing Caleb to take a step back.  Sensing a moment of weakness, his opponent charges at him with a flurry of punches that come so fast that his body looks like a blur.  My heart jumps up to my throat, and if feels like the whole room goes into slow motion.  This guy hits hard, and even though most of his blows hit Caleb in the chest, a couple of them hit him in the head.  Just when it looks like Caleb is about to fall over, Montana aims a kick at Caleb, and Caleb jumps at Montana, grabbing his kicking heel in one hand and his wrist in another.  Then, with a roar, he pulls Montana off the ground like he’s made of marshmallows and slams him to the ground.  The crowd goes insane, jumping to their feet and cheering like it’s the Super Bowl.

Montana starts coughing, clearly winded and having a hard time getting back up, and Caleb pounces on him, putting him into the exact same hold he put me into back at the house this morning.  Unlike me, Montana isn’t enjoying it at all, but since he hasn’t even gotten his breath back yet, there’s nothing he can do but tap out and give the match to Caleb.  Whew.  That wasn’t so bad.  Now that just needs to happen…three more times.

***

“13 fucking seconds!”

Caleb is standing on my bed, giving me a mouthwatering view of the oversized bulge in his tight black shorts.

“That bearded motherfucker thought he had me right where he wanted me, and I was like—” Caleb jumps down to the floor, picks me up, and tosses me on the mattress.

“Okay, it was a pretty good fight.  Can I have my panties back now?”

Caleb smirks.  “Sis, I just knocked a guy out in 13 seconds.  I’m never letting you wear panties again.”

I groan in mock exasperation and flop down onto my bed.

“By the way, did you like that hold I put him in?  That was for you.”

“Trust me, I could tell.  If felt like you were cheating on me.”

Caleb gets quiet for a few seconds, and his eyebrows raise.  “Cheating on you, huh?  Does that mean what I think it means?”

I turn pink as I realize what I said, unsure how to react.  “Um…well…”

Caleb pulls his shorts down, and all the words melt out of my mouth as my eyes land on his massive cock.  Caleb slides his hands down to its thick base and squeezes the shaft.  “Or is this just a phase you’re going through?  You’re just a sweet little girl without a dirty thought in her head, and it’s all my fault for getting you so
confused
, right?”

God, he’s
so
cocky.  I’d smack him across the face and tell him he’s full of himself if my hands weren’t busy pulling my dress off.

Caleb shoots me a wicked smile and climbs onto the bed, ripping my dress over my head and throwing it into the corner of the room in one clean motion.  Then, his hands wrap around my wrists and push my arms down into the mattress.  “Emma, Emma, Emma.  How many times am I going to have to fuck that sweet little pussy of yours before you realize what we are?  How many times am I going to have to make you scream my name?”

Caleb has a way of leaving me speechless.  I make a couple noises in response to his questions, but none of them really resemble a word.  Caleb’s eyes are on fire as he watches me squirm, pulling my arms way above my head and wrapping one huge hand around
both
of my wrists.

My eyes go wide as is other hand slides down my body, from my clavicle to my rock hard nipple to the bottom of my ribcage to my bellybutton to my aching clit.  It isn’t until he rolls the firm pads if his fingers across it and I try to squirm that I realize he has me totally pinned down.

“I think we both know what the truth is.  Whatever happens next, win or lose, I don’t give a shit as long as I’ve got you.  This isn’t a temporary arrangement, and it never was.  This is fucking real.”

Caleb pushes his finger up against my clit, slow and hard.  “Isn’t it?”

I moan and nod, but Caleb starts rubbing faster, sending fireworks of arousal through my whole body.

“Not good enough.  I want to hear the words come out of those perfect lips.  Are we going to keep fucking, or are we temporary?”

“We’re…going to…keep…fucking!”

I don’t know what sends me over the edge first, Caleb’s hand on my clit or me saying the words I’ve been denying even to myself ever since we met.  Either way, as soon as the word “fucking” comes out of my mouth, I put my lips on Caleb’s mouth and come like I’ve never come before. 

“Fuck, Emma.”  Caleb reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a foil packet.  “I never thought you’d actually say it.”

Caleb rips the packet open, sheathes himself, and then thrusts himself inside me.  He doesn’t take his mouth off mine until we both come again, collapsing down onto the bed and kissing some more.

All because I made a joke about him cheating on me.  Me and my big mouth.

Chapter 23:  Caleb

I’ve done some crazy shit since I started fighting, but nothing compares to the past couple of days.  Normally, I get at least a week or two between fights to train up for the next one, but that’s not how it works at this tournament.  They do one fight a day, which means that with every passing round, my opponent gets more and more exhausted.  I’d be lying if I said it was easy; almost everyone I’ve fought has brought me down on the mat at least once, but it’s been three days and I’m still fucking here.

So far, it’s been obvious every time I’ve brought someone down onto the mat that they don’t want it like I do.  Maybe it’s because I’m kinda fucked if I don’t win, or maybe it’s because I’m pissed at guys like these for what they did to my brother.

Honestly, it might be much simpler than that, though.  Maybe I just want to show off for Emma.  The morning of my second fight, she came out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel and told me that if I won my fight, I could spend the rest of the day doing whatever I wanted to her.  Talk about fucking motivation.  So I told her I’d think about it, and then when we got to the arena and she found her seat, I whispered what I was going to do to her into her ear and her eyes went wide as fucking dinner plates.  No fighter on Earth was going to stop me from taking her back to her house and keeping my promise.

And we’ve had the same deal ever since.  She sits right up in front squirming in her seat, her panties tucked away in my locker, thinking about every little thing I’m going to do to her curvy-ass body when I win.

This definitely isn’t how I used to motivate myself.  Thinking about some random groupie out in the audience giving me sex eyes during a fight used to be a one-way ticket to the mat.  Thinking about Emma, though?  I’m pretty sure it’s making me better.

It’s a good thing, too.  Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her this whole fucking summer.

My quarterfinals opponent gets me on the ground and tries to bite my ear off.  I flip him over, put him in Emma’s favorite hold, and he’s done for.  The crowd thinks that’s my signature move or some shit, and they go crazy every time I do it.  I try to do it on my semifinals opponent, but he’s a slippery motherfucker, and I can’t seem to keep him on the ground.  He gets a really good punch on me that makes my ears ring for a couple seconds, but my next punch sends him to the ground.

After the fight, Emma gets me some ice for the bruise on my head, and we stick around to watch the other semifinal to see who my opponent’s going to be.

The other semifinal is a skinny looking dude versus this massive Russian guy called Thrasher who’s got to be well over 7 feet tall and looks like a human rhino with shaggy black hair.  You can probably guess who won.

“I can beat that guy.  I’ve beaten a guy that big before.”

Emma looks at me skeptically.  “You have?” 

“Yeah.  He was
really
fat, though.”

Luckily, when we get back to Emma’s house, she forgets all about Thrasher when I remind her of what I whispered in her ear before I got into the ring this morning.  I told her I was going to make her strip naked, tie her to the bed with her own panties, and then lick her clit nice and slow until she’s begging for my cock.  And as soon as she drops her last piece of clothing on the floor and my eyes run up and down her naked body, I know that I would beat a guy twice Thrasher’s size if it meant I’d get to keep doing this.

***

The crowd likes Thrasher more than they like me.  I know this because they’re chanting his name as the two of us climb into the octagon.  They’re wasting their breath, though:  this dude definitely doesn’t know English, not even the word “Thrasher.”

I keep my eyes closed and my body perfectly still until the announcer yells “go” over the loudspeakers.  Then, I pounce off the side of the ring and start moving back and forth in front of Thrasher.  Hopefully, I’m faster than him, and I’m definitely lower to the ground, so hopefully I can use his own weight against him if he tries anything stupid.

We stare each other down for a ridiculously long time, and then Thrasher charges, forcing me to dodge out of the way.  He’s faster than I think he is, so I end up having to turn my back to him to get away.  As I try to get myself grounded again, I catch sight of Emma, who looks simultaneously scared as shit and desperate for me to win.  I told her that if I won, she could pick any scene from her dirty fucking romance novel, and I’d do it to her.  Needless to say, she’s my biggest fan right now.

Unfortunately, the one second I spend looking at Emma was a mistake.  Thrasher’s body hits me like a truck, almost taking me off my feet as he drives me towards the side of the ring.  I try and catch him off guard with a sucker punch up towards his jaw, but he catches my hand in his before I can reach his face.