Chapter Ten

Paxton

I couldn’t believe I had done that. I had taken Mia like I was a fucking animal or something. Even knowing it was consensual, and that she had seemed to want it just as much as I wanted to give it to her, I still felt sick that I had been so uncontrolled.

In one way though, I also felt incredibly better. Perhaps I had found an even better outlet than beating myself to a bloody pulp as I thrashed on an opponent or a kick bag.

Her trust in me made an unfamiliar emotion well in me, causing warmth to fill my chest and making it almost difficult to breathe. She had to have trusted me, because not only had she verbalized it, but she had shown it. She had basically dared me to do my worst, completely confident that would not encompass the point where I would cross the line and hurt her.

Guiltily, I acknowledged I probably had hurt her a few times, but she had never told me to stop. In fact, she’d seemed to get off on it as much as I had. When her pussy contracted around me at the end, drawing out the most amazing orgasm of my life, I didn’t see how she couldn’t have enjoyed the experience.

I rolled over onto my back, wincing as I became aware of the scratch marks and the gouges in my skin. We had left our marks on each other, and for some reason, that made me grin like a damned fool.

Thankfully, rather than be offended, a similar grin crossed her face before she burst into laughter. I couldn’t help chuckling as well, and it escalated to a full belly laugh, until we rolled together, holding each other in our mirth. I wasn’t entirely sure what we were laughing about, and I didn’t think she knew either, but it was cathartic.

Slowly, laughter faded, until she was only hiccupping irregularly. I patted her back as she cleared away the last of hiccups, remembering how my mom used to soothe me in a similar fashion. Once she had fallen quiet, and I was no longer laughing like a loon, I asked, “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head against my chest, sending strands of her blonde hair fanning across my skin. I flinched when I saw the blood mixed into the soft tresses. I knew it came from my hands, but I still didn’t like the sight of blood on her. I could have completely lost it, and it would have been her blood, not mine.

What the hell had I been thinking? As quickly as that, my mood threatened to nosedive from happy and almost relaxed back to darker, grimmer territory.

She lifted her head to look down at me. “No, I’m not hurting. I actually liked that. A lot.” A sexy flush rose from her chest up her neck to accompany the admission, cluing me in to her embarrassment.

My moods were certainly erratic today, and I could feel myself calming down and backing away from the edge of despair. “I enjoyed it too, but I hate losing control. I could’ve really hurt you.”

She tilted her head, licking her lower lip slowly. “Yeah, you could have, but you didn’t. And if you needed to hurt me, I would have been okay with that. I mean not broken bones, or punching me, or anything, but if whatever is making you hurt is relieved by inflicting a little pain on me, I can take that.”

I winced, recognizing the sentiment behind her words, but disliking that image of myself. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said gruffly. Even as I uttered the words, I knew it was a lie. Part of fighting involved hurting others. For some fighters, that was a detraction they had to work through. For me, it had always been the other way.

I had to rein in the impulse to keep wailing on my opponent, to inflict pain long past the point where my victory was assured. There was a core of darkness inside me, and though it was no surprise in light of my past, I hated that it had emerged around Mia. It was a good thing our fling was temporary, because I feared I might lose control completely some day, and the idea of hurting her made my heart seize for a beat.

Tentatively, she trailed her fingers across my bare chest, fingers stopping to trace a small network of scars dotting my skin. “Did you get these in the ring?”

“Octagon, baby.” I corrected her with a wink, diverting her from the scars. Some of the scars on my body had come from fighting or training, and some had come from a life lived on the streets. Even a couple had been from crazy bitches who had wanted more than they had paid for, stuff bordering on the crazy-insane that I had refused to indulge.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I could feel my body freeze up, though I didn’t want it to. “Talk about what?” I made my voice as mean as I could, hoping to deter her.

She shrugged it off, as though I was as gentle as a fucking kitten, while she lifted her head further, shifting slightly so her torso rested across mine, and our eyes met. “Do you want to tell me why you’re so upset? What made you so angry?”

For the barest second, I had the craziest urge to confess everything to her. Thankfully, common sense reasserted itself quickly, and I scowled. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

She sighed softly, her breasts pressing into my chest as she exhaled. My dick started twitching with interest, despite the intense workout it had just seen.

“Do you want to tell me why you left then?”

I just stared at her stonily, making it clear that was a closed subject.

Another sigh escaped her. “Okay, then tell me what you did after you ran away, but before you became a UFC fighter?”

I wanted to shut down her questions and her curiosity, and I suppose I could have just gotten up and walked away, but she could always follow me. Hell, she could initiate this conversation any time she wanted to, unless I gave her the cold, ugly truth. Surely it would scare her away, and after the controlled violence of our last sexual encounter, maybe that was for the best anyway.

“Wanna know about my life, sweetheart? You wanna hear all the juicy details? Would you like to know how I ran out of money less than a week after I fled this hellhole? How I tried getting a legitimate job, but I was afraid to use my identity since I was underage. There are no legitimate jobs for seventeen-year-olds who dropped out of high school to run away from home.”

Her face softened with sympathy despite my cold tone. God, I hated how softhearted she was, and how it made me want to confess things I had buried long ago. I fought against the impulse, keeping my voice stern and my words chosen with deliberate care. “Maybe you’d like to hear about how a pimp recruited me for his clients? How I sold my body for three years, doing anything of the ladies paid for—and a few things for some male clients too. I preferred women, but I didn’t discriminate. Whoever had the cash to flash could buy my services.”

She let out a harsh gasp, and I expected her to pull away from me. Instead, she confounded me by leaning closer, putting her arms around me, and hugging me tightly. I didn’t even realize I was responding to the embrace until my hands fisted into her hair, as they pressed against her back.

She rained kisses on my face before she spoke. “Oh, my poor darling, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

What the actual fuck? She should have been running for the door by now, not offering me comfort or empathy. How could she even begin to understand what life had been like for those three years? We might have come from similar backgrounds, at least for the four years I had been in this house, but we had nothing in common. I wanted to shove her away and ram a dose of reality down her throat, so why the fuck was I holding her closer?

“You said you had to do that for three years? What happened then?”

Without meaning to, my voice softened slightly, and I went from trying to shock her to simply explaining what had happened. I told her about meeting Lila, who owned a nightclub and caught me servicing a client in the bathroom. Instead of calling the cops, she had eyed me with cold interest as I tried to fight her bouncer. I had resisted the entire way as she’d had the man drag me to her office and shove me into a chair.

Solemnly, I had stared across her desk at the beautiful older woman, struggling to hide how her sophisticated poise intimidated me. I’d banged rich broads in the past, usually for hundred-dollar bills tucked neatly into my G-string or the waistband of my jeans, but none of them had achieved the same level of grace and class as Lila Barrett. I didn’t know her name then, of course, and I had no idea that the classy lady in front of me was actually a big-time coordinator in the underground fighting scene.

She’d offered me a drink, and I had accepted it brashly, though I certainly didn’t feel comfortable. Pretending like I was, I had stretched out my legs and taken the glass from her, wrinkling my nose when I took a long gulp to discover it was simply sparkling water. “What the fuck is this?” I had asked her.

The stunning brunette had burst out laughing, her bright red lips bowed to show her amusement “That’s water, which you should stick to. With your new diet and training regimen, alcohol is a big no-no.”

I had stared at her impassively, confused but not willing to show it. “What do you want from me, lady?”

Lila had smiled softly, and I had sworn she was coming on to me. She wouldn’t be the first woman a good twenty years my senior who I had fucked, and I prepared myself for her proposition. I was already mentally spending the money on rent and crazy luxuries like food as I smirked and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting to hear her offer.

It had blown me away.

She hadn’t wanted to fuck me. Instead, Lila had taken me under her wing, set me up with a trainer in a gym, and even got me a better apartment so I was closer to the gymnasium and farther away from the temptation of selling my body for easy money. The first few months had sucked, as I’d had a lot of work ahead of me. Not only had I had to bulk up my frame, but I’d had to learn how to fight. She hadn’t even let me anywhere near a match for the first four months, and I’d lost the first three she’d sponsored me in. I was ashamed and humiliated, ready to chuck it all away, but Lila had refused to let me.

Instead, she’d pushed me into a fourth match, along with intensifying my training. To my surprise, I had won that match. The thrill of victory had been a high, and training had helped me deal with my anger issues. Re-committed to the idea, I had thrown myself into training and competing, and eventually, I’d had the chance to cross into the legitimate circles. Now, I was on the edge of real success, and I had worked damned hard to get there.

I made no apologies for what I’d had to do to survive in the past, and it amazed me Mia seemed to accept it all with equanimity. Perhaps it was because it was my past. I didn’t think she would be so blasé about me having been a male prostitute if I was still in the trade. Honestly, if I hadn’t found a way out of that life with Lila’s help, I probably would’ve been dead by now anyway, so it would have been a moot point.

Afterward, we dressed, me loaning her the muscle shirt I’d worn earlier. Since she was more petite and a lot smaller than me, it hung to mid-thigh on her and looked more like a strange dress, or new fashion statement, than an oversized shirt her boyfriend wore.

I drew myself up short at that thought. I wasn’t her boyfriend. I wasn’t anyone’s boyfriend, and I never had been. I never would be. I had dated a few chicks for more than two weeks or so, but we had never labeled it, and when we had moved on or drifted apart, I certainly hadn’t felt more than a niggle of regret. If I kept entertaining these kinds of dangerous thoughts, I’d feel a whole lot more than regret when it was time to walk away from my stepsister.

As I followed her out of the gym, tiptoeing back to her room, where she insisted on taking me to her bathroom to clean up my torn hands, I wondered if it was already too late. Had I started to fall for Mia?

***

Mia

I guess I should have been shocked by his revelation, but I’d sort of assumed that had been the way he had survived on the streets. His UFC biography was scant and vague, leaving a whole chunk of years unaccounted for, and I guess I was relieved it wasn’t worse than he’d revealed. Having to have sex with strangers for money was pretty damn bad, but at least he hadn’t been a drug addict, a criminal, or a murderer. He hadn’t been in jail, or doing a thousand things worse than having to sell his body.

It was in the past, and though I didn’t like the idea of someone touching him—okay, I hated the idea of any other woman having her hands on him, or any man—I didn’t let it consume me. Telling myself we were in a short-term fling helped, even though I knew and refused to acknowledge my feelings were deepening a lot more than they should for someone I was casually screwing.

I bandaged his hands, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle, before I let him leave my room. I couldn’t have stopped him anyway, and I think he needed some time to process everything that had happened.

Throwing myself onto my bed, I acknowledged I did too. I understood what had driven him to make the choices he had, at least in a vague, intellectual way. I couldn’t actually imagine how he had ended up in that situation, or what it had been like, but I could empathize. Maybe I should examine why I was so understanding of the idea, when I guessed a lot of people would be repulsed. I thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. It didn’t matter why I didn’t care too much about what he’d done, as long as I genuinely didn’t mind.

Probing deeply, I found only residual jealousy of the other women who had been in his life, which I knew was a silly reaction since they had paid for his time. Except Lila. He spoke of her with such affection, and perhaps love. Was it the kind of love between friends, or maybe mentor and mentee, or was it a deeper, sexualized love? Had Paxton ever been to bed with the other woman? It was strange that I was more jealous of one woman in his life, simply because she was still in his life, than the number of women who had been his clients for three years.

It wasn’t my place to feel jealous or anything else, and I knew I was fooling myself if I thought Paxton wanted anything more than a physical relationship while he was in this house. Once his mother died, I’m sure he would be gone soon after, and there would be nothing left between us. Not because of my dad’s dictates; just because of Paxton’s own history. He had written off his own mother for more than a decade, so why would it be much different now? Yeah, we were lovers, but I knew he was a man who didn’t do love or commitment.

I was fine with that. After all, I was only twenty-one, and I was hardly ready to get married and pop out twelve kids and settle down for the rest of my life. I giggled at the thought of Paxton living in suburbia, surrounded by a dozen kids and changing diapers on a set of triplets. Yeah, that wasn’t the kind of future he had ahead of him, and it wouldn’t be the kind I wanted either. I wanted to travel, finish my education, and figure out what kind of career I wanted. I didn’t want to get married or settle into one relationship.

I ruthlessly squashed the voice trying to whisper in the back of my mind that I could be totally content if Paxton was the only man in my life. I wouldn’t care about exploring relationships with other men or having other lovers if I had him. That voice had to die, and I killed it as efficiently as I could with the reminder that I was nothing more than a fuck buddy for my stepbrother.