G.o.d.

This chick wasn't from the crowd. She was one of ours-a ring girl, one of the scantily clad sirens who'd strut around the mat, holding up those big cards that let you know which round it was. I'd seen her before with some of the other guys, stumbling out of the winner's room with her eyes glazed and her hair a f.u.c.king mess. She was a regular, the kind of girl who couldn't get enough of some mean d.i.c.k filling her every hole. By the way her thighs were quivering, I could tell she was jonesin'.

"Hey there, Killer," she purred, sprawled out across the bed that had seen more a.s.s than a toilet seat. Crooking her finger, she beckoned to me, sliding her tongue across her full, glossy lips. "Come claim your prize."

"She's all yours," Vic, my manager, muttered beside me-an unwanted reminder that he was in the room. "Enjoy the spoils of war, kid."

Please. I'd seen war and its spoils. They were nothing like this.

He closed the door behind me and the flavor of the week sat up in bed, coyly holding the sheets over her t.i.ts. She shook down her long, dark hair and giggled, biting her fingernail at me. "You heard the man, Killer. Come get me. I'm all yours."

There was no reason to deny her. I was rock hard-had been for about a week now. f.u.c.kin' before a fight was bad luck. You were supposed to hold in all your frustration, all your anger, and take it out on the other guy in the ring. Sticking your d.i.c.k in something would take the edge off, and in my world, you needed all the edge you could get.

f.u.c.kin' after a fight, though? That was pretty much mandatory. Girls would practically line up at the door to sprawl across your bed like it was a silver platter. Provided you won, of course.

And I always won.

"What's the matter, Killer?" the hunny in my bed asked, c.o.c.king her head. She leaned forward and grabbed at the waistband of my shorts, pulling me toward her. "You had a rough day, huh? You look exhausted. Don't worry-Jasmine will take care of you..."

I cupped the back of Jasmine's skull, then wound my fingers so tightly through her hair she gasped out loud. When I jerked her head back, her big, brown eyes were wide with not just surprise and intrigue, but fear.

I'd seen that look in people's eyes before. Too many of them. Whether I was f.u.c.king or fighting, it was always the same. People were afraid of me-of Killer Kellan. The chicks seemed to get off on it. They liked the danger.

But for me, this whole song and dance was getting old, fast. None of these ring girls could give me what I needed. None of them even had the first clue.

What I wanted was an escape, to feel like something other than the weapon that the military, and then this glorified fight club, had made me. I wanted to look into a woman's eyes and not see uncertainty, for once-no matter how wet the thrill made them. I wanted a woman who, when she looked at me, would hold nothing but admiration, desire, and trust in her gaze. Maybe even love.

Jasmine was not that woman. She couldn't give me what I needed. But I could take from her a few moments of bliss, just enough to make the cuts and bruises and muscle aches not seem so bad.

That should've been enough for me. Why wasn't it?

"This isn't how this works," I told Jasmine, staring down at her slack face, her slightly parted lips. "You're not f.u.c.kin' me, baby. I'm f.u.c.kin' you."

The little smile that caught the edges of her mouth made her eyes sparkle. This was what she came here for-a rough f.u.c.k and a walk of shame she'd take on wobbly legs afterward.

I yanked down my shorts and let my c.o.c.k spring free, hard and heavy as it thumped against her chest. Jasmine let the sheets drop and I pressed my shaft between her t.i.ts, pivoting my hips so that the rosy crown of my d.i.c.k pulsed just beneath her jaw. When she took hold of my b.a.l.l.s, a thin bead of prec.u.m and a low growl escaped me, and when she flashed me a mischievous grin and descended on my manhood like a c.o.c.k-hungry vulture, I shoved all the way in to the back of her throat and held her there, savoring the wet tightness of her mouth.

Jasmine's eyes fluttered closed and she laved the underside of my d.i.c.k with her tongue, one hand fondling my big b.a.l.l.s with the other pumped at my base, jerking off the few inches of me that weren't buried deep in her throat. She never even gagged-she must've been used to this kind of treatment by now.

I pistoned back and forth between her jaws, my b.a.l.l.s tightening with each of the wet, sucking sounds my thrusts made. Jasmine sucked so hard her cheeks hollowed and I groaned, tilting my head back as she made circles around my tip with her tongue. It was like she was coaxing the c.u.m right out of me, tickling my taint with her nails, looking right up into my eyes as she used the point of her tongue to make a come-hither motion against the bottom of my swelling d.i.c.khead. I grit my teeth as I began to swell, spreading her lips wide as she tried to contain me. I could've blown my load right there and then-the pressure building up inside me was so f.u.c.king tempting.

But that wasn't where I wanted to c.u.m.

I pulled my d.i.c.k, hot and sticky, from Jasmine's mouth, and she let out the sweetest sigh, like she already missed the d.a.m.n thing. I smeared her own spit across her lips and gave myself a few short strokes. "Get those legs back for me."

She bit her lip. "Aren't you gonna get me wet?"

I smirked and pushed her down by her shoulder so her back was flat on the bed. Parting her folds with my c.o.c.k, I ran my tip from her hole all the way up to her c.l.i.t, feeling the gush of wetness that was already there.

"I just did," I told her, then stripped my shorts off all the way.

Jasmine was panting, cheeks flushed as I grabbed a condom from the nearby dresser and opened it with my teeth. I pulled out the latex sheath within and rolled it down my length, grunting as it strained around me. Vic usually put Magnums in here for me; they felt nice on my thick, oversized c.o.c.k. Well, as nice as having a barrier between you and the sweet, succulent walls of a good p.u.s.s.y could feel. d.a.m.n, I would've loved to drive into Jasmine bareback, but she didn't know me from Adam, and I didn't know her from Eve. It was better this way.

She was playing with her p.u.s.s.y by the time I'd gotten the condom on all the way. I watched her French-tipped nails move in a flurry over her c.l.i.t, peeling back the hood to reveal that little b.u.t.ton that drove all women wild. Her legs were spread wide, feet on the edge of the bed, but she hadn't obeyed my order completely.

"Legs back," I snarled, giving her a sharp slap on her a.s.s. Jasmine yelped, then cooed, looking up into my eyes through half-lowered lids. "Now."

"Like this?" she asked me, pulling her legs up a little and exposing that perfect, pink p.u.s.s.y of hers to my eyes.

"No," I said, grabbing her calves and shoving them back until her knees touched her shoulders. Jasmine whimpered when I dug my fingers into her flesh and her p.u.s.s.y slickened even more. "Like this. I'm gonna get nice and deep in that eager c.u.n.t of yours, Jasmine. Deeper than any of those other f.u.c.kers have ever got before. Are you ready for that?" I sawed my c.o.c.k between her smooth p.u.s.s.y lips, and she moaned and shuddered. Her nipples were rock hard.

"Yeah," she breathed. "I'm ready, Killer. Give it to me."

I positioned myself at the sweltering entrance to her depths and muttered, "d.a.m.n right you are," as I plunged forward, letting her moist, throbbing muscles cling to me all the way down.

"Jesus!" Jasmine cried, face twisting in both pleasure and pain, hands clasping her own b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Oh, f.u.c.k, Kellan! You're so big...!"

I was, and I could tell by the way her p.u.s.s.y stretched around my d.i.c.k that she'd never had one this size before. She wasn't just paying me lip service; she was in awe.

"You love it," I accused her, rocking back and forth to force more of her c.u.n.t to acquiesce to me. "That's why you're here, isn't it? So one of these big, bad fighters can make you feel like a s.l.u.t?"

Jasmine squealed and squirmed when I bottomed out inside her. I still had an inch or so that wouldn't fit, but that was okay-I hadn't found a girl who could take me all the way in yet, and she at least was doing an admirable job of trying.

"Those other fighters," I said, beginning to thrust in earnest now. "Did they ever make you squirt, Jasmine?"

Breathily, she whispered, "No." Then she tweaked her nipples for me, making her t.i.ts even rounder and fuller than they were before. I grunted and sped up, kneeling on either side of her so that my face was right in front of hers when I slammed my hips into her a.s.s. The way her flesh bounced with the impact made me even harder; there was something so primal and intoxicating about that wet slapping sound.

"I'm gonna," I a.s.sured her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her onto my d.i.c.k with every one of my powerful plunges. "I'm gonna make you squirt all over me, Jasmine. Because that's what you really need-someone who can make you into a good girl. Someone who can make you obey." I grunted as my c.o.c.k swelled even more inside her. s.h.i.t, I was close. "So when I count to three, you're gonna let go and squirt all over my d.i.c.k, and you're gonna make a big, sloppy mess while I dump my load into your p.u.s.s.y."

"I... I don't know if I can," Jasmine admitted, whimpering as she writhed on my d.i.c.k. "Oh, it's so good..."

"You can, and you will." She looked like she might argue again and I snarled. "On the count of three, you're gonna do exactly as I say. No matter how hard you fight, it's gonna happen, because you aren't in control here, baby. I am." With one hand, I pressed down on her mound, and used the other to embed my thumb firmly against her c.l.i.t. With my thighs, I elevated her a.s.s up off the bed so that my d.i.c.k pounded straight into her G-spot. Jasmine's eyes flew open wide.

"One," I said, rubbing her little c.l.i.t as fast as I could.

Jasmine wailed. She kneaded those heavy t.i.ts of hers, the fluttering motions of her fingertips on her nipples mimicking my frantic strokes on her c.l.i.t. I felt another rush of wet warmth from inside her as it embraced my d.i.c.k.

"Two," I said, pumping up hard and fast into her spot, relentlessly pummeling that bundle of nerves I knew would make it impossible for her to stop herself.

Jasmine tried, though-when the sensation overwhelmed her, she pushed at my hands and squirmed like never before, saying in a high, breathy voice: "N-no! It's too good! Ooh, f.u.c.k, Kellan, it's too much. I can't take it. Stop...!"

She didn't want me to stop. She just needed to release all that pressure that had welled up inside her sweet spot. Cruelly, I pressed down on her mound at the same time I quickened my pace on both her c.l.i.t and her c.u.n.t, ramming so hard into her the headboard struck the wall with every thrust.

Jasmine wailed and kicked my shoulders. Her eyes rolled back. Her p.u.s.s.y tightened suddenly.

"Three," I said.

With a low, guttural groan that soon turned into a scream, Jasmine let loose a torrent of sweet p.u.s.s.y juice all over my hips and waist. She spasmed and convulsed, fingers curling, body a live wire snapping and crackling under me. I could feel her dripping off my b.a.l.l.s and that was all I needed to tip over the edge of my own ecstasy, letting out a roar of bliss as my d.i.c.k spat out a thick, creamy load into her tortured c.u.n.t.

The way she screamed my name, over and over, sounded like the chanting of the crowd whenever I strode out into the ring. It should've made me feel the same way, too-admired, special, alive.

Instead, I felt a little void inside me, a place that wasn't quite filled by the woman I'd brought to rapture and tears, or the pent-up aggression I'd taken out on her. Even my satisfied c.o.c.k seemed like it was missing something, some level of intensity that usually kept these s.h.i.tty feelings at bay for a couple of days.

I pulled out of Jasmine as she was still recovering from her ma.s.sive o.r.g.a.s.m and pulled the condom off, throwing it away. I was just about to clean up with a towel when she crawled to the edge of her bed on her belly and looked up at me, face glowing with joy and sweat.

"Let me clean you off, baby," she said, voice sweet and husky. "C'mon. It's the least I can do after you f.u.c.ked me so right."

Would that really make it better, though? Would letting Jasmine lick the leftover s.p.u.n.k on my c.o.c.k make me feel whole again? Or was putting my fist through some guy's face in the ring the closest I was ever gonna get to that?

Whatever-it didn't matter. Feelings were bulls.h.i.t, anyway. They'd just f.u.c.k you up and slow you down. The only thing that mattered was action. You sure as h.e.l.l couldn't trust a man's feelings, or his words, but you could trust what he did, and for me, that was f.u.c.king and fighting. I could put my faith in that.

But even with Jasmine's plump, swollen lips wrapped around my twitching shaft, her eyes fixed on mine as she lapped at my tip like a kitty with a saucer of cream, I wondered how long it'd be until all this came crashing down around me, too. I was a weapon; I was only of use if someone found use for me. What would happen when everyone around me gave up?

I closed my eyes and let Jasmine's sinful tongue drown out those thoughts for now. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. h.e.l.l, like all the others I'd come to in my life, I'd probably burn it to the ground.

~ Two ~

Parker

Man, I really needed this drink.

State Senator John MacFarlane was sitting just a few feet away from me at the bar, embroiled in what appeared to be a private, friendly conversation with a couple of other suits. This didn't strike me as the kind of place people of his caliber usually hung out. I would've expected to see him in some fancy, five-star restaurant, but here he was, slumming it in The Sly Fox with the rest of us. Which was great for me, because I was stalking him, and I wasn't sure I'd have been able to make that work if he'd chosen fine dining for tonight's venue.

Not that I couldn't have pa.s.sed for some society girl-at least as far as looks went. I was pretty and had the requisite blonde hair to lend credibility to my claims. Unfortunately, I didn't have society girl funds, and strutting into some exclusive French restaurant without being able to afford even an appetizer would've made it next to impossible to get this close to Senator MacFarlane.

It must have been my lucky day, and I wasn't going to waste it. Good luck was something I was in short supply of, these days.

As I'm sure all journalism students do, I dreamed of being the star reporter of some big news source, the kind of hard-hitting, investigative journalist people would respect and admire. I wanted to be a household name, right up there with Nellie Bly, the woman who'd exposed the corruption and inept.i.tude of the American mental healthcare industry.

So when I graduated and could only get a job at a local flavor like The Spill, I'd been crushed. I thought my hopes and dreams would amount to nothing, that I'd spend my career reporting on the Spring Flower Festival or the latest feud between a homeowner's a.s.sociation and some eccentric, old coot.

But I couldn't go down that way. I was Parker f.u.c.king James, and I was going to get the scoop.

Specifically, I was going to grill Senator MacFarlane on why he hadn't thrown his hat in the ring to support a bill that would grant preferential treatment to veterans seeking jobs in the civilian world-the world they were all forced to return to with no guarantee that they would be able to make a living in it ever again. Employers don't like huge lapses of time between jobs, and even putting a tour of duty on a resume sometimes wasn't enough to change their minds. This bill would make sure that vets got a fair shot, which was something I thought every American could get behind, especially a conservative like MacFarlane-the guy who'd voted to deploy our troops every chance he got.

As far as Republicans went, MacFarlane wasn't too bad a guy. So why was he hemming and hawing about this? I smelled a story, maybe even a scandal, one that would draw enough attention to me as a reporter to move me up the food chain.

Hopefully.

I fingered the top b.u.t.ton of my blouse. I'd already undone the first two, and I was contemplating whether or not a third would be pushing it. I had a great rack, and I knew how to use it, too, but I didn't want to overdo it and give myself away. Most men would go braindead when I pushed my t.i.ts in their face, but a senator wasn't in the same league as a thirty-something scrub or a frat boy. No, I had to play this very carefully, or else he'd clam up faster than I could say, "concerned const.i.tuents."

Still, I had a lot riding on this. And to get anywhere in life, you had to take risks. Go big, or go home. I steeled my nerves and slowly slipped that third b.u.t.ton through the hole. My neckline fell away to reveal the twin mounds pushed up and apart by a rather expensive bustier I'd been saving for just such an occasion. G.o.d, that was totally pathetic of me. Instead of trying to reel in a man with my womanly curves, I was trying to reel in a story. I was such a nerd.

Men can wait, I told myself, straightening up and rising from my table. My career comes first.

Then I b.u.mped face-first into a wall of man muscle, and instantly, I began to rethink my stance on the issue.

I'd never seen biceps so perfect in all my life, and the broad chest bulging under his olive green t-shirt nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. In such close proximity, his scent overwhelmed me; masculine and musky, with just a hint of something dark and gritty, like a whiff of single malt scotch. Or maybe that was just the beer he'd spilled all over me in a great splash that soaked the cleavage I'd just unveiled. I'd hardly even noticed-the flash of his hazel eyes and pull of his full lips had left me utterly entranced.

Not just because he was hot, either. In that moment, that split-second we collided, I saw something it would've taken most people an actual, in-depth conversation to sort out. This man, whoever he was, was hiding something behind those honey-jade eyes. He was here in this bar, drinking, to escape whatever secret was eating him up inside.

That intrigued me on a whole other level, especially when I raked my gaze down to the faint outline of a chain beneath his shirt. Dog tags. I'd come here hoping to catch a state senator off-guard regarding veteran's issues, and here I was, pressed up against a current or former solider. How's that for serendipity?

Human interest story. That was what I was thinking about as I bit my lip and forced myself to once again meet his stare. And I was thinking something else, too. Something wholly unprofessional, but a h.e.l.l of a lot more fun. The kind of fun I hadn't had in a very long time.

Don't get distracted.

Easier said than done.

"s.h.i.t. Sorry," the guy said, setting his beer down on the bar behind him and grabbing a fistful of community-property napkins. I reached to take them from his hand but he'd already begun wiping me down, pressing the rough wad to the tops of my beer-spattered b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Then he stared at me, face contorted in horror. He must've realized what he was doing. "Oh." He drew his hand back. "I..."

I laughed. "It's okay. No harm, no foul." He handed me the napkins and our finger brushed. I felt my pulse pound between my thighs and tried not to squirm. "Just wasn't prepared for there to be a wet t-shirt contest."

"Sorry," he said again. "I'm not usually this clumsy. Let me buy you a beer. Make it up to you."

Unless I was mistaken, that was the smoothest transition from apology to pick-up line I'd ever heard. And it was a flattering offer. But then I caught sight of Senator MacFarlane over my tall, dark, and handsome stranger's shoulder and recalled my agenda.

"It's really not a problem," I began, preparing to slip this guy my card and cash in on the opportunity later. He was, after all, awfully alluring as a man, and, depending on his story, potentially a d.a.m.n good angle for my story-"the real cost of Senator MacFarlane's hesitation," I'd call him right beneath a picture of his pretty, grizzled face. Yeah, I was definitely interested in this guy. He just wasn't my main target. I couldn't lose focus.

Senator MacFarlane had noticed me, and not in a good way. He glanced over with an eyebrow c.o.c.ked, made a split-second appraisal, and then turned back to his conversation with his buddies in suits. d.a.m.n. No way he'd talk to me now, not with me covered in beer that had turned my silk blouse sheer.

That guy was still looking at me, too, though. I could feel the heat of his stare. Swiping his beer bottle off the bar, he jerked his head toward a couple empty stools and said, "C'mon. I insist. Or h.e.l.l, maybe you can buy me a drink, since mine ended up all over you."

My jaw slackened a little. He winked. Normally I didn't like this kind of teasing from men, but something about this guy made him able to pull it off. Maybe it was the slight quirk of his lips forming into a decadent smirk, or the glimmer of mischief in his eyes that made him look like a teenage boy and a big, tough man all at once. Whatever it was, it loosened me up and took me off the edge. I kinda liked it.

What a missed opportunity with MacFarlane, though. I'd had him right where I wanted him, minus the entourage. Would I get another opportunity to corner him before the end of the month when my deadline came up? You better sure as h.e.l.l hope so.

"All right," I said. Maybe I could salvage this with a free drink and a few empathy-inducing quotes from this guy. "I guess a drink can't hurt. As long as it ends up in my mouth this time."

He almost looked like he wanted to say something then, but stopped himself. That smirk was back, too. I narrowed my eyes a little, but couldn't help smiling back. So, he's got a nose for innuendo.

He pulled out my stool and I sat, still dabbing at myself with some napkins while my gentleman caller ordered a beer for me. I was impressed. Usually guys thought I wanted some fruity drink or a gla.s.s of wine, or something. Not that I minded either of those, but I was a beer girl at heart-had been ever since my dad introduced me to the stuff at a baseball game when I was a teenager. The smell, the taste, even the texture brought back fond memories. And it was nice to have a guy not underestimate me for once, too.

"I'm Kellan," he said as I set my frosty bottle on a coaster, "by the way."