Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (20 page)

I
let
Kylie use my car to run off and get some ice cream with Oscar and Otto, who also brought some chick with him.

Drake and I would have tagged along but… we had
other
plans.

I sat in the passenger seat of his truck, my towel gripped in hand. I don’t think he was paying much attention to my jitteriness.

He went on about how the fight he had in a few hours would be quick and out of the way before he knew it. He said he was fighting someone that was very overrated named The Lawless.

“Then I can come see you again,” he said. He finally looked my way and I smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

He returned a smile, and soon we were turning into my neighborhood.

He rolled his window down at the gates when the security guard stepped out.

I peered over, waving at Malik.

“Hi Malik,” I chimed.

“Jenny?” Malik frowned, the smooth brown skin on his forehead crinkling. “This is your visitor?”

“Yes. Drake Davenport.”

He studied Drake, as if he expected someone easier on the eyes. Drake stared him down like a hawk. I slapped Drake’s arm and he looked at me, frowning.

“All right then.” Malik pressed the button for the gates to open. “Be safe.”

I grinned. “Thanks. I will.”

Drake sped off right away. “Think he’s going to tell your parents?”

“I doubt it. Malik is a cool guy.”

Drake grunted. I knew the exact reason he was upset.

Malik was hot.

He had cropped, wavy black hair and light brown eyes. I could tell he had a nice body beneath his uniform as well, but after knowing him since I was a little girl, working those gates and such, I didn’t see him as more than just our security guard.

He was a nice guy, married, and with two children. He never made me feel uncomfortable and he always kept to himself.

“You don’t have to be jealous.” I laughed, as he parked in our roundabout driveway. When the ignition was off, I climbed out of the truck.

“Who says I’m jealous?” Drake quirked a brow as he met at my side.

“I can tell you are. Stop worrying. He’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hmm.” Drake looked ahead, taking in the outside of our home. “Nice place.”

“Not mine, so I can’t really brag.” I marched for the door, pulling out my key and unlocking it. My hands were shaking a little as it clinked.

What the hell was I thinking? Now that it’d come down to the wire—after no more denying me—I was starting to freak out a bit.

Drake in my place?

Alone?

All of what he said at the pool about hurting me got to my head.

What if he did do something I didn’t like? What if he said something I didn’t approve of?

Drake followed me inside the house and when we reached the kitchen, I dropped my bag on the granite countertop. “Do you want anything to drink?” I asked. I opened the fridge and pulled out a can of strawberry soda.

“Any Gatorade?”

“Used to have a ton of that…but not anymore.” I pressed my lips. Drake looked me over. “Mitchell used to have it a lot for football.”

“Oh. Well, what about water?”

I nodded. “Water it is.” I took a bottle out and tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand, cracking the lid open and then taking a swig.

“Show me your room.” His command was light and simple.

I opened my soda and drank a little, and then I set the aluminum can on the counter. “You don’t want to take a grand tour of the house?”

“We’ll get to that. All I care about right now is where you hide out the most.”

“All right,” I laughed, “but it’s not that great.”

He followed closely behind me as I walked up the staircase. I could feel his eyes on my ass—his body heat radiating. I could smell his earthy, warm cologne. He also smelled like suntan oil and pool water.

I actually got him to get in the pool while we were there. He was reluctant at first, but after giving him the doe eyes he finally caved.

I walked down the hallway, quickly past Mitchell’s old bedroom, and opened my door. The door creaked lightly on its hinges as I waltzed in.

“Well… this is it.” I held out one arm, showcasing it all at once. Drake stepped past me, taking in everything, from the color of my walls, to my king-sized bed, and even the teal rug.

He walked in, looking at the white acoustic guitar I had nestled in the corner. He plucked the strings with a smirk. “You play?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I want to hear.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, I doubt that’s going to happen.”

“And why not?”

“Because… I just got home,” I exclaimed. “I’m all hot and sticky. I have to keep my instruments clean.”

He let out a throaty chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. Excuses.” Drake’s eyes darted over to my vanity, and he narrowed his gaze, concentrating on something else.

He started for the white vanity, and when I realized what he was looking at, my heart slammed in my chest.

Leaning forward, he observed the picture taped on the mirror of Mitchell and me eating one of our family waffles at a grand opening in New York. It was a big deal for Dad—so big he brought us with him because he wanted us to experience it, too.

That was when things were going good—when Mom wasn’t so snobby and Dad wasn’t always so busy.

“Is that your brother?” Drake asked, slicing through my memories.

“Yes,” I responded quietly.

His upper lip quirked up. “You guys look just alike.”

“We used to get that a lot.”

Drake stood up straight again, turning around and looking at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to him? You don’t have to tell me,” he said quickly, when he saw my shoulders tense. “I’ve been curious since we were younger. It’s like everybody knew but me. I never wanted to ask back then because I know how much it hurts to bring something like that up.”

“No—it’s okay.” I sighed, walking forward and slouching down on the end of the bed. Drake sat right next to me. “He… um… well…
shit
.” I forced a laugh, focusing on the bedspread. My eyes began to water just from the mere thought of it.

His fingers ran through the damp strands of my hair. “You don’t have to talk about it, Jenny. I understand. I hate talking about how my Mom died too.”

“No—I can do it. It should be easier for me to talk about now, you know?”

His head shook. “It will never get easier to live with or talk about. You just learn to accept it and learn to take it as what it is.”

I nodded. “Well… the reason I freaked out when we were at
The Dark Side
is because we were by the cliff that…he jumped off.”

Drake’s face didn’t change. It was serious, but soft. He was listening, desperate for more.

“There was a lot that was getting to him and I wasn’t sure what it was about at first. I was young and didn’t think much of his situation… until he didn’t come back home one night. We were supposed to have dinner with his football coach, but he didn’t show. For a few days, everyone was panicking. The whole neighborhood offered to help look for him. Mom and Dad set up a search party to get more people to find him. Around three in the morning—about a week later—the cops were knocking on our door. They told us his body had been washed up on shore, found by some high school kids that were probably about to get stoned or something.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.” He stroked my hair.

“It’s okay.” I dropped my head. “Mitchell never struck me as the type that would commit suicide. He just gave up, and sometimes I want to blame him, but I don’t blame him. Our family is really fucked up. All people on the outside see are the material things, but they don’t see what we go through on a daily basis. Mitchell wanted to confess so much to my mom. He was just too afraid to. I know she knows deep down, but she tries to block it out. My mom and I have the worst bond ever.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s terrible. She’s selfish and she thinks she’s never the blame for anything.”

“My mom was the complete opposite, surprisingly.”

I looked up, pressing my lips to form a soft smile. “I bet she was really sweet.”

“She was.” He sighed. “You don’t blame yourself, do you? About what happened to your brother?”

“Sometimes. I feel like I could have stopped him. He came to me last before going away. He was telling me that he was leaving and was saying all of this stuff about how I’m the better of us two.” I waved a dismissive hand. “I should have told him to stay—begged a little more. I don’t know.” I stared down at my lap.

Drake tilted my chin and our eyes met. “Don’t blame yourself. You can’t control other people’s actions and you were just a little kid.”

“I know, but I just wish I could have done something to help.”

“I don’t blame you for wishing that.”

I blew a heavy breath as his hand dropped to the crest of my back.

Silence filled the bedroom for several seconds. Drake finally broke it when he spoke.

“Should I be trying to cheer you up right now?” His question was serious, and I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off. “What?” he asked, smiling.

“You are so serious right now, aren’t you?”

He held his hands out, lips pressing. “Hey, I’m kinda new at this shit. I don’t know if you want to keep thinking about it, or move on to something else.”

I stroked his chin. “Let’s move on to something else.”

He nodded, and then pointed his gaze to the door. Standing, he walked towards it and shut it.

I watched him as he turned and made his way towards me again. Planting his hands outside my hips, he bent down. His lips were close, the heat of them radiating on mine.

“Let’s move on to something else then.” He picked up his arm and flicked his wrist to check the time on his G-Shock. “We only have a few hours together… alone. Let’s make them count.”

My teeth grazed my bottom lip. “Okay.”

Pressing in, Drake climbed above me, gripping my hip with one hand and sliding me to the middle of the bed.

We’d never been alone in a bedroom before. It was scary to think about, but only because we could do whatever we wanted and not get interrupted.

He hovered above me, his hands now planted outside my head. His head dipped, and he focused on my mouth with flared nostrils.

Before it could register, his mouth claimed mine. His groin was centered between my legs, and my arms were draped around the back his neck. He shifted up and down, building friction between us, and I held on tight.

I shifted with him, moving my hips forward and backwards, working in sync with his large body.

His breath became rigid then, and his hands slid up the front of my arms so his fingers could entwine with mine.

“Shit, Jenny,” he breathed. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” I asked through a ragged breath.

His lips pressed on the crook of my neck as I rolled my head back.

“You’re making me hard as fuck.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He lifted his head, but before he could respond, I cupped his face in my hands, devouring those full lips.

He grunted as he gripped me tight around the middle, thrusting between my thighs. I heard him curse beneath his breath when the kiss broke, and then he cupped the back of my neck, dropping one hand.

One of his fingers slipped beneath my bottoms, diving in deep.

My back curved against the bed as he sucked on the skin of my neck. I gripped him tight in my arms, his finger moving in and out of me.

I moaned when he circled my swollen nub. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I moved his hand away, locking lips again. Greedily, I kissed him. I didn’t want this to stop. It needed to keep going.

I was impatient.

I hated waiting.

I was ready—no, hungry for him.

“Wait—Jenny.” He stopped again, focusing on my face. “Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice was husky.

I nodded, my face blazing with heat. “I want to, Drake.” I watched his eyes. “It’s okay. I swear.”

He watched me carefully as I assured him. He was so unsure about what to do. I could feel him straining in his trunks, ready for this just as much as I was.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Okay.”

That was all it took.

He yanked my bottoms off, pulled off my cover-up, and then tugged the strings of my top. It was all so quick, as if he’d done this millions of times before.

He sat up, digging in his pocket and pulling out a condom.

I wasn’t sure when he’d put it there—if he’d planned on using it today anyway. It didn’t really matter because I was eager—almost desperate.

He was still hard in his trunks, but he hadn’t gotten rid of them just yet.

Instead he climbed back onto the bed, placing the condom on the nightstand.

Spreading my legs apart, his palms running up the inside of my thighs and then around to my hips, he lifted my bottom half up in the air, gripping me tight in his hands. I gasped as his eyes bolted on mine.

“Gotta make sure you’re soft and wet for me,” he growled, and then his mouth sealed tight on my sacred area.

He grunted as his tongue drove deep, in and out, my hips moving with him.

“Oh. My. God!” I couldn’t believe this was happening. He was
eating
me.

All of those times I talked about it with Kylie, about how it might feel weird or wrong or strange that some guy could put his mouth so close to such a personal area of my body, and it was happening.

Right in my bedroom.

And it wasn’t bad at all. It was really, really good.

He cupped my ass in his hands, holding tight.

If he were a prisoner on death row, I was his final meal. He was relentless as he devoured me whole, making no excuse for any leftovers.

He ate tenderly. It wasn’t rough or rushed. The strokes of his tongue were perfect, and it felt so amazing.

My eyes rolled back a couple of times. I tried looking at him, but I just couldn’t.

With each swirl and skim of his tongue, I bucked, and he groaned with delight, pleased by the response my body gave him.

He did this until something I’d never felt before happened.

My legs trembled dangerously around his head, my fingers clutching the comforter, on the verge of ripping right through it. My eyes squeezed tight and my back arched.