“Shit,” Austin said, after spitting out his mouthguard. “That was a good one.”
“Everybody gets lucky sometimes!” Hector called out from outside the ring. “You gonna let him get away with that, Tate?” Tate gave his brother a look and shook his head. Taking his shirt away, he waited to see if his nose was still dripping. Fortunately, the blood flow had already slowed.
“I think that's a good place to end it,” Austin said, leaning on the ropes and unstrapping his gloves.
“Because you were losing before you got in a couple good hits?” Tate grumbled, sniffling.
“Losing?” Austin scoffed, running his hand through his sweat-drenched hair. Tate followed his friends eyes and landed on Erika and Gennifer jumping rope by the mirrored wall. They'd been joined by a third person that night—Tiny. For some reason, Tiny had started frequenting House of Pain even when Gennifer didn't have class. Tate had never taken his shy younger sister for the type to want to work out or box, but she'd surprised him when she'd signed up for the self-defense class. However, most of the family hung out around the gym so he didn't question it. After all, there was no better place for her to be than surrounded by family.
“You were definitely losing,” Tate said, dropping the hem of his shirt when he was sure the blood flow had stopped.
“I don't know how I feel about all these women around here,” Austin said, his eyes still on the three females by the weights. “It was cool when it was only G, but now there's too many.” Tate didn't reply, just leaned on the ropes next to his friend. He had no intention of stepping into the quicksand that his friend was blindly walking into. “I know Tiny is your sister, but she doesn't belong in here.” Austin scrubbed his hand through his hair again, sending drops of sweat flying.
“Why not?” Tate asked. “Some people didn't think you belonged around here.” Austin didn't answer, just kicked at the mat.
“She still in school?” Austin asked, his voice lower. “She wanted to be a chemist or some shit, right?” Tate nodded, wondering what his friend's sudden fascination with Tiny was. He didn't know when they'd ever even become acquainted. Usually, Tiny didn't talk to just anyone, especially not rich white guys who worked on Wall Street, so he didn't know when she'd ever given Austin the time of day. It was hard for her to communicate generally, but since Austin seemed to know sign language, he supposed that made it easier. Tate suddenly realized he'd never bothered to ask his friend how he knew sign language.
“That's good,” Austin said vaguely, pushing off of the ropes abruptly. “She's smart.” Tate shrugged. It was an unspoken fact that everybody assumed Tiny was going to be the most successful out of the kids. She was smart and she'd always been doggedly focused on school. She never let her deafness affect that part of her life. She was a stark contrast to Brandon, who hated school, and Yasmine, who always had a boy on the brain.
“One more round?” Tate asked, turning his attention back to his friend. Austin smiled again and shook his head.
“Nope, I'm done.”
“You're gonna give up that easy?” Tate asked, surprised.
“I already squashed your nose. I think that's enough for tonight.” Austin pointed at his face. “You're still bleeding by the way.”
“Fuck,” Tate swore, swiping his nose against his shoulder. Austin chuckled as he collected his gloves and hopped out of the ring. Tate clicked his tongue and pulled off his gloves. He was still in the mood to fight, but he didn't necessarily want to look and feel like he'd been through the war the next day at work.
Then a cold breeze blew through the gym and he felt it ripple across his sweaty skin. It felt good in the overheated, humid gym and he raised his eyes, looking in the direction it had come from. Time seemed to slow and he swore, he felt her presence before he saw her. It sounded stupid, but he did. It was like the atmosphere shifted around him and the old stale air out was pushed out and newer, fresher air flowed in.
“Shay!” he heard Erica call out, breaking through his reverie. Sure enough, Shay Spears was standing in the entryway of the gym, in her little red coat and a light dusting of snow in her hair. Her eyes met his and for a second he was frozen, wondering what she was doing there. But in reality, he knew.
He knew exactly why she was there.
Shay waved at Erica and then turned and made a bee-line for the women's locker room. Tate was out of the ring in seconds, his eyes on her as she disappeared behind the swinging door of the locker room.
“You're smiling,” Austin said as he fell into step beside him.
“No I'm not,” Tate said, not letting himself get distracted.
“I saw a smile. I definitely did,” Austin said, stopping in front of the men's locker room door. Tate turned, headed for the door that Shay had entered. “Where are you going?” Austin asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. Tate didn't bother answering. He just lifted his finger to his lips and then smiled for real as he pushed open the door and entered the one place in House of Pain that he'd never been before—the women's locker room.
He noticed immediately that it smelled a whole hell of a lot better than the men's locker room. It was smaller, too, but just as dark. He heard her before he saw her, but once he stepped around the first row of blue metal lockers, he saw her. She was stuffing her coat into an upper locker, her back to him. No one else could look as sexy as she could in a pair of black yoga pants and a leopard print tank top, he was fairly certain. He stepped closer and she glanced over her shoulder at him, her glossy pink lips parted in surprise.
“You're not supposed to be in here,” she said.
“I don't care,” he said. She turned around to face him and he pushed in closer, causing her to back up against the wall of lockers. “There's no self-defense class tonight,” he said.
“I thought there was,” she said, but he didn't believe her. Not for a second. He pressed his palms against the cold metal above her head, boxing her in. She stared up at him, the light catching her brown eyes and making them sparkle. He wanted to ask her why she was flirting with someone who wasn't him. He wanted to ask her why she wouldn't let him drive her home that morning. He wanted to ask her why she hadn't texted him all day. But he didn't.
He just kissed her.
***
Shay never knew what to expect when she stepped into House of Pain.
That night, there were a lot of familiar faces but she only had eyes for one man. Her eyes scanned the room until she found him. He was in the ring, leaning on the ropes, his broad shoulders recognizable from a mile away. He had boxing gloves on and his nose was red, like he'd taken a hit or two. She hadn't seen him in the ring since the second time she'd come to the gym and she took a minute to appreciate the sight of him. It hadn't even been a full day since she'd seen him last, but it felt like forever. She wanted to yell at him, demand to know why he hadn't texted her all day, but she didn't. She just stood there, staring at him like a damn fool.
“Shay!” she heard someone yelling, snapping her to attention. She glanced toward the voice and saw Erica, Gennifer, and Tiny near the weights. Erica was smiling and waving so Shay responded in kind. Then she glanced back toward the ring. Tate was looking at her now. She could feel his eyes on her and suddenly, she felt a hot flash. She yanked on the belt of her coat and started walking toward the locker room on autopilot, wanting to be free of her purse and coat. She wondered if Tate would want to teach her more moves in the ring. She wondered if he would be pissed at her for showing up at House of Pain once again without notice. She had no idea how he felt, honestly.
That's what she was there to find out.
She opened her locker in the dark locker room and slid her purse inside. She knew she could be making a mistake. If she went back out on the gym floor and he ignored her or told her to get lost, she would feel like a total jackass. She knew she could have easily texted him or called him instead of blindsiding him, but, as pathetic as it sounded, she was scared. She didn't want to hear it over the phone. Or worse, she didn
't want to get hit with a wall of silence. No, it was better this way. Even if he told her to get lost, he would have to say it to her face.
She heard the footsteps behind her and her heart froze in her chest. She knew it could easily be Erica or Gennifer, but somehow, she knew it wasn't. She knew it was him before she turned her head to look at him.
“You shouldn't be in here,” she heard herself saying, like an idiot. A ripple of excitement ebbed through her as she realized she was about to get her answer. He'd come to her this time. She honestly didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign.
“I don't care,” he said, his voice low and rumbly and sexy. Sweat glistened on his neck and in his hair. His wet shirt clung to his chest in the best way. The white cotton was almost semi-transparent against his skin. She wet her lips, wanting to drag her tongue up the curve his neck and taste all that sweat for herself. She wanted to thrust her hands up under his shirt and feel every muscle under her fingertips. He said something about the self-defense class then, and she answered him back, but she had no idea what either of them said. The only thing she knew was that suddenly he was so close. Her back was against the lockers, the metal cold against her bare shoulders and his mouth was inches from hers. He was surrounding her, engulfing her.
And then he was kissing her.
The kiss was messy and wet and hard, but Shay didn't care. In fact, she didn't mind at all. She pressed her hands against his chest as he slid his tongue between her lips. She moaned and sucked on the tip of it, loving the way he tasted. He bumped his hips against hers and she moaned again, dropping her hands to his waistband. In her rational mind, she knew they couldn't fuck in the middle of the locker room, when anyone could walk in. But at that moment, she didn't care. She was feeling completely irrational.
“Don't do that,” he said, pulling away from the kiss and pressing his forehead against hers. “Don't do it unless you mean it.”
“I mean it,” she whispered, sliding her fingers between his pants and his skin. It was then that she saw the splotches of dark red on the white hem of his shirt. “Are you bleeding?” she asked, coming down slightly from the lust high. She pulled back to look at him, putting her hands on either side of his face. She saw the redness around his nose and frowned. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said, sniffling. “A bloody nose.”
“Did that guy in the ring hit you?” she asked, hearing her voice rise. She saw there was more blood on his shoulder and she was suddenly pissed. “Did he hurt you?” Tate snorted out a small laugh and took a step back from her. Then he pulled the soiled shirt off and tossed it onto the wood bench behind him. Her eyes dropped to his bare chest and she drank in every inch of his beautiful body.
“We were sparring,” he said, dipping his lips close to hers again. She breathed him, loving the way he smelled, even when he was sweaty and in need of a shower. “It feels good to get hit sometimes.” His voice was so faint, she almost didn't hear him. But when she realized what he said, she felt a shiver of arousal run through her. Two seconds before, she'd been ready to fight somebody because she thought Tate had gotten hurt. But suddenly, the thought of seeing him the ring, swinging and receiving punches, sounded like the sexiest thing she could think of. What was it about Tate that turned everything sexual? He attracted her like a magnet, she was beginning to realize. As soon as he was near, it was impossible for her to not gravitate to him. It was impossible for her not to get caught up in him.
“You never talk,” she said, dragging her fingernails lightly up his ribs. “But when you do, you say some of the weirdest things.”
“You think I'm weird?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Yes,” she nodded, circling his right nipple with her index finger. “But I like it.”
“You do?” he asked, shivering lightly as goosebumps broke out over his chest and shoulders. She bit her lip, but she really wanted to bit his skin, hard. Oh, she liked it alright. And she liked him. There was no use pretending otherwise. There was no use lying to herself. She wanted him, at least for one more night. She deserved at least one more night, dammit.
“I like it,” she whispered then he kissed her again, pressing his elbows against the lockers on either side of her shoulders and sliding his fingers into her hair. She normally wouldn't let anyone touch her hair, but she didn't even stop him. She just moaned and went with it because his fingers against her scalp felt good. Everywhere his body touched hers felt good.
“Come home with me,” he mumbled against her mouth, then dragged his lips down her jaw and to her neck. The words sent a shiver of excitement through her.
“But...I have to work tomorrow morning,” she said lamely, even as she ran her hands all over his shoulders and moaned as he sucked on her neck and made her pussy clench. She wanted him. So bad.
“Call off.” He said it so simply and matter-of-factly that it seemed like a perfect solution. After a few more kisses, it seemed like the only solution. “Come home with me,” he whispered roughly in her ear. “You know you want to. I know you want to.” She moaned as he bit down lightly on her earlobe. She gripped his shoulders and held on for dear life as he tightened his fingers in her hair and forced her head back. She stared up at him, her heart beating fast between her ribs.
“Please,” he said finally, dragging his eyes up to meet hers. His lips were swollen and his eyelids were heavy. He looked like the human embodiment of sex, the devil and an angel, all rolled up in one perfect, infuriating man. She loved when he said please, like he was begging her for something that he could take any day of the week. The man didn't know how much sway he had over her; either that, or he loved asking permission. Whatever the reason, she didn't mind. “Come home with me,” he repeated, even though he wasn't really asking anymore. He was demanding. She felt those words deep in her soul and she moaned and tilted her chin, craving his lips on hers and his body on top of her. She'd come to House of Pain that night looking for some kind of validation—some kind of answer—that what she'd felt between them was real. He'd given it to her, that was for sure. And then some.
“Yes,” she whispered and, instantly, both of them got the answer they were looking for.
Chapter Fourteen
Tate sat up in bed the next morning and immediately knew she was gone.
Her side of the bed was empty and when he leaned over and glanced at the floor, her clothes were gone as well. The cold of the room seeped under his skin as he threw back the blanket and stood. The wood floor was frigid under his feet as he stretched his arms up to the ceiling, rolling his head on his shoulders. His muscles were oddly sore but loose at the same time, if that possible. He moaned as he stretched, aftershocks of the sex the night before still going off under his skin. Shay may have escaped him, but her effect on him was still very much present.
She'd said she was going to call off, he thought irritably as his eyes inspected her side of the bed again. She'd said it when his face was buried in her pussy, so maybe he should have taken it with a grain of salt, but she'd still said it. He noticed that she'd left a glass of water on the bedside table. It was the only sign that she'd been there, other than the indent her head had left in the pillow she'd slept on. A sharp pang hit him between the ribs but he shook it off. He told himself to stop being so damn ridiculous. They'd fucked again, and it had been good, but it didn't mean anything.
The problem was, the sex hadn't been merely good.
Good sex in no way described what had happened between them.
She'd sat on his cock and rode him until he could barely remember his name, let alone all the reasons why he shouldn't still be messing around with someone like Shay Spears. Somehow, none of those reasons seemed to matter when he was balls-deep inside of her and sucking on her tits and calling her his queen. No, it wasn't just good sex. It was the best sex. The best sex he'd ever had.
He was the first one to know that the girl was completely wrong for him. They had a bizarre history, but that was only the tip of the
iceberg. He had his issues and she had her issues. Not that that shit had mattered last night. He'd thought with his dick, not his head. Unfortunately, when it came to her, it was becoming increasingly difficult to think with anything but his dick.
He quickly made the bed, smoothing out the duvet and not letting himself hesitate when he puffed up her pillow and straightened her side. He grabbed the glass of water off the table and took a gulp as he turned to go into the kitchen. That's when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on top of the dresser. There were pink marks all over his shoulder and chest, like bruises, almost. Furrowing his brow, he dropped his gaze downward and felt another sharp pang in his stomach when he realized what the marks were.
Her lipstick.
The realization turned him on, even though he knew it shouldn't. He glanced up in the mirror again, dragging his thumb across one of the marks. She'd run her sexy mouth all over him and left her marks on his skin like she owned him. He closed his eyes, remembering how she kissed him and bit him and moaned and fucked him. It was almost like a kind of torture, really, because he was horny and she was gone, but damn if it didn't make him feel better. He didn't feel quite as cold anymore, or as angry. Suddenly feeling thirsty as hell, he tipped his head back and drained the rest of the water in the glass.
After taking a piss, he made his way out to the kitchen, still naked. He set her glass in the sink and immediately noticed another half-empty glass of water sitting on the counter, almost like it was taunting him. Shaking his head, he grabbed that glass and put it in the sink with the other one. Trying not to think too much about the fact that she'd left his apartment without a word, he opened the fridge and glanced around. He had strawberry jam, bread, and he was sure he had peanut butter as well. Breakfast of champions, he thought as he plopped the bread down on the counter. He had a long day off ahead of him, but he didn't know what the hell he was going to do with it. He'd probably head down to House of Pain at some point. The only thing he knew for certain he'd be doing was jerking off, because that had been the one constant in his life since Shay had shown up and taken up permanent residence in his brain.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 22
