Page 55 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“The loser has to stay down for a count of ten, is that right?” Deepa slipped her other hand around Roz’s neck, fingers curling through the short hair at the back of her head. “Do you think I can bring you to the floor for ten seconds?”

“Let’s find out.”

Roz’s chin was tipped up either in a challenge or for easier access, her mouth a mere inch from Deepa’s. As little as Deepa knew about boxing, she was certain their current position wouldn't be allowed in the ring.

“You ready?” Roz asked.

Deepa swallowed her in a kiss.

Grabbing her by the hips, Roz lifted Deepa like she weighed nothing, swinging her up and around to press her back against the lockers. With a delighted gasp, Deepa wrapped both legsaround Roz’s waist as Roz got one arm under Deepa’s thighs, holding her there as she slipped her other hand under Deepa’s waistband.

Intent as she was to continue their kiss, Deepa couldn’t help but moan and drop her head back against the locker at the first confident slide of Roz’s fingers. Roz worked her until she was drenched and trembling, bicep straining as she held her up with one arm the whole while. Deepa came panting Roz’s name, fingers clenched against her shoulders and thighs bracketing her middle, heels digging into the small of Roz’s back as she arched into her.

“Good?” Roz asked, her mouth against Deepa’s collarbone.

“Nn,” Deepa said nonsensically, trying to catch her breath.

“Again?”

Deepa replied by wrapping herself around Roz’s frame, grateful when Roz continued holding her rather than setting her shaking legs down on the floor. Looking immensely pleased with herself, Roz gently deposited Deepa on the bench, tugged her underwear down, and dropped to her knees at Deepa’s feet. One hand was warm on Deepa’s leg, the other at her waist, holding her close for a second before trailing around to toy with the little jewel hanging from her pierced navel.

Bracing both hands behind her, Deepa dropped her head forward and spread her knees to watch as Roz settled in for a second round, kissing her way up Deepa’s inner thigh where her skin was softest until she was all the way between her legs, licking into that wet heat.

Neither of them quite hit the floor at any point during their altercation, and Deepa certainly couldn't have declared which one of them was the winner, but she was more than satisfied with the outcome. Based on Roz’s hood-eyed expression and her wet-lipped smile, the feeling was mutual.

“Well,” Deepa said, leaning back with both hands pressed heavily against the bench as she caught her breath and let her heartbeat slow to normal. “I don’t know how much I learned about boxing just then, but I certainly enjoyed myself.”

Roz snorted. “I think we both knew that was going to happen.”

“When is your next fight? Perhaps I'll learn more by watching instead of attempting to participate.”

“Thursday night.”

Roz’s tone was suddenly flat and unenthused, prompting Deepa to sit up straighter and pay attention. “Are you not looking forward to it?”

“The fight itself, sure, always. But my manager’s been giving me trouble.” Still sitting at Deepa’s feet, Roz drew patterns over her knees like she was painting Deepa in mehndi, paisley and mandalas. “Our last few meetings haven't gone well. I'm not looking forward to running into him again. I’d rather cut him loose, but I haven't found anybody else willing to take me on in his place.”

“A business disagreement?” It was easy to say that Roz should simply drop her manager if she didn't like him, but Deepa knew what it was like to put up with distasteful people for the sake of good business.

“The money’s in the betting.” Roz scowled as she continued to paint invisible mehndi down Deepa’s calves. “And I'm a good fighter. People know to bet on me.”

“He wants you to throw your next fight,” Deepa said, realisation washing over her.

Roz’s expression darkened. “He says he can make good money off it, and half the winnings will be mine if I agree to go down in the second round.”

“You don't want to,” Deepa assumed.

“Hell, no. I’ve got professional pride, haven’t I? Losing a fight to a better boxer is one thing. I can stomach that just fine. But to cheat, and go down for the sake of a payout?” Roz shook her head. “That’s not how I do things.”

Lightly, Deepa teased her nails across Roz’s scalp, and was rewarded with a hum and a shiver. “Is your pride more important than making money to pay your bills?”

“My pride is all I’ve got,” Roz returned wryly. “There’s always going to be more bills.”

“With that attitude, certainly. How much money are we talking, exactly? A few quid? A hundred pounds? I have no idea how popular your matches are.”

Roz paused her mehndi patterns. “You think I should do it.”

“It depends on the money in question.”

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