Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance (2 page)

A shiver runs down my spine as I notice the metal wrapped around Chainsaw’s hands.  It looks like he’s literally wearing gloves made of chainsaw teeth.  I’m not exactly an MMA expert, but I’m pretty sure chainsaw gloves are not allowed in any sane, legal version of the sport.  A little voice in the back of my head suggests that maybe this is entire place is not so legal and that I should take my chances back in the maze of hallways between here and the dancefloor, but I’m too hypnotized by the spectacle of the fight to listen to it.

The announcer takes his sweet time walking across the octagon, milking every last drop of applause from the crowd.  Then, he puts his hand on the other fighter’s shoulder.

“And in this corner, hailing from Palo Alto, California, we have Beast!”

The crowd goes nuts for Beast, although there are a few people still making chainsaw noises.  Unlike Chainsaw, who’s mugging for the crowd on his side of the octagon, Beast is standing with his head down, completely motionless.  The two fighters couldn’t be more different:  Chainsaw is covered in scars, probably in his thirties, bald, and nasty looking.  Beast, on the other hand, looks like he can’t be more than a few years older than me.  If he has any scars, I can’t see them, which is probably because his body is covered in tattoos:  a web of intricate abstract designs that weave into stripes, claws, and animal shadows. 

As soon as I realize how young Beast is, I feel a rush of sympathy for him.  Why is he here, in the back of a sketchy club out in the middle of nowhere, about to fight a guy with chainsaw gloves on his hands?  He could probably get a modeling contract if he wanted to.  He definitely has the face for it:  tough, but pretty, with full, serious lips and a thick, strong jaw.  His hair is even the right kind of messy.

Of course, if he takes even one hit from those chainsaw gloves, he’s probably not going to be able to get that modeling contract.  I know I probably shouldn’t be here at all, but I can’t seem to convince myself to leave.

The announcer steps out to the edge of the octagon, looking from Chainsaw to Beast and back again.  “Fighters, are you ready?”  Chainsaw roars, and Beast gives the slightest hint of a nod.

“Then let’s begin!  Three!  Two!  One!”  The crowd counts down with the announcer.  I feel like all the breath has been sucked out of my body.  “Fight!”

With one smooth, graceful motion, Beast pushes himself off of the ropes as soon as the fight begins, leaping into a perfect fighter’s stance.  Unlike Chainsaw, he isn’t wearing gloves.  In fact, he’s almost completely naked except for a pair of tiny black shorts that look like they’re about to be split open by his huge, muscular thighs.  My eyes linger on Beast’s shorts as he paces around Chainsaw, sizing him up, only to look up in horror as Chainsaw takes his first swing.  Beast ducks under it, but Chainsaw follows up with a barrage of blows that Beast as to back into the corner to dodge.

This is so unfair!  Chainsaw’s hands are deadly weapons and Beast is basically naked.  He could literally die up there!  For a second, I consider calling the police, but I know they won’t make it here in time to stop the fight.  All I can really do is watch and pray.

As the fight goes on, Beast manages to get four or five good hits on Chainsaw without getting hit even once.  If this were a normal fight, he’d be the clear winner, but under these messed up rules, he’s at an insane disadvantage no matter how many hits he gets in.

I hug the side of the bleachers tight as I watch Beast move.  The look in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.  They’re bright green, and they shine like they’re on fire.  I can almost see little flecks of yellow sparking in them.  My eyes are locked onto Beast’s face as I lean in closer to the ring.  My body responds to every move he makes, and I don’t realize how close I am to the ring, how very visible and exposed I am, until Beast looks back at me.

It’s only for a second.  He takes his eyes off Chainsaw for one second to look at me, but that’s way too long.  By the time he looks back at Chainsaw, one of Chainsaw’s jagged metal fists is inches away from Beast’s body.  Beast jerks away at the last second, but it’s not enough.  Chainsaw connects, leaving angry red cuts in Beast’s side.  Beast stumbles back, and Chainsaw, seeing blood, charges at him, going low and aiming a wicked haymaker right between Beast’s legs.

No!
 
Not there!
  Shouldn’t below-the-belt hits be illegal even in illegal MMA?  I cringe and close my eyes as I realize that I may have just killed the gorgeous MMA fighter up on the stage by making eyes at him, but when I hear the crowd gasp, I can’t help but open them again.

It shouldn’t have even been possible, but somehow, Beast manages to wrap his hand around Chainsaw’s wrist and stop his punch.  Then, in a flash, he lifts his leg up to Chainsaw’s shoulder and kicks down, sending Chainsaw to the ground in a heap while holding his arm up in the air.  With his foot at the base of Chainsaw’s neck and his arms wrapped around his wrist, Beast roars, and the crowd goes totally insane.  Chainsaw spends a few seconds struggling to get up, and then taps out on Beast’s leg.  The fight is over.

The announcer tries to climb back into the ring to announce the results, but his microphone is totally drowned out by the crowd, many of whom are coming down from the bleachers and climbing into the ring.  Sensing that this is probably my cue to leave, I turn around and head back toward the hallways.

“Nuh, uh, uh.”  Somebody jumps down from the bleachers to block my path.  It’s a skinny guy with a long, scraggly beard.  “Not so fast.  You’re from the club, aren’t you?”

“Um…yeah, and I was just heading back.  My friend’s waiting for me.”

“You don’t have permission to be here, do you?”

“Oh…uh…I didn’t know I needed permission.  There wasn’t a sign.  But I’m going now!”

I try and move around the skinny guy, but he wraps his fingers tight around my wrist.  “So who told you about this place?  One of the guys out there?”

I try to jerk my hand out of his grasp, but it’s like metal locked around my wrist.  “I found it on accident, asshole.  Let me go!”

“Really?  You expect me to believe that?  No one finds this place on accident.”

“Well, maybe you should move the girls’ bathroom so it doesn’t happen again.  Can I leave now?”

I stretch toward the handle of the metal door, but I just can’t reach it.  I’m about to just kick this guy in the shin, but something tells me that that’s a very bad idea.  From the way he has his feet set, he’s probably an MMA fighter himself. 

The skinny guy laughs, and I summon all my energy towards reaching for the metal door handle.  Suddenly, I hear him make a strangled yelping noise and feel him release my hand.  I fall over on my back, where I see my captor lying in a heap in the middle of the floor…and
him
standing over me.  The Beast himself. 

I bounce up to my feet as fast as I can and try and think of something to say.  Thanks for saving me?  You were great out there?  Do you have a girlfriend?  All good choices, but for some reason I can’t seem to form any words at all.

Finally, I manage to say “Thanks,” my voice cracking and several octaves too high.  Beast just stares back at me.  He’s dripping with sweat, his eyes are burning, and his chest is heaving like an animal’s.  I can’t tell whether he’s mad at me or just intense.

Beast moves towards me, backing me up against the bleachers.  “I almost died because of you.”

Uh oh.  He
is
mad.  “Sorry!  I’ve never seen a fight before, and I didn’t realize you could see me.”

“Did Chainsaw’s people send you?” 

“What?  No!  I just, uh, came from the club outside.  I didn’t know about any of this, I swear!”

Beast’s pretty face looks into mine, trying to determine if I’m telling the truth.  “You almost got me punched in the cock.”

Beast reaches down between his legs, wrapping his hand around the thick bulge that’s pushing his fighting shorts to the absolute limit.  I can’t help but stare at it, thick and strong-looking, just like the rest of him.  I know it’s not polite to blatantly stare at MMA fighters’ cocks, but I can’t help myself.  I
want
him to see me staring. 

I don’t realize that I’m leaning into Beast until my breast bumps up against one of his arms.  Then, my face snaps up to his, and my body rests against him.  He still looks angry, but there’s something else there, too:  something raw, hungry, and wild. 

Shouldn’t I be getting back to the club?  So why aren’t my legs moving?

Beast’s hand moves up under my chin, tilting my face up so he can get a better view.  “That’s the look.  That’s the look you gave me when I was in the ring.  The one that almost got me killed.”

I should leave.  I should find the club, take Gina with me, and go back to my nice, safe little world.  The only problem is that right now, I’m exactly the type of girl that Gina thinks I am.  A good girl who wants a bad boy to make her totally his.  Who wants to be ravaged.  Used.  Fucked.

And Beast knows it.  I think he can literally smell my feelings.  I can feel his, brushing up against my stomach.

Maybe that’s why I do the craziest, stupidest, most reckless thing I’ve ever done.  I look up at Beast and say “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

There
is
something I can do, and we both know what it is.  So when Beast grabs my arm and practically drags me towards the locker room, I know what’s going to happen next.  And even though I haven’t fully admitted it to myself yet, I can’t wait.

Chapter 2:  Emma

This is the part where I wake up, right?  Where I sit up in bed, roll my eyes at how repressed I am, and hop into the shower to try and clean the sweat of a sex dream off my body?

I mean, this can’t be real.  The sweaty, inked up mountain of muscle currently pulling me into the nearest locker room to fuck makes the Greek gods look like couch potatoes.  I’m probably in bed right now, tossing and turning and sleep-humping my pillow.

Ow!  I stub my toe on a folding chair carelessly placed in the middle of the aisle and send it clattering to the floor as I wince in pain.  So much for this being a dream.

Beast looks back, his perfect lips curled into a smirk.  “Are you alright back there?”

“Yep!”  I say, my voice hitting some ridiculously high octave as I start to turn pink.

Yep!? 
What am I, a cartoon duck?

“Alright, if you say so.  Let me know if you need me to carry you.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

So this is actually happening.  I really did just offer myself to an MMA fighter after exchanging only a few words with him, most of which were about his cock.  Gina would be so proud.

As we get closer to the locker room, posters line the walls.  Guys with names like Barracuda, Tank, and Painquake glare at me and flex their muscles as I pass.  Underneath each fighter are the words “California Kings Underground MMA.”  Finally, right at the locker room door, there’s a poster for Beast:  hands behind his head, flexing his ridiculous biceps, and giving the camera an obnoxiously cocky smile.  Something tells me that this guy’s more full of himself than a snake eating its own tail, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering how it would feel to be full of
him
.

Suddenly, Beast stops outside the locker room door, causing me to practically slam into him.

“Whoa, slow down, babe.  Wait until we’re in private.”  He grins at me like a cat with a mouse trapped under its paw and opens the locker room door for me.

If this didn’t feel real before, the smell of sweat and body spray drenching the locker room makes it feel 100% real as I step inside.  I take a few steps into the room as fantasies flood my mind.  What’s he going to do to me?  Slam me up against those lockers on the left wall and fuck me standing up?  Make me get down on all fours and stick my ass in the air for him?

He’s probably done this a hundred times:  takes the nearest girl back here and fucks her stupid.  Makes her scream his name.  I hope he doesn’t mind that I’m not the type of girl who normally finds herself in this situation.

I look behind me and see Beast leaning against the back wall, arms folded up against his washboard abs, with a bulge that looks like it’s about to disintegrate his tiny little black shorts if he makes one wrong move.  His eyes feel their way up my curves, sizing up his catch.

So…uh…what happens now?  Why isn’t he coming over here and fucking me?  Is there something I need to do?

I try and put myself in the mindset of an underground MMA groupie, with limited success.  Eventually, I put my hands on the bench in the middle of the room, stick my ass out for Beast, and say, “Ready when you are.”

Almost immediately, I feel Beast’s body pushing up against me, thick, muscular, and heaving with his breaths.  Then, his hands seize my body and he spins me around like I weigh less than a feather.

“What’s your name?”  he asks, lifting my face up so I’m looking straight into his blazing green eyes.

“It’s Emma.”

“Have you ever fucked an MMA fighter before, Emma?”

My teeth come down hard on my lower lip as I shake my head no.  I feel his body shudder with laughter, and the heat between my legs starts to throb.

“Then you’re in for a treat.  I know how to use every inch of my body to get what I want, and what I want is to fuck that curvy little body of yours until you scream.”

God, he’s so arrogant.  I bet he checks out his naked body in the mirror for thirty minutes every morning.  But who cares?  I’m not here because I like this guy, I’m here because my inner Gina came out and decided that brain-melting casual sex in a locker room was what I wanted to do tonight.  So let’s do it.

I try to turn around again, but Beast doesn’t let me.  Instead, he moves his mouth onto mine and claims it with his tongue. 

Holy crap, he’s a good kisser.  In less than a minute’s time, I’m running my fingers through his stupid perfect hair and moaning into his mouth like I’m in a porno.  Then, he puts his hands on my body, and I can’t believe how strong he is.  He could toss me around like it was nothing if he wanted to, but he’s way too greedy for that.  He wants me right here in front of him, so he can claim my breasts and cup my ass with his massive, tattooed fighter’s hands.