Chapter 3

CHAPTER

THREE

RUST

"You had a falling out or something?" Marquis asks over the phone.

I'm thirty thousand feet in the air, my feet reclined on the private jet, looking down at the clouds. "No," I tell my head coach.

"Then why the sudden reluctance?" he says in his French-Canadian accent.

"I just said I'm not sure how much benefit it has."

"That's a silly thing to say, Rust. Let me tell you because you obviously don't need me to explain your own career to you. Right, my friend? You couldn't possibly need me to remind you that you went to be with your friend after your first and only career loss. You found peace, and you came back as a warrior. No? Hello?"

Marquis' douchey tone is almost enough to make a man smile. "I get your point."

"And I don't need to explain that?—"

"I get it. Cain Cruz beat me once before. Now, he holds the title. It's more important than ever, but Cain beat me because he was better than me. He started training in wrestling when he was a kid. I've improved since."

"Yes, and this has been a part of it!" Marquis snaps. "So you go. That's it. End of story."

"Relax. I'm on the plane."

"A few days. Come back a warrior, ready for training camp. Eight weeks of hell. Then we restore your dignity against Cain Cruz."

I hang up, running a hand through my hair. I've only started doing that recently since looking up and seeing her there, Mary, suddenly a woman, like it happened overnight. Not even that. It's as though she walked upstairs the quiet, shy, respectful kid and came down all curves and flushed cheeks and promises of claiming her young, juicy ass.

Oh, fuck. I'm getting hard again. I try to think of Brad and remember the lake. I'm so much older than her. I've known her pretty much all her life. I shouldn't let myself think about her this way, but I can't think of anything else. My biggest advantage as a fighter has always been my mind. I'm clear-headed. I use the time outside practice to rehearse technique mentally.

None of that works with Mary dominating my thoughts. I stand and go into the bathroom, knowing it's so damn wrong, but I'm hungry in a way I've never been before. It's like my arousal is going to explode. Locking the door, I close my eyes, feeling like I'm possessed, as I free my dick from my pants.

I'm not on the plane anymore. I'm nowhere near this place. I'm completely in the fantasy, back in the kitchen, but Brad's not here this time. It's just me and Mary and those denim shorts with her juicy legs hidden in those tights, a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

Stroking fast, I'm almost losing it right away. My fantasy flits to a new scene, skipping all the things I'd take my time with in real life, kissing her body, licking her needy clit, owning her. Now, she's on her back, her big tempting tits in her hands, bouncing up and down as she stares at me with lust in her eyes. Or desperation, desperate for me to stop, to save Brad, and desperate for me to keep going. To fuck her hard. To fuck her deep. To fuck her so she never wants to feel another man's dick. Just mine.

After taking some photos with fans, I rent a car and drive through the pine forest of Wrexley. It's only sixty miles from our hometown. Brad chose to come here because the schools were better. As usual, everything he did was for his kid sister, who I pleasured myself thinking about on the flight. That's ten, twenty, thirty times I've made my loins burn thinking about her.

As I drive, I usually think about techniques or rehearse specific scenarios in the fight. I might listen to a podcast about Jiujitsu or perhaps fight analysis. Soon, the camp will start, with eight weeks of Spartan focus. I can't allow anything to interfere with that.

The closer I get to their farm—well, their land, since Brad stopped keeping chickens when he opened the hardware store—the bigger this pit in my gut becomes. I've heard fighters talk about feeling that before fights. Many of them can't sleep. Not me. I sleep like a baby. I close my eyes and shut out the world like I did as a kid, somehow sleeping through all that nastiness next door.

I drive up the gravel path to the house on the slight hill. There's too much privacy up here. Brad is currently visiting his dad. He booked the tickets before I knew I was taking this fight. Marquis wouldn't hear anything about that changing things, though. Part of being a world-champion fighter is being humble enough to listen to my coach, even if he's a borderline madman.

Oh, hell. She's sitting on the porch in the late-afternoon sun. Just the shape of her as she stands and lifts her hand is enough to get me going. My dick starts hardening again, but I can't let it. I have to focus. Breathe. Stay calm. I can't give into my desire and claim those thick hips.

"Hey, Rust," she says when I step from the car.

She stands a few feet away, wearing a summer dress fluttering in the light breeze. It's not short, but the material is thin, outlining her body, her voluptuous thighs, the triangle of her sex, her belly, and her round breasts. Her hair is down and wavy, giving her a naturally sexy look.

I nod. "Mary. How're things?"

"Oh, you know. So, so."

I go to the trunk and grab my bag, and we walk up the porch together. I'd normally make somewhat of an effort with her. My desire is never to be rude to people. Just because I'm ice doesn't mean they have to know it, but I can't think of anything to say to the woman who, a few hours ago, was bouncing and moaning in my mind. She was mine.

"Coffee?" she asks, gesturing down the hallway.

"Sure."

We walk past photos of her mom, gleaming bright hair, pearl necklace on in many. I know it was Mary's idea to put them up. Brad told me. My best, and really only, friend told me.

In the kitchen, I sit at the same table I was sitting at a few months ago when she walked in, and everything changed. I almost have to clench my hands into fists to stop from completely losing it. She leans over the counter, her dress lifting a little, showing me her creamy legs and the backs of her thighs.

Fuck, to walk up, pull that dress up, caress her ass, and glide my dick between her legs. "Don't turn around. Don't look. This never happened. Just take my cock." She'd moan and push against me, sliding up and down my length.

I almost flinch when she puts my coffee in front of me. "Are you okay?" she asks, sitting on the other side of the table. Good. I'd probably grab her if she were any closer. "Nervous about the fight? What am I saying? You're never nervous, are you?"

Not about the fight, but sitting here with her is spinning something into gear, nerves and lust all at once, clashing, obsessing me.

"He beat me once before. He out-wrestled me. He was stronger and had better technique, but I've worked hard since then. There's a good chance I can stop him from taking me down and knock him out."

Her lips pull into a small smile. Has she always been this magnetic? Of course, I never noticed her like that when she was a kid. But her personality… Has she always had such an endearing smile? She was always just Brad's sister. When I think of them now, it's him as Mary's brother . Everything has switched around. I need to get my priorities straight.

"You talk like a cold-blooded killer," she says.

I shrug. "It's better than talking like some men do. Puffing themselves up so they can trick themselves into thinking they can win. Or living in fear. I live in reality."

Yeah, it's a reality where kissing my best friend's sister is the worst thing I could possibly do. I wish she'd stop moving her lips around. It's like she's unsure of her expression and trying to tempt me.

"You're starting camp soon?" she asks.

"As soon as I'm done here," I reply.

"Will you go to the lake? That's what you usually do, right?"

It feels foolish thinking of or talking about the lake now. I'd rather spend every second with Mary. "Yeah. I'll go there and get my mind right. It takes a special focus to get ready for a fight like this."

"I don't know how you do it. Hurt people. Get hurt."

"I fell in love with boxing, but I was never going to be the best. So I started kickboxing, then Jiujitsu. I should've wrestled in high school, but I couldn't stand the jocks."

"Or anybody, right?" she chimes, a light teasing note in her voice.

I chuckle. Her whole face lights up. Hell, her entire body. It's like she's been waiting her whole life to make me laugh. It's the cutest thing. "That's fair."

"Except Brad," she says. "And me… sort of. It's not like we hang out. I'm rambling. Please feel free to tell me to shut up."

"I don't want you to," I say.

She smiles and looks down at her drink, just like I did the first time I realized she wasn't a kid anymore. "That's how you do everything, anyway, right? By logic."

"I fell in love with boxing, but I wasn't going to be the best. So, I started MMA. I had a talent for it. It made sense."

She takes a sip of her coffee. I'm trying to pretend that everything is logical and clean. I'm trying to pretend there isn't something completely illogical and so dirty that we need a burning, hot shower. "I've made up your room," she says.

"Thank you, Mary, but it's not my room."

"The guest room, but you're the only one who ever stays there."

She seems to get a little sassy. I wonder why. Maybe I'm sending out some vibes I'm not aware of. She bites her lip, almost making me erupt. It's so effortless to imagine her biting it like that for me when I've got my hand on her sex, rubbing her gently, massaging her clit, feeling her pleasure in her thick trembling body, and hearing it in her singsong voice.

"Anyway, I've got work," she says, standing up. "I'll be back later. I can make some food if you want?"

"Sure," I say, wanting to follow her so damn badly. "Thank you, Mary."

She turns and walks down the hallway, giving me the best view of her ass, that light fabric resting against her round globes. I never thought I'd be at Brad's table, looking at Mary, his kid sister, the one who wouldn't stop crying, looking at—I'm fucked, this is fucked —her ass. I want—need—to chase after her, bend her over, pull her dress up, rub my dick against the outside of her underwear, get her wet first, and get her as hungry as I am.