Free Fight: A Stepbrother Romance Novella by Stephanie Brother

feel myself calming down and backing away from the edge of despair. "I enjoyed it too, but I hate losing control. I could've really hurt you."
    She tilted her head, licking her lower lip slowly. "Yeah, you could have, but you didn't. And if you needed to hurt me, I would have been okay with that. I mean not broken bones, or punching me, or anything, but if whatever is making you hurt is relieved by inflicting a little pain on me, I can take that."
    I winced, recognizing the sentiment behind her words, but disliking that image of myself. "I don't want to hurt anyone," I said gruffly. Even as I uttered the words, I knew it was a lie. Part of fighting involved hurting others. For some fighters, that was a detraction they had to work through. For me, it had always been the other way.
    I had to rein in the impulse to keep wailing on my opponent, to inflict pain long past the point where my victory was assured. There was a core of darkness inside me, and though is no surprise in light of my past, I hated that it had emerged around Mia. It was a good thing our fling was temporary, because I feared I might lose control completely some day, and the idea of hurting her made my heart seize for a beat.
    Tentatively, she trailed her fingers across my bare chest, fingers stopping to trace a small network of scars dotting my chest. "Did you get these in the ring?"
    "Octagon, baby." I corrected her with a wink, diverting her from the scars. Some of the scars on my body had come from fighting or training, and some had come from a life lived on the streets. Even a couple had been from crazy bitches who had wanted more than they had paid for, stuff bordering on the crazy-insane that I had refused to indulge.
    "Do you want to talk about it?"
    I could feel my body freeze up, though I didn't want it to. "Talk about what?" I made my voice as mean as I could, hoping to deter her.
    She shrugged it off, as though I was as gentle as a fucking kitten as she lifted her head further, shifting slightly so her torso rested across mine, and our eyes met. "Do you want to tell me why you're so upset? What made you so angry?"
    For the barest second, I had the craziest urge to confess everything to her. Thankfully, common sense reasserted itself quickly, and I scowled. "There's nothing to talk about."
    She sighed softly, her breasts pressing into my chest as she exhaled. My dick started twitching with interest, despite the intense workout it had just seen.
    "Do you want to tell me why you left then?"             
    I just stared at her stonily, making it clear that was a closed subject.
    Another sigh escaped her. "Okay, then tell me what you did after you ran away, but before you became a UFC fighter?"
    I wanted to shut down her questions and her curiosity, and I suppose I could have just gotten up and walked away, but she could always follow me. Hell, she could initiate this conversation any time she wanted to, unless I gave her the cold, ugly truth. I had a feeling it would scare her away, and after the controlled violence of our last sexual encounter, maybe that was for the best anyway.
    "Wanna know about my life, sweetheart? You wanna hear all the juicy details? Would you like to know how I ran out of money less than a week after I fled this hellhole? How I tried getting a legitimate job, but I was afraid to use my identity since I was underage. There are no legitimate jobs for seventeen-year-olds who dropped out of high school to run away from home."
    Her face softened with sympathy despite my cold tone. God, I hated how softhearted she was, and how it made me want to confess things I had buried long ago. I fought against the impulse, keeping my voice stern and my words chosen with deliberate care. "Maybe you'd like to hear about how a pimp recruited me for his clients? How I sold my body for three years, doing anything of the ladies paid for—and a few things for some male clients too. I preferred women, but I didn't discriminate. Whoever had