McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys Read online

  “I used to,” she says. “Up until a month or so ago. Kit wants me to train exclusively now. For him.”

  Her voice is as sexy as I remembered. She’s all rough and smoky, but her heart-shaped face and dimpled cheeks tell me she’s got layers. Layers I want to fucking pull back. Starting with her top, ending with her panties.

  “No shit?” I run my hand over my jaw, impressed. Honestly, I thought she was just some gym eye-candy, and a smart hire on Kit’s part. Get a hottie to run the workouts, and the men won’t complain.

  But JoJo is apparently more than meets the eye.

  “So you’re a fighter?” I ask.

  She twists her pouty lips, shrugs modestly.

  Kit answers for her. “She’s something else, McQueen. JoJo has spunk. Fire. She’s unassuming, but when she gets in the ring she’s a cannon.”

  “High praise,” I say meeting JoJo’s chocolate-brown eyes.

  “Kit’s crazy. I’ve only had two amateur fights. Hardly worth getting excited about.”

  “Enough talk,” Kit scoffs. “Let’s get to work.”

  We go to the weights, and Kit starts running us through all kinds of insanity.

  Barbell Deadlifts. One Arm Kettle Ball Cleans. Front Barbell Squats. Kettle Ball Push Presses. Freehand Jump Squats.

  Basically, Kick My Asses.

  JoJo is fucking distracting. Every time she bends, my eyes follow her tight ass. Every time she leans over, I can’t help but notice the way her perfect breasts squeeze tightly together in her tank top.

  God, I want her.

  And I find myself upping my game to impress her. And it’s not just me. I see random assholes in the gym walking around, complimenting her on her squats and her lifts, offering to fucking spot her like her own goddamn coach isn’t two feet away. It’s like there’s some inner-Alpha-need to lift and lunge like animals, and prove to her we know how to work our fucking cocks, that emerges the moment she enters the gym.

  I’m not above that, not when it comes to a piece of ass like JoJo.

  And the thing about JoJo—which is different than 99% of the women I’m ever around—is that she doesn’t seem to know how fucking hot she is. Her mind isn’t on the ripped guys walking around her; she’s totally focused on her training.

  When we pause to get water, and Kit goes to make a call in his office, I notice the gym has cleared out. Kit closes for a few hours every afternoon.

  I look at JoJo, who hasn’t once complained, hasn’t once fussed. Hasn’t once wavered. She’s a fucking machine.

  “You ever have fun when you do this?” I ask, wondering if I can get her to break a smile.

  “McQueen, this is the world to me. It’s not a joke.”

  “I get that,” I tell her. But I don’t really. Why the hell should we take life so fucking serious? There’s little point to any of it if we aren’t enjoying ourselves along the way. “Well, you ever have fun after you work out?” I ask her, giving her my classic McQueen smile.

  She looks me up and down, not cracking. “I have all kinds of fun. In fact, I’m going out tonight.”

  “Why wait until tonight? I’ll show you some moves in the ring, give you an idea of the fun we can have this afternoon.”

  She gives me a tight smile. “I’ll pass.”

  “Pass on McQueen?” I shake my head, hiding my disappointment with a joke. “No one passes on McQueen.”

  “I don’t like it when guys talk in third person.”

  I laugh. This girl doesn’t put up with any bullshit. Which might be a problem. I’m 88% bullshit. “That was a one-time thing.”

  “Well, I also don’t date strippers. I know you work at Stripped.”

  I’m not fazed. “Aww, so you know where I work?” I smile like a cocky fool, but I like that she knew something about me. I cross my arms over my chest and tease her. “Who said anything about a date? I just wanted to fuck.”

  She doesn’t flinch.

  “I’m not playing hard to get, McQueen. I’m just not into what you’re offering. It’s not my style.”

  “What is your style then?”

  She pauses. And in that pause I see the truth. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what she wants, what she needs. She doesn’t realize that what she needs is me to loosen her up.

  Her eyes narrow in on me. “My style is catch wrestling.”

  “What’s that?” I step toward her, tightening the space between our bodies. Her breath is heavy, and she may be talking about wrestling, but it’s clear this woman needs to get laid.

  “My preference when it comes to MMA.”

  “And what makes catch wrestling so special?” I ask.

  She smiles for the first time all day, but she pulls it back right away and answers deadpan. “It’s a style of wrestling that uses a lot of submission holds.” She tosses her bright red hair over her shoulder and starts to walk away.

  I stop her, grab her hand before she can leave. The moment our skin touches I feel my cock twitch, my body stiffen. This girl is fucking impossible to win over, but I know she has a hot streak ready to burn. Her innuendo tells me plenty. Tells me everything she doesn’t have the guts to say.

  That she wants me bad.

  “After this session with Kit, it’s you and me, JoJo. You can teach me a submission hold or two.”

  I think she’s going to pull away ... or slap my fucking face. But she doesn’t. Instead, she bites her bottom lip, her ample chest heaving as she steadies her breath.

  “I’ll be sweaty.”

  “Good,” I tell her. And then I let go of her hand and let her walk away.

  JoJo

  For the rest of the workout, I’m a mess.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Over my head is the understatement of the century.

  Submission hold? Where the hell did that come from?

  I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who has no business doing anything with anyone from the gym.

  Let alone the male stripper who works out here.

  My brothers would literally kill McQueen if they knew his intentions with me.

  And I don’t even want to know what my dad would do to me if he knew what I wanted.

  Probably lock me in my bedroom and arrange to send me to a nunnery.

  Which would actually be better than marrying Grotto.

  “That’s great,” Kit hollers to us as we grapple on the padded floor. “Ease up, McQueen, loosen your hold. And Jo, push down. Yes, just like that.” He claps, letting us know we can release, then calls it a day.

  “Tomorrow, JoJo—same time, same place,” Kit tells me. “You were off today. Come back tomorrow with your head on straight.”

  “Okay, coach.” I take a deep breath, my legs shaky as I stand from the floor. Kit just put me through a workout that kicked my ass.

  “Hey, kids,” Kit says to McQueen and me. “I’m going out to grab some food, and run home before I reopen the gym at five. You okay locking up after you clean up?”

  “Of course,” I tell him.

  This isn’t anything new. Kit trusts me explicitly, which makes me feel more than mildly bad about the fact that I’m keeping him and this gym a secret from my family. They have no clue how much his trust in me means. They have no clue about him at all.

  If I get a bigger fight lined up I’m going to have to tell them what I’m up to. There are only so many ways I can lie about bruises on my body, cuts on my lip—only so many times I can exaggerate about why I’m so ridiculously tired after a week of working out under Kit’s regime.

  Besides, a big-ticket fight would get publicity. And I don’t really want my name on a poster announcing my career choice before I tell them myself.

  Although my logic is kinda messed up. Surely they’ll kill me once they find out, and maybe I ought to get killed in the ring first if I’m going down either way.

  With Kit gone, I look over at McQueen, who’s taken off his sweaty tee-shirt and tossed it in the gym bag sitting on a bench. His back faces me; h
is broad shoulders are stretched, smooth, and tan. His large, well-defined muscles are evenly distributed on his frame and, with the waistband of his shorts slung low, my eyes linger on his ass.

  I know I’m over my head ... but, just this once, I wonder if maybe that’s okay? I want to forget about the things my dad told me this morning.

  The things that will literally ruin my life. No way in hell can I be a fighter if I’m Grotto’s wife. Probably if I’m anybody’s wife.

  Right now, I just want to be JoJo. Because I might not be able to be her for that much longer.

  And frick. Now I’m talking in third person.

  Gah.

  I never put myself in situations like this, where I can even consider giving in to what I want. My mind is focused on the gym and on playing my part in the family. Namely, smile and look pretty and do as I am told.

  Any time a guy hits on me, I pretend I don’t hear them, brush them off without any attention. I know my family is complicated, which is why I’ve never dated anyone seriously. Never even told Lucy about all my connections. It would be messy.

  The few times a guy has persisted, I played the part of a prude.

  But I don’t want to be a prude right now.

  Right now, I want McQueen.

  “JoJo, you ready to show me that submission hold?” McQueen turns to face me, bringing me back to reality. Or maybe not reality. Maybe my absolute fantasy.

  His baby blue eyes and short cropped blonde hair, his full lips and perfectly proportioned nose–everything about McQueen is perfection. A performance. Which I get, that’s his profession. But it’s like he’s almost too good. Like ... he knows exactly what he is doing.

  Me? Not so much.

  But I’ve held onto the V-card long enough, and I sure as hell don’t want to throw it away on Grotto.

  Grotto could be out of prison in a month. Then what? I’ll lose my virginity anyway, by consummating a marriage on someone else’s terms.

  Right now I have a chance.

  I’m going to take it.

  On my terms.

  Chapter Three

  McQUEEN

  She looks at me, from head-to-toe, and for a second I think I’ve read her completely wrong, that all that sexual tension I fucking felt out there in the ring was really just her in beast-mode.

  But then she meets my eyes.

  Hers are filled with fucking desire.

  I’m not waiting around for her to change her mind.

  I walk over to her, and pull her into my arms. Her sweat is a fucking turn-on. She’s dirty and needs to be cleaned up, and I’ll fucking wash her nice and good.

  I lift her by her little ass and her legs instinctively wrap around my waist.

  “You’re so strong,” she says. Her eyes flicker as if she is caught off guard.

  “You just saw me lifting for three fucking hours, JoJo. You know that lifting a hundred and twenty pounds is nothing. You’re light as a feather.”

  “You also make a living carrying women around.”

  “Have you seen my show?” I smirk, not able to read this girl at all. I carry her to the women’s locker room, kick the door shut and lock it.

  “I went once.” When my eyes widen she clarifies. “My friend insisted. But I didn’t stay.”

  “Why?” I set her down; the top of her head meets the center of my chest. I use a finger to lift her chin, so she can look me in the eye.

  “It’s not my thing.”

  “Strippers or men in general?”

  “Strippers,” she says, shaking her head at me like I’m a dork.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, JoJo. I’m a stripper, and you want me.” I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts, lower them an inch. “Don’t you?”

  She takes a sharp breath, and I see she’s practically drooling in anticipation of what lies beneath my shorts.

  “Think you can handle a man like me?”

  “I have no clue.” She gives a sharp laugh. I can’t read her, but I’m gonna try.

  I pull her to me. My thick cock is growing hard, but I can’t handle her standing there one more second without pressing my lips against her mouth. I need to taste her, explore her. I need to fucking know her body.

  So much of her body is solid and true, exhibiting her complete control over herself, but her lips sink into mine, like she’s desperate for them. She kisses me hungrily, as if she’s never kissed a man in her life.

  And maybe she hasn’t. There are an awful lot of pussies out there in the world. Not many men like me—men who know how to a work a woman nice and good.

  She moans as my tongue finds hers, and I pull her even closer, my hand on the back of her head, letting her know she can give in to me. That I can take it from here.

  My cock is hard and it presses against her thighs. I want to strip her out of these clothes; I want my cock to press against her skin, then press against her pussy. I want to fuck her until she’s worn out like she’s never been from a work out. Exhausted in a way she can only get from riding me.

  I kiss her hard, our mouths discovering one another, and I run my other hand through her gorgeous red hair. Her hands have travelled to my waistband, and my cock throbs at the idea of her reaching down and stroking me.

  But she hesitates.

  “You okay?” I ask her, pulling away from the kiss.

  She’s breathing so heavy, almost like she’s dizzy. “I know I said I wanted to show you a submissive hold, but … umm. I just. I can’t.”

  “What, JoJo? You want me to stop?” I try not to show annoyance. I get that this girl is a thousand kinds of complicated, but come on. We’re in a fucking locker room, post-workout, both clearly horny as hell. I can’t handle her backing out now. I’ll have to fucking jack off like a fourteen-year-old if she leaves.

  “Oh, no. Don’t stop.” She looks worried, and shakes her head. “I meant that I don’t want to be the one to show you anything. I want you to be my teacher. I want you to do whatever you like.”

  A smile spreads across my face—and when I grin, she does, too, like she’s relieved by my answer. Like she wants this, but just needs my help.

  I can fucking take the lead.

  “Then let’s start by getting you out of these clothes and washing you up.”

  JoJo

  It’s obvious I’m over my head the moment McQueen kisses me. His lips know what they’re doing.

  And the reality is, the last time I kissed a boy was back in my freshman year of college, when the guy who took me to a formal dance tried to kiss me when he dropped me off at my father’s house.

  I quickly realized my family was way too complicated when two of my brothers threatened to punch him if he didn’t back the fuck away from their little sister.

  I felt embarrassed, but also trapped. No matter how many guys asked me out over the years, I always, always declined. No one deserved to deal with the family I brought along.

  But McQueen is different. No one in my family knows where I am ... and I absolutely know that, for a player like him, this is only about sex. I won’t be hurting anyone by having a one-afternoon-stand. Least of all him.

  When I tell McQueen that I want him to lead the way, it’s a relief to see his dazzling white, perfect teeth smile, looking down at me.

  But now it’s getting really real. He spins me around, smacks my ass, and we head to the shower. He turns on the water, lets it get nice and hot, and then playfully shoves me under the steaming spray.

  “Oh my God, I’m in my clothes,” I scream, grabbing his bicep, trying to pull him in with me.

  “Yeah, you are. I want you to get nice and wet, and then I’m going to strip you down. All the way down.”

  “McQueen, you have to get in here with me. I feel stupid.”

  “Don’t feel stupid. You’re fucking hot. I’m so hard looking at you like this. Your tits are so round in that tiny see-through shirt. Your nipples are hard as rocks.” He steps into the shower without hesitation and lifts the hem of
my shirt, easing up the elastic of the shelf bra and pulling it off over my head.

  Beads of water pour down on us. My breasts are completely uncovered. I feel exposed.

  “Shut up, I’m gross after that workout. I mean, McQueen, you must see women all done up all day, everyday ... at your shows, I mean.” I look down at myself, self-conscious. But McQueen wants none of that.

  “You don’t think you turn me on?” He laughs. “You have no fucking clue, woman.”

  He steps out of his shorts and kicks them away. What’s left is a massive cock, hard and pointed right at me.

  “Oh my God, McQueen.” I literally have to catch my breath.

  “You like that?” he asks, taking my hand and placing it on his solid shaft.

  “Oh. I like that,” I say, nodding, sounding like an idiot, but also just stunned. I assumed a man like him would have a big cock ... but I don’t think he understands it’s literally the only cock I’ve seen in my life.

  And it’s just making me so horny. It’s so long and hard—and thick, too. As my thumb and forefinger try to circle it, I quickly realize it’s much larger than that. Which leads me to wonder ... how will this fit inside me?

  “Now let’s get you out of those shorts, JoJo. I need to see what I have to work with. Need to see how ready your pussy is for me.”

  I bite my lip, trying not to be a complete cliché, but just hoping he’ll like what he sees. I don’t want him to know I’m a virgin, because I’m scared it would make him hesitate, not wanting to be that guy.

  I take off my shorts and panties. They stick to my thighs because we’re completely wet, and when I try to kick them off I lose my balance and lean into him. He catches me, and suddenly our skin connects, my body is pressed against him, and his cock strains against me. His chest is solid and my breasts are aching to be touched, sucked. Felt.

  I give in, then. To him. To this moment. My first time with a man. With anyone.

  His hands run across my back, and my whole body is full of sensation. The steam evaporating against my slick skin, the rush of lust coursing through my veins. His lips kissing my shoulders, my collar bone, easing lower to my breasts.