knuckles.
‘Boxing is too disciplined,’ he mumbled, watching her fingers working on his. ‘My sport is less regimented.’
‘What is your sport?’
‘I’m an underground fighter,’ he said, fascinated, or perhaps perplexed, by what she was doing.
‘Like in basements and cellars?’ she teased.
‘Like on the underground circuit,’ he said, and withdrew his hand from hers. ‘I’ve been doing it since I was eight. I don’t need to be pampered through it.’
‘Maybe I want to pamper,’ she said, taking his other hand to give it equal treatment. ‘How does it work? Underground fighting?’
‘Two guys in the ring and no weapons,’ he said.
‘There’s a ring?’
‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘It depends on the venue. Some places make a business out of it, sometimes it’s a barn with a wooden fence, or just a line drawn in the sand.’
‘Fitting,’ she said. ‘So what are the rules?’
‘I told you. Two guys, no weapons, and you don’t hit a guy when he’s down.’
‘That’s it?’ Her massaging stalled. ‘Anything goes?’
He nodded. ‘Anything at all.’
‘So they could gouge out your eyes or bite off an ear or something?’
‘If they ever got close enough to do that then yeah,’ he said with a flippant, yet smug, smile. Leaving her side, he retrieved his hand wraps to tuck them into the back of his shorts.
‘Since you were eight, huh?’ she asked.
‘Yep.’
Crossing to the punching bag, she smoothed her hands over the leather. ‘Is this how you keep yourself so calm?’ she asked. ‘You take out all of your emotions on the punching bag?’
When he didn’t respond, she twisted around to rest her back on the punching bag, spreading her hands against it at her sides after her arms curled against it. ‘I guess,’ he said, and took one step toward her.
‘Is that why my anger turns you on? Because you don’t know how to be open like that, to experience that kind of emotion?’
‘I know anger,’ he said, coming closer still. ‘I know hurt and isolation. I know revenge and retribution.’ He came so close that his body made contact with hers. ‘I know fear and misery. I know respect and I know loyalty.’
‘What about compassion?’
He shook his head. ‘Weakness.’
‘And forgiveness? Do you know that?’ He shook his head, but brought up his hands to pull the ties from her hair, tugging on her locks in the process, sending a hiss through her teeth. ‘Do you know leniency? Or pity?’
‘No. But I know shame and rage.’
‘What about love? Do you know that?’
‘Never heard of it,’ he said, taking a fistful of her hair he yanked back her head and planted his mouth down on hers.
The squeal of her refusal was lost in the grip of her hands on his neck, and if this bag had been able to support their weight she may have leapt into his arms here. As it was, her fingertips skimmed down the bulge of his shoulders to his elbows, but when she tried to urge him away he took her waist and lifted her off the floor, holding her body to his.
‘Dax,’ she whispered. His mouth trailed to her neck and the press of his lips to the artery pulsing beneath them made her weak legs wobble. For stability she locked her ankles at the small of his back. ‘I came down here to talk.’
‘Talk isn’t what I need from you.’
The word “need” sent a sluice of ice through her torso. It was possibly just a slip of the tongue, but in the second she heard it she wanted him to mean it and that scared her. No man had ever needed her and she’d never needed them. Her role in seducing Dax was meant to be manipulation, she was meant to make friends, to make him want her freedom. Bringing need into the equation was a totally different thing.
‘Take my cock out of my shorts,’ he said. In a show of strength, he locked one arm around her waist, holding her up with only that arm so he could free his other hand to unwrap her breasts from her bikini, and untie the strings on her
‘Boxing is too disciplined,’ he mumbled, watching her fingers working on his. ‘My sport is less regimented.’
‘What is your sport?’
‘I’m an underground fighter,’ he said, fascinated, or perhaps perplexed, by what she was doing.
‘Like in basements and cellars?’ she teased.
‘Like on the underground circuit,’ he said, and withdrew his hand from hers. ‘I’ve been doing it since I was eight. I don’t need to be pampered through it.’
‘Maybe I want to pamper,’ she said, taking his other hand to give it equal treatment. ‘How does it work? Underground fighting?’
‘Two guys in the ring and no weapons,’ he said.
‘There’s a ring?’
‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘It depends on the venue. Some places make a business out of it, sometimes it’s a barn with a wooden fence, or just a line drawn in the sand.’
‘Fitting,’ she said. ‘So what are the rules?’
‘I told you. Two guys, no weapons, and you don’t hit a guy when he’s down.’
‘That’s it?’ Her massaging stalled. ‘Anything goes?’
He nodded. ‘Anything at all.’
‘So they could gouge out your eyes or bite off an ear or something?’
‘If they ever got close enough to do that then yeah,’ he said with a flippant, yet smug, smile. Leaving her side, he retrieved his hand wraps to tuck them into the back of his shorts.
‘Since you were eight, huh?’ she asked.
‘Yep.’
Crossing to the punching bag, she smoothed her hands over the leather. ‘Is this how you keep yourself so calm?’ she asked. ‘You take out all of your emotions on the punching bag?’
When he didn’t respond, she twisted around to rest her back on the punching bag, spreading her hands against it at her sides after her arms curled against it. ‘I guess,’ he said, and took one step toward her.
‘Is that why my anger turns you on? Because you don’t know how to be open like that, to experience that kind of emotion?’
‘I know anger,’ he said, coming closer still. ‘I know hurt and isolation. I know revenge and retribution.’ He came so close that his body made contact with hers. ‘I know fear and misery. I know respect and I know loyalty.’
‘What about compassion?’
He shook his head. ‘Weakness.’
‘And forgiveness? Do you know that?’ He shook his head, but brought up his hands to pull the ties from her hair, tugging on her locks in the process, sending a hiss through her teeth. ‘Do you know leniency? Or pity?’
‘No. But I know shame and rage.’
‘What about love? Do you know that?’
‘Never heard of it,’ he said, taking a fistful of her hair he yanked back her head and planted his mouth down on hers.
The squeal of her refusal was lost in the grip of her hands on his neck, and if this bag had been able to support their weight she may have leapt into his arms here. As it was, her fingertips skimmed down the bulge of his shoulders to his elbows, but when she tried to urge him away he took her waist and lifted her off the floor, holding her body to his.
‘Dax,’ she whispered. His mouth trailed to her neck and the press of his lips to the artery pulsing beneath them made her weak legs wobble. For stability she locked her ankles at the small of his back. ‘I came down here to talk.’
‘Talk isn’t what I need from you.’
The word “need” sent a sluice of ice through her torso. It was possibly just a slip of the tongue, but in the second she heard it she wanted him to mean it and that scared her. No man had ever needed her and she’d never needed them. Her role in seducing Dax was meant to be manipulation, she was meant to make friends, to make him want her freedom. Bringing need into the equation was a totally different thing.
‘Take my cock out of my shorts,’ he said. In a show of strength, he locked one arm around her waist, holding her up with only that arm so he could free his other hand to unwrap her breasts from her bikini, and untie the strings on her
Similar Books
