Chapter 8

Eight

North

School has never seemed all that important to me. I show up every day because I want Tulip to follow my lead. Get her diploma without dropping out, like our parents did at my age. For the last week, though, since I met Grace, I’ve been paying more attention. Wondering if she’s learning the same things as me. Wanting to be book smart like her. I’m sitting in English Lit right now and God, I can’t stop thinking about her. I never stop, not for a second.

Every day since Sunday, she’s come to my place after school. Tulip is usually at a friend’s house studying or at basketball practice, giving me time alone with my girlfriend. And goddamn, I take advantage. As soon as she walks in the door, looking so fresh and perfect and sweet and beautiful, I’m ripping her panties down. I’ve tried, I’ve fucking tried to wait. To talk or watch television or bring her out for food, but every single time, we end up in my bed. Immediately. Straining, clutching, panting, biting, fucking. The things I’ve done to my girl in that bed should be criminal, considering she was a virgin less than a week ago.

Daddy.

It’s the magic word.

As soon as she says it, I’m an animal.

I’ve heard of people with this kind of relationship before, but it seemed to belong with older couples. Or men and their mistresses. With us, it’s different. It’s like we stumbled upon something we weren’t supposed to know about ourselves and it’s too late to turn back now. Now that I’ve heard her whimper “Daddy” while I rake my tongue all over her tight asshole, I can’t live without it. Can’t live without the responsibility the title gives me. The ownership of this girl who is my flat-out obsession. One that will stay with me every second of my life.

After we scratch that initial itch, the time we spend together in my room is dreamlike, stroking fingers along each other’s skin and talking about everything from our childhoods to secret talents to phobias and fears. We tell secrets. We weave imaginary futures in which we live in a house together. In our imaginations, she leaves every morning to teach kindergarten and I train for my next fight. And we’re happy because we’re together.

Before she leaves my bed and goes back to Beacon Hill, I take her a second time, slower, savoring her, but we have to be quiet, because my sister is home by then. I have to time Grace’s orgasms with the train passing below, so her moans are camouflaged by the loud rattling of the walls.

Daytime is long and unacceptable, because I’m without her. I’m constantly tempted to ditch classes and go pick her up at that fancy prep school, but that’s risky. There’s no way I’m going to mess this up. And if her father finds out about us, if he finds out she’s been coming to Southie every day after school to be with me, he would put a stop to it. No doubt in either of our minds. After everything Grace has told me about her father, I know he expects perfection from her—and I don’t fit that image.

He would see me as a threat to her success.

Girls attending prep schools don’t date amateur boxers from South Boston. They are supposed to date future financiers with more zeroes in their trust funds than I can even fathom.

It makes me insane to even think about it. My Gracie dating someone else.

Marrying someone that isn’t me.

Some prick who can give her everything in the world.

I’d go fucking berserk. I’d die from a broken heart. And yet, who the hell am I to prevent her from having a comfortable life? Because right now, she can’t have that with me.

Not yet, anyway.

I’m going to change that.

I will provide for her. I’ll be her man in every single way she needs.

I just need one chance in the ring with the right opportunity. No one will be able to beat me if a future with Grace is on the line. Not even God himself.

For the tenth time today, I check my phone to see if the boxing manager called, but there’s nothing. Taking a deep breath for patience, I try to pay attention to what the teacher is saying. A couple more hours and I’ll be home with my girlfriend, her slick little pussy wrapped around my dick, milking and squeezing, her gorgeous face flushed from pleasure beneath me. Her nails raking down my back.

Feeling eyes on me, I glance to my right and some girl waves her pinkie at me. I almost laugh. Seriously? Grace’s name is written in Sharpie on my forearms, my neck, my hands. I don’t even bother acknowledging this other person. Not now and not when I’m walking out of class and she calls my name. I just keep walking, visions of Grace flashing in my head like a slideshow. She is the only one for me, forever. Period. I’m actually annoyed that someone tried to catch my attention, because I know Grace wouldn’t like it—and I don’t do shit she doesn’t like. Ever.

On my way to Physics, my phone shakes in my pocket and I whip it out, my chest cinching tight when I see the manager is calling. Please let this be something. I hit talk and press the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Whitlock, it’s Silvio. How’s it going?”

That’s a complication question. On one hand, I’m happier than I ever thought possible. On the other, I’m waiting for that happiness to be compromised, worrying about it every second of the fucking day. Grace’s father finding out where she’s been and forbidding her from seeing me. Or her getting accepted at some other Ivy League school that sends her out of Boston. Away from me. “It’s going, man,” I manage around the knot in my throat. “You got someone for me to fight?”

“You have no idea. I’m about to be your favorite person.”

“No thanks, I’ve already got one. Just tell me the news.”

Silvio laughs and I can hear him rubbing his hands together in the background. “How would you like to fight at TD Garden?”

Suddenly depleted of breath, I sit down on one of the benches in the quad area. “The Garden?” I’ve never even set foot into the arena where the Celtics play. “Are you serious? Who? When?”

“A week from today. Next Friday night. Arturo Colleti needs a new opponent to step in. The other guy broke his wrist. I spun it to the promoters in a way that was appealing. Amateur kid from Southie stepping in to fight the pro. Hometown hero. Yada yada. They ate it up.”

“Arturo Colleti?” The wind is knocked out of me. “Jesus. I’ve been watching him fight since middle school. He’s…fuck, I don’t have his kind of training.”

“You don’t want in?”

“Of course I want in,” I scoff. “I just have to find a creative way to knock his ass out.”

Silvio’s laughter fills my ear. “Now there’s the badass I recruited straight out of the Hellmouth. I’ll be in touch about gear and logistics. Just be ready to brawl.” He pauses. “Hey, North. You win this fight, it’ll mean big things for you, all right? The payout alone from taking on Colleti is a game changer. So show up and take care of business, huh?”

“How much money will I make if I win?” I rasp.

He tells me the number and a shudder passes through me.

Holy shit.

It’s enough for a down payment on a house. Enough to get Tulip through her first year of college, at the very least. But will it be enough to make me acceptable in the eyes of Grace’s father? More than anything, more than my next fucking breath, I want to be with her out in the open. I want to ring her doorbell in Beacon Hill and not worry about people seeing me there. An outsider. I want to be able to offer her a future that isn’t all about scraping by, paycheck to paycheck.

This is my chance.

I’m off the bench and moving toward the school parking lot before I know it, desperate to see Grace. Needing to tell her this news, face to face. Now. There isn’t too much traffic in the middle of the day, so I can be at her school in twenty-five minutes. It’s a risk, showing up like this in broad daylight, but there’s no way I can wait until after school to tell her I’ll be fighting in the Garden next week. No way I can wait to ask if she’ll come and support me.

A few minutes later, I peel out of the parking lot, anticipation thrumming in my veins. Excitement to see her. Nerves about the upcoming fight. A week ago, I was content to fight in the Hellmouth on weekends for rent and food money, but not anymore. Now I have a future with Grace on the line and there’s no way I’m letting it slip through my fingers.

Maybe an underground fighter isn’t supposed to date an Ivy League girl, but a legit fighter? Is that another story? Over the last week, Grace has been saying more and more how she doesn’t even want to go to Harvard, if she gets accepted. Or any other prestigious institution for that matter. I don’t want her to give up that chance for me, but I also don’t want her to do anything that doesn’t make her happy. Either way, we’ll have more options if I win this fight—and I will.

I hit a little more traffic than expected, so about forty minutes later, I pull up across the street from Grace’s prep school. And damn, it is a lot nicer than my public one. Prominent is the word that comes to mind. Green vines climb the outside of a sweeping, historical stone building, complete with two lion statues guarding the entrance.

Stepping out of my car, I hear the faint sound of a bell ringing and a few seconds later, uniformed students file down the front steps, some of them chatting with others, most of them looking at their phones. No one plays loud music, there are no fights breaking out, like there would be at my school. Just the calm, cool, collected future millionaires of America.

I shake off the cloying sense that I don’t belong here and search for Grace among the crowd. First I see Collier and another guy I recognize from that night at the Hellmouth. They’re laughing with some girls, taking pictures on their phones. I’m pleased to see Collier is still sporting purple rings around his eyes, but my attention is dragged quickly in another direction when Grace walks out of the building and the organ in my chest starts to pound wildly.

She’s alone.

Books cradled to her chest.

Oh Jesus, that school uniform.

That little plaid skirt and knee socks.

I can’t believe she changes out of it before coming to my house every day. Maybe she doesn’t want to remind me of our economic differences? It would have been worth it. My cock is stiff as a brick watching that hem tease the middle of her thighs. Jesus. I’m so hot for her, I’m almost dizzy. But I’m not so aroused that I can’t be concerned about what I’m seeing.

Part of me likes that she’s alone.

A huge part of me wants her to talk to no one but me. I’m her everything.

Apparently that part of me is a possessive asshole.

Grace casts her friends a self-conscious glance and walks the opposite direction. They openly ignore her. Because of me? Is she a loner now because I took her home that night? Are they cutting her out of their lives because she’s dating me?

That possibility causes a pang in my throat.

I’m bad for her in a lot of ways, aren’t I?

She’s lost her social circle. No matter how many fights I win, I’ll probably never be able to afford a yacht or summers in the Maldives or a townhouse in Beacon Hill.

I fuck her like an animal. Leave marks on her body, her voice hoarse from screaming.

We’ve got this twisted little dynamic that I don’t know how to stop—and probably couldn’t if I tried. Don’t know if it’s healthy for her, the way I cast my obsession over her like a net, day in and day out. Trapping her. Consuming her.

I want to do those things right now.

Want her writhing and whimpering and focused one thousand percent on me.

It’s like my thoughts traveled across the road and whispered themselves in her ear, because suddenly Grace looks up, her entire face brightening. Her mouth moving to form my name silently. And shit, if my heart was pounding before, it’s slamming in a frenzy now in the face of her pure joy. Joy from seeing me.

As if carried on the wind, she starts toward me, but I shake my head, pointing at an upscale apartment building across the street. While circling the block to find a spot for my car, I noticed the small park around back of the structure. I head there now, watching Grace do the same, slipping out of the sea of uniforms and crossing the road. She gets there first and I jerk my chin toward the rear of the building, where we’ll be out of sight of the school. No way I’m running the risk of getting her into trouble. I have this chance in my back pocket now, this fight against Colleti, and I’m especially not compromising my relationship with Grace when there’s a shot at offering her some security. A future.

As soon as we’re behind the building and out of view of the street, Grace drops her books and turns, throwing her arms around my neck. My arms encircle her, too, lifting her off the ground and twirling her in a circle. “Oh God, beauty. Baby. I missed you,” I groan, dropping kisses all over her beautiful face. On her forehead, lips and cheeks. “Every fucking second away from you is torture.”

“I know,” she whimpers, snuggling closer, sucking at my neck, rubbing her tight body on mine, swelling my cock to full mast. “I know. I know. The day is too long. I just stare at the clock waiting until I can come see you.” Her breath catches. “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you across the street.”

“You’re not, Gracie,” I rasp, slanting my mouth over hers, tasting, savoring. “I’m here. I had to come tell you something. I couldn’t wait.”

She leans back, face flushed. Curious. “What is it?”

“Remember that manager I mentioned? He got me a fight.” I take a moment to savor the anticipation. If I do this right, if I give this fight everything I’ve got, this will be the first of many times I tell Grace something to make her proud of me. I fucking crave that chance. “Next Friday. At the Garden.”

“At the…” She sobs a sound. “At the Garden? Oh my God, North. Is that…I mean, that has to be huge.”

“If I win, yeah. And I will win.” I back her against the building, my mouth locked with hers, our foreheads pressed tightly together. “I’ve got you to fight for.”

“North…”

“Will you be there? Will you come and sit in the front row?”

“Of course I will. But you don’t have to fight for me,” she whispers. “You have me.”

“Yeah. I have you, don’t I, beauty?” I slide my hands up beneath the back of her plaid skirt, cupping her smooth ass cheeks in my hands, lifting her between me and the wall. “Now I have to keep you. Protect you. Make you happy and safe and wanting for nothing. That’s what a Daddy does for his girl, isn’t it, Gracie?”

I have to catch her resulting moan with my mouth.

She gets so goddamn hot when we play like this.

It’s horny and twisted, but she creams the hardest when we give in to our roles, so I can’t stop bringing it here. I don’t want to. It makes me come like I’m dying. “This skirt of yours is too fucking short,” I growl against her mouth. “You might as well be ringing a dinner bell.”

“It’s regulation length,” she breathes, heavy-lidded. Excited.

“Is that right, little girl? Well feel what the length of your skirt did to the length of my cock.” I yank her knees up around my hips, grinding her against the side of the building, bulge against panties, watching her mouth open in a silent scream. “I’m starting to think you enjoy the way I punish you.” I drag my tongue from her neck to her ear. “Do you like the way it feels now when we do bad things, baby? Is that why this skirt is short enough to see your sweet little asshole if you bend over?”

She can’t stay still now.

She’s squirming between me and the wall, trying to get some friction on my dick. “Please. Please.”

“Please what?” I mash my mouth against her ear. “Please put your come in me, Daddy?”

“Yes.”

My hands mold her backside roughly, the pad of my index fingers finding her puckered back entrance and pressing. “Is that what you thought of this morning when you rolled up your dirty little skirt? Did you know I’d end up making the insides of your thighs sticky?”

“Oh God, oh God,” she breathes, nodding vigorously, her tits beginning to jiggle from the way I’m thrusting between her legs, my distended fly against her sexy mound. “I w-wore it short to m-make you mad. I like when Daddy’s mad.”

“That’s when I fuck the hardest, isn’t it?” Taking my right hand off the globe of her butt cheek, I reach down and unfasten my pants. “That’s when you get a secret punishment.”

Her thighs are already shaking.

As soon as I shove this dripping cock home, she’s going to orgasm.

It’s wild. It burns me alive, how easily she comes. How sensitive her pussy is after a little dirty talking. Our brand of dirty. Dirty we barely understand yet, but can’t stop venturing into, eager. Desperately. Hungry to learn and experience and roll around in every syllable. Every forbidden taunt. There’s a good chance I’m delivering the kind of affection lacking in her relationship with her father, weaving it together with our intense attraction. Maybe that’s messed up or something that needs to be addressed more closely. But all my body and mind and heart understands is giving Grace what she needs, whether it’s wrong or right. I’m her provider in all things. I’m where she comes to have her needs handled—and I’ll do my job well. I’ll do it no matter why or how her specific needs exist. I simply fulfill and reach my own heaven in the process. Our heaven.

Now, I watch her face closely, obsessively, as I tug her panties to one side and sink deep, deep into her little cunt, pumping once and feeling her warmth gush down all over me. She sobs and trembles and claws at my shoulders—and I just have to stand there, my jaw slack, balls harder than steel as she milks my shaft, her spasms going on and on and on.

“My precious girl,” I groan into her ear. “My tight little girl.”

Her cunt flexes and she whimpers, giving me more, more, her pleasure dripping off my balls now onto the concrete—and I can’t wait any longer to fuck. I cradle her ass with my right forearm and prop my left hand on the wall, pumping in the pace of a gallop. And this hot, horny, perfect girl knows exactly what I like, what I need, undoing the button of her white schoolgirl blouse so I can watch her yummy little tits bounce around inside her white bra while I get my nut.

“You wear that innocent white lace to make me fucking crazy, don’t you? God,” I growl, thrusting upupup harder, faster. “You don’t spread your legs like a virgin anymore, though, huh, Gracie? You open them wide for me. You want me to see that pretty clit so I’ll lick it wet and ride all over it.”

“I love when you do. I love it,” she hiccups, her pussy slapping up and down on my lap.

“After school. After school, I’m going to maul that sexy little thing. Going to send it back to Beacon Hill sore and satisfied and dripping North’s come. You’re going to walk right past your father with it all swollen and well fucked in your white schoolgirl panties. Same way you do every day, huh, baby?”

Her head pitches back on a sob. “Yes, Daddy.”

That pussy locks up around me again and I bust, slamming her ass up against the building and letting the climax rock me, so powerful because of who I’m with.

My life, my girl, my obsession. My world.

We cling to each other to keep from breaking into a thousand pieces, my lips on hers, swallowing her cries, driving my tongue into her mouth, anything to have more of her. More more more. I can’t get enough. I’ll never get enough.

“I love you,” I say brokenly into her neck when I’m coming down, replete, satisfied. Lost over this angel in my arms. How did I get this lucky? How is this real? “I love you, Grace. I love you. I’ll love you forever. Until they put me into the ground, baby.”

Her tear-filled eyes meet mine and I swear I can hear her heart pounding. “North, I—”

“Grace!”

One second her body is all warmth, the next it’s ice cold. She shakes her head rapidly, like she can’t believe what’s happening. “My father. Oh God. That’s m-my father.”

No.

No, this isn’t happening.

My cock is still locked up inside of her. I’m halfway to hard again.

The times I’ve pictured myself meeting Grace’s father, I’m shaking his hand and telling him, with confidence, that I can give his daughter a good life. I’m not there yet, though. I’m a week away. Longer. Because I won’t be satisfied with one payday. Not if I want to give her the world—and I do.

Already my chances of gaining the respect of Mr. Foster were slim. But if he walks around the corner and finds me fucking his daughter against a wall in her school uniform, there isn’t a chance in hell of gaining his admiration.

Grace wiggles frantically between me and the wall, planting her feet on the ground and fixing her panties and skirt, while I zip up as fast as possible, run agitated fingers through my hair. There is no way to make it less obvious what we were doing back here. Grace is flushed bright pink and I’m sweating. And that’s how Simmons Foster finds us when he strides around the corner, his face a mask of fury.

A few other people come into view behind him. In their school uniforms.

One of them is Collier.

He winks, holds up his phone. “Payback’s a bitch,” he mouths at me.