I hum out an agreeing murmur before scooting up the mattress, so my back braces my pillow and the headboard. My nightmare must have gone longer in my head than realized because my pillow is almost soaked through.
“Take mine.” My lips barely twitch when Demi squashes her index finger to them. “I’ve drooled on your chest every night the past six-plus weeks. I don’t see tonight being any different.”
Her comment about it still being night has my eyes straying to the clock on my bedside table. It shows it’s a little after eleven. We’re not usually early-to-bed people, but my agreement with Dimitri sees me needing to rise earlier than the sun every Friday. I told Demi her cousin wants me to squeeze in a pre-fight workout before each match. I’m unsure why I lied. She witnessed me kill a man. I can’t shock her any more than that. I just still believe some things are better kept under wraps until the timing is right.
“Aren’t you tired?” Demi asks a few minutes later. When I peer down at her, shocked she’s aware I was still awake, she murmurs, “You only ever do a maximum of six figure-eight patterns on my back before you zone out. You went well past a dozen.”
My heart does an elongated beat when she switches on the lamp on the bedside table. It’s the same bedside table that got me in all types of trouble two short months ago. Caidyn dropped it off last month when he tried to return the bundle of money I left in the glove compartment of his Jeep. We’re staying at his friend’s house for free, Demi can whip up a feast fit for a king with the most basic ingredients, and when Rocco arrives with a bag of money each week, he ensures the fuel tank in the Buick is also chock-a-block full. Other than putting away a good chunk of coin each week with the hope I’ll soon get Demi as far away from here as possible, I don’t have any other needs, so why not help my brother who bankrupted himself for me? I owe him more than a ton of dirty money, but at the moment, it’s the only thing I can give him.
“It’s barely there,” Demi reminds me when I trace my finger over the slither of silver in her right cheek before I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
She’s been safe here with me for a little over six weeks, but I can’t help but wonder if that will still be the case when I fail to show up for the next deathmatch next week. I need to get her out of the firing line, I simply have no fucking clue how to do that. I don’t trust the law. Her flesh and blood see her as a commodity, and although my brothers adore her, I see weariness in their eyes any time her name is mentioned lately. I changed for Demi. They just have no clue how widespread the leap was since I’ve kept my murderous ways between Demi and me.
“It’s the scars we can’t see that take the longest to heal.”
I don’t get the chance to contemplate what she means. My focus is far from misery when my girl is tugging my sleeping pants down my thighs. There’s no time for sadness. The only ache I’m feeling is the throb in my cock when I try and talk her out of sucking me off.
“Thought you said we can’t keep using sex as our vice when we’re feeling snowed under.”
Demi takes my dick in her hand before raising her eyes to mine. Fuck, she’s beautiful. All her bruises are gone, and her eyes are bright. If you excluded the faintest scar from the gash Col caused her cheek when he punched her in the face, you’d have no clue she was assaulted seven weeks ago. Even with her grin being hidden by my rapidly rising cock, I’m confident in declaring I made the right decision when I put her first. She comes before anything and anyone. My studies. My brothers. Even my family. She will always come first.
“I also thought you said you’d talk to me when you’re struggling.” My thigh muscles bunch when she swipes her tongue over the crest of my cock like we’re making out instead of arguing. “Doesn’t look like you’re willing to maintain your side of our bargain yet, either.”
“I was going to talk to you.” My last two words come out rough, inspired by the rumble of a man in need from his woman curling her lips over his knob. “I just thought you were asleep.” My dropped eyes pop open when Demi suddenly yanks back. “What the fuck? You can’t do that to a man. My God, Demi. You never, I repeat, never de-suction mid-suck. I could suffer permanent erectile damage.” I whisper the word ‘erectile’ like I’ll jinx myself with a dysfunction by saying it out loud.
I angle my head to the side and peer down at Demi with her lips a mere inch from my now aching cock when she asks, “More damage than lying?”
“I’m not lying to you.” I fucking am, but that’s a story for another day. “I was sweating too much to know if the wetness on my chest was you or me.” Since most of my reply is honest, it comes out sounding that way. She wasn’t lying when she said she drools. It’s one of her talents that reminds me she isn’t a goddess. She’s fucking close, she just needs to dampen down the amount of drool she disperses each night to fully accept the title.
When Demi’s lips remain hovering above the crest of my cock, I crumble like a narc being offered a deal. “What do you want to know?”
Most men would run for the hills if forced to have a heartfelt one-on-one conversation mid-blowjob. Demi’s ability to suck the marrow from my bones would have me agreeing for a shrink to sit in on our escapades if it guarantees my dick will still be sucked.
Demi awards the absolute honesty in my eyes that nothing is off-limits by taking care of the droplet of pre-cum pooled on the end of my cock. Her lick sends a pleasing zap straight to my balls and has my head falling back so I can voicelessly thank God for bringing her into my life. Our relationship is messy and complicated, but her smile alone makes up for a lifetime of injustices.
While stroking my cock to restock the pre-cum she lapped up, she asks, “Where do you go every Friday morning?” She drags her tiny hand to the base of my dick, squeezes it a little, then returns it to the crown. “You have everything you need to train out back, so why attend a gym for an extra session?”
“Competition is stiff.” Not as stiff as my dick, but not a complete lie. “I’ve got to make sure my cockiness isn’t seeing me walk into this blind.”
I hadn’t really considered that the past month and a half. I’ve been victorious each week, but it hasn’t come without consequences. I sported a black eye for two weeks after my first bout, fractured my pinkie finger the week after that, and last week, I not only bruised my ribs, I cracked a couple of them as well. The longer I fight for Dimitri, the fiercer my competition is becoming. “My competitors’ ‘owners’ now know I’m not just a pretty face. I need to back up their claims with an impressive skill set as well.”
“Can I watch you fight this week?”
A stern “hell to the fucking no” sits on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth refuses to relinquish it. Demi isn’t stupid. She knows there’s no chance in hell I’ll say no to her when she’s lowering her plump lips down my shaft.
“Fuck, Demi, fuck!” I grunt out when her lips come to within an inch of the cropped hairs splayed across my pelvis. I’m not bragging when I say it isn’t logical for her to fit so much dick down her throat. I’ve got length—notable length— and girth, yet she sucks me down like she wants my load dispersed directly into her gut. “Just a little more.”