Chapter 3
LILA
Iwake feeling like last night had to be a dream. The end was the most surreal part, when he took my hoodie off and spoke husky words that set my entire body ablaze.
Would people judge me if they knew I followed his orders down to the letter when he left the room? I lay in bed, my hand moving busily between my legs, rubbing at my aching sex as my thoughts burst in technicolor realness with all the things we could do together.
After a quick breakfast with the girls, I tell a white lie. I’m going on a solo trip for some photographs, I say, which isn’t that unusual. They’re used to my artistic ways.
The truth? I can’t wait to head to the MMA gym to see what Boone has in store for us. Last night, in my bedroom, he was staring at me like there was more than lust on his mind.
Curiosity, interest, passion, all brimmed in his intense eyes.
A light rain is falling, but the sky grumbles as though getting ready for another stormy downpour.
“Hello?” I call, walking into the gym.
“In here.”
Boone stands outside the cage on his own, a pair of gloves slung over his shoulders. He’s wearing a tight-fitting shirt this time, the sleeves hugging onto his arms. This is a first for me—I’m jealous of a shirt! Seriously?
When he gestures with his hands, I realize he’s already wearing gloves.
“Why do you need two pairs?” I ask.
He smirks and kicks away from the cage. Every movement brims with the lazy energy of a wild thing, like he has the luxury to move calmly because he can snap into action any time he pleases.
“I asked you here for a reason, Lila.”
“Asked?” I laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
He walks over, scratching casually at his beard with his MMA gloves. “You’ll have to excuse my animalistic behavior last night. Full moon.”
I giggle. “ Ohh, you’re a werewolf, huh?”
“Among other things.”
“Are you saying you regret it?”
“Hell to the no!” He shakes his head. “Are you ready for your first lesson? An adorably na?ve little thing like you; you need to know how to defend yourself.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions about me.”
“Does it bother you how easily I can read you?”
No, I love it, actually. But I’m not going to tell him that so easily.
“I’m not really dressed for it,” I murmur.
“Sweatpants and a T-shirt seem fine to me. Unless you’re naked under that coat?”
His voice gets breathy and husky just like last night.
“I’m wearing a tank top,” I murmur.
“Even better. Take off that coat.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes,” he says, stepping close to me. But not touching. Not yet. It’s like he wants the fire in me to swell until it’s blustery and out of control. “So, do as you’re told.”
“Some manners.”
He bows theatrically. “Please.”
I laugh and take off my coat, pulling my hoodie over my head. His insatiable eyes immediately go to my chest. A man has never looked at me like that before, as if his entire world has crushed down to one subject and one subject alone.
Me.
“Put on the gloves and get in the cage,” he says. “I’m going to lock the doors and draw the blinds.”
“Why?” I ask.
He gives me a look as though it’s obvious. My breath catches in my throat. Obsession smolders in his eyes, and, yeah, it grips me too. Grips me like a vise.
I go into the cage and pull on the gloves, pacing up and down.
“Feel like an animal yet?” he jokes, joining me in the semidarkness, the only light coming from the wall-mounted lights.
I felt like an animal the moment I laid eyes on you.
“It’s weird being inside the cage,” I admit.
“The worst position to be in,” he says, “is under full mount. If you get mounted in a fight, it’s almost always game over if your opponent knows what he’s doing. Even worse in the streets. I’ll show you a simple escape.”
He lies on his back, his shirt lifting slightly, showing me a glimpse of his marbled abs.
“What do I do?” I ask.
“Climb on.”
A shudder dances up between my thighs, teases my lips. My hole is aching as I stare down at him. His smirk is unflinching. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Climb … on?”
“It’s a regular MMA position,” he says.
I lower myself to the mat, then slip one leg over him. As I straddle him, I shift against his cup. It’s hard and pushes urgently against my sex as if trying to make a point. The point? He owns me. I try—and fail, big time—to push that notion away.
“Is this the part where I beat you up?” I ask, making light of it, aiming a few playful punches at him.
He’s not laughing. He’s deadly serious.
“Are you going to teach me the escape?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “First, you want to off balance your opponent. You plant your hands in their hips, like this.”
His hands slide into my hip bones, his touch settling naturally against my body.
“Then you bridge so they don’t have a stable base to hit you. I’ll go soft at first. Make sure to catch yourself.”
He drives up, his solid cup grinding against my sweatpants, pushing my clit with an urgency that has my body aching. I catch myself on the mat, so I don’t faceplant.
“See?” he says. “It’d be hard to hit me now, wouldn’t it? And I know you want to.”
I laugh. “Nah-uh, because that’d mean being as savage as you.”
“Do you want to try?”
“Okay.”
“What are you doing?” he asks when I move to stand up. “I’ll just sweep you.”
“Sweep me?”
“It’s when I get on top. Look.”
He grabs one of my arms then rolls onto his side. Suddenly, the room is spinning and then I’m on my back.
“Oh, and look here,” he says. “If you wrap your legs around me now, this is called full guard.”
“Like this?”
I hook my ankles under his firm butt.
“Yeah,” he says, pushing against me, rocking his hips. “With your legs, you can off balance me. But we’re working on mounting right now. Open your legs for me.”
Don’t you think I’ve thought of that already?
He climbs fully on top of me.
“Put your hands where I showed you and bridge.”
I place my hands against his hip bones. Even they’re covered in a layer of muscle.
I push him up. He laughs genuinely. “That’s actually pretty damn amazing.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
He winks. “Now, sweep me so you’re on top. I’ll show you a couple of details.”
“Like … this?” I grab his arm.
“Yeah. Good job. You’re a quick learner.”
“Then I roll?”
“Yep.”
I do it like he did. Roll over. End up in his ‘guard’. His cup surges against my slick sex. His body is so hot to the touch, a fiery mass of hardness and unwavering attentiveness.
“Is it comfortable wearing a cup?” I ask. “It doesn’t feel comfortable.”
“I’m not wearing a cup.”
Oh, God.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he snarls. “I haven’t been wearing a cup this entire time.”
“Then …”
He lies down, pressing his solid torso against my body, his breath warm in my ear. “I can’t stop myself from being rock-fucking-solid for you, Lila. I can’t even try.”
He begins to shift his hips. A crazed instinct takes me over and causes me to move in time with him. He moans in my ear as I spread my hands over his back, clawing at his T-shirt, my pussy sizzling with unstoppable desire, my hole getting so wet, I can’t even take it anymore.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans in delighted disbelief. “Are you going to cream from dry humping, cute city girl?”
“Muh-maybe, Mr Grizzly.”
He laughs throatily. “Good fucking girl. Come in your pants. Soak them for me. Get yourself ready for the real deal.”
He bucks his hips back and forth as I slide my hands under his T-shirt, feeling his naked skin, the corded muscles of his back. His manhood feels giant through the thin fabric of his MMA shorts.
He guides his lips to mine. When he kisses me, I know there’s no going back.
His lips are rough and addictive. His taste is just-him, not toothpaste, not his breakfast, just some chemical concoction designed to turn my world upside down.
The kiss deepens and lengthens until the frantic bucking of our hips becomes too much to maintain a connection.
“You’re close,” he growls, biting my neck softly, then a little harder. “I can feel it. Your body is fucking talking to me.”
He’s right.
I’m on the edge—
A loud knocking on the door.
“What the fuck, Boone? Why’s the door locked?”
“Ignore them,” Boone grunts.
“I can’t,” I whisper, reality suddenly slamming into me. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why the hell not?”
“We met like ten hours ago.”
“I don’t give a fuck, and neither do you. Something amazing is happening here.”
“Boone,” I moan. “Please.”
Boone stays on top of me for long moments.
Finally, he stands up, glowering at the door. “Motherfuckers,” he snarls.
I stand, adjust my clothes. Wetness has seeped through my underwear and into my sweatpants. I feel it sticking to my thighs.
“Uh, thanks for the lesson,” I mutter, walking toward the cage’s exit.