Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I dream I’m climbing a tree, but the branches move to securely hold me in while it grows. Higher and higher, toward the stars, and I’m not afraid of falling. I rest against the solid boughs, tight enough for safety but loose enough to let me breathe.
And then I wake to find myself wrapped up completely in Danny’s arms, tucked under his chin as he sleeps. This time, I don’t panic. I melt into his body, letting his warmth relax me. I hit the snooze button on my alarm and fall back into a heavy sleep.
When I open my eyes again, I can tell Danny is awake from the quietness of his breathing, although he is as still as a tree, holding me in his arms, careful not to wake me.
“Morning,” he says, not moving a muscle.
“I slept in. Again.”
“Seven o’clock is not sleeping in by anyone’s standards. It’s a very normal wakeup time.”
I’m aware of tiny circles he’s now drawing on my upper arm.
Barely there, little caresses that ignite a massive response in my body.
My heart beats quicker, sending blood rushing down.
I become aware of my breathing, trying to keep it rhythmic so he doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on me. I swallow hard.
His fingertips slip over to my chest now, gently, but confidently. I don’t dare move a muscle, letting his little circles dance and cause their fiery chaos. God, the pleasure he knows how to unleash within me.
I shift a bit to give him better access to my breasts, a tiny movement, but he takes it as intended, an invitation to my body. He turns, rolling me under him like a wave, propping himself up on one massive arm.
He runs his nose down my forehead and to my lips, nuzzling me, his right hand gripping mine and drawing it up over my head, pressing it into the mattress.
“It’s morning,” I whisper, while his kneecap finds purchase between my legs and draws them open, pressing upward until delicious pressure compounds between my legs. “The time for discipline. We’re supposed to be gratitude journaling.”
“Fuck gratitude journals,” he says into my hair, nipping at my neck.
A sounder argument has never been made. I slip my legs open further and arch my back, and Danny strips my tank top up and over my head, catching my nipple in his mouth before I have a chance to drop the piece of clothing to the floor.
“I’m grateful for this,” he says, kissing my right nipple.
“And this,” doing the same to my left. “And this.” He continues to trail downwards, worshipping my body, giving thanks as he goes.
His large hands run down the length of me until his fingertips snag on my panties.
He drags them down my thighs until I lift my legs up to assist. When I do, his palm finds my sex with dull, necessary, even pressure.
I arch into him. He accepts the invitation, slipping a finger inside.
“You are so fucking pretty,” he says, kissing my cheeks, my lips. His fingers dance on the outside of me, swirling and slipping in rhythmic pulses, leaving me wanting more. “Every time I look at you, I want to kiss you. You really are addictive.”
I slip my hands beneath the waistband of his joggers, and he shudders in anticipation.
Wait. Anticipation … or pain?
Beneath the fabric, Danny’s abdomen is a watercolor painting of bruises. Blues and greens wrap around his midsection.
“Danny—”
“It’s OK. Just some training bruises.”
“There are so many.” I dip down and kiss them, my lips feeling the temperature change on his skin where he’s healing. Then I move lower, gripping his dick with both hands and placing him in my mouth.
He moans and rolls to his back as I blow him softly, sucking and licking the length of his smoothness. He keeps one gentle hand on my hair, and I luxuriate in the sounds of his obvious pleasure.
“Condom,” I breathe when my arousal threatens to boil over. “Now.”
He reaches for one in the nightstand and unrolls it down his shaft.
Then he reaches for me, helping me maneuver on top of him.
I sink down, and his eyes hold mine as I’m filled with him.
He moves me in gentle waves, his hands supportive behind me as we find our rhythm, his eyes watching for tells of pleasure and pain.
When it’s clear I’m immersed in pleasure, he closes his eyes and brings his head up to my chest, wrapping his arms around my back until we move as one.
He quickens beneath me, steeling himself until I’m ready. I join him, both of us chasing ecstasy, trying to catch it together. We do, tangled up, crashing together, rolling and kissing and nipping, shaking until we still, again in each other’s arms.
“Excellent morning ritual,” he says, almost out of breath. “So much better than tai chi.”
I laugh, putting my hands to my face. But for once, my cheeks don’t burn with embarrassment at the intimacy. My blood is too busy elsewhere, still ferrying postorgasmic feel-good chemicals throughout my body.
Danny smooths my hair down and tucks me back under his jaw. His body stills as he slips back toward sleep.
“Nope,” I say, leaving his embrace with great effort and propping myself up on one arm. The duvet slips down, revealing my breast, but I don’t bother covering it. “We need to get up.”
Danny’s eyes home in on the exposed flesh, and he touches a finger to it, caressing me with soft upward strokes. “There is nothing that would make getting out of this bed with you worth it.”
I smile, looking up to the ceiling as his fingers continue to caress my breast, slowly making their way down to my nipple.
“It’s time for showers, breakfast, and the gym,” I insist. “We are so close to fight night. It would be stupid to take our foot off the gas now.”
“What happens after fight night?” he says. His hand stills near my heart.
“You’ll get your shot at being the world champion. And I’ll land the job in Malibu for the summer.”
Danny furrows his brow. “And that will be it?”
I swallow hard. God, I don’t want it to be …
“Well, there will be a great deal of offboarding paperwork,” I say, my eyes sliding to the side.
“A somewhat vague and likely padded bill. But yeah. That will be it.” Keep your voice steady.
Don’t let him see how close you are to breaking the rule.
How close you are to falling for him. “We’ll … both get our lives back.”
“Oh.” He lies very still next to me, and soon the room reverberates with quiet. A car honks outside, several stories below.
I toy with a tuft of his chest hair. If only time would slow down. I’m not ready to leave this space with him. The space where I’m finally not afraid. To be naked. To make eye contact. To make love … or at least something like it.
“Well, if we only have thirteen days left together, we’d better make the most of it.” Danny hops up and pins me on all fours. “New lesson,” he says, nipping my neck lightly.
I laugh and wriggle beneath him, drunk on his attention. Relieved to let the fear of losing him go for now.
“Oh?” I reply coyly.
“Yep. How to make egg whites and spinach actually taste good.” He grins at me and hops off the bed, grabbing some joggers on his walk out to the kitchen.
Soon, I’m at the kitchen island sipping an americano, while Danny chops herbs and cubes fresh feta for our omelets.
He hums a bit as he cooks, his broad shoulders drawing all my attention when he turns toward the cast iron, flipping diced onions and bell peppers in the pan.
He’s as capable in the kitchen as he is in the bedroom, and it’s impossible not to stare.
We eat on his balcony, sharing a newspaper and sipping our coffees as the world wakes up below.
When it’s clear we’ll be late if we linger any longer over breakfast, I rinse our dishes and leave them in a sink of soapy water to soak while we take a brisk warm-up bike ride down to the fight gym, where Gracie no doubt has a more painful morning ritual planned for Danny.
One I plan on addressing whether he likes it or not.
Topher and Danny spot each other as they lift in the glass-encased weight room of the gym, while Gracie sits at her desk, her brow furrowed, reading emails on an ancient desktop.
“Yes,” Gracie says in greeting, without looking up.
I stand awkwardly, my fingertips on her desk. “These are beautiful,” I say, admiring the dark dahlias arranged in a clay vase. She snatches the card before I can read it, but it’s no secret who they’re from. Well done, Topher.
“Danny looks ready,” I say, bringing it all up nice and easy.
“And you would know what ready looks like how?”
“I just mean, his weight is on track, and he’s starting to focus on defense, like you wanted. But I need to talk to you about his bruises. He’s covered in them. I respect our different roles and would like to stay in my lane, but your training methods … don’t you think they’re a little rough?”
“A little rough?” Gracie raises one eyebrow at me. “Honey, this is ultimate fighting. We’re just getting started.”
“But couldn’t you alter your techniques a tiny bit? If only to keep him away from trying to self-medicate with baked goods.”
Gracie folds her hands together, the position highlighting her defined arm muscles.
“This is a title elimination bout. Do you even know what that means?”
My heartrate tics up. I’ve been secretly reading Mixed Martial Arts: The Book of Knowledge by B. J. Penn, but wasn’t expecting a pop quiz. “Um, I know it’s important to Danny.”
Gracie rolls her eyes. “Whoever wins this fight gets to challenge the champion for the belt.”
“A title shot,” I say, nodding. “I know.”
“Well, do you know if Danny loses his career will be over?” Gracie’s eyes are filled with intensity. “The league is done with him. This is his last title eliminator—ever.”
I take in a shaky breath. Danny is always so relaxed, it’s hard not to relax along with him. But Gracie is right. This fight is make or break for his career.