Feature and Giveaway: Fight Twice for Me by C.C. Wylde

The last place I wanted to be is at my ex’s MMA club, especially since I’ve sworn off fighters.

But I never anticipated meeting the De La Cruz twins. And damn, is there anyone who could resist a chance at a night of mind-blowing sex with them? With their tattoos, muscles, and the fact that there’s two. Besides, I’m getting the hell out of Vegas as soon as I’m done with college in a few weeks, so why not indulge until then?

It felt good to forget the rules…until I woke up to find out they were my new stepbrothers.

It’s about to get complicated.

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Pushing off the wall, he crushes the cigarette with his shoe and stalks toward me. One hundred percent predator. A part of me wants to roll over and show him my belly. The other part—the reformed, healing, determined never to be screwed over again part—wants to meet him head on.

Stepping into my personal space, he stops only when I take a step back. The smile he flashes is devious and triumphant, as if he just won some silent contest I hadn’t realized we were playing. I should’ve, though. A top five rule of fighting is to always look for the weakness in your opponent, and never reveal yours.

“I call things like I see ’em,” he says, that damn voice of his vibrating the air between us. “And I thought calling you beautiful was less chauvinistic than calling you hot as fuck, seeing as how we just met, and all.”

Placing one hand on my hip, he takes his time raking his hungry gaze over every inch of my body. Typically, I don’t let random guys touch me without express permission. But something about this guy makes me want his hands on every part of me.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his shoulders to steady myself, to pull his body flush with mine. I’m surprised at my boldness. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Less chauvinistic?” I stroke the scars on his ears making the cartilage swollen and puffy, proof positive he’s part of the scene I’ve tried so hard to leave behind. His grip on my hip tightens at my touch, but he doesn’t move away. His eyes hold mine, mirroring some of the fierce lust he must see in me. “I didn’t know fighters knew the definition of the word, and you don’t look like you know how to be less of anything,” I say, trying to hold onto a shred of my sanity while in his grip.

He parts his lips and chuckles. When he does, his scent slams into me. A mix of smoke, soap, and woodsy cologne. As if I needed anything more about him to turn me on, another voice sounds from over my shoulder. A voice that sounds just like his.

“Gorgeous and smart-mouthed. Damn, brother. I hope you saved some of her for me.”

CC Wylde believes in wonder, imagination, and fantasies where happily ever afters are real, and finding the one is guaranteed . . . even if the one is really one plus one, two, or three.

She’s always been impressed by the influence stories have on people as individuals and society. Sometimes in real life, rules can be strict. Thoughts and situations can limit us. But she knows that between the pages of a good book—just like in between the linens of our own private sheets—we can all have happy endings.

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