Fight For Her Heart: Tattooed Seduction (Rock Hard Doms)

  Fight For Her Heart: Tattooed Seduction

  By Nicole Snow

  Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  First published in December, 2013.

  Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.

  All individuals depicted in this work are adults over the age of eighteen years old.

  Description

  FIGHT BARE. FIGHT HARD. FIGHT WITHOUT END.

  Rose Merchante never anticipates danger on a boring winter evening. Nor does she expect the hard bodied hero who appears like a guardian angel, saving her from an unspeakable attack. When her tattooed savior offers self-defense lessons, Rosie discovers something else in her dormant flesh.

  Hunger. Fire. Lust. The carnal calling for his touch is unlike anything she's ever known.

  Trainer and underground fighter William Gaulle saved the beautiful woman in the alley without hesitation. But Rosie's all temptress in his studio, awakening his deepest, primal desires.

  William can't ignore the obvious. She's perfect to dominate, perfect to own, perfect to make a baby with.

  He wants a submissive to possess. She wants a man to make her whole.

  Soon, they're training long, hard, and unprotected between the sheets, but a fighter's world has stern demands...will Rosie be left behind, or can she carve a place in his hardened heart forever?

  Word count: 27,500+ word erotic romance novella.

  I: Love's Savage Beginnings

  William pinned me to the soft mat, a slab of rippling muscle. He was still slick with sweat from the fight, casting his aggressive, irresistible musk into the air.

  I sucked adrenaline off him with every breath. When his lips moved to mine, my eyes snapped open.

  The spell of his scent lessened. Suddenly, I was wide awake, and loving every second.

  I saw stars. His lips crashed mine, harder and hotter, going nova. Tiger stripes of pure lightning scorched down between my thighs, converging at the place where my wetness jerked and convulsed.

  It wasn't enough to know I wanted him. My body, my soul, every molecule bristling inside me needed him.

  His tongue curled deeper into my mouth, lapping and searching, carving fiery circles meant to light me on fire.

  Mission accomplished!

  “Oh, fuck,” I whispered, quaking beneath him as he broke the kiss. “No man's ever kissed me like that.”

  “Maybe no man ever wanted you like I do, Rosie. Think you can handle this heat? Or are you gonna need a second to cool before I melt every sweet inch of you?” He kissed me again, quick and savory, his tongue lapping across my lips as he peeled back so I could answer.

  William wore a crooked grin, overflowing with confidence. Did he really think I couldn't handle him?

  “Keep going,” I said, gathering my voice. “I can take it.”

  I wanted to sound strong. Wanted to, and failed miserably.

  It was hard to talk at all with my nerves billowing up like a forest fire.

  “Well, gather up your reserves and hold on tight, baby. When this machine gets going, it doesn't stop. Not even when you're begging. Not for anything.”

  William pressed lower. His hips plowed their way between my legs.

  His stiff arm followed, furiously undoing the fabric between us. He caught my skirt, tore it down my creamy thighs, and then went straight for my panties.

  In a flash, the sopping wet bundle snapped below my knees. Now I was exposed, just minutes and seconds from taking him deep inside me, straight to the core howling for his divine fire.

  I'd worried the thug's attack had fucked up my senses forever. But I didn't feel the panic filling my chest like heavy cement.

  That creep in the alley had ruined one liaison with William. I gritted my teeth, pushing up into my man, silently vowing that recent history wouldn't ruin another.

  I needed his heat, his cleansing, purifying fire.

  William Gaulle – the fighter, the lover – had exactly what it took to punch the demons out of me, to grapple my heart and soul tight to his beautiful flesh. He had the power to give me a new beginning.

  No, tonight I was going to have him, and prove that the dark spell was broken. Nothing was worse than imagining my body cringing at his smoldering kisses and roving clothes again. It wouldn't – couldn't! – happen a second time.

  I wanted to touch him like a woman in heat. Touch, kiss, and then we'd move onto so much more...

  No more worries, I thought, muscles across my frame contorting as he rubbed his bulge along my slit. This is final.

  “Dig your nails into my back,” William ordered. “I don't care if it hurts for you to hang on. I'm gonna show you something raw and real, little Rose. I'm gonna burn your sweet flesh to ashes.”

  Holy shit. Where does he get off being so arrogant?

  But William wasn't lying. He had a right to be a little cocky.

  After all, he spoke with the same certainty about knocking out the big Ukrainian in the ring, and I hadn't believed it would be so easy. But he'd done it.

  Okay, fine. Maybe he had a right to be a lot cocky. It's not like it would matter – especially if he was really as good with a woman as he claimed to be.

  I heard the snap of the elastic waistband as his shorts went down. He kicked them off, pushed forward, and the tip of his swollen cock began its descent through my quivering silk.

  My palms rested flat against his hot back. I imagined his stripey tattoos folding and smoothing beneath my fingers, but only for a second.

  When his balls touched my flesh, signaling his deepest point, I couldn't think of anything. My nails pinched his skin automatically, holding on, preparing for the wild ride.

  I threw my head back and screamed as his hips rolled like thunder, heavy and immense, intent on overwhelming everything in my soft little world.

  I stepped out of the office, sucking in the cool winter air.

  Starr & Thayer's dim sign flickered behind me, a melancholy reminder of the stuffy, drab world I'd just left behind. In a few minutes, I'd be hugging my arms for warmth and cursing the puffy snowflakes gliding onto the sidewalks.

  But just now, they were what I needed, an icy splash to the face. Winter's arctic marvels reminded me I was alive.

  Alive and well after a whole day of clacking keys and doing quality control on legal documents.

  I had several more blocks to go to the bus station. It was almost Christmas, and everybody at the adjacent offices was packing it in early.

  The streets were unusually lonely, like deserted labyrinths exported from a dream. I walked on, timing my steps to the fresh snow crunching underfoot.

  I came to my shortcut. The narrow alley I always passed through to get to the bus stop on the other end looked unusually sinister today.

  Somehow, the moisture made it slicker and darker, as if the snow turned into an oily slime as soon as it passed through the roof's shadows, coating the ground like thick mud.

  I took another long breath, filling my lungs. I went in.

  The big figure creeping toward me looked like a businessman at first. He was just a black outline, so dark beneath the dim lights above several dingy fire exits that I didn't think much of it until he was on top of me.

  And even if I'd noticed his features before he picked me up and slammed me into the wall, I would've thought he'd pass harmlessly by, just as all the other homeless looking men did. But this stranger was no ordinary vagrant.

  He threw his bulk into me as
I tried to go around him. The sudden motion was like getting nailed by a truck.

  I opened my mouth to scream. Too late. Hard brick impacted behind me, knocking the cold air out of my lungs, ratting me to the bone.

  His thick, leathery hand wedged itself over my mouth. My jaw trembled against his fingers, breathing in the scent of a large man with a beard who'd clearly had too much to drink.

  “What'sa matter, honey? Beautiful girl like you shouldn't be alone out here. Not by a long shot.”

  The giant's free hand clasped my knee, and he started rubbing his way up my stockings, dangerously close to pushing under my skirt.

  Jesus, this can't be happening! No, no, no.

  My eyes flickered with horror. I jerked my head away and released an ear splitting scream.

  It didn't do anything but piss him off, delaying my nightmare by a couple seconds.

  “You stupid fucking bitch. Shut those pretty lips, or I'll shut them for you. Shut your mouth and open your legs wide...”

  He belched in my face. Sour, drunken fumes poured up my nose, curdling the pure winter air.

  I screamed again, flapping my wrists. I only managed to batter his chest until the brute's hands grabbed mine, pushing them over my head, onto the tombstone cold brick.

  I just kept screaming through the thick scent of rotten whiskey wafting from his mouth. I couldn't do anything about his bulky strength, but if he was going to do this, I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

  Behind my shrieks, lessening as his beard scratched angrily at my neck, I heard new crunching in the snow.

  Oh, God. Please tell me he doesn't have a partner. I can't stand one man, let alone several...

  I started to weep. The last shred of sanity in my brain snapped, and I alternated screams with desperate sobs as the big man pushed his repulsive lips to my neck.

  Crack!

  I opened my eyes just in time to see my attacker's huge head snap back. His jaw was twisted at an unnatural angle. A second later, he unleashed his own delayed scream, a guttural baritone cry far more bloodcurdling than mine.

  A tall, dark man shoved his way between us. He had his back turned toward me as he spun to face my attacker. The new man raised his sharp sneaker high in the air and brought it down on the man's back.

  The fat brute groaned pathetically. I shuddered with new tears and backed away, clawing at the wall for support so I didn't go tumbling into the snow.

  What the hell is going on here?

  The man who'd punched my would-be rapist wasn't even wearing a coat. He wore long windbreaker pants and a hoodie. He was lean and strong, skinnier than the bloated beast who'd almost done me some serious damage.

  Looked like he had eight, maybe ten years on me too. Probably in his early thirties. A man in his prime, mature and strong, a lion who'd worked hard to ripen himself to perfection with age.

  “Don't move a fucking muscle,” he growled. “The cops are on their way. Anytime now.”

  No kidding. Sirens began to wail on the side of the alley I'd been trying to reach.

  Cherry-blueberry lights spun through the night, a prelude to the mad snap of snow beneath boots. I cautiously approached the man holding down my groaning assailant with his boot.

  He turned to me just in time. “You alright, Miss? I dialed my cell and ran up here as soon as I saw what was happening. I was just coming out of my studio to get some fresh air.”

  I nodded unevenly. My head spun, overheated and wild like I'd had too much to drink.

  I got a good look at my savior's face. Two beautiful bright eyes were set in a hard face with a powerful jawline and a small dusting of stubble.

  He looked like a hockey player, or a soldier, or maybe a well toned cop in his own right. He smiled, looked past me, and motioned.

  I flattened myself along the wall just a second before three officers blurred past, guns drawn. They pointed them at the fat man on the ground and ordered him to stand up with his hands behind his back.

  The brute got on his feet slowly, staggered a little, hiccuping through his bloody mouth. He spat and fell against the opposite wall, curling his hands behind his back, slower than anyone liked.

  One officer moved swiftly to cuff him. They weren't going to mess around.

  “Ma'am. Sir. I'm gonna need to pull you aside and ask you a few questions.” An older cop stared at me, his stony face set like a disinterested sentry. “Do you think you can calm down for a little bit?”

  All part of the job, I guess. Well, fuck me for being upset. It's not everyday I narrowly escape getting raped.

  And how many women aren't so lucky?

  I already knew the answer. Mysterious heroes in the right place at the right time were very difficult to find. Especially ones this outrageously handsome!

  “William Gaulle.” The lean stranger stuck out his hand and grasped mine. “Wish we didn't have to meet this way, but I'm glad I wasn't a second later.”

  “I'm Rosie. Rose Merchante,” I said weakly. My real name sounded hollow in my ears.

  I looked back at the police officer. He nodded, and motioned for us to step away as two burly officers dragged my attacker down the alley toward their car.

  The officer lifted a glowing tablet from his pocket and began to alternate between us with the standard questions. I sighed, thinking I'd freed myself from dull legalese after leaving the firm for the day.

  This alley is the only time you've run into this person? Of course. Don't know him from Adam.

  And you, Mr. Gaulle, stepped in as a good Samaritan? That's right. It's not like I'm gonna let some poor girl get attacked right next to my own gym.

  Are you sure alright, ma'am? As alright as I can be, I guess.

  Can't you answer a policeman seriously instead of making goo-goo eyes at your new friend for one second? Crap.

  I imagined the last one. I blinked, watching as the officer carefully folded up his official tablet and slipped a card with his name into my hands.

  “Thanks, Miss Merchante. If we need more information about the suspect over the next few days, we'll give you a call from this number.”

  I nodded, slowly trailing him out of the alley. After being attacked, I sure as hell wasn't going to loiter between the tall buildings by myself.

  Good thing William walked at my side. He followed me all the way to the bus stop. We watched the squad car pull away, the grim silhouette of the monster in the window, staring sullenly at his bound hands.

  “Hell of a close call back there,” William said with a smile. “You need anything? If your bus won't be around for awhile, I can let you into my studio to warm up.”

  “That's very kind.” I quickly scanned the schedule plastered on the glass shelter.

  Obviously, I'd missed the original connection, but the next one was only five minutes away. I turned to him.

  “Should be by any time. Look, I really appreciate what you did for me. I was lucky to find anyone around to call the cops, let alone someone brave enough to take that guy on himself.” I inhaled deeply, blushing a little as he bathed me in his smile. “You saved me, and you could've easily been hurt...”

  “Nope.” He swiped his muscular arm through the air, dismissing the danger like I'd said something crazy. “I get in brawls all the time. It's half of what I do for a living.”

  He reached into his pocket. I grasped my second business card that evening, and stared at his name emblazoned in huge blocky letters next to a pair of ice blue, open fingered gloves.

  WILLIAM GAULLE: SELF-DEFENSE AND PERSONAL TRAINER.

  So, that explains it. Professional fighter or not, it's not like it makes me appreciate what he did any less.

  I thanked him for the card and shook his hand one last time. My fingers instinctively curled tighter around his long, thick fingers, searching for a pulse, the quiet engine powering those chiseled guns he called arms.

  Deep down, I wanted to experience his strength in a different way. I wanted to see it, feel it, and let it sweep me away
as easily as he'd thrown that big animal to the ground...

  What else can he do with those Hercules muscles? I shivered to myself, pretending it was just the cold.

  “Call the number any time. I'd pick up a few lessons if I were you. I'll even give you a few sessions for free.” He grinned, showing off a perfect row of polished teeth. “Look forward to seeing you again, Rosie.”

  His mouth was surprisingly intact for a defense trainer. No big gaps or chipped pearly whites.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  We exchanged one more smile just as the bus roared into view. I watched him turn away from me and begin walking back toward the alley, leaving precious seconds to study his outline before the warm bus cracked its doors, ushering me inside.

  The morning commute on Friday made me sick to my stomach.

  It was a cold, dark, wintry morning. Darker, colder, and lonelier than the day before, if that was even possible.

  The holidays brought everything to a screeching halt. The law firm was down to a skeleton crew, leaving me alone in my dark corner cubicle, blasting music as loud as I could get away with in my earbuds to keep awake.

  The bus wasn't much more lively. A few dark figures in oversized coats slumped against the windows near the back. Probably just overtired mechanics or late drunks coming home from a binge the night before.

  Probably. But now my eyes saw the lazy shapes differently.

  Every man in a big coat drew a little more fear, and a lot less trust. What the hell did they need such huge coats for anyone?

  I cursed winter in Minneapolis. Those coats kept them warm, sure, but they also gave them ample space to conceal a gun, a knife, or God only knew what else.

  I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes on the reflections in the windows, flinching whenever someone got up and skirted past me to exit at the stops.

  My rapid walk to the firm was just one notch below a full on run. I worried I'd trip on the ice and dive onto the ground, but not as much as I feared another trip down the shady alley.