The Fighter’s Prize Read online

  The Fighter’s Prize

  Jessa Kane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  1

  Whitney

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  I finish applying a layer of red lipstick, giving my reflection a nervous check in the rearview mirror of my sister’s ninety-nine Chevy. “I don’t know. But I have to try.” I replace the lipstick in my purse and slump back in the passenger seat. “Whatever keeps our father from handing me over to Banner.”

  My sister, Scout, turns in the driver’s seat, her eyes wide behind thick-rimmed glasses. “Yes, but by all accounts the man you’re planning to seduce is a madman. He might not react well to being played with, Whit.”

  My right leg starts to bounce, drawing my attention to the scandalous hemline of the red, skintight mini-dress I bought for tonight’s mission. It’s something I would never wear. I’m more of a jean shorts and T-shirt girl, but to accomplish my goal, I need to ooze sex.

  Whatever that means.

  “I’ve done research on Maxim Semenov.” Also known as the man I’m going to charm the shorts off tonight. “They might call him The Madman of MMA, but he doesn’t hurt people outside of the octagon. Only in.” I point to my vagina. “Plus I’m a woman.”

  Scout giggles at my antics, but sobers fast. “Okay, let’s go over the plan again.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. “I go into the training gym and play the damsel in distress. Maxim’s protective nature rises to the surface. And once he’s eating out of the palm of my hand, I tell him that if he loses the fight tomorrow night, I’ll be forced to marry the winner.”

  “And then tomorrow night, he’ll refuse to lose.”

  “It’s a long shot.” Glumly, I look down at my B-cups. “But we’re out of options. I’ve begged Father to reconsider, but he owes too much money to the loan sharks. Banner agreed to pay off the debts if I marry him.” I whine a little. “I don’t get it. Why me?”

  Scout snorts. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous, Whitney. You’re also completely uninterested in men. It makes them crazy. This is only way Banner can have you. Bribery.”

  “Doesn’t Father care that Banner has been after me since I was sixteen?”

  “Obviously not. And now that you’re eighteen, he’s putting the pedal to the metal.”

  I fake-gag on my finger. “Gross. What time is it?”

  Scout checks her phone. “Ten o’clock.”

  “Okay, Maxim should be in there alone now. Putting in the extra hours before tomorrow night’s fight.” I fan my flushed face. “Wish me and my B-cups good luck.”

  “They’re amazing B-cups.”

  With a harrumph, I climb out of the car and teeter on my five-inch heels. I try not to feel naked as I cross the street. But I basically am. If I inhale too hard, my tits are going to pop out. One false move and whoops, there’s my booty. Usually I wear my hair up in a ponytail, but the long, honey-blonde length of it is brushing the small of my back now. I’m grateful there’s no traffic on the road, because someone would probably pull over and ask if I forgot to get fully dressed.

  “You got this,” I whisper—

  Just as a downpour starts.

  “What?” I screech, trying—ineffectually—to keep myself from getting soaked. But it does me no good. I’m drenched from head to toe by the time I dash beneath the awning of Cooper’s MMA Training Facility. Dripping and shivering, I lock eyes with Scout through the car window across the road and mouth what the fuck?

  She gives me a sympathetic wince.

  “Okay, I can use this to my advantage.”

  The plan was to tell Maxim my car broke down and I needed to use the gym’s phone. A ruse that would buy me time to charm him. The fact that I’m soaked to the skin is only going to make me more authentic. And I know all about that. Drama is my middle name.

  Not real-life drama.

  Stage drama.

  I’ve been acting in community and school plays since I was tall enough to ride roller coasters. I’ve never had to transfer my acting skills to a real-life situation, but desperate times call for desperate measures. My father has been betting on MMA fights since Scout and I were born and it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out. I never expected him to pimp me out to the meanest, sleaziest fighter on the scene, but I’m starting to learn what people will do when their back is up against the wall.

  Seducing a madman, perhaps.

  This has to work.

  Never mind that Maxim Semenov has never been seen with a woman.

  Isn’t married, doesn’t date, never glances up when the pretty girls preen beside him at weigh-ins. He’s a focused, driven beast in the octagon. What makes me think he’ll decide little ol’ me is worth fighting for? Eh. Still working on that part of the plan.

  No more time to waste.

  Filling my lungs with one, final deep breath, I push into the dark training facility. There is a light beckoning from down the hallway, where I assume the main floor is located. That’s where I’ll find Maxim. We’ve done enough recon to know he stays at Cooper’s until eleven o’clock, every single night. Without fail.

  The rain drowns out the sound of my heels clicking in the hallway. And it drowns out the sound of leather fists thudding into leather, too, at first, but when the main floor comes into view, there is Maxim in the corner, pummeling a red punching bag. One, two, three, before he whips around and delivers a brutal kick.

  I’ve only ever seen the “madman” on television, since live tickets to his fights sell out—and at astronomical prices. He’s even more impressive in person. Sweat pours down his ripped shoulders and back. He’s muscles stacked on muscle. Six foot four. Thighs like freaking cannons.

  He’s a machine.

  And I suddenly feel very, very out of my depth.

  You have no choice. Banner has to lose.

  Maxim must win.

  Which would normally be no problem, except he’s fighting the only man who stands a chance tomorrow night. Banner. It has been billed as the fight of the century.

  The clash of the titans.

  Is there any possible way I can provide some extra motivation for Maxim?

  I guess we’ll find out.

  “Be the part,” I whisper to myself. “Vanish into the moment.”

  I think of my hamster dying in seventh grade and tears rush to my eyes.

  “H-hello?” I call breathily. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but…” I hiccup a sob and wring my hands. “Is there any way I can use your phone?”

  Maxim’s tape-wrapped fists pause mid-punch and his head turns an inch. “Who is there?” he rasps in a low Russian accent.

  “My name is Whitney. M-my car broke down and the battery on my phone is dead. I just need to call for a tow…”

  I trail off when he turns around and I get the full effect of The Madman himself.

  Sweat drips from his black hair, runs rivulets around intense eyes.

  His swarthy skin is stained with ink, reds and blacks mapped over ample muscle.

  The legs of his shorts strain around his thighs. As if he could easily burst free of them.

  This man could murder someone with a flick of the wrist.

  Maybe even that sharp eyebrow he cocks as he rakes me with a stony expression.

  “Forget the tow,” he says, beginning to unwrap his fists. “You need to call for pants.”

  “Oh.” I feign embarrassment, hugging my elbows. “It was girls’ night out.”

  He t
ilts his head. “This is lie.”

  I swallow. “I’m sorry?”

  He takes his time answering, slowly unwinding the tape. “If you went out to bar or club like that, you would not be going home alone.”

  “Yes. I would,” I say testily, veering dangerously close to breaking character. “Because I make that decision. No one else.”

  “You are five feet tall, kotik. Hundred pounds.” He rakes me with a look. “Your decisions could be easily…” He searches for the word. “Ignored.”

  For some reason, I provoke him. I think because he’s provoking my body. Making my lips tingle with awareness, my skin heat wherever he looks. And that isn’t part of the plan. “Would you ignore my decision to go home alone?”

  “Nyet.” He wets his bottom lip, a hint of savagery dancing across his masculine features. “I’d help you make the right one.”

  “Which would be…?”

  For the first time, I notice that the front of his mesh shorts are tented. “Waking up with that dress on my bedroom floor.”

  2

  Maxim

  She is a sneaky, little kitten, this one.

  Normally liars make me very angry, but liars don’t usually look like this Whitney.

  Don’t usually have eyes that make my stomach feel very odd.

  With a low grumble, I rub the area, but it does not dissipate.

  Instead of anger, I find I am curious. To know what is compelling her to lie. To know why she has come in here playing dress-up asking to use the phone. I know little of young girls, but I suspect they do not go places with nearly dead phones. There is intelligence in Whitney’s answers, the challenge of her eyes, and I do not think she would be so stupid to leave her home dressed in such a way without the safety net of a phone. Or a man to protect her.

  A roar builds in my throat so suddenly, it rocks me forward onto my toes.

  “Do you have a man?”

  I growl the question, stomping toward her. Moving in her direction the way I move toward an opponent. With strict purpose. But I do not want to bloody this girl. I want to…

  I want to do things I have never been tempted to do before.

  Things I cannot do tonight of all nights.

  “N-no,” she whispers, backing up two paces. “No man. Not technically.”

  I’ve almost reached her now and my cock is throbbing. Raging in my shorts. What has she done to me, this sneaky little kitten? “What does that mean? You don’t technically have a man? This makes no sense.”

  “Well.” Her tits are taunting me, straining in the neckline of her dress. I want to yank down the bodice and pinch them. Suck them. “There is a man who w-wants to marry me.”

  “Stop backing away from me, kotik. You will fall in those shoes.” I snap, grabbing her elbow, marveling at the softness of her arm, brushing my thumb through the crook with a harsh, amazed sound. “And nyet, you will not marry such a fool.”

  She seems to be having a hard time breathing. Is it because I’m standing so close, forcing her to look up at me? Does she also feel these…urges? “Why is he a fool?”

  “You said he wants to marry you. Yet he has not made it happen?” I run my palms up the outsides of her arms, across her shoulders and into her honey-colored hair. I can’t seem to stop touching her, though I should be shot for doing so with filth-covered hands. “I would not be so complacent, Whitney.”

  A shudder goes through her when I say her name.

  So I say it again. “Whitney.”

  And again. “Whitney.”

  “Stop,” she whispers, swaying closer. “You’re distracting me.”

  “From what?”

  I rub my thumb along the seam of her lips and her eyes turn unfocused. “My…mission.”

  Ah. Now we are getting somewhere. “What is this mission?”

  She shakes herself. “To use your phone. Broken down car, remember?”

  “Hmm.” I am eager to find out how she feels in my arms, so I pick her up and cradle her like a baby, enjoying the way her softness gives against my muscles. She stares up at me, stunned, but doesn’t try to escape. This pleases me. “I will bring you to use the phone.”

  “Uh…thank—thank you.”

  I carry Whitney to the back office, mentally listing other ways to hold her. I could put her over my shoulder, give her a piggy-back ride. Or she could put her legs around my waist, her adorable little wrists locked behind my neck.

  My balls nearly spill a month’s worth of seed at that thought.

  At the image it paints in my mind.

  How easy it would be to wedge my cock inside of her in such a position.

  Would her beautiful face screw up with pain or would she moan, close her eyes?

  Ride me.

  I realize I’ve stopped halfway to the office, my chest heaving with labored breaths.

  “Everything okay, big guy?”

  “No. I am worried what I will do if I get you in back room.”

  Her swallow is loud, as if she is nervous, but I see her nipples have turned to tempting pebbles. Are females always so confusing? “Oh.”

  “I am a fighter, kotik. There is an important contest tomorrow. We don’t allow any…spilling beforehand. Depriving oneself creates an edge. An anger.”

  She seems almost relieved at my explanation.

  The tension in her tiny shoulders ebbs.

  “We could just…um…kiss?”

  Air rifles in and out of my nose. Is she trying to make me come? “You want to kiss me?”

  Her smile is lopsided. “Why start asking questions now? You’ve already picked me up without permission like a caveman.”

  “You are tiny little thing,” I rasp. “I wanted to cradle you.”

  For some reason, her features soften at that. “You don’t spend much time around women, do you?”

  I shrug. “They are around once in a while, but they do not have eyes that hurt my stomach. In truth, I don’t care enough to look at them.” I grunt, bundling her closer. “You…you will be major distraction, kotik. Bad for my career.”

  She purses her lips. “Oops.”

  I hear a strange sound and glance around for signs of a threat.

  Then I realize it’s the sound of my laughter.

  Whitney smiles up at me and my heart jams painfully.

  With a wrench lodged in my throat, I continue stomping toward the back office. “I will murder this man who wants to marry you!” I roar.

  When we reach the office, I don’t know what to do with her. She said kissing. Does that mean I will be on top of her? On the resting couch? I don’t think that would be wise if I want to keep my seed. No, definitely not. With her pinned underneath me, I would ejaculate immediately.

  Neither one of us pretends she actually needs to use the phone. But I still don’t know why she came here. What she needs from me. I want to question her further and determine her game, but I doubt I would be able to focus on anything knowing she’s willing to kiss me.

  Whitney must notice my indecision, because she pats my shoulder. “Could you maybe sit down?” She glances around. “In that chair.”

  It is amusing that this fragile girl seeks to direct me.

  It is alarming how quickly I obey her.

  I settle her carefully on her feet and sit down in the overstuffed armchair, stretching my arms out on the rests, though my hands dangle well over the edges. I didn’t bother to turn the lamp on in the office, so Whitney is backed by the halogens from the main floor, rimming her in light like an angel, and my chest starts to lift up and shudder down, my palms sweating. I’m very aware that I could rip off her tight, flimsy red dress with a swipe of my pinky.

  I make a rough sound when she steps between my outstretched thighs and settles her hands on my shoulders. Tentatively. This has brought her tits even closer, those tiny buds straining so close to my face, I might live up to my nickname and go mad. This is when I notice her smell. Fresh fruit. Cantaloupe, grapes, pineapple. It imprints on my senses foreve
r.

  “I guess I’ll just go for it, then,” she whispers, lowering her face to mine.

  My fingers dig into the arm rests.

  Her soft, painted mouth touches mine and she sips at my upper lip. Feather light. My lower lip is given the same exquisite treatment. She teases my mouth so softly, but my cock reacts as if it is being suckled, standing straight up like a column in my shorts. I open my mouth to groan and she hesitates a second, before sliding in her tongue, lapping at mine like the kitten she is. And I can no longer let her explore.

  I reach for her hips and drag her down into my lap, giving her no choice but to straddle me, though I am so much larger, her knees do not even reach the seat of the chair. Caught off guard, she loses her balance slightly and her tits land hard against my bare chest, her hair falling forward over one wide blue eye.

  Beautiful. So beautiful it feels as if someone is sawing my windpipe in half. It is also obvious that whatever game Whitney came here to play, she is clearly very innocent.

  She pushes up slightly, but the hem of her dress is caught between us, so the material pulls and out pop two luscious, little tits.

  My hoarse moan is loud in the small office.

  “We cannot let me spill, kotik.”

  “Right. Right.” Whitney scrambles to pull up her neckline, but the dress is too short. She cannot accomplish the task without sacrificing the material covering her ass.

  “See?” I rasp, reaching behind her yanking the hemline up and over her hips, baring her backside. “This is why pants are important, da?”

  She stares at me with pink cheeks. Nods.

  And then she slides closer in my lap…and her warm pussy pins my cock to my belly.

  Every nerve ending from my head to my toes twists into tight knots, my balls wrenching up and digging into my lower body. Ordering me to ease the pain. But I can’t. I can’t.

  I drop my head back and pant up at the ceiling.

  Whitney’s face appears over mine, her lips brushing my mouth and there is no more gentleness after that. I clutch her young ass in my hands and urge her to hump me through my shorts. And…oh God. One rub of her pussy and I almost shout the ceiling down.