And I don’t even have to ask. “Fuck me, Trent.”
“Yes ma’am.”
That a boy.
Trent
What a treat she is—not just for the eyes. For all of me. My hands, my tongue. My heart.
Not sure how I waited as long as I did before claiming this woman. Thank fuck I didn’t hold off a minute longer. I’m lucky someone else didn’t come ’round and steal her first.
Now she’s mine. There’s no rewind button on that cassette.
Looking at Della, her heavenly sweetness still lingering on my tongue, I wrap my hand around my girth and stroke my cock from end to end. Damn, she makes me so hard. I’m dripping precum all over her cunt.
Della seals her thighs against my hips. “I meant it when I said…it’s…been a while.” She tugs her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes darting from my dick to my face and back again.
She’s fuckin’ cute as hell when she’s nervous.
“I’ll go easy on you, baby,” I soothe, and her face lights up. Her legs fall to the sides of the narrow bed, her perfect, pink pussy right there, open and waiting for me.
About to make her all mine. For the first time. For always.
I kiss her neck, slowing down to nibble my way up to her ear, and fighting the urge to slam my cock inside of her right now, to release the pain in my balls that’s building with so much intensity I feel like I’m about to explode.
Della whimpers in delight. I line up my cock and slide between her folds, slowly, and her tight walls wrap around me, squeezing me in a warm choke.
I know at this point it won’t take much for her to make me come. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment. And Della feels more incredible than I could have ever imagined.
She moans, and her back arches up at the perfect height for my hands to slide beneath her, gripping her lush ass and pulling her closer to drive my dick even deeper between her folds.
I lean over her body to kiss her some more—her lips, her cheek, everywhere my mouth can reach. I grind my hips into hers, little harder, little faster, towing us both to the edge of surrender. I slide in and out of her, as the sounds of our lovemaking fill the room. I have to bite down on a louder groan.
“It’s soundproof in here,” Della says.
“Really?”
She nods, grinning waggishly at me. I ramp up the pace and her hips move in tandem, meeting my thrusts. Her walls clench my dick, so when I pull out she’s sucking me right back in, desperate for more.
“Trent, oh my god. I’m gonna come again,” Della keens, raggedly.
“Yes, please, baby. Come on that cock.”
I watch her body tremble as her finish line closes in. I’m damn near spent, too. My balls tighten the moment her cunt clamps down, her surge of wetness milking my dick from root to tip. Her legs snake around my back. I erupt inside of her, filling her up as my own body quakes with an out-of-body experience like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“Sunshine…”
“I love you,” she blurts.
I kiss her lips, speechless while I catch my breath.
“I fuckin’ love you,” she says again.
“Della,” I say. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”
Six
Trent
Bradley’s got to be hating this. He’s plundered through the whole division before going to head to head with me to defend his title. Any gambling man might peg him as the favorite in tonight’s fight. In any fight.
But the Vegas betting lines all name me as the favorite in tonight’s Fit to Fight main event. Credit that to my younger age, my reach advantage, or the fact we’re fighting in Austin, Texas, my home turf.
I’m not a betting man myself, but I’ve got a feeling Vegas knows better than that. I’m going to win because there simply is no other option.
My coaches and my girl are watching from my corner. Della had to really work up the nerve before telling everyone what they already knew would someday happen. Especially her brother Axel and my dad. No one was shocked. Nor did anyone think it was a big deal, at all. So what if she’s seven years older than me? Age is just a number.
Fifty thousand dollars is also a number—that’s how much I’ll be taking home tonight, after I win this bout. I’ve got the perfect woman and her little boy to spend it on, too.
The ref cautions us to keep it clean and protect ourselves, and Bradley and I touch gloves. Show time.
On his feet Bradley has a buoyant figure-eight style that ain’t easy to catch, but he’ll also wear himself out like that. We’re just warming up, but I’m tempted to start exploiting his weaknesses soon. I hold back, getting in a few warning shots and taking some of his.
So far the coaches are right. His chin isn’t near as hale as Dallas’s, and he hasn’t come in for a takedown yet.
By the end of the second round, Bradley’s already breathing through his mouth. Coach Dean warns me he’ll likely go in for the clinch next time he gets caught in the pocket, to avoid taking any more damaging strikes. The alternative is I keep dancing with him in and out of range, but that’d put me in more danger of him trying to take me down.
Ten seconds into round three, I’m pumped up to get him into the clinch myself. I’m not gun shy, I could knock him out on our feet, but not if I have to keep chasing him. If he wants the clinch, he’s got it—but I’ll get top control. If all I accomplish in this round is emptying his gas tank, so be it.
Try as he might, Bradley has a hell of a time getting this fight down to the mat now. He’s tired, and now I’m too close for him to take me by surprise. He’s got a few tricks I’ve studied—sneaky trips when there isn’t much room to switch levels—but my defense is better.
The coaches do their best job keeping a straight face when we take another break. But I know they’re proud. Bradley hasn’t done much damage at all, I’m winning by points, and just look at his face, all red, and sweaty, and beat—the guy is spent.
“Don’t let your guard down yet,” Coach Dean warns. “He’s getting desperate.”
The clinch worked out so well I’m prepared to do it again. But the fourth round starts and Bradley immediately dives into my hips. I’m ashamed to admit he takes me completely by surprise.
Next thing I know, I’m on my back.
I haven’t paid much attention to the audience thus far, but I hear their collective gasp as Bradley and I scramble for top control. He’s undoubtedly got it…for about five seconds. One well-timed elbow strike to his chin stuns him enough to start making mistakes.
My instinct is to take this fight back to our feet. One hit. All I need is one more, good hit.
That’s what my corner is shouting at me to do right now…
But I can’t resist. We’re here. Bradley’s attempts at regaining control on the ground are herky-jerky at best. I’m too tempted to beat him now at his own game. I shouldn’t indulge in a memory, but as I aggressively maneuver his tired body to catch his back and work my best over-the-shoulder ground-and-pound, I can’t help it.
Bradley’s a world-class grappler, I said to Della.
So are you, Della said back.