Uncaged Love #2: MMA New Adult Contemporary Romance (8 page)

He moves over to the sofa and wraps his arms around me. In one subtle shift, I’m on his lap, still curled in my tight ball. “Jo, poor Jo,” he whispers against my hair. “No wonder you fight like you do.”

“My father is dead,” I say. “My mother left when I was born.”

“You didn’t have anybody to tell,” he says. He gets it.

“I’ve been fine,” I say. “LA has been just fine. Zero is good. I’ve had work.”

His arms surround me, and we rock together. My body begins to uncoil. I release my legs and lay my head on Colt’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you told me,” Colt said. “When you’re ready, we can sort it out. See what happened to him.”

“Last thing you need is a fugitive on your payroll,” I say.

His hand moves to my cheek. “You’re Buster’s problem,” he says. “I’m just here because I can’t stand to be anywhere else.”

His features are hard to make out in the low light.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I say. “Never even kissed anyone until you.”

His exhales slowly. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a rough-cut fighter like me.”

“I don’t think I will break,” I say.

When his lips meet mine, it’s nothing like before. The passion is there, and the need. But something else has taken over. It’s tender. Careful. The sensations don’t start at our mouths, or where our bodies touch. But inside. There’s a connection that goes deeper. I trust him completely. I have no doubts.

Colt rains kisses across my cheek and down my jaw. Each touch is careful, like I’m made of glass. He eases me down onto the sofa. Our bodies barely graze each other as he braces himself above me.

His hand on my ribs is gentle. Only after I arch into him does he finger the hem of my shirt, exposing a narrow strip of skin.

“Just one little piece at a time,” he says. He trails his fingers along my belly. His lips return to my mouth.

He waits until I shift against him, writhing down so the shirt catches on his hand and pushes a little higher. He smiles against my mouth. “A bit more, then?” His fingers slip into the hollow below my rib cage, feathering light caresses across my skin.

I’m filled with a slow burn, a gradual increase in need. I match his pace and let my hands explore his back just above the waist of his jeans. His sweater is soft and thick. I push it up, running my fingers along the taut muscles up each side of his belly.

Like that first time on my sofa, he keeps everything easy. His lips are gentle, not pressing. They move from my mouth to my ear and back again. When his hand inches enough to graze the bottom of my bare breast, he pauses, his breath on my cheek. He waits for my response. When I relax back into him, he kisses me again.

He’s just far enough above me that I can slip my hand up the front of his sweater. His skin is smooth and hot. The position is work for him, as I can feel the shifting of muscles as he holds himself above me. I move higher, across his abs to his chest. When I reach a nipple, he sucks in against my mouth.

His hips rock against me, but he catches himself, and holds back. I want more, so I arch up to meet him, reestablishing the connection. He’s hard against my thighs. I remember his thrusts in the cage, and the burn begins to flare into something hotter.

His mouth becomes more urgent. I part my lips, and he dives in, his tongue seeking mine. His hands move beneath me, lifting my body to press into his. I feel the heat rising, spreading out, flaming between my legs.

One hand pushes my shirt up again. His head lowers to capture the naked breast in his mouth. He rocks against me, and I’m lost in it all. Pleasure, anticipation, need. I clutch at his hips, moving with him. I want more skin, more connection. I reach between us for his belt buckle and fumble to pull it loose. His jeans open with a snap.

I feel my way across his belly, hard and smooth. I want to see him too, but our position is too difficult. I tug at his jeans. “Shall we move?”

He nips his way up to my jaw. “Yes,” he says.

He stands with ease and pulls me up. “We should do this right,” he says. Before I realize his intent, I’m swept up in his arms.

I feel weightless. He walks me to the back of the living room. We pass the kitchen and go down the hall. He doesn’t know the way, but my place is small. He shoulders open the door to the bedroom. I had planned for this earlier, before our disaster. I left the closet light on, the door cocked. The bed waits by the window.

I realize I’m holding my breath. He lays me down on the cool sheets. His back is lit from the closet as he pulls his sweater over his head. I’ve seen his chest many times, daily. But it’s different now. It’s mine to touch and explore. I want to do all sorts of things, run my tongue along the grooves of his abs. Bite the base of his ribs. I’m overwhelmed with it. I have to slow down, take my time.

He kicks off his boots and slides the jeans down. His boxers are navy blue, and fitted rather than loose. I can clearly see the bulge of him. I know how things fit together, but it seems so big. Suddenly I realize how little I know. If it’s skin, won’t it rub? Won’t it hurt? Wouldn’t it be like a friction burn? Are we supposed to use some sort of lube? Does he have it?

“Jo,” he says softly. I realize I’m breathing fast again. “It’s all right.”

The bed dips as he settles next to me.

“How does it not hurt?” I ask.

He smiles down at me. “It works out.”

Colt goes back to the simple touch along my stomach, inching my shirt up again. I have trouble relaxing, thinking maybe I just want this first time over and done with. But then he leans in, his lips on my belly button, and I flood hot. He reaches for my jeans and tugs at the button.

I shiver as the zipper opens wide. His hand is flat on my skin, his thumb tracing lazy circles at the edge of my panties.

His hand works his way along the outside of my jeans to my hip bone, down my thigh, and across my knees. I want to writhe beneath him and make him go where I want.

But he’s careful and slow. His fingers move high again, to my belly. I want to beg him, to grab his hand and put it there. He makes another round across to my hip. I want to weep with need. But this time, he comes straight across, grazing me lightly between the legs.

My body responds like a lightning strike, lurching against him. I can’t suppress the sound that escapes, a strangled cry.

He cups me hard then, his hand firm between my thighs. His fingertips bend in, applying exquisite pressure. I rock against his hand, loving it, wanting more, desperate.

Colt shifts over me and grasps the waist of my jeans to peel them down. Goosebumps erupt along my skin as it is exposed to air. My panties are simple, pale yellow cotton. He slips a thumb along the lace edge until my legs part for him.

“That’s it,” he says. He lies down next to me, propped on his side. “Just let it come.”

His eyes are on my body. I feel a rush of wetness, and it all makes sense. Of course. That’s how it works. Then his thumb presses against me, and I can’t think anymore.

He runs his fingers along the outside of my panties. I can barely take it, wanting so much more. Pleasure flashes through me from his touch. My mind feels erased, like there has never been anything but this. He eases the fabric to one side, and his skin connects with mine.

I cry out again. Colt is so careful, so slow. He runs his fingers just inside, pausing at the top of the folds to circle the nub. I’m lost, desperate, forgetting I want to wait for him, needing to cross that peak. I lift to meet him, trying to increase the contact, wanting it all. But he pulls away and slips his fingers in the waist of my panties to tug them down and away.

He rolls over me and covers my mouth with his, our kisses deep and frenzied. When I push up against him, my naked hips grinding into his soft boxers, he presses down. I can feel each solid inch, separated only by the fabric. He teaches me the rhythm, the speed and pressure. His hands come beneath me, lifting me to him. I’m starting to peak again, sparks flying from our connection. I feel constantly on a knife’s edge, teetering on a brink.

Colt lowers me to the bed and lifts the bottom of my shirt, slowly this time. I know he’s concerned about my last reaction. But we’re so beyond that now. I raise my shoulders, and he lifts my shirt away. For a moment, he just holds me against him, skin to skin. I realize this contact is something he’s longed for. I clasp his back and revel in the feel of him against me, warm and breathing.

He lowers me to the bed again, his lips returning to my mouth. But he doesn’t linger, moving down my body to capture a nipple. His hands rest lightly on my hips, but his thumbs begin circling lower. I’m not sure where to pay attention, I’m feeling so many things at once.

He sends little nipping kisses along my ribs down to my stomach. When I realize his destination, I almost seize up, embarrassed. But his hands slide down my thighs, keeping them wide and relaxed. When his warm mouth lands on my mound, it’s like an explosion. I am no longer shy. I lift my hips to meet him. He finds the nub and sucks it, and I’m so close. My body moves on its own, establishing a rhythm Colt follows. His tongue flicks against my folds, and I am almost there. I forget that I want to wait, and I know that soon I won’t be able to.

His fingers slip into me, and that takes me over the top, crashing against him, every muscle in my body going tight at the same moment. I know I’m crying out, but I can’t hear it in the blast of pleasure that’s coursing through me. Colt teases it along, then lets me come down only when he decides to. I feel the sheets against my back and realize I’ve been arched against him.

I relax in waves, like a tide going out. Colt withdraws his fingers, spreading soft kisses along one thigh to the inside of my knee. My leg is draped over his shoulder.

When my breath has settled, he looks up at me with a small smile. He lets my leg drop back to the bed and stands up.

I see he’s going to pull his boxers down. I sit up quickly and grab his hands. He understands that I want to do it myself, and lets go.

I’ve seen most of Colt over and over again during workouts. Fighters don’t wear a lot. But there are parts of him that are still new. I swallow hard and run my fingers along the elastic of his waistband. I know I’m lucky. How many women ever get so close to a man this fit, this sculpted, this perfect?

I slide the boxers down slowly. The chiseled indention that begins at his waist near his hip continues down. As the elastic moves lower, I follow its path toward his thighs. The cut of this muscle doesn’t stop, delineating his belly all the way to a trimmed thatch of hair.

I glance up. “Did Kimi from the salon do that?” I ask.

He laughs. “I have a little harem that sees to those details.”

For that, I bite him on the hip. His hands go to my hair, to steady himself. I see that he is not unaffected. His control is not complete.

I push the boxers the rest of the way down. His erection springs free. I have to lean away. I was brave just a moment ago, but now I am terrified.

“It’s all right,” he says. “We’ll take our time.”

I can’t stop staring. It’s long and thick and more detailed than I had imagined. Blue veins stand out along his length. I touch it, and it leaps toward me, making me jump.

“It doesn’t bite,” Colt says.

I look up at him. He towers over me like a Greek statue. He could crush me. Flip me over and just slam into my body. I couldn’t fight him off. I think these thoughts will frighten me, but my pulse quickens. I want to wrestle with him, really struggle, naked. But I will wait until I’m stronger, until I know a few tricks. When I can surprise him.

I’m planning our future when we haven’t even done this one time yet. But we’re through the worst, I think. He knows who I am. What I’ve done. And he’s still here.

I reach out tentatively. When my fingers surround him, Colt grabs on to my shoulders. I hold him loosely, sliding to the end. His breath catches, and I know I’ve done the right thing. I move back to the base, against his belly, and do it again.

“Jo,” Colt says. His voice is different now, strained. He’s been waiting for me, patient, all night.

I let go of him and slide farther back onto the bed to lie flat. “Is this the easiest way to start?”

He nods. He finds his jeans and pulls a square wrapper from the pocket. His body crawls over me like a lion, golden maned and powerful. “I want you to tell me if anything hurts.” His eyes are lit up, looking over my body, splayed out for him. “I’ll do my best to make it go easy.”

“Is it like jumping in a swimming pool, better to just go fast?” I ask.

“I don’t think so,” he says, and his grin floods me with warmth. “But I’m not sure I’ve experienced this from your end.”

He rips the corner of the packet. The closet light falls dimly on his hands as he rolls it down his length. I watch carefully. I want to know what he’s doing. I want to be able to do it to him myself next time.

When he moves over me, I try not to shake with nerves. It will be fine. He’s not expecting me to act like a porn star. Even if this one isn’t good, we’ll try it again. I can learn. “Is it like the speed bag?” I blurt.

His eyes meet mine, curious. “Is what?”

“This.” I gesture to our bodies. “Is it like how you described learning to punch? Where some people have to be taught, but others pick up the rhythm naturally?”

He smooths hair away from my forehead. “It’s already come pretty naturally for us.”

This soothes me. I’m glad to know he already likes what we do. I have no idea. I only know what I’ve picked up from street talk, and television, and random crappy Internet porn that people have tried to show me before I push it away.

He adjusts over me, reaching between us. I realize he’s guiding himself to the right spot. I brace myself for something terrible, but then his mouth is back on mine. I close my eyes, focusing on his lips, the warmth of his breath. Then he’s pushing at the entrance, shifting down.

He doesn’t go far, just rests against me. He moves up and down the folds, like he did before with his fingers and tongue. I relax into this, letting the pleasure course through me. Just be in this moment. Don’t think of the next one.