The F King:A Bad Boy Romance(35)

After thousands of hours spent training in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, American  Submission Wrestling and Russian Sambo, I had learned to be aware of  every little movement and twitch when I was grappling with someone, and  what they meant. It helped me read women without needing words.

The way Skylar's legs were quivering, I could tell she was seriously wet  for me already. All that energy she was spending trying to keep herself  poised above me, trying to fight what she so desperately wanted, was  going to make her that much sweeter a lay when my cock slid in.

Her hands felt great on my back and arms, but they'd feel even better  when they were jerking my thick shaft. Thinking about her on her knees,  with her little hands trying to grip as far around my cock as they  could, that look of worship on her face, would be perfect.

I turned over. It was time to get this show on the road.

"What are you doing?" she asked, tensing up.

"Now the front."

"I- I don't …  "

I grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands to my chest, feeling a weak  tug of token resistance before she lost herself in the sensations. Down,  down, down, I moved her, watching as every bump of muscle pushed her  closer to some mental edge.

Damned if this girl didn't look like she was on the verge of cumming  already, and I hadn't even laid a finger on her or tasted that sweet  virgin pussy of hers. Almost there, a few more inches and I'd slide her  hand under the towel and put it on my hard cock.

Looking down, slightly beyond the glint of her purity ring, I could see a  little wet patch between her legs. Oh fuck yeah, this spinner was  primed and ready to go.

Right then I heard keys rattling in the door, and then a knock rang out  before it opened a crack. My manager and head coach, Ross, called in  without sticking his head through.

"You done in there?"

"No, fuck off!"

"Fuck you, kid, it's time for the press conference. Put it away, get dressed and get out here."

What the hell? How long had I let Skylar rub me down for? I let go of  her wrists and she snatched her hands back as if coming out of a trance,  scampering off me and back to the floor.

"Alright, I'll be out in a second," I called out.

Ordinarily, for a sexy little fucktoy like Skylar, I wouldn't tolerate  any interruptions, but post-event press conferences were a compulsory  part of my contract with NHBFC, so I had to go. It wasn't about the  money. They had something else I wanted, which was access to the best  fighters in the world for me to fuck up, and that was worth a lot more  to me in the long run.

They could pay me nothing, and I could still make millions a year from  the occasional fight I threw at the request of the mafia. Ross had dirty  hands since the day I met him, fixing fights even before my  professional days. The Bertolini Crime Family had been a major cash cow  for us since I went pro, plus throwing a fight here and there gave some  morons in the weight class the misplaced hope that they could beat me,  so the fights kept coming.         

     



 

I gathered the towel around me and swung my feet to the ground, seeing  Skylar's eyes duck away to deprive herself of a glimpse of my cock. Such  a shame I wasn't going to bury it in her tonight.

"I gotta go. You can let yourself out when you're ready."

"Um … "

I walked to the bathroom, where my clothes were hanging on the back of  the door. Before I was fully dressed, I heard the main door open and  close. Sure enough, she was gone by the time I emerged.

Now that I knew she was here though, being the first man to claim her  pussy was on my list of things to do. Skylar. I'd remember that name.





Austin





For fuck sake, they should have renamed this event "Blue Balls in New  Ashby." First Skylar and then that new ring girl, Ariana, snatched from  my clutches at the last moment. Ariana had even posed for Rich Man's  Plaything magazine before getting the job with NHBFC.

She'd slipped me a piece of paper with her phone number on it as I  walked up the steps to sit at the table for the press conference. Her  job was to stand there and look pretty, and she was great at it.

But no, after the media asked their inane questions, Ross and I were  called up here to talk to the president of the NHBFC himself, Ian Ewert,  and some other guy that I couldn't give two fucks about. Ian had a nice  office to use in every venue where he held an NHBFC event, but New  Ashby was the home of the organization and the capital of MMA in the  States, so this one was his office.

"Great fight today, Austin. The crowd went nuts, they loved it. When you  got that choke on, they blew the roof off, I thought my ears were gonna  bleed. You're gettin' the Submission of the Night bonus, good job."

"Thanks."

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about though," he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his desk.

"Oh?"

"No. You've seen this gentleman around? Robbie Johnson?" He gestured at the other guy.

"Nope."

"Well, he's been doing some work for me in a freelance capacity. He's been with the SWE for twenty years."

"The what?" I asked.

"Superstar Wrestling Enterprises," Robbie interjected for himself in a thick New York accent.

"Oh. Sucks for you. What does that have to do with me?"

Robbie looked surprised by my comment for a second, but it was the most  diplomatic thing I could say about the bullshit stage play that was  professional wrestling. Ian was more accustomed to me and took it all in  his stride.

"There you go, that's one of the things we have to talk about. I've just  hired Robbie here to be in charge of a new Character Development team  in the Media Relations division full time."

Ross spoke up. "I'm not sure if I follow, sir. We're just here to fight,  we don't have time in the training schedule for whatever this is.  Character development? We're not trying to make Austin a Boy Scout  leader, we're trying to make him the most dangerous man on the planet in  hand to hand combat."

"And you're doing a good job, but that's not what I'm talking about.  This is a Media Relations play. You know what professional wrestling has  that we don't?" Ian asked.

"A bunch of pussies?" I guessed.

"Week after week, month after month, SWE events outsell, absolutely dwarf, NHBFC events. Why?" Robbie asked.

Ross and I glanced at each other but said nothing. This was beginning to  piss me off. I could have cornholed a published model by now if it  wasn't for this little pep talk about pro wrestling.

"Drama." Robbie answered his own question. "SWE has a team of writers  scripting and manufacturing drama every single day and the crowds love  it. That's what I'm going to bring to NHBFC."

"I'm no fancy businessman, but I think if you start having people get in  the cage in stupid outfits and hitting each other with chairs, the  organization is going to be circling the toilet pretty fuckin' quick," I  said.

"That's the beauty of it. The action in the decagon is going to stay  real, we don't script that. It just means the writers need to prepare  different versions of the story depending on who wins," said Ian.

"And you, Austin, are going to be our first major storyline."

"I fucking am not. There's nothing in my contract about this. Like Ross says, we don't have time for it."

I stood to leave and Ian raised his hands, fingers spread, waving me  down like he was playing a keyboard on a high shelf. "Wait, wait, hear  me out. I think you're gonna like this."         

     



 

"What's to like about this place turning into an off-Broadway play?" I asked, grudgingly returning to my seat.

"We don't anticipate this is going to involve that much extra work for  you. You already do interviews and record TV spots to promote your  fights and events, for the most part we just need better …  uh …  management  of what you say in those circumstances," said Robbie.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, the storyline we've got worked out for you is a heel-face turn.  That's when a villain becomes a good guy for some reason. Wrestling fans  love it."

"I'm a fighter, not an actor. I don't understand what you expect me to  do here. If somebody gets in the cage with me I'm going to fuck them up,  that's what I do."

Ian waved my objection away. "Yes, yes, of course. Nothing changes  there, it's just that …  well, take the post-event press conference  today."

"What about it?" I asked.

"Well, instead of calling your opponent a stupid fucking asshole who had  no business getting in the ring with you, you could perhaps just say  he's a skilled fighter who was beaten by a better man on the day. Same  goes for the promo spots."

I could feel my face screwing up in disgust, my knuckles were getting  white with strain holding on to the armrests. Robbie here might have a  two hundred and thirty pound surprise waiting for him in the parking lot  if this wasn't some kind of joke.