Chapter 8
Then, somewhere along the line, when he was still more boy than man, he’d discovered the opposite sex, and he’d learned a whole new set of games, with a whole new set of stakes.
But he’d never played with a woman quite like Sonia Fairchild.
The woman circling in the octagon was something special.
Her dark sports bra and tight shorts covered the most sensitive parts of her anatomy, but did nothing to conceal the shape of her body, tough yet curvy in all the right ways.
Her skin was still wet with perspiration from the intense bag-work she’d been performing when Nash had arrived, and her sweat shone in the overhead lights, accentuating each sinuous contraction of her augmetically-enhanced muscles.
Her bare stomach was drum-tight between her bra and the top of her shorts.
Her thighs flexed deliciously with each prowling step.
In a life full of both sex and violence, Nash had never seen those two elements combined so perfectly in a single specimen. His cock was already half hard with arousal, and the only thing holding it down was the tight elastic of the compression shorts he was wearing beneath his looser outer pair.
He reminded himself to stay focused. This woman was not to be trifled with.
Still, Nash was a lot bigger than she was, with a longer reach and considerably more muscle. He wasn’t about to go one hundred percent with her. Reece would tear him a new sphincter if he went and injured their primary mission asset so soon after departure.
Plus, Reece obviously felt protective of the woman.
Understandable.
With a quick shuffle-step, Nash advanced on his opponent and threw a pair of quick, testing jabs. Fairchild darted out of the way, agile as a feline.
“Good reflexes,” Nash said.
“You kidding? A xenarth could have dodged that.”
Nash grinned and continued to circle.
He stepped in with two more exploratory jabs, then followed up with a medium-power right cross. Fairchild ducked and countered with a punch of her own, a left-hook aimed at his kidney. He blocked it, but the blow still shook him.
The woman wasn’t holding back.
Nice.
Nash shuffled back, creating some distance, and he studied his opponent again. Her pretty face was tense with focus, her brow knitted, her lips tight. The expression suited her. It sent an extra jolt of blood rushing into Nash’s gradually swelling cock.
He let his eyes drop to her body again. Her sports bra and shorts were damp with sweat and clinging to her skin.
He could see just a hint of her nipples through the fabric, and a suggestion of other things between her legs.
Of course, he’d already seen a whole lot more of her in the briefing room, but it had been dim in there.
Nothing like the bright lights illuminating the combat cage now. His arousal throbbed harder.
Enough testing and teasing. It was time to start taking off her clothes.
Nash moved in again, letting his guard drop ever so slightly as he advanced. His opponent took the bait and swung a hard roundhouse at his head. She was fast as hell, but Nash was ready for her. He ducked under her kick and retaliated with a kick of his own—a spinning leg sweep.
What would she take off first, he wondered, her top or her shorts? Either way, he was going to enjoy the view.
But his kick didn’t connect.
At the last possible instant, the woman sprang off the ground, leaping over Nash’s sweeping foot before slamming her other heel into his temple. Had he been an ordinary man, the blow would have fractured his skull. Fireworks exploded inside his head.
When his vision cleared a second later, he was lying sprawled on the mat of the octagon. Fairchild stood over him, a sweating in elastic weave. She offered him a gloved right hand. He took it.
“That’s one for me,” she said. “Take something off.”
Nash grinned. He’d underestimated the woman, but that didn’t make him upset.
On the contrary, it excited him. She was going to be a handful, but he liked handfuls, he liked trouble.
Guns that kicked a little too hard, bikes with too much horsepower.
He was going to have fun playing with Sonia Fairchild, and now he had the measure of her.
Still grinning, Nash curled his fingers under the hem of his shirt and peeled it off over his head.
He took his time with it, letting his opponent get a nice long look at the stretching muscles of his torso.
It was only at the end that he sped up, whipping the fabric away from his face so he could check Fairchild’s reaction.
Her eyes were as quick as the rest of her, but not quite quick enough.
Nash caught her staring. He saw the slight dilation of her pupils, the subtle way her lips parted in a small gasp.
She immediately darted her eyes up to his face, trying to play it off, but it was already too late. Nash had seen everything.
He chucked his shirt over the side of the cage and resumed his fighting stance.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said.
Fairchild raised her gloved fists. “Fat chance…”
They circled, touching each other with the occasional probing jab or shin kick. The woman’s focus was laser sharp, and she had the reflexes of a coiled snake, but Nash still had her outmatched in terms of raw strength.
He caught one of her counterpunches and went in for a fireman’s carry. Her body whirled across his shoulders, and her back hit the mat with a solid thump. Nash heard the breath leaving her lungs.
Flushed and scowling, she reluctantly accepted his proffered hand, and he hauled her back to her feet.
“Like I said,” Nash chuckled, “your turn to take something off.”
The woman hesitated for a moment, and Nash could practically hear the gears whirring in her head as she made her decision—top or bottom.
At last, she bent and pushed her shorts down her long, smooth legs.
She was wearing panties underneath. A thong, Nash guessed, otherwise he would have noticed her panty-line earlier.
“Give us a little spin,” he said, twirling his finger.
Fairchild scowled harder. “Turn my back to my opponent?” she said as she tossed her shorts out of the octagon. “Yeah right. If you want to get behind me, you’re gonna have to make that happen on your own.”
Nash flashed her a wicked smile.
“Challenge accepted.”
This time, he dispensed with the foreplay and went straight in for the kill. Fairchild tried to catch him with a straight right, but he spun under the punch and came up behind her, catching her in a chokehold.
She was indeed wearing a thong. Nash couldn’t see it, but he could feel the bare cheeks of her ass bracketing the hard shaft inside his shorts. It felt so damn good, he forgot to finish his choke.
With a wildcat snarl, Fairchild whipped her head back, bashing Nash’s lip with the back of her skull. The blow dazed him for only the merest fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to sling him over her body and slam him to the mat.
This time, no hand was offered.
Nash rolled to his knees and licked his busted lip. It tasted of blood, a flavor he knew all too well.
“So,” he said, “she likes to fight dirty.”
“You didn’t set out any rules about headbutts,” she said. “You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you in the balls yet.”
Nash smiled as he rose to his feet.
“Naw,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you want to keep those in good working order.”
Fairchild’s face flared a deep shade of scarlet.
“Enough talk,” she snapped. “Get those shorts off. I’m ready to finish this.”
“A woman who knows what she wants,” Nash said. “I like that.”
He pushed his shorts down and kicked them over the side of the cage, but he never took his eyes off Fairchild’s face.
He could tell she was trying not to look, but she just couldn’t help herself.
Her eyes dipped briefly to the front of his compression shorts, and the hard erection that was bulging the tight fabric.
Her nipples stiffened behind her sports bra.
Her pheromones flared. Nash could smell them.
Fairchild arched an eyebrow.
“Interesting,” she said, trying to mask her desire. “Do you get turned on by losing?”
“I get turned on by a challenge,” Nash said, not even slightly embarrassed about his obvious arousal.
“Well, I’m afraid you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, big boy.”
“Oh, I haven’t even started to bite,” Nash said. “You’ll know when I do.”
Fairchild came at him without warning, a flying kick aimed straight at his chest. Nash turned and caught her leg, channeling her own momentum to swing her in a half circle before launching her straight into the side of the cage. Fairchild crashed into the chain-link and hit the mat hard.
“That evens things up,” Nash said. “Now for the big decision—panties or bra?”
Fairchild glowered at him as she pushed herself up. There was a smudge of red at the corner of her mouth. She knuckled it away, then yanked her bra up over her head. She tossed it to the mat, and the damp fabric landed with a wet smack.
But Nash wasn’t looking at her bra. He was looking at her bare chest. Her breasts were small but perfectly shaped—two perfect handfuls tipped with a pair of dark nipples that were just begging to be sucked. It was all Nash could do to keep from nutting in his compression shorts.
Not yet, Nash told himself. Not till I’ve got this woman tied up just the way I want her.
They approached without hesitation and locked once more in combat, a blur of whirling, half-naked bodies, their attacks and counterattacks flurrying so fast an ordinary human eye would never have been able to follow.
Kick, feint, kick, duck, slice, jab, evade.
Fairchild came at him with a flying knee, but Nash blocked it.
He countered with a push that sent her stumbling back into the side of the cage.
He was on her in a flash, capturing her body between his own and the springy chain-link mesh.
Her naked breasts flattened against his chest. The hardness between his legs pressed against the heat between hers.
Two thin layers of fabric were all that was keeping them apart. The lust was overwhelming.
Before Nash even knew what he was doing, his lips were locked with hers.
He wasn’t even sure who had started the kiss, him or her, but if he’d had to place a bet, he would have bet on himself.
Still, if the woman minded, she wasn’t letting it show.
Her mouth was open, and her tongue was writhing with his own, hungry and wet.
When he grinded his crotch against her, she grinded back.
She moaned like she was on the verge of a climax. Her legs wrapped around his hips.
Then with a sudden, jerking motion, the woman pushed off from the side of the cage and hooked one ankle into the back of Nash’s knee, striking a pressure point.
His leg began to buckle. He started to go down.
Somehow, he managed to save it at the last moment. A quick turn, and they both hit the mat at the same time, face to face, chest to chest, panting, sweating, burning.
“You really do like to fight dirty,” Nash said, “don’t you?”
“Funny,” said Fairchild. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“Unfortunately, that one was too close to call…”
With a sudden surge, he rolled her onto her back and mounted her, his pelvis cradled between her open thighs. He rocked his hips slowly, gliding his bulge against the front of her panties.
“…but if you’d like to go ahead and surrender,” he said, “I promise I’ll be gentle after I’ve got you tied up.”
Her eyes flared briefly as his bulge stroked her sweet spot. Her lips opened in a wet gasp. Her nipples were as hard as steel beads.
Then her face darkened. She arched and rolled, claiming the top position for herself, straddling his hips and pinning him beneath her.
“Fuck that,” she whispered. “A Merc never surrenders.”
She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed hard, surging to her feet. Nash lay on his back for a moment, enjoying the view. His dick was straining hard against the front of his compression shorts, giving the tough elastic a run for its money.
He curled his legs back and did a kick-up, springing to his feet in one fluid motion. He grinned.
“Final round,” he said.
He and Fairchild touched knuckles, then circled briefly. Nash quickly rushed in, closing the distance and initiating a grapple. The woman’s kicks were deadly, but only effective at long range, and his superior size and strength gave him an advantage when it came to throws.
Nash wrapped his arms around the woman’s taut waist and turned, going for a hip toss. He would have had it too, but he faltered for the thinnest possible slice of time. It was a sound that had distracted him. A presence in the doorway of the gym.
Fairchild took advantage of the hesitation, swinging her whole body up and around his own. Her strong thighs scissored around his head, and she arched, using both their momentums to bring him down.
Nash landed on his back with a crash. Fairchild was sitting on his face. The scent of her sex was hot in his nostrils. He could taste it in the back of his throat. His cock bucked hard in his shorts.
“You lose,” Fairchild said.
Nash didn’t even try to fight his spreading grin. As far as losses went, this one felt pretty damn good.