Page 7 of Sealed in Ink

“A few days. Come back a warrior, ready for training camp. Eight weeks of hell. Then we restore your dignity against Cain Cruz.”

I hang up, running a hand through my hair. I’ve only started doing that recently since looking up and seeing her there, Mary, suddenly a woman, like it happened overnight. Not even that. It’s as though she walked upstairs the quiet, shy, respectful kid and came down all curves and flushed cheeks and promises of claiming her young, juicy ass.

Oh, fuck. I’m getting hard again. I try to think of Brad and remember the lake. I’m so much older than her. I’ve known her pretty much all her life. I shouldn’t let myself think about her this way, but I can’t think of anything else. My biggest advantage as a fighter has always been my mind. I’m clear-headed. I use the time outside practice to rehearse technique mentally.

None of that works with Mary dominating my thoughts. I stand and go into the bathroom, knowing it’s so damn wrong, but I’m hungry in a way I’ve never been before. It’s like my arousal is going to explode. Locking the door, I close my eyes, feeling like I’m possessed, as I free my dick from my pants.

I’m not on the plane anymore. I’m nowhere near this place. I’m completely in the fantasy, back in the kitchen, but Brad’s not here this time. It’s just me and Mary and those denim shorts with her juicy legs hidden in those tights, a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

Stroking fast, I’m almost losing it right away. My fantasy flits to a new scene, skipping all the things I’d take my time with in real life, kissing her body, licking her needy clit, owning her. Now, she’s on her back, her big tempting tits in her hands, bouncing up and down as she stares at me with lust in her eyes. Or desperation, desperate for me to stop, to save Brad, and desperate for me to keep going. To fuck her hard. To fuck her deep. To fuck her so she never wants to feel another man’s dick. Just mine.

After taking some photos with fans, I rent a car and drive through the pine forest of Wrexley. It’s only sixty miles from our hometown. Brad chose to come here because the schools were better. As usual, everything he did was for his kid sister, who I pleasured myself thinking about on the flight. That’s ten, twenty, thirty times I’ve made my loins burn thinking about her.

As I drive, I usually think about techniques or rehearse specific scenarios in the fight. I might listen to a podcast about Jiujitsu or perhaps fight analysis. Soon, the camp will start, with eight weeks of Spartan focus. I can’t allow anything to interfere with that.

The closer I get to their farm—well, their land, since Brad stopped keeping chickens when he opened the hardware store—the bigger this pit in my gut becomes. I’ve heard fighters talk about feeling that before fights. Many of them can’t sleep. Not me. I sleep like a baby. I close my eyes and shut out the world like I did as a kid, somehow sleeping through all that nastiness next door.

I drive up the gravel path to the house on the slight hill. There’s too much privacy up here. Brad is currently visiting his dad. He booked the tickets before I knew I was taking this fight. Marquis wouldn’t hear anything about that changing things, though. Part of being a world-champion fighter is being humble enough to listen to my coach, even if he’s a borderline madman.

Oh, hell. She’s sitting on the porch in the late-afternoon sun. Just the shape of her as she stands and lifts her hand is enough to get me going. My dick starts hardening again, but I can’t let it. I have to focus. Breathe. Stay calm. Ican’tgive into my desire and claim those thick hips.

“Hey, Rust,” she says when I step from the car.

She stands a few feet away, wearing a summer dress fluttering in the light breeze. It’s not short, but the material is thin, outlining her body, her voluptuous thighs, the triangle of her sex, her belly, and her round breasts. Her hair is down and wavy, giving her a naturally sexy look.

I nod. “Mary. How’re things?”

“Oh, you know. So, so.”

I go to the trunk and grab my bag, and we walk up the porch together. I’d normally make somewhat of an effort with her. My desire is never to be rude to people. Just because I’m ice doesn’t mean they have to know it, but I can’t think of anything to say to the woman who, a few hours ago, was bouncing and moaning in my mind. She was mine.

“Coffee?” she asks, gesturing down the hallway.

“Sure.”

We walk past photos of her mom, gleaming bright hair, pearl necklace on in many. I know it was Mary’s idea to put them up. Brad told me. My best, and really only, friend told me.

In the kitchen, I sit at the same table I was sitting at a few months ago when she walked in, and everything changed. I almost have to clench my hands into fists to stop from completely losing it. She leans over the counter, her dress lifting a little, showing me her creamy legs and the backs of her thighs.

Fuck, to walk up, pull that dress up, caress her ass, and glide my dick between her legs.“Don’t turn around. Don’t look. This never happened. Just take my cock.”She’d moan and push against me, sliding up and down my length.

I almost flinch when she puts my coffee in front of me. “Are you okay?” she asks, sitting on the other side of the table. Good. I’d probably grab her if she were any closer. “Nervous about the fight? What am I saying? You’re never nervous, are you?”

Not about the fight, but sitting here with her is spinning something into gear, nerves and lust all at once, clashing, obsessing me.

“He beat me once before. He out-wrestled me. He was stronger and had better technique, but I’ve worked hard since then. There’s a good chance I can stop him from taking me down and knock him out.”

Her lips pull into a small smile. Has she always been this magnetic? Of course, I never noticed her likethatwhen she was a kid. But her personality… Has she always had such an endearing smile? She was always just Brad’s sister. When I think of them now, it’s him asMary’s brother. Everything has switched around. I need to get my priorities straight.

“You talk like a cold-blooded killer,” she says.

I shrug. “It’s better than talking like some men do. Puffing themselves up so they can trick themselves into thinking they can win. Or living in fear. I live in reality.”

Yeah, it’s a reality where kissing my best friend’s sister is the worst thing I could possibly do. I wish she’d stop moving her lips around. It’s like she’s unsure of her expression and trying to tempt me.

“You’re starting camp soon?” she asks.

“As soon as I’m done here,” I reply.

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