Serious Ink (12 page)

He almost laughed, but vivid memories – of other times she’d spent on her knees, in front of him – flooded his mind, crowding out his sense of amusement. “No, I’m not mad.”

She breathed a sigh. “Oh, good. When you walked in, I knew I’d been caught red-handed going through your stuff. It was so hard to keep a straight face.”

He did laugh then. “You
didn’t
keep a straight face. Even now, you look like a toddler caught with one hand in the cookie jar.”

Her cheeks went pink. “Well, if you’re really not pissed at me, do you mind if I keep looking? Some of these photos are really hot.”

He barely suppressed another snort of amusement. “Knock yourself out.”

She reopened the album, eyes gleaming. Now she looked like a toddler who’d been given free access to the cookie jar. “I had no idea you were a fighter,” she said. “Though I guess it makes perfect sense. I can’t believe I never thought to ask.”

“It was a long time ago.” Five years since he’d stepped into a cage, to be exact. That might not seem like a lot to some, but it felt like a lifetime to him. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that martial arts had been an all-consuming part of his life for an entire decade before that.

Of course, it was still an all-consuming part of his life, just in a different way. He’d evolved.

“Obviously, you competed,” she said, flipping a page. “For how long? What was it like?”

“I was serious about competing for a couple years.” Back in his early to mid-twenties. “Started out on a pretty rough amateur circuit. Things got better over time. I was on my way up – competing professionally – when I quit.” Or at least, that was how it’d felt – like he’d been reaching for the top of the world when he’d come crashing down.

Maybe his career never would’ve reached the heights he’d aspired to, but there was no knowing now. It might’ve. He’d certainly been poised for a chance at success.

“Why’d you quit?”

“Injury.” Even now, it was still impossible to speak the word without feeling a hint of the old grudge – a grudge against circumstance, against his own body.

She looked up, gaze snapping to his, like a light bulb had gone off above her head. “Your shoulder?”

For a split second, he felt the bone-crunching impact of his body hitting the mat, a hundred and sixty-five pounds all concentrated on a few square inches of flesh and bone, a joint that had never been meant to absorb a blow like that. He recalled the snap of bone, the shock of breakage. But what had been worse had been the long weeks of persistent pain after the surgery, the seemingly endless frustration of physical therapy, slowly re-training everything only to fuck it all up again while simply sparring, ruining all the progress he’d made just when the pins had almost started to feel like part of his body.

“Yeah.”

She frowned. “That must’ve sucked.”

“It did. But I have Elite East now.” He loved the sport, even if he couldn’t be in the cage. Sitting on the sidelines or at home in front of a pay-per-view match wouldn’t have been enough, but working his ass off at Elite East was. It was his contribution to the sport – his corner of the MMA world. His passion, now that his gloves and hand wraps were packed away for good.

“I wondered what inspired you to get into MMA promotion. It makes sense that you’d have a background in the sport.”

He nodded. “Couldn’t stay away from it. Got the idea for Elite East a few years ago. Wanted to be involved with something better than the seedy matches I got my start with. Something legit, you know – real but sanctioned. The laws are different here in PA than they are in NY. The only stuff you can get away with legally there is amateur and unpaid. Get money involved, try to regulate things, and all of a sudden it’s a crime. That’s one of the reasons why we moved our business here – a tournament like Elite East’s would be illegal there.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Noah shrugged. “I’m not saying fights don’t happen there – they do. But the fact that the state won’t allow it on a professional level leaves a lot of room for people to do whatever the hell they want, if they’re determined to do it anyway. Obviously, it didn’t make sense for us to be headquartered there when we couldn’t even organize events in our own state. Everything Elite East is doing is on the up-and-up, just so you know.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s a relief to know I’m not employed by an underground fighting ring. I’m not sure how I’d go about filing my taxes if I was.”

He smiled back. “So what are you doing for dinner?”

She shrugged. “Figured I’d cook something, since I’m not working tonight.”

“Well, neither am I. Want some help in the kitchen?”

“Sure. But first…”

“What?”

“Give me another minute to finish looking through these photos.”

* * * * *

Zoe had been living with him for more than a week. During that time, she hadn’t spent a single night in her own bed, despite the fact that she’d expressed every intention to do so in the beginning. Those things considered, Noah should’ve been able to keep it in his pants while he was at work.

God help him, though, she was wearing the pencil skirt again, and they were alone in the office.

Jay had been hit by a stomach virus and was home, presumably puking his guts out. Darrin was off that day and Andy was out inspecting a prospective venue. Across the office, Zoe sat at her desk, typing away.

Noah didn’t have anything particularly pressing to pretend to be busy with. He’d just gotten off the phone with the state athletic commission, sorting out some details for the insurance they’d need to purchase for the upcoming opening rounds of the tournament. It’d been a productive conversation, but right now, insurance was the farthest thing from his mind.

“Hey,” Zoe said when he approached the desk, “I just finished typing up that rules and regulations informational flyer you had me working on. Wanna give it a look?” She clicked, and the printer hummed to life, spitting out a piece of paper.

She shoved it into his hand before he could protest. The paper was warm, and her fingertips were hot when they brushed his.

He tore his gaze away from her long enough to read over what he’d asked her to put together. All the information was there – everything he’d asked her to include on the flyers they’d be distributing to local gyms and martial arts schools. To register for the opening rounds of the tournament, all fighters would have to obtain a license from the state and complete a physical exam. Zoe had spelled out the requirements in clear, bulleted terms, including details on fees and special rules for debut fighters.

“Nice work.” He laid the flyer down on her desk. “Mind making about a million copies?”

He’d finally sprung for the copier she’d suggested.

“A million? Sure. Give me five minutes.” She picked up the flyer and pushed back her chair, rising.

“Hey.” He closed one hand around her wrist, stopping her gently. “I was just kidding about the number. Fifty should be fine to start. And you don’t have to do it this minute.”

She met his gaze, dark eyes beautiful beneath even darker lashes. “Is there something else you need me to take care of first?”

Her tone was neutral, but the barest hint of a smirk curled her irresistible lips, and he knew she was onto him.

“I have this idea…” he said, mouth suddenly dry at the thought of it becoming a reality.

“What kind of an idea?”

“Well, it’s more of an erotic fantasy, realistically speaking.” One that had been giving him a near-constant hard-on for a couple weeks, now.

She arched a brow, and her smile crept a little wider. “Are you sure we should be discussing that in the office?”

“I’m not talking about discussing.” He let go of her wrist, placing both of his hands on her hips instead, pulling her close. “I’m talking about doing it. Here.”

“At my desk?”

“On your desk.”

“I…” Her smile didn’t fade, but her cheeks went pink.

He took that as a good sign and kissed her – briefly but thoroughly – before forcing himself to pry his hands off of her. “Be right back.”

He strode across the office and locked the front door, just in case. It wasn’t like Elite East saw a lot of foot traffic, but better safe than sorry. He’d fuck her over her desk in a heartbeat if she was up for it, but he wouldn’t risk embarrassing her at work. God knew he’d fucked up in that respect the first day he’d met her.

When he returned to her desk, she was sitting on the edge of it, flyer forgotten.

He let himself touch her again, let his hands rove all over her body, from her hips to her breasts and back again. When he unbuttoned the front of her blouse and dipped his fingers into the cups of her bra, pinching her nipples, she breathed a long, shaky sigh against his neck.

With the way her desk was positioned, no one passing by the door would see them, even if they glanced that way. So he slid her bra straps over her shoulders, letting her breasts spill over the tops of the cups.

Her nipples pointed straight at him, stiff and pink, breasts buoyed by the disheveled undergarment. The sight made his mouth water and his dick throb. They’d slept together the night before – literally and figuratively – but he wasn’t satisfied.

He never was for long. Not with her. Leaning down, he buried his face in the gaping V of her open shirtfront, dragging his tongue over one breast’s tip and watching it harden a little more before he drew it into his mouth.

She sighed and arched into him, like he’d known she would. Sucking, he pressed a hand to the small of her back as he eased a leg between her knees, testing to see how much give the pencil skirt had.

Not much. The slim fit that made it so sexy left little room for anything between her legs, let alone a man. He’d just have to stick with his original plan, then.

His balls drew up close to his body, aching as he fantasized about it for what felt like the millionth time. Still, he took the time to cup her other breast, teasing and tasting its peak. It was an impossible temptation to resist, especially when he knew how she’d react, arching a little further, bowing beneath his hand.

She didn’t disappoint. She didn’t seem surprised, either, when he slipped a hand beneath the hem of her skirt, caressing the inside of her thigh. There was a little room, and he wanted to touch her, wanted to see if she was ready for what he had in mind. With a little easing of the material – pushing it up over her bent knees – he was able to reach the sweet cleft between her thighs.

Pulling her panties aside, he brushed her mound, feeling his way over the bump of her clit – she sucked in a hard breath when he touched her there – and to her folds below.

The lips of her pussy were wet. There was no mistaking it, and as he ran a fingertip between them, teasing, he cupped the breast he’d left bare, teasing the tip with his fingers like he teased the other with his tongue.

He barely had the end of one finger inside her, but he still felt the way her pussy tightened, muscles seizing up around the little bit of hardness he’d offered her, as if to draw him deeper in.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t penetrate her any further. The fabric of her skirt was in the way and wouldn’t slide any higher without a change in position. Raising his head, he released her nipple, dragging his tongue across the hardened peak one last time as he withdrew his hand from between her legs.

Her blush had spread to her chest, pinkness creeping below her collarbones. That happened – her skin was so fair that when she was hot and bothered, it showed. And his dick stiffened to painful proportions every time he witnessed the phenomenon, the natural color that was almost as brilliant as the ink decorating her skin.

She shifted on top of the desk, her hips wiggling, thighs rubbing together. Could she feel the friction against her pussy, where he’d just touched her?

The thought broke some invisible dam inside him, flooding him with lust and drowning his self-control. Laying his hands on her hips, he lifted her, spinning her as soon as her toes touched the ground. Within seconds, she was facing the desk, ass toward him, the curve of it just barely brushing the hard-on that tented the front of his pants.

“Lean forward,” he said, doing the same as he gripped the hem of her skirt, hiking it up, slowly revealing the creamy backs of her thighs and eventually – damn, the sight never got old – the two perfectly round halves of her ass.

Her panties were skimpy – a scrap of lace bisected her cheeks, and would be easy to pull aside. He chose to pull it down instead, shimmying it over her hips, stopping at mid-thigh. With her underwear out of the way and her bent at the waist, her pussy lips peeked out at him, visibly wet.

His cock throbbed as he hurried to unbutton his belt and pants, yanking down the zipper, nearly hurting himself. It wasn’t until his dick sprang free, head thumping against her ass, that he remembered he couldn’t just thrust inside her.

He had a condom in his wallet. Thank God. If he’d had to stop at that moment, he probably wouldn’t have survived the disappointment. It would’ve killed him somehow – an internal implosion, spontaneous combustion. He’d suffered shattered dreams in the past, but having to turn away from Zoe bent over her desk with her panties down and her skirt around her waist would’ve been the last straw.

She wriggled a little, causing her ass to shift against his shaft. Whether she’d done it to entice him or because she was trying to get more comfortable in her heels, he didn’t know, but it was almost enough to make him come. His fingers slipped as he tore open the condom package, and he swore.