“Is that what I’m here for?” I whispered.
“No, I just wanted to do that before I told you.” He moved away, but his hands lingered on my thigh.
“Let’s get this secret over with then, the suspense is killing me.”
He nodded, face suddenly somber. “I fight for a living,” he said.
“I know, you said that already. But what does that mean?”
“Do you know what MMA is?” he asked.
“Not really. I think I’ve seen it on the TV guide or something, but I’ve never watched it.”
“Well, it’s like boxing. Except MMA stands for mixed martial arts, which means you can fight in whatever style you want. There are fewer rules. It’s faster, harder, and more violent. I do something like MMA.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “So how is Michael your boss then?”
“That’s a little more complicated. You have to understand, I don’t fight in any professional club. I guess it’s called street fighting. Michael runs it.”
“Wait, so like, an illegal fighting ring?” I felt a little confused.
He nodded. “Exactly like that. Michael gets a lot of local fighters, dudes who can’t exactly get involved in the legal MMA competitions, and has them fight. People place bets through Michael’s people, and the money gets moved around that way. I fight in those matches.”
That made sense, and explained his injuries. “But why are you doing it? Why don’t you fight in a regular fight?”
He sighed and pulled his hands away. He looked out over his apartment, eyes far away. I wasn’t sure what I should do, whether I should reach for him or hold back. His eyes came back to mine, and they burned into me.
“I owe Michael a lot of money. I was a pretty terrible person for a long time, deep into drugs and shit like that. I got clean a year ago, and I’ve been fighting to work off my debt ever since.”
That surprised me. I knew people involved with drugs, and I knew how difficult it was to stay clean. Making it for over a year was a real achievement, and I guessed he was pretty serious about staying clean. Rex didn’t seem like a junkie, but people can change a lot in a year. Plus, there was the issue of owing Michael money. How much could he possibly have owed? It must have been a lot if he was willing to risk his body, maybe even his life, in order to pay back the debt. I wasn’t sure what to think, and felt completely out of my league for the first time since we had met.
“Who is this guy?” I asked.
“Michael is a dangerous man. That’s all you need to know.” He paused, but his eyes smoldered into mine. “Look, if you want to leave, I understand. I’m sick of lying to people.”
“I don’t want to leave.” As the words left my mouth, I realized they were true.
His body moved back toward mine, and I felt his lips press against me. He leaned forward and moved me back into the arm of the couch. His weight and solid body rubbed against me, pinning me to the cushion, as his mouth and tongue kissed me hungrily. I returned his kiss and his hunger. My body full of the thrill of him, an aching need I hadn’t fully realized was there. I wrapped my arms around him as his hands ran down my body, stopped to linger over my full breasts, and moved down along my hips. He gripped my body firmly as he pressed himself harder against me, and I felt his huge bulge rub against my spot.
I let out a small gasp as he moved his lips down along my neck. His hips began to grind slowly into mine, his rock hard bulge a bright spot of pleasure against my mound, and I grabbed harder at his back.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered in my ear.
I pressed myself harder against him and let out a small ‘ah’ as his tough rod pressed harder against me. He growled in response and moved backwards, away from me. I held tight onto him and he grabbed my back to lift me up. He put me on my feet and crushed his body into mine. I was amazed at how easily he pulled me from lying back down to standing up straight, almost as if by magic.
He pulled my shirt off, and I lifted my arms up to let him remove it. I felt his eyes roam across my chest, my breasts covered by my favorite frilly black bra. I reached out and pulled his shirt off, and each inch of exposed flesh revealed a new muscle. He let me pull it over his head, and I threw the shirt across the room, his eyes never leaving mine.
As I let my gaze linger down his broad shoulders and his nicely defined chest, I stopped short as I caught sight of a thick, black and blue bruise along his ribcage on his right side.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, and gently ran my fingertips over it.
He grinned. “It’s nothing, just a battle scar.”
“I think your ribs are probably broken. You need a doctor.”