As I stare down at Remy, I resist the urge to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. I continue to trace her lips with my thumb as I try to wrap my head around the fact that she’s sprawled in front of me, getting more and more turned on by the prospect of sucking my dick. I didn’t miss the clench of her thighs when she realized what I was suggesting. I also can’t forget how wet she got the first night when she dropped to her knees before me.
I stifle my groan as I let go of her lips and palm my cock straining against my sweatpants. Her eyes widen as they trace my movement. After a breath, she wiggles further up the couch until her head hangs off the armrest.
‘Fuck,’ I groan. ‘You’re so fucking sexy. Open your mouth.’
She eagerly parts her lips. I push my sweatpants over my hips, freeing my cock. In a matter of seconds, I’m already rock hard. Which seems to be a common occurrence when Remy is around. I stroke my length a few times before stepping forward to touch my tip to Remy’s tongue.
I practically combust when she moans and swirls her tongue around me. I watch, transfixed, as she sucks the pre-cum from my tip and licks her lips.
I gently press further into her mouth. She stretches around me, licking along my length and getting accustomed to my size. She wriggles further up the couch, trying to get more of me in her mouth.
I groan and grab the back of the couch with one hand to steady myself. I start to push in deeper.
The first time I hit the back of Remy’s throat, she tenses up and gags. I pull back quickly. But before I’m able to pull out completely, she reaches behind my thighs and pulls me back into her mouth. She stretches her neck to try to take me deep again.
I pump into her mouth, and this time she doesn’t gag when I go all the way in. Her hand behind my thighs coaxes me to continue fucking her.
‘Fuck, I love watching you suck my dick,’ I groan. I can’t get enough of the sight of her repeatedly taking my length into her mouth.
She moans when she hears my desperate praise. The sound vibrates against me and I groan as the feeling makes my dick swell.
She starts pulling me into her with more and more force. I oblige, fully fucking her face by this point, but I watch her expressions carefully for any sign that I need to pull back.
The moment I pick up my pace, she moans again before hurriedly pulling her tank top up over her tits. She cups them, then pinches each nipple.
‘Jesus, Remy, you’re gonna kill me,’ I gasp. ‘That is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.’ I lean down to tug one of her nipples with my teeth.
My dick slides out of her mouth when she gasps. I swirl my tongue around the bud and suck once, hard, before straightening back up.
‘Don’t stop. Open those pretty lips again.’ She does as I say, and I rub the tip of my cock around her lips before pushing back into her mouth. I groan when she goes right back to coaxing me to fuck her harder.
‘I want you to touch yourself,’ I murmur. ‘Pull your pants down so I can watch you play with yourself.’
She eagerly reaches to follow my instructions. She pulls her leggings down over her ass and immediately dips her fingers into her panties to feel the wetness between her legs.
‘Thong, too, you little tease,’ I growl. ‘I want to see all of you. I want to see you make yourself come while I fuck your mouth.’
She moans as a shiver runs through her body. But then she reaches down and does as I say. I watch in silent awe as she cups her breasts again, then trails one hand down her body, down her stomach, until her fingers reach their destination. She circles her clit a few times before moving further. In an instant, she’s slid two fingers inside her pussy.
I grab her wrist and bring those fingers to my mouth. I suck the taste of her from her skin, just as she’s sucking me now. She must have the same thought because she once again urges me to pick up the pace of my hips.
‘So fucking sweet,’ I murmur. I guide her hand back to her pussy. ‘Touch yourself again. I want to see you come.’
When she whimpers, I finally get a sense of her desperation. The last time she sucked my dick she got so wet that she exploded almost immediately after I next touched her. She’s probably aching to come right now.
Sure enough, there’s nothing lazy or playful about the way she starts rubbing her clit. Her pace is hurried—frenzied. She starts to squirm as her orgasm builds.
I’m mesmerized by the sight below me and try not to increase my own pace as she nears her release. She’s distracted enough now that she gives up trying to actually create suction around my dick, and instead just lets her mouth drop open as I continue to thrust in and out.
I can’t stop myself from reaching down and sliding two fingers into her pussy, once again feeling my brain short-circuit when I realize she’s drenched from just my dick in her mouth. The moan that she lets out at the feeling of my fingers fucking her reverberates around my dick and I swear I only hold my orgasm back by sheer force of will. I continue to thrust my fingers into her as she frantically swirls her wetness over her clit.
When I curl my fingers inside her, she drops me from her mouth and screams as her release tears through her. I groan and work my other hand over my shaft as I watch her explode beneath me.
That sight is what brings on my own release. I feel it barreling down my spine and I have just enough time to give her one more instruction.
‘Open and stick your tongue out,’ I gasp.
Heavy-lidded and looking a little dick-drunk, she eagerly does as I say. Just as she opens her mouth, I explode, shooting my release all over her tongue. I watch as it drops to the back of her throat. I grunt through the overwhelming orgasm that Remy has once again brought on.
She swallows, her eyes sparkling up at me as she licks her lips.
I gape at her for another moment, then pull my sweatpants up and step around the couch to drop to my knees in front of her. I tug her to a sitting position before sliding my hand behind her head and gripping the nape of her neck. I press a heady kiss to her lips.
‘You have the sweetest fucking mouth,’ I murmur against her skin. ‘You have no idea how pissed I am that we waited so long to start doing this.’ I sigh dramatically.
She laughs—a real, tinkling laugh—and pushes me away. I drop heavily to my spot next to her on the couch.
I take a deep breath to calm my still-racing heart. I watch as she straightens her clothes, then I hand her the beer that she had been drinking. I raise my eyebrows when she chugs half the can.
Seeing my surprise, she shrugs her shoulders and answers simply, ‘As good as you taste, I still prefer a good IPA as an aftertaste.’
I bark a startled laugh. Shaking my head, I reach for my own beer. ‘Okay, now back to your question game.’ I settle back against the cushions and flash her an impish grin. ‘I actually did you a favor with that blowjob. If we hadn’t started with that, I would’ve been distracted the whole game and every question would’ve been about sex. And then I would’ve fucked your mouth. So, this way, you actually get good questions and good answers. You’re welcome.’
She rolls her eyes as she tries to tamp down on the smile that’s threatening to curl the edges of her lips. ‘Yes, thank you so much for fucking my face and coming in my mouth. How very thoughtful of you.’
I chuckle and take a few gulps of my beer. I turn my full attention to Remy and study her thoughtfully. I’m trying to remember the last time I wanted to talk to a girl after an orgasm.
I’m coming up empty.
‘Well, go on then. Ask away.’
She tilts her head thoughtfully as she taps a finger to her lips, no doubt trying to make her first question a good one. Unfortunately, all I can think about is how swollen her lips look from my rough treatment of her—and how much I’d like to bite that plump bottom lip.
I swallow roughly and shift my hips, subtly trying to ease the ache of my hardening cock.
Unbelievable. I just came two minutes ago and she’s already making me want to go again.
How am I so affected by this girl?
‘OK, I’ll start easy,’ she says, oblivious to my internal struggle. ‘What’s the hardest part of fighting?’
I wince when the answer immediately comes to mind. “The day of the fight,” I answer as I turn back to the TV. Incidentally, they’re showing the fighters as they’re warming up in the locker rooms. The scene on the screen is exactly the worst part about fighting. “The nerves are the worst. The week of the fight isn’t bad because you’re distracted by the weight cut, but the day of the fight—after you’ve weighed in—the only thing you can think about is how you’re about to be locked inside a cage with a very large man that wants nothing more than to hurt you. It’s a surreal feeling. And I don’t care who you ask, every fighter will tell you that they question their decision to sign the contract during the hours before the fight.”
Remy giggles even as she stares at me with wide eyes. “Seriously? All of you are scared of fighting? I didn’t think you guys were scared of anything.”
My brow furrows. “It’s not scared, necessarily. It’s more like we’re in disbelief and questioning our own sanity. It’s why I never judge people when they say our sport is crazy—it is. They’re absolutely right about that.” I turn back to Remy with a feral grin. “But all those feelings go away as soon as the bell starts. And then the real fun—and my favorite part of fighting—begins.”
She shakes her head with a small smile. She’s been around fighting long enough that despite never having gotten in the cage herself, I know she understands my answer. A lot of people don’t see MMA as a sport, they just see it as people beating the shit out of each other. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Fighting is the ultimate competition between humans: it requires skill, strength, speed, intelligence, and strategy, for starters. Nowadays you can’t just be good at one aspect of this sport—you have to be really good at all of it. So even though on screen my sport looks like human cockfighting, it’s actually the final exam of everything we’ve spent weeks, months, years training for. And being able to execute all of that hard work is exhilarating and actually incredibly fun.
I study Remy thoughtfully. ‘OK, my turn. Have you ever thought about fighting? You’ve done plenty of Jiu Jitsu tournaments, so what about taking a fight?’
She shrugs and starts playing with a thread on her sweatpants as she answers. ‘I’ve thought about it. Plenty of people have pushed me to try it over the years. Lucy tries to get me to take one every time she has a fight. But I just don’t think I care enough about actually getting in the cage. I love training and studying the techniques, but I don’t think I have it in me to want to hurt someone. I’m sure I would do fine if I actually did take a fight, but if the whole point is to physically best your opponent, and I don’t really want to do that, then why would I do it?’ She shrugs again as she looks up at me. ‘Maybe someday I’ll want to experience what fighting is like but for now I just don’t really have any interest. I’d rather watch you guys fight.’
I hum thoughtfully at her answer. Most people have the opposite response—they brag about how much they want to fight, post it all over social media, but never put the necessary work in and usually end up dropping out of the sport after the brutal reality of their first fight. It’s refreshing to hear someone that thinks like Remy.
She moves onto her next question. ‘Question #2: what would you be doing if you weren’t fighting?’
‘Like with my career or as a hobby?’
‘Both, I guess. Although I assume they’re wrapped in one for you, so fighting is either your whole life or nothing at all.’
I nod. She’s spot on in her assumption. I tilt my head and mull over her question. ‘If I wasn’t fighting, I would’ve just used my business degree for something. Which is most likely what I’ll end up doing after I retire, too. I would’ve figured out what industry I want to be in and what kind of work I like doing. I can’t give you a more specific answer because I have no idea. Fighting has taken up all my headspace since even before college.’
‘What if it were just a hobby? What sport would you pick instead?’
I quirk an eyebrow. ‘How do you know I would need to pick a sport as a hobby? What if I enjoy chess?’
She looks at me in shock. ‘Do you like chess?’
I smirk and take a swig of my beer. ‘I do, actually. You don’t need to assume I’m a dumb brute just because I like punching people.’
‘I didn’t—’ she sputters defensively.
‘We’re venturing into follow-up questions, which I believe is against the rules,’ I interrupt. She swallows roughly but nods. ‘What was the first thing you liked about training?’
A warm smile lights up her face and I can’t help but think about how genuine her expressions are—and how contagious her happiness always seems.
‘I liked how strong it made me feel,’ she replies honestly. ‘It’s probably a cliché response as a chick but it really is empowering to be able to throw a good punch. It’s so ingrained in us to be dainty and feminine that it’s like a shock of cold water when you realize that a strength like this is actually practical. I push every woman I know to try a class at least once, just so they know what it feels like.’ She grins as she continues, visibly getting more and more excited now. ‘My favorite part is how nervous and awkward they are when they start, but then they slowly start to get into it and by the end they look like they’re women on a mission. It’s awesome.’
Her answer is helpful from a gym employee perspective, since I can use that knowledge to make the right pitch to prospective female members. But it also surprises me—it’s odd to think of Remy as anything but strong. Her physical strength is decent but it’s her mental strength that puts the majority of grown men to shame.
‘OK, enough about me. Next question is what was your favorite subject in school?’
I smirk. ‘History. My turn.’
Her jaw drops open. ‘That’s it? That’s all I get? I gave you a whole dissertation as my answer.’
I shrug. ‘It’s not my fault you asked a simple question. Nowhere in the rules does it say I have to defend my answers.’
She knows I’m right so all she can do is glare. I chuckle and think about what else I want to ask her.
‘What’s one thing on your bucket list?’
My thoughtful question surprises her. For a few seconds she just blinks, and I wonder if I’ve actually stunned her into silence.
‘I’ve always wanted to go blonde,’ she mumbles. ‘I’ve only ever had brown hair and for some reason I’ve always wanted to see if I could pull off the hot blonde look. But everyone always tells me it’ll look horrible and that I shouldn’t do it. So, I don’t know if I’ll ever actually have the balls to go through with it.’
‘You’re already hot,’ I blurt without thinking. She blushes and looks down, and I try to cover my compliment by adding, ‘But fuck what anyone else thinks. They shouldn’t have any say in what you want to do with your life. If you want to go blonde, go blonde. Fuck, go hot pink if you want to. It shouldn’t be anyone’s decision but your own.’
She laughs at my visual. ‘I don’t think my office would appreciate hot pink hair, but I get your point.’ She contemplates her next question, then asks, ‘What’s your top travel destination that you want to visit?’
‘I loved Thailand and Brazil for the training but I’ve already been there so I can’t put that on my list. I’d probably say Rome.’
She looks at me skeptically. ‘Because you like history?’ she guesses. I grin and wink at her, to which she rolls her eyes.
‘My cousin lives in Rome,’ says conversationally, reaching for her beer. ‘Jax and I always talk about visiting, we just haven’t gotten around to it. We always end up in a different European city.’
I know how much Jax and Remy love traveling. I’ve been invited to more than one trip to Europe, but with fight camps it was never good timing. Plus I was never sure that being cooped up in a hostel or hotel room with a girl that hates my guts was ever a good idea.
Ignoring the temptation to get into a conversation with her about her traveling memories, I instead ask my next question. ‘What’s your favorite book?’
I’m losing track of the amount of times I’ve shocked her tonight. If I were any other guy, I’d probably be offended by her shocked expressions that clearly imply she thinks I’m dumb as a brick. But I’m so used to people assuming that fighters are idiots that I can’t summon enough energy to be outraged anymore. In fact, part of me actually enjoys the low expectations because it makes me feel smug when their assumptions are proven wrong.
‘I’m not surprised because I think you’re dumb,’ she says hastily, as if hearing my thoughts. ‘I feel like you think that I see you as a dumb brute just because you’re a fighter. I don’t. It’s just… people don’t ask that question anymore. They don’t read. Or play chess. I feel like having academic interests just isn’t as normal anymore outside of an actual intellectual career.’
I shrug, caring less about what other people think or do than Remy seems to. I read because I like learning and exercising my brain. I don’t feel any need to share my knowledge with anyone else if they don’t ask.
Then again, I also don’t care to socialize with people like Remy does. I will never understand how bubbly people have as much energy as they do.
‘Rooftops of Tehran,’ she answers my question. ‘It’s a coming-of-age story based in war-torn Iran and it’s the most beautifully written novel I’ve ever read in my entire life. I read it once a year and it makes me sob like a baby every time.’
I blink incredulously. ‘First of all, how can a book make you cry? And second of all, how does it make you cry when you already know what’s going to happen?’
She glares at me pointedly. ‘You’re veering into follow-up questions. My turn to ask a question.’ She taps her lips thoughtfully before glaring at me again. ‘You have no idea how badly I want to ask you what your favorite book is. Something tells me you’d have a fascinating answer.’
I grin and shrug my shoulders mockingly. I do actually have a fascinating answer.
She sighs but moves on to ask her question. ‘What’s the worst female quality?’
Now it’s my turn to stare in shock. I figured we’d get into sex or relationship questions eventually, but that’s definitely not the direction I expected her to go in. Especially since she only has two questions left after this one.
I mull it over, wanting to give her an honest answer. I think about the women I’ve dated and fights or turn-offs I’ve experienced.
‘Probably the inability to think logically when they’re really emotional. Not that I think women aren’t capable of that,’ I add hurriedly, anticipating her outrage. ‘But it’s just a very female quality. I’ve had plenty of fights with women where they refused to see the issue logically because they were too caught up in feeling upset. It’s definitely the most frustrating type of fight because there’s no way to win or convince them otherwise.’
She taps her lips as she considers my answer. After several moments, she nods her head in acceptance.
‘That’s it?’ I blurt. ‘No rebuttal? No outrage that I dare to see women as emotional weaklings that are incapable of making smart decisions?’
‘No, because that’s not what you said.’ She pauses and then grins. ‘Also, that would prove your point.’
I bark a startled laugh when I realize she’s right.
‘What’s the most cringe-worthy thing a guy has ever said to you?’ I ask her curiously.
She winces and starts picking with the thread on her pants. I’m starting to realize that twitchy hand movements are her biggest tell when she’s nervous, and grin while I eagerly wait for whatever answer is making her uneasy.
‘I had a guy repeatedly say the word ‘wow’ while I sucked his dick,” she mumbles quietly.
I blink in shock—and then roar with laughter.
‘Are you kidding me?’ I gasp when I finally catch my breath. ‘Was he drunk?’
‘No,’ she mumbles, still not making eye contact.
‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’ I’m still chuckling when I reach over and tug her hair to get her attention. ‘Not that your blowjobs aren’t the definition of wow-worthy, but I’d much rather tell you I think you look beautiful with your lips wrapped around my cock. Not ‘wow.’’
She pulls her legs up on the couch and wraps her arms around her knees, but I don’t miss the small smile that appears on her face. Suddenly, I wonder if she has any idea how sexy she is.
‘How many girls have you dated?’ she asks.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Dated, or been in relationships with?’
‘Um, either. Whichever one you want to answer.’
I settle back into the couch cushions, debating what answer I want to give her. There are two different aspects to this question when girls ask it: either they want to know my body count—which is never a fun conversation—or they want to know how many girls I’ve been serious about. Which is also not a great conversation.
‘I don’t know how many girls I’ve dated, depending on your definition of the word. The majority of my experience with women is either a one-night stand or a casual hookup type thing. Not sure if I’d qualify either of those as really dating.’ I shrug awkwardly as I prepare to answer the second part of her question. ‘I had one serious girlfriend in college, but it ended when I went pro. Since then, I haven’t really been interested in relationships. It doesn’t seem to pair well with how selfish I have to be as a fighter.’
I can see the wheels turning in her head as she considers my answer. I realize suddenly that I’ve never had this kind of honest conversation about relationships with a woman. I’ve never admitted that I am okay with being in this selfish phase of my life. I wonder if she’s going to ask me more. But she seems to be resigned to the fact that we keep shooting down the other’s follow-up questions, so she just nods in acceptance of my answer.
I think about the next question I want to ask her. We each have two questions left and there’s a certain heaviness that’s settled into the mood of the room—clearly calling out the personal nature of our questions.
‘What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had?’ I ask finally.
She sighs and meets my gaze with a resigned look on her face. ‘Six months.’
My eyes widen in surprise. ‘You had a serious relationship in six months?’
‘I see through people’s bullshit pretty quickly,’ she mumbles with a shrug. ‘By the six month mark I already know if I’m going to get bored of them.’
I frown when something occurs to me. “What about that pothead you dated a year ago? That seemed like it lasted a while.”
She turns to me with a slight frown, as if surprised that I remember that. I’m a little surprised, too, but I don’t take the question back.
“He… wasn’t really a pothead. He was actually crazy smart. But he had really bad ADHD and needed to tame his own brain with something.” Something flashes through my chest at her positive mention of the guy. I always knew she liked smart guys, so it shouldn’t exactly come as a shock, but for some reason hearing her confirm it makes me annoyed. Especially since I know most people think I’m an idiot.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, she continues her answer with a sigh as she drops her head back against the couch. “It was only six months, but it felt longer because he chased me for a while. In hindsight, it should’ve been a sign that he had to convince me to date him, but at the time, it felt nice to be chased. We ended up being really wrong for each other.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that with anything other than Good, so I just stay silent.
‘Okay, last question,’ she says quietly, raising her eyes to look at me. Actually, it feels like she’s looking into me. And when she asks her question, I understand why. ‘What’s your favorite quality of your mom?’
I wince and rub my forehead. Family questions always make me uncomfortable, which is why I freaked out on Remy earlier when she asked me about them. It’s no secret that I don’t have a great relationship with my parents. Jax is the only one I swallowed my embarrassment for and vented to about my clusterfuck of a family dynamic, and I’m certain he wouldn’t have shared it with anyone, even Remy.
Since I’m sure she at least knows the relationship is rocky, I wonder if her question is meant to carefully broach the subject while keeping a light spin on it by asking me to focus on the positives. I study Remy for a moment, debating how much I want to tell her.
‘Her kindness,’ I eventually mutter. ‘She has the best heart. Even with all the bullshit with my parents—them not accepting my career and putting my shithead brother on a pedestal just for having a respectable job—it’s never come from a place of hate. She’s just confused, and a lot worried.’ I laugh humorlessly. ‘In her own fucked up way, I think her hating fighting is actually her way of trying to protect me. She’s only ever wanted what’s best for me—even if she happens to be wrong. Her kindness is so all-consuming that she puts all of our needs in front of any of hers. There isn’t a thing in this world that she wouldn’t sacrifice if it somehow meant we could be happy.’
I fidget with my beer as I avoid Remy’s gaze. Even when I told Jax last year, we hadn’t exactly sat around and talked about it. He just happened to catch me in a full-blown meltdown after my dad had called to tell me that he had no interest in coming to my upcoming fight. And oh ‘when was I going to be done with this karate bullshit.’ I still fume when I recall the memory.
‘She’ll come around,’ I hear Remy say quietly. I look up at her in surprise—I hadn’t expected her to say anything. ‘I don’t know your dad, so I can’t speak for how much a douchebag he is or isn’t, but if your mom is a good person then she’ll figure it out eventually. She loves you. She just needs to see how important fighting is to you.’
I feel a comforting warmth seep into my chest. I didn’t realize how desperate I had been to hear someone tell me that until just now. I just assumed this is what it would always be like with my parents. But with Remy’s words, I feel an ember of hope light inside of me.
Not wanting to ruin her declaration by responding to it, all I manage is a gruff—but appreciative—nod. I finish the rest of my beer as I mull over my final question for Remy.
I decide on a family question of my own. ‘Were you always close with your sister?’
Remy smiles and rests her cheek on the couch cushions. ‘Always. Ever since she was a baby and I helped take care of her. There may have been a brief time in my early teens where I preferred my friends over her, but that felt normal. She was always my best friend.’ She grins cheekily as she straightens up and pulls her feet beneath her. ‘It helps that my parents raised us well and we both ended up being cool as fuck. Because to this day she’s still the best person I know.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Arrogant much?’ I ask with an amused drawl.
Her grin widens. ‘I am about this.”
I can’t help the smile that pulls at the edge of my lips. “She is pretty cool, though,” I admit. “Quiet, but seems like she has a good head on her shoulders.” I grin when a memory surfaces. “I remember her telling off a guy that was hitting on her at one of the fights. She must’ve been, like, 17, but basically told the guy she didn’t have enough time or patience for idiot boys. You almost bit the guy’s head off when he kept pushing.”
Remy practically growls next to me at the mention of it. “Damn right I did,” she mumbles. “Men are idiots.”
When I shake my head with a chuckle, she finishes the rest of her beer and turns to put the empty can on the table next to her. ‘OK, well my seven questions are up. I guess I’ll—’
‘What’s your biggest struggle in life right now?’ I blurt.
Her eyes widen. I mutter a curse, immediately regretting my outburst—not to mention the fact that I just broke several game rules—and begin searching my brain for a way to smooth it over.
But when I look up at her, she’s opening and closing her mouth, each time trying to vocalize what I assume will be her answer. I guess she doesn’t mind that I broke her rules. Maybe, because I opened up about my family, she feels like she can—or should—open up about this. I puzzle over what her answer might be.
She swallows nervously and tries again. I can barely make out her words, they’re spoken so softly.
‘I’m trying to decide if I should quit my stable, comfortable, and completely horrible job and pursue the career that I really want,’ she mutters eventually.
I hesitate—and then decide I’ve already broken the other rules, why not one more. ‘What do you want to be doing?’
When she looks up at me there’s so much hope, so much vulnerability, that I suck in a sudden breath. I stare at her lips, desperate to hear her words. ‘I want to write novels,’ she finally admits.
I pause as I contemplate her answer. ‘And the self-employed part scares you?’ I guess.
She looks back down, shaking her head. ‘I just don’t know if I’m good enough. It seems insane to leave a stable job for something I’m not even sure I can do. But I hate what I do now. It seems like a bizarre alternate reality where I’m in the field I want to be in, only somewhere along the way I got lost and ended up in the worst possible version of the field. The writing I do daily is a mockery of the things I want to write.’
She looks at me again, that same hope still shining through—this time mixed with a little bit of awe. ‘I’ve never told anyone that,’ she whispers, amazed.
‘You’ve never told anyone you want to write books?’
She shakes her head, still wide-eyed and awestruck. ‘Not honestly. Sometimes I’ll joke with Hailey that I write for fun here and there, but I’ve never actually admitted out loud that it’s a real dream.’
I think about her honest response when I told her about my mom a few minutes ago. I want so badly to appease her the way she did me, but I’m not exactly the motivational type. I’m not sure what to tell her right now.
I settle for the truth. ‘Well, you’ll never know until you try. Would you rather live your life with definite regret that you never went after what you wanted, or would you rather live with some possible disappointment if you try but fail? That’s really what it comes down to.’ I realize something and make a face at Remy. ‘Either way, your current job sounds like shit and you should probably quit anyway.’
A laugh explodes out of her and I grin, feeling good about my pep talk.
She glances at me in between her fading giggles. ‘You’re right. I’ve just been too much of a pussy to actually do it.’ She straightens with a determined look on her face. ‘Next week, I’m dying my hair blonde and looking for publishers for my book.’
I chuckle and give her hair a light tug. ‘Good girl,’ I murmur.
Her eyes light with delight before she sighs contentedly and curls into the couch cushions. Her attention lands on the black screen of the TV.
‘I forgot we were watching fights when we started all this,’ she murmurs. She peeks up at me through lowered eyelashes. ‘Can we start them over?’
Without a word, I turn back to the TV and press play. I settle back into the couch as we slip easily into a comfortable silence.
I’m on the edge of consciousness, about to doze off, when I feel her against me. My eyes snap open and I turn to look at her. She’s fallen asleep and without realizing it, is leaning into my body. As her head finds a comfortable spot on my shoulder she sighs contentedly and nuzzles further into my neck. I feel more of her weight settle on me as she falls into a deeper sleep.
I’m too surprised to even move. Tonight showed me what she looks like without furrowed brows and angry frown lines, but even a skeptically happy face is different from this. Now she looks peaceful. And breathtakingly beautiful.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I lift my hand to brush away the hair that’s fallen into her face. I linger on her cheek, amazed at how warm she is, and how soft her skin feels. I feel like I’m stealing an intimate moment by looking at her in such a vulnerable state. But I can’t help myself—I can’t stop looking at her.
She’s so different than what I thought she was. Before she moved in, I always thought she was Jax’s annoying childhood friend who walked around with a stick up her ass. I always thought she was pretty hot but the bitchy comments and air of pretentiousness always far outweighed that fact. Especially after our first encounter, I never cared to take a closer look.
Now, I’m realizing my character analysis may have been all wrong.
She’s not bitchy, she’s just defensive and protective. And she enjoys the banter with me, though she doesn’t want to believe it yet. Even after she admitted tonight that she doesn’t hate me anymore, we still kept up the verbal sparring. I’m realizing I actually enjoy the challenge and entertainment of it.
When I remember my conversation with the bride at the bar last weekend—where I found myself wishing she would snap at me a little more—I realize my thought process is entirely accurate. I do enjoy the banter with Remy.
And I can’t really fault her for thinking I’m a dumb brute. Everyone thinks that. It’s just a casualty of being a professional fighter. That combined with the fact that I’m silent—or rarely talking about anything other than fighting—means I can’t exactly hold that assumption against anyone. But once we got talking and Remy realized I don’t quite fit that mold, I could actually see the pleasantly surprised admiration light in her eyes. Instead of the shocked disbelief that I usually get.
As I sit there, stroking her cheek and staring at her, I feel ridiculously happy that she instigated tonight. Despite getting initially defensive at the idea of any kind of get-to-know-me game, I’m glad I got to dig into Remy’s life a little bit. Even if that meant letting her dig into mine.
But even sharing the bad parts felt completely natural with her. Opening up about my family was never something I even considered with anyone—let alone a female—but for some reason I didn’t even hesitate with Remy. I wanted to tell her about my life. I really wanted her to know me as more than just Tristan the Fighter.
The craziest part is I enjoyed the non-sex just as much as the sex. It’s been a very long time since I’ve wanted to talk to a girl after an orgasm high died down, yet tonight I actually found myself looking forward to it. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy her blowjob or the times we had sex. Because in all honesty, I don’t even think there’s a word for the level of mind-blowing that our sexual chemistry is. I could probably fuck Remy for the rest of my life and never get tired of her little moans, or the way she feels coming on my fingers. I meant it when I told her we weren’t going to stop this anytime soon—days later and I still can’t stop jerking off to the thought of fucking her.
But once we sat on the couch and started talking, I stopped looking at her lips as something I’d like to see wrapped around my cock, and started looking at them to see what she would tell me about herself.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted a girl for conversation instead of just sex.
It’s an unsettling thought. For years I’ve only ever wanted women for the purpose of taking the edge off—I could never find one that I actually cared to listen to. Most women just see me as a hot athlete to fuck, or an up-and-coming fighter to latch onto for social status. No one’s ever cared to actually get to know me.
But Remy cared to ask questions. She cared enough to initiate a game, to actually push me to talk about myself. She could’ve jumped me if she just wanted sex, or she could’ve walked away if she didn’t want anything to do with me. I half expected her to go back upstairs when she saw me down here. But she didn’t, and instead we spent hours just hanging out. Hours.
And the craziest part is, I don’t know which I want to do more of: fuck her or talk to her.
Her quiet snore snaps me out of my introspective state. I swallow nervously and look around, trying to figure out how I can move her without waking her up. But by now she’s so deeply snuggled into my side that she’s almost on top of me. And judging by her dead weight I know she’s in a deep sleep.
I know I should move her but something inside of me wants to let her sleep—to stay in this moment of peace just a little bit longer. So instead, I settle back into the couch with a sigh. My head drops gently onto hers just before I drift off to sleep.
