Chapter 9: Knockout
One week later
Despite the fact that she’d been working on publicity for the event for the past month, Savannah still had to pinch herself to make sure this was really happening.
She was in Madison Square Garden, preparing to watch Torran fight to protect his title as heavyweight MMA champion of the world, and despite her pacifist nature, she was excited as hell. It was the first time she’d been directly involved with a client of this magnitude, or been behind the scenes at an event this huge. The fight wasn’t for another two hours, but the seats were already beginning to fill.
As Torran’s publicist, she had a primo seat in the VIP section - right next to the fighting cage. She’d taken the liberty of getting a seat for her father as well, glowing with pride that she could finally do something for him after all he’d done for her. He hadn’t arrived yet, and even when he did, Savannah was pretty sure she’d only have a few minutes to talk to him.
Never, in a thousand years, had she imagined that her job would bring her back to a place like this. Savannah had grown up in fighting arenas - standing at the edge of boxing rings, waiting with bated breath to catch a glimpse of her father. In a way, this all felt very familiar.
But MMA wasn’t boxing. Not by a long shot. The technical and tactical differences were immense, and beyond that, just because one could box didn’t mean you were an excellent MMA fighter. When she had challenged Torran for the right to manage him, the only reason she beat him was because she’d surprised the hell out of him. Once the man had realized what angle she was coming from her, he’d flattened her. Pinned her on the mat and…
Dear God. She was hot just thinking about it.
“Is Maloney ready for the press conference?” When she turned to talk to one of the commentators, she hoped she didn’t look anywhere near as embarrassed as she felt.
“Give me a minute, I’ll go check.” Any excuse to bolt away - even if it meant facing Torran in the dressing rooms.
The very prospect was enough to tie her stomach into knots. Savannah was pretty sure that he knew she’d been avoiding seeing him directly since their little interlude in the dressing room, but, recently, he’d gone from trying to force her into his office to almost...apathetic.
It was almost like someone had thrown a switch. Torran, who Savannah could have sworn didn’t know the meaning of professionalism when it came to the two of them, had suddenly become almost distant.
It was a little jarring, to say the least.
Though it was hard for her to admit, there was a part of her that had liked being on pins and needles every time she was around him. That he remembered their heated kisses and longed for much, much more…
She took a deep breath, steeling herself before she headed into the locker room. They still had a good hour or so to go until the fight, but the backstage area was teaming with activity. She squeezed past a few people who were hoisting huge massage tables out of the way before peeking in to make sure she wasn’t catching him in the middle of changing.
As if she could get so lucky.
But Torran was decent. The suit he’d worn to the stadium was hung up fastidiously from one of the lockers, and he’d already donned the shorts he wore for his matches. They were black and tight, clinging to the firm lines of his well-muscled behind and huge thighs. Savannah swallowed thickly as she watched the muscles in his back work while he rolled his neck. God, how could she ever forget how massive the man was - one of the biggest in the league.
She cleared her throat as she stepped into the locker room, alerting him and anyone else who might be present that they had a visitor - hopefully no one would get naked.
But Torran didn’t even look at her, and the locker room seemed to be otherwise deserted. “Torran?” Savannah shut the door quietly behind her, frowning slightly. “They’re ready for you for the press conference.”
The Irishman only grunted, and Savannah wasn’t sure if that meant he was coming or not. Setting her jaw, she thrust aside her wariness of the man to march over to his side. Right now, there was no room for her to be intimidated by him. She had to make sure this engagement went smoothly, or it was both of their heads.
“Torran, are you alright?” Savannah had asked him the question numerous times since he’d started behaving strangely, and each time he told her that he was fine.
She only wished she believed him. “Great.” He muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear. “Just trying to concentrate on the fight.”
Taking a chance, Savannah slid onto the edge of the bench just behind where he stood, touching his arm lightly. At the contact, he flinched, obviously surprised, before turning his gaze on her. In that moment, Savannah realized just how close to him she’d gotten. She could feel the warmth of his body - smell the spicy, masculine scent of him - and it was enough to make her light-headed. “Torran, you know if something’s bothering you...you can tell me, right? If you want to skip the press conference-”
“I don’t want to skip it.” His reply was almost sharp, shocking her into silence. “If I don’t come that fucking pansy Martell will have something to say, and I don’t feel like hearing his mouth.” He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles and Savannah exhaled a long breath.
It was harder to deal with him when he was like this than when he was actively trying to resist her. Now, it was almost like he’d shut himself away. The young woman hoped, for the life of her, that it wasn’t because she’d rejected him. She couldn’t imagine that the approval of someone like her was so important to him. Torran Maloney had dated supermodels and actresses, after all. Who was she after all that?
But all her attempts to reassure herself didn’t stop her stomach from churning. If Torran was this listless now, who knew what could happen during the fight? If he was anything like her father, he’d want to clear his mind and be in the best mood. Could he do that if he was pissed at her?
Savannah liked to think that her pride always came first, but if clearing the air with Torran would make things better before the fight, maybe she would just have to swallow it. Clearing her throat, she gazed up at him as stolidly as she could. “Torran, I want to apologize.”
He had gone back to stretching, and didn’t even look at her. “For what?” He grunted, several bones in his spine cracking.
“I...when we...when we were in the dressing room, I don’t want you to think that...well, I’m your publicist, and I just want to make sure we don’t mess anything up between us.”
Torran stopped halfway through a stretch, looking over his shoulder at her incredulously. “You think I’m mad at you.” It was a statement, rather than a question, and she flushed darkly. Should she even bother to deny it? “Because I shoved my tongue down your throat in a dressing room and made you come? “
Well, when he put it that way….Savannah fought a shiver at the mere memory. She was surprised, however, when the glowering Torran’s mouth turned up into a small, amused smile. “That was a fucking shitty thing to do, weren’t it? Why the hell are you apologizing to me? I’m the one should be sorry...though you won’t get me to tell you I didn’t like those little sounds you made…” If anything, Savannah only went redder, leaping up from her seat.
“Ok, well, if you’re not mad at me, you’re ready for the press conference, right? Ready for this fight?” She asked the latter question firmly, pushing aside her embarrassment in favor of authority.
Torran’s expression sobered slightly, but he nodded. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
And she had to trust that he would.
Quickly, discreetly, she slipped from the dressing room. The last thing she needed at this juncture was more rumors about her and Torran sleeping together. That news had almost died down! Luckily, there was no one to watch her sneaking around, and within minutes, she made it to the crowded room where the press conference was being held.
She could only hope that Torran was on his way.
**
He didn’t know if he could do this.
The press conference went by in a blur for Torran. Even though Savannah had coached him on what to say, he didn’t really remember his answers to any of the questions. He was far too occupied with what he was supposed to do in the ring.
Or rather, what he wasn’t supposed to do.
By the time the conference finished up, people were clapping, so he can’t have done too badly. He was sure his opponent was talking shit to the nth degree, so it was probably good that he was tuning it out.
“Torran, you’ve got twenty minutes.” His coach was attempting to give him a pep talk and he only listened with half an ear. “Do whatever you need to do. That bastard will be talking through a breathing hole by the time you’re through with him. Don’t listen to him.”
And for once, he wasn’t. As Ben guided him back to the locker room, Torran met Savannah’s gaze for the briefest of moments. Her expression was anxious, and it was obvious she could tell something was wrong, no matter how much he reassured her.
Maybe the worst thing about what he was supposed to do wasn’t the affect it would have on him, but what it would do to her.
And that pissed him off to no end.
He went through the motions, stretching and trying to find his zen, but the entire twenty minutes before the fight, Torran was unsettled. Part of him hoped that this was some sort of terrible dream from which he’d soon awaken, but he didn’t get so lucky. All too soon, he was being ushered up towards the cage, and his opponent was being introduced.
Under any other circumstances, this fight would be a joke. Torran was better and he knew it. He’d trained harder, and he’d be damned if he let some pup ten years younger than him take his title.
But this match wasn’t going to go the way he wanted - and there was nothing he could do about that.
“In this corner, at six and a half feet tall and weighing two hundred eighty seven pounds, Torran “The Irish” Maloney!” As he stepped into the cage, the crowd went wild. “Defending his title from rising sensation Allen “Roundhouse” Kelton!”
The kid was smug as a motherfucker. One look at him and Torran knew what he thought: he was younger, he was stronger, and he was a shoe-in to win. The two came close to face one another as the ref warned them to fight clean -if there was such a thing in this sport. Around the cage, at least a hundred cameras flashed frantically, covering every second before the match. Somehow, through all that ambient light, Torran managed to catch a glimpse of Savannah. Though she had always insisted she was a pacifist, she sat in the front row, eyes shining, as she gazed up at him with her fists clenched.
She wanted him to win. She knew he would win.
It was killing him to disappoint her.
The first five minutes of the fight went as well as to be expected. Kelton was cautious - he didn’t come at him with everything he had, which he could appreciate. True to his name, his opponent tried to land quite a few roundhouse kicks to little effect, and Torran had his nose broken and bleeding before the first round was called over.
He was getting over zealous. His best option would be to end this quickly - as painlessly as he could. The only problem was that he wasn’t very used to losing. Not anymore. When the next round began, Torran dropped his guard. Almost immediately, Kelton laid into him, raining a series of blows over his head and shoulders before knocking the wind out of him. When Torran reached for him, he ducked under his arms and flipped him so he landed flat on his back on the mat.
He was pretty impressive, considering Torran had a few inches and at least thirty pounds on him. And he happened to know for a fact that Kelton had won most of his fights by knockout. Before he could pin him, however, Torran slid out from under the smaller man, elbowing him in the face and blacking one of his eyes.
His pride wouldn’t let him go out that quickly - and damn what he had promised.
But Kelton didn’t back off easily. His next kick connected, and Torran stumbled back to the mat, dazed. The crowd was screaming at him now, demanding that he get back up and fight. He rose to one knee, and Kelton pummeled him, hitting him so hard his ears rang. Blood gushed from his nose and his vision blurred.
He could get up. He should get up.
But he didn’t. He let Kelton’s next blow knock him to the mat. When the smaller man put him in a chokehold so intense he could barely breathe, he let him. Torran would almost prefer passing out to what he knew was coming next.
He wasn’t fighting like he usually did, and the judges would see that...but Torran would be damned if he let an inferior fighter beat him by knockout.
The world swirled before his vision and, a moment before he lost consciousness, Torran lunged upward, head butting his opponent with enough force to knock him back against the wall of the cage.
Ending the second round.
By the time the third round sounded, the crowd was all Torran could hear. Everything else faded away. He could barely feel it as Kelton hit him again and again. He knew his face was a mess - that he would probably need stitches - and the kid zealously went in on his midsection, bruising two ribs, but finally, the judges called it.
Time ran out, and, in Torran’s mind, the victor was obvious.
But it was still shocking to hear.
“The winner, by awarded points and a narrow technical margin: Allen “Roundhouse” Kelton!”
Of course, the crowd went crazy. They always went crazy - and this upset was only more fuel for the fire. But, in that moment, for the first time, Torran wanted no part in what he loved. He wanted out of the cage and out of the arena, and he wanted to hit something - really hit it, until there was nothing left but a pulverized mess.
But he couldn’t do that.
Now that he had lost, he had to face what came after - and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
**
She still couldn’t believe it.
Though she had watched the fight in its entirety, holding her father’s hand so tightly she thought she might have mangled his fingers, Savannah was still in shock.
That shock carried right through the post-fight press conference, where she found she could do little to temper the torrent of questions thrown Torran’s way.
“Torran, what happened tonight?”
“You were everyone’s favorite to win!”
“Will you attempt to gain back your title?”
“You took quite a beating. Were you off your a-game tonight?”
Part of her worried that the man would snap and deliver a scathing speech that would take her days to clean up. But, to her continued surprise, Torran said little, if anything at all. His face was a mess - nose almost certainly broken and brow stitched closed, but, if her month with him had taught her anything at all, it was that these injuries were nothing.
If anything got to Torran, it was the actual losing.
Even her father had asked her: What the hell happened? It was almost as if the champion had forgotten how to fight. The first round had gone well but everything went downhill from there. Savannah had watched him practice. Seen him fight. Enough to know that something must have gone wrong.
Somehow, they muddled through the press conference, and she managed to meet Torran right outside the locker room the moment he left. There would be more press to face and more questions to answer - but if the look on the man’s face was any indication, he wanted none of it. Savannah’s suspicions were confirmed when he started towards the back entrance in favor of the main atrium - but, she didn’t stop him.
Instead, she merely fell quietly into step beside him, following him to the car that was waiting outside.
The young woman managed to hold her tongue for a whole five minutes once they were in the car, but after that, she had to speak. She’d never seen Torran look so dejected - so utterly defeated - in the entire time they’d known one another.
It was physically painful.
“Torran...tell me what’s wrong. Please.” It would do no good asking questions anymore. That, she knew now. Gently, she placed a hand on his bandaged forearm, speaking as gently as she could. “I need to know what happened.”
In response, he merely jerked his hand from her grip, continuing to stare wordlessly out the window. Though she knew he had to be hurting at this juncture, Savannah couldn’t help the sliver of pain that worked its way through her. It wasn’t as if she considered herself his best friend or anything, but she at least thought he could talk to her.
Especially about something as earth shattering as this.
Another five minutes passed in silence before they arrived at an address she recognized only from the paperwork she had filled out. It was Torran’s address - a posh brick building on fifth avenue. As always, he paid the driver before stepping from the cab and shutting the door behind him.
Shutting her out.
Savannah knew it wasn’t her business. That they needed to speak in her office - a safe space - and figure out what their next move was. But she’d be damned if she cared at that particular moment. “Wait!” The driver screeched to a halt not ten feet from where he’d let Torran out and Savannah sprang from the car as well.
She reached the door to the building just in time to slip in before the door closed. The doorman tending the front desk was nodding into his own chest, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. Savannah rushed past him without a second thought. Within seconds, she found herself in the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
In truth, Savannah had no idea what she was doing. The man probably wanted privacy, and here she was, barging into his house unannounced.
But she was worried about him. She’d never seen the man who had a comeback for everything so silent.
All too soon, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open before her.
Though Savannah knew very well what a penthouse was, she’d never been in one. She was immediately struck by the high ceilings and floor to ceiling view of the city beyond. To say that Torran’s apartment was impressive would be the understatement of the century.
But more than the apartment, its owner took her breath away.
Torran had stripped off his shirt and was clad in only a pair of dark-wash jeans hanging low on his hips. His muscular torso was wrapped with bandages where it had been bruised, and a trickle of blood slid down his jaw from where he’d obviously pulled at the stitches there. His auburn hair hung loose over his shoulders - for the first time that she’d seen - and he looked like some kind of avenging ancient warrior silhouetted in the moonlight.
Savannah watched almost hungrily as he lifted a half full glass of scotch to his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. There was something wrong with her that she could be so damned attracted to the man at a time like this, but he was a work of art.
Unfortunately, Savannah didn’t have as much time to dwell on him as she would have liked. When the elevator doors slid closed, a low chime alerted Torran to her presence and his head jerked up.
It took him half a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark before they widened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The dangerous tone of his voice should have frightened her, but Savannah merely straightened her spine and swallowed her trepidation. “Torran, we have to talk.” She crossed the room to where he stood, only to pause when he took a step back, obviously wary of her.
“Talk about what? You upset over losing the bonus? That everything didn’t go according to your plan? Well, shite happens, darlin’. That’s the way the world works.”
His harsh tone made her flinch and Savannah’s eyes went wide as she realized that he was trying to hurt her. “You knew when you took me on I was trouble, didn’t you? Thought you could turn me around? How does it feel to be proved wrong?” He took another long swig of his drink, draining what was left in the glass in one gulp.
Savannah didn’t dare stop him. Despite the semi-darkness, she could still see the turmoil brewing in his eyes. He needed to vent, and if she was the outlet, well, she was prepared to take a verbal beating. “All your precious work down the drain - all that meticulous running around - and for what? To be right back where we started. Well, aren’t you proud of me? Aren’t you fucking proud of me now?”
She waited, silently, blinking back stubborn tears. He was a pig - a rat bastard.
But he was hurting - and that she could understand completely. For a long moment, Torran merely stared down at her fiercely. Savannah met his gaze evenly, steeling herself for his next words. But, they never came.
Instead, the immense man just cursed lowly, turning from her to pour himself another drink. Swallowing thickly, Savannah sank down on the back of the couch, a good two feet from his broad back. “Torran, we can fix this.” When she finally spoke, her voice was low and steady. “So one fight got the best of you. So what. We can turn this around - it’s not the end of the world.”
Torran made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat that made Savannah bristle. He could insult her all he wanted; but not talking to her? That just plain pissed her off.
“Stop it.” The words snapped from her before she could stop them. “I’m trying to talk to you, Torran. Stop being a goddamn child and listen.”
The Irishman turned back to her, his expression both thunderous and incredulous. “What did you just say to me?”
If she had any sense at all, she would have been afraid, but Savannah was too angry to feel anything but irritation. “I told you to man up. You’re the MMA heavyweight world champion. I can hardly believe you’re sulking.”
Torran took a step towards her so his massive form towered over her, dwarfing her almost completely. “In case you didn’t notice, lass,” he drawled, his voice tight with fury, “I lost. So I’m the champion of fuck-all now. Which means you won’t be riding my coattails anymore.”
Savannah reacted before she even thought about it. When she struck him, the sound echoed around his open living room harshly. She felt little guilt about hitting a man that was already injured. She was no shrinking wallflower and he had no right to talk to her that way. “I don’t want to ride your coattails,” she finally managed acidly. “I never wanted to. All I wanted was to help the world see that you’re not just some roided-out, skirt-chasing brute. If you can’t see that, then fuck you.”
When Torran reached for her, she started to shrink back, knowing she’d gone too far - but then, all at once, she was in his arms. Savannah barely had the time to utter a squeak of surprise before his mouth closed over hers, burning away anything else.
She should shove him away - flee his apartment and have nothing more to do with him. He had hurt her in an effort to chase her away, and his tactics were dirty.
But his arms felt so damned good around her. As his tongue thrust past her lips, Savannah’s hands rose to his shoulders and a soft moan escaped her. She was pissed as hell, but somehow, that only made her want him more. Her finger delved through his hair as she clutched him to her, kissing him back almost desperately.
In a trice, the man had pressed her backwards so she collapsed onto the sofa, trapping her against it. As he sucked and licked hungrily at her mouth, Savannah whimpered, knowing she was lost. She gasped when he moved downward, over her jaw, to bite almost harshly at the point of her pulse. Her entire body jerked in sensation and she dropped her hands to press against his chest. She needed to breathe. Having Torran touch her like this was overwhelming - like she was burning alive…
“No.” His growled defiance caught her off guard and Savannah’s eyes widened when he caught both her wrists in a firm grip. “You came here…” His words, muttered hotly against her ear, made her shudder. “You wanted to talk. So talk to me, Savannah.” He bit at the line of her neck and shoulder, sending a jolt of hot, raw want down to pool between her legs. “Tell me what the hell you want.”
She wanted to tell him to go to hell - but the words came nowhere close to leaving her lips. Instead, she found hands curling into fists against the tight, broad length of his chest as she arched against him in wordless need. The next thing she knew, Torran released her hands, lifting her by the hips to set on the back of the couch while he kneeled on the plush leather seat. “You want me?” The words thrummed hotly against her throat as she clutched at him for purchase.
She couldn’t admit it. Admitting it would make it real, and Savannah didn’t know if she was ready for that.
When she didn’t answer, Torran’s fingers curled into the neckline of the t-shirt she wore. With a sharp flexing of powerful arms, he ripped the thin cotton down the front, and Savannah inhaled sharply in shock as she was exposed from the waist up. When she tried to wiggle away from him, Torran merely tugged her forward so she slid to the seat of the couch beneath him. “You have no fucking idea what you want, Savannah.”
He was right. She didn’t. But all she knew was that when he reached for the cups of her bra to lower them and plump her breasts upward, she didn’t stop him. She was too drugged by the warmth of his nearness - from his ridiculously heady scent.
Torran’s teeth scraped hotly over her collarbone before he took a taut, straining nipple between his teeth and a shuddering moan escaped her. Her hands returned to his hair, but she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to push him away or urge him closer. Taking hold of her waist in an almost bruising grip, the immense man jerked her against him, suckling at her breast hungrily. A tremor passed through her, each draw of his mouth against her adding kindling to the embers burning between her legs.
When he switched breasts, Savannah bit back a cry of need that threatened the split second his mouth wasn’t flush against her skin. When he nipped at her already tortured nipple, she shuddered, moaning lowly. Yes. God, yes.
All too soon, he was straightening, and Savannah bit her lip against the protest that rose to her lips. In quick order, she had the breath knocked from her as Torran swung her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes.
That couldn’t be good for his bruised ribs, but it was hot as well. Torran wasted no time, turning on his heel to haul her down a long hall and into a sizeable master suite. Before she could fully take the room in, her client had dumped her on the bed and she was staring up at his magnificent form with wide eyes.
He looked savage, terrifying, and completely mouthwatering. “You want to help me?” His dark tone sent a shiver up her spine. “Bend over. Put your hands on the bed.”
There was a part of her that wanted to run for the hills. But the part that was all but trembling in arousal, nipples still aching from his touch, won out by a landslide. Taking a shuddering breath, Savannah slid from the bed, feeling Torran’s hungry gaze slide over her. She bent over the side of the bed so her pert bottom was in the air, placing her hands on the bed for purchase. Though she was still wearing her jeans, her bare breasts were enough to make her feel amazingly exposed.
She expected him to shove her head into the mattress - perhaps to grind against her lustfully.
Anything but what he actually did.
Torran ran his huge hands over the line of her spine - all the way down to the round of her behind to curl in almost possessively. She felt, rather than saw, him sink to his knees behind her, continuing down the long lengths of her legs to the taper of her ankles. His hands on her were enough to make her bite back a moan as he stroked carefully, almost analytically.
Surprisingly deft fingers rose to the button of her jeans to undo it, and then he was shimmying the denim over her ample hips to pool at her feet. He didn’t ask her to step out of it, rather lifting her by her knees to rid her of her pants and leave her standing before him in only her scant cotton panties.
Embarrassed at her vulnerable position - naked, with her behind in the air, Savannah immediately made to straighten, only to have Torran bark a low command. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare.” She immediately froze, goosebumps of awareness rising on her skin as the man peeled her underwear slowly downward, revealing her completely.
Savannah had never been laid so utterly bare in her life. Was she doing this to help him? Or to help herself?
When Torran’s rough, calloused palms slid up the backs of her legs, she jolted a little in surprise. His touch was rough and exploratory, kneading over her calves, her thighs, and finally her behind, spreading it obscenely to stare at the most intimate part of her.
She was wet. Embarrassingly so, considering he had barely touched her. When his teeth grazed the curve of one buttock, the young woman inhaled sharply. “Fuck, Savannah...you’re fucking gorgeous like this.”
She should have been offended. In fact, she even opened her mouth to protest - only to let out a moan that would impress even a practiced courtesan as Torran’s mouth closed over her lower lips.
He wasn’t gentle - and he certainly didn’t ease her into her pleasure. His tongue swept over her opening in one long lap before he was kissing, sucking - eating at her with hungry vigor. Savannah bit her bottom lip almost painfully, her thighs quivering as he held her in place with his iron grip. When his tongue slid inside her, probing deep, a soft cry of sensation escaped her. Dear sweet God, he wasn’t giving her anything He was taking, selfishly, as he always did.
And she didn’t know if she could bear it.
Slender fingers curled into the already mussed coverlet in a vice-like grip as Savannah struggled to catch her breath. Each stroke of Torran’s tongue - each lingering draw of his hungry mouth - sent light bursting to life beneath her eyelids. She had never known that it could be like this. Never imagined… “Torran!” Her eyes flew wide as he shifted, slipping his head between her spread thighs so his tongue could circle her clit as two thick fingers slid into her to the knuckle. At the sudden, indescribable feeling of being filled, Savannah almost lost her footing.
She clutched at the coverlet for dear life, rocking her hips instinctively back against Torran’s invasion. It had been a while for her...close to a year since she’d been with another man. But the Irishman’s immense fingers slid into her as if they’d been made for her - probing and searching, touching a spot inside of her that made her moan almost deliriously - uncontrollably.
“Oh my God,” Savannah groaned, torn as to whether she should flinch away or arch flush against his wicked, talented mouth. “Torran…” She rose onto her toes in a vain attempt to get away from him, only to have him tug her back to the flats of her feet by his grip on her thighs. The motion drove his tongue deep - deeper than Savannah thought possible - and she found her entire body suffused with almost violent trembles as she came.
The orgasm washed over her suddenly - completely unexpectedly. It was one of the very few Savannah hadn’t given herself in her life, and, by far, the most all-encompassing. She shook so hard she was sure her legs would give out, and she was vaguely aware of the strangled cry that escaped her.
If Torran hadn’t been holding her, she might have ended up on the floor. Instead, the man merely lifted her quaking form to deposit her on the bed before he settled himself between her still quivering thighs. Savannah’s mind was still so hazy from her orgasm that she barely noticed he was still touching her. His fingertips slid over her body leisurely, lingering on the tips of her breasts, rubbing almost reverently over her stomach and finally raising to her parted lips. Savannah could taste herself on those lithe digits and she didn’t think she’d ever been so hot in her life.
“This is what I need, Savannah…” Leaning down, Torran kissed her brusquely, his tongue tangling with hers before he growled against her lips. “You under me, screaming my name...loving the way I touch you…” He raised one of her legs to situate her ankle on a broad shoulder. When his stubble scraped across the tender skin of her calf as he kissed her there, a low moan escaped her.
With his opposite hand, the man reached down to undo the front of his jeans and reveal the turgid, thick length of his erection. Savannah flushed at the sight of it - but not because she was embarrassed. Her prudishness had long deserted her. When Torran’s searing blue eyes met hers as he stroked over her stomach, she struggled to think straight. “If you don’t want this, Savannah, this is your last chance. Once I’m in you, it’ll take a bloody cataclysm to get me to stop fucking you.”
God, no one should get away with talking like that, but for Torran, it seemed completely natural. The statement was enough to make her womb clench in anticipation of having the man inside her. Instead of pushing him away, Savannah merely reached for his hips, doing her best to urge him forward.
Her new lover approved, to say the least. When she clutched at him, a low groan escaped him and the tip of his erection slid enticingly over the cleft of her. “Fuck yes…” Bending at the waist, Torran wrapped his lips around a straining, distended nipple as he slid into her - inch by torturous inch.
Savannah squirmed, she whimpered and she moaned. There was no question or comparison - he was, without a doubt, the biggest man she’d ever had. But it felt so good….pleasure hedging on the slightest bit of pain as he slid deeper and then deeper still. By the time he was fully buried within her, the young woman was panting, a thin sheen of sweat standing out on her body as she bit her lip raw.
She was all but bent in half, completely full of Torran Maloney, and she wished the moment would never end. When he drew out of her, a low whine escaped her and he had the gall to chuckle - chuckle - a moment before he slammed back into her, making her cry out sharply. Savannah arched against him desperately, clinging to every part of him she could reach as he started a slow, torturous rhythm within her that quickly threatened to steal her sanity. Her eyes fluttered shut and she writhed against Torran almost frantically, relishing every deep thrust - every time she felt him kiss her womb.
“Yes...yes….” He was growling into her ear, every thrust more and more frantic. “That’s what I want. That’s what I need...come for me, baby. Let me see you…”
She had to be hurting him. Her nails were raking wildly over his back and shoulders, his name spilling from her lips incoherently as pleasure blossomed through her like fire. When Torran reached between them, one thumb finding the swollen, aching nub of her clit to rub in swift, devastating circles, Savannah flew apart. A scream tore from her lips as a second, more powerful orgasm wracked her body. The pleasure seemed to go on and on and on, draining her of everything she had.
Torran’s increasingly erratic thrusts sent little aftershocks of pleasure through her - but not for long. Within minutes, he was groaning, shudders suffusing his massive form as he found his own peak. The feel of him emptying himself inside her was enough to draw another hoarse moan from her as Savannah lie beneath him, clutching him as if her life depended on it.
It took a good long while for her to come back to her senses in the silence of the room, but Savannah did - bit by bit.
Torran was still inside her, his breath falling deliciously against her neck, his warm, heavy weight pressing her into the mattress. The prudish part of her bristled in the back of her mind, shocked, mortified and everything in between. She’d let him have her - all but begged for it. She’d screamed herself hoarse as he took her!
And now...now she just wanted to stay like this. To pretend that the world outside didn’t exist - that there wouldn’t be repercussions for sleeping with her first real client.
If only.
Savannah fully expected the man atop her to simply pass out - or to demand that she leave in the wake of what they’d done. Instead, he shifted his weight onto his arms and off of her, raising his head to look down at her. Savannah’s brain might still have been scrambled from what he’d done to her, but she could swear he looked almost worried about her. “You alright?”
She could feel her cheeks burning at the question. She might be smaller than him, but she was far from frail. “I’m fine.” When her voice tremored, she swallowed thickly, trying to force her pulse to slow. “I’m….perfectly fine.”
To her surprise, Torran’s earlier fury seemed to have abated. He chuckled at her profession, shifting so that Savannah felt the half-hard erection still inside her acutely. “That you are. Lovely and fine and fucking delicious…” He whispered the last word in her ear before biting at her neck and she shivered in renewed arousal. Savannah wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her to go again so soon, but Torran was a man different from any she had ever encountered.
“Torran please…” She gasped, pressing a hand against his chest - though only half in protest.
“Please what?” He drawled lazily against her neck, withdrawing to press inside her again so her entire body quivered at the pleasure that ripped through her. “Please stop? Please make you come again? Be specific, Savvy…” But Savannah didn’t think she could have spoken coherently at that point if her life depended on it. All thoughts of escape and repercussions had evaporated, and now, all she wanted - all she needed - was for Torran to stay inside of her for the foreseeable future.
And he certainly didn’t mind obliging.
**
It was the first time in a long time that Torran woke up without feeling groggy or hungover. In fact, he felt so good that it took him a moment to remember what had happened the previous night.
His title match.
The call he’d received - and his humiliating fucking defeat.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so goddamned empty inside. Knowing he’d been manipulated and there was nothing he could do about it. That he’d fucked up his career, and worse, that he’d fucked up Savannah’s career.
Savannah.
Ignoring the pain of his bruised ribs, Torran rolled onto his back to glance over his shoulder: and there she was.
For a good two minutes, all he could do was stare. In the time he had known her he must have imagined the woman in his bed hundreds of times. Wanked himself to the image of her naked until his wrist was sore.
But none of that compared to actually having her beside him.
He was an idiot, he knew. An unredeemable arse. Considering the way he’d handled her last night, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d run. Slapped him and put a fucking restraining order on him. But, instead, she’d given him exactly what he needed. Let him hold her, touch her, fuck her until he couldn’t think of anything else.
Until nothing else mattered.
And then, she’d fallen asleep in his arms as if she belonged there.
He needed to get the hell away from her. He had no damn business being so happy - not in light of recent events. If he knew what was good for him, he would fire her, take this hit, and continue running the company with his head down.
But could he really do that?
His expression somber, the fighter reached out to caress the line of Savannah’s jaw, lax in sleep. She was so goddamned beautiful like this. Naked, wrapped in sheets, hair mussed over his pillows. If he had his way, he would shut her away from the world and keep her to himself.
Putting her in terrible danger.
Fuck.
Running a hand through his mussed hair, Torran groaned. How the hell was he supposed to salvage this? If he couldn’t think of a way, then they were both through - regardless of how they felt about each other.