Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 6

Making a man squirm is one of my most favorite things to do. And considering how shaken up he made me, this transfer of power is one of the best feelings I've felt in a long time.

"How's this?" I peek at him from over my shoulder, and his eyes are fixed, staring straight ahead and right between my legs.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, like a moan but with more edge. "Good."

His hot breath feathers against my skin, shooting straight between my legs. No, no, no, no, Trix. Rule number one, do not get turned on. Sure, Mason is big, gorgeous, and smells like sugar and earth mixed, but I'm in control.

"This might sting."

Cold hits my wound and I flinch slightly.

He dabs at my raw a.s.s and fire ignites across my skin. "Who knows what kind of s.h.i.t is living on the floor out there."

I suck in air through my teeth.

He keeps dabbing, but his touch is lighter. "You okay?"

"Fine." I grit my teeth. A whimper falls from my lips.

"Shh . . . almost done."

"d.a.m.n, that hurts." I drop my chin and breathe deep.

"I know. I'm sorry. The only thing this kit has is alcohol." He sounds p.i.s.sed, but his touch is still gentle. "Hang in there."

"Keep talking. It helps."

He laughs low and s.e.xy. "Okay."

And we're back to sweet. The way he is with me now is such a contrast to his loss of control after our accidental run in. Now, he reminds me of that man who gave Denny confidence he'd never had before, or comforted a very sad woman who burst into tears just from being on the receiving end of that kindness.

"That girl, Jess? Is she an ex or something?"

His hand stills for a few pregnant seconds. "Jessica?" The sting of alcohol is back. "She, um . . . She was a long time ago." He stops and rips open more packages. "She and my brother have been together now for years."

"Your brother? So the guy with the"-I pause, trying to think of a polite way to say-"big ole scar on his face".

"Drake, yeah." His finger swipes across my wound, this time warm and smooth like ointment.

"I didn't think you guys were related. I guess there's a little resemblance." The burning begins to numb.

"He's the darker, stockier, uglier version of me." He sticks what feels like a Band-Aid on my backside. "There ya go. All set."

He pushes up, and I turn to thank him, only to realize that he's still just a few inches away, so close I can smell the whiskey and mint of his breath.

"Look, Trix. I feel like an a.s.s. I've run into you twice, and both times I was a d.i.c.k."

"No biggie." My eyes are locked on his, and I can't look away. "I figured you weren't yourself."

His eyebrows pinch, but his lips curl. "You figured? You don't even know me."

"I know men." I tilt my head and study him. "You don't have it in you to be a full-time jerk. Part-time? Maybe. You're a good guy at heart."

"That's me." His jaw ticks, and I wonder if d.i.c.khead Mason is about to reappear. "Mr. Nice Guy."

I cross my arms under my bustier-clad b.r.e.a.s.t.s, settling in for the playful argument I feel coming. "Your bandaging my a.s.s only confirms it."

He squints one eye. "It kinda does, doesn't it?"

Silence builds between us, his blue eyes going from mirthful to something heated. My breath speeds along with my pulse, and his eyes track from my chest to my eyes and down to my lips.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, almost as if he didn't mean to say it out loud.

"Thank you." The urge to touch him is overwhelming. Tentatively, I reach out and fork my fingers into his hair. His lips part as I run my nails softly down his jawline. "You're beautiful too."

What am I doing? This is so far beyond professional flirting. This is . . . What is this? I've been in these rooms with more good-looking men than I can count, but none of them have brought out this urge in me: the desire to touch and to learn and to know someone without an end game, without a dollar amount flitting through my head. No calculations, just pure, raw, animalistic desire.

"Mason?"

"Hmm." He steps closer, just one half step that brings his chest to mine.

Breath catches in my throat at the contact. My tongue moistens my lips while I stare unabashed at his full mouth. "May I kiss you?

His eyes flare, the blue turning into pure liquid fire. "f.u.c.k yeah." He grips my hips and tugs me to him.

I hook my arms around his neck, thankful for my stiletto heels that put me not much shorter than his six-foot-something height. My stomach tumbles, my heart throbbing in my chest as he lowers his mouth to mine.

Softly he brushes his lower lip against my upper as if he's asking permission or waiting for me to beg: a simple act, so tiny and yet so hot. Most men I deal with, even the one's I sleep with, are quick. Very little seduction's involved with a sure thing. But this . . . This is something new, foreign, and unbelievably s.e.xy.

I tilt my head and allow the very tip of my tongue a taste of his lips. We groan simultaneously at the touch, and his fingers dig deep into the flesh of my hips. Finally, after a few more light teases, we open to each other, allowing our tongues to finally meet in a slick friction I feel in my toes.

"f.u.c.k," he whispers against my lips. "I knew you'd taste like this." He dives back into my mouth, this time deeper, sucking at my tongue.

My legs wobble beneath the mind-scrambling power of his kiss, and I fist my hands into his hair to keep upright. Alternating between nips of our teeth, pulls of suction on each other's lips, and hands that grasp one another, I lose myself to his mouth.

"Hey!" There's a pounding at the door. "Everything okay in there?"

I rip my lips from Mason's, breathing heavy. "Yeah, Santos. Be out in a minute."

"Time's up, Trix. You know the rules."

Mason's glaring at the door, and his hands continue to hold me close to him.

"Shoot. I better go. I'm up next, and I need to find something to wear that'll cover my injured booty." Not to mention get my d.a.m.n head together. I release him and take a step back only to have him follow me with a step forward.

"Up next . . ." The softness of his expression turns hard.

My eyes grow tight. "Yes."

His grip tightens. "Why."

The fire of irritation stirs in my belly at the judgment I hear in his voice.

"Because it's my job."

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "To get naked for a room full of h.o.r.n.y d.i.c.kheads."

And there it is. Judgment.

"Oh, and you're so much better than I am? You beat the s.h.i.t out of people for a living."

"I can't even believe you'd compare the two!" He steps close, his fingers digging into my skin. "I'm a mixed martial artist. What you do is visual foreplay. Give men something to jack off to."

My breath catches in my throat at his cruelty. Maybe he's not such a nice guy after all.

His eyes narrow. "Do you get off on it?" He sneers.

"Have you lost your d.a.m.n mind?" I peel his fingers off my hips and move to the door.

"You do, don't you?"

I shove him in the chest. "You have no idea why I do what I do."

"It's not rocket science, Trix." His low and condescending chuckle freezes my blood. "You didn't even f.u.c.king flirt with me at the club with those kids."

The chill of his voice makes my skin p.r.i.c.kle.

"Propping your a.s.s in my face and suckin' on my tongue is all part of the job, huh?" He moves past me, grabbing the door and flinging it open so hard I flinch. "I might be nice, but I'm not stupid."

With long strides, he carries himself down the short hallway and disappears into the crowd, leaving nothing but the sear of his lips and an ache in my chest behind.

Mason Being stuck in a tiny room with Trix, I found her presence all consuming. The delicate scent of her skin combined with her half-naked body overloaded my senses. Then her smile, that tiny curve of her lips, gave way to an innocence that contradicted her overly s.e.xy appeal.

I felt something. Something beyond a simple stir in my pants. Yeah, I felt that too, but I also felt myself falling. The woman she is beneath the lingerie and makeup, behind her seductive looks and dance moves, she's the one I want. But that's not who she is, at least, not entirely. As much as her reminding me she's a d.a.m.n stripper was unwelcome, it's exactly what I needed to hear to pull myself away.

The back door isn't far from the room I've just stormed out of. I shove past a bouncer and out into the back lot. The place was packed when I got here, so I settled for a spot around the corner and on the street. The sooner I get free of this place, the sooner I can get my s.h.i.t together.

My feet pound the pavement, and I flex and release my fists to burn off the urge to punch a f.u.c.king wall. The m.u.f.fled sound of angry male voices calls my attention to an alley not far from where my truck is parked. Looks like someone's having a worse night than I am. A pained whimper echoes off the brick buildings, and I move toward the dark corridor.

Slowly, I peek down the alley only lit by a single streetlight. A group of dudes huddles around something, fists swinging and legs kicking. I have only seconds to act, and I wonder if calling the cops would be the better idea. I'm outnumbered and pretty sure whatever's going on here I want no part of. I reverse back out of the alley, pulling my phone out of my pocket when I hear him.

"Not so tough when your daddy's not around, eh, Drake?"

I spring into action, my legs burning up the distance between them and me. "Hey! Get the f.u.c.k off him."

They all whirl on me, and I see Drake curled up on the ground, b.l.o.o.d.y and not moving. One of the a.s.sholes grins seconds before I slam my fist into his jaw. Catching him off guard, he rocks back on his heels, cupping his face. Another advances and takes the brunt of my jab. One more, I swing. He grunts and falls back. Before I'm able to throw another punch, my arms are locked up behind me. I roll into it and toss the guy holding me to his back. I'm grabbed again. My left arm gets loose, and I swing hard at the man advancing. He goes down.

It takes three of the six of them to lock me down. "Leave him alone." I'm breathing heavy and still struggling to get free; my shoulders burn as I try to rip from their hold.

The biggest of the group glares at me and wipes blood from his lip. "This ain't your business, man. You should've walked away." He kicks Drake in the back.

"Don't f.u.c.king touch him!" I pull my arm free and lunge, but am quickly re-restrained.

"You know this kid?" His eyes move between my brother and me.

"You touch him again . . . I'll break both your arms." My teeth grind together.

He hauls off and kicks him again. Drake's not making a sound. Is he dead?

"Stop!"

He places the sole of his boot on Drake's head, resting it there like my little brother is a prized kill from a recent hunt. "Stop? This kid ripped me off."

Drake moans, and I notice then that the guy is slowly putting pressure on Drake's head.

"No, please don't." f.u.c.k, he's going to crack his skull!

"Don't what?" He presses harder, making Drake squirm.

"Stop. Whatever he owes, I'll pay it. Just f.u.c.king stop. Now!"

The guy lifts his eyebrows but doesn't remove his foot. "You're taking on his debt?"

"Yes." Dammit! I'm so used to saving his a.s.s I didn't even consider what the debt is. Not that it matters. They're going to kill him. "If you'll leave him alone."

He saunters over to me, eyes intent. It's then I notice what he's wearing. Leather vest, jeans, chain hanging from his hip, and big heavy black boots.

"You'll deliver three times our original amount exactly one week from today."

f.u.c.k! If Drake survives this, I'm going to kill him.

"Same time, right here." He tilts his head to study me. "If you're late, if the weight is off by even a fraction of an ounce, you and this piece of s.h.i.t are dead."

I flick a gaze to Drake, who has rolled to his back, his face not showing even a hint of skin as it's covered in blood.

"Fine. One week. Here." I swallow hard and contemplate the predicament Drake's sorry a.s.s just put me in. "You give me your word. I follow through. You leave us alone."

He holds his arms out wide. "On my word, brother."

There's coughed-up laughter by the men holding me back. I wrench free, and they step back to avoid me swinging. I don't, but instead rush to my brother.

His face is swollen, puffy slits that don't show even a hint of his eyes, and his nose and lips are busted. My hands hover over him, unsure where to touch him that won't hurt.

"See you soon, sunshine." The biker a.s.shole chuckles through an overgrown mustache and goatee, and they move toward the mouth of the alley.

"Wait!"

They turn around.