Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (25 page)

“Is this how you normally
take a patient’s temperature?” he asks.

I answer, “Hmm-mmm,” with
him still in my mouth. I don’t know if he really can’t understand the response,
but he asks me to repeat what I said. When the vibration of my voice comes
again, he takes a sharp breath in and I glance up at him to make sure it’s a
good thing.

He just wanted to feel
the hum. I’m happy to oblige.

My free hand finds its
way to the button of my pants, which I unfasten. I pull the zipper down just
far enough and I shimmy my way out of the fabric, leaving only my panties as a
barrier between him and the incredible wetness between my legs.

I remove my hand from his
shaft and lean forward, letting him come out of my mouth slowly. When he’s
free, I kiss his stomach.

My lips slither up his
body with a dozen soft caresses, and I take his hand as I kneel, pulling my
panties down until they come to rest just above my knees.

I put his hand against my
core and guide his fingers over my all-too-willing core. He lets me direct his
fingers to my clit and then inside, and even though I’m purposely doing all the
work, his touch is gravity.

Kissing his neck, I lift
myself off my knees enough to straighten my leg and maneuver my panties the
rest of the way off, and I drape myself over Mason’s body, feeling his hardness
pressed between us.

“Now, what does a good
patient do when Nurse Butcher is giving him a checkup?” I ask.

Okay, the singsong voice
is a little much, but Mason doesn’t seem to mind.

“Keep still?” he asks.

“That’s right,” I tell
him and slide up his body a little until my clit is moving over his rigid sex.

I grind against him,
building the anticipation between our bodies until I cannot take another moment
without him inside me. It’s a little funny, but in the heat of the moment, I
all but lunge toward the nightstand, grabbing and pulling the handle of the
drawer and snatching a condom from its box inside the drawer.

The wrapper’s open and
then on the floor, the condom now resting atop his tip and now rolling down his
shaft.

The waiting is torture,
even though it’s a matter of less than ten seconds before I’m putting him at
the sacred entrance of my body and pressing him into me.

His arms come up and wrap
around me, but I lean back enough that Mason gets the idea and lets them fall
to his sides once more. I think the plan was for me to keep going with the
Nurse Naughty routine, but I couldn’t speak if I wanted to.

Maybe it’s because it’s
been a while, but this feels different. There’s no worry or trepidation, only a
pure desire to stretch this moment out until infinity gives up trying to
measure it.

I kiss his neck, his
lips. His mouth is warm, his lips soft and supple. My nipples harden against
his skin, and I’m quivering with him inside me.

My breathing is erratic
as I lift myself to my knees, my hands on his chest for support, and my eyes
are half-closed as I coax the ember into a flame, his pulsating erection
stimulating everything inside of me.

He’s looking up at me
with dilated eyes, his mouth partially open, and I kiss him just a little too
hard, just enough to pull him back a little. As my body holds him, I use a lot
of those delaying tactics, edging him as close to the threshold as possible
before bringing him back again.

The longer he’s inside,
the less I’m willing to wait until I see his mouth come open, and I feel his
chest beneath my hands, rising and falling with deep breaths.

His arms close around me
again, but this time I don’t chastise. He’s lifting his hips as mine fall and
he’s gripping my butt, keeping me so close to him.

My knees bend and
straighten in rhythm and in the next moment, they’re useless beneath me.
Mason’s hands are now on my back and he’s pulling me to him, the fronts of our
bodies no longer distinct, but complimentary and I finally just let go.

My my eyes are locked
with Mason’s, my heart racing when the levee breaks.

Mason’s looking up at me.

I’m writhing in ecstasy,
almost glad that things have been so difficult recently, because now I am where
I am. Mason holds me closer and I’m kissing his mouth, tasting his beautiful
lips as the contracting muscles all throughout my body begin to lax.

For a minute, I just lie
here, enjoying the closeness, the warmth.

I look up at him, asking,
“Did you get there?”

“It’s all right,” he
says, caressing my upper back with his fingertips.

I sit up straight.

He’s still inside me.

“No, it’s the nurse’s job
to take care of you,” I tell him and I give him another kiss before changing
positions and starting again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dances with Furyk

Mason

It’s almost a week since
Ash insisted I take some down time, and I have to say, I’m feeling pretty good.

Chris’s trial came and
went and, while I know he worked out some kind of deal between his lawyer and
the prosecutor, he didn’t take the easy way.

Most people, at least in
that courtroom, were upset the judge was willing to go along with a single,
one-year sentence in which he’d pay for all his crimes concurrently. For me,
though, it was vindication. A year is far too long to have been something Chris
actually wanted.

Maybe I have too much
faith in my brother’s ability to manipulate, but I can’t help knowing he could
have conned his way into a better deal if he’d really wanted to. No, a year for
Chris is a hell of a gesture.

It’s getting close to
time when Ash knocks on my door. I open it, saying, “We’d better hurry. I don’t
want them to disqualify me for walking in half a minute late.”

“Not to be judgmental or
anything, but I seriously doubt those people care that much about punctuality,”
she says.

“Ooh, accusing the guys
in the pit of being occasionally late for things,” I tease. “Negative vibes
hurt your karma, bro.” I try for a hippie voice, but it comes out more
latent-drug-addict than flower child.

“Whatever,” she says.
“Grab your stuff and let’s go.”

I bend down and pick up
my duffel bag, telling her, “Got it, let’s bounce.”

We head to the car and I
toss my stuff in the backseat.

As I’m getting in, Ash
says, “So, I got a call today.”

“Yeah?” I ask, closing
the door and leaning my chair back a little. The way it’s sitting straight up,
Jana’s mom must have been in here last. You’d think for someone constantly
stoned on substances most people have never even heard of, she’d have a worse
posture, but no. The woman insists on sitting straight up at all times.

“It was the cops,” Ash
says. “They dropped the charges.”

“That’s wonderful,” I
tell her, giving her hand a squeeze. “So does that mean you’re done with
everything or are you still going to have to testify against the parents?”

“I’ve still got to
testify,” she says. “I’m not looking forward to that, but it really is the best
thing for them. If they’d managed to get to South America, even if they didn’t
end up getting shot for saying something stupid—something I’m always a little
surprised hasn’t happened already—they’d still be running for the rest of their
lives. I’m sure by the time everything is said and done, they’ll get out of
there with some time to have a life for once. I just hope it’s a good one.”

It can’t be easy, knowing
you have to testify against your own parents. I got off the hook when it came
to Chris’s trial. The prosecutor didn’t need me because I never witnessed any
of the many, many charges facing my brother. The defense didn’t want me as a
character witness because, well, he heard what I had to say when asked about my
brother’s history.

I don’t think what I had
to say would have been too much help.

Maybe if Chris had ever
gone into specifics about the crap he’s pulled, I might have gotten the
subpoena, but he’s always been smarter than to gloat too much in front of me.
Me, I’m much happier having had as little direct involvement in the process as
possible.

“How are you doing with
that?” I ask. Yeah, I ask questions like that now. I’m growing.

“Eh,” she says with a
dismissive shrug, but she’s just covering. Having a brother like Chris, I know
it’s going to take some time.

Ash follows the
directions her phone announces and it only takes a couple of hours to get to
where we’re going.

We pull up in front of an
old warehouse, surrounded by a chain-link fence, topped with a single,
seemingly endless line of barbed wire.

“It says we’re here,” Ash
says, looking out her window, “but I don’t think that’s it, do you?”

“Yeah,” I tell her.
“That’s it.”

“Where are all the cars?”
she asks.

“Half a mile away in any
direction of your choosing, probably,” I tell her. “We try not to park in front
of where a fight’s to be held unless there’s some way to make it look like we
belong there. That’s never really been my job, so I don’t know what all goes
into that, but we‘re probably going to want to keep going down this road, at
least a little further.”

“Do you know how to get
past the fence?” she asks.

“Not yet,” I answer. “I’m
sure we’ll find some gap, though. There’s always a gap.”

“I’m asking because I
should probably let you out here so you don’t burn off too much energy on the
walk back,” she says.

“Aww,” I tease, “you’re
actually starting to get into this a little, aren’t you?”

She scoffs and says, “Of
course not,” but she’s looking out the window when she says it and she avoids
eye contact immediately afterward.

Given enough time and exposure,
everyone gets into MMA eventually. I honestly think it’s an instinctual thing.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell
her. “It’ll be good to get a little warm up on the way.”

She shrugs and pulls back
onto the road. We’re a little ways further down the winding street before we
start coming across cars parked randomly at the side of the road.

Ash finds a good place a
little further down the way and we get out.

I’m pulling my duffel bag
out of the backseat, but Ash latches onto the strap, saying, “I’ve got this.
You just worry about getting your head in the game.”

Yeah, she’s getting into
it.

The bag is light enough
it won’t be a problem, but she’s not letting go of the strap, so I finally
relent and let her take it.

“Huh,” she says, lifting
and lowering the bag a few times. “You really don’t bring much, do you?”

“There’s really not a lot
to bring,” I tell her.

As we’re walking back
toward the building, Ash is silent. This allows me to focus on what’s about to
happen.

It’s been five days since
the last time I hit the gym, so I’m not at my peak. I snuck out a little
earlier today for a few quick sets, but even if I’d had all the time in the
world, I wouldn’t have wanted to push it too hard.

There’s too much riding
on this, and I’ve got to hold the balance.

We get to the abandoned
warehouse and my eyes start moving over the fence, looking for whatever
entrance has been provided for tonight’s event.

We have to walk all the
way around to the back before we find the gap in the fence.

Ash hands me my duffel
bag when we get up to the fence and I toss it, trying to get it over the fence,
but the bottom catches a couple of barbs and just kind of dangles there. I can
worry about that once I’m on the other side, though.

We get through and I
climb up the fence a little to get a good angle on my duffle bag, but still end
up tearing a long line out of the bottom of it.

I don’t care. Today, I am
calm, clear.

Finding that kind of
peace was a little difficult earlier when I got Dr. Sadler to tell me exactly
how she knew so many specifics about my life. Honestly, I was expecting her to
say something about her years of training and how she can spot pain a mile
away. I didn’t expect her to tell me that she likes to keep a private
investigator on the payroll to look into new clients.

Her explanation was that
those who drop out of therapy early are usually in the first few weeks. If they
can get past that point in the first session, everyone’s happy. That’s what she
said. “Everyone’s happy.”

What a loon.

Still, that loon
does
give advice I’m actually willing to
take and she’s bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, so I left her office
without calling the cops.

As we approach the
building, I’m starting to get a little nervous that we haven’t seen anyone.
Usually, there are a couple of guys standing outside with a cigarette, but I’m
not even seeing a bouncer at the only door on this side of the building.

As we get a little
closer, I can start to hear voices coming from inside the building and the
adrenaline starts.

If I can beat Furyk, I
have a chance to win this whole thing. I don’t know who I’d be going up against
in the final, but from everything I’ve heard, Furyk’s really the only guy on
the scene that might be able to take me down.

We get to the door and
Ash tries the knob, as I’m now cradling my duffel bag, trying to make sure
nothing falls out of it.

It’s locked.

“What do we do?” she
asks. “Should we try the front?”

“I don’t think they’d go
through all this trouble only to have the entrance facing the road,” I tell
her.

“What should we do then?”
she asks again.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I
guess we could knock,” I tell her.

Ash tilts her head a
little to one side, peering at me before turning back toward the door. She
knocks.

The door opens a crack
and a voice says, “What’s the password?”

Ash turns toward me,
mouthing, “Password?”

“There
is
no password, dickhead,” I respond.
“Are you going to let us in or what?”

Believe it or not, that’s
the password.

The door opens the rest of
the way and Big D comes into view.

“Oh hey, Ellis, glad you
could make it,” he says.

“I didn’t know they
tapped you for this,” I tell him. “Couldn’t find anyone better, huh?”

“That hasn’t stopped them
from trying,” D says, extending a fist for a bump.

My hands are full, but
Ash is kind enough to reciprocate the gesture for me. Big D just smiles and
moves to one side.

“I’d watch that Furyk
guy,” D says. “I’ve never seen him fight before, but I’ve heard the stories.”

“Is he here?” I ask as
Ash and I make our way through the doorway and into the large, empty space that
is the inside of the building.

“Yeah,” D says. “At least
I think he was the one surrounded by people wearing shirts with his last name
on the back of them.”

“How tacky,” Ash says.

D smiles big, saying,
“Now I remember you. How’ve you been, girl?”

“Logan here yet?” I ask.

D’s not listening,
though. He’s taken Ash’s hand and now he’s kissing the back of it like he’s
James Bond or something.

“Flirt with someone else
for a minute,” I tell him. “Where’s Logan?”

“He’s here somewhere,” D
answers, not even acting like he’s going to look at me while he says it. “He’s
pretty pissed at you, bro.”

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

“Ellis!” that booming
voice comes, making my question redundant. “What the hell man? I haven’t seen
you all week. I thought you weren’t going to show.”

Logan’s coming toward me.
He’s not smiling.

“Seriously,” he says.
“You think you can just come in here after sitting on your ass all week and
take on someone like Furyk? Are you
trying
to throw this match?”

“Do you have any actual
advice or did you just want to bitch at me for a while before the fight?” I
ask.

“You’re right,” Logan
says, lowering his head. He adds mystically, “The fight comes first.”

Logan tells me what he
can about Furyk, though it’s not much. The thing the guy’s most well-known for
is his stamina, something I’m sure I’m lacking after taking so much time away
from training this last week.

Ash and I hold hands as
we make our way through the crowd. I’m occasionally stopped by random guys from
my pit, who each has a different, often contradictory, opinion of how I should
go into the fight.

After a while, we head
toward the back of the crowd and I quickly change from my street clothes to my
trunks.

“I’ll never understand
how guys can be so comfortable quite literally changing in front of a crowd of
people,” Ash says.

“Just one of those
things, I guess,” I answer.

“All right, all right,
all right!” some guy with an annoying voice bellows from the center of the now
massive group. “We’re here for the semi-finals. First up, we’ve got the
strawweights. Chelsea! Johnson! You’re up!”

“You’re a featherweight,
right?” Ash asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Do
you want to know the weight classes?”

She looks back at me with
a smirk, and I take it that’s a “no.”

Two guys who are nothing
but rib, muscle and scar tissue make their way to the middle and we’re off and
running. The fight goes on for quite a while, and by the end of it, I’m not
entirely sure who won because hands are coming to rest on my shoulders.

I’m up next.