Senn (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 5) (19 page)

“Uh God.” I moan and squirm as much as I can on the wall, trying to find a way to get more friction. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asks like the asshole he is. But I ain’t too proud to beg for it.

“Fuck me.”

“Say my name,” he orders. Oh I have a name for him, all right.

“Just fuck me, you giant, cocksucking chode!” I exclaim in exasperation.

Senn throws his head back and chuckles. “Here,” he says, offering the condom. “Put it on me.”

I tear the package open, and then flip it this way and that to try and unroll it, showing my lack of experience. Of course I’m not a virgin, but Linc and I never used condoms since we were each other’s first and I was on birth control pills. There have only been three other guys since him, two one-night stands and a boyfriend that only lasted a few months. But I’ve never put a condom on a man before.

With Senn towering over me, I feel like a naïve teenage girl getting ready to have her mind blown by a man who should have a doctorate in fucking since he’s been at it for so long. Carelessly screwing his way through woman after woman. He’s the opposite of Linc, who loved me with everything he had to give, until I lost our baby and ran away. Now…now Linc’s marrying someone else, and I…I have to try to survive cancer again. I’m not scared of dying. I’m terrified of dying alone, without ever having someone love me that way again.

Instead of laughing at me, Senn’s face is dead serious when I look back up at him with tears in my eyes.

“You’re thinking about him,” he says, a statement not a question. I lower my gaze, trying to blink away the tears. “Do you want to stop?” he asks.

I shake my head, knowing full well I’m ruining the mood. The passion of being in the moment is fleeting, and I just ran it off.

“Abby,” Senn says softly. “You’ve got to let that shit go. Forget him and be in the here and now with me. You just gave me the best head of my life in the backseat of a cab. Where did that girl go? I liked her. She was sexy as fuck.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, leaning forward to kiss my neck with tongue. God, that one touch is all it takes to make me melt in a puddle of gooey lust. “Tomorrow I’ll tell him. Not your name,” he interjects quickly before I can protest. “I’ll tell him about the fine as fuck woman who came up and propositioned me for a night of mind-blowing sex. How good it felt to have her suck my cock in the backseat of a taxi. How tight and wet her pussy was when I licked it.” His mouth moves down to capture my nipple. “That the little slut let me do anything I wanted to her all night long.” I wiggle when his teeth nip and tug a little on the sensitive skin in his mouth. And then my breath rushes out of my lungs, feeling him position himself between my legs. “I’ll remind him that he’s only gonna have sex with one woman, one boring woman, for the rest of his long life when he could’ve been fucking in backseats and pounding your pussy into a wall so loud the neighbors can hear.”

Senn shifts his hips and thrust into me, making me cry out to the ceiling when my head falls back against the wall. After my breasts start to rub against his shirt, I realize the major mistake I’ve made here and resolve it in seconds, tugging his shirt over his head.

Oh. My. God. Watching him workout across the gym is one thing, but up close like this with his wide shoulders, defined pecs and rippling abs pressed against me…my pussy clamps down harder on his cock, never wanting to let this one go.

“Holy shit, holy shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit,” Senn mutters against my ear. “Best chokehold ever.”

“Harder,” I demand with a tug of his hair. Doing as I asked, he pulls back and then rams into me over and over again, making me gasp and both of us yell obscenities. “Uh fuck! Don’t stop! So close.”

Reaching down between our bodies, he presses his fingertips to my clit.

“God yes!” I exclaim.

“You like that? Gonna come for me?” he asks.

My fingers untangle from his hair, and my hands roam down to his thick shoulders, over his expansive chest. “I could come just looking at you.”

When Senn stops moving, I realize I said that aloud and instantly regret it. He’ll never let me live it down. “I’d rather you come with me inside you,” he says, drawing my eyes up to his when he doesn’t say something arrogant. “Or on my tongue.”

My breath hitches, and my lower belly tightens and floods with warmth at the reminder of being upside down on his lap with his tongue between my legs.

“When was the last time you had your pussy licked?” he asks.

“Years,” I answer, resting my head against the wall and enjoying the sensation of him seated and pulsing deep inside me but not moving.

“Really? Cause that’s the first time I had my tongue in a pussy in years.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“I don’t tongue fuck just any cunt,” he says with a smirk before his hips start thrusting again, taking me higher, especially with his fingers still working my clit. “Now, every time I see you at
Havoc
, I’m gonna be thinking about how you smell like fresh squeezed lemonade in the summertime and how good this tight pussy tastes creaming all over my face.”

“Oh God,” I moan when my pussy starts to throb like it has its own out-of-control heartbeat.

“Abby’s homemade lemon meringue pie. Mmm-mmm. I could bury my face in your pie. Every. Single. Night.”

“
Uhh God
!” I scream when I come, thinking about his head between my legs, eating me up like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Senn groans when he keeps pounding into me. “Squeeze me dry, baby. Fuck yes!”

The room spins and goes dark. Thank goodness Senn’s holding me up or I would’ve fallen. I hold on to his shoulders while we both ride out the pleasure that seems to go on and on forever. Finished, and spent, Senn rests his sweaty head in the crook of my neck, his breath warm and heavy on my neck. He gives the outside of my thigh three consecutive pats.

“I submit,” he says. “You can relax now.”

I giggle, realizing he was tapping out because my pussy was still clinching around his cock. When he lowers my feet to the ground, I sink down, taking the condom with me.

“Oh shit,” he says before going in and fishing it out with his fingers. “That’s a first. Your pussy was on lockdown.”

That has me giggling again. I’m high on endorphins and still a little tipsy mixed with sleepy. It’s a great combination, but I have no more energy. When Senn goes in search of a bathroom, I sink down onto the floor to rest. A few minutes later, and he’s lifting me into his arms and carrying me down the hall to my bedroom. As soon as my head hits the pillow, so does reality. He’s gonna get dressed and leave now, I just know it. And then I’ll spend another lonely night in my bed, just like all the others, and all the ones to come. So sad and pathetic. Partially my own fault for hanging on to the past. I really do need to let it go. Maybe Linc’s wedding is a blessing in disguise and will give me the closure I need to move on.

Shimmying out of my dress so that I’m more comfortable, I look over at the side of the bed. Senn’s standing there with his hands on the top of his jeans, like he’s not sure if he’s coming or going. Going I’m sure, after he got what he came for. I stare at his incredible upper body that’s still shirtless. The big, strong body of a fighter. Even after the orgasms I had earlier, just the sight of him is enough to get me turned on again. So I reach down between my legs and touch myself while I look at him. My lips part on a gasp of pleasure, and I have to lick them when they go dry. I imagine running my tongue over every indent, every inch of his magnificent body, until my own trembles with a release. On a sigh of satisfaction, I curl up on my side and close my eyes, ready to float into dreamland when the mattress dips.

Senn’s warm, hard body presses against the front of mine. He reaches for my hands, sucking the arousal off the fingers that were between my legs before placing my arms around his neck. I hold on to him tightly, snuggling up against his chest, while his hands go down to rest on my ass.

“Goodnight,” I say softly, almost afraid I’ll break whatever spell this is that has him sleeping in my bed.

“Goodnight,” he replies with a kiss to my forehead.

In the comfort of his arms, I start to drift off to sleep, wishing he wouldn’t leave in the morning, but knowing he will, probably before I wake up. Men like Senn don’t ever settle down, especially not with a girl like me, with an expiration date.

But tonight, when the world feels like it’s crumbling around me, at least someone is here, holding me and kissing me like he can’t live without me. And that is something I know I’ll never forget, even if it’s only for one night.

###

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A Lovestruck Novella

By Lane Hart

Josie Carter

“Oh my God, Josie. Check out that ridiculously horny guy,” my best friend Reagan says. Her words are followed by a knobby elbow nudge to my ribs, directing my eyes to the row of white canopies on our right.

“Where?” I ask, searching for him at the same time I concentrate on walking and not breaking both of my ankles. My nude stilettos are the equivalent of walking on stilts in this grassy field. I swear there must be a village of moles partying it up underneath our feet based on how uneven the ground is.

“On our right, shirtless, with the, um, brown plaid skirt,” Reagan directs, reaching over to steal a handful of popcorn from my bag. 

“I don’t see him,” I tell her. “But I think we should turn around and go find those two knights. Boy, do they know how to handle their swords.”

“Yummy,” she mutters.

My wandering eyes finally land on the epitome of horniness. I nearly inhale a piece of kettle corn and break my neck when I’m unable to suppress my giggle. 

“Wow…” I say when I catch my breath. “That dude is by far the horniest we’ve seen.”

“I know, right!” Reagan snorts.

While most of the guys walking around with horns that are no more than three or four inches long, this one is sporting horns that curve up and around like a ram. Overcompensating much?

So what brings me to a field in the middle of nowhere on this muggy spring day, surrounded by knights, horny men, fairies and mermaids? Reagan, my best friend of twelve years, is a bohemian dress wearing, save the Earth spewing, flowerchild hippie; and somehow she convinced me to attend the Festival of Legends in Apex, a small, country town about an hour and a half away from our apartments in Greensboro. 

As if I wasn’t already regretting my decision to let her talk me into this freak fest, the sky picks that very moment to open up and start pelting us with big, fat raindrops.

“Shit! I told you we needed to bring the umbrella,” I bitch, as we both hunch our shoulders up to our ears and duck into the nearest tent. Great, and now my sky blue sundress may as well be white for all the protection the water soaked fabric is giving my full braless bosoms.

“It wasn’t even cloudy when we left!” Reagan argues, swiping at the wetness dripping from her face.

“Hello, ladies.”

Reagan and I both turn at the sound of a woman’s voice greeting us. Sitting behind a small, round table is an attractive red-headed lady, smiling warmly at us and dressed in a medieval style burgundy, bustier dress, complete with black laces. In front of her is an array of lit candles and incense, putting off a sweet, cinnamon scent…wait, is that a freaking crystal ball?

“Hi,” I reply softly.

“I’m Madam Tess. Care for a free spiritual reading?” she asks.

“Heck yes,” Reagan says without hesitation. I, on the other hand, am rather skeptical of such voodoo weirdness. My best friend plops her tiny ass right down on the empty stool on our side of the table and tosses her long, stick straight brown hair over her shoulder, clearly ready to get started.

“Your hands, my dear,” the woman says, and Reagan gives her both, palms up. I’m almost certain the girl has done this whole deal once or twice before.

“Ah, you have a bright and generous aura,” Madam Tess starts with her eyes squinting at Reagan’s hands. “Pure of spirit.”

So far she’s hitting the nail on the head, but of course her statements are vague and general.

“Losing a loved one suddenly when you were young has made you too cautious with your heart.”

Okay.  That’s a bit more specific and also very true. Reagan lost her father to a heart attack when he was only forty and she was just eleven years old.

“You will find true love soon, just as you turn a new corner in your life.”

I barely refrain from snickering, recalling seeing similar words just last week on a fortune cookie from Panda Express.

“Thank you,” Reagan says, before standing up somewhat wobbly on her Birkenstocks. See, I told you she was a hippie, right down to her toes. 

“How about you?” Madam Tess asks, turning to me. “No charge,” she adds when I continue to gnaw on my bottom lip in hesitation.

“Sure, what the hell,” I eventually say as I take Reagan’s vacated stool and sit my popcorn bag down on the table. I offer my hands to the so-called psychic. Her skin is cool when she flips them both over and then runs a red fingernail down the center of my right palm.

“Your life line is long,” she says optimistically.  And despite my total disbelief in all that is the psychic arts, I have to say I’m glad she didn’t say some bullshit like I’ll die next week when I least expect it. “You are rather stubborn and quick to lose your temper.”

I scoff and straighten my spine at the same time Reagan laughs and says, “Got that right!” over my shoulder.

“But you are also very loyal and courageous.”

The positive remarks lessen the sting of the criticisms, just a little.

“While you may be exceedingly lonely-”

“Am not!” I argue, trying to pull away from her grasp.

“Unfortunately, because of your inability to put your trust in a partner, you will not find love for…at least nine more years,” Madam Tess says before she finally releases my hand. 

“Nine years!” I exclaim indignantly, trying to ignore the dig about my trust issues. “I-I’ll be thirty-five!”

“Yes, well, your paths are not destined to cross until that time when you will finally be ready to accept another’s loyalty and commitment to you and only you,” she replies coolly with a shrug.

My own shoulders slump because, while I’m certainly not what I would consider lonely, I would like to meet “the one,” get married, and have several mini-mes running around, all before I’m barren.

“Well, thanks for nothing,” I say with a huff of depression as I get to my feet and look outside the tent to see if the rain is letting up yet. I’m so ready to go home, curl up on the sofa with a carton of Neapolitan ice cream and watch reruns of
South Park
. What can I say?  I have a crude sense of humor. That could very well be why I’m still single.

Or the kook might be onto something about my trust issues.

Senior year of college I was engaged to a man I thought was perfect. Bryan was a political science major like me. In fact, we had several classes together. He was incredibly sweet, and we got along so well, never, ever fighting about anything over the two years we dated. If there is such a thing as soulmates, I’m certain that he was mine. So imagine my surprise when Stacy, one of my suitemates at the time, saw him at a party the night we graduated making out with another girl. He had told me earlier in the day that he would be spending the night celebrating with his parents, when in fact he spent it with his dick in another girl. Not that I know that for certain, but Stacy was kind enough to send me pics of them kissing and leaving together. Bryan and I had picked a date for a fall wedding. I had bought a beautiful princess dress, booked a venue, and started making all the other plans while he was still fucking around with other women behind my back! Since then, I haven’t dated much, especially no one seriously. Apparently, if what this woman says is actually true, I won’t be with anyone seriously for a long time in the foreseeable future either. 

“There is another way…” Madam Tess says, trailing off her sentence after saying those four words, knowing she’s leaving me hanging. I refuse to take the bait.

For all of thirty seconds.

“A way to what?” I can’t help but ask when I turn back around. I grab up my popcorn bag from the table and pop a handful into my mouth, trying to act all nonchalant.

“A way to find
him
sooner,” she says with a knowing smirk because she’s clearly reeling me in like a floppy, big mouthed bass.

“How soon?” I ask skeptically.

“Within seven days.”

Seven days? Damn. That would be awesome to have a man in my apartment for the first time in --- what month is it? That is, if I actually
believed
her mumbo-jumbo.

“Oooh,” Reagan mutters from beside me, taking the bait hook, line and sinker. “Let’s do it,” she tells the woman and then to me, “What? You know you want to.”

The psychic woman reaches under the tablecloth and pulls out a small, round, glass bottle of red liquid. If I had to guess, I would say it’s cherry
Kool-Aid
.

“Nice,” Reagan says as she eyes the substance. “How much?”

“Two hundred,” Madam Tess answers.

“No way,” I reply with a bark of laughter. No way am I going to spend two hundred dollars, over thirteen hours of hard paralegal work, on what is most likely dyed water. This woman is just leeching off of the poor souls of single women!

“Nine years or two hundred dollars? I think you should go for it, Josie,” Reagan says with a nudge to my shoulder.

“Not gonna happen,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest to show her my adamant defiance against such scams. 

“Fine,” Reagan says with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll buy it for your birthday.”

“My birthday isn’t for five more months!”

“It’s an early present,” she says with a wave of her hand before she pulls her wallet from her purse.

“Reagan, no.” I try to stop her, but it’s too late. She’s handing the woman a fistful of cash for what is clearly going to be a rip-off.

“Pleasure, dear,” the woman says as she stands up from her stool and hands Reagan the bottle. Only, she doesn’t let it go once Reagan’s hand wraps around it.

“Wow,” Reagan whispers in awe when the liquid changes color before our eyes, going from a dark, reddish tint to a more purplish one. In other words, it went from cherry to grape
Kool-Aid
.

“It’s nothing more than those liquid crystals like in mood rings, changing color based on body temperature,” I say, certain that the fancy little trick has to be the same premise.

“No, it’s not temperature. The potion senses souls,” Madam Tess says.

“Purple’s my favorite color,” Reagan admits.

“And mine, of course, is red,” the psychic says with a smile.

Pure coincidence.

“Now,” the hoodoo artist begins telling Reagan. “I must warn you of a few things. Once you or your friend drink the potion, you’ll have seven days to find and unite with your soulmate.”

“Huh?” Reagan asks. “Unite? Like get married in a week?”

“No, not obtain a piece of paper. How does one
physically
unite two minds, bodies, and souls?” Madam Tess asks, glancing between us with a raised eyebrow, still holding the bottle of
Kool-Aid
in a death grip.

“Sex?” Reagan asks, making me snort. When Madam Tess gives a slight nod of confirmation, I can’t refrain from rolling my eyes.

“Furthermore, by drinking the potion, you’re causing a disturbance in the natural order of things, making events occur sooner rather than later. Therefore, sacrifices must be made to put you on the correct path and resume the balance.”

“What kind of sacrifices?” Reagan asks softly, her skin looking paler than usual.

“No one will die,” Madam Tess laughs. “But there may be some suffering or…inconveniences that are required for the sudden shift in time order to take place.”

“Like what exactly?” I ask.

“There’s no way for me to know. It’s different for each person. Which brings me to the third and final warning,” she says, her face turning serious. “The potion in this bottle will never run dry, unless it goes unused.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I snort.

“Once you drink your one sip, you cannot drink anymore. But every seven days from that time it must be ingested by someone else, and so on,” the psychic explains to us. “The potion will continue to replenish itself as long as it is consumed by a different person every seven days. If not, it will begin to diminish, and once the last drop is lost, so will be all the love it created.” 

“Oh no,” Reagan mutters as she buys right into all the bullshit this woman is selling. After Madam Tess finally releases the bottle, she stares down at the purple liquid a second in thought before she asks, “But how do you know when you’ve found the one? Your soulmate?”

“Easy,” the psychic answers with a smile before she folds her dress underneath her and retakes her seat at the table. “Because after a perfect pair of souls are united, they’re unable to
see
anyone else.”

“At first maybe, but I bet your little potion can’t make a man keep his dick in his pants around other women forever,” I say with a great deal of snarkiness. Okay, so maybe I’m still a little bitter, even three years later.

“Once bonded, the two souls will
never
be separated, by infidelity or anything else, not even death,” Madam Tess replies. “Well, not unless you wait too long to unite or the potion expires.”  

The rain thankfully finally lets up to a soft drizzle and not a moment too soon, because I seriously want to get away from all these weirdos and get back to normal society.