Fatal Knockout (Knockout Series Book 1) Page 8

  As a man, I know we try not to let our emotions show, especially since it makes us weak in society’s eyes. So, respectfully, I lower my head and go inside to give them some privacy. I kick off my shoes in the foyer and head upstairs to our master bathroom. I go to our tub and fill it with warm water. I pick up the matchbox from the windowsill, strike a match, and light the candles sitting at each corner of the tub. I go over to the closet to grab us each a towel and notice Maddie’s collection of essential oils. Grabbing my phone, I look up scents that work best for grief and relaxation. After I read through the information and make sure they’re safe to use during pregnancy, I pick up the bottle of Frankincense and Lavender and drop a few drops under the running water.

  When I have the water where I want it, I shut off the faucet and press the button to turn the jets on. The lights within the fiberglass walls turn the water from purple, to red, then yellow, and orange. Steam fills the room and a woodsy, lemon, and lavender scent fill the air. The smell is intoxicating, relaxing, and soothing—exactly what Maddie needs.

  I walk back out into our room and flip open Maddie’s laptop. Opening her Spotify app, I scroll through her playlists and choose a couple of songs from each of her favorite bands for us to listen to while I bathe her; Radio Head, Passenger, Coldplay, Incubus, Sam Hunt, Florida Georgia Line, and Luke Bryan... I connect the computer to the surround sound in our room and adjust the volume. Once everything is set, I skip steps down to the kitchen and pop open a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling apple cider. When I hear Dawson’s engine roar to life, I grab two glasses and hasten myself back up to our bathroom. I rid myself of all clothes and then fill the glasses. Completely naked, I stand and cup the bowls of the glasses and gently swirl our virgin drinks.

  Maddie rounds the corner and sees me wearing nothing except for a bashful, yet cocky half grin she finds sensual and irresistible. Immediately, her face flushes and she hides her face with her hands. “Baby, don’t you dare hide from me.” I set the glasses down on the vanity and walk to her. My fingers circle her wrist and lower them from her face. “I love that I can still do this to you,” I whisper, kissing each of her heated cheeks. With a cheeky grin, she reaches down and strokes my hard shaft. “I do, too,” she smiles.

  Without delay, I pull her shirt up over her head and unclasp her bra. I rest my forehead against hers and place my fingertips to her collarbone and tickle them down until I reach the button on her pants. I kiss along her stomach until I’ve lowered myself to my knees. I lower her pants and kiss every exposed inch of skin they uncover. Slowly, I kiss my way up her body, sweep her off her feet, step down and submerge our bodies into the warm, scented water. I sit with my back against wall and position Maddie so she’s sitting between my legs, her back to my front.

  She relaxes against me as a slow and familiar melody by Incubus plays in the background. I press the pads of my fingers deep into her lower back and massage up along the sides of her spine. Her head falls to the side and she moans. I reach for the lavender vanilla massage oil next to me and pour some into the palm of my hand. I push all of her hair over to one side and then rub my palms together. Then, I rest my hands onto her shoulders and use the pads of my thumbs to massage along her tense neck, working my way down her back and arms and kneading out the hidden knots beneath her muscles.

  “Thank you for this,” she says, resting her head back on my chest. I squirt shampoo into my hand and lather it into her hair. “I told you to stop thanking me for everything. You thank someone when you ask them to do something for you. You don’t ask. Everything I do for you, baby, I do it because I want to.” She shakes her head and tells me, “That’s not true, necessarily. You thank others to show your appreciation.” I rinse her hair until it’s free of suds and lather her loofa. “When are you going to learn to stop talkin’ back?” She turns herself around and straddles her legs over mine. She pretends to ponder my question, puckering her lips and resting the tip of her chin on her finger. “Never,” she shrugs.

  “You’re such a bad girl,” I growl, craning my neck to kiss her bottom lip. She places her hands on my shoulder and lifts herself up. Placing my hands on either side of her waist, I lower her down my hard length. “Hold on tight,” I tell her. She does as I say and I lift us up from the water and step out onto the shaggy rug. I walk her into our room and lay her onto the bed. “You sure you’re ready for this?” Alluringly, she thrusts her hips and drags her teeth over her bottom lip. “Feel for yourself,” she whispers. I trail two of my fingers over her bare mound, down between her folds, and slip them inside her. Oh, yeah. She’s ready.

  I move my fingers in and out of her and use my thumb to circle her sensitive nerve. Replacing my thumb with my tongue, I move my fingers in a come-hither motion and taunt her sweet spot. “Blaze, baby,” she moans. Removing my fingers, I lift them and trace her lips, wetting them with her own arousal. She grabs my wrist, stills my hand, and sucks my fingers into her mouth. Hot damn… I withdraw my fingers and replace them with my tongue. Impatient, she wiggles beneath me and pushes her hips up to meet mine. A satisfied grin overtakes my lips and breaks our kiss. I get onto my knees and gradually, inch by beautiful inch, let my fingers and mouth worship her silky, soft skin. When I finally reach the soles of her feet, I lift her foot close to my shoulder and massage it. As I massage, I place warm, sensual kisses to the inside of her ankle and she relaxes.

  I know she’s worn out, so I decide to go on and give her what we both desire. Lowering her foot back down to the mattress, I scoot closer to her and sit back on my ankles with my legs spread wide. “Madisyn, I want you to place your feet flat and arch your hips,” I say in a relaxed, authoritative tone. When she arches her hips, I pull her close and sink myself deep inside of her. I hold her right hip for leverage and use my free hand to stroke her swollen center. She tosses her head back and hisses, “Oh, my... Babe, yes!”

  Maddie raises and lowers her hips, her walls contract around me and stroke my cock with each thrust. She’s subconsciously stripping me of my control and self-inducing her climax. With her head tossed back, she drapes her arm across her mouth and bites it in an attempt to stifle her moans. I hike her legs up and rise onto my knees. As if she can read my mind—which I’m still not sure she can’t—she bites her ankles together. In this position I can stimulate her deeper and fill her with all of me. “Stop biting your arm, Madisyn. You know how much I love to hear those sexy moans of yours,” I pant, pumping into her. “And, you know what it does to me to know I’m the reason for them.”

  Releasing her bite, she shakes her head. “No?” I drive into her and still my hips. “Memaw is—” I cut her off right there. “On the other end of the house. Honestly, babe, if it’s good enough for God to hear, I’m sure Memaw would approve.” She smiles. “I mean it, Madisyn. Be as loud as you want, baby. Shake the neighborhood,” I say huskily, pulling back and pounding into her. I find her rough point deep within and roll my hips in a circular motion. “Oh, yeah! Yes, Blaze,” she moans loudly. That’s my girl. I pick up speed and then come to a sudden stop. She whimpers and tries to lift herself along my embedded hardness. “Let’s do this, baby. You ready?” She bites onto her lip and nods. “So ready.” Slithering my hand up and over her stomach to cup her bouncing breast, I roll her hardened nipple between my fingers. “Now?” she asks, breathless.

  I give her five more pumps and reply with a throaty, “Right now.” Pushing into her as far as I can go, I hold still and fill her with my warm release. I let out a guttural growl as her compressing orgasm milks every last drop I have to offer. Leisurely withdrawing from her, I look into her eyes and ask, “How do you feel now?” She raises her head and kisses me. “Exhaustingly satisfied,” she smiles. I lie on my side next to her and she rests her head on my chest. When her breathing is shallow and even, I pick up the crumbled sheet on the other side of her and blanket it over our bodies.

  Eleven

  Madisyn

  “You’re doing great, Annaliesa. That’s it, y
ou got it! Three more. And, two… last one,” I blow out, taking the medicine ball from her hands. “How are you feeling?” She rests her hands loosely on her hips, hangs her head, and breathes heavily. “Like you are trying to kill me. Have we met before? Did I sleep with your boyfriend or something? Sheesh,” she puffs, attempting a smile. “Girl, no,” I laugh at her accent and sense of humor. “You pay me to bring out the best in you, yeah?” She nods and follows me over to the mini fridge for some cold water. She takes the bottle from my outstretched hand, twists off the top, and guzzles the water. “I do. I guess I didn’t realize how out of shape I really am.” She picks up her towel and dries the sweat from her face.

  Shoot, I didn’t either. Annaliesa is a tall and gorgeous woman, 5’11” with very little body fat. Her abdominals are well defined and the muscle definition in her arms and legs is amazing. If anyone were to judge her by looks—her lean and ripped physique—they’d assume her cardio is up to par. Unfortunately, looks can be deceiving. She isn’t where she needs to be, but that’s going to change.

  Today, I had her go through several anaerobic circuits to get an idea of her athleticism, strength, and endurance. She definitely has the strength, but not the endurance. I can tell today was rough on her. But, tougher days are ahead. “Tell me about your previous trainer. What type of training did he focus on most? I’m assuming he didn’t introduce you to high-intensity interval training. Am I right?” I already know the answer from today’s observation, but I ask anyway. “If you are asking me if he tried to murder me like you did, the answer is no,” she laughs. “We focused on aerobic exercise. I’d do things like jog on the treadmill for 30 minutes and change to the elliptical for 15 minutes. And, we sparred a couple times during training weeks,” she fills me in. “And weightlifting?” I point to her cut biceps. She flexes and kisses her muscle. “Definitely,” she smiles. “I know today seemed brutal, but—”

  “Brutal? You are a blood thirsty woman,” she giggles and throws her sweaty towel at me. “Oh, hush it.” I toss her disgusting towel back at her. “You want to be the best, right? Well, I’m going to let you know right now, you are going to endure a crap ton of pain and exhaustion—both mentally and physically. You’re going to hate me by the time I’m finished with you, but I’m committed to you. What about you, Annaliesa? Are you dedicated to letting me help you become the most hardcore fighter in your division?” Genuinely smiling, she broadens her arms and jests, “Definitely. Have at me, Mistress Slave Driver.”

  “I like it,” I grin. “Okay, girlie, let’s get you stretched while your muscles are still warm.” I check her range of motion in her shoulders and hips and notice her muscles are tight. I need to loosen them and work on her flexibility. Fighters, both female and male, need to be flexible in order to perform certain tasks in the octagon. They need pliable hamstrings for kicks and mobile hips to escape holds during grappling. Stretching helps to lengthen the muscle tissue and increases mobility and recovery.

  After 30 seconds of each stretch; arm and leg swings, hip circles, ab stretches, and kneeling back arch to work her spinal muscles, our session is complete. “Before I go, can you tell me what I should expect in the days to come? I don’t need to have my attorney draw up a medical will, do I?” I snicker. “You should have one of those already.” She snaps my thigh with her towel. “I’m serious,” she laughs, snapping my thigh with her towel. “You can expect to do more of what we did today, but for longer periods of time.” Her head falls back and she groans. “Hey, stop that. No groaning allowed, unless it’s coming from me. HIIT training sucks, I know. But as you build endurance, you’ll have more strength and energy and you’ll feel great. Add lots of leg-based moves and you’ll be considered a lethal machine. Have you heard of EPOC?” She shakes her head no. What kind of trainer did she have? Definitely not a certified, professional one. “EPOC is excess post-exercise oxygen consumption, something too many fighters lack. My goal is to have you go the full five rounds without becoming gassed. When your opponent is out of energy and oxygen, you’ll have built up EPOC and can continue to land vicious strikes, kicks, and holds. Therefore, making you the standing victor,” I explain in detail.

  Before I dismiss her from our session, I add, “On Monday, I’ll have you begin with a 20 minute circuit of box jumps, scissor jumps, and pushups to pull-ups. Then, we’ll transition to the speed bag and work on technique. Amy, our nutritionist, will meet with you sometime this week and write out your meal plan. Sound good?” She crosses the strap on her bag across her shoulder and scrunches her nose. “Not really, no.” I narrow my eyes at her and she stands tall. Raising her hand to her head, she salutes me and winks. “See you on Monday, Mistress Slave Driver.”

  As she pushes the door open to leave, Declan enters. Each of them turns and checks one another out. Shyly, Annaliesa drops her chin to her chest and lets the door close behind her. Declan walks to me with his mouth agape. “How hot is she?” He points over his shoulder to the door. “If you like leggy, tan brunettes with bangin’ bodies and a sense of humor,” I pause and shrug, “then she’s smokin’.” When he finally makes it to me, he wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me in for a brief hug. “How are you holding up?” he asks, his voice sincere. “I’m good.” He tsks. “Damn, that girl is hot.” I shove him back. “For a minute, I actually thought you cared,” I glare at him. He chuckles. “Chill, Mads. I was only kidding. You know I care.” I gather my papers up from the mat and head for my office. And of course, Declan is in tow.

  “How was she?” I look at him like he’s crazy. “You saw her, Dec. How do you think she is?” He picks tape up from my desk and begins to wrap his wrist. “She looks like she can do some damage,” he replies, nonchalantly. “Exactly. She looks like she could, but she can’t. That girl has a long way to go, but when I’m finished with her, she’ll be the female version of Blaze,” I tell him. “Nah, that’s not possible,” he shakes his head. “Excuse me?” I ask, somewhat offended. Lord, help him. I know he isn’t doubting my skills. “You’re the female version of Blaze, Mads. No one can replace you,” he mumbles, walking out of my office.

  I tuck Annaliesa’s note into my filing cabinet and go after Declan. “Why do you continue to refuse offers?” He has had several organizations who’ve offered to sign him, but he never accepts. Declan is more than a trainer, he’s a fighter. He needs to accept their proposals and advance to bigger and better opportunities. “Madisyn,” he groans, not wanting to talk about it. “Fine. One day you will tell me why you insist on staying confined behind the walls of this gym,” I tell him, stomping away to grab my purse from my desk. I make it to the door and he calls across the gym, “Drive safe, Mads. I’ll see Blaze and you for dinner at 7, yeah?” Crap. I forgot to tell him that we’re meeting Keisha. “Actually, we’re going by the hospital to see Keisha and Bentley. Wanna come?” He laughs. “Gah, you have a dirty mind.” He picks up a rope and starts jumping. “I’ll see you there,” he winks. I smile and wave bye.

  As I’m walking to my car, a strange man reaches out and grasps my arm, hurtling chills throughout my body. He’s dressed in holey jeans and a ragged red t-shirt, and he looks to be in his mid-fifties. “Can I help you?” I yank my arm from his hold. I’ve never seen this man before, but that doesn’t mean much, considering we’re located half a mile from the local mission. There’s something about this man that has me on guard. His posture and facial expressions are vile, giving me the sense he is up to no good.

  He aimlessly spits his chewing tobacco on the ground next to my shoe. Then, he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around. “Is this where Blaze Benson works?” I pull out my cell to shoot Declan a text, but this old bastard yanks my phone right out of my hand. He cocks his head to one side and his lips form a wicked, lopsided grin. “I asked you a question, lady.” I push out my hand for my phone. “Give it to me or I’ll take it from you. Believe me, you don’t want that,” I warn him. He looks down to my stomach and says, “Don’t look like you’re in a p
osition where you can do much.”

  Stepping one foot back, I load my leg and get ready to slam my knee into the side of his ribcage. Apparently, he notices I’m not joking and he tosses my phone to me. “So, does he?” Why does he want to know? Doesn’t matter, because I’m not telling him anything. I just shake my head and hurry to my car. Once I’m inside, I lock the doors and send Declan a message and warn him about this hateful man standing outside our gym. I’m not worried about him getting inside, because only those who have a badge can open the door. But, if that guy grabs Declan the way he did me, his life will be over. In fact, if Blaze looks at the cameras and notices him, it already is…

  I park my car and get out to grab the mail before pulling into the garage. I enter the kitchen and feel the floor vibrate beneath my feet. Blaze and Dawson must be pulling a late session down in the gym. So, I pull out a stool and go through the mail. I come across a red envelope and set everything else down on the island counter. It isn’t addressed to anyone and there’s no return address. Carefully, I tear it open and pull out the card. Its design is dark red with gold, embossed hearts. Curiously, I open the card and a folded piece of paper falls out. Picking the paper up from the floor, I unfold it and read the typed letter.

  I pray this letter reaches you. Knowing you, as soon as you saw my handwriting you would have torn this letter to shreds. So, instead of writing, I’m typing it. Five years. That’s how long I’ve searched for you. I’ve flown all around the US and sat up front and center at several of your brother’s fights. Each time, I’d try to fight through security to get to him, in order to get to you. I’ve been hauled out of arenas and thrown out on my ass, even got the cops called on me a few times. I’ve went through phonebooks, called information, and looked for Blaze’s and your addresses, but I always came up empty. Finally, I decided to look for anyone with the last name Benson near the Nashville area. And believe me, there are a lot of them. Hundreds of residents will receive the same note you’re reading at this very moment, but I ask you, if you aren’t my Angel Eyes, please don’t read any further…