by M. S. Parker
I hadn't told Anita about the date with Tyrell, or that I planned on having a second one. It, however, wasn't as easy to deceive her this week as it had been before. Then, I'd still been fairly cautious, not able to acknowledge that I was truly attracted to him, or even really wanting to hope that he could be a good guy. Now, I knew I wanted him, and that feeling only increased every time Anita and I stepped into the gym to watch Tyrell practice. Anita gave me a few curious glances through the week but refrained from asking questions. I got the impression that all of the rumors about her own sexuality had made her into the sort of person who respected people's private lives.
The week seemed to drag on, but finally, it was Friday again and I was putting the finishing touches on my outfit for the evening. Tyrell had asked if I wanted to go dancing, and while I wasn't the sort of girl who enjoyed clubbing every weekend, I did like to dance, and the idea of dancing with Tyrell appealed to me.
And made me think that I might want tonight to end with more than just a kiss.
While a bit on the tame side for New York City, my “little black dress” was sexy without being overly so. I knew there'd be plenty of women at the club with more skin showing, but I also knew that if Tyrell was as decent as I believed he him to be, his eyes would stay on me.
And they did.
From the moment I opened the door, all of that intense focus I'd seen him display in the ring was on me.
It was both heady and intimidating.
And I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it.
I did like how he kept his hand on the small of my back as he moved us through the crowd. Being barely five foot three, I was used to having to fight my way between people who were almost always towering over me. This time, however, I had my own giant.
Okay, so he wasn't really a giant, but he was more than a foot taller than me, so I was going with the term.
There was another benefit, I discovered, to dating an athlete. He knew how to move. Dancing with him wasn't like dancing with any of the guys I'd gone out with before. Definitely not the boys from my small, rural high school, and not even the college boys at the occasional party I'd attended at NYU.
Very occasional.
And I'd never danced like this before.
Bodies pressed together so close that I could feel every inch of him, including several inches that became more interesting as the night wore on. Based on the heat in his eyes, I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. I just hoped he would make the first move because while I had no problem showing that I was attracted to someone, I wasn't comfortable initiating sex.
I wasn't a virgin or a prude, but I'd only had sex once, and after that, I preferred to handle things on my own. I wasn't into flings, and I'd been too busy in college to look into relationships.
Except now, I sort of felt like the possibility of a relationship had found me.
Tyrell leaned down close to my ear, pitching his voice just barely loud enough for me to hear. “Tell me if I'm overstepping, but I was wondering if you'd like to come back to my place.”
He straightened and looked down at me, his eyes near-black in the flashing club lights. My stomach twisted, and my mouth went dry. The decision to lose my virginity had been more calculated than visceral. I'd liked the guy well enough, and I'd found him attractive, but there hadn't been this wanting that I felt now. In fact, I'd never felt this sort of desire for anyone before.
I nodded, and then his hand was around mine, and we were heading toward the door. Neither one of us talked much in the taxi, but it really wasn't necessary. The sexual tension that had been simmering in the background all week had gradually heated during our dancing, and now it was reaching a boiling point.
When we reached his brownstone, I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't living in some sort of bachelor-pad apartment. Instead, his place was nicely furnished with quality, but not excessively expensive, furniture. There was actual art on his walls, books on bookshelves, and they didn't look like they were only for show.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.
For a moment, I considered it. As much as I wanted him, butterflies had taken flight in my stomach the moment the door had closed behind me, and a glass of wine would probably help calm them. Or, it might make me reconsider the wisdom of sleeping with him on the second date.
I didn't want to take that chance.
“No,” I said softly.
I closed the distance between us and tilted my head back until I was looking straight up at him. I put my hand on his chest to balance myself and rose up on my tiptoes. Even in my heels, I wasn’t close to reaching his mouth, but he bent his head and brushed his lips across mine.
Then his arms were around me, hands sliding down my back to cup my ass for a moment before lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and this time his kiss was fierce, passionate, but not demanding. He let me feel how much he wanted me, but I knew that even though this man could easily overpower me, he never would.
He carried me toward the stairs, but before I could demand that he put me down, we were going up. I should've been nervous that he'd drop me, but I wasn't. While I didn't quite know what we were to each other, I instinctively felt like I could trust him.
Besides, I was enjoying the feel of his hard body against mine too much to formulate a coherent protest anyway.
Then I was on a bed, and he was stretched out over me, his weight carefully balanced on his elbows so he wasn't crushing me. He buried his hand in my hair, turning my head as his lips trailed down my jaw and throat. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the way his mouth felt against my skin, how his fingers skimmed across my collarbone before hooking in the straps of my dress.
He muttered an oath as he peeled off my dress, leaving me in just the matching black silk panties and bra I'd intentionally worn in case this happened.
“Look at me.” His voice held a rough edge that made my stomach clench.
I did as he asked, swallowing hard as he pushed himself up onto his feet, then pulled his shirt over his head. I'd seen him shirtless before, of course, since he'd occasionally taken his off during training, but it was completely different to see those cut, defined muscles in the dim lighting of his bedroom and knowing that, shortly, I'd get to run my hands over them. Over that gorgeous, intricate cross tattoo on his back.
He started on his pants next, and while he was occupied, I shed the last of what I was wearing, so when he straightened, we were both able to see each other completely. I caught a glimpse of the desire on his face before my own attention was captured by the long, thick piece of flesh curving up toward his flat stomach.
I didn't have negative memories, exactly, about the night I'd lost my virginity, but I did remember that it'd been a tight fit. And there was no way in hell Peyton Myers had been anywhere close to as well-endowed as Tyrell.
“Breathtaking,” he murmured as he went to his knees on the floor next to the bed. “Do you taste as great as you look?”
I was pretty sure the question was rhetorical since I had absolutely no clue how I was supposed to answer that. He didn't seem to expect a response, though, as he reached up and grasped my thighs, pulling me toward him until my legs were hanging over the edge of the bed, one on either side of him.
His hands slid up over my hips, across the soft curve of my stomach, and up to cover my breasts. I moaned as his thumbs rubbed over my nipples until they hardened, and then he was moving his hands lower again. His eyes caught mine as he positioned my legs over his shoulders and grasped my waist with his hands.
I flushed when he lowered his gaze, now no longer looking at the whole of my naked body, but focusing on the part of me that even my fumbling prom date had barely seen. Heat flooded every inch of my skin, but there was no way I was going to ask him to stop. I wanted to know how it felt to have someone's mouth there, to feel all of the things I'd heard my college friends talk about.
A sound very much like a whimper escaped my mouth as he ran his to
ngue across my skin. I caught a hint of a smile curving his lips, and then his head was between my legs, his dark hair soft against the insides of my thighs. He held me in a firm grip as he used his lips and tongue in ways that I'd only previously imagined.
It wasn't long before I was coming, a climax unlike anything I'd ever felt before crashing over me. I'd always been skilled at getting myself off, knowing exactly what I needed to get the job done, but that was nothing compared to what I felt now.
I lay there, limp and boneless as Tyrell stood and reached for something in his night-stand. I watched as he rolled the condom over his cock, and then I pushed myself higher onto the bed, eager to feel him inside me. He joined me, his fingers moving over my stomach and down between my legs as he propped himself up on his other arm.
I gasped as he slid a finger inside, then moaned when his lips closed around my nipple. I wanted to touch him, explore his body, but the sensations I felt were too much. My fingers couldn't do more than fist in the sheets, pulling at them. He worked one finger in and out while his mouth did wonderful things on my sensitive flesh. When he added a second finger, he switched his mouth to my other breast, and I finally lifted my hand to run my fingers through his hair.
“So tight,” he murmured against my skin, his teeth lightly grazing my nipple when my hands fisted in his hair. Suddenly, he raised his head, fingers stopping their slow, steady movement. “You're not...?”
I shook my head, unwilling to give him specifics unless he asked. All he needed to know was that he wouldn’t be responsible for taking my virginity.
He moved over me, easily maneuvering me into place beneath him. One of my legs, he curled around his hip, my heel resting on his upper thigh. The other, he bent back toward my chest, opening me wide as the tip of him brushed against me.
I cried out as he eased his way inside me. It didn't hurt, but it was overwhelming, the sensation of being filled so thoroughly, so completely. His hips rocked back and forth, moving him inch by inch until he was all the way inside. He stayed there for a moment, watching me as my breaths came in short little gasps.
“Are you okay?” he asked, one hand coming up to rest on my cheek.
I nodded, unable to say a word.
“You're so small, Cyn.” He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“You're not,” I assured him when I found my voice. I moved against him. Not much, but enough to make him moan. “Please.”
He nodded and began to set the rhythm between us. Long, sure strokes that touched every part of me. Not too hard or fast, but each one steadily pushing me higher until my nails dug into his arms and his name fell from my lips. Over and over again, I said it, intermingled with curses and cries until I exploded again. When I tightened around him, his eyes closed, body tensing, but even with that effort, he was unable to hold back. With a guttural groan, he came too, and as I watched, I knew that everything had changed.
Chapter Five
Tyrell
I hadn't gone into my second date with Cynthia Rose thinking that we'd end up in bed together. I'd hoped that going dancing would lead to physical contact, sure, but I'd been thinking some over-the-clothes grinding and touching, more than just a single kiss at the end of the night. But when I'd seen the way her little black dress clung to those luscious curves of hers, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she must've looked like underneath.
When I'd asked her if she wanted to go back to my place, I'd been serious, but hadn't really expected her to agree. She wasn't like other women I'd taken out. She was the sort of woman a guy could take home to his mother.
Well, if he had one.
There were some times more than others that I missed my mother, and thinking about how she'd have liked Cynthia Rose was definitely one of them. Mom would've approved, I was sure, even if Cyn and I had slept together on the second date.
The memory of our night together stuck with me. On Saturday – my one day off now thanks to Gilen and Paul's combined training regime – thinking about the way she'd felt beneath me hadn't been a problem. But once I headed back to the gym, I had a hard time focusing on my training. My mind kept wandering.
Wandering to the memory of her firm, full breasts. Porcelain skin topped by hard, tight nipples of the palest rose.
How she'd come apart beneath my mouth, responded to my slightest touch.
I'd worried about how well we'd fit together, her being so much smaller than me. She wasn't delicate, but I'd still worried.
Until I'd slid inside her and discovered that we fit perfectly.
It'd been that last realization that had come back the most often, that had made me ask Paul to repeat himself more than once. That'd made Gilen snap at me when I hadn't immediately responded to some witty remark she'd made.
Paul was pissed, but he just made me work twice as hard, saying that physical activity was the best thing to clear my mind.
Gilen, however, wasn't so polite about it.
“What the hell, Tyrell?” she shouted as my balance wavered for the third time today.
One of the things Gilen had been working with me on was balance. Well, what she actually said was that it was to balance my chi. I had no idea what the hell that was, but it involved a lot of stretching and slow movements and balance training, so it wasn't all bad. Those were definitely things I could use.
“Where's your head?” she asked as she stepped closer to me. “You haven't been able to concentrate all week.”
I shook my head. “I'm fine.”
She raised an eyebrow and put her hand on my chest. I looked down at it but didn't say anything. From moment one, she'd been more...hands-on, for lack of a better word, than a typical instructor would be. Now, as she looked up at me through her lashes, I knew I couldn't write off her touches as only being a part of her personality anymore.
“Come on, Tyrell,” she coaxed. “I'm supposed to help you keep direction and focus. How can I do that if you won't tell me what's making you lose focus?”
The door opened and I looked toward it, ignoring Gilen's question.
“She's not coming today.”
I turned back to see Gilen's mouth twisted into a scowl. She was still standing close to me, but she'd dropped her hand.
“Who?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as innocent as possible.
I'd been very careful not to be overly attentive to Cynthia Rose when she'd come into the gym. Aside from not wanting to get her into trouble with her work, I also didn't want Paul or Dorian figuring out that Cyn and I were dating. They didn't usually get themselves involved in the fighters' personal lives, but if they realized just how much she was affecting me, they might want to step in. Plus, as long as she and Anita were writing a story on me, it was a bit unseemly for us to be involved. Like I was trying to influence her or something.
“I don't know who you think you're fooling,” Gilen said. “Everyone sees how you look at that girl.”
Shit.
“Anita's interviewing me.” I still tried to play dumb. “I need to pay attention to what she asks.”
Gilen rolled her eyes as she stepped past me, close enough for her breast to press against my arm. “Don't try to be coy, Tyrell. It doesn't suit you.”
I frowned at her.
“I've seen you and that little blonde making eyes at each other from the first moment she stepped into the gym.” Gilen sounded annoyed. “I'm guessing that's what's got your focus all off, am I right?”
I didn't answer. She was right, but I didn't want to admit it. Who knew what she'd have to say about it. Or who she'd tell.
“All that sexual tension isn't good for you,” she said, her tone educational, almost lecturing. “I know some trainers believe that their fighters shouldn't have sex before big matches, but I think it can lead to a lack of focus.”
“That's not an issue.” As soon as the words popped out, I wanted to take them back. It wasn't anyone's business what Cynthia Rose and I had done together.
One of Gilen's eyebrows went up. She glanced around, as if determining if our conversation would be overheard. “So you two...?”
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “We've gone on a couple dates,” I admitted.
“And you've slept together,” she pressed, nodding her certainty at my answer. “Please be honest. I can’t help you if I’m wading through lies.”
“Not that it's any of your business, but yes,” I snapped. I'd never been the kind of man who'd liked to make a spectacle of romance, and I certainly didn't want whatever this was with Cynthia Rose to end up as tabloid fodder.
“That's what you're thinking about, isn't it?” She stepped toward me again, her voice taking on a new, sultry pitch. “Her body, those eyes. The noises she made.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry. Fuck. I was getting hard just from the words.
“What were you thinking about earlier when you got distracted?” she asked as she rounded behind me. Her voice was suddenly near my ear. “Your cock in her mouth? How tight her pussy was?”
“That's over the line.” I turned on her. “Dorian hired you to help me get ready for the fight, not talk about my lo– my sex life.”
I refused to use the l word. Things hadn't gone that far, though I wasn't ruling it out for the future. If I said it, however, it would be to Cynthia Rose first, not like this.
All the more reason to get Gilen to be quiet.
“I was hired to get you ready,” she said. “And part of that job is to make sure you're focused. You're not.”
“I thought you said sex was good for focus,” I retorted.
“Sex, yes,” she said. “Relationships, no.”
“We haven't really defined anything.” It was an excuse and I knew it.
Gilen put her hand on my arm, a sympathetic expression on her face. “I've been doing this for eight years, Tyrell, and I've seen a lot of matches lost because one of the fighters was distracted by something going on in his personal life, usually having to do with his romantic relationships.”