“You’re just dying for it, aren’t you? You want me to hurt you, to take you, to do whatever the fuck I want to you,” I growl. Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly. I thrust harder, each snap of my hips stealing her breath so she can’t respond. I lean over her bound hands until my mouth is as close to her ear as I can get. “I’ll give you what you need, Britt.”
With my free hand, I slide it beneath her body to wrap around her neck again. Carefully, I squeeze her throat just enough for breathing to require effort. Britt cries out and her * clenches so hard it disrupts my rhythm.
“Jesus! God, Britt. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
“Keller… I need…”
“I know.” My hand leaves her throat and glides down her abdomen to her slick, hot *. I find her swollen clit and pinch it between my fingers. Britt shatters beneath me, screaming my name as she comes.
I let go of her arms and pull out. In one quick movement, I flip Britt onto her back to ram back inside that wet channel while she’s still climaxing, and drive home hard and fast. I slap her clit with an open palm and her eyes roll back in her head, her entire body shuddering. My balls tingle, squeezing tight, and my own release roars through me, jetting out of my cock so hard I nearly black out from the intensity of it.
On my final thrust, I collapse on top of Britt, both of us sweaty and panting. When I pull out, I feel her shiver from the loss. After tossing the condom, I lift her legs and place them on the bed, then curl up next to her, holding her tight against my side. Britt’s hand lies over my chest, her fingers drawing gentle circles on my skin.
It’s so faint, so quiet, I almost miss when Britt whispers, “Thank you,” right before she falls asleep.
The words pierce right through my walls, the tough outer shell I’ve kept in place for the last ten years. They act like a defibrillator, zapping my black, soulless heart into beating again, and I know right then and there, I can never, ever go back.
Britt
“There’s been no further damage, Miss Reeves. Your EEG is normal, your vision unaffected, and your nerves are all responding properly.” Dr. Marshall slips his penlight in his pocket and steps back from the exam table. “I’d say you are a very fortunate young lady.”
“So, I’m okay?”
Dr. Marshall’s mouth curves down. “You did not suffer lasting or permanent effects from your recent head injury or the seizures.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I fiddle with the hem of the threadbare cloth gown they made me wear for my post-hospitalization follow-up visit with my neurologist.
The kind doctor leans against the cabinet that holds a sink and other medical supplies and crosses his arms over his chest. “Because okay is not a word that will ever describe you, Miss Reeves. You suffered a severe brain injury. Yes, time has passed and you haven’t had any further complications, but you won’t ever be back to the way you were before the incident.”
“The incident”—even my doctors use that term to describe the day that took so much from so many people.
“I know that, Dr. Marshall. I’m asking if I’m the same as I was before the recent seizures.”
“Then yes. I see no evidence of any progression or changes in the electrical output of your brain.” I exhale in relief, but it’s short-lived. “However, it is even more imperative that you take extra precautions to avoid any further head injuries. Especially after having proof that a blow to the head can and will bring on very serious seizures. Take your medications exactly as prescribed and be very, very careful.”
I nod, swallowing down the knot of anxiety that blossoms in my throat. “Okay. I will.”
He smiles. “Great. I’ll see you in three months for a repeat EEG and MRI.”
“Thanks.” Dr. Marshall leaves the room. As I get dressed, the worry comes back. I can’t tell anyone at work about this, about how I have to be cautious not to bump my head again. I’ll just have to be extra vigilant on my own. Just the thought of everyone at the gym tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass makes me nauseous.
And Keller. I can’t lose what I have with him. I need him, his strength, the safety of his arms, the way he makes me feel. Without it, the memories straining to burst free from my mind will take me down in no time, reducing me to an anxious, cowering mess.
No. Just like everything else in my life, I’ll handle this on my own.
* * *
“You’re going to need to go easy for a day or two. Ice and rest, no sparring, light stretching and workouts only.”
I pat the fighter’s ankle and tell him he can go. He grimaces, but manages to give me a weak smile before sliding off the exam table. Sawyer North is one of my favorite fighters. Always calm, always polite, he’s unflappable under stress.
“Thanks, Britt.”