Big Boxer by Cassie Mint

Seven

Lucas

I’ve had twenty four hours to think about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion: I should have canceled that fucking class.

I had Beck right there. Staring up at me with so much hope in her green eyes. I should have called in another trainer. Should have asked her to stay and watch, perching her perfect juicy ass on a speaker. Anything.

I get it now, though. Why she sent me away that first time in her apartment. Being together, it’s a shock to the system, an overload of sensations and emotions that I’ve never felt before. It’s hard enough to string a sentence together afterwards, let alone read the room.

But she said she’d come to my fight. She definitely said she would. So this is my chance to set it right—to make her feel so fucking wanted, she’ll never doubt it again.

“Five minutes,” someone calls outside my dressing room. It’s a sparse room, with a mirror studded with bright bulbs and a table and chair, and a plain gray sofa against one wall. But at least in this place, I’ve got a private shower. I wrap my knuckles slowly, still thinking of Beck, and catch a glimpse of my reflection.

There’s a small smile playing over my lips.

I look… happy.

More alive than I have in years.

It’s not the fight, either. Tonight, I’m taking on Georgiev, and the Bulgarian is nothing to get too pumped about. He’s a good boxer, yes, he holds his own, but there’s no flair to him. He’s plodding, steady, relentless.

Once upon a time, I preferred fights like that. But Beck’s shaken me awake, and now I want more. I want to feel something when I fight.

“Mr Scott? We’re ready for you.”

The noise builds as I prowl through the hall. From a distant buzz, to a steady hum, to a wall of sound that presses on my eardrums as I step out into the spotlights. The room is hot and humid, the air is already laced with blood and sweat, and the watchers scream and punch the air. The masses of the crowd seethe in their dark rows, but my eyes track to one seat and fix there.

Beck shot to her feet when I walked in, and she’s cheering with the others. Clapping for me from the seat I got her in the first row, in faded blue jeans and a clingy black tank top. The spotlights spill over her, lighting up her glossy red hair and her creamy skin, and she’s not crazed like the rest—she looks shy. Unsure.

I lunge up onto the apron. Then wink at her as I shrug off my robe and duck through the ropes.

A flush creeps over Beck’s cheeks. My heartbeat kicks up, thumping harder in response.

Yeah. Yeah, I haven’t ruined it all yet. There’s still hope here to pin her down.

I’m gonna win this fight. Gonna make her eyes nice and wide.

Then I’m going to show Beck Winters she’s mine.

* * *

The bell rings, and I sway on my feet, one arm punching high in the air. Every part of me aches. Every muscle throbs. I’m ninety percent bruise, and I’ve never been fucking happier.

Georgiev gave me a good show. Better than I’d expected. And Beck’s eyes were glued to me the whole damn time.

She winced with every punch he landed. Her mouth dropped open, and I could practically hear her sharp intake of breath. One time, when his fist pounded into my ribs, she jerked half out of her chair, one hand reaching for me.

But when I landed each blow, she cheered the loudest. And now that I’ve won, she’s staring at me with stars in her eyes, a pocket of stillness in the thrashing crowd.

Yeah. God. I’d fight any creature on this earth to make her look at me like that. I’d wrestle a crocodile. I’d box with a grizzly bear.

Oh my god,Beck mouths at me as the crowd roars. I grin at her, sweat sliding down my temple.

Her eyes track down my bare chest.

She’s hungry.

I am too.

And suddenly I can’t get out of this ring fast enough.

My feet pound against the floor as I jump down from the apron. I stride along the walkway, out the door, and down the hallway, the noise receding behind me. My dressing room is unlocked, and I shove it open with my shoulder, my hands too stiff to try for the handle.

I tear the bandages off my knuckles with my teeth, and barge into the small bathroom. I don’t wait for the shower to get hot, and my muscles shudder when I step under the freezing spray.

Two minutes later, there’s a knock out on my dressing room door.

“Mr Scott? There’s a Miss Winters here. She says you invited her—”

“Let her in,” I call, tamping down my irritation. It’s the staff’s job to keep crazy fans away, but I don’t like anyone stopping Beck, rational or not.

“Damn,” she murmurs a few seconds later, her voice soft in the bathroom. “You move too fast, Mr Scott. I was hoping to get my hands on you when you were all sweaty.”

I choke back a laugh, the sound bouncing off the wall tiles. The shower is a small glass cubicle, and I can just about see her moving through the fogged door.

“Trust me, you don’t want that. I’m saving you from yourself.”

She hums, like she doesn’t agree, and I grin as I scrub myself with a bar of soap. I finish up quickly, and she’s waiting with a towel when I step out of the shower.

She hisses, face falling when she sees the bruises spreading under my skin. When she sees my stiff, claw-like fingers with their raw knuckles.

“Wow.” Beck’s voice is hollow. “I’ve always loved boxing, but seeing you now…”

“It looks worse than it feels.”

“Good,” she blurts. “Because you look like shit.”

Her eyes go wide, like she’s just heard her own words. But I take the towel from her gently, suppressing a smile.

I’m not offended. It’s nice that she cares.

It’s more than nice.

It’s fucking everything.

Maybe it should be weird, standing naked in front of her. But she’s already seen what I’m packing below the belt, and I’ve just been shirtless in front of a huge crowd. So I don’t mind if she doesn’t mind, and judging by the way her eyes wander and her flush deepens…

No. I don’t think Beck minds.

And I’m done being stupid about her. I may not be past my prime, but I am definitely too old to mess around. To let important things go unsaid. So I yank a pair of sweatpants on quickly, then pull Beck out into the dressing room and take her bare shoulders. Wait for her to meet my eye.

“I should have canceled that stupid class.”

She blinks at me, surprised. The steam from the shower billows through the open door, wrapping her in mist, and she wets her bottom lip before she speaks.

“Yesterday? No, it’s fine.” Her eyes dart to the wall and back. “You had a commitment.”

“I want you to be my first commitment.” I give her a gentle shake. And she stares at me like I’m speaking French. Like the words are alien, and they’re just not sinking in. I growl and try again, stepping closer, rubbing her shoulders with my stiff thumbs.

“Beck? I want you. I’m not the type of man to mess around. I know what I want and I go after it, and sweetheart? I’m going after you. Do you… do you hear what I’m saying?”

She looks dazed. Like the steam has addled her senses.

“Beck.”

Jesus Christ. She’s going to kill me.

Standing here, laying myself bare for her and waiting for an answer—this is worse than ten rounds in the ring. I’m getting pummeled here, and there’s no end in sight. Not when she sucks in a shaky breath, and she’s not smiling yet. Not leaping into my arms.

“But…” She pauses. Swallows hard. Then croaks: “I wrote that article. I caused you so much trouble.”

“I don’t care.” I really don’t. In fact: “I’m glad you wrote that, sweetheart. Because it was true, but more than that, it led me to find you.” I smile crookedly, my cheeks bruised from the fight. “You can call me out on the internet any time.”

She nods, slowly at first, like she can’t believe it, then faster, until I’m scared she’ll make herself dizzy.

“What about the poster?” She stops nodding and glares at me in challenge. “Is that too weird? If it is, you have to tell me now. Before…”

Before she gets too attached.

Before she gets hurt.

“It’s not too weird.” Tired of waiting, I sweep her into my arms. Her heartbeat patters against my bare chest, and she melts, her arms wrapping around my waist. She’s careful, trying to avoid my bruises, and it hollows me out. I press my nose against her head and breathe in her scent.

“Do this with me, Beck.” I squeeze her as gently as I can, though she still lets out a muffled squeak. “Come on, Winters. Be brave.”

Thatgets her. Because my Beck is a firecracker, and she can’t resist rising to a challenge. Especially not when the challenge is something I know she wants, but doesn’t think she deserves.

Fuck. That.

She goes still in my arms, and her breathing deepens. Her fingers scratch slowly against my back, and electricity zips down my spine to my cock.

“Be brave, huh?”

“Yeah,” I rasp.

She chuckles quietly. “I hope you’re ready for me, Lucas.”

When she pushes onto her toes, one hand snakes around my neck, and I’m tugged down until my mouth crashes against hers. It’s a hard kiss, a bruising kiss, and it’s what I need after that fight. My body’s too wound up for anything else.

Beck must know that, must feel the same way, because she’s not gentle with me as she starts walking backwards, yanking on my neck to follow. I prowl forward, stalking her across the dressing room, my greedy hands roaming up her sides, down her arms, into her hair.

“I’ve never done this before,” she warns me again.

As if I could fucking forget.

As if that fact hasn’t spun around my brain non-stop, the urge to find her and claim her pulsing through my veins.

“We can wait—” I start to say, but then she’s sinking down onto the sofa. Leaning back with her arms raised in invitation.

And I try to be a good man, but I’m not that good. I couldn’t resist Beck when she’s like this if I tried.

I growl, and follow her down. Flatten her into the cushions.

Too late, I remember I’m twice her size.

“Shit, sorry—” I start to roll off, but she yanks me back. Hitches her thighs around my hips and rolls against me.

“Don’t you freaking dare,” she gasps. “I’ve dreamed about this. Feeling you on top of me. Weighing me down.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, and stretch out on top of her. And okay, I see her point—there’s something so primal about feeling her soft curves pressed hard against my body. About hearing her breaths get shallow, the air squeezed out of her by my bulk.

“Tell me if I need to move. Don’t—don’t pass out, or anything.”

She snorts. “Obviously.”

And god, I love her so much. Her snarky outbursts. Her secret vulnerability. The way she winds her arms around my neck, pressing sweet kisses against my throat. I’m so hard I can barely see straight, but I manage to work a hand between us and pop her jeans open.

“I miss that skirt,” I mutter as I pull her jeans down with my stiff fingers.

She hums, then reaches between us and helps me. And it’s like that the whole time—reading each other easily. Falling into sync. We’re so wrapped up in each other, so fixated on each other, that we don’t miss a thing, kissing and rocking together until we’re both breathless.

I wait until she’s trembling. Whimpering with impatience, her hips rolling up against mine.

Then I snake a hand between us. Her eyelids droop when I slide a finger along her seam.

“You’re wet for me, Beck.”

She tips her head back and hums. Baring her throat, vulnerable, and my teeth are bared when I duck my head to lick her there.

“You think you’re ready for me?” I push a finger inside her.

She’s tight. Her muscles clamp down on me, fluttering at the intrusion, and I grit my teeth as I pump in and out to the second knuckle. I work her like that, thumb skimming over her clit, until I can add a second finger, then a third. Until she’s melted into the sofa, panting and boneless after coming twice on my hand.

“We can stop here,” I grind out, hating myself a little, but I know I have to say it. “We can stop if you like.”

“Lucas!” Her nails dig into my back. My cock pulses. “I swear to god. If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll go insane.”

Well.

Hard to argue with that.

Especially when my blood sears hot, adrenaline surging through my body in answer. I hitch her thigh higher against my waist, then tug my waistband down. Notch the broad head of my cock against her entrance.

She huffs when I pause. “Lucas.”

But I’m not teasing. I’m just going slow, and she gets it when I press forward and her eyes roll back.

I’m bigger than three fingers. I’m a lot to take.

But Beck’s a fighter, and she grits her teeth against the sting. We wait while she adjusts, then I push deeper. Deeper. Deeper.

When I’m sealed against her balls-deep, Beck lets out a shaky breath. Then she gives me a smug smile and scratches her nails along my jaw.

“You shave for the fights.”

“Yeah.” My muscles tremble from holding still.

“Told you I’ve been watching.”

“So you have.”

She’s not the only one. Every glance at her, every detail I take in, it’s committed to memory. And nothing more than the way she feels when I roll my hips, my cock sliding inside her warm sheath. The loud noises she makes as I fuck her into the sofa, my weight pressing down on her, my belly and my chest covering every inch.

“The crowd will hear you.” I nip at her earlobe. I’m just teasing—we’re tucked away here, safe in our own world. But she moans, her hips rocking, and I file that detail away for later.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to excite her. To make her feel good. And I try to show her that, my aching fingers swirling over her clit as I fuck her with my cock, my whole body, my whole soul.

“Oh my g-god.” Her teeth clack together from the thrusts. “So freaking good. Why did I wait so long to do this?”

I snarl, palming her ass. “You were waiting for me.”

It comes out as an order, dark and primal, and though I’ve no right to declare that, she tosses her head back with a cry. Her thighs shake against my hips, her muscles locking tight, and she comes, and comes, and comes until blood pounds in my ears.

I follow after two thrusts. It’s so good, it almost hurts. And afterwards, I topple to the side, careful not to really crush her.

It’s a good thing Beck liked that—me being possessive as hell.

Because now that I’ve touched her, I can’t go back. She’s mine.

I tell her so too, and she laughs softly against my shoulder. “Likewise, Lucas Scott.” Her palms are warm as they roam over my chest. “Likewise.”