Chapter 23

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

RUST

It's almost midnight, but I wear a baseball cap anyway. The last thing I need now is somebody recognizing me. It's difficult to remember why I'm here, difficult to think about anything other than her body, her hips, the life growing inside of her. But I need to focus on the fight.

Oh, hell. She's walking across the street. Her dark sweater and jeans do nothing to hide her shape. She's tied her hair up, emphasizing her natural beauty. She climbs into the passenger seat and glances at me, her hands in her lap.

It's almost impossible not to lean over and kiss her. I start the car and focus on the act of driving because otherwise, I won't be able to stop myself. She wrings her hands in her lap.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Sorry about last time. The stuff I said. Yelling at you."

"I don't care about that," I tell her honestly. "I heard what you told Brad about the videos and what Brad told you."

"Did you know?" she asks.

"I guessed," I tell her. "I'd seen your mom during some of her episodes. She'd been suffering for a while."

"I'd always suspected," she says, in a cold voice… or not cold, but more like she's trying to contain her fire forcibly. "But it's different hearing it. Where are we going?"

"I thought we could drive around," I tell her. "Honestly…"

I stop myself, but it's too late. I've already said too much.

"Yeah?" she murmurs in her sweet voice, her tone making me think of sex, of wedding bells, so much I should bury.

"It's the only way to keep my hands off you."

I purposefully don't look at her, but I see her curvy shape tremble in my periphery. She's never going to be able to hide her lust from me. My rod starts to stiffen right away, pushing against my pants.

"I guess we should talk instead of that," she murmurs. "I guess this is the part where you tell me I'm too immature, and you're a perv for wanting me, huh?"

She turns with a challenge in her sassy eyes. I almost pull the car into the nearest alleyway and collapse the seat. Push her onto her back and finger her receptive body.

"A perv," I repeat, shaking my head. "I wouldn't exactly class it as that. I was basically asexual before I met you. Not met you. You get what I mean."

She touches my arm. It's our first contact since she's been in the car. It almost shatters something in me. My balls are swelling, and the seed is pulsing up my shaft as if wanting me to take her again, make her pregnant twice if it's even impossible.

"You hate my age, though."

"I don't care about your age," I tell her. "I care about you , and you're young, but I don't feel like a perv. It's not about that. It's about you."

"What about me?"

"I heard what you told Brad—those videos. You have no experience in the world, Mary. You might live the next ten years and become a completely different person. One who'd never want to be with me."

"You're not trapping me," she hisses, with so much fierce passion in her voice. "I want you. I'm choosing this. You're not making this decision for me. Anyway, it's not about us. It's about the baby. We're all going to have to grow together." She pauses, and I think she's fighting off tears. I keep staring at the road, the hardest thing I've ever done. "As a family."

She swallows her sobbing as I turn the car to the waterfront. We drive along the water, the soft waves shimmering, just like the surface of the lake way back when Brad was my friend, nothing else. Mary was a baby, and Vanessa was alive—before I ever dreamed I'd want this woman so badly that my soul would bleed.

"How am I supposed to convince you I'm mature enough for you?" she snaps.

"It's not about convincing. You're eight?—"

"Oh my…" she trails off as if she's going to correct herself. Then she forcefully says, " God, I get it. I'm younger than you, but maturity isn't just about age. You've got the emotional maturity of a five-year-old, Rust, and experience? What experience? You've spent the last ten years doing nothing but fight, think about fighting, and meditate about fighting. Anyway, I'm nineteen now. It was my birthday two weeks ago."

"Happy birthday," I tell her ironically.

She folds her arms, staring at the road, her chest rising and falling passionately. "I think you're making it about that because you don't want to face the truth," she says. "This isn't about my age. It isn't about the experience. Anyway, what's wrong if you've got a little more? You can guide me, and maybe, in some areas, I can help you, too. What's wrong with that? But no, no ."

My hand is clenched so tightly on the steering wheel as I fight the urge to reach over to touch and comfort her, but I know that will be the end of any resolve.

"This is about Brad," she says. "The pain of hurting him is so much, you'd rather make it about something else."

I bite down. It's like she's just jabbed me right in the brain, a part I've never looked at before. "Are you a therapist now?"

"Don't get mean," she snaps. "It's true. I can see it. I can read you , Rust."

I swallow, my chest going tight, hammering hard, remembering all the times Brad grinned up at me, all the moments the world felt at peace and orderly, not the chaos it usually was with Mom and Dad.

"Let's take Brad out of it. Imagine we met somewhere else, and we shared that stormy night together. Imagine after I told you I was pregnant. Would you say I was too young and immature if Brad didn't exist?"

"No," I growl right away, then pull the car over to the side of the road, gliding into darkness.

Leaning over, I grab her hips and turn her body. She gasps as I bring my lips to hers, kissing her passionately, letting her feel all the hunger she's ignited in me. "If it wasn't for Brad," I tell her, "I'd propose to you right here."

She clutches onto my neck with her nails, wide-eyed, cute as fuck, as she gazes up at me. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I would," I growl. "You're the mother of my child. I would do right by you."

She tilts her head, so damn sassy. "I thought I was too young , though?"

I slowly stroke my hand up her thigh. These pants are thinner than her jeans, letting me feel her voluptuous thighs. My balls ache as I try to hold back the desire. I squeeze down, captivated by her trembling, thick body.

"Honestly? It's good you're young. That means we'll be able to have plenty of kids together."

She shoves me in the chest, laughing at the same time like she can't decide her reaction. "Seriously. Don't say stuff?—"

I cut her off with a kiss, sliding my hand higher up her leg, moving it toward her sex. She grabs my wrist, breaks off the kiss, and looks around. We're in complete darkness, parked in the shadow of a large warehouse-type building, but that doesn't mean somebody might not happen to walk by here.

"You said you would do right by me," she whispers.

I sigh darkly and lean back.

"Why did you ask me to meet tonight?"

Running a hand through my hair, I try to remember what it's like to be cold, not to care, to be able to easily distance myself from my feelings, if there ever were any there, to begin with.

"Because I need to ask you a favor. It's going to be tough for both of us."

"Okay…"

"We need to bury this until after the fight. The only thing I can afford to think about is the fight. It's the championship. That means more money. That means, when our baby arrives, their life—their future, college, whatever they choose—will be much easier."

"But what about Brad?" she whispers, holding my hand.

"I don't know," I snap. "I can't think about that. Every second I spend distracted is a second Cain is getting better than me. This is the best move for the family."

"But if we don't sort the Brad problem, there won't be a family," she sighs. "Listen to me. The Brad problem ."

"I know it's not ideal," I tell her, "but this is what I need from you, my woman. This is the sacrifice I need. Think of it as doing this for our baby."

"So you are happy about the baby?" she asks.

"You know I am. I think that's the first time I've cheered in my life."

She laughs adorably, smoothing her hands on my shoulders and pulling me against her. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close, kissing the top of her head.

"Chrissy said I needed to be sure you wanted to be together."

"You told Chrissy?" I ask.

"I thought you'd be mad."

I sigh. "Well, Marquis knows. He guessed. Then I told him."

She nods, not seeming surprised or angry. "It's difficult to keep everything locked inside, right?"

"I hate dishonesty," I tell her. "Always have. Well, maybe not hate , but the world never seems in order when I'm holding onto a lie. My life has been so simple. Train, eat, sleep, fight, train…"

"I thought you were Mr. Experienced, hmm?"

"I think you've got a future as a therapist," I tell her, "and I'm not joking. You hit it right on the head there. This isn't about your age. Hell, you're more mature than me in many ways. You're right."

"Let's say Brad somehow thought this was okay. Would you care what people thought?"

I squeeze her hips, almost mauling her with the passion that instantly flares in me. Leaning back, I look down into her eyes. "Would you?"

"Nah-uh, I asked first."

I smirk. "Let's answer at the same time."

"Okay, three, two, one…"

"No," I say.

She laughs. " Hell no."

I kiss her, feeling so free. It's a false feeling. It'll fade the moment we go our separate ways. Then she'll be on my mind again, but I'll use that as fuel for training, as fire to stoke each repetition, each exercise. Then, after… But there is no after—just the fight.

She puts her hand on my neck. I quickly grab her wrist.

"You'll make me lose control," I snarl.

"Maybe that's what I want," she whispers.

"Not here. If somebody saw, I'd kill them."

"Really?" she moans as if she likes the idea of me being possessive over her.

"I wouldn't be able to stop myself. Your curves. Your nakedness. Your perfect tits. How hot and confident you look and sound when you take control… It's mine, Mary. All of it. All of you. Just mine. Nobody else's. You fucking belong to me."

"Take me then," she whispers with a note of danger, her breath warm against my neck.

"Don't tempt me."

"What if I like tempting you, huh?"

Oh, hell, she's moving her hand higher on my leg toward my thick stiffness. I'm completely swollen and ready. We kiss again, and I move my hand up her leg, pushing down on her pussy through the thin fabric of her pants, feeling her wetness, her eagerness.

"Pregnancy makes you hornier, does it?" I say between kisses.

I feel the shape of her smile against my lips. "Apparently so…"

We should stop. I meant what I told her. If anybody else saw us, I'd lose it. I'd snap, but when I feel her warm juices, something primal snaps in me.

"You'll need to go on top," I tell her. "Slide your pussy down my length. Sit on my lap. Can you do that, good girl?"

"I'm not a good girl anymore," she says breathily, moaning as I rub her thick lips, finding her clit, pushing my finger down against it. "I'll never be her again. I'm not the girl who had a crush on you. We're starting a new chapter together?—"

"You had a crush on me?" I cut in.

One of her just-Mary shivers moves through her body, partly because I'm still rubbing her needy slit and partly because of my question. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. I should've said. I hope it doesn't weird you out."

She slides her hand over my cock on the outside of my pants, rubbing her warm palm up and down my length. My rod somehow gets even harder than it already was, so much precome leaking from me. She rubs quicker when she hears my groans, making me rub faster.

"I don't give a damn about how you felt ," I tell her. "I care about how you feel ."

"I feel pretty good, honestly." Her laugh turns into a moan when I slide my hand down her pants and smooth my fingers over her naked pussy, so wet, her juices smeared all over her lips and her clit. I rub the needy nub of her clit, obsessed with her moans, her pleasure.

As she wriggles against me, I quickly check the surroundings, but still nothing. I should stop and take her someplace else, someplace without risk. Then her hand is clawing at the drawstring, keeping my sweats closed, and all I can think about is the warmth of her wrapped around me.

"Get your pants off," I growl, "but keep your sweater on. Nobody gets to see those tits except for me, ever."

At least this way, there's no risk of anybody seeing her ass or her perfect pussy. I wriggle out of my pants as she does the same, then I push my seat back, reach over, grab her, and pull her into my lap. My hard dick glides against her folds as she sits on top of me, grabbing the headrest as I support her back, meaning she doesn't have to hold herself up.

"You're strong," she whispers as my hard tip rubs against her folds, trying to slip in.

"Carrying you is easy," I tell her, "because you're the perfect damn size." Slowly, I lower her onto my cock. "Reach down and guide me inside you."

She grabs my base, squeezing, letting out the most ball-tingling moan. She makes me feel high, makes me feel lost. My tip pushes against her entrance, both of us shaking as I lower her inch by inch, her walls gripping me more confidently this time, like she's ready.

"I've waited so damn long for this," I groan, kissing her neck, smoothing my hands over her back, over the storm tattoo hidden beneath her sweat.

"Me too," she moans.

I glide the rest of the way inside of her. There's no space between us now, nothing to stop the connection, the fusing together, nothing to stop us . Her pussy massages my base like she's trying to coax more seed out of me.

"I don't think I can bounce up and down," she whispers in my ear, almost ashamed and thinking I'll judge her.

"I can help you," I snarl, sinking my hands greedily into her skin. "Just let me know when you're creaming all over my dick."

"I guess we don't need to worry about a condom this time."

I kiss her neck, lifting her up, gliding her hole up my dick so that she kisses every inch of me. When my tip slides almost all the way out, I lower her again, letting her feel how hungry I am through the rock-hardness of my dick and the tightness of my hands.

"I wasn't worried last time," I snarl. "You're too damn distracting."

I rock her up and down quickly, listening to the slick sounds of her soaked pussy as I fuck her harder, throwing her up, pulling her down, arching my hips to slam my dick into her waiting pussy. She moans so hotly in my ear. Then she begins to move with me, grinding down at an angle.

"Oh, fuck," I growl. "That feels so good."

"This?" she asks, doing it again.

"Fuck. Yes."

As she starts moving with me, I keep one hand on her hip and bring the other around to her juicy ass, savoring the way she bounces up and down, her big globes rippling with each thrust. She grabs onto my shoulders and starts shuddering in the hottest fucking way, her whole body undulating.

"Come for me," I growl, demanding. Then I bring my hand down on the bouncing globe of her plump ass. She whimpers as I spank her again. "Fucking c-come for…"

But I can't speak anymore. She grabs my face and looks into my eyes as we come together. There's nothing to say. It's like the entire car is about to explode. It's like everything makes sense, in this moment, fused to my Mary. I don't have to worry anymore. We're together.

My seed erupts, and she stops moving. She sinks against me as I pump the last of my seed into her until I'm spent. Finally, she climbs off and returns to her seat. I quickly check the surroundings, sighing with relief when I realize we're still alone. For a second, I had a terrible feeling somebody was watching us.

"You're a wild thing, Mary," I tell her.

She laughs, wriggling into her pants. "I meant what I said. I need something to remember you by."

"It's five weeks," I tell her. "Then we'll tell Brad."

I expect her to argue, but instead, she lowers her gaze. Her shoulders slump. "It's the only way, isn't it?"

"There's no other way out of this. Before the baby, telling him was the right thing to do. Now, it's necessary. It's not like I can pretend I don't have a kid." I pull up my pants. "I need to do the right thing. Be the sort of father mine could never be or refused to be."

"So, you do want a future together?" she asks.

I take her hands. "I need one."

"What if we tell Brad, and he hates us both?"

"I can't think about that," I say gruffly, "until after the fight. I know it's going to be hard for you. You'll see him every day. You don't have training camp to distract you."

She squeezes my hand. "You've worked toward this your entire life. I know you have to focus now. I'm going to support you."

I smooth my hand up her body, under her arm, cupping her tattoo, feeling the storm, the lightning, everything that fused us together. "Do you ever wish we could've stayed in that night forever?"

"Only all the time," she says. "It was so perfect, like the rest of the world didn't exist. It was so easy to pretend we weren't doing something terrible."

"I know," I say, her words hitting me hard.

After a minute of weirdly comfortable silence, I start the engine and begin driving her back. If I don't, I'll never let her go. I'll forget about the fight. Forget about responsibility. Forget about Brad. I'll just drive across the country and find some stormy, private place to build a life with my woman and child.

I love you , I almost say when it's time to say goodbye. Maybe that makes me deranged. I was a cold shell weeks ago. Now I'm in love. I'm not sure what this feeling is if it isn't love.

"I'll see you soon?" she says.

"After the fight," I tell her, nodding, "I'll fly down. We'll tell Brad together."

We kiss, and then she leaves the car, leaving my soul empty, hollow, and hungry for her. I close my eyes, breathe, harness this feeling, and think about the rage at not being together, the pain of our betrayal, harnessing it, getting ready for the fight.

Before, it was just the heavyweight belt. Now, it's for my family, for their financial future. I never needed much money before. I live a simple, Spartan life, but knowing there's a baby on the way is different. I'm going to be the man my father never could. I will be there for my woman, my future wife, the mother of my child.

Even if it means I have to let go of the only friend I've ever had, I will support Mary every day for the rest of our lives.