16. Tomas
16
TOMAS
I t’s after ten at night when I finally make it to the gym, thirty minutes after closing. I hadn’t intended on being this late, but some days spiral out of control almost from the get-go, and this was one of those. Antonio wanted more analysis about Spina Sacra, and then, when I was shutting my laptop, Dante swung by and asked if I could look into a company for him. I texted Alina to let her know I was running late, and she responded with a one-word answer. Okay. No snide comment about whether I’m late because I’m getting my nails manicured or because I’m getting fitted for another overpriced suit—both things she’s said to me this week. No insults, nothing. Just ‘Okay.’
Not going to lie. I missed the snark.
Arriving at Groff’s, I look up at the sign in displeasure. We really need to change it. Alina does all the work around here—the gym should bear her name. It’s a travesty that it doesn’t.
The door is locked, and the exterior lights are out. I fish out my key and let myself in. The interior lights are turned off as well, all except one over the main octagon. I’m about to flip them on when I notice the woman in the ring.
Alina.
She’s wearing a sports bra and gym shorts, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her feet are bare, and as I draw closer, I notice her toenails are painted pink.
My cock hardens, and my throat goes dry. A deadly fighting machine with pretty toenails. God, she’s beautiful, and the contradictions just make her more irresistible.
“The Asset makes an appearance,” she says, her voice low and lethal. “You’ve been lying to me, Tomas.”
The Asset. Ah. She’s discovered the truth, and she is pissed. I hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes, which radiate fury. If looks could kill, I’d be a shriveled husk of a man.
I should be apologetic for my deception, but I’m not.
Right now, the only thing I’m feeling is desire.
“I usually wait a couple weeks before I start spilling my secrets,” I reply, shedding my jacket. “And, as a point of clarification, I didn’t lie. You made some assumptions about me, and I let you run with them.”
“You’re splitting hairs.” She beckons me forward with two fingers. “You’ve spent all week laughing at me, Tomas, and I don’t like it. Get in the ring. I looked up the Asset. You’ve built up quite a reputation. Show me what you can do.”
I toe off my loafers and start to unbutton my shirt. She is fire, and I’m a moth drawn right to the flame, diving into the inferno, reveling in it as it burns me alive. “This is a terrible idea,” I say as I slide a cufflink through a buttonhole. “I have at least fifty pounds on you.” I give her lean, taut body a slow once-over. “Make that sixty. You’re not going to win this fight.”
“That’s a lot of words to say that you’re scared.”
“Have it your way.” I shrug off the shirt and remove my socks. Tug my belt free from the loops. My trousers are a lightweight summer linen, and I leave them on. They don’t give me a lot of moving ease, but I won’t need much. I step into the ring. “Here I am. Do your worst.”
We circle each other. She’s looking for an opening, and I’m trying to think of something—anything—other than how beautiful she looks. I’m doing my best to breathe through the wall of heat in my chest, to ignore the desire tightening my groin. I notice everything: the way her bra pushes her breasts together and up, her curvy ass hugged tight by her gym shorts, and those pretty pink toenails.
My cock aches for Alina.
I’ve watched her all week. When she’s teaching classes, I sometimes come out of the office and watch her fight. She’s quick on her feet, agile and lightning fast, as good a street fighter as any I’ve seen.
She uses that speed now. She launches a flurry of strikes, quick, fast jabs at my torso. I sidestep, avoiding the blows, and pull her close in a tight clinch. “Nice try,” I murmur into her ear.
Her eyes flash. “Shut up and fight,” she hisses. I let her go, and she follows her jab with a round kick that I block. She doesn’t back down. She continues to attack with the grace of a ballerina, lunging forward and dancing back, her fists and feet slicing through the air. She aims another kick at my midsection, and this time, I’m not quick enough to avoid it.
She grins victoriously at my grunt. “How’s that for a nice try?”
“Did you connect?” I block her next kick with a lazy grin. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Bite me,” she snarls.
“Was that an invitation, dolcezza?”
She launches herself at me in response. As angry as she is, she isn’t rash. I haven’t gone on the offense yet, but she doesn’t leave herself open. She kicks and punches, her attacks coming faster and fiercer. But I wasn’t boasting when I said she wasn’t going to win the fight. If I were untrained, she’d absolutely take me down, but I’m not. As good as she is, there’s nothing she can bring to counter the weight advantage I have.
She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I can feel the heat of her body as she presses closer. “Give up.”
“Fuck you.”
Anytime, dolcezza.
I use her momentum against her, deflecting her strikes and controlling the pace of the fight. She knows what I’m doing, and it infuriates her. She tries a single-leg takedown. Dropping to one knee, she grabs my right leg.
Oh fuck.
The single-leg takedown is a basic beginner wrestling move, one I’ve done thousands of times.
But this is Alina. She’s on one knee, her right arm locked around my thigh and her left at my ankle, and the move puts her lips mere inches from my crotch.
My cock is rock hard, the bulge clearly visible beneath my lightweight trousers.
She notices. Freezes. Sucks in a breath. For an instant, neither of us moves. The air crackles with tension. She tears her gaze away from my cock, and our eyes meet. “Tomas,” she whispers.
Her dark hair shines under the overhead light. Her skin glistens with sweat. She is raging fire and glittering ice, a multi-faceted diamond that sparkles brighter the more you look at it.
And I want to do a whole lot more than look.
I want to get close enough to burn.
All thought has fled my brain, and all my rules are out of the window. The voice of caution that has kept me away from her all week is temporarily mute. I stare into her eyes, and I want to sip that lush cognac—drink it with abandon—until my head is dizzy and spinning.
“Alina.” My voice is quiet in that dark room. This is a mistake, yes, but it’s the sweetest one.
Then the spell shatters. Awareness returns to Alina’s eyes, and she realizes the position we’re both in.
A victorious smile tugs at her lips. She thinks she has me exactly where she wants me. “One tug,” she says, her tongue swiping her lower lip. “One tug, and I’ll take you to the mat.”
“I don’t think so, dolcezza.” She’s good, but my body is in a wide, defensive stance, and I have sixty pounds on her. I put some pressure on her back, drop to the floor, and take her down with me. I roll over so she’s under me, my hips pressing down on hers, my forearms caging her in. “Ready to submit?”