Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (13 page)

“I’ve got chips.”
I held a poker set up in my hand for her to see. She looked up from
her iPad, surprised.

“You’re home?”

“You thought I was
out?”

“I guess I thought…
you seem to head to the gym a lot.”

“Not tonight. Resting
up.”

“Are you OK?” She
straightened, looking at me more closely. A bruise at my cheekbone
had turned pretty dark and a few ribs hurt when I breathed, but I was
fine.

“Yeah.”

She exhaled. “That
guy you were up against was huge.”

“But I beat him.” I
smiled, triumphant, and she grinned back. I felt like I’d returned
from the kill and wanted to lay the pelt at her feet, then drag her
back to my cave to fuck her all night long. Instead, for now at
least, I’d settle for poker.

“Wanna play, Red?”
I sat down next to her on the couch and placed the poker set on the
table. It was a nice one, of course, my father didn’t settle for
anything less. Calfskin leather exterior, wooden case, casino-quality
clay chips, all of it in mint condition.

“Ooh!” Her lips
parted and she drew closer to look, her thigh brushing up against my
own. Instantly aware of the contact, she inched back but still
reached out to touch a poker chip. “These are gorgeous.”

“Yeah.” She was
gorgeous, her skin so soft and I could smell her that close, that
hint of lavender mingled with something uniquely her own. She had on
a bra now. I didn’t think she’d had one on earlier. Her breasts
cupped, held in place, a nice V of cleavage peeped out at the top of
her scoopneck t-shirt. I didn’t think she had any idea how sexy she
was, and that was part of what killed me. All that artifice, trying
so hard, I was used to girls serving themselves up to me on a
platter. But it was Jewel who looked good enough to eat.

“You wanna play?” I
asked again. “Or are you scared?”

“Scared?” Her eyes
sparkled at the challenge. That’s my girl. “Hell no. You want to
deal first? Or should I?”

“What are the
stakes?”

“I’m not playing
strip poker with you.” Damn. She could read my mind.

“How about truth or
dare?” I had a few dares I’d like to try out on Jewel.

“Truth.” She stated
her terms. I shrugged and went along with it. It was a start.

She took charge and I
liked watching her do it, shuffling the cards and dealing like a pro.

“Should we move over
there?” She glanced at a table much more suited to playing poker
than the couch where we were currently sitting. I shook my head no.
At a table there’d be much less chance of random contact, brushing
up against her thigh, casting my big arm across the back of the couch
where I could lean in when I wanted, catch a tendril of her hair, run
a finger along her neck.

My first hand had three
nines, not bad. I gave back the other two, but didn’t end up
improving my hand at all. We went back and forth betting, all of
which meant shit since she explained that the way she played the
chips were worth cents, as in white chip a penny, red chip a nickel.
Not exactly a high roller. I didn’t care, though. I wanted to get
to the truth. I had a few questions for her.

She won with three
queens. She got to ask first. “Why do you fight?”

Huh. Strange, but I
didn’t think anyone had ever asked me that before. My father had
belittled it plenty of times, the university suits had asked why I’d
started an underground club. But I guessed the more I got into
fighting, the more I spent time with other fighters. They didn’t
have to ask. They already knew.

“Primal need.” I
started there.

“What?”

“Basic instinct. You
fight or you die.”

She laughed. “But
we’re not living in caves anymore.”

“Nothing’s changed.
We like to think we’ve evolved as a species, but we haven’t. When
you think about how old this planet is, humans are a blip. We’re
still cavemen, now we just carry iPhones.”

“But your father’s
a billionaire! You could, like, be spending the summer on a yacht.”

Funny she should say
that. A couple of guys I knew from boarding school were doing exactly
that, partying their way off the coast of Italy and France. It was
exactly the kind of thing my father wanted me to do so he could
simultaneously roll his eyes and pat me on the back, a chip off the
old block, reminding him of the good old days.

“It’s just me there
in the octagon,” I tried to explain, leaning toward her. I wanted
her to understand. Somehow I thought she might. “Not my father, not
my grandfather. It’s the only time in my life I know it’s all me.
It all comes down to what I bring into the cage.”

Her eyes lit up and she
looked at me with an admiring smile. It took all my willpower not to
cup my hand around the back of her head and crush my lips to hers in
a searing kiss. But I knew if I did that, she’d run away. I wanted
to keep her close.

So I held back and
played my next hand. This time I won. I’d start off with a
softball, the better to lure her in.

“What do you think of
my nickname?” I gave her a wicked smile and flexed my bicep for
her. “The Crusher.”

She threw back her head
and laughed. I had to laugh, too. It was pretty cheesy, but it went
with the territory. The fighting couldn’t get more real, but the
promoters wanted a lot of crap to package it with signature intro
songs and a lot of tough talk. I played along so I could get into the
cage.

“It’s vivid,” she
admitted.

“You think?”

“Pretty ballsy.”

“Do you expect
anything less from me?”

“No, you are
supremely confident.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. A few
strands of hair loosely piled into a bun came free, tumbling down her
shoulder. I couldn’t wait to see that hair spread out across the
pillows of my bed.

“Some would call me
cocky,” I suggested.

“Or an asshole.”

“You got it.” I
grinned at her. I made no apologies. She shook her head again and
looked down. I liked seeing emotions war in her. I could tell she was
struggling as hard to figure me out as I was her.

She looked up with her
verdict. “You did crush your opponent.”

“You like it.” I
chucked her under the chin, my finger brushing against her gently,
the sort of touch that could mean nothing. Here, sitting together, it
burned with heat.

She squirmed on the
couch as if trying to get comfortable. I loved making her squirm.

Next hand we bet, then
bet some more. I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing, wanted to see
how far she’d take it.

She wasn’t bluffing.
She had a full house to my two pair.

“What do you think
about when you’re in a fight?” she asked, studying me. I had a
feeling not much got past those exquisite green eyes.

“Crushing my
opponent.”

“No, seriously,”
she dismissed my answer. “Don’t you get scared that you’ll get
hurt?”

“I don’t think at
all,” I answered honestly. “That’s the beauty of it. You’re
completely in it, out of your mind and in your body. It’s purely
physical. Like sex.”

Her eyes widened. She
hadn’t expected me to say that. To me, it made perfect sense. My
two favorite things, fucking and fighting. The two things I did best,
all on instinct.

“Do you disagree?”
I could see her pulse flutter in her neck, her lips part in surprise,
trying to find an answer.

“I…” she
stammered, that pink flush I loved coloring her cheeks. “I don’t
exactly have a lot of experience.”

“No?” I leaned
closer.

“I mean, I’ve never
been in an MMA fight before!” She laughed brightly, nervously,
perhaps realizing she’d revealed more than she intended.

Our shoulders only a
few inches apart, I wanted to close the gap. I brought a thumb up to
the edge of her short sleeve, just along her arm, nothing taboo
there. Gently, I stroked the sensitive skin of her forearm. “How
experienced are you?”

She pulled back. “Not
your turn to ask questions!” She wagged a finger as if scolding me,
in control. But then she brought her fingernails to her teeth and
clutched where I’d touched her as if she still felt the contact.
She felt rattled.

I won the next hand.

Grasping the base of
her t-shirt between my thumb and forefinger, I asked, “Why do you
dress like a nun?”

“What are you talking
about?” She smacked my hand away and huffed, crossing her arms over
her chest.

“Most girls with a
body like yours would flaunt every curve. You were the hottest girl
in the room last night. But you almost always cover up in old baggy
sweats and t-shirts.”

“I like to be
comfortable.” She seemed anything but with this line of
questioning. I pressed on.

“You’re a fucking
knockout, Jewel. Why don’t you show it?”

She swallowed and
looked down at her hands in her lap. I didn’t know why this
conversation would make her uncomfortable. Most girls I knew ate this
shit up, shamelessly fishing for compliments then not letting up
until they got another, then another. Jewel looked like she wished
I’d told her she looked like crap.

In a small, tight voice
she said, “I don’t want to be like my mother.”

Oh. Of course. A huge
puzzle piece of Jewel clicked into place.

“You’re nothing
like your mother.” But I felt a twinge of guilt remembering what
I’d assumed when I’d first met her. I’d figured she was an
apple off the tree, a gold-digger just like her mom. Even though I
hated it when people pulled that shit on me, making assumptions, I’d
done it to her.

“She’s not all
bad.” Jewel shrugged.

Fuck, parents were
complicated. It was OK to badmouth them yourself, but when someone
else did? Not so cool. Jewel and I had a lot more in common than I’d
ever thought.

“My turn to deal!”
she declared, eager for a change of pace and subject. I let her
shuffle and pass out the cards. This round, I didn’t even ante up.
My hand was shit and, anyway, I wanted to get to the truth.

“Who did you sleep
with last night?” she asked, looking at me, eyes guarded.

“Why do you want to
know?” I had not expected her to go there.

“Forget it.” She
shook her head.

“No one.” I looked
at her intently.

“I can’t believe
that.” She rolled her eyes. “I saw girls throwing their panties
at you.”

“I came home after
the fight. After I looked for you and couldn’t find you. Didn’t
you hear me come in? I walked past your bedroom.” And stood outside
of it for about five minutes like a big animal wanting to paw down
her door.

She bit her lip.
Sitting this close, I wanted to reach down and lick her neck, hear
her gasp as my tongue touched her skin.

In a low voice, I
asked, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” she replied
too quickly.

“Would you like to
throw your panties at me?”

“Shut up.” She
reached up to give me a playful push, her hand against my rock-hard
pec. I could see her respond when she felt me, the hot granite of my
body. She left her hand up for a second too long.

“I’ll deal again!”
she declared, breathless. Her hands shook slightly as she dealt out
our hands, all of her earlier card-shark finesse gone.

I could feel her
defenses breaking down, sense her weakening, softening toward me.
Distracted, she only exchanged one card from her hand, then exclaimed
“shit!” when she realized she’d made a mistake. So much for a
poker face.

Without waiting for the
betting, I laid out my cards. A royal flush. She had nothing.

I leaned in, my voice
husky. “Now Jewel, tell me the truth.” She looked at me, rapt.
“You said you weren’t experienced. But I need to know. How many
guys have you slept with?”

“Tuck, I—”

“We agreed to play by
the rules.” I reached out my hand, brushed it lightly against her
knee. “You want to play by the rules, don’t you?”

She squirmed slightly.
I didn’t want to know about the guys she’d been with, but I had
to know. I wanted to smash their faces in, but I needed to know
everything about her. I knew no one had fucked her the way I was
going to.

“How many guys have
you slept with, Jewel?”

In a quiet voice, she
answered me. “None.”

I sat back. “You’re
a virgin?” I didn’t think they existed. It was like a unicorn had
walked into the room.

“I’m not a freak.”
She sat back, too, embarrassed. “I just haven’t, you know…”

I would be her first.
Tension coiled through me. My fingers, stretched along the back of
the couch balled into a fist. I would be her first. I could see the
rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, so close, the hollow of
her throat, the pink of her lips. I needed to claim her.

She leapt off the
couch. “I’m heading to bed!” she yelled over her shoulder as
she ran out of the room.

I groaned and pounded
my fist into the couch. Damn it! I’d thought I’d wanted her
before? I didn’t know what I was talking about. This longing,
yearning, craving for possession I now felt coursing through my body?
I’d go crazy until the day I made her mine.

Jewel

I was obsessed with my
own stepbrother. How fucked up was that? We’d only been living
together for a week and a half. After 20 years of virginal
straight-As, now I couldn’t stop thinking about going at it like an
animal with the one man I absolutely couldn’t touch. A therapist
would have a field day with this. I’d been so worried about doing
slutty, crazy things like my mother, so sure I’d never be like her.
And now here I was unable to stop thinking about doing something that
even she would find scandalous.

There was nothing else
to do but avoid him. I’d managed to do it for two days after we’d
played poker. That might not sound like a lot, but believe me, when
it was just the two of us under one roof and the tension was so thick
you could cut it with a knife, it took some doing.