A fallen boxer.
A woman with a broken dream.
A competion...
Adonis Creed kicks ass. He's famous for it. As one of the brightest up-and-coming stars on the MMA scene, he's an absolute beast in the cage...and out. Everything he's trained for has broug...
I don't know where to put my hands, my thoughts, all this rush inside me going round and round and heading nowhere. "Can I come to your room until the guys get back?" I ask.
He hesitates, then nods and I follow him to his door. We settle down on the living room couch, and he turns on the TV to the first channel that appears. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No," I say. "I never drink the day before flying or I'll get doubly dehydrated."
He nods and brings two water bottles from the bar.
He plops down next to me.
His thigh ends up so close, I can feel his quad muscle. My heart still pounds like crazy. I remember the way we danced, and my skin flushed hot again. "Why did you get in trouble when you were a pro?" I ask him.
"A fight like the one you just prevented."
He stares at the screen, his jaw working, and I stare helplessly at the play of light and shadows across his face, mesmerized.
He stretches his right arm on the couch behind me with deceptive calm, but I can feel the tension emanating from his body, and suddenly I feel my heart speed up in exhilarating anticipation. Strange noises from the TV filter into my mind, and then I realize the couple on TV is kissing. My stomach clenches. I've never seen this movie before, but as the background music flares up, I know a scorching sex scene looms ahead.
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A flash of torment passes through his gaze as he grabs the remote and shuts it off, then he tosses the control aside and lowers his hand to my nape. He curves his fingers gently around the back of my neck, warm and incredibly strong, four fingers going to one side of me, his thumb to the other, and then he circles his thumb gently over my skin as he turns to me.
That his touch can arouse me to the extent it does makes me feel drunk and high and impossibly trembly.
"Why'd you do that for me?" His voice is unbearably intimate as he gazes at me in the shadows.
"Because."
We're both staring as intently as we've ever stared, and I'm hyperaware of every point of contact of our bodies. His thigh against mine. His hand was on my nape, gently squeezing. "Why? Somebody tell you I can't take care of myself?"
"No."
He eyes my lips, then my eyes, he slowly closes his eyes and sets his forehead on mine, and all I can do is breathe him in like a junkie, my insides intoxicated with just a whiff. Nothing in my life has ever smelled so good to me as him. He recently showered. Him sweaty. Just him.
His deep inhalation reaches my ears, and I find myself touching his mouth with a lone fingertip. His lips are so plump and firm, but at the same time, smooth and silky. I feel a quick, damp flick as his tongue flashes out to lick me, and a shudder shoots through my spine. He groans and pulls my whole finger into his mouth and closes his eyes as he sucks it.
