Chapter 11
She’s a fucking drug. One taste of her and she’s all I want to be hooked on. Her desirable lips were more than I expected, the feeling in my chest more than I imagined.
I’m fucked and I know it.
She makes me want to do things—sweet things. Things to show her she’s on my mind. Things to prove she’s all I want to be around.
Yep. Definitely fucked.
I’m pulling into the gym when Abby’s name lights up my phone.
“Whatcha doing tonight?” she asks when I answer.
“Got a fight closing in. It’s all workout from here on.”
“Care to stop in and hash out your frustrations on me?”
I park my truck in my parking spot behind the gym. “Listen—”
“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound so promising,” she interrupts.
“I’ve met someone,” I tell her, not ashamed of it.
“Explains why I haven’t heard from you. Is it serious?”
“I’m working on that.”
She sighs. “Please tell me it isn’t another vengeful advance with an ex-girlfriend of a fighter or even a ring girl.”
“No, Abs. It isn’t,” I say.
“Good.” Relief floods her exhale. “You deserve someone special. Have you fucked her yet?”
“Abs,” I warn, uninterested in delving into my personal life.
She sucks a breath. “Oh. You haven’t. She’s different, huh?”
“Guess you can say that. She isn’t involved or associated with the fighting scene.”
“I like her already. Nothing good comes from those women. Don’t work on it too long. You know if she’s interested and wants to be with you. Don’t waste everyone’s time if—”
“Abs. I’ve got this.”
“I’m sure,” she says. “Show her you and not the Striker you. But the Ryker who—”
I laugh. “Yes, mother.”
“I can’t help it. I want you happy.”
“I know. I’ve got this. I’m taking her pace. She’s got me off balanced.”
“Smooth Ryker off-kilter? This sounds promising,” she hums. “Keep me informed.”
Abby and I might have a heated relationship in the bedroom, but over the years of mindlessly fucking, we developed a friendship. As fucked up as it sounds, we ripped each other’s walls apart, exposing the rawness behind them. There were nights I’d listen, nights she’d listened as we took turns getting shit off our chests. Soon it turned into a weekly thing, or a craving when I was out at the fights. We’d fuck, relinquishing ourselves of everything pent up, like a therapy session.
But we respect each other. We know there’ll never be anything serious between us. We’re purely sexual. If we’re interested in someone else, we don’t get in each other’s way. No drama. Ever.
I’m changed and starting to knock the leather as I wait for Whitney. I’m eager this evening. It’s my game changer. I’m done pussy-footing around. I need to know where she’s at before I drive myself nuts.
I hear the door open and as I twist toward her, I’m struck by her gorgeous sight.
My chest swells.
Fuck me…
She’s nervously standing just inside the door in the sexy ass outfit she was in when I took her to lunch. A black silky shirt, a gray plaid skirt I want to rip off, and black boots to her thighs I want to leave on while getting a taste of her. I shake the thoughts before my dick makes too much of a presence.
Her eyes rake over me as I approach.
“You’re a fucking distraction,” I grin without a drop of humor.
She relaxes a bit dropping her view to my chest. “You are too.”
I point toward my locker room. “Go change.”
She’s brought her fucking A-game of clothes today. My dick is twitching at the sight of her in her workout clothes that I’d much rather see lying on my bedroom floor. Instead of her usual running attire, she’s rocking a light blue sports bra that pushes up those gorgeous tits with matching colored pants.
If I get anything done tonight, it’ll be a damn miracle.
I warm her up on the treadmill, where she’s most comfortable, hoping it’ll relax the electricity around us. But after watching her ass bounce for several minutes, I’m done teasing myself and call her to me.
She watches intently as I wrap her hands, explaining how it’s important to protect your hands and wrists from injury. Worry begins lacing her expression again as I slide a pair of black punching gloves over her petite fists.
“You’re going to pick on me,” she finally speaks up sounding so fucking small I cringe.
I level my view. “Hard as hell to pick on anything as fucking sexy as you look right now.”
Her pupils flare.
I place my mouth right beside her ear. “If you’re going to keep acting confident, you need to work on showcasing it better.”
“What makes you think—”
I lean back meeting her gaze. “Your eyes are your weakness. And mine,” I add. My weaknesses latch onto me and I hold up the pads. “Punch them.”
She stands there all sweet and sexy but doesn’t move.
“You know how to punch, right?” I jest.
She tilts her head in the famous woman’s “whatever” stance. “Of course,” she says with sass.
“Then come on, hot stuff. Get to punching.”
She bites her lip, timidly looking between the pads, but finally begins to swing. Her punches are weak, but I tell her to keep going so I can see what she’s working with…or not. Right, left. Right, left. Mechanically, she makes contact with my pads without an ounce of strength behind them.
She’s out of breath and takes a step back, dropping her hands to her sides. “How the hell do you do this all the time?”
I grin devilishly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
She shakes her head, bending, and places her glove-covered hands to her knees. “I shouldn’t be this out of breath.”
“It’s different than what you’re used to,” I reassure her. “Let me show you the right way.”
Quickly, she straightens up as I move behind her and press her body against mine. She smells like a mixture of floral shampoo with the exoticness of her perfume. Slowly, I splay my hand over the curve of her hip and dig my fingers gently into her upper thigh—for more heated distraction. I pull her leg back, forcing her to rest her weight on it, and run my hand along her arm before gripping her right wrist and pulling it up.
Now she’s standing like she means business.
Spreading my palm against her stomach, I pull her closer into me. Her breath shudders with the quiver running down her body. I smile against her hair knowing I’m fucking her mind and body over just as much as she’s done to me.
“Your strong arm stays behind you, cocked and ready to throw a power punch. Your weaker of the two,” I shake her left hand. “It stays there to jab and protect. All your strength doesn’t come from just arms and shoulders. There’s more to it. It comes from legs, hips, and core.”
I demonstrate by twisting her right arm in front of us making sure I keep her body molded against mine. “Putting your body behind it increases the intensity of your strikes.”
I don’t move the position of my hands as I straighten us back up. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” My whisper beside her ear comes out huskier than I intended.
Her eyes are heavy as she struggles to find a way to answer me. I run my nose along the side of her ear and she tilts her head, giving me access to her neck. I dip my head and graze my lips along her soft skin, starting from her shoulder and making my way to just below her ear lobe and then back to the crook of her neck. I nip at her skin, feeding off the craving demand her body’s conveying. Her eyes fall closed and she releases a small moan.
Jackpot.
Gripping her left wrist, I twist her toward me and take both her hands behind her back. I pull gently, arching her body, and drag my tongue from just above the fabric covering her tits to under her chin.
She’s relaxed in my arms, and I straighten her, pulling her arms around my neck. Every electrifying jolt awakens everything inside of me. I crash into her lips and instantly, she parts her mouth allowing our tongues to entangle.
One by one, I help release her gloves and then run a heavy hand down her ribcage. She becomes frantic to feel me, clawing into my neck and scraping her fingers through my hair.
I back us against the wall, savagely taking her mouth in a quest to claim every fucking bit of her. She gasps when I grip her waist and flex my hips, showing off exactly what the fuck she’s doing to me.
“Ryker…” My name slips from her lips and it blisters my soul with an intense hunger.
I’m all but about to lose myself in my fucking pants.
I bite her bottom lip. “What is it, Whitney?” I rasp.
“I—”
I squeeze her hips and nip her jaw line. She moves, pulling her leg to my waist and dragging her hand up my neck and into my hair. The sensation feels so fucking good.
“Ryker!” Kyce calls out, stepping into the gym with a loud thud of the door.
Whitney’s eyes spring open and her body tenses under my palms.
“Not now, Kyce!” I shout, without taking my eyes from her.
“Dude! I wanted to know if you wanted to—”
“Not. Now,” I growl.
He steps around the ring where we were discreetly hidden, and Whitney panics, ducking from under my arms and rushing away to put distance between us. I sigh in frustration dropping my head before lifting a murderous glare to him.
His eyes are huge, comprehending what he just interrupted. “I didn’t know you had company, man. I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” he rattles off and backs away.
“No. It’s okay,” Whitney says, embarrassment oozing from her tone. “I’ve got to go anyway.”
I snap my eyes from him to her. She’s desperately trying to unravel the long wraps. “You don’t have to leave.”
She looks up wide-eyed and mortified. “I’ve got some things to do,” she lies getting to the end of the fabric.
She shoves them into my hands without looking at me and rushes into my locker room.
I glower at Kyce. “You don’t fucking listen,” I hiss under my breath.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know? You never…”
He trails off as she pushes back out the door, unchanged with a death grip on her gym bag. “I’ll call you.”
Fuck that. I move quickly, catching her by the elbow gently. “You don’t have to leave.”
I see the chagrin in her golden-brown eyes when she finally glances up to me. “Yes. I do.” Her voice is brittle and I release her arm.
Those are the last words she says before dashing out the door like the place is on fire.
“When did this become your fuck pad?” Kyce laughs when the door shuts behind her.
I spin around ready to fucking kill him. “What the fuck do you want?”
He chuckles. “I was going to see if you wanted to catch a bite to eat, maybe get lost in a club. I didn’t know you were trying to dip into her.”
“Careful, Kyce,” I warn.
“You’re really into her, huh? Have you even gotten your dick—”
“Kyce!” I snap in a deep hiss. “When did it become your personal interest if I’m getting laid or not?”
“Since you’re acting like a puss-less dickhead. Your attitude sucks and you’re smearing it on people around you. It’s fucking annoying.
I laugh malevolently, raking my hand over my face. “Shut the fuck up.”
“See what I mean,” he chuckles again. “You’re whipped without the cream topping.”
I’m going to fucking murder him. I snatch my bag off the bench. Ignoring him, I storm out the door.