My new coach turns up a few days later. His name is Dick. He is a good-looking, ex-military general with a crew cut and a rock-hard physique. He wears fatigues to the gym and likes to shout out my name in two loud syllables—SHILL-LAAAA—whenever I do anything wrong, which is pretty much every five minutes. He becomes best friends with the Predator his first day in the gym, and the two of them do a full workout and a five-mile run every morning together before the sun comes up while discussing how military training can translate into making my life a living hell.
Dick treats Redemption like his own personal boot camp and refers to his coaching as “advanced individual training.” If someone gets in our way or dares to be on equipment he has booked for us to use, he grabs them and body-slams them to the ground. When someone complains that he has broken the rules about fighting outside the ring, he tells Torment it is discipline, not fighting, and if he actually fought them, they would be dead. Torment loves Dick. He agrees to let Dick start a new course called Discipline with Dick.
Of course, the team can’t let the name go. They snicker behind Dick’s back and constantly crack immature jokes, culminating in Sadist showing up one morning with a black leather flogger. Unsurprisingly, with Zack out of the picture, Sandy is the first to sign up for the new class.
Three weeks into my new training program, I receive a surprise visit from Reg.
Dick is rolling with me on the mat and is not at all inclined to cut our submission session short so I can “waste time” talking to a Radical Power recruiter. Between submissions, I shoot apologetic glances at Reg, but he just smiles.
When Dick finally lets me go, I take Reg to the Redemption snack bar for a chat. Curiously, most of the senior Redemption fighters happen to be getting protein shakes at the exact same time.
“Is this meant to be a private conversation?” I ask Reg after we get our protein shakes. I gesture to the cluster of Redemption fighters pretending to be having a casual chat while leaning indiscreetly in our direction.
“It will be public soon.” He looks over at the fighters and laughs. “You have lots of friends.”
“Nosy friends.”
“Sometimes, they are the best kind.” He gestures to a table near a potted palm, and we take a seat.
“I came to see you because the CSAC reviewed the tapes of your last fight with Carla Gordon after Torment filed an appeal. They’ve ruled that the foul was intentional, and Gordon should not have been awarded the fight. They also couldn’t find any record of you being injured in a sanctioned fight, so you shouldn’t have been disqualified and given that CAMO ill designation.”
It takes me a minute before I work out what’s he’s trying to tell me. “I won?”
“They’ve called for a rematch for this weekend,” Reg says. “Because the situation was so unusual, they’ve decided to let you and Gordon fight again. You get another chance. And I’m still here if you win.”
* * *
“She’s Gordon,” Dick shouts the next day as I spar with Sandy in the practice ring. “Pretend she’s Gordon. What are you going to do when Gordon gets in your face?”
“I know what I want to do if he gets in my face,” I mutter, throwing a punch that Sandy easily evades. “He’s worse than Torment and Fuzzy combined. Worse than Zack. He doesn’t seem to understand that muscles need time to recover. It’s go, go, go all the time.”
“Have you heard from Zack?” Sandy tips her head to the side, and her ponytail swishes across her back. I remember how she was always after Zack, so I send a left uppercut her way and clip her in the chin.
“That’s good if you’re a damned six-year-old,” Dick shouts. “Put some power behind it.”
“Every day.” By now, everyone at Redemption knows Zack and I are together. My attempt to keep the secret lasted one whole week, and then Sadist caught me blowing kisses to Zack during an online chat.
“We need him for a photo shoot for the summer camp sponsorship.” Sandy hesitates. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Of course.” I can afford to be magnanimous. Everyone knows he’s mine.
“We want to do a few shots of him in just his fight shorts…”
Suddenly, I’m not feeling the magnanimity anymore. Bam. I smash my fist into her perfect nose, and she staggers back. “Sorry. I slipped.”
“This isn’t a fucking street fight. Get it together,” Dick calls out.
There are things I want to call out to Dick, too, most of which make fun of his name, but I am much too classy for that.
“Are you fighting over me?” The low, rough rumble of Zack’s voice steals my breath away, freezes me in place. Swallowing hard, I look back over my shoulder…
Bam. Sandy hits me with a right uppercut. I stagger back, hit the ropes, but this time, Zack catches me when I fall.
“You’re back early,” I say, looking up into the face I have imagined night after night since he left.
“I’m back, sweetheart. And I’m here to stay.”
“SHILL-LAAAA! What the hell? You’ve got a fight in four days. Get back in the ring.”
“He’s the new coach I texted you about.” I turn and wind my arms around Zack’s neck. “He makes you look like a pussycat.”
“I like him.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses me so deeply that I can feel our souls join in the breath we share. The world goes out from under me, and when he pulls away, I feel our connection like it was never gone.
“But if he touches you…”
“I thought you’d changed.”
He kisses me again. His lips are hot and soft against mine, gentle. He owns me with that kiss, takes me home, and makes me whole again. “Not that much.”
* * *
My last meal before final fasting for weigh-ins for the big event consists of four boiled eggs. Blade Saw, Homicide Hank, and I sit in a booth at the Protein Palace and contemplate the feast in front of us. They are fighting in the men’s amateur division in the upcoming event, and the last few days have been hell as we try to shed as much weight as we can. Sadist has joined us to give us support, although we all resent him for the protein shake he is noisily slurping beside us.
“I fucking hate fasting.” Homicide Hank peels open his egg, rips out the yolk, and then stuffs the white into his mouth all at once. “If I was living on my own, it would be easier, but when you’ve got kids, life is about food. Every second of the day, one of them needs food. You give them breakfast, and they want a snack. Then they’re thirsty. Then they need another snack. Then it’s nine a.m., and the sprogs are gnawing on my legs, although the damn food is everywhere. Every damned corner of the house. Every surface. Dry, fresh, hardened, and growing shit. Food, food, fucking food.”
“Slayer once dropped so much weight for a fight,” Sadist says, “he could barely stand on the scale, and when they took pictures at the weigh-in, he looked like a skeleton.”
Homicide Hank pops another egg in his mouth. “I heard MEFC offered to pay him three million to fight a title fight to defend his belt, but he turned it down. He said he wants to start from the beginning and work his way up. You gotta respect a man like that.”
“I never heard about that.” Sadist slams his cup on the table. “How the hell did you know about that and I didn’t?”
“Dick knows the owner of the gym in Seattle where Slayer used to train. Slayer was in Seattle visiting his sisters and went to see the dude to share the news, and the dude told Dick. Dick told the Predator. The Predator told his wife, Sia. She was covering a tattoo for Doctor Death, ’cause he needed to get rid of the last girlfriend’s name he’d had inked onto his back. Sia told him. Death told Makayla when he saw her at the hospital getting a baby scan—that secret got out fast. Makayla told Amanda when they were shopping for Amanda’s wedding dress for the wedding in June. Amanda told Renegade. He told Blade Saw in jiu-jitsu class. Blade Saw told his girl, Cora. She told your girl, Penny. Penny told Fuzzy when she was taking one of his classes. He told his girl, Jess. She told Sandy during a Redemption girls’ night out. Sandy told me.”
“So everyone knows except me?” Sadist stares at Homicide Hank, incredulous. Not once has he ever missed out on a juicy piece of gossip—or ten.
“You could have just asked me,” I say. “I can tell you anything about Slayer you want to know.”
Sadist shakes his head. “I’m losing my touch.”
After devouring our eggs at the Protein Palace, we head together to a casino, hefting our water jugs with our day’s allocation of water. Although we make a few token attempts to win at the tables, we spend most of our time sitting outside the restaurant section, smelling the food and talking about our post fight feast the next day. My head throbs, and I use a few precious sips of water to take some painkillers, but really, all I want to do is go home, lie in front of the couch, and watch the Food Network.
“You’re not looking so good,” Sadist says when I rest my head on the table. “Maybe we should call up Doctor Death and get him to check you over.”
“I’m fine. But I will skip the sauna tonight and take a nap before my run.”
Apparently, my idea to skip the sauna triggers alarm bells in the minds of my overprotective friends. Sadist bundles me into his car, and an hour later, I’m at home, and Doctor Death is knocking at the door.
“You’re extremely dehydrated,” he says after he checks me out.
“That’s the point.” I fall back on the couch. “I have a bag of Pedialyte ready for after the weigh-in.”
“Normally, I would agree,” he says. “But what about the recent trauma to your head? I heard you were knocked out for a second time at that underground fight—”
“I wasn’t. Zack was being overly cautious.”
“—and then again in your fight against Gordon,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “The brain is cushioned by water, and if you did have a subdural—”
“I don’t, and I feel much better since I came home to lie down. I still have a few pounds to go. How about if I promise to skip the run?”
Doctor Death scrubs a hand over his face. “There’s still a five percent risk.”
“I like risk.”
Unfortunately, he doesn’t go away. Instead, he gives a dramatic sigh and joins me on the couch. After he tidies up his stuff and sends a couple of texts, we watch Delia Smith bake her triple-layer chocolate fudge cake, then learn two ways to prepare roast chicken and how to make a six-pound taco with only two pounds of beef. A screech outside cuts off the chef’s secret ingredient for taco sauce, and I frown at the interruption.
“Did you hear that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.” He looks at me with a decidedly guilty expression. “Gee. Look at the time. I’d better go. I have lives to save, including my own.”
He frees himself from my grasp and grabs his bag just as Zack bursts in the door.
“You’re going to die, Death,” I shout as Doctor Death makes a run for it. “As soon as I can get off this damn couch, they’re going to call you Doctor Dead.”
Zack follows him into the hallway. Through the open door, I see some manly handshaking, shoulder patting, and money being exchanged. When Zack returns, I fold my arms over my chest and glare. “We’ve been through this overprotective nonsense too many times. I know how to fast, and I know how it feels. I heard about how you starved yourself for a fight. You know what this is all about.”
He presses his lips together and scowls. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“I know.” I look up at him and smile. “But I’m proud of you for trying.”
After two hours of watching TV, I feel good enough to get up for my run. I make a move to leave the couch, but Zack pulls me in a straddle across his lap.
“I know something that can burn calories better than a run.”
“What’s that?” I ask as if I don’t already know from the rock-hard erection pressed tight against my pussy.
“Sex.” He pulls his shirt over his head.
“Hmm.” I press a kiss to his warm chest. “I like to have a lot of sex before a fight to get my testosterone level up.”
“I’d prefer to be the only one in the relationship with testosterone.” He helps me off with my shirt and unhooks my bra.
“You do have a lot of it.”
He gives a satisfied grunt. “In spades.”
“I hope you’re planning to put it to good use tonight. Otherwise, I might have to put up a Craigslist ad for the multiple partners I’ll need to get ready for my fight tomorrow.”
He slips my bra off my shoulders. “You’re not gonna pass out on me?”
“Depends how hard you make me come.”
“I’ve always wanted to make a woman come so hard, she passed out.” He leans down and draws my nipple into his mouth.
“You mean, you haven’t already?” I sink my hands into his soft, thick hair. “Zack Grayson? Fantasy of women everywhere? Never seen with the same woman twice?”
He switches to my other nipple, and I arch into his hot, wet mouth. “I’ve been saving it all for you.”
Zack slides his hand down my hips and drags me close. I grind my hips against the bulge in his jeans. “Don’t save it too long. Once isn’t enough when there’s a fight the next day.”
He swings me down to the couch and cups the curve of my sex. “As you command, beautiful ballerina.” His fingers slide into my yoga pants, and he yanks them down, leaving me in only a skimpy pair of panties.
“Um…” I point down. “You forgot something.”
“I forget nothing.” He slips his fingers beneath the elastic and strokes my folds. “If I take those off, I’m going in, and I want you ready for me first.”
“Did you not notice I’m ready for you now? Or did you think that wetness was something else?”
“More ready.” He strips off his jeans and stretches on top of me.
His cock, thick and hard, presses against my clit, and I plant my heels on the couch and rub up against him like a contented cat.
“Naughty girl,” he growls. “You think you’re gonna push me over the edge, but you don’t appreciate my self-restraint.”
“Your woman is wet, almost naked, and her vibrator is out of batteries after having to make up for your absence. This isn’t the time for self-restraint.”
Zack runs his hand over my body, and his face softens. “You’re gonna get hurt in the ring.” He slides his arms around me. “You’re gonna come back to me covered in blood and bruises, maybe even broken bones.”
“I had bruises after that night you spanked me. You didn’t seem to mind then.”
“My bruises.” His hand drifts down my back to my ass. “Sexy bruises.”
I sit back and cup his face between my hands. “Please don’t ask me not to fight.”
“I won’t. I’ll be there with you. In your corner. But I won’t pretend it will be easy.” He leans in to kiss me, his lips soft against mine. And then he eases me down on the couch, his lips skimming down my neck to my collarbone. “I’m going to kiss every part of your body, so when you get hit tomorrow, you’ll remember I was there first.”
He kisses me everywhere. Soft kisses. Hard kisses. A brush of his lips, and then deep passionate kisses that arouse me more than his games. We make up for the weeks of missed kisses, our tongues tangling together as if we have all the time in the world. We share our bodies and our souls. We share our breaths, our hopes, and our dreams.
He kisses my face, my eyes, my nose, my chin, his whiskers rough on my skin. Then he moves down, flicking his tongue over the pulse at the base of my neck, tasting my collarbones, my arms, the insides of my elbows, even my wrists, and my fingers one by one.
I have never felt worshipped before. So utterly adored.
His mouth brushes over my ribs, now visible after days of fasting, and my concave belly. His breath is hot on my skin, tongue warm and wet where he licks and nibbles—the curve of my hip, my belly button, the top of my mound…
“Lower,” I whisper, sliding my fingers through the thickness of his hair.
He slides my panties off and then lavishes attention on my clit, sending tiny bolts of pleasure shivering up my spine. His tongue is gentle, slick, lapping me up as if I were a delectable dessert.
He teases out my orgasm with the soft steady brush of his tongue. It rushes over me like the tide, pebbling my skin, filling every nook and cranny of my body. An irresistible, unstoppable force that flutters, flows, and ebbs, sending me drifting as it pulls me with it.
“Beautiful.” Zack slides up my body. “I love watching you come.”
With one firm thrust, he fills me, his cock deliciously thick and hard. We groan together. Move together. Breathe as one person, not two.
“Deeper, Zack,” I whisper. “I want to feel all of you.”
He takes his weight on his hands and pushes until he is seated as far as he can go. Our hips rock together, and then he pounds into me, filling me utterly and completely.
Finally, his body stiffens, and he comes with a hoarse cry, the pulse of his climax against my swollen tissue sending me over the edge again.
Zack collapses on top of me, buries his neck in my shoulder, and for a moment, we hold each other, chests heaving, bodies sated.
“I want to do this for you when you fight.” I stroke my hand through his thick, soft hair.
“Once won’t be enough.”
“Twice?” I wiggle, rubbing my breasts against his chest, and he groans softly.
“More.”
“How much more?”
“I’ll need you every day of the year before the fight and every day after. Sometimes two or three times.” He pushes himself up and runs his tongue over the seam of my lips.
“Hmm. How are we going to have all that sex unless we’re together all the time?”
“We’ll have to live together.” He nuzzles my neck. “Then I can sex you up whenever I want.”
“That sounds serious.”
He studies me, his face intense. “It is serious. We’ve wasted enough time. I don’t want to waste a second more. I love you, Shay. I want to be with you forever.”
I hold him tight and whisper in his ear. “I love you, too.”
And for the first time, I am not afraid to open myself up, because I have found my passion again, and he has found me.