Kiss with a Fist

I have discovered over my book-reading-career that I am somewhat of a masochist. I like when couples (or soon to be couples) fight. Now, I'm not talking yelling-obscenities-making-jokes-about-yo-mama fighting, although that does have it's place. I mean knock-down-drag-out fights. Involving blood. And bruises. And sometimes a certain amount of obscenities.

The fights build tension and, quite frankly, I like to see them suffer a bit before they end up together. I read romance, yes, but that does not mean I want corny, easy, run of the mill stories. I have that to thank for my recent love of Urban Fantasy. It goes beyond Boy-Meets-Girl (not that there's anything wrong with that). I crave the suspense. The drama. The really hot make up sex.

Like anyone is surprised...

But I digress. I have to say, my two favorite beat the crap out of each other couples are Mac and Barrons from Karen Marie Monings Fever series and Chess and Terrible from Stacia Kane's Downside Ghosts series.

In Bloodfever, the second book in the Fever series, Barrons and Mac have a particularly good fight. Sequence of events leading up to fight goes as thus: Barrons saves Mac. Mac and Barrons try to escape. Barrons and Mac are confronted by Malluce. Mac fights Malluce. Barrons doesn't like Mac playing with her food, so he knocks her out and kills Malluce himself. Mac is pissed.

Cue fight scene:

"I was trying to end the fight!" I punched his shoulder, hard this time.

"You were way past trying to end it," he snapped, punching me back. I nearly fell over. "You were prolonging it. You were glorying in it."

"You don't know what the feck you're talking about!" I shouted.

"I couldn't tell the difference between the two of you anymore!" he roared.
I smashed my fist into his face. Lies roll off us. It‘s the truths we work hardest to silence.
Then you weren't looking hard enough! I'm the one with boobs!"
I know you're the one with boobs!They're in my fucking face every fucking time I turn around!" 

"Maybe you need to get a grip on your libido, Barrons!"

"Fuck you, Ms. Lane!"

"You just try. I'll kick the shit out of you!"

"You think you could?"
"Bring it on."
He grabbed a fistful of my T-shirt, and dragged me up against him until our noses touched.
"I'll bring it on, Ms. Lane. But remember you asked for it. So don't even think about trying to tap out on the mat and quit the fight."
"You hear anybody crying  'Uncle' here, Barrons? I don't."
"Fine."
"Fine." 

 He swapped a fistful of my shirt for one in my hair, and ground his mouth against mine.

Excuse me while I fan myself. It gets better after that. But if you want to read more, naughty children, you'll have to buy the book. Which you should do anyway. 

My other favorite (because who can pick just one?), also takes place underground (I'm sensing a pattern) but the circumstances are completely different. In Stacia Kane's City of Ghosts, the third book in the series, it's kind of a Boy Tells Girl He Likes Her, Girl Tells Boy She Needs Time, Boy Finds Girl Having Sex With Someone Else, But Boy And Girl Still Need To Work Together (so to speak). Oh, drama, drama, drama. It's like music to my blackened soul. 

Her swing was clumsy, her vision too blurred for accuracy. It hit him, though, caught him—somewhere, the jaw she thought—with a resounding crack that sent pain streaking up her arm. Glorious pain, her entire body was tight with the anticipation of more, she needed it and she needed him to give it to her.

“Fuck!” His hand started to move up to his cheek, but she couldn’t back off. Couldn’t stop hitting him, shoving him. Power thundered through her blood, through her body; incoherent thoughts tumbled through her brain like kaleidoscope images. 

“Hit me! Hit me back, why won’t you punish me? Please, please you fucking shithead bastard just do it, hit me, please …” 

She swung again, connected again, his upper arm she thought. Good, but not enough, not enough, he wasn’t hitting her, what was wrong with him why wasn’t he hitting her, couldn’t he see how bad she needed it, why wouldn’t he punish her just fucking make her— 

She fell backward without realizing it, her brain stupidly refusing to see him in front of her, to understand what was happening. She could barely see, couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears. 

But she could feel. 

Feel his lips on hers, giving her the punishment she’d craved, hard and bruising and demanding. Felt his body above hers, felt his arm beneath her check their fall then snake up so his fingers could twist in her hair and crank her head back.



I'm sure you can see where that's going. But again buy the book. No freebies!



And on that note, I will go make some coffee (decaf), eat my milanos (classic) and watch Gilmore Girls while I read Hounded by Kevin Hearne (review type thoughts maybe to follow). Sheesh, I'm tired just thinking about everything I'm doing at the same time!