The Belgian Beast Read online

It was hard to keep calm while I had her in bed and her plump ass resting against my cock. I knew she felt my hard on easily but was lady like and ignored it while she kissed me back.

  “Do you want to come with me today?” I asked as I sat up. I had to or I’d go too far with her. It was too easy to when I was in bed with the sexiest woman I’d ever met. Her sensuality was more eluded when put out there obviously. She didn’t have to flaunt her body to turn me on. From the way she looked at me through her long eyelashes to the firm plumpness of her lips made me want her.

  “I can. Let me take a shower,” she answered before she yawned, her hands going over her mouth instinctively.

  “Okay,” I murmured as I took in her bedroom. It was my first time inside of it.

  The small apartment’s single bedroom was painted in a soft daisy yellow color. The walls had framed pieces of artwork all featuring dancers. Next to the mirror though were a bunch of personal photos tacked to the wall like a scrapbook.

  I stood from the bed and stretched before I strolled to where Nina’s photos hung. There was one I recognized right away as her as a small girl with afro puff ponytails and a missing toothed grin.

  “Très mignon,” I commented to the woman who pulled the duvet to her face in embarrassment.

  There was a candid photo of a teenaged Nina with a younger boy I knew right away was her hilarious cousin, Ayo. They were more best friends than cousins and he was the only family member she had to count on with her deepest secrets and thoughts when it came to the world around her. Nina obviously loved her parents, but she couldn’t talk to them openly from what she’d told me. She constantly had a fear of their judgment.

  “I’m going to let you shower. I’m going home to do the same. I’ll see you soon?” I questioned to Nina who nodded as I trekked back in her direction.

  With a finger under her chin, I pulled her face up and bent to give her a chaste kiss. It never got old, kissing her. Each time was just as exciting as the last. I’d immediately wanted her to be mine and now she was.

  Hungry for more, I crushed my mouth into hers and climbed onto the bed, my body pressed hers to the mattress as our tongues fought an impassioned battle. My hand slipped under the hem of the tank top she wore to bed and my fingertips crushed over her supple skin.

  Like a bucket of ice water, the reality of going further hit me. I wanted her more than anything, but it was up to Nina when and how it happened. She was in the driver’s seat and I’d handed over the keys. It was so unlike me, but she was changing me.

  “I’ll go. See you in thirty minutes,” I said down to her as I stood back up.

  “Thirty minutes,” she managed to breathe before she lifted her body up. “Thank you for going slow with me.” She stood on her toes left a brisk and easy kiss on my lips. It was as if she knew my very thoughts.

  “It’s all up to you, baby,” I told her honestly. I wanted Nina to always have complete trust in me and how I’d treat her. She was important to me and not just somebody to warm my bed. I knew fairly quickly I wanted Nina around for the long haul if she’d have me.

  * * *

  Nina’s arms were wrapped tightly around my waist as we rode off through Brussels on my motorbike. Across the city on a sleepy Sunday, we arrived on a narrow street in Kraainem. The connected brick houses all stood in a row and we parked in front of one with colorful flower boxes on the windowsill. The last blooms before the frigid and drying winter arrived.

  I collected Nina’s helmet and secured it to the bike with my own before I took her with me by the waist and we stepped to the front door. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by the sound of my mother’s voice.

  “Wie is het?” She questioned from the other side of the door in her thick and unmistakable Flemish accent.

  “Jouw zoon,” I answered before the door swung open and there stood the woman who didn’t just carry me for nine months, and birth me, but did everything in her power to protect me even when she couldn’t.

  She didn’t quite look like the young woman she was when I was a little boy, but she was still just as beautiful even with age. Though she had wrinkles here and there, she kept her hair blonde and her smile was always just as bright when she saw me now as when I’d run out of the school gates to her at the end of the day.

  “Marc,” she beamed as she pulled me into a tight hug. Well, as tight as a short little woman like my mother could. “You have a guest.” She quickly noted Nina as she pulled away.

  Nina shyly smiled from behind me and I was quick to pull her forward with me, my arm firm around her petite waist.

  “Maman, this is my girlfriend, Nina. Nina this is my mother,” I introduced the two women switching to French. I’d learned that Nina did speak Dutch but preferred French. Mom quickly pulled Nina in for a kiss on the cheek and Nina did the same.

  “Come inside, I was in the garden getting the furniture put away before the bad weather really begins,” My mother explained switching to French herself as she allowed Nina and I into the house and closed the door behind us. “Nina, that is a lovely name.”

  “Merci,” Nina answered in her soft voice as we walked toward the back of the house and just into the kitchen I could see where a man sat at a table with a freshly poured beer. “You didn’t mention we’d meet your mother,” Nina whispered back to me as we continued to follow my mother.

  “Surprise,” I shrugged playfully to Nina who shook her head at me as we continued to follow along.

  “Luc, Marc is here with his girlfriend!” My mother called up the hall.

  After my father, my mom spent time healing from her wounds and during that time she met Luc. He was an insurance agent she met while applying for one of her first jobs since being a housewife and now being the sole breadwinner of the house. They meshed perfectly with one another and for the first time my mother was in a healthy relationship.

  “There’s the big man!” Luc’s voice boomed as he stood and pulled me into a hug and patted me enthusiastically on the back. “I watched the fight on TV last night, great job.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Luc watched, I went to bed,” Mom told us. “I can’t take watching those fights,” she told Nina.

  “Nina didn’t do too well there. It was a little much for her,” I pulled out a chair for her to sit before I sat down next to her.

  “I can’t do all that violence. It’s too much for me but Marc makes his living doing it and he takes care of my poor Sophie.” Mom sighed as she mentioned my sister who no one wanted to think of as a lost cause, but it never seemed to get better. “She came by with the kids last night. She and Basir had gotten into an argument.”

  “I don’t know what else to do, Maman,” I confessed.

  “She’ll have to figure it out on her own, but I hope she can do it quickly for the sake of the children and poor Basir. He’s a good man and works so many jobs to keep the children clothed and fed only for Sophie to gamble it all away sometimes.” Mom shook her head as she pulled a couple beers from the fridge.

  “Want a drink?” she questioned.

  “None for me. I’m driving and it’s Friday so…” My voice trailed off not knowing if Nina would want a drink.

  “That’s right, day of prayer and all, I better not, but thank you,” Nina said politely.

  “You’re Muslim?” My stepfather asked intrigued with an eyebrow raised. I already felt him casting a judgmental eye upon her. I sat up a little straighter and glared in his direction as I awaited Nina’s answer and his subsequent response.

  “I am,” Nina answered meekly. I could sense that she was uncomfortable discussing it. She tended to not speak about her religion much at all and I respected that as everyone else should.

  “Where is your family from?” My mom asked also intrigued to know more about Nina.

  “They migrated from Mali right before I was born,” Nina expertly explained as I held her hand and stroked my thumb over the back of her hand in reassurance.

  “That’s lovely,
” my mom said happily as she peered at Luc, clearly giving him a look to keep him in check.

  Luc was a good guy and loved my mom, but he could be xenophobic. He’d been known to stir up drama with Basir on occasion in regard to Basir’s Moroccan origins and Islamic faith.

  “It was a good fight. The American put up a fuss. I kept waiting for him to go down and stay down,” Luc expressed as he went back to the subject of last night’s match. “When he took that last stumble, I knew that was it for him.”

  “Oui, he was a good opponent. It gets boring when I take them down quick,” I conversed as my mom and Luc sipped their beers. Mom cringed at talks of my fights.

  “No more talk of those fights. I’m glad you won but please,” My mother begged. I gave her a sympathetic nod. “How long have you two been together? Marc never brings girls around.”

  “Mom!” I quipped. I knew the questions would come and that she was itching to get as much information as she could from Nina and myself.

  My mother huffed in mock frustration.

  “I just want a little information. I can’t remember the last time you brought a girl home. I know there have been girls in your life, but you never bring them home which means Nina is one special lady.” My mom beamed as she peered over to Nina who nervously played with my hand that laid in her lap.

  “That she is,” I confirmed before I leaned over and kissed Nina on the cheek.

  “Ik ben gelukkig,” Mom cheered as she expressed her happiness. “I only want you to be happy, Marc. You’ve sacrificed so much for our family. It’s time you enjoy your happiness. Maybe even give up fighting and settle down. I want you safe and happy.”

  “If I can promise anything, it is that I’ll be happy,” I confirmed.

  Giving up fighting wasn’t in the cards yet. One day I’d step out of the octagon for the last time, but it just wasn’t time yet. I still had so much to prove, and I still felt the fight raging through my veins, pulsating with energy.

  * * *

  With my fists pummeling into the bag. I proved to myself why I was called the Belgian Beast. With each jab at the leather bag, I saw myself in the octagon against an opponent fighting them with everything in me. In my fantasy, I was showing the world who the beast really was. I knew who I was but did everyone else see it?

  “Come on, Marc,” Jean cheered from next to me. He was egging me on and forcing me to go harder, which was his job. He molded me from an angry boy into a legitimate fighter.

  The endorphins rushing through my veins made me feel invincible. My skin felt as if it was in flames as I stayed in my zone. Grunting with each punch and kicking high as if I was going directly into an opponent's neck.

  As Jean called time, I growled into the air. I worked hard from the gym to the cage. This wasn’t just for show, I put in every fucking moment of blood, sweat, and tears. With a splash of water to my face, I finally refocused on the room around me. The gym was empty except for Jean and I as most intense sessions were.

  “Good practice,” Jean noted with a slap on my sweat covered back. I could only manage a grunt in response before chucking down an entire bottle of water. “We’ve got to keep this up for your next big one. New York is going to be an entirely different monster than we’ve ever dealt with before and I need your focus as high as you can get it.”

  “Done,” I declared simply before I sat down on the edge of the beat-up leather couch, not far from my usual practice area.

  “I’m serious, Marc. No distractions and practice, practice, practice.”

  “I said, done,” I growled, frustrated at Jean’s pushing. I knew what I had to do, and I did it every single time.

  “I’m sorry but that girl has become a distraction and I know you care about her but—.”

  “Nothing,” I cut him off with a bark as I stood to my feet, my stance towering over the short man. “Nina isn’t a distraction. She doesn’t stop me from doing what needs to be done.”

  “Just making sure, that’s all.” Jean raised in hands on defeat. “I can tell she means a lot to you. She’s a nice girl and you do need a nice girl, but the key is to not let the nice girl get in the way of the prize.”

  “She is the prize,” I admitted openly. “I’ve never felt like this about any girl I’ve had anything with and yes, most girls were just drive by flings.”

  “Is the Belgian Beast in love?” Jean asked with a light chuckle.

  Love, that was the biggest little word I could think of. There was so much wrapped into that one word that I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know what love was and now I had this woman in my life who changed the game in only moments. Was that love? I had no clue but was more than prepared to find out with her and her only.

  “He’s definitely in love,” Fabumi’s voice broke my concentration.

  My head snapped up to see him rolling in from the old elevator shaft. The elevator hadn’t ever worked but as soon as Fabumi had his accident, Jean made sure it was functioning again just for him.

  Jean had a son who tragically passed away at the age of five from leukemia. He and his wife divorced after their son’s death and he threw himself into his career as a fighting coach. His athletes became his children and he took Fabumi and I under his wing as his sons when we needed it the most.

  “Mon frère,” I greeted my friend as he wheeled over to my training area. “And I wouldn’t call it love. I’ve barely known her a month, but I do know it’s different.”

  “It’s love. Don’t fight it, man. I agree, she’s nice. A little quiet and on the reserved side but nice. There is a little something about her, a spark. You can sense it and I think that’s what brings you two together,” Fabumi reflected.

  “What are you, some expert on the matter?” I joked playfully with my best friend.

  Fabumi chuckled and shrugged. “Hell, maybe. I’m just a ball of love lately anyway. I’m about to be a dad and all. I don’t know if I’m an expert, but I do know life is too short to not go after what you want. If you want her, go for it. I think she wants you too.”

  I think she does too.

  Chapter Eight

  Nina

  I settled into complete security as I leaned into Marc’s arms while we stood in line at the neighborhood friterie. It was a long night for me with another intense performance with our prima ballerina out once again and myself filling in for her. Though tired, I was grateful I could prove myself as a dancer worthy of commanding the stage.

  When I returned to dance, I had something to prove immediately, I’d turned down a job in Paris before I got married. My career in ballet had shot off right away but the pause had given me a sort of reputation, at least I felt it had. Returning to dance, I wanted to show I still had it and could be a prima.

  Marc ordered for the two of us. I stayed firmly wrapped in his arms during the busy Saturday night rush of everyone who didn’t want to cook dinner and would partake in Belgium’s fast food staple, fries.

  As what had become our usual, Marc had come to meet me at the backdoor of the Opera House, and we took the train to Jette as we’d done the night we met. From that very night, I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly what there was about me that kept him close. I saw myself as frankly forgetful, but Marc didn’t forget, he made it a mission to know me for more than the ballerina he stumbled upon. I didn’t know why when there were plenty of women out there for him, but he picked me.

  “Merde, c’est the Belgian Beast!” An excited voice wailed from the seating area of the shop. A man shot out of his seat and stumbled over a chair before he arrived at Marc and me.

  I could smell the alcohol leaking through his pores as he stepped a little too close. I cringed at the smell of him. It was so close to nights when my ex-husband would come home drunk out of his mind with the alcohol seeping out of him and the stench filling our home.

  Marc must have felt me flinch as he rubbed a hand over my arm gently and gave me a kiss on the forehead before he stepped alone to the eagerly enthusias
tic fan.

  “Bonsoir,” Marc said easily in his deep and relaxing voice. “Ça va?” He politely asked as he reached out and shook the man’s hand.

  “Merde, merde, merde!” He chanted over and over clearly in shock that Marc even spoke to him. “Ça va. I’m a big fan. Can I get a picture?” The man yanked his phone from his pocket and poked around at it as he tried his best to open his camera app.

  Taking a selfie with his fan, Marc was completely relaxed. I had no idea how he did it. Watching him, my heart raced and there was a hard lump in my throat. If I had to deal with any type of admirer, I wouldn’t be able to handle it for one moment with my anxiety getting the best of me. Marc was so different, he made everything look so easy. I was in jealous awe as I watched him casually converse with the man who was glued to his every word.

  Marc was somewhat of a homegrown idol. It wasn’t the first time I’d been out with him and someone spotted him and went into a flurry of excitement. Each time, I respectfully stood to the side while Marc interacted.

  “Merci, merci, merci,” the man slurred repeatedly as he stumbled back to his seat with his group of friends.

  Marc returned to me as our order was placed on the counter. Marc paid, and we were easily off with a wave to his fan before we stepped outside and began the walk toward Marc’s apartment.

  “You’re Mr. Popular,” I joked as I peered up at Marc who simply gave me a wink. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re so easygoing. I wouldn’t be able to speak, let alone have a casual conversation with someone who recognized me on the street.”

  “It’s not too hard. In a weird way, I know these people already. They love what I love,” Marc explained as we strolled together, my fingers laced with his and the butterflies going insane in my stomach. “It used to be harder. I don’t know. I’ve changed so much since I’ve met you. I mean I’ve always been confident, but my confidence is different.”

  “I just don’t have the nerves for it,” I concluded with a shrug.