Page 57 of Ours to Lose
Fuck. Yes.
My cock leaked onto my stomach, crying for me to reach down and jerk myself into oblivion, but I didn’t want to come again. Not yet. Not if the queen riding my face decided she’d rather ride my cock instead.
My body was no longer mine. It belonged to her.
She liked my muscles? I’d never leave the gym. I’d work out day and night to give her the playground she wanted to climb. She liked giving me pleasure? I’d come as often as she wanted. It wouldn’t be difficult. She sent my cock to a different level. One where it lived to serve her.
There wasn’t much I trusted myself to give her. Not stability. Not love. Not the kind that could be counted on, at least.
But I sure as fuck could give her my body.
I’d go as fast or slow as she wanted. Fuck her ten times a day in every different way she could think of or try one thing at a time until she was ready to move on to the next.
Part of me hoped she’d pick the slower route. Let me fuck her with my tongue but save my cock for later. Let this drag on as long as it could.
I didn’t get to have her forever, and that was fine. How it should be.
But at least let me have her for now.
The short burstsof thumps against the paddles filled my head like a song, my body moving to their rhythm to guide my next jab.
Thwack-thwack. Thwack-thwack. Thwack-thwack-thwack.
“Good,” Noah said before lifting the paddles again.
We circled the ring of the old gym I’d barely stepped outside the past two weeks aside from my daily runs, and finished the last of today’s drills. My timing and technique were still strong, but my power had a long way to go. I rolled my left shoulder as we broke for water.
“It bothering you?” Noah asked, nodding at my healed rotator cuff. He hadn’t broken a sweat all afternoon, still wearing his hoodie. Meanwhile, I’d soaked through my T-shirt, even in the chilly air. I’d almost forgotten how much easier it was on the trainer side of things. Not to mention him being a decade younger.
“Nah,” I said, shaking it off. “Just a little stiff.”
It was irritating more than anything. A constant reminder I wasn’t the fighter I used to be.
And I’d have to be close to have any shot of winning the money for the gym. Just because the fighters I’d be facing didn’t hold titles didn’t mean they weren’t damn good. Diego had found the best Philly had to offer, and when it came to boxers, Philly didn’t mess around. It never had.
“This dump got an ice bath you can soak it in at least?” he teased, shoving his wavy brown hair to the side. He’d already ribbed me about my sleeping cot.
“Hey, watch it. This dump is going to be the headquarters of your pro career.” That was our goal for him. Compete in the Olympics, take home a medal, then turn pro.
Noah had grown up in Allentown, less than two hours from Philly, with his dad as his head coach until about a year ago when health stuff made it harder for his dad to travel as much. His dad knew Coach Peters, who I’d been assisting since I retired, which was how Noah had come to work with us in London. But he hated being so far from his dad. So when I mentioned I was planning to start something of my own back in Philly, Noah asked if I’d take him on.
It had been a good match so far. I wasn’t officially his coach yet—not until after the Olympics—but I’d helped him get ready for selection camp, and if all went well, we’d be getting him ready for his first pro match in another year, right here in this ring.
Well, this ring with newer mats.
Although, I had fond memories of the current ones. I could still hear Aubrey’s moans from when she’d leaned her elbows on them and rode my face through her second orgasm. It made me want to christen every mat and piece of equipment in this place with her.
She’d stopped by once in the two weeks since, and I’d set her on the weight bench and fucked her with my fingers before getting on my knees and eating her out. Letting her bask in her newly discovered love of oral sex was as fun for me as it was for her.
Noah had arrived the next day, which kicked my training way up. More sparring, more mitt work. And when I wasn’t conditioning or skills training, I was watching footage of my competitors.
This old gym wasn’t exactly state of the art, but it was getting the job done.
“A little paint, a few new windows, some upgraded gear,” I said, “and this place will be back in fighting shape.”
“Better shape than you, then?”
He laughed as he dodged the glove I tossed at his face.
