Going the Distance (14 page)

She nodded. “Okay.”

He went about it slowly, regarding each inch of skin as though he'd never seen it before. And when he unclasped her bra, he did indeed reach new territory. His gaze roamed her, then his hands, warm and strong, and finally he lowered himself to his elbows, cupped her and brought his mouth to her nipple. Her flesh pulled tight, and a sigh fled her throat, fingers fisting his hair as she struggled to process the sensation, at first too much, but soon—perfection.

Swinging his leg over her, he straddled her thighs, kissing his way down her belly. As he dawdled at her hips, his fingertips dipped inside the band of her skirt, dragging back and forth, back and forth, the light contact making her crazy. He tugged the stretchy fabric down to her knees, lips taunting her thighs, then her mound as he took in her scent through the cotton of her panties. She let him strip her completely naked, insecurities burned away by the heat in his eyes.

She curled a finger. “Come here.”

He edged up the bed and helped her with his shirt, then the complicated process of getting his pants off over the cast.

She'd watched him fight, dressed practically just as he was now, only these snug black shorts didn't conform to an athletic protector. The cotton did nothing to hide his excitement, and she found her palm sliding down his chest and ribs and hip, edging closer.

He took her hand, leading it where he wanted. She roused equally from his bossiness as from the feel of his cock, thick and stiff against her palm. As he kissed her, she found a rhythm, stroking him in time with the hungry sweeps of his tongue, his flaring breaths. Between them, he took her wrist and eased her hand inside his underwear.

“Oh.”
His voice excited her as much as the hot drag of his bare skin against her palm.

For long minutes she pleasured him, loving his sounds and the restless fidgeting of his body, the heat and power of him wrapped in her fist. When he found the control, he returned the caresses, his overheated clumsiness far hotter than some masterful touch. Their kissing dissolved, coordination lost to need.

Against her lips he asked, “This is going to happen, isn't it?”

“It better.”

With a grin, he ditched his shorts and moved his knees to the outsides of her hips, leaning over to open a dresser drawer. He set a condom beside them on the bed, then popped the cap on a bottle of lube. “Would you...?”

She took it and squeezed a small measure into her palm. The slick liquid was cool, Rich's cock all the hotter in comparison. He sucked a harsh breath through his nose as she swept her fist down his length, moaned softly as she stroked it back up. She watched his abdomen tighten with every gasp and moan. Watched his expression, lips parted, lids heavy as his eyes recorded the motions of her hand. She spoiled him with slow, luxurious pulls, and soon enough he joined the action, pumping his hips, driving his cock in and out of her slippery grip. The sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

“It made me crazy,” he murmured. “That night in the gym, when you touched me. I wanted to push your hand inside my shorts so bad. And feel your bare skin on mine.”

“So did I.”

“But you didn't.”

She swallowed. “You make me...shy.”

He smiled faintly. “Do I? I kinda hoped I made you wild.”

“You do that, too. You do a lot of confusing things to me.” She tightened her fist to give him a taste of the incapacitation he made her feel with the merest heated glance.

Rich shut his eyes and slowed his movements, seeming to reach a limit. She stilled her hand as he caught his breath.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She let him go.

He opened the condom and rolled it down his erection in a slow, sensual stroke. That, on top of the novelty of the act...Lindsey felt a kink working a new groove into her sexuality, imprinting her with a trigger that only watching a man sheath himself could spring.

She marveled at his weight as he knelt between her legs—the biggest man she'd ever been with, in every way. The sight of him angling his cock to her lips deepened her excitement. Her body was so primed for this, he slid inside with a single, slow push. The intrusion drew a moan from her chest, but the sound was pure pleasure. She grasped his shoulders. Rich was silent for the first handful of thrusts, gaze locked where her body joined his. Then his eyes met hers and a low groan warmed the air between them.

His voice was tight. “Christ, you feel good.”

“So do you.”

He shut his eyes, seeming to savor the experience as he eased inside with slow, measured motions.

A million words flashed through her brain, aching to be said.
You have no idea how many times I've imagined this. About us, and this exact moment. And the reality of it puts all my best fantasies to shame.

But it was Rich who next spoke.

“I like it pretty fast, usually.”

Not quite the poetry she'd been composing herself, but it made her smile nonetheless. “That's fine by me.”

When he found his pace, she joined the motions, spurring him with her hips, welcoming every push, sharpening the angle each time he withdrew. His arm muscles locked, actions growing rough. So perfect. So exactly how this man ought to be in bed. Just as he'd been in her imagination.

His hips flexed under her palms, power undulating with every thrust. Fascinated, she turned to the side to watch in the mirrors. It took her breath away. If watching his body work as he fought turned her on, this might just kill her. The single hottest sight she'd ever witnessed.

Rich caught her. “Changed your tune?” he teased, words stilted.

She met his gaze, smiling. “Maybe.”

“What else you wanna see?”

Unsure what he meant, she didn't answer. As though punishing her for her hesitance, he pulled out, scooting back on his knees. “Turn over.”

At once nervous and intrigued, she did. Rich adjusted her so they were in three-quarters profile to the mirror. He looked even more intimidating this way, torso erect, face cast down at her body. He stroked her waist and hips, then guided himself between her thighs, sliding deep with a long moan.

She watched him, and he watched her in return, until finally their eyes met in the reflection. Heat flashed between them. This position that had always equaled blind surrender to Lindsey became something more. Something equitable and shared, no matter that he was above her, behind her, in control of the motions. Able to watch, she suddenly knew this was for her, every bit as much as it was for him.

And Jesus, he looked amazing.

His hands floated above her skin, the barest whisper. Then he held her, fingers digging gently. Her softer areas jiggled from the impact, but she could tell this sensation that normally embarrassed her was exciting Rich. She wasted time worrying about these things, when in reality her so-called imperfections turned him on.

“You're so sexy,” he muttered, gaze jumping between her body and its reflection.

She was ready to respond, but the words fled as he wrapped his arm around her waist, fingertips grazing her clit.

“Oh.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“Just. That.” That, and this view, his voice, those eyes, the weight of his body bumping hers and the stiff length of him, driving deep.

He teased her with one hand, kneading her hip and backside with the other. Every rough thrust, every hard inch, lit her up. As her pleasure grew, she sensed his doing the same. In no time they seemed to be rushing, racing toward the prize. The scene blurred in front of her eyes, all her awareness caught on what he made her feel—served, used, celebrated, desired. Everything, all from a single man. Overcome, she dropped her head and got lost in the impact and friction.

Excitement strained his voice. “You feel so good.” His hips sped up, all rhythm lost.

“Rich.”

His fingers were shaking, but any pleasure lost was replaced by the thrill of feeling him come apart behind her. The pleasure grew from heat to a taut, physical demand, the need to release bordering on pain.

“Rich. Please.”

His fingertips moved with practiced ease and her excitement coiled tighter, tighter, until the sensations burst and flooded, the orgasm leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. His hips hammered her hard for a flurry of thrusts, then he, too, gave in.

She watched his face in the mirrors, all the arrogance gone from those handsome features, desperation and relief uncovered. His eyes shut, he drove deep, the length of his body tensing with a series of grunts before finally going still.

His eyes opened, finding hers. Damp hands slid up her ribs and back, then down again before he secured the condom and eased out.

As he disposed of it, Lindsey collapsed in a happy heap across the comforter. He joined her, pulling her sweaty body close and sighing into her hair, pure male happiness. She sighed right back.

“Damn,” he murmured. “Didn't even have to show you my belt.”

She reached back to whap his ribs and Rich quit his teasing, feeling familiar and fond as he kissed her jaw.

For ten minutes or more they lay in lazy, companionable silence as their breathing slowed. Lindsey shifted around in his arms to stroke his chest.

“When we were sitting on the fire escape,” she murmured, “you looked like some profound thought had struck you.”

“Oh?”

“When you were telling me about fighting, and how it makes you feel. Respected, I think you said.”

Rich rolled onto his back and swallowed, gaze trained on the ceiling. His fingertips wandered across her belly, but his brain was elsewhere.

“You're doing it now. Your head is someplace else. What is it?”

He met her eyes, expression serious, even vulnerable. “I'd never thought about it like that until I said it. About how it's the only time I feel worthy or whatever. And yeah, respected. And how that's what... That was what wrecked my father.”

“How so?”

“He was a somebody when he was my age, in Colombia. He taught engineering in Medellín, back in the Escobar days. But he came here, and his experience and skills didn't count for shit. He traded all that so he and my mom, and eventually us kids, could have a safer life. But he never got over that—losing his identity. I know once upon a time he was a great man. But I never got to meet that guy. All I ever got was the ghost haunting our second-floor den.”

She sensed there was more and held her tongue.

“I almost get it now. Coming home how I did, feeling stripped of what I can do, and who that makes me. Even with people around you who know your potential and see you the way you were, the way you want to be seen... It's not enough, if you don't feel it about yourself.”

“But you'll be that somebody again. You're him
now.
Just minus a foot.”

“I know that...but I—” He stopped himself, seeming to hit some invisible wall. “Anyhow. It just made me understand him, for a second.”

Clearly, it wasn't a revelation he relished exploring further.

“I don't want to talk about all that, with us finally naked in a bed.”

She blushed.

He turned onto his side and kissed her shoulder. “I knew we'd be good together, but I hadn't expected...”

She squeezed his hand at her waist, waiting and hoping to hear the rest of that thought. But in the end, he just laughed soundlessly, smiled and sighed against her neck.

They lay in silence for a time—five minutes, twenty, an hour? Rich's breathing deepened once more, muscles going slack against her as he fell asleep, snoring softly. She cuddled closer, content simply to be sharing this space with him.

Eventually her body cooled and reality intruded, clearing the happy fog from her head and uncovering worries. She gently pulled away, trying and failing not to wake him.

“Don't,” he said, clasping her wrist.

“My sister's going to notice I'm gone.”

“I have to leave here at five to catch the bus—surely she won't be up by then.”

“Well, no.”

“Plus, even if she was, she'd know exactly where to find you if she really needed you. Right?”

Her blush returned. “Yes, I suppose she would.”

“So stay.” He tugged, and she submitted, rolling back against him. Rich made a lazy, triumphant noise, wrapping his arm tight around her middle and kissing her ear.

As nice as the contact was, it was the surprise of his insistence that had her flushed and happy. Even with their mutual itch scratched, he still wanted her close. She wanted the same, though she'd been careful not to let herself expect it would be the case.

But here she was. In Rich Estrada's bed. The man she'd obsessed over for ten months straight and whose career she'd stalked with the fervor of a teenage superfan. But that wasn't the man she'd just made love to.

No swaggery facade. Not a celebrity or even the man she'd been so infatuated with, but a friend. A friend who happened to have a cage fighter's body, granted, but she'd connected with so much more than his physique or persona. This was a man those women on the message boards could never hope to meet, or likely care to. A human being, as fragile as he was strong. Surely a fact he'd never admit aloud, but the helpless look in his eyes, the trembling in his arms as they made love, the need in his voice when he'd asked her to stay...

She knew this man, in some way she couldn't articulate.

And she knew, as well, she was in deep trouble.

10

F
OR
A
LONG
time after they crawled under the covers and Lindsey dropped off to sleep, Rich held her. He listened to her breathing, felt the faint muscle twitches as she dreamed, reveled in her warmth.

He ought to be dead asleep, conked by his orgasm. But a restlessness kept him alert, a sensation like the one he sometimes got from his broken foot, a fidgetiness deep beneath the plaster and skin.

He'd never had sex like that.

Well, mechanically he'd had sex pretty much every way there was, but still—nothing like that.

It was as though Lindsey had used that trick of hers—used her eyes to crack his heart open like a piñata so all his emotions tumbled out onto her lap. Except this time she'd used her hands and voice and the warmest, sweetest shadows of her body, and the way it made him feel was all the more intense.

It scared him. It made him wish he were the one being held, so that maybe this unnerving, exposed sensation would ease.

It scared him...but he liked it. Nowhere else in his world would he make room for this feeling. Not in the ring, not in front of his guy friends, not even with his family. His mom and sister were stuck with him during his good spells and bad ones, but Lindsey...she could see through the man he presented to the world, stared through that mask to the uncertainty and the dark thoughts and the loneliness, and she wanted him anyway. He swallowed, throat tight.

He remembered her news, that article she was going to do: Boston's Most Eligible Bachelorette. For the first time in ages, jealousy registered. Rich didn't get attached to women—not enough to feel this ugly, hot sensation licking at the back of his neck. But dumb as the impulse was, he didn't want Lindsey advertised as a single woman. He didn't want hundreds of men's eyes on her on a magazine cover. He wanted her right here.
His.
But that wasn't something he could ever ask for, not when he wasn't willing or able to offer it in return. Or brave enough to even admit it out loud.

Emotion was welling in him, a deep and expanding mass, more than he knew what to do with. But his brain didn't need to know how to handle it—his body had the answer. And that answer lay in his arms.

“Linds.” He rubbed her neck with his nose and whispered a little louder. “Lindsey.”

“Mmm.”

He urged her to turn. When she was on her back, he straddled her beneath the covers, arousal already sharpening at feeling her bare skin on his, cock growing stiff against her hip. He lowered himself and kissed her collarbone and shoulders, waiting for signs that she wanted what he did, for the sexy, rasping way she breathed when she got excited, the strokes of her curious hands. After a minute's soft kisses he was rewarded with a low, hot sigh and the drag of her fingertips down his back.

“I want you,” he murmured.

She made a noise, an amused
hmm.
“You just had me.”

“I need you. Are you too sore?”

She stroked his hair. “No. I'm fine.”

He pushed up on straight arms and stared at her face in the low light. “I'll be gentle.” Not as a favor, either. It was what he craved right now—to go slowly and deep and savor every second.

She smiled. “Be however you want.”

He left her to don a condom and wet his fingers with lube, then settled between her thighs, finding and parting her lips, gently slicking them with his fingertips. He stroked himself with the excess and angled his crown to her heat, pushing in slowly, slowly, slowly.

The hands on his shoulders tensed along with her breath, then she softened as he eased past a point of resistance.

“Okay?” Jesus, he sounded as if they were losing their virginity together. Felt like that, though. As if he was about to do something he never had before, something profound that would change who he was.

“You feel good,” she assured him, smiling and grazing her palms over his face, down his neck, his chest. Her legs hugged his waist.

Then Rich did something he never had before. He reached back and pulled the covers over them.

That was how people had sex on TV and in boring romantic movies—under the blankets. Nobody did that in real life, did they? Why would you? It covered up all the good stuff.

But right now he didn't care about the view. He just wanted to feel wrapped up with her. Inside her, against her. He looked in her eyes and felt that scary magnetism as she dragged the sincerity and insecurity right out of him, and he didn't fight it. He let the awe wash through him in waves, let it rock him, let it make a sloppy lover of him for a minute or two, until he found a balance. He did exactly what his body asked. His strokes were tight and graceless, surely not much to look at, had the covers been shed, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he was here, in his bed, being offered Lindsey's warm body, with those eyes bearing witness.

Soon enough, she went from welcoming to something else—piqued and antsy.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

“Can I be on top?”

“Of course.” Yes, good. If she was going to make a vulnerable mess of him, let her drive. Let her own his body the way she seemed to possess his mind.

They turned over, Lindsey straddling, covers slipping to her waist. She moved against him as she had that night in the gym, with short, muscular strokes that built friction between the root of his cock and her clit. Hypnotized, he held her thighs, rubbing with his thumbs. Her hair slipped from behind her ear, glowing golden in the light from the hall, casting her face in a shadow. Like some devious sex angel sent from heaven or hell to test him or reward him or God knew what.

There was so much he wanted to say.
No one's ever made me feel this. What the hell have you done to me? Does this feel special to you? Can you hear me thinking all this stuff? Are we making love? Is that even a thing?

But uttering those thoughts would take far more courage than stripping down and offering another man the chance to draw Rich's blood with an audience of millions. He let his body speak. Let her see the way his hands trembled and his hips shifted, all this evidence of what she did to him. What this felt like...

Surrender.

It was too foreign a concept to wrap his mind around. He shut his eyes and ground his head into the pillow, arched his back, gave himself over to her purposes.

When he knew she was close, he turned them onto their sides, legs tangling. Their lips touching, eyes open, he slipped a hand between their bellies, teasing her clit until she cried out, shuddering against him. He chased her with a dozen quick, shallow thrusts, falling into an orgasm as long and sweet and exquisite as he'd ever felt, a perfect and pleasurable collapse, his world crumbling to pieces as her name fled his lips. She held his head, her palms covering his ears so it echoed in his head like a secret.

Lindsey...

* * *

T
HE
NEWS
CAME
Monday morning.

Rich was just logging on to the gym's computer system, having promised Mercer he'd take on the annoying task of calling to harangue MIA members.

“I'm about as enticing as a schoolmarm,” Mercer had said. “But if Rich Estrada tells people to get off their asses and come for a session, they will.”

Normally, he'd dread the assignment, but today...

Nothing could touch him today. Not with memories of his night with Lindsey pleasantly clouding his mind and body. He was so...relaxed. As relaxed as he liked for the world to believe he always felt, but so rarely did for real.

His phone buzzed and he checked the screen. Those other calls would have to wait.

He hit Talk. “Chris.”

“Rich, hey.” His manager's voice filled him with a mix of curiosity and fear. He hadn't been expecting a chat.

“Bit early in San Diego to be checking up on me, isn't it?”

“Maybe, but I've been in Vegas all weekend and I have absolutely no clue what time it is anymore. But if
you're
awake, I got news.”

“Wide-awake. Whatcha got for me?”

“So I met with the big man, and we've been talking about you.” The big man could mean only one person—the president of the MMA organization Rich fought for. “Got a present for you, bro.”

“Who?”

“Vicente Farreira, if you want him.”

“Whoa.”

Farreira had been a big deal a while back—the org's heavyweight champ for the better half of a year. He'd ripped a tendon and gone quiet for a time, but he was only thirty-three or four, still ripe for a comeback, with a massive Brazilian following.

“If I want
him?
Does he want me?”

“Apparently his rehab's done and he's slimmed down, and he wants a new belt. Yours, to be specific. And he wants... Hang on, I can quote it for you.” After a pause Chris read, “‘I bleeping hate that guy. Every win a bleeping fluke, and I hate his bleeping attitude. He's a bleeping wannabe
Colombiano
and I want to mess up his pretty face and make all the girls cry.'”

“He does want me. How sweet.”

And frigging
exciting.
This match would be by far the biggest promotion, dramawise, that Rich had yet been offered. A comeback title bout with a near legend. Even if he lost, it would propel his career to a new level.

“The org wants this to go down at the biggie event Thanksgiving weekend.”

“Oh, shit.” That was just over three months away. “You know I got a broken foot, right?”

“I talked to your doc yesterday. He says you're healing right on schedule and that cast can go by mid-September.”

“That still only gives me two months to get back in condition. Plus Farreira's jujitsu is light-years ahead of mine.”

“Last fight before the main event, Rich.”

“Goddamn.” Too good an opportunity to pass up. And if he did pass it up, he'd lose the respect of the bigwigs. Guys would happily take that fight still wearing a cast. In fact, that's exactly what Rich would've done, had this opportunity come a month ago.

So why was he hesitating now? “Of course I'll take it.”

“Excellent.”

“I respect that guy's game, but I'll be more than happy to show him whose title that is. How much?”

“Dunno yet. I'm gonna ask for one-fifty.”

Rich blinked. A hundred and fifty grand. The figure was so surreal, he couldn't even process how it made him feel. Just...numb. From his head to his shattered foot. “Well, damn.”

“Farreira's comeback? It's gonna be a ratings maker. They might drag us down to one even, but I'll see if there's a knockout bonus in it for you. That's your signature, after all.”

“And I sure as shit don't want to go to the mat with that guy.”

“I don't want that, either, bro.”

“You gotta quit calling me bro, Chris. I didn't rush for your frat.”

“Anyway. I'll tell the big man you're in, see what kind of payday I can get you. They're gonna want you back in San Diego, stat. I can get you on a plane Wednesday morning, if that works.”

“Wednesday. This Wednesday? Two days from now?”

“No time like the present.”

“Right.” A thought struck Rich like a punch, but it wasn't some vision of pushing too hard and refracturing his foot, or dropping Mercer back in the lurch, or even the look of worry and sadness on his mom's face when he announced he was leaving again. It was a flash of that heat he felt every time Lindsey smiled at him. That look, shot from across a room or beamed up at him in bed last night.

He gave his head a shake. “I'll be ready.”

They hung up and Rich stared at the computer screen. He felt...concussed.

He scribbled figures on a Post-it note. A hundred grand, minus taxes and Chris's cut... That still left plenty to sock away for Diana's wedding, pad out their emergency fund, maybe even enough to do what Rich had been hoping to, his pipe dream of the past few years. A nice, fat down payment so he could make their aging landlord an offer on the house.

Rough memories or not, that place was where they belonged. Even if Rich could afford to move the Estradas into some giant-ass waterfront McMansion in Manchester-by-the-frigging-Sea, it wouldn't feel like home. Plus the rent on the adjoining units would mean regular income, probably enough to cover his mom's exorbitant health insurance.

It was all happening. Things he'd dreamed about for years. Even sitting here, having just gotten the news that could make it real...

Where elation should have been was emptiness. And when he imagined all those goals accomplished—the deed to the house, his mother's happy tears, his sister's wedding—every box checked that he'd always assumed would make him feel worthy...

The numbness lifted, and beneath it was panic. Everything he wanted was within his grasp, yet all he could imagine was a mountain. He was nearing the final push, but after he reached the peak and thrust his arms into the sky, triumphant, what then? Only the descent. And what lay at the bottom? An absence of debt and stress, yes, but also an absence of purpose. And a long trek down, for the rest of his life.

He could feel the storm clouds gathering now, cold grayness pooling heavily around his shoulders.

* * *

L
INDSEY
WAS
A
WRECK
all morning.

A happy wreck, a jumble of excitement and nerves, tossed between hope and pragmatism, suspecting last night had meant something, but knowing she'd be foolish to blindly assume Rich agreed.

But it sure had
felt
like something special, and job title aside, Lindsey wasn't a hopeless romantic—not after this past year. She had the odd flash of ridiculous romanticism, of course. And sure, on her train ride into the city, she'd fantasized about Rich winning his next fight, and adding a new name to his thank-yous when the announcer interviewed him, those shoulders still gleaming under the bright lights.