Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (46 page)

“No, no, no,” I cooed. Marching forward, I squatted in front of him, holding onto his forearms. “No, don’t say that. You didn’t know this would happen. Mrs. Black takes the same route home every night. Things happen that are out of our control.”

“I should have just rode to fucking L.A. with her. This is the exact fucking reason we left from that fucked up city. Ignorant, stupid motherfuckers can never keep their hands to themselves. I swear to God if I find them, I’ll fucking kill them. All of them. There was more than one.”

I blinked my tears away, watching his run free. He didn’t dare swipe them, and he didn’t even try to hide. He no longer cared how he looked or how emotional he was. He was… comfortable with me. At least he was talking, not bottling it all up.

“She’s fucking gone, Chloe. Isn’t that some shit?” He scoffed, giving a smile that contained no trace of happiness. “Her, of all people… my fucking
wife
of thirteen fucking years. Dead.” He shook and dropped his head. A few stray tendrils fell down on his forehead, eyelashes touching his cheekbones. I tucked the loose strands back. He looked up, and our eyes connected and barred for just a small moment.

“It doesn’t seem real,” I murmured. “It seems she could come home at any minute. Pull up in the driveway and greet everyone.”

“Yeah…” His eyes held mine, the brown pools darker but softer. He studied my face, the small stretch of sunlight allowing him the opportunity.

Eyes connected.

Skin tingled.

Heartbeats quickened… my heartbeat.

Swallowing thickly, he stood to his feet, bringing me up with him. When he held my hands, it caused my skin to buzz, eliciting a fire within me. I controlled my reaction, taking a step back as he raked his fingers through his hair. He looked at me hesitantly, like he felt the same thing but couldn’t speak on it—wouldn’t dare speak on it. Breaking the silence, he said, “I’m going to go hit the shower. Catch some sleep if I can.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “When Izzy’s up, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

His face grew pained, almost like he didn’t want to face his daughter. There was fear, fear that he might break down once he saw traces of his wife in his baby girl. Like her green eyes and small nose. Her wild personality. “Okay,” he finally said.

He stepped back, looking me over before turning around and entering the house. I watched him go inside, the door shutting behind him. I stood in the garage for a moment, recapping all that’d just happened.

He was hurt.

He was devastated.

He couldn’t believe he was the one suffering.

He, of all people.

Losing his wife.

Losing half of himself.

Losing what probably felt like
everything
to him.

I can tell you that Mr. Black was never the same again. I can tell you that he hardly ever showed up at home, and if he did, it was to shower and change clothes, maybe work on his bike late at night.

I can also tell you that he was angry, like the world and his life had gone to full-blown shit and that it could never be restored. He was always at work. Always busy, trying to steer his mind from reality, working to will away the broken life he hated even existed.

But for Izzy, he did his best. He survived. He attended graduation and even saw her off to college. She left a week and a half before I had to go, and during that week, I watched him from across the street, peeping out of my bedroom window. I watched as he worked on several different bikes, blasted rock music he’d never listened to before, and got so drunk in his garage that he’d pass out. Music like that, metal-rock, made most people hostile and angry.

I was certain that was his goal—to be angry with any and everything. To have an excuse and something to back him up if things went awry. He was being immature and taking his grief out in all the wrong ways.

When he’d pass out, I’d walk across the street to help him. I’d carry his weight up their two flights of stairs, nearly dragging him into his bedroom and laying him on his bed. This happened three nights in a row without a single issue.

Not even Izzy was taking it
this
hard. Yes, the pain still cut her deep, but she was healing from her loss, ready to start fresh elsewhere. I guess it was different for Mr. Black because he loved Mrs. Black in a completely different way. He lived in a home they shared and slept in a bed that I’m sure reminded him of her every single day and night.

One night—the fourth night I helped him—changed our relationship in its entirety.

He passed out in the garage again around midnight.

Sighing, I walked across the street and helped him up, going through the same routine, draping his large body on mine. He was damp with sweat, and grease marks soiled his shirt. I tossed him on the bed, and he chuckled then sighed.

He reeked of gin this time. I shook my head. Knowing he’d hate himself if he ruined his sheets with his dirty boots, I bent down, untying the strings and pulling one of them off.

Mr. Black kicked the other foot as if he was trying to get rid of me, like he had no clue I was helping. “Mr. Black,” I said, struggling to catch his foot. “Please stay still. I’m trying to take off your shoe.”

“Mr. Black?” he repeated, voice sluggish. It took him a while to sit up straight just to find me in the dark. The bathroom light was on, but the door was cracked. Only a sliver of light showed, revealing part of his face. His glassy eyes caught mine, his supple lips separating as he said, “I like it better when you call me
Theo
.”

“Well,
Theo
, please be still so I can take your other shoe off. Don’t want to ruin your sheets, right?”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned, teeth white and glistening. I ignored the drumming of my heartbeat, pulling off his other boot and then standing, placing it aside.

“There. I’ll put some water and aspirin by your bed. You should take it in the morning.” It was weird talking to him now. Normally he’d pass right out once he hit the sheets, but not this time.

No, this time he stared at me as if he wanted something—something he knew he shouldn’t have. His eyes roamed my body, up and down, breathing heavy. Words were begging to be spoken, but instead he kept quiet, allowing his actions to speak for him.

Standing from the bed, he leisurely walked towards me, but I stumbled away, my back hitting a wall, preventing escape. I wasn’t afraid of him, though. No, in fact, as his smoldering brown eyes pierced mine and he stood before me in nothing but a grey muscle tank, I couldn’t help but falter.

He was such a beautifully damaged man. So much pain and chaos and hurt in his eyes, but it didn’t mask his good looks. I wanted to make him better with the only way I knew how.

Affection.

Hugs.

And sweet, tender kisses.

But hugging and kissing Mr. Black would have been wrong…
right?

“I don’t want you to leave,” he admitted. “You’ve taken care of me and Izzy…” He met up to me and cupped one of my cheeks. I expected a rough hand touching smooth flesh, but it was gentle, his hands free of callouses and blisters, courtesy of the gloves he often wore while working. “I appreciate you so much for that. Taking care of me. Watching out for me. I know I can get crazy—do some really childish shit.” He stroked behind my ear, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “God, you have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” My heart pounded.

I couldn’t speak. I didn’t need to.

“I know you like me, Chloe.”

“Mr. Black, I—”

“Theo… please,” he begged, eyes shutting briefly before opening again, “…just call me Theo. Call me by my first name. It sounds so good coming out of your mouth.” The pad of his thumb ran across my lips, feathery-light. My core heated, a gush of warmth flowing to my sacred area.

“Theo,” I whispered, pressing a hand against his chest.

“Yes?” He got a thrill out of me saying his name. I saw it in his eyes, how they lit up and sparked like a shower of meteors.

I tried creating words—lyrics I’d rehearsed—but the way he looked at me and how close he was to me, I’d never felt this before. Not with any kind of man. No man had ever made me feel this way—ready to pounce on top of him, smother his lips, and take him whole. Just Theo.

“W-what do you wanna do to me?” I tempted, my wavering voice barely heard. I was being bad. Naughty. I knew better.

Theo’s face became hard like the metal he worked with, the light emphasizing his chiseled features. Locking eyes with me, he gripped my waist, reeling me into him, and breathing deep as his nose ran down the angle of mine.

Before I knew it, he’d yanked my spandex shorts down, his mouth angled above mine. He paused for what felt like an eternity, testing me. Teasing me. Playing with my mind and body.

But, instantly, he spoiled me, mouth crushing mine, his tongue thrusting between my lips. He groaned, and I defenselessly fell into his touch, his hands on my waist, picking up one of my legs as he turned for the bed.

My back hit the soft padding, my left leg pushed up to my chest as he sank against me. Theo lifted up and yanked off his belt. Then, he undid his pants, grasping my hips, nearly bruising my waist as he brought me closer. His arm shot out towards the nightstand, and he dug in the drawer, pulling out a small, square, gold packet. A condom. As he tore it with his teeth and took the time to slide it on, I could have wriggled out from under him… but I didn’t. I just lay there, wanting it.

Craving
it.

In that moment, I was his for the taking. My lower half exposed, hips tilted up in the angle he desired. He could’ve stopped—I could tell he was debating whether to keep going or call it quits—but he proceeded, the confliction in his eyes rapidly subsiding. I was so glad he didn’t give out.

His cock sank deep inside me, and I was consumed by a hot, welcoming rush with each slow stretch. He stilled, shutting his eyes tightly and groaning, the veins bulging under the ink on his arms and neck. God, he was so thick and long, everything I ever imagined. Quite possibly more.

I adjusted around his size, whimpering for him to stroke, move—do something. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as he finally started. “So fucking tight.” He looked down at me, and I thought he would stop once he realized exactly what was happening, but he didn’t. He moved slowly, his cock filling me up, bringing me over the edge. Bringing me higher. “Damn, Chloe. You’re so fucking
wet
for me.”

His mouth came down on mine again, our tongues colliding, warm bodies greedy for each other. We’d wanted this to happen for quite some time now. The both of us. From the moment Mr. Black noticed the changes that had taken place in my body, I was sure he thought some pretty naughty things about me—things he’d never share with anyone else. But back then, he was a married man and I was underage. It was bad.

Wrong.

Dirty.

But now, I was nineteen, on my way to college to start a new life. He was a widowed, gorgeous man with needs that needed fulfilling and a dark, cluttered mind that needed clearing.

As I lay on the bed, watching this gorgeous man take me, thrusting hard and deep, bringing my legs to my chest and pumping just enough to reach my g-spot, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything else outside of this. Not even the fact that I was losing my
virginity
to him.

There was pain, and even an odd stretching sensation that I couldn’t ignore, but once that passed, it was the greatest thing I ever endured. True pleasure taking over my body, letting out noises within me that I never knew existed. I was sure he was too drunk to notice, or maybe he was too drunk to care. I wasn’t saving myself for anyone. I just never felt like any of the other guys were worthy enough. But for Theo, it was astonishing what I would do for him—what I would give just to be close. Damn. I wasn’t sure if it was sickening or delightful.

I needed to get it out of my system, and so did he. We needed to get it over with, forget about whatever feelings we held back on because it was obvious we would never be able to be together, even if Izzy wasn’t my best friend and his wife was long gone.

Our age played a huge, scary part.

It would be oddly accepted in this world.

Theo’s body locked, his hands on either side of my head, eyes bolted with mine. Only his hips drilled, the definition of his muscles exposed. “Your pussy is so tight and wet for me, Chloe. My
Little Knight
.” He leaned forward, his lips coming to the shell of my ear. “You’ve saved me so many times.” He slammed, and I cried out, my fingernails biting into the smooth flesh on his muscled back. “I owe you this much. I owe it to you to make you feel good—comfort
you
this time. Show you what a real man can do. I know you’ve wanted it,” he breathed. “Trust me. I know. I see the desire in your eyes
every single fucking day
, and it kills me.”

And then it happened. His deep, orgasmic voice. His large, toned body on mine. The heat thick in the air, his hand cupping the back of my neck, the possessive hold he had on me and how he repeatedly pressed on a g-spot that had never been triggered… god, I came. I came so hard.
So fucking hard.

My body shook violently, out of control. I’d never felt such a thing. It was magical and intense and fucking amazing. I screamed, sighed, and then moaned his name.

“That’s right,” he breathed, still tipping me over. “Cum for me. Cum all over my fucking cock, Chloe. You’ve wanted this. Fucking
claim
it.”

I shuddered, and he groaned, dropping his face into the crook of my neck. “Goddamn.” His voice was heavy and gruff as he came next, crashing into me three more times before collapsing and panting wildly.

He was still buried within as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling. I felt wonderful for a split second. Utterly amazing. I listened to my heart beating fast like the wings of a humming bird. Absorbed the feeling of his warm breath drifting past my damp skin. I was drunk on the way his sweat mixed with mine, his chest heaving. For the briefest of moments, I felt like I belonged there… but I knew I didn’t.

My face straightened, and I immediately came back to the sobering reality.
Oh my god.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d just fucked Mr. Black, the man across the street. My neighbor and my best friend’s dad. A man that was twenty years older than I was…