Shadowboxer

by Cari Quinn

  “Maybe.” He fell into step beside me. “Actually, I asked what time you got off so that we could—”

  I didn’t wait for him to finish. “Are you really this clueless or do you think you’re being cute?”

  He grinned. “You think I’m cute?”

  Back on that again. I nearly smiled before I caught myself. Jesus, he was like a puppy, who came with brass knuckles instead of claws.

  But I wasn’t looking to take him home. Let him go pee on someone else’s rug. I didn’t have time for this nonsense.

  I turned to face him outside one of the many bars in the area. I’d be damned if I stood around and watched this train wreck happen. If he needed a freaking boot to the face to get that I was not girlfriend material, I’d give it to him. “Are you that hard up for a date that you can’t understand when someone’s not interested? I don’t want to date you.”

  He pushed back his hood. “Date me?” His smug smile slipped a notch. “What do you think this is? Grade school? I’ll write my phone number on your wrist and you’ll tell your friend Kizzy—wack name, by the way—that you’re crushing on me?”

  His derision made me want to step on his instep. Hard. Since I wasn’t real good at ignoring my physical impulses, I did as I wished and had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt before I spun around to yank open the door to Shooters Bar. It was the typical meat market hookup joint and therefore the kind of place I usually avoided unless I needed some cash.

  Loud rock music pierced my eardrums the second I stepped inside. I never saw if he followed me into the throng of people crowding the bar. I assumed he did, but it wasn’t my problem. I was going to do something drastic, and if he witnessed it, even better. If not, I’d hit the reset button on my libido and end this idiocy once and for all.

  He wasn’t going to throw me off my game. After I fought Fox, I’d never see him again. And if I played my blowjobs right tonight, hopefully he’d label me as a worthless bimbo and leave me alone.

  The momentary nausea at dropping to my knees again would pass. I just had to soldier through and get it done. Anything to get Fox off my scent—for his benefit and mine.

  Little did he know the favor I was about to do for him.

  After a few minutes, I settled on a target. I’d started getting attention as soon as I walked in, but that was because of my super tight Vinnie’s T-shirt rather than my face. I was no one’s beauty. Pretty enough had been Darren’s favorite description of me.

  I’d always wondered why had he pulled the car over beside me that day. He’d given me reasons, but they still didn’t explain why he hadn’t searched for someone who was so much more than pretty enough. Someone he couldn’t have broken as easily as he’d broken me.

  But I’d never asked. I just sat there and smiled like the soulless doll I’d become. Pretty enough shell, empty insides. Now my shell wasn’t so pretty anymore, yet I still used it to accomplish what I needed to.

  My gaze landed on a muscular football-player type standing with a bunch of his buddies. Though he had short hair and a nice smile, I wouldn’t have cared if he looked like Hannibal Lecter. I wasn’t all that fussy when I was on the warpath to rip out someone’s heart.

  Not that I assumed Fox had anything but the most basic of lustful feelings in my direction. We’d only known each other a handful of days, and he was a player. I’d harbored a lot of delusions over the years, but even I drew the line somewhere.

  This would only sting him for a couple minutes, if that. If he even saw. And we’d both be better off for my acting quickly to nip…this, whatever the hell it was, in the bud.

  The weird thing about the lies I told myself? Sometimes they tasted exactly like the truth.

  “Hey there.” I smiled at the football dude. “What’re you drinking?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Tray

  I knew what she was doing. She’d go all the way with a stranger just to get me to back off. A girl like Mia wouldn’t settle for a conversation when she could offer a live demonstration of her disinterest. She’d pull down some guy’s zipper right in front of me if necessary.

  But she didn’t understand me or my reactions. I’d been the kind of kid who ran up to danger signs and tried to figure out how to scale the fence to reach what I was supposed to avoid.

  Mia’s warnings were foreplay to me. Just a tease. And the guy she was currently feeling up with absolutely zero subtlety? Merely a human speed bump.

  I sipped my beer from where I’d settled back to watch the show. She thought she had me handled. Too bad she’d miscalculated her opponent.

  Somehow, she disappeared from my line of sight. That didn’t worry me at first. Then the minutes dragged on, and an emotion I hadn’t experienced much since I’d moved away from home kindled in my gut. Fear. I’d stopped being afraid when I walked out my father’s door. I still grew concerned about my mother’s safety now and then even if she didn’t, but I’d filed their domestic issues away in a box labeled do not touch.

  Up until the day I left home, worry had been my constant companion. For my mom, for me. My father had never laid a hand on me, though I’d always expected that to change. If I believed in shrinks, mine would probably say I fought for the sole reason of beating my father over and over again. In a place no one could stop me, where I could win.

  He’d probably be right.

  I pushed off the stool and prowled through the bar like a tiger off its leash. Amazingly, I hadn’t started growling yet. Where the hell was she?

  I stalked to the side door and pulled it open, my ears prickling at the moans that drifted toward me. Stiffening my shoulders, I stepped into the alley and glimpsed a couple who were humping—dry now, wet soon—near the street. One sharp sound from me and they adjusted their clothes and headed down the block.

  The noises continued. I narrowed my eyes on the shadowy figures near the back of the alley. One stood, hunched over. The other knelt, barely a ghoulish shadow in the dark.

  She still wore my fucking jacket.

  Rage burned away the coppery taste of fear in my throat. Not because she wore my coat while she blew some dude to get back at me for—

  What? Daring to like her? For seeing her as more than this?

  No, that wasn’t it. I got that she had issues. What made me angry was that she’d risk herself. She knew this jacknozzle even less than she knew me. He could be some kind of lunatic, and she’d come out alone with him into an alley?

  Yeah, yeah, she was a big time fighter. All well and good if the guy didn’t cut her ear to ear before she had a chance to get into position. Was pissing me off really worth compromising her safety? If so, she sure had some screwed-up priorities.

  “Mia,” I said in an undertone, knowing she could hear me. Hell, she’d probably been timing her suckfest to my arrival. “Get off your fucking knees.”

  Their uneven breathing broke the silence. Then came a low curse. “Dude, this isn’t your business.”

  “She’s my business.” She hadn’t moved by the time I made it over to them. “And if you want to use your dick again, you’ll get out of here before I tear it off and shove it up your ass.”

  “Fox, relax.” Mia jerked to her feet and gestured. “His pants aren’t even open.”

  I made myself take a quick glance. She’d only gotten as far as unbuttoning the last few buttons on the bastard’s shirt, a fact for which I’d be forever grateful. The idea of her wrapping her battered lips around his flesh made me want to turn his skull into a macaroni casserole. With extra sauce.

  Yeah, so I had a little anger management problem. I didn’t actually do it.

  “Get. Lost.” I didn’t look at the guy’s face. If I did, he wouldn’t have a motherfucking chance. “Last warning.”

  I couldn’t kick Mia’s ass—though she’d all but given me an engraved invitation—but I could rip this bastard a new one.

  Mia’s “date” shuffled off, head hung, fat fingers fumbling over his buttons. Poor little disappointed w
illie probably already deflated in his pants.

  Asshole.

  Mia tucked her pale, probably freezing hands under her arms. When she finally spoke, she didn’t sound mad. Just exhausted. “Why can’t you leave me alone, Tray?”

  Tray, not Fox. If she’d tossed my ring name at me, or her usual bravado, or even fury, I would’ve told her to go to hell and gone back inside. Maybe even picked up my own company for the evening, as much of a double standard as it was.

  Instead she gave me an honest question, and I unraveled at her feet.

  I moved closer, reached out tentatively, and touched her jaw. My fingertips whispered over her skin before she tilted her head up toward mine. Her eyes looked as raw as wounds and as big as manholes. So dark and deep. Drawing me into her until I couldn’t see the escape route.

  I wanted to be lost with her. Maybe even to her.

  “Do you really want me to?” The words scraped my throat on their way out.

  She hesitated for so long I began to believe she wouldn’t answer. Then she slowly shook her head, her soft, damaged lips falling open while she dragged in a breath. “No.”

  Stepping toward her, I pressed my arms against the brick wall on either side of her head. The cold air stung my cheeks, but my only focus was the warmth generated from her sweet body wedged against mine. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  She shook her head again. “No deals.”

  “Yes. It’ll be a really simple one.” I placed my thumb in the shallow dent in her chin. “You want to help someone to get off, I’m happy to oblige you. But you won’t be on your knees.” I boosted her up in my arms so that she had no choice but to lock her legs around my waist. I turned and put my back to the wall, then looked up at her face outlined in the weak glow from the lights at the edge of the lot. She looked otherworldly, almost ethereal. All hollows and shadows. “And the person who’ll be getting off,” I murmured, “will be you.”

  I figured she would fight me. That was our routine. Initial attack, block, strike again. Counter, spin, clash. Holding each other on the ropes until I gave in and she walked away.

  Not this time.

  She slapped her hands on the brick wall above me and started to move, her body riding mine. I’d seen her work out for hours today, watched her bend and twist and stretch, and I’d still never imagined her being able to grind in such a sensual, fluid way.

  For a moment, maybe two, I was too stunned to respond in kind. I should’ve known she never gave me what I anticipated, which made me want whatever she dished out even more.

  The rock music pumping out of the bar served as her soundtrack as she rocked her pelvis and swayed to the beat. She brushed against my chest, her breasts barely constrained by the thin material of her work shirt, and I swear my eyes crossed. My dick swelled in my tight jeans, begging for relief. Even the icy night air couldn’t cool me down.

  I forgot what I’d promised her. Forgot my own name and the blood money she wanted to put between us. I gripped her firm ass and turned again, driving her up against the brick so I could get my hand on her bare flesh above her belt. So soft. Fuck. Her chilled skin felt like silk under my palm, and I slid my fingers higher. Beneath cotton, above the satin of her bra. Climbing until I could roughly cup her breast while I slanted my mouth over hers.

  She gasped and thrust her tongue between my lips, all hunger and need. This wasn’t the unsteady, confused woman of the other night. Now she was right here with me, as eager as I was. I had to keep her here.

  I had to make her come, fast.

  Despite my hand’s insistence on staying right where it was, thank you very much, I lowered it to tug on her zipper. It took some work, but I got her jeans down to just under the swells of her ass. I hated exposing any part of her to the elements in a dirty, grimy alley, but she wasn’t about to let me take her home to wine and dine her. Romance didn’t exist in Mia’s world of violence and desperation and cheap beer. If I didn’t make her see stars before her brain had time to engage, I might never get another chance.

  This had to count.

  Twining my tongue around hers, I pressed her upward and went to work on my own zipper. She gasped as she realized what I was doing, putting up her first resistance, but I distracted her with long, slow, drugging kisses. Drawing on her tongue, gently razoring my teeth over her sore lip. She moaned and jerked up and down, looking for the friction only my hard cock could give her. Once I’d undone my own jeans and freed my erection, I thrust up into the tight, warm gap between her thighs, realizing at the last second that she wore no panties.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The expletives left me as fast as a flurry of bullets, reverberating in the alley around us. “You aren’t wearing underwear?”

  “You pulled down my jeans,” she gasped. “Didn’t you notice?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention. I thought there was a string between your cheeks or something.” I cursed again at my lack of forethought. I had condoms in my wallet, but I hadn’t wanted tonight to go down like this. Doing her in an alley was below her. Hell, it was even below me. “I’m not a goddamn expert on women’s frilly shit.”

  She panted out a laugh and tipped back her head, allowing me to see the long line of her throat. I leaned in to nip her jaw and she made a little noise that wasn’t quite a whimper, not quite a sigh.

  “Again,” I murmured, jerking against her unintentionally. My dick had a mind of its own, and it wanted into that tight clasp of heat. “Make that sound again.”

  She complied, adding a swivel of her hips that lured me close enough to brush her pussy, coating me in her slick warmth. Oh God, I shouldn’t be doing this. We barely knew each other. She wasn’t that kind of girl. No matter how she thought of herself, I didn’t think of her that way, and I didn’t want this for her. For us. A back alley fuck behind a bar wasn’t what we would be about.

  No, we’d be about bruising and bloodying and generally trying to kill each other for other people’s entertainment. And their money.

  “Get a condom,” she whispered, her frosty breath puffing out between us like vapor.

  I stared at her, half-expecting to wake up in my bed with my cock in my hand as I had the other night after she’d teased me to the point of nearly exploding in my pants.

  She closed the space between us, her cool lips meeting mine. “If you don’t have any…”

  “I do. Of course I do.” I had condoms for every day of the week. And women, though none were like Mia.

  I didn’t even know her last name.

  She tilted her pelvis against mine, and I forgot that worry like so many others. I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out a foil packet without hesitation. I rolled it down my length, noting the surprising lack of shrinkage considering the inhospitable penis conditions.

  Then I was pushing her up the wall again, grateful she had my leather jacket to protect her skin, while I nudged the tip of my hard-on inside. My hips bucked until her snug passage accepted more. “Let me in, baby,” I breathed, thrusting deep as my urgency overtook me.

  She cried out and I caught the sound in my mouth, going still for a moment as I made sure she was okay. Shit, she was tight. And wet. And so hot that I couldn’t stay motionless for long, though I wanted to ask questions I probably shouldn’t.

  Asking Mia if she was all right, if maybe this was new to her or if it had just been a while—though that didn’t really fit either, taking her earlier behavior into account—would be reason one for her to return my sac to me on a platter, garnished with parsley and water chestnuts.

  After pulling out, I inched back in. Again and again. Once her hips started tentatively meeting mine, I picked up the pace.

  Sweet hell, she felt incredible.

  I decided I’d save the Q&A about the last time she’d had sex for when I wasn’t sliding into her with long, deep strokes that made her shudder and grab my arms. I pushed her up higher on the wall, liking the angle that way, savoring the clutch of her legs around my hips, and reached up to free her ha
ir from its braid.

  Thick wavy strands tumbled down around us, cloaking me in her darkness, and I pressed my lips to hers, warming them with her name while we fumbled through what had to be the clumsiest, coldest fuck in the history of sex.

  I sucked in a breath ripe with the scent of garbage turning rancid in the cans along the back fence. Too loud laughter burst out from inside every now and then, competing with the really crappy techno rock. And now it was starting to snow. Or sleet. Little pellets of ice bounced off the metal cans and pelted my eyes. She let out another laugh-moan, tipping her head back. Lifting the veil of her hair from us long enough to let in the streetlight before dipping her head down to close us in the dark.

  Riding me so fast, like a blur. Never losing her rhythm. Never losing mine.

  It shouldn’t have been a stolen slice of perfection. But it was. I knew it would end even while I fought to prolong it, drawing back, easing my thrusts, refusing her frantic attempts to kiss me as the bubble of need between us built. So close to bursting.

  She chased my mouth, biting my lips with the violence that pulled me toward her even as it pushed me away. We were in the same life, and it had only become one I wanted to continue living when I realized she was part of it too.

  She made me want to keep fighting.

  If I did, I’d have to fight her. I didn’t know when or how or why I’d become the thing she had to beat, but somehow I was.

  With a pained cry, she braced, bouncing unsteadily on my cock as she dug her nails into my shoulders. “Tray…”

  She sounded so uncertain, so…urgent. I could come just from the husky rasp of her voice. “What do you need?”

  Then I knew. I wanted to hit my head on the brick until the pain cracked some sense into me.

  I fitted my thumb between our bodies, letting out a hiss at the damp heat that awaited me. It took a while to get her motor running, but man, once it was in gear, she operated at max RPMs.