Fight or Fall Page 11

  “I wanna take a shower.” I peered into his face. His eyes were on my lips, I flicked a tongue at him and he immediately bit on it with his teeth. I think I may have soaked my panties just a little more.

  “Okay.” He changed directions and was now leading us towards the big bathroom, just outside his bedroom. I was going to say by myself when he slowly put me down and motioned with his hands for me to lift my arms up.

  I’d seen my body. Naked. Many many times.

  I’d never been shy about wearing the clothes I wear for designers who want and need exposure.

  I’m not vain or anything, but I know I looked good.

  My breasts are 36C. Sometimes I feel they should be smaller because it’s hard to carry them around.

  But right now, in front of Milo, I felt insecurity traveling up my body.

  What if he finds a mole, a freckle, a skin flap, a pimple? I had no idea if I had the last two, but what if they showed up within the last three hours when I had last seen myself without any clothes on in front of the mirror?

  He was waiting on me patiently. “I don’t have any girly shampoo here, so if you wanna take a shower you’re gonna end up smelling like me.”

  Smell like him? I liked my assorted fruity shampoos, specially concocted for me by my mom’s parfumier since I was a child. But Milo’s scent – hint of musk and male essence, I could lather it up all over me and I’m sure I’d love it.

  He still had his hands up, waiting for me to give him the go-signal to take off my shirt. I stood on my tiptoes and brought his head down for another kiss. His hands latched onto my butt again, sliding my shorts higher, my face flaming with the scorching heat between us.

  “Join me,” I requested, knowing that he hadn’t taken a shower himself yet.

  Milo stuck to a schedule. He got up way early in the mornings to start his day. He worked out for 4-5 hours, and usually by the time I called or texted him, he was already doing chores or working on the new project he was involved in with his buddy, Jeff, who was also a mechanical engineer. He had just started partnering with Jeff. When Milo talked about it, I could tell he was excited for the partnership. It allowed him to work anywhere in the world. Granted they were just starting it up but he saw a lot of potential in making it a steady stream of income especially when they branched out internationally. At times it slipped my mind that he was a smart guy. When he starts talking about materials performance, interchangeability, system layouts, and technical design – I found him way sexier if that was even possible. It was still a puzzle to me why he had to fight. There was no other reason for it but the money.

  Before I lost the last of my resolve, I lifted the hem of my shirt and took it off.

  His green eyes widened, his breath hitched, and when he traced his fingers from the top of my sports bra to just under my ribcage, I wondered if this was how a supernova felt like before bursting into a fiery explosion.

  I tilted my head, giving him approval.

  He reached under the cotton material and touched my nipples with two of his fingers.

  “Damn,” his audible whisper matched the hunger in his eyes. His hands were steady, warm, and insistent as he pulled my sports bra over my head.

  In less than a second, he had me taking off my gym shorts and tugging on my light yellow panties that I thought he would tear apart.

  His eyes didn’t leave mine the whole time he undressed me. As soon as all of my clothes lay like a messy small heap on the beige-gray slate tiles, he placed both of his hands on my face, cheeks, neck and slowly, gently rubbed me, the rough texture of his palms slightly abrasive against the surface of the skin he was covering. When his hands molded, caressed, and cupped my breasts, I was pretty sure a part of me died a little, le petit mort. I would never be the same woman after this.

  He was quiet, methodical, the evidence of his unabated desire emanated from his quick intakes of breath, the tightening of his jaw, the smoldering, dark-forest green of his stare.

  His tongue touched, favoring my right nipple as he took it into his mouth.

  “Ahh, Milo…” I whimpered, my eyes followed his dark head which was lavishing attention to my breast. With his tongue switching sides, he engulfed my left nipple with the same ardent attention, his hands squeezing my butt.

  I was lost in the sensations he was giving me, my eyes drifting closed. It was taking over my sanity, my ability to think straight. At this moment, if he asked me anything, I’d give it to him. I didn’t know when he took off his clothes, I was overwhelmed with the pleasure he was giving me.

  By the time he lifted me into the shower, I was ready to explode.

  Inside the stall, he detached himself from me to let me soak in the mildly hot water. When the heat prickled at my chest, he saw me wince. “Too hot, baby?”

  He turned around to change the temperature of the water, raising his hand against the water from the showerhead as if testing to see if it had changed. I took the opportunity to take in his naked, glorious backside. With his naturally tanned skin, with a small amount of water trickling down his gluteal muscles and the strong, thick quads, Milo was a man whose strength and power could be intimidating, yet he was so gentle with me.

  “It’s better,” I said, finding the water to be cooler and rejuvenating.

  Facing me, his eyes glinted with raw honesty and wonderment. “Ava, you…you’re gorgeous.”

  I’d heard it many times – gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, adorable – my parents had given me my features. I’ve seen the look in men’s eyes when they wanted to score with me but with Milo, it was different. I saw desire. I saw passion. I also saw tenderness. And vulnerability. A sense of disbelief that I was here with him.

  “I think you’re beautiful too.” He was. My idea of male perfection.

  He chuckled hoarsely. “I’m beautiful?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s gotta be the first lie you’ve ever told me.” His mouth lifted up, holding back a grin.

  “No. I’m serious.” I was. I don’t know why he never believes me when I tell him he’s good-looking or anything like that. It’s like he thinks it was inconsequential, irrelevant. He was a beautiful man, not only outside but also inside.

  Touching my right forefinger to his lips, the steady stream of water raining on us, I pressed on his lips. “You have the best lips, I could kiss them all day.”

  I trekked my hands lower to his shoulders. “You’re so strong, you lift me like I’m nothing.” My hands splayed on his chest. “There’s not a hint of softness in this, but I know what’s inside here. Milo, you’re a beautiful man. I still don’t know why you’re fighting, why you’re subjecting your body to that type of abuse, but whatever the reason is, I hope you’ll tell me one day. I’ve known you almost all of my life. I’ve seen how you protect and love the women and people you care about. It’s probably bugging you…the things you did in the past, mistakes you’ve made. Everyone makes mistakes. Some bigger than others. But still, I’ve never met a more honorable man than you. So yes, that makes you beautiful to me.”

  In a flash he was kissing me roughly, his hands all over me, my neck, my back, my butt, his fingers finding a way down my navel to my core. A calloused fingertip made contact with my center and I bucked, my back bowing to the sudden surge, the electric heat waiting to burst.

  “Fuck,” he growled. “I wanna taste, baby.”

  He backed me against the wall, my body pliant, willing to his every demand. Lifting both of my legs, he placed them on his shoulders as he knelt between them. When his tongue connected with the center of my pleasure, I swore if I had died earlier, I had just been recharged back to life. He switched between gentle and rough, licking me, sucking me, while his hands had permanently branded my butt as his property. I’m sure once we’re done, if we’re ever done, I hope we never are, my butt cheeks will be imprinted with his large hands.

  He removed his hand from my right butt cheek, and the next thing I felt was a thumb pressing inside me. The sensat
ion was foreign, the only things I’d had in me were my own fingers and my tiny pink, reliable vibrator. I breathed out and he was able to slide in his finger easily. When he added another one, I let out a surprise gasp. He looked up at me, his tongue still busy sucking on my core, his eyes asking if I was okay.

  “It’s been a long time,” I replied. More like never.

  He wiggled his brows, the act making me giggle. He turned his attention back to what he was doing, and a few minutes later I felt my body pruning from the water and my release giving way to his masterful strokes.

  He pulled my legs from his shoulders, and standing, he latched my arms against his neck.

  “You said earlier you didn’t think I still wanted you…” His voice was raspy, like he was unable to speak, his breaths coming in pained, uneven rasps. Without waiting for my answer, he took his right hand and fisted it against his cock. “Baby, I’m about to burst every fucking day just thinking of you.” I watched as he pumped his fist, his massive erection bulging, the tip weeping with milky white fluid. I lowered my right hand and placed it above his, whispering against his ear, “Come for me.”

  Against the beige white tiled bathroom walls, the clear glass separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, my hand on top of his fist as he sped his rhythm, I heard his roar and watched him take his pleasure. As the tremors of his climax were subsiding, I pressed my face against his chest, listening to the erratic sounds of his heartbeat.

  He placed a soft kiss against the top of my head. “Thank you, baby.”

  Ava.

  Duchess.

  Baby.

  He could call me anything.

  Even Princess.

  To me, he was Milo.

  My love.

  After our scorching shower, Milo dried me off with a plush light green towel he had grabbed from the cabinet underneath the bathroom sink. I had informed him that I had some spare clothes in my car, so he left the bathroom to grab them.

  Scanning the bathroom, it was clear to me that Milo was a neat freak. He had everything perfectly lined up - the hand soap, the electric toothbrush, electric razors, a mint toothpaste and a hand towel. I opened the medicine cabinet and it was the same thing. Not a thing out of place. He didn’t have much in it, just a bunch of alcohol pads, gauze wraps, bandage wraps, a box of heating pads, Ibuprofen, deodorant, and condoms.

  I reached for the box of condoms – it was unopened. The plastic tape sealing the box was still wrapped around it. The thought warmed my insides. He hasn’t had sex…with anybody, not even his ex-girlfriend who was turning out to be not-so-bad after all. By not-so-bad I meant instead of wanting to chop off all of her red hair, I’d just give her bangs instead. It would totally look good on her. Not.

  “No. I haven’t had sex with anyone.” His voice scared the bejeezus out of me. “For a long time.”

  When was he ever going to stop walking behind me and catching me at the most awkward times?

  My face flamed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I was just…”

  “Curious?” He held the small black duffel bag that I recognized as my spare clothes’ bag. I left the bag in my trunk in case I forget to bring some to the gym. He raised a brow, his face quirking into a smile. “It’s okay.”

  He had changed into dark blue jeans and a dark green shirt. He waved his pointer finger, giving me a come closer to me sign.

  I moved a few steps forward.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Ava,” he stated reassuringly. “I don’t make it a habit of cheating on my girl.”

  “Am I?” The air in my lungs filling up with uncertainty. It’s only been a few weeks for him to get the idea of wanting to be with me. But I’ve had this idea, this dream, my whole life. “Your girl?”

  “What do you think?” His arm wrapping me into a hug, the soft material of the towel slowly slipping from the knot I had formed in the front.

  “I think…” I responded. “I have to see what you feed me first.”

  He laughed, his fingers twirling in the hair that I’d have to leave wet and un-blow dried because Milo, bless the man, did not own a blow dryer. When I had asked for one earlier, he gave me a confused look and said, “What the fuck for? To dry my balls?” To which I had to hold my stomach with my hands because I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “I’m going to feed you with the best omelet you’ve ever had.” I highly doubted that. His sister made the best omelet in the whole world. “But yeah, duchess, you’re my girl.”

  After kissing me for more than a few minutes, he left to give me some privacy and so he could get started on cooking what he had promised me. I stepped into his bedroom to change into my blue yoga pants and a white sleeveless tank top.

  “Okay, you make the second best omelet in the world,” I judged, my stomach clearly agreeing to what he had just made for me, and I was officially full. He had me sitting on his lap as he fed me the veggie omelet he had made a few minutes ago. Watching him cook in the kitchen has got to be one of the sexiest things in the world. The rapid pace he chopped the veggies on the cutting board, the artistry in his movement around the kitchen, and the natural ability to gauge just how much or how little of the spices to add; he was his sister’s version in the kitchen.

  “Who’s first?” he asked, handing me a glass of the fruity shake he blended a few minutes ago.

  I took a big gulp of the shake. Yummy. It had pineapple, mango, strawberries, and other fruits mixed in it. But the best thing was that he made it for me.

  “Your sister.”

  “Ah.” One word. I felt the tension surround him as he slowly lifted me up, leaving my side. He walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a block of cheese. He opened a drawer and took out a paring knife and started slicing the cheese into smaller pieces.

  “Bee is the best cook and baker.” Sadness lined his voice. His jaw ticking as he bit on the cheese. “I agree, she makes the best stuff. Momma, our mom, taught her… But Bee, she’s got that gift of making everything taste good.”

  He loved his sister very much. I didn’t doubt it.

  I stood up from the chair, and he lifted his arms so I could encircle his hips with my arms. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

  “Just after Shanghai. Before I got on the plane to come home.”

  Brynn has cried on my shoulder about her brother framing Kieran for drugs. I saw how torn apart she was when she stood by Kieran, even after Kieran almost left her just for being Milo’s sister. But she loved Milo. I heard it in her concerned voice every time she asked me if I had heard anything about him, knowing he was in Vegas. It was difficult to say “no” because I knew where Milo was. At least, I knew when he showed up in my father’s fight club. But I couldn’t come between them. It was between brother and sister. I could, however, bridge the gap that has formed during the past nine months and counting.

  “That’s almost nine months ago,” I said without censure or accusation. I wished he’d talk to Brynn. Brynn has told me that Milo texted but never called. When we were in college, he and Brynn talked every day.

  “I know.”

  Resting my chin against his chest, I flexed my neck, catching the faraway look in his eyes.

  “I feel lost, you know…” his quiet words held so much value. He has always been the honest type of guy. When he was happy, he showed it. When he was angry, he didn’t hide it. He’s often been labeled as the badass of the swimming world when he competed because he didn’t hesitate to swear in front of the cameras after he had a bad swim. I’m sure he got fined for this but that was it – he didn’t hide his emotions.

  He put the block of cheese and paring knife against the granite island in the middle of the kitchen and continued, “I feel like I’ve shamed her, let her down, brought so much shit to my family’s name.”

  I couldn’t say anything. This was his personal demon, the dead weight he’s been carrying around.

  “How do I fix everything, Ava?” His eyes focused on a blank
spot on the wall, the muscles in his shoulders slumping, the weight of his words hanging in an invisible scale, hopelessness pulling optimism down. This was a man who could break bones with the strike of his fist, make another person bleed with the power of his kicks, yet he sounded like he was bleeding from the inside, his soul, unknown to the world, was breaking.

  I hugged him tighter, refusing to let go, his answer was to drop his chin against the top of my head. I’ve taken care of wounds, superficial wounds that heal with the passage of time. I’d helped stabilize broken bones, torn ligaments, and fractured body parts. But how do you fix, how do you care for and stabilize a guy whose wounds are self-inflicted, his conscience and his thoughts tearing him down, causing what could be an irreparable fracture?

  My eyes burned at his question. I had no answer for him.