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Izzy and Sean are happily married high school sweethearts. They currently reside in Cincinnati, Ohio with their two wild (but very much loved) boys.
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Also by Izzy Sweet and Sean Moriarty
Banging Reaper
Chase
I like to hurt. I fucking love to cause pain.
Punching someone hard in the face isn't much better than sticking my hard cock into some tight little cunt, but it sure comes damn close.
I love the feel of my body slamming into another body as hard as I can. I like locking them up in an unmovable position and making them submit to my will. Hell, I like doing that with women just as much as I do an opponent.
Although I don't hit women, and I’ll fuck up any piece of shit I catch doing it.
I dodge quickly to the left as I stick out a couple of jabs at the shadow on the wall in front of me. I can already feel my skin slightly sweating, my body slowly loosening up from all the tension that’s built up from the last week or so. Instead of tensing up I loosen up and feel the energy that flows into me. It’s a heady mix of anticipation and adrenaline. If I could bottle up this feeling and sell it I would be the world’s wealthiest person.
I've never tried drugs, but I wonder if they can even come close to the feeling right before and during a fight.
“Remember Chase, this guy has had pushovers to get to this point. He's never had a straight ground and pounder coming at him,” Dale, my trainer says. He’s as close to a brother as I can imagine having. I don’t exactly come from a big family. It’s me and Dad and maybe some cousins off in the distance.
Dale's right though, this Ethan guy had the easy road to my title. He hasn't had the long drawn-out battles where you spill more than a little blood to the gods of war.
Ethan Bennett, what a mouthy little bitch. Fuck him and that hot piece of ass he brought to this fight.
“Chase, you're in the zone already aren't ya?” Dale laughs quietly. He’s fully aware of my hatred of Ethan. He knows the anger that has slowly been building up over the last couple of months. I may be an asshole but I don't talk a bunch of shit. I keep my mouth shut and let my skills as a fighter do the talking. I've earned my stripes, and he isn't the first mouthy little shit to come at me mistaking my quiet calm as a weakness.
And he won't be the last.
Hell, I am the fucking Reaper. Chase the Reaper Winters. That’s the title given to me, not some fucking name I picked because I wanted to be cool like Ethan Lightning Bennett, which is just some cheesy ass name he thought up after his first couple of fights because he hadn't earned a name yet.
“You see that girl who was with him tonight, Dale?” I ask with a small laugh of my own. She’s one hot fucking woman. I don't usually go for girls who don't fit my cheerleader bimbo stereotype, but there is something about her that is absolutely fucking hot.
“Yeah, I did. What the fuck was he thinking parading her around the building?” Dale mutters. It’s not that he doesn't like women, it’s that it was a bit unprofessional to bring a girl who wasn't part of your team into the fighter’s area.
“I haven't seen her before. He may have just paid some hooker off the strip to be his arm candy tonight. Hope he doesn't think she’s going to be a good luck charm for him.”
