I pulled myself up off the floor and felt a smile cover my mouth.
“Let’s try again.”
“Okay,” I said softly and braced myself as he came close to me again. The fact that he was proud of me made me feel better than it should.
And we did it, over and over again, and each time it got easier to catch him off guard, to get a kick or hit on him here and there. On the fourth try, he was pressed to me, and before I anticipated his movements, he had me off my feet. The only thing that kept me upright was his arms wrapped around me, my back bent slightly, his chest curved forward. To anyone who came in, I could only imagine what they’d see. It probably looked like we were two lovers about to kiss.
I want that.
Sweat covered my temples, the length of my spine, and between my breasts. Our breathing was harsh, and we were still pressed together. This felt… intimate. This felt more than what it started out as.
He held onto my upper arms, his touch firm yet gentle. Was he moving his thumbs along my bare skin right below my shirtsleeves? God, it felt like he was. And it felt incredible.
And the longer he stared into my eyes, his pupils dilated, his breathing increasing with each passing second, despite neither of us moving. He looks like he wants to kiss me. God, I wanted him to kiss me.
His gaze was on my lips, and I was ashamed at the sound that came out of me on its own. It was a soft moan, almost as if my body was taking action and non-verbally telling this man I wanted him.
But then… but then I felt my eyes widen and a flush steal over my entire body at what I felt.
Braxton. Hard. That length pressed to my belly.
The air left me so suddenly I grew dizzy from it.
He cleared his throat and let go of me before taking a step back. I felt a chill race over me at the sudden loss, and all I wanted to do was press my body close to his again, to feel that again. Had anything ever felt so right?
He cleared his throat again and shifted to the side, and as I saw his hand reach down there, I knew he was adjusting himself… trying to hide his erection.
My face heated, and I turned away on instinct, giving him my back, a little privacy, but more because I was so heated at what just happened I couldn’t control my body’s reaction.
I was shocked by how aroused I was, by how wet I was. My nipples were hard, pressed against my shirt, aching. My breasts were heavy, sensitive, and I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, trying to control myself and how I was involuntarily reacting.
He cleared his throat, and I turned around. He was running his hand over the back of his neck and looking at me. I forced myself not to look down there, to see if he adjusted himself or if that… big erection I just felt was still tenting his shorts.
“You did good,” he said, his voice seeming deeper, thicker.
I felt good from his praise, but the way he was looking at me had everything inside of me heating to the boiling point.
He cleared his throat again and shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. “Want to do some light workout, give the sparring a break?”
I licked my lips and nodded, although honestly I had no problem sparring with Braxton, because I liked being close to him. “Yeah, okay.” Was that what I really sounded like? All breathy, all needy?
He led us out of the room, and we made our way toward a set of hanging gray punching bags. I didn’t know why they looked so intimidating, but I stumbled over my feet as I kept following close behind him.
Braxton stopped in front of one, his breathing now even as he placed a hand on it and glanced over at me. “Have you ever used one of these before?”
I shook my head. “Remember… non-gym-person here.”
He flashed that sexy-as-sin smile again, and my inner muscles clenched painfully. I bit my lip to hold off the sound of need that would have come out. He held the bag with his big, strong hand, and I couldn't help but remember how it felt just moments before to have his hands on me, how it felt to have him touching me.
A shiver wracked my frame.
“Just picture this as someone you hate.” He took a step aside and let go of the bag.
“Someone I hate?”
“Yeah. Just take your anger and frustration out on it.”
My throat tightened, and I shook my head. “I don’t hate anyone, don’t even dislike anyone enough to want to hit them.” God, I felt so out of my element… again.
His grin turned soft, and I felt my heart jerk in my chest, felt my belly churn with emotion.
I love this man. I love him, and I can’t ever tell him. Can I?
“No, I can’t imagine you ever hating anyone.” His voice was soft, gentle even.
“What do you mean?” My voice shook, because I was afraid of what he’d say.
He waited a moment before he said, “You’re too sweet to have that kind of emotion in you.”
The air stilled around me before thickening, and I felt a thrill fill me. He looked at me like how I imagined I looked at him.
With want and need and desire all rolled into one.
He ran a hand over his nape and tipped his chin toward the punching bag again, as if he was embarrassed, which in turn had me smiling. “Okay, well imagine it’s someone hurting another person. Take your anger out on that.”
“Okay,” I whispered, the music playing above us from the speakers seeming so loud all of a sudden. I took my place in front of the bag and breathed out slowly. “What now?”
“Brace your legs apart.”
I did what he said.
“Lift your hands and make fists right in front of your face.”
I did that too and looked at Braxton. He was watching me with a weird expression on his face, one that I couldn’t place but definitely made me feel fuzzy inside.
“Good stance,” he finally said and straightened, that expression fading as he got back into instructor mode. “Now swing. Focus your thoughts and emotions, and throw your fist out.”
Tightening my hands, I breathed out, focused on the gray in front of me, and only concentrated on that. And then I swung forward, connecting with the bag. Pain radiated from my knuckles and went straight up my arm. A sharp gasp left me, and my eyes widened.
Braxton came around to stand in front of me, took my hands in his, and looked down, his brow furrowed. He was gentle as he brushed his fingers along my knuckles. I felt weird in this moment, and that arousal was still there, but it was the emotion that rose up in me, that love that wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed tightly.
“Par for the course and all that, right?” I whispered, and should have taken my hand out of his grasp, but I liked his touch, the way he kept brushing his fingers against me, the pain leaving, and comfort and pleasure curling around me.
“It's already starting to swell,” he murmured, the frown still in place.
His words had that pain surfacing. That throbbing started in my hand, but it still wasn’t as strong as what else I felt right now.
“Maybe I should just be your shadow so you don’t get hurt and don’t have to worry about any of this.” His voice was soft but still deep, and I wanted to think about the deeper meaning behind his words and how serious he looked, but before I could analyze it, he glanced up at me and smiled. He gave my knuckles one more gentle sweep from his fingers before letting my hand go. “Let’s get you some ice for it.”