Shadowboxer: Tapped Out Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s n-nothing.” She tried to grab my wrist. Not happening. I needed to see what she had going on under those jeans. “We should clean up. Where’s your puppy?” Her gaze darted in all directions. “He could step in the glass.”

  “Vey’s probably asleep in his bed in the dining room. He’s not a fan of domestic disputes.” I tapped her bare belly, revealed by the frayed edge of her T-shirt. “Whatcha wearing under these clothes, fighter girl? A superhero costume?” My hand crept into the vee of her jeans again. “Feels like satin. Definite costume material.”

  She shut her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with wearing…lingerie.”

  It was a miracle that my eyebrow didn’t shoot right across my forehead, it climbed so high. Unfortunately, she didn’t see. “No. Of course not. I’m wearing some right now too.”

  Her eyes flew open and a laugh escaped her parted lips, ending abruptly as I bent to undress her. I untied her sneakers and removed her socks and jeans, then tossed them on the nearest armchair. The usual bruises in varying stages of healing dotted her pale skin, but that wasn’t what caught my eye. Nope, the object of my attention were the unforgivably tiny shorts that hugged the tops of her thighs in black satin with a fringe of lace. A tiny zipper hovered over her center, hiding her pouty lips from my gaze.

  “I know it’s not me.” Annoyance veiled her words. “I don’t wear stuff like this.”

  She obviously didn’t get that I was about to die from imminent cock strangulation and wiggled across the bar in obvious embarrassment.

  That was ending here and now.

  For the millionth time since I’d read about Mia’s past, I questioned my instincts. Maybe I wasn’t handling this correctly. She had…trauma in her past. Should I be so aggressive? Just because I had been before I’d learned what she had gone through didn’t mean I’d made the right move. I could’ve fucked up royally over and over and not even known it.

  Then her eyes flickered, lust clearly warming their depths, and I went with my gut.

  “Stand up and bend over.”

  Shock was too mild a word for her reaction. “W-what?”

  “Stand up and bend over so I can see your ass in those shorts.” Though her stutter made me want to gentle my voice, I hoped she’d appreciate my firm hand later. She always had in the past. Well, the couple of times we’d had sex, anyway. “Now, Mia.”

  She slipped down and turned, bracing an unsteady hand on the bar. Then she bent from the waist, holding the position as I gripped her hips—damn useless left hand—and pressed my erection against her. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me. In your clothes, in these tiny shorts, and especially naked.” I tugged off her hoodie and threw it toward her jeans before I rolled up her T-shirt, driven onward by the shadowy dark outline under the thin fabric. “What’re you wearing, baby? A pretty bra to go with the shorts? Did you think I’d be peeling them off you after you yelled at me and told me to stay away?”

  “No. It’s Carly’s fault. She made me buy these. I didn’t—I wouldn’t.” She huffed out a breath. “I don’t know how to seduce anyone.”

  I leaned forward and laughed against her hair, grinding into her tight little ass while I banded an arm around her torso and hauled her close. “You’re so fucking wrong. You seduced me the first time you spoke to me. I saw your mouth and I wanted to be inside it. I wanted your thighs around my hips. And I wanted what I’m about to take between your legs, but not if you don’t give it to me.” I spoke close to her ear. “Tell me you want my mouth on you, Mia. Tell me you’re wet for me.”

  Her broken cry surprised me, but I didn’t let go. Couldn’t. My forearm muscles trembled from holding back. And my heart quaked. I couldn’t live with myself if I scared her more. I only wanted to take her pain away.

  “God. Please,” she whispered.

  I exhaled. She wasn’t scared. I could feel her acquiescence in every line of her body. She craved this too.

  Thank God.

  “You want to know what it’s like for me to lick and kiss you there?” I banded my arm tighter. Afraid she might vanish if I didn’t cling with all my fucking might. “Goddamn it, tell me.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t know if I’ll like it. It might be too much. Before—”

  A wave of blinding fury seized me at the mere mention of her past. Not now. Not here. If she so much as mentioned that bastard Darren Winthrop, I’d search out his grave to unearth his bones from the dirt, just so I could light them on fire and watch them burn.

  I only strengthened my hold and growled into her hair. “Mia.”

  “Yes, Tray. Please.”

  Twenty-Two

  He whirled me around and lifted me onto the bar. His sea-colored eyes gleamed with violent sexual intent. He wanted to take me. Hard. Fast. No mercy.

  I would let him. No, I would beg for it, as I just had.

  Oh, God, what had I asked for?

  Tray’s hard stare made me shrink back until I remembered I wasn’t some weakling. Or, even worse, an innocent. Intellectually, I understood what he wanted to do. If I dug through my fuzzy memories of that time in Darren’s basement, I was sure he’d done that to me. Maybe more than once.

  But this was something different entirely, because Darren’s touch had never inspired anything beyond revulsion. Even those times my body had betrayed me, my mind had never submitted.

  Right now, with Tray…no part of me rebelled. Fear flickered and died in my belly, turning to another sensation, one I only knew with him.

  Desire.

  So why was I pressing my chin into my chest and shutting my eyes? This was no different than sex. I liked sex. I liked him. Too damn much.

  “Baby, shh.” He ran his hand up my shoulder to cup my cheek.

  I didn’t know why he’d told me to shh until I heard the frantic breaths echoing in my chest like wind through a barrel. As much as I wanted to brazen my way through this, my body had already begun to resist. Sometimes it felt like my mind was a separate entity from the shell that held my organs. I could steady my thoughts, but I couldn’t stifle my system’s natural inclination to fight.

  “If you really don’t want this, if you want to just get dressed and go, that’s fine.” His tender voice soothed me even more than the words. “This is about you and what feels good. That’s all.”

  I took a stuttering breath and unknotted my fingers from the edge of the bar. I never ran from a fight. Ever. It’d be ridiculous if I ran from pleasure.

  “I’m okay.” Opening my eyes, I repeated the words until I believed them. “I’m okay.”

  His roughened palm cupped my cheek. “You’re more than okay.”

  “So just do it already,” I muttered.

  He gave me that crooked grin that rocked my world every damn time. “It’ll only hurt for a minute.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. And while I was laughing, he started to kiss me, just rubbing his lips over mine, his stubble gently abrading my skin. His palms cradled my cheeks while he kissed me so thoroughly that I forgot where I was. Forgot that the glass bar top was so hard and cold that my butt had already gone numb. Forgot that sex still seemed weird and unnatural to me.

  Forgot that I was afraid.

  He trailed his fingers down my torso to the hem of my shirt, then pushed it up over my bra. I tried to look away, but his visible reaction to the black satin and lace held my gaze in place. He dragged in air before he lifted eyes heavy with want. They were like turbulent ocean water, rolling for me.

  Then he pressed his swollen lips to the top of my cleavage, covering me with kisses that made my skin pucker in the coolness of the apartment. My nipples were already so tight that they tingled. He nudged the satin down with his chin and licked and tasted until I clutched his hair and practically shoved my breast at him.

  His kisses continued downward, veering off to taste each freckle and mole. He spent extra time on my bruises, and I threw up a brief thanks that Friday’s fight hadn’
t left me as rainbow-colored as some in the past. At my belly-button, he paused and gave me a reassuring look, telling me without words I had nothing to fear.

  If only that were true. With Tray, I had more to fear than I ever had before.

  He slowly worked off my shorts. By now, I was way past the point of trying to change his mind. I just wanted to know. To understand why the girls at the bar and at the gym never talked about the awkwardness of having a guy down there, just that it felt like heaven. Hell, Kizzy could practically write a poem about a guy giving her head. I think she might’ve, actually.

  More panic mental babbling. Thank God he couldn’t hear the hamster on the wheel in my head.

  “Mmm. You smell good.”

  And yep, there I was, flushing again. The inner chatter in my brain went into hyperdrive. Soon I’d be reciting the alphabet or counting backward from a hundred.

  I sucked in a breath and the bitter scent of the spilled alcohol swam through my head. It made the room seem tawdry. Dirty. Sexy.

  God, he’d just swept his arm over the bar like I’d seen in movies. It was so fucking hot. After that move, my clit had shot into constant vibration mode again. Tray blinked and I got an inappropriate zap somewhere.

  Lots of somewheres.

  He was currently checking all of them out, his eyelids low over gorgeous eyes sharp with awareness. He sucked on his lip as he studied me laid out before him, all pliant and shuddery like some brainless ring card girl.

  But I wasn’t thinking about the cage tonight.

  He bent his head and flicked his mouth over my navel, in and out. I didn’t expect to gasp. It wasn’t even a particularly naughty place. But he smiled and did it again and again, building up my anticipation while I tried not to writhe. Losing control around him seemed to be my natural response, and when he moved his face between my legs, the moan I let out acknowledged that truth.

  Loudly.

  “I knew you’d be wet. That’s my girl.”

  My mind spun from those words. That’s my girl. Then I was spinning for a different reason.

  He pressed my thighs wide open, flattened his tongue against me, and met my gaze, holding it even when I squirmed. It was so intimate. I was spread out on his bar, for God’s sake, all opened up and quivery and definitely…wet.

  A little late to pretend otherwise.

  “Tray.” Maybe I could change his mind, get him to fuck me instead. I lifted my hips and even tried to wiggle them in a semi-enticing way. If he’d been paying attention, he might’ve cared. At the moment, he was a tad busy.

  God. I hated it and loved it at the same time. Hated it because I’d never felt more insecure than when he shifted me so that my legs slid over his shoulders. Loved it because all of my nerve endings were singing—some screaming hallelujah—and warmth trickled through my veins with every swipe of his tongue.

  His lips slid over me, slow and sure, drifting down the entire length of my center. I nearly flushed again when they skimmed between my cheeks, but then I decided he’d slipped and relaxed.

  Until he did it again.

  He seemed to be trying to cover all of me with his mouth, moving in slow circles that drove me nuts in the best way. Or the worst, because it was all build-up and no satisfaction. I don’t know how long he explored me, only that eventually it got to be too much and I fell back on my elbows to stare at the circular ceiling lights.

  Then he grazed his teeth over my clit and I jolted like he’d hit a hard right to my jaw. He sucked on the bundle of nerves with such obvious relish that the tingling in my nipples transferred lower. Way low, into the pit of my belly. The syrupy heat grew each time he tongued my clit, burned even hotter when he eased lower to slide his tongue inside. So deep that when I clenched, I felt him everywhere.

  His groan rocketed through me. I trembled, caught on that edge again. If I’d still been able to feel my hands I might’ve reached down for my clit like I had last time, but they were useless. I could only watch as he moved back up, slipping a finger into me while he resumed licking me, hard.

  The lights blurred and my trembling turned into full blown shakes. He didn’t stop, even when I whimpered.

  “God, I love it when you beg. You’re so strong and seeing you like this drives me crazy,” he whispered hoarsely.

  He lowered his damp forehead to my stomach. I wasn’t the only one clammy with sweat. He was too. I wasn’t alone in feeling so frantic and out of control. He wanted me. Me. Awkward, fumbling, confused Mia Anderson excited Tray Knox, a guy who could’ve had—and probably had had—any woman who drew his interest.

  A strange tenderness rose in me. I cradled his head to my stomach, tangling my hand in his hair and bucking into his strokes. Then he ratcheted up the pressure of his fingers, and I jerked against him, trapped between his rigidly tense body and the bar.

  Without warning, my climax broke over me, pitching me into a vortex of heat and light. I fought to hang on, lost in his eyes. There I could float without judgment or shame. I could just be.

  If I’d had a rating system—or a normal sex life where orgasms happened enough to deserve a quality scale—I would’ve called it the best orgasm ever. By far.

  The tears that followed surprised me more than him. I hadn’t felt like crying before the wetness flooded my eyes. At least not consciously. But sobs tore from the depths of my chest, the pain so unspeakable that for a few minutes I could only pray that the storm passed.

  To his credit, he didn’t run. I knew he wouldn’t. Tray truly couldn’t see how solid and decent he was through his own self-loathing. I’d realized that tonight.

  Knowing that in some way he felt the same as I did—as crazy and illogical as it seemed—had made him both more reachable and shoved him further away. Because he was wrong about himself.

  I wasn’t wrong about me.

  My inner fuckedupness would always worm its way outward no matter the circumstance. Even after an unbelievably amazing orgasm with a guy who probably should hate me due to the shitty way I’d treated him since day one.

  “I don’t hate you. How could I?”

  He kissed my cheeks, his murmured question mortifying me with the knowledge I’d spoken my worst fears aloud. Some of them, anyway.

  “I want to be with you. I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s too soon, you’re not ready, but Mia, I—”

  “No,” I begged, pushing at his shoulder. Suddenly, his big body ranging over mine became a giant slab of rock sitting on my lungs. “Get up. Get off me.”

  “No.” His arms banded around me, so tight that I started to choke. He lessened his hold a fraction, but he didn’t come close to releasing me. “You think I’m letting you leave after what just happened between us? Hell fucking no. Stay here with me, and we’ll figure it out.” His voice cracked. “Please.”

  I blinked through the tears and glimpsed his pained, haunted eyes. My tears hesitated, clogging somewhere near my throat. The only sounds I could make were racking gasps.

  Why did he look like he’d been through something horrific too? As if he understood what I’d been through, or maybe as if he knew—

  I went wild in his arms, my shame and my terror coagulating into a sludge so thick that I couldn’t draw breath. He hadn’t expected me to go completely batshit crazy, and that was the only reason I got free. His strength was a truly awesome thing, when he wasn’t using it against me.

  Or maybe he was using for me. I couldn’t tell anymore.

  Scrambling away from him, barely able to see through the curtain of tears, I stumbled toward the couch, nearly tumbling over the whimpering dog who kept trying to lick my bare legs. I hadn’t noticed Vey coming back into the room. Couldn’t focus on anything except the fiery panic trying to eat me alive.

  Somewhere in my rational mind I remembered the glass when it bit into my feet, but the pain only cemented my resolve. I had to get away. A total breakdown was coming, barreling toward me like a train jumping the tracks and heading straight for Crazyville. If I did
n’t get home and sleep it off, I’d be in a padded cell before morning.

  “Mia. Baby, wait.”

  Every piece of clothing I picked up, he took back. We traded them back and forth until, at wit’s end, I balled up my fist, pulled back, and swung.

  His head snapped back, his pupils going wide. He cupped his jaw, staring at me with a mixture of shock, irritation and…admiration? He was a sick fuck if he was impressed by a girl cold-cocking him after he gave her oral sex. Incredible oral sex.

  Sick and sorry and so freaking perfect for me that I only cried harder.

  “You could’ve broken my jaw.”

  The awe in his voice slowed me down long enough to shoot an incredulous glance over my shoulder. Yeah, I could’ve broken it and my now swollen hand, as well. Somehow I’d managed to get on my bra and the shorts and instead of him looking at me like I was Batshit Crazy girl, he was fixated on my ass.

  Hysterical laughter poured out of me, tangling with my leftover afterglow and the torrent of tears. Making me sound as insane as we both looked. There we were, standing on a floor full of broken glass, me laughing and crying, him with a bruising jaw and swollen lips that had to still taste like me. His eyes were still full of want. Maybe even more than before. He hadn’t undressed, and yet he might as well have been naked before me, as humbled and as bare as I was.

  It made no sense. None of this did. He was healing and killing me with the same blows.

  He worked his jaw, wincing, and guilt welled up in me. Cornered animals strike out without compunction, but he deserved better than that. Better than me. “Tray, I’m so—”

  “No.” He cut me off. “Don’t apologize and don’t go.”

  I nudged Veyron aside and tugged on my jeans. My hands were shaking too hard to work the zipper on the first try. And the knuckles on my right hand were fucking throbbing. It felt like I’d punched a slab of concrete. “I have to.”

  “Bullshit. That’s a choice you’re making, just like you decided to come here tonight to yell at me over the gloves. But that was an excuse. You missed me. Just like I missed you. Like I’ll miss you the second you fucking walk out that door.”