Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I love how frank she is.
I also decide that I love her dimples.
They press into her sweet face when she smiles.
I think a moment and then answer her question, “Being sergeant-at-arms means you have to do things you might not want to. Some of it is ugly.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s the most indirect yes if ever I’ve heard one.”
When I don’t say anything, her eyebrow drops, and for the first time, I see the uncertainty enter her beautiful eyes.
She pauses then asks, “Were any of them women?”
She’s direct, and I like that.
But that question—it’s loaded.
I recall what she said about her stepdaddy and how he hurt her and her mom.
I take a step closer, towering over her. “A man who lays a hand on a woman is not a man. He’s a coward, and I’m no coward. I especially hate that a coward hurt you.” I find the gentle curve on her face with my hand. Her throat works as she struggles to swallow, and she presses her face against my palm, closing her eyes. “I would never hurt you,” I say, hating that she would even need to hear me say it out loud.
She nods, and when she opens her eyes again, her kiss-swollen lips break into a soft smile, and I know I want to taste her plush lips again, just like I want to run my tongue along the creamy column of her slender throat again.
I step back, pick up my cup of coffee, and drain it.
I’m stalling, and I don’t know why.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re every man my mom warned me about rolled into one?” she asks.
“Because I probably am. Does that frighten you?”
“Should it?”
Yes, little one, it should.
I place down my cup. “I should go.”
She hugs her arms around her waist as she watches me, her eyes hungrily taking in every move.
Attraction crackles between us. It’s surprising because after the number of times we’ve both come in the last twelve hours, we should both be exhausted.
Rory gives me a shy smile as she lifts her cup to her lips. “Thanks for a memorable night.”
I think about what we did the night before and again in the early hours of this morning. Not to mention, twenty minutes ago in the shower. I should be exhausted, but my body reacts, and I begin to question why the hell I’m even leaving.
“Maybe I’ll see you at another fight sometime.”
“Maybe.” She gives me a coy look, her hair falling around her lovely face in icy blonde waves.
I can’t help myself, she’s beautiful, so I take her cup and lean down to kiss her. When she kisses me back, I walk her backward toward the bedroom.
“I thought you were leaving,” she says between kisses.
I cup her jaw and keep kissing her. “Pretty sure I left something in the bedroom.”
“Oh, really? What?”
I lift her and throw her onto the bed. “You.”
By the time we say goodbye, I’ve spent the last hour eating her pussy and making her come, and she’s reciprocated by giving me a blow job that will keep my knees weak and my body humming for damn hours.
I leave her spent amongst the tangled sheets on her bed and step into the early morning light.
We won’t see each other again.
Because it’s better that way.
ARES
The punch lands directly on my face.
The right hook makes contact with my eye and sends me stumbling backward. I manage to recover but the blow has left me seeing stars. I cover my face and regroup, collecting my opponent in the gut just as the umpire calls time on the round.
We’re three rounds in, and I’ve collected more blows to my body tonight than in all my fights put together.
I retreat to my corner, where Paw and Doc are waiting.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Paw asks, wiping my face with a towel. “You’re fighting like a fifth grader in the playground.”
“You’re distracted.” Doc squirts water onto the freshly reopened cut in my eyebrow. It stings, but I barely feel it because my body is flooded with adrenaline. “You need to focus on what you’re doing because if he gets you down, he’ll shove his knee so deep into your face you’ll be knocked out before you can say, I’m on my ass because I wasn’t paying attention to what the fuck my opponent was doing.”
“I got this,” I assure them, adjusting a loose piece of tape across my knuckles.
“Then start telling him that.” Paw nods toward my opponent, a six-foot Samoan named Punisher. “Preferably with your fists and a couple of round kicks.”
Blood from the reopened cut in my brow streams down my cheek, and I taste the metallic tang on my tongue.
Doc dabs something on it and says, “This isn’t like you. Whatever is on your mind will have to wait until after the fight unless you want your ass kicked. Then, by all means, keep doing what you’re doing.”