Chapter Nine
Aria
As the champagne had started to wear off by the time we reached Zayden’s hotel room, I started to feel rather nervous and I couldn’t figure out why. We had done this repeatedly countless times. There was nothing different about this time, was there?
Except there was.
We were married this time, and it made a whole world of difference. I sat down on the bed with my legs crossed, a meaningless feat since my wedding dress covered up to my ankles. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was trying to accomplish here.
When Zayden got back inside with two fresh glasses of champagne in his hands, the look in his eyes was radically different from that during the wedding ceremony. He looked hungry, ravenous, and excited. My feelings matched the look in his eyes as I longed to get out of this 20,000 dollar dress and devour him.
“Hey,” he said, sitting next to me and handing me one of the glasses. “You should drink this.”
“I don’t need to,” I said, taking it from his hand and placing it on the bedside table.
“Well, it might help,” Zayden said, devouring his own glass in one giant gulp.
As soon as he was done, it was like a heat wave had suddenly attacked our hotel room. He dragged me by my hands and took me into our private hot tub. Then, he placed his lips on mine firmly and his mouth urged me to open my own. His tongue met my longing mouth and explored every inch of it as I grasped on to him like this was the last moment of us ever being alive. My hand found its way to the cusp of his pants, and I gasped by how hard I had made him. Soon enough we were so wrapped up in each other that I couldn’t quite tell where his body began and mine ended. We made out while standing by the hot tub– just like teenagers who couldn’t take their hands off each other – for almost half an hour, desperately and passionately, before he broke off first.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, panting.
“We need to get you out of that elaborate wedding dress. I could rip it off your body, of course, but not long ago I was threatened with my life if I did that. Plus, we should get into this hot tub. The water must be fantastic right now.”
I stood up and turned around. “Gently. It’s all yours.”
He approached my back and ran his fingers through the bare skin, visible in my sleeveless gown. He leaned down and kissed every inch of the skin, running his warm tongue against my cool, willing bodice. After continuing the torture for a while, Zayden slowly unzipped the back of my dress and unhooked my bra almost simultaneously. His tongue ran down the back of my spine, as his hands slowly worked towards sliding the dress off my body. Before long, I stood in front of him with only my white lacy wedding panties on, while he undressed himself.
Throwing me into the warm tub, he began to kiss my neck, sending all kinds of shudders down my spine. He worked his way from my neck, licking and sucking, down towards my breasts, as the water made my mind numb. His mouth found room for my throbbing nipples and his hand cupped me through my panties.
He stopped.
“Not yet, Aria. You are not allowed to come yet,” he said sternly. He lifted me up and sat me on the edge of the hot tub and covered his face around my panties. “You smell just like my wife.”
“That might be because I am,” I said in a raspy voice. It was difficult to be clever when my whole body was screaming to be fucked.
“Uh-huh,” Zayden moaned, apparently not even hearing me.
He ran his tongue over me through my panties, and then something took over him. He ripped them with his teeth and dove into me, his mouth completely encapsulating my pussy. I heard him moan, “Oh, Aria” against me, as he sucked and licked harder and harder on my clit, making me forget the whole entire world around me. He continued sucking and licking for the longest time, stopping every time I would nearly climax.
He finally said the words I was hoping to hear, “Come for me. Make it hard, Aria. I want to taste every bit of you coming in my mouth for the first time as my wife.”
He slid his tongue deep inside me, moving it in and out while the top of his lips still rubbed against my clit. It must have been seconds before I exploded violently into his mouth, trembling from the sheer intensity of the sensation. I was shaking for over a full minute, but Zayden did not stop his exploration and continued to work his way inside me. He thrust his tongue as fast as he could so that within minutes, I felt another surge of eruption bubble inside me and grabbed every inch of his hair as a second orgasm followed the first one with equal intensity.
---
I didn’t know how we made it back into the room and onto the big, plush bed. We were entangled in each other once more, and I wasn’t sure I could take it any longer.
Finally, he looked at me completely naked. His cock was pointing at me in anticipation and he said, “As much as I would like for your mouth to devour my cock right now, I don’t think I can take another minute of this torture and I will probably come within seconds, delaying our opportunity to fuck as a married couple right away. So,” he said and held me tight by my arms, pushing me flat against the bed. “I am just going to,” he said every word with great emphasis. “Fuck you,” he finished, sliding himself right through me while his mouth found its way to my neck.
The feeling of him inside me – my husband, who I had just married – was so overwhelming; I almost had another orgasm on the spot. But I wanted to match his climax, so I did everything in my power to stop my body from reacting to its natural tendency. Instead, I moved with him as he fucked me, every thrust harder and deeper than the last, hitting me in all the right places. I fucked him back with all my might until both of us couldn’t take it any longer ,and we both exploded with what I was certain was the most intense climax either of us had ever experienced.
“I love you, Mrs. Roberts-Sinclair,” my husband said to me a few minutes later, after we made love as a married couple for the first time in what was to become a lifetime.
“I love you too, Mr. Roberts-Sinclair,” I said, the happiest I had ever been in my life, before passing out into the arms that had become the most comfortable place for me in the world.
THE FIGHT
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Fenton
The bells and buzzes of the slot machines reminded me of the game shows my mother used to watch. Not that she ever had time to sit and watch television. It was the soundtrack to dinner, dishes, laundry – all the things a single mother did when she got home from a double shift. There were no jackpots or double bonuses for my mother. There were no giant checks or sudden floods of gold coins. I thought about the charity ward at the hospital, with those same game shows on the tiny television mounted in the corner. The casino floor depressed me.
Then, as always, I thought of my father – how he could decide one day that he could walk away and never look back. He must not have had a conscience or a spine. It took hard work to have a family, and harder work to keep it. Maybe they were too young when they started, too poor. All I knew was I would never be him. I'd take the punches he taught me to throw and I would fight my way to the top.
I stopped at the video poker machines and turned around. The damned casino was a maze. I was supposed to be near the entrance, not halfway to the wedding chapel. It was unreal how every row of flashing screens funneled me toward food, alcohol, or matrimony. I peered over the rows but could see no clear path, except toward the Vegas-style altar. Neon lights, stereo bells, and a worn aisle that used to be white.
I spun back the way I had come and saw a flood of powder blue and white. A wedding party in retro tuxes and wide, fluffy skirts blocked the way. They paused to have a picture taken with an Elvis impersonator, too short and swarthy. While the groom hooked his lip up and pointed to the sky, his groomsmen padlocked a fake iron ball to his ankle.
They were too young, but maybe the groom had money. Or maybe her daddy had a bank account she could access during the lean times. Or maybe I was witnessing the makings of yet another divorce statistic. She laughed, swatted away the groomsmen, and held up the ball and chain like a trophy. Cameras flashed again and the happy couple laughed. He sneaked in a quick kiss and she smiled against his lips, her bouquet of cheap carnations crushed between them.
"Oh my God! You're that fighter! The one on the poster in the elevator, and the lobby, and the giant billboard outside," the bride cried as she escaped her groom's embrace.
"The one you've been drooling all over," a bridesmaid said.
"We all have," another bridesmaid smiled.
Fluffy skirts surrounded me. The bride grabbed my arm and wriggled as close as her double-fluffed white dress allowed. "Fenton Morris," she said.
"His eyes are as blue as the posters," the shortest bridesmaid said.
"Don't let me keep you from your happy day," I said.
"Come on, Trish, our turn's in 10 minutes," the groom said.
"Yeah, Trish, don't be late on my account." I gave the arm she had looped through mine a squeeze. "What would your husband say if he saw us together?"
"Technically, I am still single," Trish said.
Her groom looked me over and swallowed hard. Then, he remembered his posse of groomsmen. "Don't make me fight him for you, honey."
"Oooh, that would make a great picture!" Trish let go of my arm and clapped.
Her husband-to-be took a ridiculous stance. I could have knocked him flat without taking a step. Trish threw her hands up in mock terror. I gave in and held a fist near my smile long enough for the camera to flash.
"Thanks, man. Good luck in the big fight," the groom said.
I decided the hell with navigating the impossible casino floor. The next bank of slot machines led me to a bar. I ordered before I sat down.
"On the house, Mr. Morris," the bartender slid me a beer.
"Suite comp?" I asked.
"Personal opinion," the bartender said. "I'm not a big fan of that Mario Peretti. Too much show and not enough fight."
"Thanks," I said. "All I want is the fight."
"Exactly why you've gotten this far this fast. No hype, no branding, no flash. Just fast combinations and a killer instinct." The bartender poured us both a shot of whiskey.
"Suppose you see a lot of fights working here," I said.
"Almost makes it worth it." He leaned his elbows on the bar and scanned the crowd.
A man with a fanny pack had broken from his bus group to grab a quick drink. The umbrella poked his eye as he tipped it back. A couple with matching rotund waistlines perused the happy-hour specials. A clump of young men ordered too much and drank too fast, about to lose all the cash they brought in just one night.
"Next one's on me."
Kevin Casey, my slime ball manager bellied up to the bar. The bartender frowned, but went to get the gimlet Kev ordered.
"Guess I'd be surly, too, working here," Kev said. "That's why I've got you, right, Fenton? Fight our way to the top."
A quick jab to his throat and he'd be gasping for air and flopping like a fish on the casino floor. I curled my hand around my beer instead. Kev was worth the irritation, because he got things done. Somehow, he disgusted everyone, but still lined up the best fights, the top suites, and the sweetest deals.
"Speaking of my bank account," Kev said. "How about you sign off on a few endorsement deals while we're here?"
"Why are we always talking about your bank account?" I asked.
"‘Cause my happy bank account means your career is healthy." Kev took his gimlet and sipped from it with a loud lip smack.
"I don't fight better with someone else's name on my shorts," I said.
"Not better, but smarter. You gotta work this thing for all it’s worth right now," Kev said.
He was right – his most irritating habit. I would make a hell of a lot more money fighting with sponsors and slapping my name on any product line that came along. The two heavyweights of my thoughts slogged around the ring again – make a lot of money versus do it all alone and keep my name for myself.
I was glad when the woman at the front desk rolled her suitcase over a Chihuahua's foot. The yapping pet was snapped up into the arms of a platinum blonde, reality show star. As beautiful as she was, with curves that barely stayed within her stretched lace dress, it was the other woman I looked at again. She gave the dog a prim look and then apologized to it, ignoring its owner.
"I'm sorry. I was not expecting a dog in a casino, especially not under the wheels of my suitcase," she said. "You poor thing."
Before the B-list star could react, the woman turned back to her place in the check-in line. She smoothed down the collar of her white blouse. Her pursed lips did not hide her full mouth. I liked the way her curves pressed against the cotton of her shirt. Her black pencil skirt was as stiff as her posture, but the rounded silhouette made my mouth water.
"Yeah, I'll give you – she's a looker," Kev said.
"The reality show gal?" I asked.
"No, the Ice Queen there. You know, half the guys in the industry have a bet running on who beds her first."
"You know her?" I kept my eyes on her as she folded her hands on her suitcase handle and waited her turn.
"I wish, if you know what I mean." Kev made an orgasmic face that soured my stomach. "She gets all the white-collar athletes, you know, tennis and golf, even bowling. Guess she comes from ivy league stock and has been making a killing for some vitamin supplement company."
"What do you mean she gets all the white-collared athletes?" I asked.
"They're happy to sign with her, like I said, because of the bet. Kya Allen is a career good girl. Not your type at all," Kev said.
"Really. You know my type?" I asked. "What if my type of woman is 5'5", copper blonde hair, curves, and sensible cotton?"
"Nah," Kev slid off his barstool and slapped a few bills next to his empty glass. "I'll introduce you to your type. She's waiting for us over near the craps tables. Wants to blow on your dice."
He gave me no choice but to follow. Kev set me up at the head of a craps table and would not take “I don't gamble” as an excuse. Within minutes, I lost $100 and then won $75.
When my luck changed for the better, I met Talia. She pressed an impressive display of cleavage against my arm and blew on my dice, as Kev predicted. Her silky black hair tickled me a lot lower than my shoulder.
"Any chance you know the way to the bathroom?" I asked. "I don't want to end up in line for the buffet."
"This way," Talia said.
I followed her swaying hips all the way into the men's bathroom and into the large stall at the end of the row. Her teeth nipped my neck before I got the door shut. I slipped the latch into place and she had my belt unbuckled.
"Mixed Martial Arts gets me all hot," she said.
Her breasts bounced free of her strapless sheath dress and I cupped them with both hands. I teased her dark nipples to hard nubs and then had to taste them. A few licks, and she shimmied her dress to her waist. There was nothing in my way above or below the crumpled band of fabric. I trailed a hand up her smooth thigh to find her ready and wet.
It was too late. I had been all charged up before she wriggled up to me and let me grip the generous curve of her ass. Now, as much as I wanted to be better than horny in a bathroom stall, Talia had me hard and pulsing in her hand. I tore open the condom wrapper with my teeth and let her expert hands take care of the rest. Whatever had got me going, I needed this release.
I slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned. Her lips tasted like cinnamon gum. Removing my probing finger, I hitched her up against the stall door. Her legs wrapped around my waist and pulled me hard inside. I concentrated on her bouncing breasts as we heaved together, up and down. Her hair was black, not copper blonde, but this was easy.
"Oh, God, you are so strong," Talia moaned.
A urinal flushed and a faucet started running. I paused, the pressure building as I pressed deep into her. I needed the release – I needed to clear my head.
"Oh, don't tease me, Fenton, just do me."
I heard the bathroom door open. As soon as it closed, I resumed my rhythm, speeding up until we both panted. Talia came with a shuddering giggle. I squeezed my eyes tight and let my body push itself hard over the edge.
Talia gave me a long, cinnamon-spiced kiss before she unwrapped her legs. She teetered on her high heels, but giggled again and slipped her dress back into place. Before she slipped out of the bathroom stall, she plucked my phone out of my pocket and entered her number.
"Call me, you bad boy," she said.
I waited until the clicking of her stilettos disappeared. I buckled my belt, washed my hands, and finally looked in the mirror. My head was clear, but it did no good. I knew I wanted more than a bathroom romp, but I couldn't have it. Not yet.