by Meg Maguire
“Teach me something tough. Like hooks or uppercuts or those ones where you spin around and whack a guy with the back of your fist.”
“Tough to uppercut a heavy bag, but those other two, sure.”
He showed her how to throw a hook with her front fist then her back.
“Really twist your body.”
“This is...going to hurt tomorrow,” she huffed between shots. “In my...nonexistent abs.”
“Hook’s tough. Don’t pull anything.”
Weirdest foreplay ever. But each time a punch echoed up her arm, it set her nerves buzzing, got her blood pumping quicker, harder. This must be why make-up sex—or indeed midfight sex—was so intense. Spike desire with aggression and everything primal bubbling inside Lindsey burned that much hotter.
Whack.
Pain burst in her fingers. “Ow.” She glanced at her hand, finding two skinned knuckles.
Rich stepped close. “No more left hook for you. Hang tight, I’ll patch you up.”
She gave the bag a few softer punches with her right hand while she waited, recalling some silly fantasies that were the inverse of this—daydreams in which she dabbed Rich’s scrapes and sweaty brow. Damn fighter fetish.
He hopped back with a first-aid kit. She stripped the fingerless glove and tape and he swabbed her bleeding knuckles with a stinging antiseptic wipe, smeared them with medicinal goo, then carefully wrapped each in a bandage.
“Nice,” he said. “First blood.”
“Yeah, my own. Very butch.”
He snapped the case shut. Leaning close, he took her other hand in his, tearing the strap open and tugging off the glove. Slow as a seduction, he unwound the tape, around her palm, between her fingers, over and under until he held her bare hand in his gloved one. Lindsey swallowed.
Softly, he said, “We’re gonna be back in a cab together soon.”
She nodded.
He slipped his fingers between hers, then did the same with her other hand, the gesture making the difference in their sizes all the more explicit. Her breaths came shallow and short.
“You gonna let me finish what we started last year?”
Are you going to let him? That distinction—him doing, her the target—didn’t bother her. It excited her.
Her usual quips were gone. She answered without uttering a syllable, raising her head, cocking her jaw. Rich leaned in and took what she offered.
His lips tasted sweet. After a flurry of shallow kisses, he took things deeper, the slick, hot intrusion of his tongue knocking the sense clean out of her head.
He was the one with a broken foot, but Lindsey felt ready to topple, every muscle from her waist down turned to jelly. All at once it was October again. The cavernous gym was gone, and they were shut in an intimacy no bigger than a backseat. Rich’s fingertips in her hair, thumbs on her cheeks. The lips she’d mourned all these months were exactly as she’d remembered, down to the very flavor of this kiss. The way his mouth owned hers... She’d follow him anywhere, just as long as this feeling didn’t stop.
And suddenly she was following him.
They staggered a dozen paces to a weight bench. One moment they sat side by side, the next she was straddling the padded seat, seconds later her thigh had edged over his, their mouths never separating. The desire felt like gravity, an unstoppable force pulling their bodies together, never close enough. His palms were on her waist, the grazing touch hot and curious.
She stroked his hard shoulders and raked her nails down his arms, spurring his kiss. Bossy hands coaxed her hips. She did as they asked, fumbling onto his lap. With a palm on her butt, he hauled her against his chest, lips slipping to her throat.
She’d been imagining this contact for ages. The two of them pressed together, all her excitement reflected back in the restless twitching of male muscle.
In her fantasies, Rich always seemed to just turn up in her bedroom in low-slung sweatpants, face set with dark determination, crawling across her comforter and taking her without a word. Never had a weight bench featured, but she wasn’t complaining.
His arms were strong. Her body tightened as she imagined him doing this during sex—holding her in his lap, dictating their motions with those gruff, demanding hands. He slipped one beneath the hem of her shirt, and the mismatched sensations of his gloved palm and bare fingers made her tremble.
For so long, she’d been fantasizing about the man from those videos—the fighter. But here in reality, he had so many more dimensions. Who Rich Estrada was had nothing to do with his stats or record or stills posted on the web. None of those could tell a woman how hot his body ran, and how that fever burned when they were pressed so close. No measure of his reach could quantify the power of these arms, locked at her ribs. She’d never met a man who seemed so elementally like himself in sexual mode. She couldn’t have said she knew him, not until their bodies were communicating this way, without any words.
“Rich.” She hadn’t meant to say it. Her stubborn side was reluctant to sound so overwrought, so affected and worshipful, but here in his arms, in his lap, why fight it?
The mouth at her throat grew hungrier, the drag of his lips sharpened by the soft scrape of teeth, rousing her pulse to a tight throb. One hand roamed up her back and tangled in her hair as the other tugged her closer, closer. Close enough for their centers to brush, and for the stiff press of his erection to suck the air from her lungs.
“Rich.”
“Lindsey.” He said it softly, huffed through the breath that heated her skin. The hand on her hip slid between them, up her side, and finally cupped her breast. His fingertips were warm, gloved palm neutral. She shivered.
Without even realizing, she’d begun moving in his lap. Tiny motions were all she could manage with her legs dangling, but even that subtle friction had heat building. She clasped his arms just to feel the hard muscle.
His mouth ravaged her throat, her jaw, then claimed her lips once more. As they kissed, their hips moved in a mutual rhythm. Lindsey felt desire flash and gather and solidify to a vital, physical force in her belly, all misgivings and hesitance gone.
Just as her lips grew tender, Rich released her. He coaxed her to stand and she obeyed on shaking legs. When he rose, the very size of him made her weak, the way he stared down from so high above her. She swallowed.
He smiled, the gesture plainly telling her he found whatever expression she wore amusing. Small wonder—she probably looked rabid, ready to devour him from his feet up.
“We aren’t stopping, are we?” she asked.
His grin doubled every bit of arousal she felt—hot as his arms, his scent, the restless, hard body she’d felt against her own. “I hope not. But there’s only so much we can accomplish on a weight bench.” He ripped open the Velcro tab at his wrist.
Hell, if this was a one-time-only, no-strings opportunity, what did she have to lose? She slapped his hand as he went to tug off his glove.
“Leave them on.”
His eyebrow rose. “You’re one of those, huh?”
She stepped closer, running greedy palms down his chest and stomach, holding his hips and marveling at the hardness there.
He trailed the backs of his fingers down her arm. “I should probably shower, at least.”
She met his gaze. “Dear God, no.”
“Wow. You win—that’s a new one. How freaky are you, exactly? Should I wear a mouth guard?”
“No...” She ran her palms up his biceps again, ravenous. “But maybe I should.”
Rich laughed. “You’re not the woman I thought you were.”
She smiled at that, not merely from the flirtation but from being called a woman for a change, not a girl. And let him think she was freaky—why not? It was how she felt right now. Wild and free and sexy.
Despite her protests, Rich
tore off his gloves and flung the tape after them. “You may not have any hygiene standards, but I know where those have been. C’mere.”
She expected him to own her with more hungry kisses, but he surprised her by grabbing one crutch and taking her hand, leading her haltingly across the floor. Where exactly was this tryst going to go down? She hoped Mercer wouldn’t be finding her panties wedged between the filing cabinets after they despoiled his office.
He didn’t lead her to the office, but to a room beside it. It was a plain and tidy space, painted cinder block decorated with the odd fight poster, an old TV and DVD player on a stand across from a couple of beat-up recliners. A white projection screen hung from one wall.
“I never knew there was a lounge down here.”
Rich left the lights off, letting the glow leaking in from the gym be enough. “For studying match footage, dissecting the competition or your own form.”
But Rich didn’t have a show in mind, not one that featured anything beyond the two of their bodies. Fine by Lindsey. She’d happily study his form, live and in person.
He led her to the larger of the two recliners, resting his crutch against the wall.
“Here.” He sat and beckoned her to join him.
For a minute or more, it was sweet, nearly tender. She settled sideways on his lap, calves dangling over the armrest. His kisses were lazy and deep, fingertips trailing up and down her bare arm before cupping her jaw, that touch that made her so reliably crazy. She wanted to press closer, find out if he was hard for her again. But these kisses were so sensual and slow, her brazenness abandoned her. She hadn’t expected to discover this man. A rough, eager fighter, yes. A shameless man who moved more quickly than she was prepared for, sure. But not the one she was tasting this moment, the one kissing her deeply, whose steady breaths warmed her cheek.
He pulled back to look her in the eyes. His lids were heavy and she ached to see that gleam behind them, aimed down at her from above, in bed.
He didn’t utter a word, but his hands spoke—they issued a simple order, tugging at her hips. She did as they asked, wedging one knee on either side of his thighs. It didn’t look a thing like her fantasies, but her desire burned as hot as she’d known it would, just feeling him so close, filling her lungs with his scent. No cologne this time, only a faint hint of perspiration and the smell of his skin and hair, of Rich.
He tugged again at her hips, seating her tightly. A gasp fled her lungs to feel him so hard and ready, and though he didn’t smile, she could sense a grin lurking behind those quirked lips. He knew what he did to her, and he liked that power.
Two could play that game.
She braced her hands on the back of the recliner, perfected her angle and began to roll her hips. That smirk was gone in an instant, his expression tensing with unmistakable surprise and arousal. He felt obscene between her legs, his cock just as big and hard as every other part of his physicality, just as dangerous. He swore softly.
Charged by this sudden reversal, she tangled her hands in his hair, holding his head. She’d never been this way with a guy. All...rampant. It made her feel like the sort of hottie she imagined Rich normally hooked up with, and in the moment, feeling the part was far better than looking the part.
“Goddamn, you feel good.” No missing it—his voice had gone raw, as though she’d turned him into an animal, brought out the beast in him. It raised goose bumps along her arms.
“So do you.”
For a moment he nuzzled her neck, the caress caught between desire and tenderness. Then she felt that scrape of his teeth along her jugular and the steam of an exhalation, and she knew any gentleness she’d sensed was her imagination’s doing.
His whisper warmed her skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
Ten months and two days. That’s how long she’d been waiting to finish what they’d started. Add another couple weeks if you counted the fact that she’d wanted him the second they’d laid eyes on each other. “I can guess.”
“But I didn’t exactly come prepared,” he said between kisses, lips just below her ear.
Though part of her was disappointed, another was pleased to think he wasn’t such a playboy that he carried condoms wherever he went. That their winding up here together was unexpected, maybe even special...circumstantially, if not romantically.
“I didn’t, either.” Lindsey had never bought a condom in her life, and hadn’t used one in years. The idea excited her—it smacked of the impulsive hookups of youth and all the experiences she’d forfeited, staying with the same man for so long and never exploiting their time apart.
But it wasn’t to be tonight. “We can still...you know. Mess around.”
He smoothed a stray lock behind her ear. “That we can.” He laughed, a silent hitch of his shoulders and a squinting of his eyes.
“What?”
“You make me feel about sixteen again.”
She pursed her lips. “I was thinking the same thing. Only I never messed around in boxing gyms in high school.”
“Then you missed out.” And with a gruff motion, he bent his knees, forcing her even tighter against his hips.
His mouth swallowed her gasp. Bossy hands begged her to move as she had been, stroking her desire against his.
She wanted more—their pants gone, so she could feel him against her, discover exactly how he measured up to her fantasies.
Soon the friction overtook him. He lost ownership of their kiss and abandoned the effort, cupping her jaw and pressing their foreheads together. Nose-to-nose, she heard every labored breath, felt those strong hands trembling. Between her thighs, his hips grew restless, making demands—rougher, faster.
He was so much more physical than any guy she’d messed around with. It set her nerves humming even as it banished her inhibitions.
She pulled away, openly enjoying the sight of him. That handsome, flushed face, parted lips. He wanted her. She’d done this to him. She reached between them, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He stripped it off smoothly, but she had no time to admire the results before he was peeling her own top over her head and arms.
She was as soft and pale as Rich was hard and tan, practically a different species. But when she saw how his gaze drank her in... Angel food cake is soft and pale, she thought. And Rich looked ready to consume her. A shiver curled her spine as his broad, rough hands grazed her waist. She shut her eyes, feeling her nipples stiffen from the mere promise of his touch.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
She opened her eyes, finding his attention on his hands, palms whispering featherlight up and down her sides.
“You’ve got the softest skin I ever felt.”
She thanked God for her exfoliating shower gloves. For bothering with lotion that morning, wearing a nice bra and shaving her legs. Clearly, her subconscious had seen this coming.
She studied him. She’d watched this bare torso a zillion times—on TV and online, in person down in the gym. But never like this. She stroked his chest, glad he didn’t wax as some fighters did, loving the soft feel of the hair sprinkled there. It blazed a dark trail down the most gorgeous set of abs she’d ever touched, and she wanted to ease his waistband to his thighs and see exactly where it led.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and began moving. He cupped her breasts, tightening her body in a hot wave, spurring her motions.
Between rousing kisses he asked, “How far you wanna take this?”
“I don’t know.”
His fingers posed the question a second time, slipping low to fiddle with the closure of her pants. Her silence answered, and she let him free the clasp and lower the zipper. With a few moments’ fumbling, he slid them down her thighs and she kicked them away. Before she got settled, he untied the drawstring of his warm-ups and pushed them low on his hips, erection hidd
en by taut gray cotton.
When he tugged her against him once more, everything felt different. Cool air and worn leather on her bare legs, and the thrilling press of his cock along the soft seam of her sex.
“Rich.”
He closed his hands over her hips, urging her forward and back in tight, slow thrusts. She held his shoulders. She was already wet, the cotton of her panties dragging against him, making the friction feel as sinful as penetration.
“That okay?” he asked, still guiding her motions.
She stammered, “Y-yeah.”
His hands edged higher, following the flex of her waist. “Show me how you like it.”
Lindsey cast aside every lingering scrap of self-consciousness and let her body lead.
She slid her clit along the ridge of his cock until she found the perfect pressure. “Lower the chair.”
He found the lever and the footrest creaked, rising as Rich eased the two of them down. She got her knees where she wanted them, seating herself higher. Now when she pulled back, she felt every inch of him. She shut her eyes and swore through a smile, overwhelmed.
Rich’s patience waned. His hands were bossy, urging her movements, hips shifting between her thighs.
She smiled down at him. “Do you need to be on top?”
He cleared his throat and quit fidgeting. “I’m just wound up. I’ve been wanting this for so long. I’ll knock it off.”
“No.” She tugged at his arm. “I like you wound up.”
With a couple more tugs he relented, and they wrestled around so Lindsey was on her back. She held in a grin. Being in control of Rich’s big, capable body was a thrill, but having him above her... She stroked his arms as he got his knees braced, and wrapped her legs around his hips.
He cupped her head, owning her with deep, bold kisses. She mourned his mouth when he leaned back, but the disappointment was brief. His thick arms locked beside her waist as his hips began to move, their rhythm echoing up the length of his extraordinary torso.
