Chapter 11
Vivian
His gaze locks with mine, and the force of the connection is like a gut punch.
My ribcage squeezes down on my lungs. My throat closes.
I’m caught in the magnetic tether that seems to lasso around me.
I can’t move, can’t look away. The noise around us and the sight of the crowd fade away.
It’s him and me, and this primal link between us I sensed from the moment I saw him.
Then, his body shudders. The blood drains from his face. Oh, no, no, no, Ryot hit him again.
“Quentin, fight!” I yell.
An electric current seems to run through him. He tears his gaze from mine, swings, and catches Ryot with a hook to the right side of the temple.
Ryot seems to freeze mid-step. Then, he shakes his head and keeps going.
Quentin moves so fast; he seems to blur.
The grace, the agility with which he moves, the fluidity of his body as he follows with another upper cut to Ryot’s cheek, then a jab to his shoulder, then to his side, a final one to Ryot’s stomach...
Oh my god! My pussy clenches. My nipples harden.
How can I be turned on when he’s beating up another man?
And why was I so upset when I saw him getting beaten? I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. I couldn’t understand why Quentin seemed to give up without a fight. I had to do something to get him to retaliate. I yelled out his name but didn't expect him to react the way he did.
Ryot shakes his head as if to clear it and throws another punch. I don’t know a lot about boxing, but even I can tell that the big man is tiring. Quentin dances out of his reach, and with a litheness that lights a thousand fires in my bloodstream, he kicks Ryot's legs out from under him.
Ryot goes down with an earth-shaking thud. Without giving him a chance to recover, Quentin leans his knee into Ryot’s throat. Ryot struggles to rise. Quentin presses his weight down into his stance.
The crowd around me boos. Seems these people are on Ryot’s side. Time to even things out.
I cup my palms around my mouth and chant, "Quen-tin! Quen-tin! Quen-tin!" Next to me Zoey jumps up and down. “Go, Quentin!”
Quentin bends his head; his lips move. He seems to be talking to Ryot.
Asking the giant if he’s ready to give in?
At least, I think that’s what is happening.
There’s an imperceptible nod from Ryot, and Quentin rises to his feet.
He holds out his arm to Ryot, who ignores it.
The hulking man straightens, his movements slow.
He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, then brushes past Quentin.
He heads to the ropes, ducks under them, and doesn’t acknowledge the men standing there.
A man who I assume is Ryot’s brother, going by the facial resemblance, holds out his T-shirt.
Ryot grabs it, without breaking stride. He walks through the path that emerges when the crowd steps aside.
He walks past me and heads for the exit.
Clearly, the crowds were there to see him in action, for they begin to stream out after him.
From inside the ring, Quentin lifts his head, and when our gazes meet, it feels like all of my breath leaves me.
He takes a step forward, another. His jaw is hard, his forehead furrowed.
Only, his eyes are clear. Those blue eyes flare with cold fire.
His gait is purposeful. His expression determined.
He reaches the ropes, and I back away. He ducks under them, straightens.
Knox walks over and hands him his T-shirt. He nods his thanks, without breaking our connection.
Not bothering to wear it, he stalks closer.
I take in his massive shoulders, the width of his chest with the tattoo of the beating heart dripping blood on the skin over his heart, and tiny black triangles which peek out on either side of his torso.
It’s almost like a serrated edge brackets his chest. Then there’s the brick-like musculature of his abs, with his dog tags nestled in the demarcation of his pecs, the concave stomach with the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans, the thick thighs which strain the fabric, and the bulge at his crotch which indicates the size of what this man is packing.
As he closes in on me, the scent of his sweat, mixed with the coppery tones of the blood splotched on his torso teases my nostrils. And below that is the pungent scent of woodsmoke and the freshness of pine, a confluence I recognize as uniquely Quentin.
When he comes to a stop in front of me, I tear my gaze from the part of him that has captured my imagination and meet his eyes. Oh my god! He’s more injured than I realized. I saw him take the hits; now I notice the impact of Ryot’s fists on his face.
Blood drips from a cut on his forehead, there’s a bruise on his cheek, and one eye is swollen. Why does it add to his allure? Why does it make him seem more magnificent?
He could be a conquering hero or a knight returning from a joust to claim his spoils.
In this case, me.
He inclines his head. "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." His voice is a harsh whisper scraping over my already sensitized nerve-endings.
"Poe." I swallow.
"Raven," he growls.
"You’re bleeding."
"Not nearly enough." His lips twist.
"You’re hurting."
Next to me, Zoey’s gaze ping-pongs between Quentin and me.
He nods. "More than you’ll ever know.” The lines around his eyes deepen. "What happened is a part of me. I have to live with the consequences of my actions."
I frown. “Is this about... about... what went down between you and Ryot?"
“Uh, I’m going to head out. Glad you’re, more or less, in one piece, Quentin.” With a small wave, Zoey peels off.
Quentin nods in her direction, then turns to me. His features shutter. “What do you know about what happened between me and Ryot?”
“Nothing. None of the details. Only that... uh... There’s a history between the two of you?”
Around us, the crowd thins further.
Quentin firms his lips. And when he glances away, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
I swallow down the disappointment that curdles my belly.
Why did I think he’d unburden himself to me?
After all, our relationship is superficial, at best. Still, this is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him.
The anger in his gaze is aimed at himself, and it’s tinged with helplessness and hurt.
I raise my hand to touch him, then stop myself. "You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” I murmur.
"It’s the only way I know,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Maybe I can show you otherwise?"
He jerks his chin in my direction. "Is that why you came here?
"I came here because—" I bite down on my lower lip, and his gaze instantly darts to my mouth and stays there.
My body recognizes him, knows who its master is, no matter how my logical mind insists I’m crazy.
How would it be to have him touch me, to place those thick fingers on the curve of my breast, to bury his face between my legs and draw his whiskered chin over my pussy lips?
To have him squeeze my arse, and bite down on my nipples and suck on them?
To have him cover my body with his weight and take me without showing any mercy? To—
"Because?"
"What?" I blink.
"You were saying you came here because—"
"I wanted to keep Zoey company.” Yes, that’s it. That makes sense. “I knew she was coming to watch the fight and uh... I decided to come take a look for myself.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
One side of his lips twists. “Lying to me, Raven?”
I flush. “Of course not. It’s the truth.”
“So, you’re here because you wanted to see me fight?”
I nod. Then shake my head. “No, no, not you... just… An underground fight. It could have been anyone fighting.”
My cheeks are hot, and my heart is jackhammering away like it’s going to cleave through my ribcage any moment.
“Only it was me,” he reminds me.
And something shifted in me when I saw you getting beaten up.
Something I'm not going to think about right now, because I have no right to feel that way. I have to stop feeling so much for him. Stop missing him when I’m away from him.
Have to stop myself from wanting to throw myself at him and climb him like a tree.
Have to stop myself from blurting out ‘yes’ to his crazy proposal. OMG, don’t you dare!
I am so pissed off with myself; it’s the only explanation for what I say next. “And Ryot.” I jut out my chin.
His features darken. His eyes flash. He’s angry, as I hoped he would be. His response propels a thrill of anticipation down the back of my throat.
"Why are you here?" he asks in a clipped tone.
His face has gone carefully blank, while a fine tension radiates from his body.
The lack of emotion in his voice sends a warning jolt up my spine. The hair on my forearms rises. Did I push him too far? Do I dare stretch his control even more?
"I came to see if you could hold your own against someone younger than you, of course." He's denied it's an issue, but c'mon, he must be conscious of the fact that I’m much younger than him, and his son’s ex.
Or perhaps, it’s me who’s more conscious of our age gap, and that's why I drew his attention to the age difference between him and Ryot? Which is why I implied Ryot would have more stamina than him. Which would mean he could keep going longer, whether in a fight or in bed.
I wanted to make him uncomfortable. Now the words are out, and I realize, I've made myself equally uncomfortable.
The space between us turns into a mass of pulsating emotions.
An undercurrent of tension ripples through his demeanor.
He hardens his jaw and narrows his gaze on me with such intensity, my chest seems to seize up.
"You’re here to test my masculinity?"