Sucker Punch (The Submission Fighter Book 2) (5 page)

“Alice! What the fuck are you doing here?” Micah stood over her, lifting her by the arm he still held.

“I…” she trailed off breathlessly. “I’m here to see you.”

“We talked about this. I told you I didn’t want you here. I didn’t want you to be a distraction. Now look at it!” He slammed his fist into the metal wood vanity that stood in the near corner of the private dressing room. “What were you thinking?”

Between Micah and the reporter, Alice had practically forgotten why exactly she had come. She sunk to the bench, placing her head in her hands. Micah paced the room around her, unsure of how to address her.

She spoke into her hands and said, “I know that you do not want me here. But I wanted to talk to you. I needed to talk to you.” She looked up with him, her green eyes pooling with tears.

“I can’t do this right now, Alice. I need you to go home. We’ll discuss this later, after the match.” He went into his bag and grabbed his cell phone. Turning it on, he texted his driver instructions on where and when to meet Alice. “My driver’s outside, waiting by the back entrance. I’ll have a security guard walk with you so you are not followed. Take my keys and wait for me at my place.”

He offered her the key chain from his duffle bag. Without looking at him, she grabbed them and walked back towards the door without a word uttered. As she opened the door, she turned around to face him. He was still standing at the opposite side of the room as he watched her go.

“You better fucking win,” she said sullenly, as the door shut behind her.

“Micah! Micah!” a female reporter with a camera and microphone shouted at him as he walked past her. “How does it feel to make it on to the next round?”

The adrenaline pumped through his veins. It was a win for the records, a knockout in the first three minutes of the round. The other fighter had been a worthy competitor, but he was certainly no match to Micah’s skills. And the run-in with Alice hadn’t hurt in terms of building up his anger and anxiety.

While normally he let Dean take the questions, this evening was his turn in the spotlight. He turned towards the reporter, a perky blonde in a tight-fitting tan skirt and red button-down top, and spoke directly to her. “It feels like a win.”

“How are you going to celebrate?” She smiled brightly, her dazzling white teeth catching him off guard.

“How do you think I should celebrate it?” He winked at her shamelessly then walked back towards the locker rooms. His crew followed, hooting and hollering at his victory and his handling of the reporter.   

Back at the locker room, a gaggle of young women waited impatiently. Their bodies pressed against the security guards as they reached out their thin arms and hands at the fighter. The girls shouted request for pictures, autographs, and even some marriage proposals.

Dean slowed Micah’s hustle down. “Go take some pictures with them,” he insisted. “It’s good press—makes you look like a real man.”

Micah scowled at Dean’s implication but nonetheless obliged, going down the line signing autographs and more than a few body parts. Photographers and camera crews flashed away as they shouted more questions at him, but Micah paid them no heed, instead soaking up every moment with the women. One group of three young women demanded a photograph. Dean whispered to the security guard, as he allowed the bubbly, hyper women to break the barrier and approach the fighter. They pressed their bodies tightly up against him. He could feel every inch of them squirm suggestively against his hips and thighs. Their thin clothing left little to his imagination, as his hand rested carelessly around one woman’s large, inflated breast.

Two of the girls excitedly planted large, lipstick-stained kisses on his cheeks in thanks as they headed back to the line. The last one, a long, dark-haired, tattooed girl lingered, as she approached Micah directly.

“It must be
so
nice getting all of this attention,” she said in a sultry voice. Her lips were painted a particular shade of red that made him think of blood and roses. Her perfume hit his nose almost instantly, as he leaned in to hear her continue. “I can give you the best of attention.”

Micah smiled at her, as she looked up at him with her black painted eyes. She placed her arm around his waist and her hand rested low on his abdomen. Her fingers, like spiders, inched downwards towards the seams of his black shorts, as he turned inwards to face her directly.

He hesitated, as he watched her lick her lips with a tongue so long and red that his heart rate skyrocketed. With a sigh, he leaned closely towards her face and calmly replied, “Not tonight.”  

She pretended to pout, her eyelashes flashing before him. “Too bad. I would let you do anything.” She lowered her voice once more and said, “Anything you wanted.” The woman remained, her hand still low around the waistband.

“Maybe another time.” He turned, releasing her and heading back into the locker room behind the security guards and his crew. The sound of cameras clicking, journalists shouting questions, and the women squealing disappeared with the slamming of room.

In his head, he repeated his line to himself over and over:
Maybe another time… Maybe another time… What the fuck was that?
Anger and resentment built up. He could have had that woman easily. He could have taken her back to his home or followed her to her place—hell, he probably could’ve just brought her down to the locker rooms. And he wouldn’t have had to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t have to sneak out of her apartment at the early morning hours to avoid being seen by photographers or nosey reporters. He could leave her behind like a discarded piece of trash when he was done.

That’s when it hit him: he felt
entitled
to some luxury. What exactly was he fighting for, anyway? Sure, the extra money was nice, but his budding celebrity allowed for something more. And he was sacrificing all that for someone he couldn’t even name as his girlfriend.

“That was some show, kid.” Dean’s voice echoed from behind his back.

Micah scowled. “What show?”

“With those girls. And the media—all of it. You’re lookin’ like a true champ.”

“A ‘champ?’” Micah demanded. “I look like a fucking jackass, Dean! This isn’t being a ‘champ.’ This is being a fucking tool!”

Dean narrowed his eyes and smacked Micah atop his head. “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he scolded. “You know this is the way it works. I shouldn’t have to say it again.”

“So, what? I’m fightin’ for
this
shit?” Micah questioned.

Dean sighed. “I don’t know, Micah,” he said wearily. “What
are
you fightin’ for?”

The two stared at each other for a long beat, each looking like he might take a swing at the other. Instead, Micah grabbed his bag and left through the back door. In the corner of the private parking lot, his driver was waiting passively, smoking a cigarette and listening to the post-fight commentary that was still going on inside. When he saw Micah approach, he quickly put out his cigarette and reached into his car to turn down the volume.

As he opened the back door for his client, saying, “Great fight, sir.” Micah nodded towards him and slipped in the door. He told the driver to bring him home. He watched from his backseat, as the crowds dispersed out onto the streets, excitedly chatting away about the night’s winners and losers.

Normally, a post-win celebration would be full of excitement. But tonight was different. The weight of the night felt more like a loss than a victory. No fancy dinner, no night with a warm body next to him, and no feeling like the champion he was. Everything instead felt so settled. He was going home, going home to a woman who wasn’t there fully in his life.

***

He found Alice sleeping deeply on the couch. She mumbled to herself, tossing and turning under the light throw blanket she had covered herself with. Her face contorted, as she continued to dive deeper into a nightmare. He wasn’t sure if he should wake her up and save her from the mess her mind had made up. She looked so sincerely helpless, especially how her arms traveled the edges of the couch as if they were trying to grasp onto something or someone.

Instead, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. The scotch was dark and smoky, as the strong flavor hit his lips and throat. A pool of warmth hit his stomach, and he let out an audible sigh. He took his glass and the bottle back into the living room, sitting on a chair opposite of the sleeping Alice.

Turning on the television, he headed straight for the sports channels. His fights had rarely been televised until recently. It was a trip to see himself on video outside of a training demonstration or a fight recap viewed in Dean’s office. But tonight, each sports channel was playing his vicious knockout blow over and over again.

After several viewings, Micah paused the station and rewound the video. Instead of focusing on his body or the man falling before him, he looked into his own eyes. He looked completely different, almost transformed. His eyes were darker than usual and the veins in his neck jutted out wildly. His body heaved under the weight of his breath. The announcer’s voice played over the clip, each time remarking at the “monster in the ring.”

Alice could see where they were coming from with that comment. Micah’s television had awoken her. Curled up under the blanket nearly to her eyes, she watched the clip just as intently as Micah. Each time he rewound the video, Micah became more of the monster they claimed he was. He wasn’t the same person as the one that had held her at night, who had planted kisses upon her forehead, who had ran to her door from miles away to beg for her back.

Micah turned the live television back on, now watching the post-match interviews. As he had predicted, not much of him was shown answering the press. Instead, his shots were of him signing autographs and talking closely to the vixen with the long black hair, trolling her hands on the folds of his shorts.

Alice forced herself to stand, unable to watch anymore. Micah was so transfixed that he didn’t register the woman walking towards him, gently grabbing the remote from his hands, and turning off the television. She moved in front of him, ready to fight. But instead, his long arms reached out grasping her tiny waist. She fell into his lap, but he steadied her by gripping forcefully onto her arms and legs.

He ran his hands roughly up and down her back where her skin was exposed from her tan tank top. His hands circled around her ponytail, wrapping the strawberry-blonde hair around his fingers and then using it to pull her head to his. She let out a small groan, as he forced his mouth onto hers. Her lips opened a bit, just enough for him to slip his tongue in. He could feel her attempt to pull away, but he continued to push her back into him. He took her wrist and placed her hand on his chest. When she didn’t move its position, he again took charge moving it lower down his abdomen.

Alice wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Micah’s force was too much, yet insatiable. She played along, figuring out what moves he wanted her to make and how he wanted her to make it. With her hand at his pants, she began to undo the button. He let go of his grasp around her mouth and moved to her neck and shoulders, biting the soft parts of her body.

As she began stroking at his cock, she whispered to him, “Micah, let’s go to the bedroom.” She began to get up, but he pushed her back down, this time taking her to the ground as quickly as she had stood. Her head hit the carpet first followed by her body. She let out a pained yelp, as her leg knocked the wood coffee table. But it didn’t stop Micah. He stood over her with a face full of the same emotion from when he took his competitor out in the knockout blow.

He licked his lips as he straddled her. Lifting her head and chest off the floor, he pulled her tank top off of her body. She used her hands to cover her bare chest, not understanding if she should feel shame or desire in this moment. He watched her shivering, as he removed his own top and slipped his pants off. Her black shorts came next, as he used one hands to slide them off of her hips and legs.

He went back in, hands first. He touched her skin lightly and then followed it by his lips, alternating kisses and small nibbles. He played with her nipples, rubbing the nubs with the rough side of his thumb and palms. She let out a gasp as he moved his mouth to them, first sucking lightly, then using his teeth with increasing pressure. All the while, his cock grew hard against her bare skin, sending shivers down her spine.

As her breath began to speed up, and her hips pressed into his own, he stopped suddenly. Looking down at her, he removed himself from straddling her. Without warning, he flipped her over on to her hands and knees. He used his hand to push her head and shoulders to the ground.

She knew what was coming next, yet she still pleaded, using his name, “Micah, please.” She felt him enter. It was different than before. Instead of easing himself in, his girth burst into her folds. He pushed and pulled quickly. His hands resting on her back turned into fists as he sped up wildly. He grunted harshly like an animal, as he moved his hands to steady her and she attempted to slow him down.

His other hand grabbed for her ponytail, again yanking it back. Her head lifted as she stared straight ahead. She screamed as he went further, deeper into her. There was pain and madness, yet she wanted him to finish. She wanted him to finish the job. She began to rock with him, his hand now at her neck using her shoulders to guide her to his rhythm.

He needed more. He needed to feel deeper inside of her. As he continued to pulsate, he grabbed her knees and lifted them around his waist. Her screams faded into the noise and energy. It only made his desire greater. He slammed himself into her harder than ever before, over and over and over again until he felt it. Like his glass of whiskey, it warmed his body, building up all of his emotions and needs into one big ball that he released into her. His nails dug into her legs as he came in her, grunting with the sweet release. He continued rocking, slowing down till he could go no more.