Read Online Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) by Holly Hart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Holly Hart
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asked, cutting myself off – suddenly and irrationally nervous that by bringing up his imperfections, the ones I wanted to keep hidden would be revealed as well.
"These?" He asked, looking down. "Who knows. Who cares. We've got better things to be doing than talking about some bar-brawl scar I got years ago."
As I let out a sigh of relief, Conor unbuckled his heavy leather belt and yanked his jeans down, leaving them hanging off one leg with his thick cock poking its way out of his thin boxer shorts.
He leaned forward, kissed me fiercely, and enveloped my firm breasts with his thick, powerful hands. His palms were softer than I expected, or perhaps he simply moved more gently than a man with his scarred, intimidating demeanor had any right to.
I sighed again, this time with sheer pleasure as a bolt of electricity traveled from each nipple down and met in between my legs, where a fire was building – a fire that begged to be released.
A strange, powerful, guttural growl grumbled in Conor's throat as he looked down at my half-naked body. I wanted to hide, felt as though I must have put on a dozen pounds – and a couple more marks too – since he'd last seen me like this, but his face didn't register so much as a hint of dismay. His eyes glinted even through the darkness with a fiery need, and he looked at me like I was the first woman he'd ever laid eyes on. It was a hungry, possessive look, and it made me feel wanted .
"Please, Conor." I begged for the second time. This time, though, I knew what I wanted him to do. "Fuck me, will you?"
I pushed my hands into his soft, dark red hair as he replied. "I thought you'd never ask."
He kicked off the pants leg which was still stubbornly attached to his left leg, and fell forward on top of me, gently cushioning the drop with his powerful forearms. I gasped as our heads came within an inch of clashing against each other, but he just grinned – indicating to me that he'd never even come close to losing control of his body. I believed him. Even when we met as teens, Conor had been precociously in command of both his body and his mind.
It hadn't been easy, back then, to break down the walls he'd constructed to protect his emotional well-being after years spent scrapping away on the streets to put food on the table, but I'd managed it.
Once.
I wondered if it would even be possible a second time. For all the pent-up sexual energy coursing through the pair of us, I couldn't help but notice that Conor was holding himself somehow separate, apart.
He kissed me, banishing the thought from the front of my mind. It stayed rooted somewhere deep in my brain.
His hand traced its way down my body and toward the burning center between my legs. This time it traveled fast, unhesitatingly, and he thrust his hands under the soft material of the old pair of panties that were desperately preserving what remained of my modesty. I clenched my legs together, embarrassed of the bush of hair that I knew had grown between them, but he pushed aside my last minute resistance with a chuckle.
He stroked the hair gently. "I don't mind it," he whispered into my ear, then bit down on my lip as he pushed his index finger between my legs – and into me.
I gasped. "Conor…"
He took my reaction as approval, and it was. My legs parted as though he'd asked them to, but the fact was that I simply couldn't have resisted him for even another second. My mind had imagined this moment every night for years, and ever since I saw Conor's face in the octagon earlier this evening, even through all my worry, I'd barely been able to think about anything else.
Conor slowly buried his finger two knuckles deep inside me, grabbing the soft flesh of my ass with his left hand and grazing it gently with his fingernails. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, his bristly facial hair scraping deliciously against my soft skin, and I couldn't help but thrust my hips forward and open my legs for him to use however he wanted.
He
"These?" He asked, looking down. "Who knows. Who cares. We've got better things to be doing than talking about some bar-brawl scar I got years ago."
As I let out a sigh of relief, Conor unbuckled his heavy leather belt and yanked his jeans down, leaving them hanging off one leg with his thick cock poking its way out of his thin boxer shorts.
He leaned forward, kissed me fiercely, and enveloped my firm breasts with his thick, powerful hands. His palms were softer than I expected, or perhaps he simply moved more gently than a man with his scarred, intimidating demeanor had any right to.
I sighed again, this time with sheer pleasure as a bolt of electricity traveled from each nipple down and met in between my legs, where a fire was building – a fire that begged to be released.
A strange, powerful, guttural growl grumbled in Conor's throat as he looked down at my half-naked body. I wanted to hide, felt as though I must have put on a dozen pounds – and a couple more marks too – since he'd last seen me like this, but his face didn't register so much as a hint of dismay. His eyes glinted even through the darkness with a fiery need, and he looked at me like I was the first woman he'd ever laid eyes on. It was a hungry, possessive look, and it made me feel wanted .
"Please, Conor." I begged for the second time. This time, though, I knew what I wanted him to do. "Fuck me, will you?"
I pushed my hands into his soft, dark red hair as he replied. "I thought you'd never ask."
He kicked off the pants leg which was still stubbornly attached to his left leg, and fell forward on top of me, gently cushioning the drop with his powerful forearms. I gasped as our heads came within an inch of clashing against each other, but he just grinned – indicating to me that he'd never even come close to losing control of his body. I believed him. Even when we met as teens, Conor had been precociously in command of both his body and his mind.
It hadn't been easy, back then, to break down the walls he'd constructed to protect his emotional well-being after years spent scrapping away on the streets to put food on the table, but I'd managed it.
Once.
I wondered if it would even be possible a second time. For all the pent-up sexual energy coursing through the pair of us, I couldn't help but notice that Conor was holding himself somehow separate, apart.
He kissed me, banishing the thought from the front of my mind. It stayed rooted somewhere deep in my brain.
His hand traced its way down my body and toward the burning center between my legs. This time it traveled fast, unhesitatingly, and he thrust his hands under the soft material of the old pair of panties that were desperately preserving what remained of my modesty. I clenched my legs together, embarrassed of the bush of hair that I knew had grown between them, but he pushed aside my last minute resistance with a chuckle.
He stroked the hair gently. "I don't mind it," he whispered into my ear, then bit down on my lip as he pushed his index finger between my legs – and into me.
I gasped. "Conor…"
He took my reaction as approval, and it was. My legs parted as though he'd asked them to, but the fact was that I simply couldn't have resisted him for even another second. My mind had imagined this moment every night for years, and ever since I saw Conor's face in the octagon earlier this evening, even through all my worry, I'd barely been able to think about anything else.
Conor slowly buried his finger two knuckles deep inside me, grabbing the soft flesh of my ass with his left hand and grazing it gently with his fingernails. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, his bristly facial hair scraping deliciously against my soft skin, and I couldn't help but thrust my hips forward and open my legs for him to use however he wanted.
He
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