Ahem.
It was only when he turned around that I spotted the tattoo. He only had one, a small shamrock right in the middle of his upper back, over his spine—it must have been painful as hell to get.
“Ireland?” I asked when I saw it.
He turned around to face me, looking a little surprised that I’d noticed it. Did he not know I was drinking in every inch of his body? “Brotherhood,” he said at last.
Things came to a head near the end of the second week. I was standing with him in the ring when I realized I’d left my gloves down on the floor. I bent over the ropes to get them, bending almost double with my ass high in the air and my hands down near my feet.
When I turned around, Aedan was standing there watching me. It hit me that he’d been staring right at my ass, upthrust and presented to him. And when I happened to glance down, I could see it—a long, thick bulge along his thigh, standing out through the thin material of his shorts. Jesus, he was big. And hard. For me.
When I finally got my gloves on, my fists kept slipping off the bag because I couldn’t get the image of his hard-on out of my mind. It soaked down through me again and again, lighting me up and pooling as liquid heat at my groin.
That night, I ran a hot bath to soak the aches away. I lay there and soaped everywhere, studiously avoiding the area below my waist and above my knees. I wasn’t even going to get close. I wasn’t going to tempt myself. I was absolutelynotgoing to start jilling off to memories of Aedan and the bulge in his pants and how he’d been watching me, bent over the ropes, and what might have happened if the gym had been empty and he’d suddenly stepped up behind me and ripped my sweatpants down my thighs and pushed my legs apart and oh God—
I came, back arched, hips jerking, foam and water splashing. When I finished, I lay there, sated but guilty.Hewas managing to keep things under control. Why couldn’t I?
21
AEDAN
We trainedfor two weeks solid.
Sylvie was working her ass off, slamming the bag and really improving her footwork. In fact, I was starting to see that she had real potential—fate had thrown me a bone. This scared, sweet angel, who’d never hit anything her entire life, had the agility and speed to really go places. In some other life, if she’d started young and been paired with a proper trainer instead of a dumb fighter like me, maybe she would have wound up doing women’s boxing professionally. Here and now, though, I just had to pray that her potential and my experience were enough to see her through this one fight.
And me?
I watched Sylvie.
I heard myself speaking, saying things like, “Keep your hands up,” and “Watch your balance.” But the training was almost automatic, happening in some far off part of my brain, because every last scrap of my conscious mind was filled withher.
Her hair, long dark strands of it whipping around as she ducked and weaved.
Her breasts: soft, perfect mounds I couldn’t drag my eyes from.When she was hitting the speedball and they were bouncing in their sports bra, it was bloody hypnotic.
Her smile, not easily given but a glorious prize every time I won it.
I was becoming obsessed and I knew it.
I had two more weeks to get Sylvie ready for her fight and I honestly didn’t know if I could control myself that long. Every day was worse. Every day we got cruelly closer, while knowing we couldn’t take the final step. It was torture.
Every time I hit a bag or a pad to demonstrate something, it was like a drug had been released into my system. Using my fists again felt so good I wanted to weep. Every impact was a reminder of what I really was: a monster.
And then came the day I’d been dreading. The day I had to hit her.
22
SYLVIE
“Fight?”I asked nervously.
“Gotta do it eventually,” said Aedan. He sounded as reluctant as I did. Why? It wasn’t like I had any chance of hurtinghim.“It’s like driving a car. You can practice the pedals and changing gears as much as you like, but eventually you’ve gotta get on the road.”
Up until now, we’d only tried very light sparring with me pulling my punches, or he’d come at me gently and I’d tried to block. Not actualfighting.I swallowed and looked up at him, scared, as he slipped a helmet on me. It was oddly claustrophobic, even though my whole face was exposed. I couldn’t hear properly. My head felt heavy. “I’m not sure about this,” I said.
He nodded somberly and pulled on his gloves. In the real fight, of course, I’d be bare knuckle. But I couldn’t train like that without messing up my hands, so gloves it was. I still hadn’t mastered getting the second glove on so I did what I always did and used my teeth to pull its strap into tight. I caught him looking at me. “What?” I mumbled, the strap clamped between my teeth.
He shook his head as if to say,nothing.
