Chapter Eight
Connor
T he heavy bag swung like a drunken pendulum as my fist connected again, bone against leather, violence against restraint. Sweat dripped down my spine, pooling at the waistband of my shorts. Four hours in, and the gym still couldn't burn her out of my system.
Sierra. My sweet girl.
My iPad sat propped against the water cooler, the security feed from Sunset Library playing like my own personal porn.
She moved between shelves, those curls bouncing with each step. Today, she wore a pale purple cardigan with little flowers hanging off her petite frame. The skirt was new, white, pleated, showing off legs I want wrapped around my waist. Around my face.
Fuck.
I hit the bag harder, my knuckles aching against my gloves. The feeling barely registered compared to whatever the fuck was happening in my chest whenever I looked at her.
Sierra was at the circulation desk, nibbling on her lower lip as she organized paperwork. Her hair fell forward, and she tucked it behind her ear with those small, perfect fingers. Fingers that should’ve have been wrapped round my cock.
And then I was fucking hard again.
Five thousand dollars well spent. The library board member had practically fallen over himself, offering full access to their shitty surveillance system when I mentioned my “security concerns,” and flashed some cash.
Anyone could have done what I did. Anyone could’ve been watching my Sierra right now.
The thought made me drive my fist into the bag harder.
On-screen, Sierra's shoulders tensed as that prick, Jones, approached her. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I saw the panic wave across her face, and her fingers began tapping that nervous rhythm against her wrist. Four counts in. Seven held. Eight out.
I grabbed my phone, never taking my eyes off her face:
Connor
Breathe.
I watched her pull out her phone and watched the subtle change as she read my message. Her chest rose, fell, and steadied. Good girl.
“Staring at your girlfriend won't make you punch any harder.”
Adrian's voice cut through my concentration, and I could already hear his knowing grin.
“Fuck off.”
I didn't look away from the screen. Sierra tucked her phone away, her panic having visibly receded. I did that. Me.
“Vegas is in two days, man.” Adrian dropped his gym bag, sliding up to stare at my iPad. “You're gonna face Diaz with your head up your ass because of the librarian.”
Diaz is the newest steroid-pumped asshole flying up the ranks who I’m supposed to be fighting soon.
I turned to glare at him. “Say that again. ”
He raised his hands, that shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Just saying... Never seen you like this. She must be special.”
“She is.”
I turned back to the feed. Sierra was moving toward the break room now. Good. The lunch I had delivered today should be waiting for her.
“And she's not 'the librarian.' She's mine.”
Adrian whistled low. "The Killer, domesticated at last."
There was nothing domestic about what I wanted to do to her. My lips curled into something feral as I watched Sierra discover the lunch in the fridge. Her face lit up, and she did this little wiggle of happiness that made my cock strain against my compression shorts.
“Jax should be here soon,” Adrian said slowly, his voice full of careful conspiracy. Anger immediately rushed, my fists clenching in my gloves.
“That fucker is dead the second he walks in here,” I growled.
The door to the gym banged open, and said fucker strutted right in, sunglasses pushed up on his stupid-styled hair, that cocky fucking smirk plastered on his face. I saw red before he opened his mouth.
“Your bee’s skittish,” he drawled, dropping his gym bag with a thud that echoed through our empty personal gym. “Bumped her head on a shelf when I called her name.”
The bag screamed as my fist plowed through it, trying to get the edge off before killing him. Sand spilled onto the floor like the last grains of my patience.
“You don’t talk to her.”
Adrian stilled mid-bench press, weights hovering above his chest. “Connor?—”
I was already moving. Jax didn't flinch when I slammed him against the wall, my forearm pressing into his throat. His pulse thrummed under my skin, fast but steady. He was fucking enjoying this.
“You think this is a game?” I snarled.“You don’t go near her. You don’t breathe near her.”
He grinned, unfazed. “Had to see what got you so obsessed. She’s cute, like a bee.”
Something snapped. My fist crashed into his jaw before Coach’s shout registered.
“Graves! Put him down! You've got Diaz in two days!”
I ignored him, keeping Jax pinned. “You had no fucking right.”
“You've been distracted." Jax's voice was calm despite the punch I just threw. "I wanted to make sure she wasn’t… shallow.”
“And?” My grip tightened.
“And she's exactly as advertised. Shy. Terrified of her own shadow.” He grinned. “Called her bee because of that yellow sweater. She liked it.”
I slammed him harder against the wall. “You nicknamed her? You want to die?”
Adrian was at my side now, wrapping his inked arms around me to pull me off. “Connor—shit—come on. He was looking out for you.”
I knew he was right. I knew they were being the brothers they've always been. But the thought of Jax near Sierra, talking to her, giving her a nickname only I should give her, made a dark twist in my gut.
I shook Adrian off, crowding into Jax’s space. “You touch her, I end you. No more girls. No fucking eulogy.”
Jax rubbed his throat, calm. “Relax, Killer. You know I’d never.” He straightened his tank top. “But man, you should've seen her face when I mentioned your name. She’s got it bad.”
That softened something in me, and I stepped back, running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, trying to calm down.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing much,” Jax smirked, knowing I took the bait. “But her eyes said plenty. You're good.”
Coach threw a towel at my head. “If you ladies are done with the soap opera, we've got training to do. Diaz has a left hook that'll put you in the hospital if you're not focused.”
I grunted in acknowledgment, turning back to the iPad. Sierra had returned to the circulation desk, and her lunch was finished. She looked content, good.
Adrian rolled his eyes at my little setup again. “Nothing creepy about this. At all.” But I could hear the approval in his voice.
Coach called us to the ring, and I set the iPad nearby. For the next two hours, I focused on what I'm paid to do—hurt people.
Adrian took a good few hits, but I was faster today, more aggressive, and still angry. Every punch I threw had Jax's face on it. Every dodge was fueled by the thought of getting back to watching her.
I was drenched in sweat and flying on adrenaline by the time we finished. Coach nodded approvingly. “That's what I need in Vegas. Whatever's got you fired up, keep it.”
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The iPad was still streaming when I returned to its prop. Sierra was nibbling a chip from the Mexican spread I had delivered for lunch. She saved some as a snack. Such a good girl.
Connor
Swallow.
She jumped, nearly dropping the chip, and glared at the security camera as if it were at fault. My lips twitched.
She had no idea I was watching, no idea I’d rewound the footage of her stretching to reach a top shelf a dozen times, memorizing the strip of soft caramelized skin above her waistband.
Jax’s voice cut through the memory. “You’re too slow. Buy her a collar already.”
I didn’t turn around. “Better a stalker than a dead man. You went yesterday knowing I was watching.”
He snorted, pressing an ice pack to his jaw. “She’s got you by the balls, brother. Never thought I’d see the day.”
The bag took another beating, the chains rattling like my self-control. He was right, and that’s what terrified me. Sierra’s not a ring opponent I can predict; she’s a flower I didn’t know how to water.
I showered quickly, not bothering to dress fully before heading out. The penthouse was fifteen minutes away, and my knuckles were aching.
Inside, I tossed my gym bag aside and headed straight for the master bedroom.
The penthouse felt empty and sterile, like it always had.
But now the emptiness had a shape, Sierra-shaped.
I pictured her here, curled up on my leather couch with one of her romance novels, that fucking bee cardigan draped over the arm of a chair, her scent mingling with mine.
Soon.
I grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the kitchen and took it to the bedroom. The panties were where I’d left them, tucked under my pillow, a shameful secret I was very proud of.
Lavender cotton with a tiny bow, worn by the only woman who'd ever made me feel this fucking insane.
I downed a shot, letting it burn through me as I stretched out on the bed.
The training left me wired, my body humming with unused aggression.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling to find the shirtless photo I’d sent her yesterday after watching Jax's little stunt.
The possessiveness had overtaken me completely.
I'd made sure to look like a wet dream in it. Sweaty from practice, muscles still pumped from training, that hungry look in my eyes I knew made women wet.
Sierra needed to understand what was waiting for her. What belonged to her alone.
The panties were soft between my fingers when I pulled them to my face, inhaling deeply for probably the hundredth time. Her scent was fading already. I’d need to switch them out soon.
My cock strained against my sweats as I pushed them down, taking myself in hand. I was already hard and heavy, leaking at the thought of Sierra in that white skirt, of it rucked over her hips, of how she'd look spread across my mattress instead of her own.
This wasn’t the first time I'd gotten off like this, far from it. Since finding the panties in her apartment, I'd jerked off more times than I could count, always with her scent filling my lungs, always with her name on my lips. It was perfect, unhinged, and completely fucking crazy.
I stroked harder, faster, picturing Sierra's small hands replacing mine, her big brown eyes looking up at me as she took me into her mouth. Would she be hesitant at first? Nervous about my size? Would she need guidance, or would those romance novels have taught her exactly what to do?
"Sierra," I groaned, the sound torn from my throat as I felt pressure building at the base of my spine.
I fisted myself roughly, teeth sinking into the cotton panties as I imagined her here, her back arched, her little pussy leaking with my seed, begging for the roughness I’d spent years perfecting.
I wouldn’t last five minutes in her perfect pussy.
My release crashed over me after that thought. My cum spattered across my stomach and chest, my body shaking from the force of it.
I stayed there, breathing hard, staring at my ceiling. The emptiness of the apartment seemed to press in again, heavier now. The need to have her here, in my space, in my bed, in my life, was becoming overwhelming.
My phone buzzed with a text. I already knew it wasn't her, given the default vibration:
Adrian
You owe Jax an apology, asshole.
Connor
He knows what he did. He’s fine.
Adrian
You got a real good punch in. My turn next.
I smirked and tossed the phone aside. Jax knew I wasn't really angry. I'd have done the same for him if some woman had driven him to stalking and stealing underwear like a fucking creep.
I cleaned myself up and checked my iPad.
Nothing unusual. She was at the desk cleaning up for closing.
I watched her for a while, sipping bourbon straight from the bottle.
She looked tired, soft, and perfect in ways I couldn't articulate.
Tomorrow, I'd need to focus on Diaz. On Vegas.
On the millions waiting for me if I win.
But tonight, I watched my sweet girl through a screen, planning all the ways I'd make her mine when I returned.
One day in Vegas. Then I’d be coming for her, for real this time, and I wouldn't be gentle. But first, I had some tasks to take care of regarding sweet Sierra.