Ch.2 SEXUAL CONTENT WARNING
Author's Note: The sport of MMA isn't easily censored. Neither will this story be. If it offends you, don't read, simple as! My other MMA story is the same.
"Hey, Dad." I say, yawning slightly.
"Morning Champ." My Dad says on the other end of the line. I hear the cage rattling in the background, but it gets further away and I hear a door open and shut before it goes quiet. He's probably walked into his office.
"So that article... ignore like ninety-nine percent of what that pisser says."
"And how much is true?"
"Well you know how the media twists things but here's the short version. Luke and I have been out for drinks once and we were spotted. And rumors started to fly that he and I had been dating for months in secret, but really, we'd just been two fighters out for drinks. I mean I was interested, but not invested
... and I did leave with Michael last night. But there isn't anything earth-shattering going on. We're adults. We had dinner and all that jazz yeah but I don't know where it's going. I hope it gets serious but..." I search for the words but none come. My dad seems to understand.
"Just be careful, Champ. I trust your judgement. Now I'm gonna give the phone to your mom." And he does. My mom usually works at the computer in his office at the gym. She picks up and says hi before the questions start.
"Michael is a little old for you, don't you think sweety?" She asks me. I roll my eyes.
"Listen... I can't handle guys my age. They're immature." I laugh, "I like my men with... I don't know. Common sense?" My mom chuckles.
"I'm teasing you sweety. I like the look of him. He looks like he can really take care of his woman. And that's what I want for you. I'm happy for you, sweety."
"I can take care of my woman." Says Michael very close to my ear. He takes the phone from me. "And I plan entirely to take very good care of Mia." He pauses as my mother says something to him, he laughs. "Of course I am... yes ma'm. Yes ma'm. Yes ma'm. Of course ma'm." He winks at me. He strikes a hell of a picture what with being completely naked and talking to my mom on the phone. I untie my robe and let it drop to the floor. Michael's eyes follow my every move as I tease him. He says goodbye to my mom and I shout my own before he hangs up the phone and throws it on the bed. "Naughty girl." He says, picking me up and carrying me to the shower.
Michael is dressing for breakfast. I'm waiting for him because my clothes are all back at my room and I'm not putting my leathers back on. I wear one of the plush MGM robes, and a pair of Michael's socks. He's deciding between this shirt or that, so I text back some of the people who had messaged me.To: Miesha
Yessss!!! We got talking and your homegirl got lucky. I'll tell u everything later!
To: Luke R.
Wait... last time we went out was weeks ago... and you're dating Demi???
To: Boss Man DW
Is it a problem?
Dana texts me back first.From: Boss Man DW
No. In fact it's really good for publicity. I wanted to give you a title shot anyways but this solidifies it. I'll call u later and we can sign paperwork.
I barely contain a scream of happiness when I read that text from Dana. Michael shimmies in to a tight fitting Reebok shirt with BISPING in red letters. I make a mental note not to wear my LARUE one.
"What's got you all excited?" He asks, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me against him. I smile.
"Dana just texted me... he wants to give me a Title Shot."
"That's amazing." He nods.
"Do you think I can beat Amanda though?"
"You have to believe you can. And don't falter from that. You can beat her and you will. Now come on. Let's get you dressed so we can go eat." He gathers up my clothes from last night and I grab my heels. Luckily for us, our rooms are on the same floor because we are kept a little seperate from the general public. This is a floor reserved for athletes and celebrities. My room is around the corner and a few rooms down. Michael follows and I swipe my key card. The door opens and my room awaits- untouched from the night before because I hadn't slept there. I simply had my bathing suit in the shower drying from my swim early on Friday, and towels folded on the desk table. My suitcase is at the foot of the bed, propped open, with space in it from my outfit last night, and my clothes I arrived in neatly folded to the side. Michael takes it in and sets my clothes from last night on top of the ones to the side. He pulls out the desk chair and sits backwards in it, folding his hands over the back of the chair and resting his cheek on them. I pull out my Venum tank top, a pair of black skinny jeans and my plain black flip flops. I set them on the bed and slide out of Michael's socks and the robe. I can feel his eyes on me.
"Like what you see?" I ask him. He chuckles, rolling his eyes.
"No... never." He jokes. I take a moment to contemplate my underwear. I have nothing decent whatsoever. I had been embarassed by my sports bra and boy shorts last night. I vow never to let that happen again. I grab my girl bra, which is black and a little lacey on the top, and a PINK by Victoria's Secret thong that I only had because I needed it for Volleyball, which I had every intention of playing. Miesha, a few of her friends and I were going to play at some point while we were all in Vegas. I live here, but when the UFC pays for your hotel, you abuse that privelage and stay in said expensive hotel. It's a little mismatched, but it will due until I can get away to really
get new skivvies. Michael looks at me with slight approval, and I make sure to wiggle a little more than I need to to pull on my skinny jeans. I slide the tight athletic top on and smooth it over my muscled core, step in to my flops and turn to a mirror to do something with my hair. It's hopeless.
"A hat." I tell him, pointing to my bag, "Hand me a hat." I let him pick. He takes a moment. I'm a hat wearer so I've brought several. He selects my LaRue MMA snapback, which I mash down on my disheveled punk styled hair and fix my bangs to hang out the front a little. I take his hand and we walk to the elevator.
"Hold that elevator!" A male voice calls. Michael shoves his hand between the closing doors and they open again quickly. He ushers me to the wall and stands between me and the door. I roll my eyes but allow him his small show of protectiveness. The elevator suddenly becomes small when all 6'3" of Luke Rockhold presses in to the elevator with Michael who stands only a hair shorter than him.
"Hey, Luke." I say kindly, hoping there are no hard feelings. Yes, I'd spent the night with Michael, and yes, I was excited and yes, I liked him. But this thing is still new and fresh and I'm unsure. It could end at any moment and I don't think I'd be too hurt about it just yet. Luke nods.
"What floor?" Michael asks, hand hovering over the buttons. Luke reaches over and presses the ground floor button. Michael lowers his hand. I can sense tension in the tiny space, and I wiggle my way between the two men. Last thing we need is a fight. There are cameras in this elevator, and with the hot press about me and Michael... they'll not leave us alone. That much is clear. Michael gives me a small warning look but doesn't say anything.
"So Luke..." I begin, "Any word on your next fight?"
"No not yet." He says, waving his hand, "I'd like to fight Yoel. He's a beast. Or you know... have my rematch with this guy." He gestures to Michael. I nod.
"It'd be a fight to watch for sure." I agree. Michael nods too.
"I liked my pay per view bonus." He chuckles, "I'm fighting whoever Dana says I'm fighting."
"I thought you called out GSP?" I ask. He laughs.
"Hell no. That Canadian fuck called me out." Michael says, "He wants a super fight to come back. I told Dana make it happen but you know him. This Reebok deal is makin' Georgie a little hesitant and with good reason. That guy makes a killing and he doesn't even have to fight if he doesn't want. Makes sense he'd want to keep his sponsors. He earned 'em."
"I'd kill to have that Hayabusa sponsorship." Says Luke. I nod my agreement. I have Venum, but so does everyone else. And they don't really pay. They just send stuff which is nice and all but stuff doesn't pay bills. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. The elevator lets us out and Luke beelines for the concierge. Michael leads me to the valet and one of the boys runs off with a set of keys. A few minutes later and a sleek red Jag pulls up to the curb. Michael opens the passenger side door and holds my hand as I get in, then closes the door behind me. He walks around the front of the car, tips the valet, and slides in to the driver's seat. Mon Ami Gabi
is a fancy French resturaunt on the strip. I feel at once underdressed but Michael steps up to the hostess and we are seated outside, with a view of the fountains. Breakfast menus are handed to us, and the water glasses are filled. Michael reviews the menu with interest.
"What looks good?" I ask him. He winks at me over his menu.
"You do. But I have to eat breakfast before I get my dessert." He winks again and looks at the menu. "I'm thinking the Prime steak and eggs."
"That sounds good..." I look over the menu and sigh. Everything is expensive. I feel bad. But I feel like Michael is the kind of guy whose chivalry won't let me pay my own way. I sigh, "The Spinach and goat cheese omelette sounds delicious."
"Right away." A perky voice says to my left and I look up. I hadn't even noticed our waitress appearing. "And what to drink? Or are we staying with water?"
"I'll have tea. Milk and sugar on the side please." Michael says, tapping on the table with his fingertips.
"What kind of tea?" She directs his eyes to the menu where the teas are listed and he points to one.
"Earl grey. Just bring me hot water and the tea bag. I'm a little picky about my tea." He offers a smile and the waitress nods.
"And you ma'm?"
"The same, please." I say. Michael takes my hand once she leaves. His thumb drags across the top of my knuckles. "I want to take you to LaRue MMA today." I tell him. "I gave it a lot of thought. But yeah... I'd like you to come have a roll on my
mats and get inside my
cage." I laugh at my own bravado. As if I would stand a chance in hell against him. He's got experience on me as well as quite a bit of size. I walk around at my fighting weight. He cuts from a bit over 200. Not that he'd hurt me sparring- we're both too professional for that.
"Little soon to meet the parents isn't it?"
"They won't be there after noon." I tell him, "The coaches take over for the afternoon. The only time they stick around for the afternoon is when I'm in camp."
"Okay." He agrees. "What's on the books for me?"
"Well... I think very much that you should bring a belt and sign shit for the kids that go there. And Then when they clear out I'll help the coaches and you can help the coaches and then when they
leave, you and I can do some private sessions in the cage. Your stand up is incredible." He nods and our tea comes. He takes a moment to dunk the teabag in to the hot water and I do the same. He drops a lump of sugar and tops off the cup with milk before sipping the hot liquid. I do the same, but with three lumps of sugar instead of one.
"Do those kids know who I am?"
"We watch fight footage sometimes before we introduce a new skill. We have a kids MMA class that runs in the afternoons after school. Your boxing is great. We watched your fight against Anderson."
"Bloody guy. Cheap shotted me." Michael recalls. He runs a finger over his brow ridge. He has an old, healed up cut.
"Yeah... glad you pulled out the W though." My phone buzzes in my pocket.From: Luke R.
Hey. Fair warning. Saw a lot of paparazzi running around.
"Who was that?" Michael asks. I sigh.
"Luke. He wanted to warn us about the paparazzi. I think with he and the Demi thing they'll be more after him but who knows right? We were the top article of Sherdog this morning." I laugh, holding his hand. "Besides, if we start running we never get to stop right?"
We enjoy the quiet morning on the strip, eat our breakfast and are waiting for the bill when a certain MMA reporter slides out the chair across from Michael- we had been sitting beside one another so we could talk more privately. I look up and sigh. It's Ariel Helwani.
"Hey fancy seeing you two here. Do you have a second to answer some questions?"
"I read your article." I say as evenly as I can manage. "Listen, I'm not going to start anything. But I'm not giving you anything to stir the pot with, alright?" Michael sits back, listening to me with a look of interest. Ariel notes out intertwined hands and pulls out his recorder anyways.
"Just a few questions, please."
"Alright." Michael agrees, and I give him a cross look, "Gotta feed the sharks or they'll frenzy."
"Feeding causes the frenzy." I reply shortly, but I surrender myself to the sure to be uncomfortable questions.To: Miesha Tate
UHGGGGGG just tryna eat breakfast with bae when Ariel fucking Helwani appears from nowhere. FML.
I shoot that text off, making sure Michael sees it and gives an approving laugh before looking to Ariel.
"So Michael, after your Unanimous decision win over Dan Henderson, who do you have in the crosshairs next?"
"Well... I've had a few fights kind of thrown out there for me. In fact just this morning Mia and I were about to head down to the lobby and Luke got in the elevator with us, and he told me he wants a rematch. And I'm more than happy to oblige. He's won one bout and I've won one bout, so a trilogy fight just seems right." He shrugs then and Ariel makes a note. "And of course the big man GSP wants to fight me at 185. I want a big money fight. I think I've earned it. And the return of GSP would be one. He and Dana just need to talk turkey before money can be made."
"Mia. What did you make of the Rousey-Nunes fight? And where do you see yourself moving forward with the division?"
"Seeing Ronda lose was like seeing the end of an era. Before Ronda, women didn't fight in the UFC. And Dana said women never would. But Ronda kind of got out there and proved that we deserve a place here. That being said, I think taking more than a year off hurt her more than it helped. The sport kind of passed her by, and I'm kind of sad to see it because she was so dominant for so long. But these days you have
to be rounded. One-dimensional fighters don't go anywhere anymore. I know I've had to make serious changes to my training. I still train and fight out of my own camp at LaRue MMA, but I've started cross-training now. Made really good friends with Miesha Tate, Paige VanZant and Jessica Eye. Brought in training partners and all that. I think Amanda Nunes is the beginning of a new era in Women's MMA. I think she could fight anyone
at 135- not just women. Maybe that'll happen one day... I don't know. As far as my place in the Division? I'm ranked fifth. I'd love
to fight someone in the top 4, just to up my own standing you know? I'm just waiting to hear what Dana has to offer me. I'll fight anyone, any time. I'm ready to go at the drop of a hat."
"Alright awesome... This one is for both of you. There are rumors going around that you two have had something going on for a while now. Can you clarify?"
"The first time I met Michael I was seventeen." I say honestly, "But I hadn't seen him in the seven years since. When I met him, I was just a wide-eyed teenager with dreams of being in the UFC. We met in passing when I was heading back to my room, and, as it would seem, we weren't going to meet because we never seemed to show up at the same UFC events. Or never saw each other. I usually don't go to UFC parties or anything because I train. A lot. I go to events when I'm fighting. I do my required press, but I don't BS around you know?"
"So what made you decide to go to the event last night?"
"Well, I'd really like a title shot and my Dad actually advised me to go to some more events and make sure Dana knows I'm around and I'm ready to fire, you know? I wouldn't be where I'm at without my Dad."
"Michael, any comments?"
"Yeah... yeah. I remembered meeting Mia seven years ago and when she signed with the UFC, it was kind of an 'oh shit' moment, because she told me she was going to fight for the UFC when we first met. At the time, women didn't. And I kind of held on to what she had said with a 'yeah, sure kid' mindset. But then I saw her photos from her signing shoot and I was a bit floored. Impressed even because she'd made it. But beyond thoughts of her, we haven't been seeing each other. Last night was the first time I'd seen her in person since seven years ago. But since she joined the UFC I was always aware of her. I'm not gonna lie, Ariel. How many really
pretty girls are there in the UFC? A guy is gonna notice."
"And what would you think of a Nunes-LaRue fight? How do you see it going down?"
"Well, Mia and I talked a bit about fighting styles- just today in fact. And she was saying earlier to you that the successful fighters are well rounded. I think Nunes is a black belt in BJJ and a brown belt in Judo. And we saw a few weeks ago with her fight against Ronda that the woman has got hands. I think Mia's a good fighter for sure. I think that her wrestling and her BJJ is really going to be where she succeeds. Nunes has the BJJ and Judo, but I think Mia's wrestling is going to be a deciding factor."
"Yeah, when I was doing research I saw that Mia was the Number one female and number three overall wrestler in the United States. You qualified your team for Nationals, correct?"
"At the end of High School I was 97-0. I won all my matches at Nationals. The two guys ahead of me came from smaller teams so they had more matches. But I would've taken either of them on. I'd met them in passing but never got to wrestle them. Anyways... I was offered scholarships all over the country for Wrestling, but I wanted to do MMA professionally." I explain, "I'm an accomplished wrestler. Part of my cross training is I go to the Olympic training facility and roll with the top athletes there. I wrestle... sometimes work some TKD or Judo when I have a chance with some really good people. I kind of want to reach out to Ronda and see if she would be willing to train with me. I think Michael's right. My wrestling is going to be a deciding factor when and if I get to fight Nunes." I don't say a word about Dana basically giving me the title shot. To reveal that- especially to this guy, would be to risk my job. I lean back against Michael's shoulder.
"One last question- real quick. Where do you two see yourselves going with your relationship?"
"Ask me again after one of my fight camps. Most guys don't stick through them." I reply. Michael laughs.
"Same." He replies. He slides some money under his plate for the bill and offers me his hand. "We're done here, Mr. Helwani. Hope you got what you wanted."
Michael and I get back in his car and head for the hotel.
"Uhg. I hate talking to reporters."
"You'll have to talk to a lot of them if you become the champion." Says Michael, laughing a little. I nod.
"You're right." I reply, laughing as I do. Breakfast with Michael had been great. Even Ariel Helwani couldn't dampen my mood. Michael gives the car back to the valet and we head up to my room this time. I think he might start something, but I think he knows I'm still sore from last night so he picks me up and puts me in the bed and we nap for about two hours. He was surprisingly sensitive and sweet. I don't think a lot of people would expect it from a guy so dominant and so tough in the cage. His arm is like a vice around my waist, and I feel wanted and safe.
"Hey..." I say, yawning as I wake and smile, "We should go soon." He opens those blue eyes and nods, one eye closed slightly.
"Let me look at you for a second." Michael says with a grin. He leans back a bit to watch me stretch and pop my back.
"Are you driving?" I ask. He nods. "Okay good. Saves me cab fare."
"You took a cab here?"
"Nah. I live close. Miesha picked me up. I was gonna cab home just for ease." He thinks on that for a moment. I pack up my bag and we walk back to his room to get his stuff, and we head back down to the lobby. The valet runs off again and drives the sleek red Jag up to the curb again. When we get in, I punch my address in to the navigation and the lady takes us off the strip to my neighborhood. I have a two bedroom house with a three car garage. One part of it is my home gym, the other two are taken up by my Mustang and my Harley Davidson. Michael follows the directions- it takes me twenty minutes to get to the Strip. He parks out front and I punch my security code in to the garage door and it lifts. I don't use my front door unless I'm entertaining. And I don't entertain much. I unlock the door and lead Michael in to the house.
"So this is home?" He asks. My walls are covered with my Amateur titles and pictures. Fight posters and posters from competitions and autographs are all over. My kitchen is right off the garage entrance. It is huge. Granite countertops, a full gas range and a refrigerator. My livingroom is right off the kitchen. I have my TV which I use to watch fight footage and movies but I don't have cable. There is a little space between a wall and the couch, and against the wall is my tank where I keep my pet snake. She ate a few days ago, so I hadn't been worried about her while I was gone. My bedroom is off the living room, and the other room is on the opposite side of the kitchen but I use it as an office. Michael follows me past the snake cage and in to my room.
"Gets a little lonely around here sometimes." I say, grinning a bit. "Maybe not all the time now." I wink at him. In my room, I have a bed, my walk in closet and my master bathroom. I have a couch with a reading lamp beside it where I sit and read. I have a bookshelf and that's it. My walls have photos of me and family, some more signed memorabilia. My bed looks so welcoming with its familiar red and black bedding and soft feather pillows. Michael and I set down our bags in the closet. He opens his suitcase and grabs compression shorts and fighting trunks. I keep on my Venum tanktop and switch in to my own compression leggings. They're also by Venum and have a paint splattered look. I put on my running shoes and grab my keys.
"Come on. You parked behind the door for my motorcycle so I'll drive." He follows me, sliding his mouthguard in to his pocket. I have a locker at the gym so I don't worry about getting any gear. LaRue MMA is only five minutes from my house.
We arrive just as the coaches are getting ready to run the kids class. They beam at mine and Michael's arrival.
"LaRue MMA only has a few rules." I say, "Wear a mouthguard sparring. No hits below the belt. No swearing in front of the kids." Michael nods slowly and the kids run over, jumping on me and looking up in wide-eyed wonder at Michael. He's got his belt over his shoulder.
"Holy cow!" Says a girl named Ava. She's small, but a hell of a player in BJJ. She smiles at Michael. "Michael Bisping!"
"My mom said you're Coach Mia's boyfriend." Says a little boy. His name is Robin I think. Michael smiles at him. They all go get something for him to sign and he takes his time signing everything. White belts, gi tops, the odd boxing glove. I smile and watch him. After this, Michael and I help the coaches hold pads for the kids class- today is boxing. Michael even spars a bit with some of the kids, kneeling down so the kids can actually reach him. He's so sweet. I find myself watching him teach tomorrow's fighters. Murphy, one of the older guys who coaches boxing mostly comes over to stand beside me where I stand outside of the cage. He's in his sixties and he's Irish, with the thick accent to boot.
"Michael Bisping huh?" Asks Murphy. I nod, and he weaves his fingers through the cage. "You made a good choice. Look at him. He's good with the kids, he seems a noble sort... how'd that happen?"
"I just got lucky. I met him in passing when I went to that UFC fight seven years ago. And we got talking last night at the bar at an after party."
"I see." Murphy nods, clapping his hands. "Alright. We'll take pictures and then we're gonna call it a day." The kids all groan sadly. They step out of the cage and the ones that have phones take selfies and snapchats and the ones that don't ask me to take pictures and I text them to their parents. Michael does silly poses and mimics the kids. I'm so happy watching him. The kids are picked up one by one and as the group gets smaller, the coaches call it quits too. I promise the last ones to leave that I'll lock up and shut down all the lights.
Michael and I wrap our hands as soon as the door slams behind the last coach. None of the fighters are here- they usually come by in the morning, and if they want to come in in the afternoon, they text me and see if I'm gonna be there. I finish wrapping my left hand and then wrap my right. Michael already has his hands wrapped and is warming up in the cage. I take a moment to stretch, jump rope. I run a few laps around my mats and watch Michael shadow box in my cage. I'm warm and he has a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. I want him so bad. But I need to be all business. I need to treat him like just another sparring partner. Another coach. I step in to the cage and he picks up some mits.
"Alright babygirl." He winks, and I roll my eyes. "Come on then. Show the Count how well you hit mits." I shake my head to clear it and punch my own hand and give him my best game face. He holds up the mits. The angle of his shoulders and head and hands, and the way he moves shows me he's just as serious as I am. I follow his lead. He doesn't say a word to me or give a command, he simply tells me to react to what he throws out. Sometimes I'm wrong and he catches me lightly with the mits, but the goal isn't to actually hurt me, so he stops them right before they would smash in to my face. After an hour, he's slowing and I'm sweating. We forge on until I'm making fewer and fewer mistakes, and he starts giving me verbal commands. He takes off the mits.
"We gonna spar?" I ask. He shakes his head.
"You've got hands. Not like your ground game but I can tell you have put in work." He praises, "I want you at one-hundred percent to spar me. I'm just bigger and I don't want to hurt you. We'll pick up tomorrow." He winks at me. And I know the implication. He wants to spend the night at my place and come back tomorrow to work again. I want him to. We could come in in the morning and put in work with a few of the really good amateurs. I thought I might call Miesha but decide against it. My parents and my peers would be enough eyes on Michael. Not to mention since those kids took pictures with Michael at LaRue, people might flood in for a chance to get the scoop on our relationship, as well as try and put in some rounds with the Middleweight champ.
"We can come back tomorrow morning." I offer. "C'mon. Let's hit the grocery store. I don't have anything worth eating at home."
We arrive home with bags in hand. Michael helps me put everything away and I throw some more water in my snake's water dish. He comes over as I scratch my four foot long female cornsnake on the head. She flicks her tongue at me and climbs on to my hand.
"Hello there, little miss." I tell her. Michael raises an eyebrow but asks if he can hold her. I transfer the snake to his hands. She looks so much smaller in his hands than in mine. She flicks her tongue at Michael and curls around his fingers. "Her name is Santeria."
"Like the song?" He asks. I nod.
"Isn't she a beauty? I got her when she was tiny. I wanted a pet because I was lonely, but didn't wanna worry about a dog-sitter while I'm gone for a week at a fight."
"Good idea." Says Michael, "Easy keeper she is then?"
"I feed her once every two weeks or so and she's happy. Fill the bowl when I think about it. She shits in the same place every time so she's easy to clean up after." He holds her out to me and I take her back. She wraps around my hand and looks at me. Whoever says snakes aren't great pets ought to be shot. She's very easy to handle and so nice. I place her back in the cage and make sure her door is locked. "I'd wash your hands. The musk doesn't smell good." I watch Michael recoil when he gives his hand a curious sniff. He goes to the kitchen to wash his hands and I get a jump on dinner. We aren't in fight camp, but we need to maintain so the cut won't kill us. I make us some lemon pepper chicken with steamed brocolli and carrots, and some roasted garlic potatoes en lieu of bread. Michael opens the refrigerator and gets out two Coronas. I direct him to the fruit drawer where he gets out the lime, cuts it, and places the lime in the long neck bottles before handing one to me as I mess over the stove.
"Is it better with lime?"
"Only savages and the poor drink Corona without lime." I reply, "And even the poor scrape up fifty cents to get a lime for their beers. As not to be confused with the savages." I joke. He laughs, tips the beer onto his lips and nods at the flavor.
better." He says. I plate the chicken, throw some brocolli and carrots on the side and check the potatos. They are tender to the fork so I grab them out of the oven and split them between Michael's and my plate. I hand Michael his as well as a fork, knife and napkin and lead him out to the back deck where I usually take my dinners. It overlooks my pool which is lit now by the lamp I had installed under the water. It glows green-blue and the fading sun dyes it shades of red in places. The rocks and red sand I have in place of grass in the yard turn darker and darker as the sun sets.
"This is the life, isn't it?" I ask. From my house, you can look down into the valley and see the twinkling lights of Vegas. I can see the MGM Grand where I'd be fighting soon, and the strip and the palm trees and the tiny ant-like tourists that flood the streets and parking lots.
"It is." Michael sips his beer and works on his chicken. He, like me, considered food like this fuel and nothing more. We'd worked hard today, and we needed the protein right after the work to feel energized tomorrow.
"What do you want for breakfast?" I ask. The chicken is at least tender, and the lemon gives it some zing. I'd have rather done buffalo style or chipotle, but I'd forgotten to get the seasonings for it.
"I usually have a run in the morning before a protein shake on my way to the gym." He replies. I nod my agreement. On my rest day, if I was feeling frivilous, I'd sometimes make an omelette. But most mornings, even on my days off, I'd usually put a scoop of protein powder in the blender with a cup of water and a few ice cubes, and choke it down in the car on my way to the gym. I'd given up trying to make them taste good a long time ago.
"Sounds good to me. I have a good route I run in the mornings. I'll go with you." I stare over my city, humming a few bars of a song I'd caught on the radio about life being a road and where sky and sea are one. This is what I think as the sun sets behind the mountains and Michael sits beside me, eating food I'd cooked. The moment seems right, and I'm alive in it.
"We should have been doing this for the last few years." He says somewhat whistfully. I glance over at him and find him looking at me. His eyes are full of a softness I'd never thought a fighter could posess. His plate is cleared. I finish my own and stack the plates, placing our silverware on top of them and taking his hands. He stands up and follows me. We look off to the last ribbons of sunlight over the city that never sleeps, and I kiss him passionately. His hands grab at the back of my head, pulling me closer and I place my hands on his abs. He presses in to me, and when he's losing himself to the moment, I take his relaxed state as an opportunity and shove him backwards in to the deep end of the pool. At the last second, just as I think I've succeeded in catching him off guard, he grabs me, dragging me in with him. We splash in to the pool fully clothed and laughing. He pulls me in to him, tall enough to stand in the deep end of my pool, which really isn't that deep, and kisses me again. Everything moves so quickly, I barely even notice that he's drug my leggings down, pressed me to the edge of the pool and quickly made our bodies one. I gasp at the sudden action but wrap my legs around his hips, allowing him to fill me.
I shower and Michael gets settled in, then he showers and I grab a book and am idly reading it when he comes out to the bedroom. He has his towel slung low on his hips and the water glistens on his skin. I glance up and try not to look too interested. But I fail miserably. He takes the book from my hands and leans forward. I was sitting on my reading couch, and he stands in front of it with his hands on either side of my head, resting on the back of the couch. He smells of my soap and his shaving cream. His hair is mussed from where he had towel dried it and neglected to comb it.
"Enjoy the shower?" I ask him, placing my hands on his shoulders. My knuckles are bruised. Until my sponsorship gear comes in, I'm slumming it in my ancient Everlast gloves, which are torn to hell on the inside and smell like something died in them. Michael's hands are pristine. I can tell they've been fractured in places where the knuckles are warped, but he has hands that show that he's a man. They're hands that could protect his woman.
"I did." He replies, "Though it was lonely. But warmer than the pool."
"I'll remember that for next time." I say, watching his towel as he breathes. It comes loose and slides down and off his hips to be a damp heap on the floor. I'm in a loose fitting tank top that is meant to have a sports bra worn under it, without the sports bra, and very short shorts that I usually reserve to sleep in. And Michael Bisping is naked in my bedroom. "Can I make it up to you by not making you sleep alone?"
"Read my mind." He chuckles, flicking off my reading lamp. He scoops me up as if I weigh nothing, kills the lights to the bedroom and places me on the bed. I pull back the covers and get under and Michael crawls in beside me. "But you have to lose the clothes. I'm naked. You have to be too."
"Needy motherfucker..." I say with an eye roll, but obligingly pull the tank top off over my head and discard the shorts. We'd both been shivering a bit when we got out of the pool- it was chillier than I'd anticipated. Both sets of our clothes were in the dryer as we speak. He'd grabbed sweats and a jacket while I rushed for the shower. He'd decided to stay for a few weeks to train and get to know me, and wanted to get settled. He'd plugged in his phone charger, put his toothbrush and comb in my spare drawer in the bathroom, hung up his suit in my closet. He'd acquainted himself with my television and DVDs while I showered as well. Then he showered and I'd been reading a few chapters in Ronda Rousey's book when he came out. Now I'm laying in his warm arms and wondering how I got so lucky.
"Your skin is so soft." He says, burying his face in my shoulder. I roll over and inhale the scent of him, my face against his chest. His arms go around me and I'm warm and content.
"Mmmm..." I blink tiredly, closing my eyes. "Goodnight, Michael."
"Goodnight, love." He kisses me on top of the head and I can feel his eyes on me as I drift to sleep.
I wake up before my alarm goes off and I switch it off before it can. I watch the Count's chest rise and fall as he sleeps. He's lying on his back, sprawled out on his side of the king size bed. He looks so young in his sleep. He's not guarding anything, not worried or stressed. His lips are parted slightly as he breathes in deep, steady breaths. He'd trimmed up his facial hair but left his moustache and beard. It was just shorter now than it had been. His hair is a mess and I know he'll have to wet it again to tame it. I sit up on one hand, run my fingers through my short locks and let my eyes wander over his form. His chest is broad and firm, his abs toned, descending to hips too wide to be narrow and too narrow to be wide, and the covers that are raised at the apex of his thighs. Naughty thoughts creep through my head, and I wonder if he'd like to be awakened by me riding him. Yes,
I think, yes he would
. I pull the covers aside, confirming my suspicion that he was rock hard in his sleep. I carefully slide over to straddle him, making sure not to wake him, and gently rub my clit. I'm so excited, so nervous too, but my excitement wins out and I'm slick and aroused. I want this man and I want to please him. I slide myself down onto his cock and let out a soft moan. He's not a small man and I'm still inexperienced, but I manage to slide him in without any pain. I slowly rock my hips, grinding on him and use my hands on his chest as leverage. I hear a sharp intake of breath as blue eyes pop open. One of his hands goes to my lower back and the other props him up as he starts to rock his hips in time with mine. I kiss him flush on the lips and place my hands over his head, gripping the top of the headboard. He scoots back so he's leaning on it and his hands both go to my hips. A moan parts his lips when I dip my head down to the crook of his neck where I stay, pleasure coursing through me as my body at once comes awake and alert. His hips start to move faster as he too wakes up and he pulls my face from his neck to look in to my eyes.
"Where do you want the Count to cum, love?" He asks me. Inside me!
My mind screams, and I tip my head back in a moan when he starts to rub my clit. "Tell me, baby girl."
"Fuck..." I manage to get out, "Where... wherever you... oh fuck! Wherever you want! Give me your fucking cum..." He snarls in my ear, picks me up so he's almost all the way out of me, and drops me back down roughly on his dick, his balls slapping my ass with a satisfying slap of skin. His hands press me down and hold me on him, buried deep inside of me.
"I'm gonna fucking nut inside of you baby girl." He tells me, "Tell me you want it."
"I want your cum! Fuck me..." He lifts me up and slams me back down a few more times, causing me to cum for him, all thoughts of decency flying out the window as pleasure courses through me. "Michael!"
"Take that fucking cock. You're such a good girl for me baby..." He kisses my neck and with one last push he shoots his load deep inside of me. "Mmmm... fuck. I love you baby."