Free Shadowboxer by Cari Quinn Page A

fingers in an iron grip.
    I nearly moaned at the bolt of heat that speared between my legs . Hell, maybe I’d make myself come too. Clearly, we both had too much excess energy. How could we talk like rational human beings when all we cared about was rubbing up against each other?
    Not that I ever did that sort of thing. I didn’t even get horny. Well, fine, occasionally. But not on any regular basis, and I usually just worked out extra hard to compensate. I didn’t even own a sex toy. I had no idea when I’d last had an orgasm.
    Unless I counted right now, because if Fox kept looking at me like that , it was going to happen all on its own.
    “Why are you staring at me?” I demanded, hoping he couldn’t hear the thin thread of need in my tone. Anytime now I’d start panting.
    “Are you honestly asking me that? Jesus, are you that dense?” He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his cock, and hell if I didn’t squeal like most girls did when presented with a bug.
    Nice, Anderson . Show him you’re a worthy opponent by acting scared of his penis .
    I moved closer and palmed the front of his jeans, more out of a desire to seem okay with the situation than because I wanted to learn his precise shape. And length. He seemed to go on and on, stuffed as he was into that life-constricting denim. He’d be sterile soon if he didn’t relax.
    Judging from his groan, my fumbling caresses weren’t helping to ease his strain.
    “What the fuck, Mia? What the fuck?”
    I didn’t think that question was one that called for an answer. So I kept touching him, filled with curiosity and trepidation both, wondering how I could get what I wanted from this situation without letting on exactly how badly I needed things to go my way. Desperation was not a color that went well with my skin tone.
    Bringing him to climax in his jeans seemed like a good way to get him on my side. All I needed was a yes. I didn’t care how I got it.
    The best fighters fought dirty, and I was better than most.
    I backed him up to the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the lawn, and he grabbed the pointy spokes in a feral grip. His hips flexed, and he rocked into me while I roughly jerked him off. I slid my hand up and down in quick strokes and pressed my face to his chest. His heart was beating so fast, potential heart-attack fast, and his rough gasps made me squirm with longing. He’d tasted like beer, and now I wondered if he’d made me drunk somehow, because I didn’t understand what was happening to my body. I mean, logically I understood. I’d climaxed before. But not with a guy I wanted to be with. Not so easily. So naturally.
    I picked up my rhythm as his breath grew choppier. He was getting close. I’d forgotten my moves for a couple of minutes, but I’d done this with enough guys to know I could make him come quickly.
    So what if he’d kissed me first? So what that I’d liked it so much I wanted more? I’d only forgotten that this wasn’t about me and my pleasure for an instant. Now I could focus on my real part in this—
    “Stop it.” He grabbed my wrist. “I’m not creaming in my jeans like some teenager.”
    Swallowing hard, I raised my gaze from the sight of his darker fingers encircling my paler skin to his eyes. Nodded. Then I reached for his zipper.
    “What’re you—no. No. Jesus, Mia.” He snatched my wrists and held them up by my shoulders. Trapping me in place with his virility and strength. Bile streaked up my throat from the vulnerability of my position, and I fought him like a wild animal, forgetting where I was.
    Who he was.
    I nstead of my Vinnie’s uniform, I wore a pretty pale pink dress. The first shade past white. It was a virginal color, because I was pure and innocent.
    I’d been that way once.
    His leather jacket bunched around my arms, cutting off my range of motion. The harsh drags of cold air I sucked into my lungs didn’t smell like Fox’s crisp, masculine cologne, but cigar smoke, thick and rancid. My