Page 22 of Ruined Vows
He’s the man who makes my heart lurch every time I find him looking at me.
I know how solid his chest was the night of the shootout. I’m pissed I can’t stop thinking about how comforting it was to have his strong, tatted arms around me that night.
And I can’t get over how sexy he looks in fitted workout clothes. Every inch of him screams sex appeal.
And he steps into the ring like it’s a boardroom—a goddamn negotiation.
AndI’d be hard pressed to find the words to refuse him anything.
I suck in a breath and pretend he’s an annoyance. But the truth is—God help me—I want him.
I exhale through my nose and roll my neck. Maybe if I don’t react and don’t look, I won’t want.
I warm up with a few jabs to the air.
He smirks.
“Princess.” His voice rolls over me like smoke and shadow. “You sure about this?”
I nod once. “Unless you’re scared.”
He chuckles. “Of you?”
I step into the ring. He follows, his hands loose and relaxed.
Smug bastard.
We circle. No warmup. No trash talk. Just heat. I punch first—straight to the gut. Solid. Clean.
He exhales. Not in pain. In pleasure.
Then he blocks my second strike and pins me to the ropes with his forearm. It’s a fucking turn-on. I’m dripping inside my Lycra leggings, and my breathing is ragged.
“You want to hurt me, Princess?” he murmurs, breath hot against my cheek. “You’ll have to hit harder.”
His scent—tobacco, leather,him—clings to my throat like a noose. I gulp air.
I need to focus.Think, Bianca.
I twist, slipping under his arm, jabbing him in the ribs in quick succession.
He grunts—barely—but there’s satisfaction in his eyes.
We dance. We fight.
It’s foreplay and war and something in between.
He’s older. Stronger. More patient than I expected.
And I hate how aware I am of him.
I hate that I want him to catch me again. I want him to throw me against the ropes, so that I can breathe him in.
“You do this often?” he asks.
“Only when I’m bored.”
“I guess I’ll have to keep you entertained.”
