Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance Read online

  Baller

  A FIGHT NIGHT Romance

  By Simone Scarlet

  Copyright © 2015 Simone Scarlet

  The right of Simone Scarlet to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which in it published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  More FIGHT NIGHT Fiction

  Fight Night Threesome

  Laid Out

  British Bulldog

  Bruiser

  Tag Team

  Prologue

  Hannibal

  For Hannibal Alexander, getting a blowjob in the parking lot of his old high school was a ‘head trip’ in both senses of the term.

  His gleaming Bentley Continental was parked at the back of the lot – and yet still stood out, amidst the Volvos and Volkswagens preferred by the teaching staff at this expensive private academy.

  Sitting in the leather passenger seat of Hannibal’s car, her head buried in his lap, was the MMA’s fighter’s old high school girlfriend Janet Regis.

  Her blond hair was tousled across Hannibal’s legs, and her head was bobbing up and down rhythmically – in time to the deliciously dirty sound of her lips slurping and sucking on Hannibal’s raging black cock.

  “Oh, fuuuck,” Hannibal groaned, as he flopped back in his seat.

  It had been seven years since he’d last seen Janet – and her blowjob technique had only improved since their days in school.

  “Mmmmh,” for a second, Janet reared up for air, her lips glistening and spit drooling down her chin. “Oh, Baller…”

  Her blue eyes met his, and she giggled.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I got your call.” Janet wiped her chin with the back of her hand. “Fancy seeing you again – after all these years!”

  Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

  Janet looked older than he remembered – which wasn’t surprising, since they’d both been teenagers the last time they’d fooled around. But she was still young and pretty – and he knew any man should be excited to have somebody this hot eagerly blowing him at 9am on a Tuesday morning.

  But something just felt off about it to him – and the guilt churning around in the pit of his stomach was nearly as overwhelming as the aching need in his heavy balls.

  Hannibal forced himself to grin, and curled his fingers into Janet’s blond curls. Then he guided his head back down into his lap, and groaned as she obediently opened her mouth, and swallowed almost the full length of his straining cock.

  “Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Hannibal groaned, as he felt his balls begin to churn. “That’s it, baby… Just like that.”

  “Mmmph!” Janet mumbled, saliva dribbling from her stretched lips and down Hannibal’s balls. “Mmmph!”

  But she just kept on sucking… and slurping… and swirling her tongue, until Hannibal couldn’t take it anymore, and he thrust his hips upwards to skewer Janet with his cock.

  He came.

  She mumbled, and gasped, and then choked a little as Hannibal flooded her mouth with hot, salty spurts.

  It might have been a few years, but Janet still knew what to do. Tears springing to her eyes, she gulped obediently, eagerly swallowing down each spurt of cum. Her throat bulged, and within seconds Hannibal was completely drained.

  “Oh, fuck,” the big man gasped, slumping back into his seat.

  Janet giggled.

  She lifted her head from his lap – lips bruised, and chin glistening with cum.

  “Still got it, haven’t I, baby?”

  Hannibal snorted, and stroked her cheek. His dark skin was a sharp contrast to her paleness.

  “Fuck yes, you do,” he grinned. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

  At that, Janet’s eyes instinctively narrowed.

  After swallowing the cum from her high school boyfriend, the pretty blond probably didn’t want to be reminded that she wasn’t a carefree sixteen year old any more – or that she was married, and that there was a roomful of fifth graders inside the redbrick school building who knew her as ‘Mrs. Janet.’

  In fact, they were probably wondering why she was taking so long to come back from recess.

  So, with a sperm-scented burp, Janet wiped her lips and adjusted her blouse.

  “Well,” her cheeks burning, the pretty blond settled back into the passenger seat. “That probably wasn’t very… appropriate of me.” She buttoned up her blouse.

  Hannibal zipped up his pants.

  “Honey, it was perfect,” he said soothingly.

  A little hopefully, Janet looked up, and asked: “So you’re really in town for a while? Will I get to see you again?”

  “I’ll call you,” Hannibal lied.

  Janet grinned. “You’ve got my number, right?” Her cheeks burning red again, she admitted: “Facebook’s not so good to message me on. My husband…” She gulped. “Well, he sometimes checks my messages.”

  Hannibal nodded. Her husband wasn’t going to discover much. He had no intention of calling Janet again.

  Checking her watch, Janet muttered ‘shit’ under her breath, and reached for the door handle.

  “I’ve got to get back to class.” Then she turned to Hannibal, and asked: “I’ll see you again, right? Right?”

  “Sure, baby, sure,” the big man promised. “Now hurry up. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

  Janet nodded.

  She leaned in for a cum-scented kiss, and with his nose wrinkling, Hannibal smacked her lips with his. He could taste himself on her mouth.

  “Okay. See you, sweetie.”

  And then she was gone – straightening her skirt and tottering off towards the school in her high heels.

  Hannibal watched her go with a frown.

  He felt guilty. The first time back in town in years, and what does he do? Message his old girlfriend, and get her to give him a blowjob in the school parking lot.

  Considering she was married – and that he had no intention of ever seeing her again – it was a pretty shitty thing to do.

  But the truth was, Hannibal was dreading where he was supposed to be going right then, and the chance to empty his balls with an old flame was the perfect form of procrastination.

  But now that had been accomplished, there were no more excuses.

  He was back in town for a reason – and Hannibal had to go and see his mom.

  Chapter One

  Hannibal

  “So, little baby Baller finally decides to drag his sorry ass back home to Momma, eh?”

  Hannibal Alexander stood in the driveway of his mother’s townhouse, and cringed. He had missed a lot, being so far away from home on the west coast – but he sure as hell hadn’t missed listened to her rant.

  “Six months, since I last saw you,” his mom snarled, hands on her ample hips. “And what since then? You didn’t even se
nd me a postcard, Baller. Not even a phone call!”

  It was funny.

  Hannibal Alexander was one of the most fearsome and famous heavyweights on the MMA fight circuit – a man who’s snarling, tattooed face could be seen on posters and billboards up and down the country.

  But right here? Right now? He felt like a scrawny, eight-year-old boy again – yelled at by his bossy, angry mom.

  “Just look at you,” growled Trudy Alexander, shaking one fist in the air. “You turn up here in that fancy car, with those tattoos and that bling.” Sniffing the air, the elegantly-coiffered black woman hissed: “You look like a drug dealer, Baller.”

  And the truth be told? That wasn’t an entirely unfair assessment.

  In this quiet, Hartford suburb, there was definitely something suspicious about the heavily-tattooed young black man in his gleaming, chromed out Bentley Continental.

  “Can I come in, Moms?” Hannibal asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Moms? Moms?” Trudy shook her head. “There’s no ‘s’ at the end of ‘Mom’, Baller.” She narrowed her eyes. “We didn’t send you to private school just so you could go about talking like you’re from the goddamned ghetto.”

  Hannibal cringed. The memory of that high-priced high school was bitter sweet, since he’d just come from getting a blowjob in its parking lot.

  As Trudy continued shouting, the neighbors had started poking their head out of their doors and windows, to see what all the fuss was about.

  Hannibal cringed. It was embarrassing that Dr. Trudy Alexander – tenured scholar and author of dozens of acclaimed books – was the only non-white person to live on this street; and she was acting just like the stereotypical ‘angry black woman’ she complained about in the African American Studies classes she taught at the University of Hartford.

  “Seriously, Mom,” Hannibal dropped the ‘s’ this time. “Can we go inside?”

  With a snarl, Trudy jerked her thumb towards the front door.

  “Okay, I guess,” she snarled. “Just remember to take your damn shoes off, Baller.” And then she followed her son up the stairs into her modest, attached townhome – muttering ‘if he doesn’t take his shoes off, I swear I’ll take a wooden spoon to his ass. I don’t care how big he his.’

  The door slammed shut behind them.

  * * *

  Hannibal took an awkward seat at the kitchen table.

  He looked around the modest little two-bedroomed townhome sadly. The walls hung with diplomas and pictures of Hannibal and his little brother Julius. The shelves creaked with textbooks and folders. The whole house smelt like Pinesol and baking; but the smell was the only thing about the place that was familiar.

  Trudy had been living here less than a year.

  “Damned neighbors can’t keep their eyes to themselves,” Trudy was standing at the window, peering through a gap in the slides at the neighbors staring at them from across the street. “They’ve always got to be up in my business. I hate it.”

  Finally, she let the slides drop shut, and turned to look at her son.

  “Did I say you could sit down?”

  Hannibal blinked.

  “You can sit down,” Trudy growled. “But not until you come here and give your Momma a hug.”

  And that was the second thing that felt familiar. Hannibal pushed his chair back, stepped forward and then felt his mother wrap her big, comforting arms around him; crushing him to her huge bosom.

  For a moment, the whole world melted away – and Hannibal was small, and vulnerable, and feeling loved just like he had growing up.

  Hannibal wrapped his arms around his mother and squeezed her too.

  For a moment, the two of them just clung to each other. Then, reluctantly, Trudy peeled herself off her tall, athletic child and said: “I may be mad as hell at you, Baller,” tears welled up in her eyes, “but I’m still glad you came.”

  Hannibal looked down at the tears welling in his mother’s eyes, and said: “It’s good to see you, Momma.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “But why did you call for me? What’s this all about? Are you okay?”

  Trudy looked up at Hannibal and sniffed: “It’s not about me, Baller. It’s about your brother.”

  Chapter Two

  Hannibal

  A little while later, Hannibal was sitting on the small balcony overlooking the highway, and Trudy was passing him a mason jar full of her signature sweet iced tea.

  “So, you talked to Julius at all?” She demanded.

  Hannibal shrugged, sipping the delicious tea.

  “I dunno,” he said. “We like each other’s posts on Facebook. He’s doing alright, isn’t he? He still in school?”

  “At that damned community college, sure,” Trudy settled her bulk into the chair opposite Hannibal. “What a disappointment. Both your parents are tenured professors. You went to the best private school in Hartfood. And what happens to you two? One of you barely scrapes into community college, and the other drops out of Wesleyan to go and be a damned street fighter.”

  “Mixed Martial Arts, Momma,” Hannibal corrected her. “And it’s hardly street fighting.” He sipped his tea, and casually mentioned: “I pulled in seven hundred grand last year, with purse money and endorsements.”

  Trudy sniffed. Her townhome wasn’t worth a quarter of that, but she sure as hell didn’t sound impressed.

  “And what kind of career is that, Baller? Where are you gonna be when you’re thirty? Washed up, that’s where. If you’re not brain damaged, or dead.”

  Hannibal snorted, and shook his head.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, son,” Trudy snapped. “I’ve seen the stories about you on TV. Banned for three months? For brawling in a hotel lobby?” She shook her head. “I raised you better than that, Hannibal.”

  And the truth be told? She had.

  One of the reasons Hannibal had made the cross-country drive to see his mother was because he didn’t have anything better to do. He’d been suspended from the MMA league for picking a fight with rival James ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald in a hotel lobby – fined, suspended for three months and – most embarrassingly of all – he’d had his ass handed to him by the Scottish heavyweight.

  “Well, you didn’t invite me here to give me a hard time,” Hannibal growled. “You said it was about Jules. What’s the problem with my brother? Is he okay?”

  “No he’s not,” Trudy hissed. “He’s trying to follow in your footsteps.”

  Chapter Three

  Kristen

  Kristen heard the car coming down the street long before she saw it.

  Climbing up from her bed, the curvy college student stood at the window of her bedroom and peered down into the quiet, suburban street.

  There, purring down the road, was a gleaming Bentley Continental GT – a $200,000 sportscar popular with trashy stars like Paris Hilton.

  She knew who it was without even getting a glimpse of the driver.

  Hannibal.

  Kristen crossed her arms and watched at the Bentley purred to a halt by the curb, and the door swung open. Out climbed her stepbrother, Hannibal Alexander. The towering, good-looking MMA prizefighter, with his burly bare arms and infuriatingly arrogant swagger, walked across the yard like he owned it.

  Kristen sniffed.

  It had been a year since she’d last seen Hannibal, and that hadn’t been long enough.

  If she’d had her way, she’d never have seen him again.

  * * *

  Kristen had first met Hannibal Alexander when her mom had taken a job at the college he taught in.

  Kristen’s mom Susie was new in town, freshly divorced and eager for new friends. Hannibal’s dad Cornell, the friendly professor, was more than happy to take her under his wing. He had a beautiful wife, and two smart young sons, and seemed delightfully safe, and non-threatening.

  And that’s how Kristen had wound up as part of Hannibal’s life.

  She’d just finished up high school, and had been drag
ged to this new town by her mother. That would have been disorientating enough, but in addition to the strange new apartment in the strange new town, she had to deal with her heartbroken mother, who flitted between drunken bouts of depression and wild fits of crying.

  Thanks to the friendship of Cornell, Susie soon started to sort herself out – but nevertheless those early days had been rough for Kristen.

  If it hadn’t been for the new friendships she had with Hannibal and his little brother Jules, Kristen didn’t know whether she’d have made it or not.

  The three of them had become friends fast. Hannibal and Jules practically adopted her.

  Perhaps because they were the only black kids on the block, there was never any issue about the different color of their skin. Hannibal and Jules treated this pretty white girl like she was their sister, and for a beautiful summer, the three of them were practically inseparable.

  Kristen knew that bond had helped her get through the messy move, and had given her ragged-around-the-edges mom the stability she needed as she found her feet again.

  But there was more to it than that. For Kristen, this new friendship had awoken feelings inside her she’d never experienced before.

  These were the days before Hannibal took up fighting. Martial Arts was just a passion of his then, and he was more focused on getting the classes he wanted at Wesleyan. He was a bright, clean-cut young African American kid with a good future ahead of him; and Kristen fell for him hard.

  She thought he was amazing.

  He was big, and powerful-looking even then. He took martial arts and fitness very seriously and his body was a rippling washboard of muscle and sinew.

  When they’d gone to the lake or to the beach, Kristen had felt her cheeks burn every time she watched Hannibal take off his shirt. But, like a car wreck, she couldn’t look away either.

  And more than that – Hannibal looked out for her.

  He was always there for her - dependable, and warm, and strong. The feel of his arm around her shoulders made Kristen feel both comforted and excited at the same time.