CHAPTER 13
Elijah led me to a large shelving unit with cubbies of gloves on display. He looked at my hands, then plucked a pair from the third cube. He handed them to me, and as I was about to pull them on, he said, “Wait, I need to wrap you first.”
“Wrap me?”
“It’s not as intimate as it sounds,” he replied.
“Good to know.”
He took a black tube of rolled cloth out of a basket, then held one of his hands, fingers splayed out in front of him, nodding for me to do the same.
I tucked one of the gloves beneath my opposite arm and held out my hand.
He unraveled the roll of cloth and began wrapping it around my hand and then between each finger. He was leaned over my hand, his floppy hair brushing my cheek, his sharp, clean scent clouding my space. His touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers brushing my palm with each pass. My stomach gave a flip and I thought,This is more intimate than you think it is, sir.
I quickly reminded myself that it had been a while since I’d been touched by a man in any sort of intimate way and that was theonlyreason I was having any sort of reaction to his touch.
“How does that feel?” he asked, straightening up and meeting my eyes.
My cheeks heated up as if he had heard my internal dialogue. “What?”
“Is it too tight? Too loose?” He clenched then unclenched his hand.
“Oh.” I mimicked his movement. “It feels fine. Just right?”
“Is that a question?”
“Well, it’s my first time,” I said, quieter than I meant to, which made it come out sultry, flirtatious.
One side of his mouth raised into a half smile, and he nodded toward my other hand. I readjusted the gloves I held and presented him with my other hand. As if he really did know what had been going through my head, his movements seemed slower this time, deliberately sensual. After each pass, he squeezed my hand, as if testing his placement. But he hadn’t done that on the other side. When one drag of his fingers across my palm produced a chill through my entire body, I tensed and let out a small gasp.
“Too tight?” he asked in a low voice, tucking the end under itself.
I pulled my hand away. “You’re the worst.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The smile in his eyes contradicted his statement.
I fisted, then released my hand, testing the comfort, like I had with the other side. “It’s good,” I said, not willing to give voice to his games.
He helped me slide on each glove, then tied them. Like I suspected everyone who had ever put on a pair of boxing gloves in all the world did, I flared my elbows and punched the ends together twice.
He stared at me, raising his eyebrows, like that wasn’t the innate human reaction to putting on a pair of boxing gloves. “Okay, Hulk,” he said. “Let’s go.” He spun around and led me to what I assumed was the most beginner punching bag in the entire gym. Or maybe all punching bags were the same. I had no clue.
“Okay, I’m just going to go over a few basic moves with you.”
“Sounds good.”
He stood, one foot in front of the other, hands up by his face, bouncing in place. “This is boxing stance.”
“Do I have to bounce like that? Is that required?”
He smirked. “Yes.”
“Punching is as much in the hips as it is in the arms. Your hips will rotate, your weight will shift depending on which hand you’re punching with. I also want you to let out a breath every time you connect. Loud enough that I can hear it.” He demonstrated a loud breath. “Yes?”
I nodded.
“Let’s start with a jab. Hands up by your face, rotate your hips, shift weight, connect.” He demonstrated each word with the accompanying action. “Now you.”
