The scene in the alley was nothing like Lawson or Blake expected.
The one doing the beating was a curvy, drop-dead gorgeous young woman. The one getting his ass handed to him was a mean-looking middle-aged guy. Cowering nearby, arms wrapped around his head, was a terrified younger man.
The woman was laying into the guy while cursing him out in English with a heavy accent.
"You piece of shit! You called me a whore?! Your mom's the whore! Your whole fucking family's whores!"
Lawson and Blake's brains blue-screened for a second.
She was so into it she hadn't even heard Lawson's shout—until Blake called out.
"Daisy?"
Daisy spun around, still in full rage mode. The second she saw Blake, her expression softened.
"Blake? What are you doing here?"
Blake was too stunned by the scene to answer right away. It was a lot to process.
But Daisy quickly noticed the ridiculously handsome guy standing next to Blake. Her eyes lit up.
"Blake, is this your boyfriend? Damn, he looks even hotter in person!"
Lawson caught the predatory glint in Daisy's eyes. This girl was definitely a carnivore.
He cleared his throat.
"Ahem… can someone explain what the hell is going on?"
Blake snapped out of it.
"Yeah! Daisy, what happened?"
"I went to the bathroom to fix my makeup, right? Then I walked in on this asshole dragging my classmate in there. The prick called me a whore right to my face. I was already pissed about getting dumped, so I let him drag me out here and taught him a lesson."
Daisy gave the unconscious middle-aged guy another kick for good measure. He didn't even twitch.
Lawson stared at her, speechless. The guy who broke up with Daisy was actually the lucky one—he got out in time.
Or maybe he just couldn't handle her fighting power and tapped out.
While Lawson was still processing, Blake looked impressed.
"That was badass! Daisy, I had no idea you could fight like that!"
"Yeah? I told you my dad was in the military. He taught me hand-to-hand so no one would mess with me."
This wasn't just "trained in martial arts" territory. Women naturally have lower muscle density and bone strength than men—that's biology. You can't change it.
That's why female boxing champions who challenge male fighters at the same weight class usually get knocked out in one punch by some random dude.
Daisy being able to wreck a much bigger man? That was pure natural talent. She was basically built like a female version of those legendary strongmen.
Lawson glanced at the young guy still shaking in the corner, curious.
"Daisy, why was this guy messing with your classmate?"
"Who knows? Probably drunk and looking for trouble. Happens in bars all the time."
She had a point—bars were full of idiots starting fights.
But Lawson felt like there was more to it. He walked over to the young man.
"Hey. What's really going on here?"
The guy looked up, face full of despair.
"It's over… everything's over! You just beat up an Irish Mob guy! Those psychos are gonna kill all of us!"
Daisy got pissed. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up.
"Barry, what the hell are you talking about? I just saved your ass!"
Barry looked at her with pure misery.
"If you hadn't jumped in, I would've just taken a beating. Now they might straight-up murder me!"
Daisy froze. She hadn't thought that far ahead. For the first time, she looked unsure.
"No way…"
Lawson had heard enough about the Irish Mob to know they didn't play around. They were fearless.
Modern terrorism basically started with the Irish—fighting for independence from the British Empire.
The U.S. government quietly supported Irish independence back then (and probably trained some of them too), mostly to keep the old British Empire in check.
Father-son relationships between empires are complicated. America liked having Britain as a loyal little brother, but Britain still dreamed of its glory days.
Ambition needs to be checked, or the whole team falls apart.
The Irish playbook later got copied by Israel during its founding—lots of bombings and hits. Thanks to media control, most people never heard about it.
Everyone thinks radical Islamic groups invented terrorism. They didn't. The Irish and Israelis were the OGs.
So when some of those Irish pros retired, they brought their skills to America.
That's why the Irish Mob in the U.S. leveled up fast—their combat ability now surpassed the Mafia.
Which was exactly why the Bonanno family didn't want to start a war with them.
But Lawson caught the hole in Barry's story.
"You still haven't said why the Irish were after you in the first place. They're crazy, but they don't usually mess with random civilians."
Barry's eyes darted away. He was definitely hiding something.
That pissed Daisy off even more. She slammed her fist into the wall right next to his head, making him flinch hard.
"It's this bad and you're still holding back? Spill it—now!"
Daisy's earlier beatdown had been terrifying. The intimidation check passed perfectly. Barry finally cracked.
"It's like this… I was short on cash, so I started moving product for the Irish around campus. Once I started making money, I got cocky and… spent their cut. All of it."
Lawson rolled his eyes. This guy was human garbage. He didn't even want to talk to him.
Daisy was furious. She punched Barry in the stomach.
"I never should've saved your sorry ass!"
The hit was so hard it made Barry puke up everything in his stomach. Her fists were no joke.
"Daisy, please help me! You have to help me!"
Daisy had zero interest in saving a drug dealer. She grabbed Blake's hand and started walking away.
"Fuck off! If you want to live, go turn yourself in. I'm not babysitting trash like you! Blake, let's go."
Lawson took one last look at Barry on his knees and the unconscious Irish guy, then turned to leave.
But as he walked out, he quickly typed and sent a text.
Just a casual thing.
Lawson, Blake, and Daisy left the alley.
"So where are we going next?"
Daisy was in a great mood after beating the shit out of someone. She actually wanted to keep partying.
Blake wasn't feeling it. She'd lost all interest in the night scene. With Lawson right there, she just wanted to be alone with him.
"Maybe we should call it? I kinda want to go home."
Daisy saw right through her. But she was also very interested in Lawson, so she didn't want to let them slip away.
"Why? The night's still young!"
Blake looked super awkward. She shot Lawson a pleading "help me" look.
Lawson had already noticed Daisy's carnivore energy aimed straight at him.
Following his personal rule—never miss a good girl, never pass up a bad one—he was definitely intrigued.
But he couldn't show it in front of Blake.
"Daisy, we can party another time. I haven't seen Blake in half a month. You don't want to be the third wheel, right?"
With Lawson putting it like that, Daisy couldn't push anymore.
"Fine. Lawson, I'm trusting you with Blake. Have her back by noon tomorrow."
Daisy winked at him, her eyes full of meaning.
Lawson smiled.
"There'll be other chances. I'll drop you at school first."
He drove Daisy back to Caltech, then headed home with Blake.
(Quick note: Lawson's Dodge Viper had been returned—Brian brought it back personally after getting released from the police impound. But it was totaled from slamming into that telephone pole and still wasn't fixed. So he was still driving a boring used car.)
lemon :
The second the apartment door clicked shut behind them, the outside world ceased to exist. Lawson's place was a modest one-bedroom unit on the second floor of a quiet building in Pasadena, just far enough from Caltech to give him breathing room but close enough that Blake could "study" here whenever the dorm felt too empty. City lights filtered through half-closed blinds, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floor and the dark leather couch. The air still carried the faint scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive—and the lingering trace of the takeout they'd grabbed on the drive home. But none of that mattered the moment Blake's restraint snapped.
Half a month without him had been torture. Fourteen nights of cold sheets, restless legs, and fingers that could never reach the places he did. Fourteen mornings waking up aching for the weight of his body, the rumble of his voice, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the universe worth slowing down for. She had tried to be good—focused on classes, hit the gym like she promised herself after the last time she'd tapped out too early—but nothing replaced the real thing.
The second they crossed the threshold, Blake launched herself at him.
"Lawson—" The name tore from her throat like a prayer and a demand all at once. She jumped, arms locking around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist with desperate strength. Her mouth crashed into his before he could even drop his keys. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth and half-choked whimpers. She tasted like the cherry lip gloss she'd reapplied in the car and the faint salt of the tears she'd almost shed earlier when Daisy had teased her about "saving herself for the boyfriend."
Lawson caught her effortlessly, hands sliding under her thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh just below the hem of her short black dress. He stumbled back one step, back hitting the closed door, and laughed low against her lips—half amusement, half pure male satisfaction.
"Easy, tiger. Door's not going anywhere."
But Blake wasn't listening. She ground down against the hard ridge already straining his jeans, the friction sending sparks straight to her core. Her body remembered him too well. The way he filled her. The way he ruined her for anyone else. Half a month of aching emptiness crashed over her like a tidal wave.
"Ah—!"
The orgasm hit without warning, brutal and perfect. Her entire body seized in his arms, curling inward like a pill bug as pleasure detonated behind her eyes. Snow-white skin flushed deep rose from collarbone to hairline. Her sapphire-blue eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering wildly. Thighs clamped around his waist hard enough to bruise. A hot rush of wetness soaked through her panties and straight onto the front of his jeans, the damp heat unmistakable even through denim.
Lawson's smile was slow, predatory, and impossibly fond. "Greedy little kitten. Why so rushed? No one's stealing me from you."
He booped her nose with one finger—the same finger that had just been gripping her ass—like she was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen mid-orgasm. The gesture was so Lawson: cocky, teasing, yet somehow gentle enough to make her heart squeeze.
Blake's eyes stayed rolled back for another long second. Her breath came in tiny, hiccupping gasps. When she finally focused again, those blue irises were glassy with tears of overwhelming relief and leftover lust.
"I… I just missed you so much," she whispered, voice cracking. The words carried every sleepless night, every unfinished fantasy, every time she'd hugged her pillow and pretended it was his chest.
Lawson felt it—really felt it. This wasn't just horniness. This was love, raw and unfiltered, from a girl who had never given herself to anyone before him. Blake Gaines, top of her engineering cohort at Caltech, the girl who could recite thermodynamic equations in her sleep, had handed him her whole heart without a single safety net. It humbled him in a way no Trump Card ever could. The Iron Man enhancement made his body superhuman—endurance, strength, recovery, all dialed to eleven—but nothing prepared him for the way her devotion hit him square in the chest.
He carried her to the couch without breaking the kiss, sitting down so she straddled him. One hand stroked her back in long, soothing lines while the other cupped her flushed cheek.
"Take it slow," he murmured against her temple. "We have all the time in the world. No rush."
Blake hummed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. She nuzzled closer, then—shy but determined—her tongue darted out and licked a slow stripe up the center of his chest where his shirt had come unbuttoned during the frantic kiss. The wet heat of her tongue on his skin made his cock twitch hard against her soaked panties.
Lawson knew that signal. Kitten was ready for round two.
No more words. Time for overtime.
He stood in one fluid motion, still holding her like she weighed nothing (thanks to the Trump Card), and walked them to the bedroom. The door banged open. He laid her on the unmade bed—sheets still smelling like him from that morning—and stripped her with efficient reverence. The black dress peeled away. Lacy black bra and matching thong followed. Her body was a study in contrasts: soft, creamy skin that flushed so beautifully, full C-cup breasts with dusky pink nipples already tight, a narrow waist that flared into hips perfect for gripping, and legs that trembled with anticipation. Between her thighs, her pussy was bare and glistening, the earlier orgasm leaving her folds puffy and slick.
Lawson shed his own clothes in seconds. The Iron Man Trump Card had sculpted him into something almost unfair—broad shoulders, carved abs, powerful thighs, and a cock that was thick, veined, and long enough that Blake still sometimes gasped when he first pushed in. Tonight was no exception.
He started with his mouth, because he loved watching her fall apart. He kissed down her throat, sucked a mark just below her ear where only he would see it tomorrow, then lavished attention on her breasts—sucking, licking, biting gently until she arched and moaned his name like a mantra. Lower still, he spread her thighs and buried his face between them.
She tasted like heaven and sin—sweet, musky, addictive. His tongue circled her swollen clit, flicked, sucked. Two fingers slid inside her tight heat, curling against that spot that made her thighs shake. Blake's hands fisted in his hair, hips rolling shamelessly.
"Lawson—oh my God—please—"
Her second orgasm (third overall) crashed through her with a broken cry. This time it was wetter. A small gush of clear fluid splashed against his chin as her walls fluttered and clenched. Lawson drank it down, groaning at the taste, at the way her body surrendered so completely.
But he wasn't done.
He rose up, notched the thick head of his cock against her entrance, and pushed in slowly—inch by glorious inch. Blake's back bowed off the mattress. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Even after half a month, she was tight enough that he had to pause halfway, letting her body stretch around him.
"Fuck, baby… so tight. You feel like you were made for me."
She nodded frantically, tears of pleasure slipping from the corners of her eyes. "All of you—please— I can take it."
He bottomed out with a low growl, balls pressed flush against her ass. For a moment he just stayed there, savoring the way her pussy rippled around him, the way her heartbeat pounded through their joined bodies. Then he started to move.
Slow, deep strokes at first. Then harder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Blake's moans turned into sobs of ecstasy. He shifted angles, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, and she shattered again—harder this time. Her third orgasm (fourth total) was a flood. Clear liquid sprayed around his pistoning cock, soaking the sheets beneath her ass, splattering his thighs, creating a growing dark patch that spread with every frantic roll of her hips. The battlefield was officially flooded by Blake.
Lawson didn't stop. He fucked her through it, drawing out every pulse, every gush, until she was babbling incoherently. He flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and took her from behind—deeper, rougher, one hand fisted in her hair, the other spanking her ass just hard enough to make the flesh jiggle and redden. She came again, another flood, another ruined section of sheet. Then he rolled them so she was on top, but her thighs burned after only a minute of riding him; the month of gym work had helped, but she was still built for brains, not marathon sex. He took over again, pinning her wrists above her head, pounding into her until her eyes glazed and her tongue lolled.
Every climax brought another wave of wetness. By the time he finally pulled out—cock glistening, still rock-hard, refusing to finish because tonight was about her—she had lost count. The sheets were soaked through in a massive puddle. The air was thick with the scent of sex and her sweet release. Blake lay there boneless, chest heaving, skin glowing with sweat, sapphire eyes unfocused, a dazed little smile on her kiss-swollen lips.
Total massacre. Total victory.
He scooped her up before she could even register the movement. "Bath time, kitten. Can't have you catching a cold."
The bathroom was small but clean—white tile, a decent shower-tub combo. Lawson turned the water on hot, steam billowing instantly. He stepped in with her still in his arms, letting the warm spray cascade over both of them. The heat seeped into her overstimulated muscles. Slowly, those sapphire eyes focused again.
Then, to his surprise, she started crying.
Not the overwhelmed tears from pleasure. These were quiet, broken, guilty sobs that shook her shoulders. Water mixed with salt on her cheeks.
"Blake? What's wrong?" He pulled her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other stroking her spine.
"I… I can't satisfy you at all." The words came out in a rush, muffled against his wet skin. "I'm a terrible girlfriend. You didn't even finish. I came so many times—God, I flooded the bed like some… some porn star—and you just… you held back the whole time. Your stamina is insane. Daisy even said so. And I'm just… me. I get tired after a month of training and I still can't keep up. I feel like I don't deserve you."
Lawson's heart twisted. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze under the falling water. Droplets clung to his lashes, ran down the sharp line of his jaw.
"It's okay, Blake. Sometimes the journey matters just as much as the destination. Being with you… I enjoy every second. Your sounds, the way you look at me like I hung the moon, the way you try so hard even when your body's screaming for rest—that's what gets me. Not just the physical finish line. You make me feel human in a way no Trump Card ever has."
He kissed her then—slow, deep, reassuring. She melted into it, but the guilt lingered in her eyes.
Her body was done. Even lifting a hand felt impossible. Every muscle quivered with delicious exhaustion. Her pussy still twitched with aftershocks, sensitive to the point of pain-pleasure. But her mind—her stubborn, brilliant, determined mind—refused to quit.
Gritting her teeth, she remembered public-speaking practice. Pebbles in her mouth to train clarity. Standing in front of hundreds of strangers, voice shaking, until the fear became fuel. Getting used to the real thing mattered more than any drill. Same principle here. She wasn't naturally gifted at this—at being the kind of woman who could match Lawson's superhuman endurance—but she believed hard work could bridge the gap. She'd already started the gym. Now it was time for the "real thing."
With shaking arms, she pushed herself upright in the shower. Water streamed over her flushed skin. She wrapped herself around his leg like a koala—arms locked around his powerful thigh, one leg hooked behind his calf, the other braced on the tub edge. Her still-swollen clit pressed against the hard, corded muscle of his quad. She started to move.
Slow at first. Awkward. Her exhausted body protested every grind, but she pushed through. The slickness from earlier orgasms and the warm water made everything glide. Her hips rolled in tight circles, dragging her sensitive nub along the ridges of muscle. Pleasure sparked again—smaller, gentler, but building.
At the same time, her hands reached for him. Both palms wrapped around his thick, heavy cock, still iron-hard and glistening. She stroked with shaky determination, twisting on the upstroke the way he liked, thumb swiping over the leaking slit. She leaned in, taking the fat head into her mouth, sucking eagerly. Her tongue swirled, tasting the mix of her own earlier release and his pre-cum. She bobbed as deep as she could, gagging softly but refusing to stop—practicing, adapting, getting used to the real thing.
Lawson's hand settled gently on her wet hair, not pushing, just anchoring. "Fuck, Blake… look at you. So fucking perfect."
She hummed around him, the vibration making his hips jerk. Her leg-humping grew more frantic. Her clit throbbed against his thigh with every desperate roll. Another small orgasm built—her body somehow finding one last spark even when every other muscle screamed surrender. She came with a muffled whimper around his cock, a fresh trickle of wetness coating his leg.
That was the final push.
Lawson groaned, deep and guttural. His cock swelled in her mouth. Hot, thick pulses of cum erupted across her tongue—rope after rope, heavy and salty-sweet. Blake swallowed greedily, throat working, determined not to waste a single drop. Some overflowed anyway, dripping down her chin, mixing with shower water and sliding down her breasts. She kept sucking softly through every twitch, milking him until he was spent, until her belly felt warm and full and heavy with him.
Only then did she release him with a soft pop, looking up through wet lashes with glassy, triumphant eyes. A tiny, exhausted smile curved her lips.
Lawson cupped her face, thumb brushing away a stray drop of cum from the corner of her mouth. "See? You satisfy me more than you'll ever know. That effort… that's everything."
He helped her stand on shaky legs, finished rinsing them both with gentle hands and lavender body wash, then wrapped her in a fluffy towel. He carried her—still boneless, still glowing—back to the bedroom. Fresh sheets had been pulled from the closet during the shower; the soaked ones were already in a heap by the door. He laid her down, climbed in behind her, and pulled her against his chest, one arm banded around her waist, the other stroking her damp hair.
Blake had zero energy left. Her body was a limp, satisfied puddle. She was very full—his cum warm and heavy in her stomach, her pussy pleasantly sore and still fluttering, her heart so full it almost hurt. She breathed in his scent—clean skin, soap, and that unique Lawson musk—and let her mind drift to all the ways she could be better next time. More squats. More core work. Maybe edging practice so she could last longer. More "real thing" training like tonight.
Her last conscious thought was a sleepy, loving whisper: "Love you…"
Lawson kissed the top of her head, voice low and certain. "Love you too, kitten. Sleep."
Her sapphire eyes finally closed. She drifted into a deep, exhausted, dreamless sleep, safe in the circle of his arms, the flooded battlefield of the bed a distant memory, replaced by the quiet certainty that hard work and love could conquer anything—even a man built like a god.
end------------------
---
The next day – Caltech cafeteria, noon
"What? You're saying you can't satisfy Lawson at all? You're joking, right?"
Daisy stared at Blake in total shock.
Blake looked embarrassed and guilty. She had food in front of her but no appetite.
Mostly because she'd had a very "nutritious" breakfast that morning—high-quality pure milk. Her stomach was still full.
"It's true. I'm not joking! And Daisy, can you keep your voice down? People are staring!"
Compared to the more reserved Blake, Daisy was bold. She believed these things should be talked about openly.
That was pretty common with this generation of American girls anyway.
"Who cares? Let them be jealous! But I seriously didn't expect it. Lawson looks like a pretty-boy Asian guy, but his stamina is insane. Blake, I know tons of girls dating athletes, and none of them described anything this crazy!"
Yeah, there's a big difference even between athletes. Not every guy is built like prime 28 Cards or Pippen.
Clearly, thanks to the Iron Man Trump Card, Lawson's physical stats had reached—or surpassed—peak human levels.
That was definitely not something an inexperienced girl like Blake could handle. You'd probably need someone on Kim Kardashian's "best defender" level to even stand a chance.
"Stop, Daisy. I'm really stressed about it! Every time it's like this… I feel like I don't deserve him."
Watching Blake look so miserable, Daisy's eyes sparkled. She suddenly started whispering.
"Blake, have you ever thought… if one person can't handle Lawson, maybe add another?"
"Huh? That's impossible!"
"Do you love him or not?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then do you really want him to never feel fully satisfied when he's with you?"
Blake fell completely silent.
(Blake Gaines)
---