Page 166 of Defend Me

“Go ahead. It might turn me on.”

He huffed and I had to hold back a smile.

“Have you ever hit something?” I asked.

He put both his hands on the bag and tapped his fingers. “Yeah. I faced off with a grizzly once. One hit to the snoot and he was out.”

“Impressive. If I knew you were such a badass, I wouldn’t have called you a bitch earlier.”

“Ha ha. Moving on.”

I pushed the bag toward him and flashed him a smile.

“Don’t we need gloves?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I only do this when I’m moody.”

“Like, when I’m being a dick?”

“Yeah.” Licking my lips, I trailed my fingers down his abdomen. He was drenched in sweat and it was too much of a turn on. “Get your hands wet with blood. It’ll make you look badass.”

“I’m never working out with you again. Fucking feral.”

With a grin, I held onto the bag and nodded toward it. He flexed his fingers, looking more nervous than felt warranted for the situation.

I hadn’t thought much about it when I brought him in here, but this could actually be a good outlet. Instead of breaking things or stabbing ink into his skin, he could punch things. In this environment, of course. It was harmless and he really needed a way to decompress. Any time he got to that breaking point, he just had to go up a couple of floors to take his rage out on a bag.

He hit it and shook out his hand. “I don’t like this.”

“We don’t have to do it,” I said.

He hit it again, then followed suit with the other hand. It was a bit awkward, but he continued to adjust to it. His hits became harder and more confident. Sweat dripped down his temple as his breaths quickened.

Focus took the place of his uncertainty. I wanted to stop him since he was definitely going to fuck up his knuckles, but I decided to let him get it out. Next time, I’d look up how to wrap his hands and probably insist on gloves. When we got back to the apartment, I’d put ice on his fingers and make sure he wasn’t hurt. Taking care of Brooks was sort of an addiction at this point.

After a while, he lifted his leg and kicked the bag. He dropped into a crouch, breathing heavily. I knelt in front of him and took his hands, which made him wince.

“You good?” I asked.

He nodded. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against mine.

“That felt good,” he said.

“Maybe you should do it more often.”

“I still think hitting someone would be more satisfying. Wanna call your stepbrother?”

“Funny. I’d rather die.”

He followed me back into the gym and sat on a bench with his heels perched on the edge.

“Do your parents pay for your school?” he asked suddenly.

“Why?”

He frowned. “Answer.”

“Yeah, they have some parent loan thing, I guess.”

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