Tough Enough

“I think it’s never looked more beautiful,” I tell her, burying my nose in the exposed side of her neck. She still insists on keeping that one thick wave of hair swept around to cover the other side where her scars are located. “Then again, I’ve never seen it with you standing in front of it.”

She looks up and back at me, her eyes all wide and sparkly. “You know just what to say.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“Your truth makes me . . .” She trails off in a wistful sigh.

“Makes you what?” I ask, circling her tiny waist with my hands before I run them up under her shirt to cup her breasts.

“Makes me . . .” She trails off again, this time on a breathless note, her eyes drifting closed as I rub her hard nipples between my fingers.

I release them to unbutton her top, stepping away from her only long enough to pull it from her shoulders and slip off her bra.

I knead the firm mounds as I move her forward a few inches. I lean into her, watching her nipples pucker as they near the cool glass of the window and then flatten against it.

“Can I share you with New York?” I ask, rhythmically pressing into her back so that the glass stimulates her nipples. It frees my hands to slide down her stomach.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is already raspy and shallow.

“I want to tease them with what I get to touch, what I get to taste. What they can never have.”

I ease one hand beyond the loose waistband of her jeans and into the front edge of her panties. I find her slit with my index finger and I slip inside. She’s slippery wet and hot.

“God, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” I ask, rubbing my finger in her moisture before leisurely stroking the firm little ridge of her clit.

“All for you,” she breathes, letting her head fall back against my chest.

With my other hand, I unbutton and unzip her pants and push them down her legs along with her panties. She steps out of them and leaves her thighs spread for me.

My cock is straining against my own jeans. I unfasten them to free it, guiding the tip to the crack of her lush ass as I press her chest tighter against the glass.

“Aren’t you supposed to start your period soon?” I ask, feeling a drop of precome ooze out to coat the smooth skin of her cheek. I grind my teeth together, my erection nearly painful as I think of all sorts of wicked things I’d like to do to this girl.

“Yes,” she says, swiveling her hips against me as she reaches back and grips my thighs, digging in with her fingers as my pace on her clit increases. “Why?”

“Would it be safe to have sex without a condom this close to it? I want to feel you with nothing between us. Just this once.”

I run my finger down to her entrance, teasing her by popping it in and out in shallow thrusts as my palm massages the rest of her sex. She grunts and my cock jumps. God, she’s amazing. Hungry. Like me.

“Y-you don’t have to worry,” she explains. “I went after work the night you had to shoot late and got an IUD.”

My balls contract in anticipation. “Are you serious?”

She nods, pressing her cheek to the window, her eyes still closed. “I was going to tell you, but I . . . I . . .”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. There will be plenty of time for talk later. Now, all I want to do is shoot come so far up into her that she can taste it in the back of her throat. “What do you think the people down on the street would think of this pussy if they could see it?” I bring my hand around to her hip and push her pelvis up against the window, too. “Every one of those bastards would kill to be me, just to have this beautiful body underneath them one time.”

I slip my hand between her legs from behind, finding her slick core and thrusting two fingers as deep as they’ll go. She rises up on her tiptoes and her mouth rounds out into a silent O.

“Just thinking about someone seeing us, someone watching me put my fingers in you, put my cock in you, watching your come drip off my balls is just . . .”

It’s all too much—the thoughts, the words, the anticipation. The urgency of being inside her while I still can.

I spin Katie toward me, covering her mouth with mine as I lift her by her legs and press her back to the glass. I enter her in one smooth motion, stopping when I’m buried to the hilt in her tight little body and her gasp in my ear is the only sound I can hear.

“Fuuuc . . .” I groan, forcing myself to concentrate so that I won’t come. “Holy shit, Katie!”

I pull out, leaning away just enough to tongue a nipple into my mouth and suck hard. When I’ve regained control, I slam up into her again, going even deeper. Katie loses it. I feel the tremble of her muscles right before they contract, squeezing me until it almost hurts it feels so good. Her sweetness pours over the head of my cock and down to my balls, and it’s more than I can take. I’m done. Finished. Spewing into her in record time.

Finding her mouth again, I drive my body into hers over and over and over again until I can’t tell whose come is whose. And I don’t give a shit either. The only thing that matters right now is the woman in my arms and how I don’t want to be anywhere but inside her.

And that I love her. Damn it, I love her.

Shit.

TWENTY-NINE

Katie

Friday

I don’t know what I expected that we’d do two days before the fight, but Rogan has been much busier than I anticipated. Evidently, because he hasn’t been training like he should, he has to go through a series of challenges to prove to his trainer, Johns, that he won’t go into the ring and get himself killed. Johns says that his acting, or “playing” as he calls it, just makes him weak. And according to him, Rogan needs to be at his best for this particular opponent.

“This ain’t some pussy from outta nowhere, some random jackhole who fights like a girl. This kid’s got something. I wa

I listen to Johns taunt Rogan with barbs as he pushes him through the most grueling workout I’ve ever seen. Not once does Rogan falter. Even as he grunts with strain, even as he grimaces in pain, he doesn’t slack off. In fact, Johns seems to have a way of driving him to work even harder, so maybe this is just their dynamic.

From my perspective (once I got used to Johns’s way of needling Rogan) it has been fascinating. Not just their relationship and the whole “gym” scene, but Rogan himself. Watching his muscles flex beneath his shimmering skin, seeing him press beyond the point of most human endurance, listening to his breath heave with his exertion—good Lord! My knees are weak and my panties are a wet mess.

This man is delicious in any setting, whether dressed in jeans and a tee with his cute grin and wicked wink, or dressed in a pair of shorts and dripping with sweat. He takes my breath away.

This makes me respect his physical conditioning and fighterly prowess, too. Rogan is a deadly machine. It seems he’s perfect. Top to bottom, head to toe, inside and out.

“Told you I was keeping up better than you thought,” Rogan tells Johns as he guzzles from a liter of vitamin water.

“Like I’d take your word for it, pup,” Johns replies, slapping Rogan’s shoulder. He calls him that a lot—pup. Seems like their affection for each other runs deep, far beyond this man’s gruff exterior.

“Get some rest. I’ll pick you up at eight.” Before he disappears around the corner, the brusque old man calls back to Rogan, nodding to me, “And explain to her what needs to happen on fight day. And what doesn’t need to happen on fight day.”