Page 28 of The Boxer’s Belle

“Don’t, um… I— Don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

“I— It’s never going to stop, is it?” she asked after a moment of silence, her gaze trapping his, her willing captive.

“What?”

“Father. He’ll— There will be someone else. He may insist… Or perhaps a husband who wants a pretty, titled wife for breeding, or just another man who wants to— who wants to claim my body like a prize.”

“I’ll not see you hurt. I won’t allow it.”

“Miles.” The way she said his name, the intimacy of it, never failed to stun him. “Don’t be cruel. Do not give me that kind of hope.”

West stumbled back, chest burning. “I’m not. I won’t⁠—”

“You don’t have that kind of power.” She said it as though it were a fact, a fundamental truth. And worse still, she was right. He was no one. Nothing. What could he do against an earl?

“Bella…” he whispered through his knotted throat.

“I could bear it—a husband, anyway. I could— I just… I want one thing that’s mine.” Her eyes found his again, something unidentifiable swirling in their dark depths.

“Yours?” he repeated dully, hands finding the curve of her waist.

“Something that no one can take or corrupt—no matter who he⁠—”

“I don’t understand.”

She caught his braces in both hands, snaring him in place—an unnecessary gesture. “I want you.”

Apparently, it was a necessary gesture because he stumbled back half a step. “What?”

“I want you. It will be someone, sometime. But it doesn’t have to be— I want to choose. My first time, I want to choose.” She nodded, sizing him up. Those deft fingers slid up the lines of his braces until they found his shoulders. “And you’re— If the world were different, you would be my choice. I’d choose you.”

West’s body understood implicitly that earth-shattering revelation. His fingers tightened, one curling into the white cotton of her shift while the other pulled her closer to him.

“Bella, I…”

Loose waves brushed her cheeks as she shook her head. “Don’t, Miles. It’s a simple question. Do you want me or not?”

“What sort of question is that? Do I want you? I’ve never wanted anything more! But, Bella, I can’t⁠—”

“Kiss me,” she demanded, a soft flush blooming beneath her freckles. “Just kiss me until I forget him.”

West complied with an obscene groan. The kiss should have been soft, sweet. Perhaps it would have been if she hadn’t closed the distance before he could capture her mouth. But there was a desperation in Bella’s lips that he couldn’t resist—had no desire to try.

What she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. She opened for him so beautifully, meeting his tongue with her own. She tasted of the cheap gin she favored and something spicy.

Her hands dragged along the worn leather of his braces, fingers tracing the divots of his chest underneath. And then she shoved one off his shoulder and caressed the line of his arm. The other soon followed.

Without permission from his head, he deepened this kiss. His hands betrayed him too, bumping along her rib cage—the familiar urge to see her fed, safe, and warm nearly overtook him⁠—

Thought abandoned him entirely as she pressed herself in snugger. The tight buds of her nipples brushed against his chest through two too-thin layers of fabric.

Tiny fists rucked up his threadbare shirt until it caught beneath his arms.

“Miles… Off…” she moaned when his lips moved to trace the skin on her throat. It tasted of spice and salt.

His response was little more than a groan, primarily at the prospect of removing his hands from her person, but also at the sensual gravel of her voice.