Smash:A Stepbrother MMA Romance

By: B. B. Hamel

“Alexa,” Cindy was saying, “this is Cole, my son.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even move.

It was him. It was my stranger, my husband.

My stepbrother.

I was horrified. I couldn’t move.

“Alexa,” he said, grinning hugely and walking up the stoop toward me. “Good to meet you.”

There was something playful in his eyes, something knowing. He definitely recognized me, there was no doubt about it, but he was pretending for our parents’ sake.

“Uh, sure,” I said, shaking his hand. I hadn’t gotten myself together enough for more.

Everything about him was so familiar. All those moments came rushing back to me. The ache of my body, our limbs stretched out together, the warm sand under my feet as he laughed and threw seashells into the waves.

My husband was back.

I was so damn close. I was so damn close to getting away from him.

“I look forward to getting to know you better, stepsister,” he whispered.

I could only stare at him, wide-eyed in terror.

Chapter Two: Cole

It was humid as hell the first night I saw her. I was sweating in my button-down shirt and shorts as I made my way down to the beach, bored of the drunk tourists.

Thailand wasn’t a vacation for me, even though I was staying at a resort. It was my last hurrah before the next year, a final week to blow off steam before I went into hardcore training mode.

My two main goals were pussy and alcohol, not necessarily in that order. I knew I was going to have to abstain from everything when the real work began, but I was going to indulge as much as I could all week first.

It wouldn’t be easy for me to go a whole year without pussy, but it was the sort of sacrifice I knew I needed to make to take my career to the next level.

As I made my way toward the water, there she was. More specifically, I watched as she tripped and landed face-first in the sand.

My initial instinct was to laugh. Yeah, I admit it, I was an asshole. But you’d want to laugh, too, if you saw someone trip on a seemingly perfectly flat beach.

Instead, I walked over to her and made sure she was okay.

Sometimes, I wished I hadn’t done that. In the next few weeks, in the dead of night when I was being eaten alive by fucking bugs and I couldn’t get her body out of my mind, I’d almost regret it.

But I’m not the type to have regrets, not really. I wanted to fight hard and fuck harder. That’s all I cared about in life.

Except there she was, this sexy as fuck girl slowly getting to her feet.

I knew I needed her. I knew I needed to posses her, fuck her, make her come on my big cock until she couldn’t think of anything other than my dick and my body against hers. I was completely sucked into her, and I knew I’d do whatever to have her.

And at first, it was exactly like that. Her pussy was like fire for my mouth as I tongued her little clit in the middle of the afternoon, making her back arch. It was incredible, my fingers exploring every inch of her, and yet still she held back. I wanted more, always more, but she wasn’t ready to let me have it all.

I couldn’t get that last night out of my head. We’d just finished this stupid fake marriage ceremony, for some dumb reason. It was funny and lame, but for some reason I felt like it almost meant something. Later, back in my room, I slipped her panties down her smooth, tanned skin and pressed my mouth up against her pussy.

“Who are you?” she gasped as I began to tongue her clit.

“Just someone who loves to taste you,” I said in between mouthfuls of her sweet cunt.

“Shit,” she gasped, grabbing my hair. “Seriously. Where did you learn all this?”

“You pick things up when you live as hard as I do.”

I slipped a finger deep inside her and watched her eyes close in ecstasy.

“I fight for a living, babe. I put my body on the line for fun. I’ve figured out what I like and how to get it.”

“But why me?” she gasped as I began to kiss her neck, pistoning my fingers deep inside her the way I knew she loved.

It was a good question. Why her? I could have been fucking a new girl every night. It wasn’t like it was hard, especially in fucking paradise.

But for some insane reason, the second I got a taste of her, I needed more. I couldn’t stop myself from getting her off again and again and again. I loved the way sweat rolled down her chest as I worked her body hard and rough, my mouth and fingers all over her, not caring how loud she was.

“Because that’s what I want, and I get what I want,” I whispered to her, pressing my tongue harder against her spot.

Weeks later, in the dead of night, I’d remember the gasp she made as I nibbled her slightly and slipped another finger deep inside her.

Alexa. I’d remember that name when things got rough. It was torture sometimes, remembering that sweet pussy, knowing I’d never see it again. I knew that I just needed to get back to civilization to forget about her, move on to some new stranger.

But despite that, I kept thinking, wondering, where my fake wife was. And if I’d ever get to taste that pussy again.

Still, I was in Thailand for a reason. After the vacation was over, I took a bus out into the countryside, out into the fucking jungle, to meet with one of the greatest Muay Thai fighters in the whole country.

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