Crash: A Bad Boy MMA Romance Read online

  Crash

  A Bad Boy MMA Romance

  by

  Haylee Delane

  ***

  Copyright © 2016 Haylee Delane

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Join Haylee’s mailing list.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter One

  I drew back my clenched fist, my teeth biting into the mouth guard. Every muscle in my body screamed for release as I slammed my fist forward. Blood and sweat trickled down my brow. My fist connected, smashing into my opponent’s jaw. His head snapped back, and his body reeled.

  Pivoting into my fighting stance, I readied for a second swing. But his back fell hard against the mat. His body bounced once and went still. The ref climbed into the ring, counting out my opponent’s knockout. The bell dinged and the ref thrust my fist into the air. I removed my mouth guard and spit blood on the mat. I’d won. Fuck yeah.

  The crowd cheered and booed. I was a foreigner taking the Brazilian MMA championship. I’d made plenty of haters, and plenty of fans. Hands clapped on my back as I shuffled through the crowd to my locker room. The stench of sweat and piss stung like the gash on my head and tear in my gums.

  Camera flashes blasted my eyes and someone handed me a towel. I wiped the sweat and blood from my face and stared down a reporter. He stood a foot shorter than me. The kind of man I could break in two with one hand.

  “Crash Nolan, infamous American fighter. What do you have to say to those who would challenge your title?” the reporter said in heavily accented English.

  “Bring it,” I said.

  Reporters shouted questions in Portuguese, a language I barely spoke. I waved them away, and finally, my trainer pushed them out of the locker room. He’d made a percentage of my winnings. Making sure I wasn’t fucking annoyed was an important part of his job.

  “Crash! We did it, man.” His accent was as thick as the reporter’s.

  “Did you doubt it?” I pulled my gloves off and opened a bottle of water.

  “Of course not. You’re the best.”

  “That’s motherfucking right.” I pulled my shoes and shorts off and stepped into the shower. Winning the Brazilian championship had been my goal for the last year. I’d lived and breathed Brazilian fighting. Not that this championship meant much more than any other. Since leaving the Marines two years ago, I’d been throwing myself into any battle that was worth the challenge.

  The water sprayed down on my bruised flesh, running across the intricate tattoos I’d acquired over a lifetime as a warrior in the service and on the streets.

  Running soap through my cropped hair, it oozed into the gash over my eye. It stung, but it woke me up, made me remember why I did this shit in the first place.

  Maybe it was for the fame, the glory. The escape. But my trainer knew what I wanted most after a fight. The bottle was waiting for me on the counter when I emerged from my shower. I grabbed it and took a long swig. Tequila. There was only one other thing missing. Maybe two.

  “Where are my fans?” I asked, pulling on a pair of light pants and a t-shirt before sliding into a pair of slip-on sandals.

  “They’re waiting in the limo.” His grin showed the row of gold teeth in his mouth. I smirked and took my bottle to the back door that led out to the street. A limo sat parked in the alley.

  “Since when do I get a limo?” I asked.

  “Since you won the championship. You’ve got a room in San Paulo’s best resort tonight, bro. And two tasty treats ready to be unwrapped inside the car.”

  He opened the door. Two women I recognized from the front row smiled up at me from the plush black seat. Long legs and large breasts greeted my hungry eyes. I licked my lips. They’d do. Exactly the kind of women I liked after a fight. Ready and willing. I could almost feel their full lips around my cock.

  My trainer clapped me on the back, and I sank into the limo. The girls’ hands were on me, rubbing up my thigh and under my t-shirt. Fuck. Time to lose myself in a haze of tits and pussy. The blond gripped my cock over my pants and giggled, her breasts thrusting into my face.

  “Have fun,” my coach said, closing the door behind me.

  The driver slowly pulled out of the alley, into the street. My trainer was going to be pissed when he learned I planned to go back to the States for the next season. Brazil had been fun, but I’d been away for too long. There were things I had to deal with at home. And no amount of sweet Brazilian ass would change that.

  The second girl was up on my lap, doing a reverse cowgirl, showing off that ass. I took a swig of tequila and slapped her big, brown booty as she twerked it for me. The blond had her tongue on my ear, licking and nibbling my lobe like her life depended on it.

  I’d had two women at the same time before. I knew what these girls wanted. We might not make it back to the resort before I gave it to them. As the brunette did her thing on my lap, the blond reached inside my pants, feeling for my cock. I heard her breath hitch when she found it.

  “Yeah, baby, you like my big, fat cock in your hand?” I asked her.

  She moaned, gripping the shaft. She ran her manicured hand up the length and plunged it back down again. The brunette must have felt jilted because she turned around and sank to her knees between my legs. The blond glared at her. I thought these bitches were a team.

  The brunette licked my exposed cock, making the blond stroke me harder.

  “There’s enough Crash to go around, girls,” I muttered, taking another swig of tequila.

  The limo stopped in front of the resort and the driver lowered the window between us a few inches.

  “Are you ready to go inside, sir?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I pushed the girls back and pulled up my pants, adjusting my hard cock. Didn’t want to terrify the tourists on the way through the lobby.

  “Everything has been arranged. I can take you and your guests straight to your room.”

  We piled out of the limo and followed the driver through the front lobby and up to the elevator to the top floor. He opened the door to a lavish room, and both girls began gasping and chattering in Portuguese like they’d won the lottery.

  The blond found a bottle of champagne on the coffee table and poured three glasses, handing one to the brunette and the other to me. I chugged down the bubbly and set my glass on a random counter. The driver had already disappeared, but I hadn’t noticed when. I was getting a pretty good buzz from my tequila.

  The bottle still gripped in my hand, I sat down on the luxury couch and glanced at the two girls who were fawning over the room. I cleared my throat a
nd they looked over at me, suddenly remembering why they were here. They got the honor of pleasuring the MMA champ of the year.

  The smiles focused on me as they sauntered across the room. “Let’s finish what we started,” I muttered, running my hand through the blond’s hair. She giggled and unzipped my pants, falling to her knees in front of me.

  Not wanting to be outdone, the brunette pulled her dress off and walked over in a g-string and no bra. The blond was already licking up the length of my cock and was too busy to get undressed. No need. The brunette had bigger tits and a nicer ass.

  The blond kept licking my cock up and down. Too fucking slow. She needed to get those lips around my length. I gripped her hair tighter and pushed her mouth down over my knob. She moaned as I slid into her face. The brunette climbed up toward me and lifted her tits into my face. I leaned over and sucked her nipple, then bit it between my teeth. She moaned and cupped them, moving them closer to my mouth.

  I pushed the blond’s head down, then lifted her up, pumping into her hot mouth. She gagged and pushed away, sucking a breath into her mouth. The brunette took the opportunity to suck me down. These girls needed a little competition to stay motivated. I knew I was big, but they shouldn’t have come if they couldn’t handle it.

  The brunette had more skill and took my length with groaning abandon. The blond leaned back on the couch and pulled up her skirt, showing me she wasn’t wearing panties. With the brunette bobbing up and down in my lap, I ran my hand up the blond’s thigh and dipped my fingers in her wet pussy. She groaned and bit her lip.

  I could feel myself tightening, ready to blow. Fuck. I dove harder into the brunette’s mouth while thrusting deeper into the blond’s pussy with my thick fingers. She moaned, her pussy clenching on my fingers, and I blew. The brunette sucked it down, lapping up my cum like ice cream.

  The girls seemed pretty proud of themselves. I picked my bottle up from the coffee table and gulped down a shot. Standing, I blinked, noticing my vision start to double. Damn. That blow to the head must have been worse than I’d thought. I staggered to the bedroom and stumbled into bed, my bottle barely making it to the night stand. The girls came in after me, but I didn’t remember that part until the next day.

  I woke the next morning, my mouth dry and my head aching. The first thing I noticed was the arms slung over me from both sides.

  Fuck. I’d meant to be balls deep in pussy last night. I guess that’s what happens when you take a blow to the head from a heavyweight champ and then down half a liter of tequila.

  I slapped one tanned ass after the other and woke the girls up. They were half dressed and groggy, angry that I’d woken them.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” the blond said, reaching out to touch me.

  “Get the fuck out. Both of you,” I growled.

  “Hey,” the brunette protested. “Didn’t we give you a good time? We could have a replay.” She reached for my flaccid cock, and I batted her hand away. I never fucked a broad more than once. Not even in the face.

  “Get out. Now.”

  My tone didn’t leave any room for discussion. They simmered and griped as the climbed out of bed, searching for their things. They had exactly five seconds to gather their skanky-ass clothes and get the hell out of my room.

  “Out!”

  They yelped and trotted out of the room with their heels in their hands and their tops barely on. Fucking finally.

  I rubbed my eyes and trudged into my living room. There was a coffee maker in the mini kitchen, and I threw a prefilled bag of coffee in the dispenser and turned it on. My mouth tasted like ass, and I hadn’t even eaten any pussy last night.

  I growled at myself and walked to the bathroom for a piss and a shower. There was still red lipstick on my cock when I pulled it out. Pink and red.

  I liked a blow job as much as the next red-blooded American male, but the sight of it turned my stomach. Must have been the tequila. How could I tire of random women sucking me off?

  I knew it was a legitimate question, but one that I pushed out of my mind. These encounters had been becoming less and less fulfilling as time passed.

  Since I’d left the Marines two years ago, it felt like I’d fucked and been sucked by every girl in the free world. Not that that was possible. But I’d sure as hell tried. It was a miracle that I still had my dick and was disease free.

  I turned on the shower and stepped under the stream, washing the lipstick stains off my skin. The water still stung the gash over my eye. I hadn’t had it properly bandaged in my eagerness to get drunk and laid.

  When I emerged, I looked at it in the mirror. The wound had stopped bleeding but it looked ugly. Fuck it.

  I dried my hair and skin and found a bag of clothes in the bedroom waiting for me. My trainer was a good man. He knew what I needed. That still wasn’t going to keep me from going back to the States. No matter how much money I made him.

  I pulled on a pair of board shorts and a tank top. When I emerged into the living room, my coffee was finished brewing and I made myself a cup.

  Standing on the patio, I looked out on the beach below. Tourists were already out on the white, sandy beaches and frolicking in the pool.

  The sight of vacationers made my stomach sink. Without my two terms in the Marines and my fighting career, I never would have been able to afford a place like this.

  My thoughts drifted to home and what I’d been avoiding all this time. I’d have to face it sooner or later.

  Chapter Two

  “He’s looking at you, Harper,” Ava said with a twinkle in her eye. I glanced down the length of the bar at the man my friends had been eying since we’d gotten there an hour ago.

  His simple black t-shirt hugged his impossibly toned frame. When he lifted the amber beer bottle to his lips, the tattooed length of his forearm came into clear view.

  Our eyes locked for an instant. His bright blue irises widened when he caught me looking. I snapped my gaze away and focused on my own margarita glass. Already empty.

  Ava filled my glass again and nudged me in the side. “He’s coming over here,” she said too loudly. The other girls I’d come to Brazil with giggled as he approached. For twenty-something women with medical degrees, they certainly could behave like horny teenagers at the drop of a hat.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, tipping his beer bottle to his full lips again. When he lifted his arm, his tight shirt rose over taut, rippling abs, showing the slightest peek of his magnificent flesh. Oh God.

  “Hi,” I said flatly. This guy was so not my type. I knew exactly what men like this were. Players. Even if I was on vacation between medical school and residency, the last thing I needed was an empty hook-up with a stranger.

  He rubbed his stomach, showing even more of that enticing skin. My body responded, betraying me, with a twitch between my legs. He noticed my lack of interest in his bad boy demeanor and changed his tactic.

  “Tequila shots, ladies? On me.”

  “No,” I muttered. But it was too late. My friends agreed emphatically. He cocked his head and snapped his fingers at the bartender.

  “A round of tequila shots for my friends,” he said over the sound of bossa nova and laughter.

  Then he turned his gaze back on me. His chiseled face was covered in a brilliant, panty-melting grin. I was sure that kind of thing worked with other girls, but it wasn’t going to work on me. No matter how much my friends encouraged me to have a rebound fuck. I didn’t care that I’d just broken up with my long-term boyfriend a month ago. I didn’t need to sleep with some random guy to get over it.

  The bartender brought a tray of shots and set them in front of the newcomer who’d slid into a seat across from me.

  “Keep them coming,” he said as the bartender walked away.

  Ava and Mia greedily took the shots, and Ava stared at me when I didn’t take the last one. The sexy stranger gulped his down and slammed the glass on the table, smacking his lips and grinning at my friends.

  I roll
ed my eyes and took the glass. I hated shots. They always burned my throat and made me gag. But I hated being one-upped by my friends even more. The man stared at me with that ridiculous smile on his face. I wanted to wipe it right off.

  Taking the shot glass between my thumb and forefingers, I brought it to my lips and threw it back in one gulp. Fire burned down my throat, and I forced myself not to cough and gag. Damn it. Why did I have to be so competitive, even when it got me into trouble?

  “My name’s Crash,” he said, not asking anyone’s name.

  I wasn’t going to give up any information to this guy. I’d sworn off men when I broke up with Jeremy. Men were either controlling or losers. Or both. There didn’t seem to be an alternative when it came to the male gender. I was done with them.

  “I’m Ava, that’s Mia, and this,” she said, gesturing to me like I was some prize on a game show, “is Harper.”

  “Harper. It suits you,” he said.

  “Why?” I snapped back, challenging him. I wasn’t going to fall for his lame pick up line.

  “Because you’re a strong black woman. But underneath, you’re sexy and sweet as sin. Like a hard candy with a soft center.”

  “You could have said that about any name,” I countered.

  The bartender brought another round of shots. I could feel Crash’s eyes on my breasts. We’d come in from the ocean and we were still wearing our bikinis. The others were wearing light cover-ups. I had on a sarong around my waist, leaving my top totally exposed to his lecherous gaze. Why hadn’t I changed?

  Everyone grabbed for the drinks. Not wanting to be outdone, I grabbed one and threw it back as quickly as the rest of them. I’d already had two glasses of margarita by then and the shots were going straight to my head. After a long day in the sun, I was coming up on one hell of a buzz.

  Most of the time, my competitive streak was fulfilled by dominating my class in medical school. Here, in a bar in Brazil, I was out of my element. What made me a great student also made me a terrible drinker. Crash’s muscled arm casually slung over the back of the chair, and he gave us all that brilliant smile. There was a gash above his eye, and I wondered how he’d gotten it.