ROMANCE: MENAGE ROMANCE: Tapped and Taken by Two (Pregnancy Sports MMA UFC Fighter Romance) (Alpha Male Romance) (28 page)

I sit down on the toilet, stripping off my clothes and dropping them to the floor. The brush of my fingers against my skin makes me shudder, cluing me into how keyed up I’ve become. I have to remind myself again that I’m not attracted to violence, that I don’t want to see men pounding each other into the floor. My fingers skate up to my nipples, circling around my areolas. The heightened response I receive has me gasping and leaning into my own touch. My nipples rise up, rock hard, eager for more. I squeeze one, slipping my other hand over to cup my breast. A shuddering sigh spills out of my mouth as my lips quiver in pleasure. I can feel a building wetness between my legs, but I don’t indulge just yet. I let my fingers coax more and more ecstasy from my skin.

I tell myself again that it isn’t the violence, but I remember Stark standing over his much larger opponent. I picture the swift pivot that led him to swing his elbow and connect right in the other man’s soft tissue. I think of the triumphant glint of his eye, staring down at his fallen foe. Finally, it’s more than I can take. My hand traces down my stomach and arrives at the line of my pubic hair, shaved into a strip down my groin. It’s all pressed flat from the tightness of my underwear and shorts over the course of the day. The sharp blade of my fingernail ghosts over the throbbing mound of my clit, and I let out a small moan. I don’t bother trying to muffle my sounds; instead, I let them feed and amplify my arousal. A trickle of liquid beads around my opening, and I extend my finger to catch it, dragging it back up to my clit and finally applying the pressure that I crave.

Still pinching at my nipple, I start rubbing myself in small circles, collecting my wetness and smearing it across my most tender flesh. I increase my pace, abandoning my nipple to spread my lips wide to allow myself better access. My breathing is all kinds of erratic. I slip a finger down and enter myself, lost to my heat. I press up against my g-spot and my mind supplies the image again: the two men circling each other in the ring, the spectators losing their minds, and all of it is so much. I lift a leg, placing my foot on the tub, and add another finger inside of me.

It takes more than a moment to realize that something is off. My foot is getting wet. A cold dread grips at my chest as I open my eyes to see the tub overflowing, water spilling out over the bathroom floor. I swear and grab for the faucet, hastily stopping the cascade soaking into the bath mat and coating the tile. My cheeks flame as I let out the stopper, draining the tub enough to allow me to get in without further flooding the bathroom. Luckily, the damage doesn’t seem to be too bad. The water wasn’t overflowing long enough to be a huge problem, but I would still need to take a mop to the floor.

‘Later,’
I decide, frowning at the sticky mess coating my inner thighs. I shake my head, annoyed to have squandered what would have been such a promising orgasm, but I slip into the water all the same. I missed my moment, and it would take too long to get back up to that same level of arousal, and I don’t want to have to refill the tub after letting the water get too cool. I have to take advantage of the steaming bath water before too long.

The scalding heat of it makes me hiss, but as soon as I’m submerged, I feel the tension begin to slip away, rushing out of my body as I breathe in deeply. As my lungs fill up with steam, I return my attention to my throbbing pussy, but the moment has passed. I can’t get the reaction I want; the soothing burn of the tub will have to suffice. My head drops below the surface of the water as I slide forward. The soft skin around my eyes burns, but I wait until I absolutely need to breathe before coming back up. The shampoo that I’ve been using for the past month is too expensive to warrant using every day, but I squeeze a dollop into my hand and let the gentle tingle of the peppermint oil relax me further, massaging my scalp gently. I love the smell of it, and love the way it opens up my throat. I close my eyes and rinse it out, sinking into the feeling of the water.

One more time, I let myself think about Luke Stark, this time to hope that I don’t see him in the gym tomorrow. It’s going to be awkward, I already know. I never let myself fantasize about people that I see every day for that exact reason. As I loofah down my upper arms and shoulders, I try to imagine what I would even say to him, were we to be introduced.

‘The normal stuff, I guess,’
I thought with a smile.
‘It’s not like he knows anything about me.’
I tried to remember the exact words Dwight had used.
‘He said “another victim.” I guess that means he’s at the gym pretty often.’
A frown pulled at my lips.
‘And he said something about underground fighting. Definitely a dangerous guy.’

The water has started to enter lukewarm territory by the time I’m ready to get out, and my fingers are pruned. The drain gurgles as the water spills out, and I stand in the cold puddle from my earlier lapse in self-control. I blush as I hurriedly fetch the mop from the kitchen and work on getting everything dry. With the mop already in hand, I sigh and decide that I might as well mop up all of the floors.

‘It’s been a while, I guess,’
I think.
‘No time like the present.’

I pull on a bathrobe and switch on my Pandora. I’m just about done when the door opens and Monica walks through, looking thoroughly nonplussed.

“Baths…” Monica’s nose wrinkles, and I laugh. We’ve never shared musical tastes, but at least we’re good sports about it. “Thanks for mopping up.” She drops her purse on the kitchen counter and walks over to collapse on the exposed bit of couch.

“No problem. Just get your shit out of the living room.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Her eyes slide closed and she leans back. I stow the mop back in its corner, and creep up behind her.

“Not a chance, Anna,” she smirks. One of her eyes snaps open to catch me trying to surprise her. “So you want to tell me how your first day really went?”

A smile brightens up my face, and I forget about everything except sharing my experience with my best friend. I sit beside her on the couch and launch straight into a rough outline of my day, starting with Dwight and his little tour. Monica’s always been an attentive listener. She nods along with my story, asking appropriate questions in the lulls and pauses. I never feel like I’m boring her, and she never interrupts or cuts me off. I reach the part of the story where I saw Luke, and I all but melt. I know that I probably sound like a schoolgirl with a crush, but I can’t help it.

“My God, Monica,” I say, grin returning to my face. “If you could have just seen this guy. He was all over the place, just completely in control. And so graceful. And hot, in a ‘come with me if you want to live,’ kind of way.”

Monica bit her lip. “Girl, you better be careful with that shit. He sounds like trouble.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No, no, no,” I said. “Absolutely not. I’m not stupid.” I add in emphatic hand gestures for good measure. “I’m not about to get myself hurt again. Especially over some prize fighter.”

Monica’s lips tighten into a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but she reaches out and pulls me into a hug before I can.

“Whenever you’re ready to get hurt again, just let me know,” she says. “I’ll take you out and we can find some shitty guy to break your heart. But like, an accountant or something. Someone harmless.” She pulls back and holds me at the shoulders. “Sound good?”

It takes me far too long to realize that she’s joking, but when I figure it out, I let out a bark of surprised laughter. She laughs too, and we take the time to just enjoy having each other. For the first time in a good while, I feel completely content. I have a job, a great friend, and plenty of small things to smile and laugh about.

The next morning, I feel like doing anything but smiling. Maybe in a past life I was a morning person, but definitely not in this lifetime. I eat my healthy breakfast of boiled eggs and a banana, not tasting any of it. I drive myself into work on complete autopilot. Justin isn’t there when I clock in. Instead, there’s a woman working the front desk. Her nametag says “Becca,” and her face says “fuck you.” A kindred spirit, a fellow morning-hater.

“Morning,” I say as I sit next to her. She nods in my direction, acknowledging my existence and nothing else. Her dark brown hair sits cropped close to her scalp, and her well-defined muscles show that she takes full advantage of the employees’ reduced membership rates.

After a painful near twenty minutes of silence, Becca turns to me. “You’re the new girl?” When I nod, she continues, “You know how to swipe the cards, yeah?” I nod again. Without another word, Becca stands up and strolls into the gym. I gape after her, half tempted to tell her to do a towel walk through, and half tempted to beg her to come back.

‘Well, everyone knows the machine’s easy to use,’
I tell myself, shaking off the gut reaction of panic.
‘A trained ape could do it.’
Though it began as casual self-assurance, the thought led to a gut punching reminder of all my wasted potential.

“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter. My teeth grit together as I stare at the computer screen. The welcome screen mocks me as I try to disengage and get my head back in the present moment. Sunlight trickles down from a high window, throwing a glare across part of the screen. I consider drawing the blinds, but it doesn’t matter enough to get me to stand up. I give into the trance-like state that comes from sitting in front of a computer screen for too long, and I pull up Becca’s unfinished game of minesweeper. She got really far, and I can’t help but wonder how long she’s been working on it. Expert level difficulty. I can’t help but be impressed.

Someone clears their throat in front of me, and I jump, clicking on a bomb tile. I look over the debris in dismay before turning my attention to the customer.

“Yes, hello, hi,” I say, eyes widening as I realize that it’s Luke Stark there, right in front of me. He’s here. A blush takes over my face and I fight to keep my composure. It doesn’t work.

“You’re the new girl, right?” Luke asks, a small smile behind his eyes. He sets his membership card down on the counter as he looks me over.

“How the hell does everyone already know that?” I mutter, taking the card and swiping it through the machine.

“Nametag,” he says. I look down at my shirt and don’t see anything there. At my puzzled expression, he laughs and explains, “You don’t have one.”

There’s that blush again. “Ah. Right, yes. Um.” I clear my throat and make sure to meet his gaze. “I’m Anna.”

“Luke,” he says. “And don’t tell me that you’re my father. Everyone thinks that joke’s funny except me.” The exasperation on his face makes me laugh.

‘Calm down. It isn’t flirting, it’s just small talk,’
I caution myself. I have a habit of reading too far into situations.

“Sorry, the machine’s running a bit slow,” I say, gesturing to the antique bit of machinery in front of me. As the silence begins to turn awkward between us, I wonder how far I can press the conversation before I step over the line. Looking around, there’s no one to object if I keep talking to him. “I saw your fight yesterday.”

Luke shook his head. “Nah, that wasn’t a fight. Me and Connor were just having a little spar.”

“It looked pretty hardcore for just a little spar,” I reply with a frown. The computer still has the “pending” screen up. I smile, willing the awkward feelings away. But of course, the feelings linger and I can’t help but want something different.

“It was nothing,” Luke lies, his hand reaching back to scratch his neck. “If you thought that was rough, I don’t know what you’d think of a real match.”

I tilt my head to the side, wondering if he’s going to invite me to see him fight. I don’t want to, not at all…at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I’m more than a little relieved when the computer pings at me to say that Luke is clear to enter the gym.

“Here you are,” I say, handing back his card. His gaze lingers on my face before he struts out of the lobby area. After a few good blows to the head, I expect him to be a little less graceful, but Luke just seems determined to keep surprising me. I wonder how hard he’d have to get hit before he’d consider himself to be actually injured.

I want to ask Becca, but she still hasn’t made her way back to the desk. After what felt like hours sitting alone, bored out of my skull, she finally turns up, reeking of cigarette smoke. It kind of seems to defeat the purpose of exercising if you’re going to go smoke, but I’m not about to be the one to point that out to this Amazon.

“Anyone come through?” she asks, and I nod.

“Luke Stark.” My curiosity floods back, erasing my annoyance at being abandoned for so long. “Do you know him?”

“Not personally,” Becca answered, taking her seat next to me. “He’s in here just about every day though.” I try not to appear interested, but apparently don’t do a very good job. Becca sighs, and leans closer to me. “Look,” she says. “You don’t seem to be completely incompetent, so here’s my advice. That guy is bad news; everyone says so. I’d steer clear, you know?”

I nod, aware that I’m probably beet red. “I was just curious, is all.”

“Well don’t be. He’s an MMA fighter, and if you’ve heard anything about him, it’s probably all the stupid rumors floating around here about him being some underground fighting legend.” Becca’s eyes roll and an exaggerated frown crosses her face. “I seriously doubt that’s true, but you know. Better safe than sorry.”