Blurb
She's a feisty workaholic that hates his guts.
He's an arrogant MMA fighter that can't afford any distractions.
This isn't the kind of fight they're used to...
When Remy is suddenly evicted from her apartment, her best friend offers to let her crash at his house while he's traveling for work. The only problem is, she can't stand his roommate, Tristan. Now, they're stuck living together for 10 days. But after the tension breaks with one very steamy night, and then again, and again… they're forced to reexamine their long-standing enemy relationship.
While Remy struggles with her developing feelings for a notorious womanizer, Tristan has to decide if his feelings for Remy are worth it, or if they'll distract him from his longtime goal of becoming a world champion. To make matters worse, their deadline is looming because Remy is moving out soon.
Will they risk their hearts and let themselves fall in love? Or will they go back to hating each other before they've even had a chance to be together?
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Copyright 2021 @Nikki Castle
Without thinking about what I'm doing, I step closer to him and run my fingers through his hair, trying to understand the sudden shift in his mood. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he stands still and lets me play with strands of his hair. Without the tequila coursing through my veins, I never would have let myself touch him like this. But right now, I can’t find it in me to care.
"It must be exhausting being so mean all the time," I observe thoughtfully. Something flashes in his eyes, but I can't put a name to it, and then it’s gone just as quickly.
I turn away from him, completely oblivious to how much I just overstepped our normal boundaries. "Not to mention you would be so much hotter with just a little less snark," I call over my shoulder. I'm too busy drunkenly fumbling with my keys in the lock to notice his eyes widen at my honest comment.
"Ha!" I exclaim triumphantly, pushing the door open and stepping inside. But before I can take more than two steps in, I feel myself being pushed to the wall, Tristan's body pressing tightly against mine. "Hey!" I cry. His moody expression is gone, replaced with the smug face that I know so well.
"You would hate me if I was a nice guy," he drawls.
I roll my eyes at him, trying to push him off me. "Guess we'll never know, because you being a nice guy is as likely as me using the word 'literally' wrong." He grins, knowing how much I hate when girls use the word to describe something that is very clearly not literal.
"Admit it," he says softly, pushing me harder into the wall with his body. My breath catches as his face nears mine. "You like me the way I am."
"I—I don't—" my brain no longer seems to be able to form a coherent sentence. All I can do is stare into his hungry gaze and try not to picture what it would feel like if he fucked me against this wall right now.
His lips brush against my cheek, at the same time that he kneads my hips with his fingers. Every touch, every whisper of his breath, is further uncoiling the heat that's growing between my legs.
"You don't want someone to pull your chair out for you, or ask you what you want to eat," he continues. "You want someone that doesn't need your permission. Someone that will call you on your shit." He tangles his fingers in my hair and, without warning, yanks my head back. I gasp in surprise. "You want someone that will spank you when you're acting stupid."
I can't escape the whimper that slips from my lips. I squeeze my legs together, trying desperately to think of a response. But when he pulls back to wait for my reply, I know that no words could answer his unspoken question.
There are so many things that I hate about this man—he’s arrogant, and selfish, and rude. He’s a player that uses women for sex, and the only thing he actually gives a shit about is fighting. He’s the definition of self-absorbed. I should be shoving him away from me, telling him to fuck off and to stay on his side of the house for the rest of the week. I shouldn't be thinking about what he tastes like, or how his cock might feel inside of me. I shouldn't be wondering how hard he could make me come.
But his words remind me that the same alpha qualities that make me hate him... are also the ones that are making my knees weak.
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About Nikki Castle
Nikki Castle is a 29 year old wife and bulldog mom who writes steamy love stories about alpha MMA fighters and the women that melt their badass, playboy hearts. She spends her days working for a technology company and her evenings running a Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) gym with her husband, who is also a retired fighter.
Nikki has been writing in one way or another since she was a teenager. She pursued an English and Philosophy degree in college, and finally decided to sit down and fulfill her longtime dream of writing an entire novel when quarantine began in 2020.
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