Jocked Up: Sports Romance (A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance) Read online

  “I live…” I lost my breath in a little moan when his teeth nipped at my neck “…right upstairs.”

  “Do you.” His back arched when I raked my fingers down it. “Is that important?”

  I drew back so sharply I nearly banged my head on the pillar. Then I saw the corner of his mouth twitching.

  “You are such an ass.”

  He laughed, and like hell I was going to let him leave after that. So I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his pants again and pulled him back for another kiss, one hand brushing against that bulge in his pants, my mouth opening under his. I laughed when he groaned against my mouth, and my fingers skimmed over the tip of his cock. I moaned in his ear when his fingers slipped up under my skirt to trail over my panties. I could feel him trying to control himself, and I wasn’t about to let him win that fight, but damn if he wasn’t holding his own.

  “Don’t make me beg,” I said in his ear, gasping when his hips pushed against mine.

  “No?” He pulled away just long enough to raise an eyebrow at me, and his thumb skimmed across my nipple. “Because that was pretty much my plan?”

  I was going to come right in this bar, and if I was going to, then he was going to, too. I bit my lip a little.

  “Please?”

  That broke him. We were out of the bar in a second, him dragging me behind him, me fumbling for the keys and us tumbling into the apartment. I didn’t check to see if my roommate was home. At that point, I don’t think I remembered I had a roommate.

  And I only had time to get his zipper down before he pulled me down onto the bed with him. His fingers pushed my panties aside, playing between my legs while I squirmed and whimpered and finally sank down on his cock, gasping at how wet I was. He gave a groan, fingers digging into my hips, and I rocked against him. His nails dragged down my back and across my ass, and I was riding him like I couldn’t get enough—because I was sure I never would. When his fingers brushed against my clit, I was over the edge in a second, gasping his name and clenching around him.

  It was a few moments before I could remember how to breathe, and I heard him laugh; dammit, the tremors weren’t even over and I already wanted more.

  “My turn,” he said, that sexy voice making my nipples harden.

  He rolled, pinning me onto the bed, those black eyes staring down at me. I could feel him holding himself back. Waiting.

  “Please,” I whispered again. I could picture everything I wanted, and the words were on my lips, but when he started moving inside me, slowly, everything went out of my head. I writhed on his cock and begged for more, whimpering as he moved faster, wrapping my legs around his waist and jerking my wrists against his hands. He didn’t even have to try to keep me pinned there, and goddamn if that didn’t make me melt.

  By the time he came, I’d been begging him so long that I’d forgotten any word besides please. He knew just what to do to bring me to the edge, and the bastard knew just when to stop, too. He laughed when I whimpered for more, and that laugh made me clench, tangling my legs in his and tilting my hips for more. When at last I felt his pack quicken, the rush of anticipation made me lose my breath.

  I had never come that hard in my life. My toes curled, my vision went dark, and I could feel him shuddering while he came, too, sliding into me to the hilt, one hand pushing my leg up over his shoulder. All I wanted was more—to have him deeper inside me, for him to keep fucking me like this. I remember begging him not to stop.

  When I finally opened my eyes, his were still closed. He bent his forehead against mine and I could feel the tremors in his arms as he tried to keep himself from collapsing on top of me. Somewhere in all of that, his fingers had intertwined with mine, and I squeezed gently against his hands.

  “Mmmm.” It was about all I could manage.

  He nodded and rolled off me, collapsing on the bed with a groan.

  “Wow.” I propped myself up on one arm to look down at him, and reached out to trace my fingers through the dark hair on his chest. Those muscles. And when they opened, oh my god, those eyes.

  He managed a breathless sort of laugh. His chest was still heaving.

  “Woman, you will be the death of me.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I said, unrepentant. I pillowed my head on his shoulder and felt his arm come around me to hold me close. “But maybe a nap first.”

  “A nap,” he agreed. “And then…” His fingers tightened on my skin.

  I drifted off to sleep with a smile.

  THE END

  Sports Fighter Romance

  Fight For Love

  Romantic Comedy

  Chapter One

  By the time Jasmine stormed into Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Club, she’d had a full forty-five minutes for her anger to pick up steam, and she was in no mood to do anything other than cry her eyes out over a glass of wine. She was exhausted. She had just spent ten hours at the hospital, and hadn’t even had the chance to change out of her scrubs before Emma peeked out of her bedroom and announced that Michael had gone off somewhere to do boxing, of all things.

  Boxing? Jasmine knew what that meant. It meant bruises, scrapes, violence, and concussions…if this was, in fact, boxing and not just some makeshift fighting ring someone had set up in an alleyway. It took her ten minutes to find out from Michael’s friends where he went, and another half hour to take the requisite busses. Now that she was here, she was far from amused by the pretentious name of the boxing club. The mortified look on Michael’s face only partially made up for it all.

  “Michael.” Her voice was a hiss.

  “Um…” Michael, sixteen and unusually thin—some people had all the luck—looked like he wanted to melt through the floor at being confronted by his older sister, in front of all of his boxing buddies.

  Jasmine would have thought that was funny, but she cringed at the thought of what they were all seeing. Her wild mess of curls was only partially held back with a headband and an elastic, she was still wearing scrubs with God only knew what on them, and there wasn’t a scrap of makeup on her face. In clubs, in the right light, with makeup and jewelry, she looked almost okay. Right now, she was just chubby and disheveled. She swallowed, trying to decide whether to cut and run.

  Like hell she was going to be shamed by a bunch of sixteen year olds. They could be polite to her, or she would teach them a thing or two about boxing. She swept her eyes over the group and was pleased to see that all of them quailed.

  Or…all but one of them.

  “May I help you?” The voice was a drawl. When her head jerked around, she saw him. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. A banner over his head proclaimed an upcoming tournament, and he was smiling at her. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Yes,” Jasmine said promptly, scowling. Those blue eyes were set above chiseled cheekbones, a mouth far too full and sensual for a man’s face, and a jaw just as chiseled as the cheekbones. His nose might have the slight irregularity that came from having been broken more than once, but looking at the self-satisfied smile on the man’s face, all Jasmine could think was that he must have deserved it. “What is going on here?”

  “You must be Michael’s older sister.” He gave a smile and looked out over the crowd of boys. “Pushups and sit-ups, everyone. You too, Michael.”

  “No, he’s coming home with—”

  He ushered her over to the side wall. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The problem?” Jasmine glared at him. “Okay. The problem is that my younger brother is not at home doing his homework and waiting for dinner, he is here, getting beaten up so that he can come home covered in bruises, with a concussion, start fighting all the time at school, worry our mother, and probably drop out before he can apply to a college.”

  “That’s a lot to assume from the fact that he’s trying MMA.” The man didn’t look exactly pleased. His white tee-shirt stretched snugly over bulging biceps as he folded his arms and stared her down.

  “What the hell is MMA
?”

  “Mixed Martial Arts,” he explained tiredly. “It’s a fighting style that combines Muay Thai with Jiu-Jitsu, boxing, some Tae Kwon—”

  “So, fighting.” Jasmine crossed her own arms. “You’re teaching him to fight.”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “Of course I have a problem with it!” She was going to punch him if he kept smiling at her like that. He was a pretty-boy, used to getting everything he wanted when he flashed those blue eyes, and she was sure as hell not going to fall for that. She pointed one finger over at the boys doing sit-ups and pushups, and leaned closer to hiss at the instructor. “Michael is smart. He might be a sixteen-year-old, but he’s a good kid. He doesn’t fight in school. He gets good grades. I’m not going to let him mess that up.”

  The man sighed and leaned his head forward, running one hand over the back of his scalp. When he looked up, his eyes were more direct, and grave, than she expected.

  “Look. I grew up in Detroit, okay? So I’m not just…some rich guy coming here to tell you how to behave. You know how hard it is for kids like your brother. I’m not making him violent, I’m giving him an outlet—the same outlet that saved me. Look over there. They’re not doing drugs, they’re not joining gangs—well, most of them. I’m working on it. These are good kids. They’re doing something physical, something good for their bodies, and they’re getting out a lot of the anger they can’t get rid of any other good way.”

  “This isn’t a good way!”

  “Why not? Did you hear a word I just said?” He shook his head, looking away. “Maybe you don’t get it, but I do. I needed this when I was younger, just like they need it now. It kept me out of way worse things. It taught me to push for something. It gave me something to achieve. That saved my life.”

  “Well, maybe it saved your life, but Michael has things to push for. He’s going to be more than just a boxer.”

  “What’s wrong with being a boxer?”

  “He’s going to spend half his life beat up! When he gets older, he’s going to start forgetting things.”

  “Most people do.”

  “You know what I mean!” Her shout echoed, and the boys looked over. Jasmine clenched her hands.

  “Hey. I’m not going to let him be harmed.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “I have rules about that. No head strikes in sparring here. I don’t do any of the crazier Muay Thai stuff.”

  “Oh, yeah? He’s covered in bruises.”

  “Bruises heal.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t want his teachers thinking he’s turning into one of those boys.” Her voice was rising again.

  “Lady, what is your problem?”

  “What’s my problem?” She clenched one hand in her hair. “Are you serious? Okay. Well, here’s something. Our dad died of cancer eight years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not finished. We never got out from under that debt. You know how much we owe now? Three hundred thousand dollars. You know how we’re going to pay that off? We aren’t. My mom works three jobs, and she’s too sick to be working at all. The chemicals she works with at the cleaning job are ruining her. She thinks I don’t know that she’s dying, but I do.” Jasmine could hear the tears building up in her voice and she knew she should just walk away, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “I graduated a year early so I could go to nursing school. It’s steady work, okay? And for the past four years, I have been trying as hard as I can to get my brother and sister through school so they can get the hell out of here. So they don’t end up working cleaning jobs. So they don’t get stuck here for the rest of their damned lives, paying off someone else’s debt! And I was doing fine, by the way.” She felt tears escape her eyes and dashed them away angrily. “I told you Michael’s smart. Well, he’s scientist smart. He looks at math and he just gets it. He’s too smart to be stuck around here, and even if he wasn’t I’d try to get him out. And Sarah? She’s got the prettiest voice, but she’s studying up to get her nursing degree, too. They’re smart. They’re pulling their weight. They’re going to get out.” She glared at this man, this smug man who’d come in to tell her how fighting wasn’t going to ruin her brother. “I’m not going to let you mess this up for him. Because you know what? Losing him would actually kill my mom.”

  She turned on her heel and marched away before he could say anything else. She knew Michael’s bag and so she snatched it up from the side.

  “Come on. We’re going.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  At least he didn’t contradict her. He hung his head as he pulled on his tee-shirt, and he followed her humbly out into the cold.

  “Where’s your coat?”

  “I didn’t bring one.”

  “Are you entirely stupid?” Jasmine rounded on him, and felt the tears start again. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry. Michael…what are you doing? What is this?”

  “I just…like it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s hard not to get angry sometimes. It isn’t fair that dad died. It isn’t fair that—” He shook his head. “But when I’m here, I can forget about it—and then sometimes I feel better for hours. Days. I’m still getting As, Jazzy.”

  “That guy?” Jasmine jerked her head at the gym. “He’s bad news.”

  “No, he’s really nice. He—”

  “He’s bad news,” Jasmine repeated. “And I don’t want you going back there.”

  Chapter Two

  There was a silence as the door slammed shut behind the two of them, the woman ushered her younger brother out into the evening dark and all of the other boys stared after them. Then someone started laughing.

  “Mike got in trouble!”

  They were all joining in, shoving each other and shouting jokes over the noise, until Tyler pounded on the wall for them to be quiet. He had been so consumed in staring after her that he’d let the joking go on far too long. Those eyes, those lips…

  They stared at him, and he tried to remember how to speak.

  “All that talk means people aren’t working hard enough!” He let his eyes sweep over all of them, and then pointed to the back wall. “Sprints. Come on.”

  “This is boxing, not running!”

  “This is MMA, not boxing—and go on, just try to get in the ring without being fit, huh?” Tyler let his genuine amusement show in his face. “You’ll be on YouTube forever.”

  With a grumble, they set off, sprinting back and forth between the two walls with increasingly pleading looks that Tyler ignored until he saw their pace slow to a legitimate jog. He didn’t let himself smile this time, although he wanted to. These were good kids, with a lot of energy and a lot of drive. That was one thing he’d found since he moved here. These kids wanted to win at something, but even more, they wanted to be part of a team. It warmed a part of his heart that he hadn’t known existed.

  He took the time to talk to each of them as they got ready to go home, crouching down to ask about siblings or parents, remind them about gear, ask how things were going. He’d learned, over the past few months, that when someone did particularly well in class, there was often something they needed to work out. Back in Detroit, his friends had been richer and he’d been the odd one out—here, he was learning that there were other people who acted just the way he had in high school.

  It was James he talked to last, when nearly all the other boys had gone. James was smart, smarter than almost any of the others; Michael was the only one who rivaled him. But lately, the kid had lost focus. His endurance wasn’t what it had been, and he wasn’t as light on his feet. It would be easy to chalk that up to home life or normal teenage mood swings, but Tyler had a sinking feeling that he knew just what was going on.

  He knew far, far too well.

  “How you doing?” He sat on the bench next to James.

  “Well.” James didn’t look over.

  “You’ve been a little—”

  “It’s
fine.”

  “Is it?” Tyler deliberately looked away. “Because it seems like maybe school hasn’t been going well, too.”

  James said nothing, but his hands slowed as he put away his gear.

  “And you’re too smart for that.”

  “Maybe high school is bullshit.”

  “Nah, high school is definitely bullshit.” Tyler gave him a grin. “No maybe about it.”

  James smiled unwillingly.

  “Just tell me, dude. If I went through your bag, what would I find?” Tyler looked over at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It means I’m guessing pot, but I don’t know. I pray to God not heroin.”

  “Jesus, it’s pot, get off my case. Pot’s fine.”

  “Maybe for some people.” Tyler lifted his shoulder. “Most people, really, except for one thing…”

  “What’s that?” James stood, hoisting the bag over his shoulder.

  “Take it from someone who knows: if you do drugs to get away from something…you’re never gonna stop using them.”

  “What are you, a DARE commercial or something?”

  “I used to be one of the top fighters in the world,” Tyler told him brutally. “Now I teach. You know why?”

  “Drugs?” James clearly didn’t believe him.

  “It wasn’t the drugs, it was why I took them. But trust me, they did nothing but help me on my way down.”

  Now the kid paused, intrigued and not wanting to be. “So why’d you take them?”

  “Because I thought winning tournaments would make all my problems go away, and when it didn’t, I had too much money and nothing in my life. Turns out if you don’t fill your life up the way you want, other things show up to fill the void—and they’re never the ones you would choose.”

  “And you took pot and your whole life fell apart?” The kid was still staring at him like he was a white kid from the suburbs who didn’t get it.