Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 16136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
The man on the floor tries to stand. The other man—sweat glimmering over his sculpted form, his eyes hard and intense—steps back and aims a savage kick at the man’s belly the moment he’s on his feet.
The other fighter is around the same size, but a little younger, short black hair.
He might as well not be there.
I can’t stop looking at the grizzled man, the brutal expression on his ultra serious face. The younger man throws himself at Mr. Grizzly, and they dance around the cage.
Just before the round timer goes off, Mr. Grizzly spins with the agility of a big cat, moving so fluidly my disobedient thoughts go straight to the gutter … no, the bedroom.
I see sheets draped over his body, outlining the hard contours of his thick form, shifting around as he lays atop me, his beard tickling my face and …
Seriously, Lila. Stop it.
I’m never normally like this. But there’s something about him.
Suddenly, Mr. Grizzly walks to the edge of the cage and leans against the crisscrossing wires.
“You gettin’ a good look there, miss?”
Crap. Caught red-handed.
Unless he’s a mind reader, I should be able to play this off as innocent curiosity.
I walk out of the semidarkness I’ve been … not skulking, but hiding in.
“Uh, sorry,” I say.
He laughs, grabs the edge of the cage, then throws himself over as if he doesn’t weigh upward of two hundred and twenty pounds. At least. He lands with surprising softness and swaggers over to me.
The closer he gets, the more certain I become that I can feel the volcanic heat of his body. Steam rises from him. His eyes are a dark and broody blue, almost black. He puts his hand on the wall next to me, his abs right there, within touching distance.
Do not touch this stranger. Do not think about touching this stranger.
“No need for apologies. I’m guessing Clint found some cute, misguided city girl who’d got herself lost in the rain, eh?”
“I’m not some misguided girl because I happened to get caught in a storm in the Montana mountains. I’m sure you’ll find that’s a common occurrence.”
“Easy, tiger. I meant that with affection. Honestly. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve … especially not with a woman as captivating as you.”
But could you touch something else? And, captivating? I like the sound of that.
He’s right. I should calm down. I’m not mad at him or anything, just shocked at the effect he’s having on me.
My nipples are getting warm and prickly, pushing with insistence against my bra. My lips—not my mouth, my lip-lips—are throbbing as if needy for attention. My clit aches like it wants his touch, this stranger. Get a grip, Lila.
“I’m Boone McGraw,” he says. “Not famous, but not not famous either. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
“I don’t watch much bloodsport.”
“U-huh, you do look like the delicate flower type.” He leans closer, his hot breath shivering over my face, my neck. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that; I mean that. Makes a nice change around here.” He points to the cage. “That there is Evan. One of the best fighters in the whole U S of A.”
I think about what I just saw. Boone handling the younger wolf like it was a game.
Boone smirks, still way closer than a stranger should be. I can’t pretend I don’t like it. But, I try to play it cool.
“This is the part where you tell me your name.”
“Lila,” I say. “Mayfield. I’m here to get some photos for my final college project.”
“Hear that, Evan?” he says, taking a step back. “The cute city girl is having a lucky day. We’d just love to be your subjects. We’ve got another round in us.”
“Actually … that could work. I wanted unique and interesting photos.”
“Oh, you think I’m interesting, Lila? I’ve got to say; the feeling is mutual.”
My cheeks burn so intensely, I’m sure they must be turning red.
“Would you really not mind?” I ask, looking at the floor.
His gaze is relentless.
“Our pleasure.”
He turns, jumps back into the cage as though it’s the easiest thing in the world.
As I take my camera from the bag, I squeeze my legs together in an attempt to quieten down the aching desire. It only makes it worse. I’m wet, I realize.
And not from the rain.
Just talking to and staring at Boone has me wetter than the weather.
2
BOONE
I’ve never known myself to go nuts over the artistic type, but damn, she’s something else. Her hoodie and her jeans stick wetly to her curvy body. Her eyes are wide and naïve, and already, I’m thinking of how she’d look as I slipped into her mouth, the shock and the hunger as she gasped and owned me.
Fuck. That’s it.
She has the control.
Standing there with her little cold hands on her camera, biting her lip as she aims it at the cage. It’s not just her body, either. There’s an artistic quality to her that inundates me with fantasies of a should-be-impossible future.