All I ever wanted was to be a female fighter.
It was in my blood to smack people around.
Some girls wore pink dresses and makeup, I wore sneakers and bruises.
I was a loner, stuck to myself because I was different, until Camden Steel moved next door.
I punched him in the mouth, and he saw me through rose colored glasses from that day on.
I had everything I ever wanted.
The boy next door, inspiring career… until I didn’t.
He hates me. I deserve that.
They say you have to fight for what you want… What they don’t tell you… is it’ll cost you more than you’re willing to give to reach the top.
Climbing off the bed I grab her by the ankle, jerking her to the edge of the bed roughly.
She jumps awake panicked. Her wild, frantic eyes finding mine.
“Camden, what the fuck?”
“I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you to move, I wanted you to sleep on me.” My voice hard and accusing, all the feelings I felt that morning after she left when I was eighteen surfacing. She jerks her foot, but I tighten my hold. “I wasn’t joking.”
Bending down I grab her by the hips and throw her naked body over my shoulder.
“What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”
“I have, and it’s because I fell for the little girl next door when I was a fucking kid,” I bark.
Yanking the curtains to the floor to ceiling window open I set her down, her back facing me.
“Put your hands on the window,” I instruct harshly.
She obeys surprisingly, and looks over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
Spreading her ass cheeks I push the head of my dick into her quickly, needing to feel her now. She takes in a sharp breath, her fingers tensing against the glass as I shove into her with so much force her head bangs against the window.
My chest rising and falling rapidly, I caress the shell of her ear with my lips.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
Her forehead pressed against the window she turns it, looking me in the eye.
“That I’m possessive, controlling, crazy.” I thrust into her hard and her mouth parts with pleasure. “You made me this way, you made me the crazy man that wants to love you.”
Pressing my back onto hers, I interlock our fingers on the window, my face in the crook of her neck.
“Let me love you, let me be the crazy motherfucker that loves you.”
She nods, her breath fogging the glass as I continue to thrust into her.
About the Author
M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.
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