Big Boxer by Cassie Mint

Four

Lucas

This has gone off the rails. I didn’t come here for this—to make her cheeks flush and her breath hitch. Little Beck Winters is smoldering for me like an ember, and if I really wanted revenge, this would be the time to walk away.

When I’ve proven my point.

When I’ve made her admit it: that she wants me. Whether or not I’m past my prime.

When she’d be humiliated if I strode out that door.

But god help me, I can’t do it. Not even to save face. Because the second the door flew open and I saw her, I was hypnotized. I knew she was pretty at the ring—beautiful, even—but the crowd was shadowed and the spotlights shone in my eyes.

Seeing her now, in broad daylight, with her curly red hair slipping out of its bun and those yoga tights practically painted over those curves…

I’m not going fucking anywhere.

“How…” She gulps, her pulse tapping fast in her throat. I trace my fingertips across her skin until it’s thrumming against my calluses. “How are you going to show me?”

She’s a bit scared. And a lot turned on.

A vicious part of me wants to make her say it. Wants to make high-and-mighty Beck Winters beg.

“You don’t know?” I murmur. “But you’re so perceptive, Beck.”

A flush crawls down her chest, and she looks at me with a mix of resentment and desire. It’s a heady combination. I want to amp them both up. I want her moaning my name and cursing me in the same breath.

Maybe she’ll get it, then. How she makes me feel. Twisted up in knots; sick with wanting her and wanting to teach her a lesson.

“Not sex,” she says suddenly. I pause. What is this, then? “I’ve never… I don’t want my first time with someone who hates me.”

I don’t hate her. Hate is the last thing I feel for this girl. Bitterness? Yes. Anger? Sure. But hate? I don’t think it’s even possible. Not even if she wrote the worst things about me she could think of.

All of these thoughts swirl around my brain, then slam to a screeching halt.

First time?

Her first time?

I drop my hand like her skin burns me. A series of emotions flicker over Beck’s face when I step back: hurt. Disappointment. Resignation. And the sigh that gusts out of her—it’s like she’s the one who’s world-weary. Exhausted by life when she’s barely in her twenties.

“Figures,” she mutters, and then she’s turning away. Stomping back across her small apartment and yanking the door open.

“No spark.” Her smile is hard. Mocking. “But I’ll be watching, Mr Scott. Maybe we’ll have better luck in the ring.”

Is that it? My gut sinks as I go to leave. There’s a yoga mat unfurled on the floor, and I step over it carefully before moving to the exit. I stand over her on the threshold, impulses warring.

She’s short. Fresh-faced with no makeup—only the natural flush from my teasing. And her body is something straight from my fantasies—the perfect amount of curves. Plenty to grip, to push against, to lose myself in.

Fuck.

I lift my hand to cup her cheek.

Beck Winters bats me away.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish,” she snarls, green eyes flashing. And I see it now: how badly I hurt her a moment ago. How much she wanted it, and how I crushed something fragile by dropping my hand.

I stomped over here to yell at her. Then pushed my way into her apartment, and teased her. Taunted her. Got her wound up, offered relief, and then snatched it away.

She must think I’m an asshole. A real piece of work, toying with her to make some kind of point. And maybe it started like that, but now…

Now I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me. Like I’m a let down. No better than any others.

“No sex,” I grind out before my common sense can kick in. This time when I go to cup her cheek, she lets me. She even sags slightly, her cheek pushing into my palm, and her eyes are wary as they stare up at me. Waiting. And god, her skin is so soft, so warm. I drag my thumb back and forth over her cheek, back and forth. “Any other rules?”

She swallows. Then shrugs one shoulder, carefully casual. The cotton of her crop top shifts with the movement, whispering against her skin.

And voice hoarse, she says, “I’ll update you as we go.”

* * *

I thought about kissing this girl the first night I saw her. What it might be like: her taste, her scent, her soft warmth. I knew that night, even through the smoke and spotlights, that she would be special. That kissing her would shake my foundations.

But how could I have known, jerking my cock in the showers after the fight, that she’d be like this? Sweet and cautious, unsure in her movements in a way that makes my chest clench and my balls ache?

Beck Winters may be filled with fire. May be braver than most boxers I know.

But when I duck my head and kiss her… suddenly, she’s fragile. Vulnerable and raw, her arms winding around my waist as I press her flush against the door frame.

“We can stop any time.” I grind out the words against her mouth, because I hate the thought of it, but I need her to know. She doesn’t have to be fucking scared of me. I’m a grumpy jerk, but she’s safe when I’m around. “Say the word, sweetheart.”

She snorts, but it’s forced. All for show. “Yeah, no kidding.” She rocks up and kisses me harder. Nips at my bottom lip, then traces her tongue along the seam. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

Her feet shift apart, and I slide my thigh between her legs. Press gently at the seam of her yoga tights, then stifle my smirk at her groan, at the way she rocks against me instinctively, her heat searing through my sweatpants.

Beck Winters may be a virgin, but her body knows what it’s doing. Knows exactly how to respond to me. And that’s perfect, because suddenly I have a lot to prove.

I can’t just kiss her.

Can’t slip my hand inside her pants and make her come.

I need to ruin her. For my pride, yes, but to leave a mark too. To stake a claim on this young woman—the beautiful girl who called me past my prime.

So my lip curls back in a snarl as I crouch suddenly, gripping the backs of her thighs, and Beck yelps as I lift her high off the ground. I press her back against the apartment wall, her thighs spread and her pussy level with my face. She’s helpless, feet dangling, eyes wide with shock, and she scrabbles at my shoulders for balance.

“Relax,” I grit out. Her foot jabs my bruised ribs. “I’ve got you.”

My breath heaves out of me, panting against the seam of her leggings, but it’s not from exertion. Beck’s a curvy girl, but I’m a goddamn heavyweight. I could lift her in one palm.

No—I’m panting because this close, I can smell the faint scent of her arousal. And I want it. On my tongue, slicked over my chin, everywhere.

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

Her nervous questions hit me differently now that I know she’s untouched. So there’s no mocking edge to my words this time when I tell her: “I’m going to eat your pussy. Do you know about that?”

She sucks in a sharp breath, but when I glance up at her, she nods. Stray curls dangle over her shoulders, and her cheeks are stained pink, and she’s perfect.

I squeeze her thighs. “Do you want it?”

She bites her lip. Another nod.

And I want to force some words out of her, so I say: “I’m gonna rip open these leggings. Tear them apart at the seam. That okay?”

I expect another angry huff. For her to curse me out, maybe, and tell me to ruin my own clothes, but Beck jolts, and then whispers: “Okay.”

God. I set out to ruin her, but I’m the one who’s wrecked as I balance her against the door, reach between her legs, and yank her leggings open. My chest thunders with the violence, the brutality of it all, same as in the ring during a good fight, but this is so much better.

It’s primal. It’s pure.

I expect to find panties when I tear her leggings.

Instead, there’s only pink, glistening flesh.

“Jesus.” I dive forward like I can’t breathe unless I’m touching her, unless I’m buried eyebrow deep in her pussy. My knee bangs against the door, the wood rattling in the frame, but I barely hear it. Barely notice the hum of pain.

She’s slick. Wet and warm, salty and sweet, and my groans vibrate through the nub of her clit. I lick. I suck. I nibble.

And Beck digs her nails into my shoulders, throws her head back, and wails.

All the while I’m thinking that this can’t be real; that it’s too fucking good; that big, grumpy assholes like me don’t get to throw beauties like Beck up against a door and lick them until they cry.

My muscles burn from holding her up so high for so long, but I don’t care. This is what I’ve been training for, I decide. Fuck all those matches. Fuck the boxing. It’s this—the strangled catch to her breath. The way her thighs twitch under my grip.

I angle my head and plunge my tongue past her entrance. Beck whimpers, shifting her legs so they’re draped over my shoulders.

And yeah—that’s better. I could do this all day: stand against this door, her plump ass balanced on my palms and her legs wrapped tight around my neck. Grinding my face into her pussy, fucking her with my tongue, and soaking up every moan and whimper like it’s the sweetest symphony.

“Lucas.”

She comes too soon for my liking. If I had it my way, this would last for hours. We’d call out for water and orange slices, then go again.

But Beck shudders against the door, elbow thudding against the wood, her pussy twitching against my tongue. And then she’s slumping in my arms, boneless and breathless, and I’m forced to lower her to the ground. Set her on wobbly feet.

“Wow.” She leans back against the door. Like she doesn’t trust herself to stand. “You proved your point. That was… wow.”

She’s not looking at me really. She’s staring, dazed, into the distance.

I wipe my mouth on my arm, chest tight. “Spark report?”

I’ve never cared so much before. Never been so goddamn nervous about whether I pleased someone, but I’m tangled in knots here. Big fights are supposed to be scary? Forget it.

Beck huffs a laugh, and finally looks at me. Her eyes are warm. “Definitely. I definitely felt the Lucas Scott spark.”

Good. That’s… good, and relief and triumph swirl in my gut. But something’s still not right, and the hairs are standing up on the back of my neck. My cock is still swollen, hard and insistent in my pants, but I barely notice it. Not when the smile she gives me is stilted.

Beck sighs, long and loud. Then she pushes her wobbly legs into action and shuffles out of the way of the door.

The message is clear: point proven, now go.

Bitterness like nothing I’ve felt so far fills my throat. I’m rigid. Furious. Hurt.

“I’m really glad you came to see me,” she offers, and no, I can’t take her sweetness. Not while she’s sending me away after that. I scrub a hand over my face, then yank the door open. “Lucas?” I hear her ask, then I’ve slammed the door shut and I’m gone. Striding down her hallway, a high-pitched sound ringing in my ears.

What the fuck did I think would happen?

Seriously, what was I thinking?

A beautiful girl like that only wants one thing from a guy like me. I should just be glad that I gave it to her, but I’m not. I’m not.

For a second there, I had so much more to offer.