All I know is I won't break her heart, and I've never been so sure about something in my life. Shit, I can't even think of doing it, especially if she opens her legs and finally lets me in.
“Think on it for another day. Just one,” I whisper. “When you come home this evening, let me know if you're coming to the fight. I'll drive you there myself. Hell, you can take a cab and leave a note if you want. Just be honest with yourself for once, babe. Open up and do exactly what you want.”
She jerks, tearing herself away from me. This time, there's no stopping her. The conversation is done. Claire yanks my door open and stumbles out into the hall, tripping all over the heels she's got on.
I feel bad about that. But I also can't stop imagining those office shoes digging into my ass while her legs are wrapped around me, fucking her into sweet submission like the wild bull I am.
“I'm going to be late for work,” she snaps. “I'll...I'll let you know. But I swear to God, Ty, if I decide I don't want any of this, then stay the hell away!”
Her finger darts out. Her eyes are watery, angry, and red. I'm standing there shirtless, with the worst boner of my life stretching my tight boxers, leaving no doubt about my true intentions.
I give her a nod. She turns around and heads for the stairs, and this time she doesn't miss a step.
At some primitive level, I think she realizes what I'm doing. I haven't just asked her to be my little Sis at an underground brawl she's got no interest in.
Moral support? I don't fucking need it. I'm used to doing everything myself. I know what the old man thinks of my shit, and I resigned myself to blazing my own path a long time ago.
This isn't about that. This is about an invitation to sort out our problems with raw, hard, frequent fucking. It's the best medicine – hell, the only medicine – I've ever known since my balls started pumping come.
I sink backward against the wall, so wound up I'm about to explode. I'm gonna run and punch and swim myself into a goddamned coma before she comes home. We both know what's on the line.#p#分页标题#e#
And the idea I might actually get what I want makes my muscles tremble 'til I stop and clench everything from head to toe.
If Claire gives me a yes tonight, then she might as well sneak into my room, strip off everything except those bitching heels, and straddle my face.
If she says yes, it's only gonna feed the fire. It won't really resolve shit between us.
Yeah, I'm a bastard for lying, but she's a smart girl. We know damned well there's no extinguishing this shit once it gets going without us all over each other, every fucking hour.
I grab my dick one more time and lick my lips, heading for the gym. I've never wanted to know what a girl tastes like this bad while I'm warming her up to fuck.
Before the weekend's gone, I swear I'm gonna find out.
I don't hear shit. I shouldn't be surprised.
By evening, right before I'm supposed to head to Club Zing for the match, I'm going berserk. I'm scared for my opponent in the ring, and whatever skanks I find after it's done.
I'm gonna fucking kill somebody tonight, and it's all because of her.
Little Miss Perfect, the only woman who can't be bothered to give me the goddamned time of day. Little Miss Perfect, chickenshit as she is hot, the most infuriating bitch on the face of the earth. Little Miss Perfect, who won't stop burning up my balls, even when she's leaving me high and dry.
I'm seething. I nearly rip my clothes dressing, feeling the lust and disappointment come raging into my knuckles.
There's a knock at my door, and for a second, I stop. Could it be?
I fling it the fuck open and my heart dives like a hawk. There's my old man standing there, a sour look on his face.
Goddamn. This isn't the night. If he wags his finger at me, I swear I'll break the fucking thing right off.
“What's up, Dad?” It's all I can manage without letting out my volcanic smoke.
“Message from Claire, relayed through Mandy. She asked me to come down here and tell you myself.”
Now, my ears are up. I step aside, letting him into my room. He hardly ever comes into this space, and he can't hide his disdain either. He takes one look at my messy bed and the gloves I use for practice, and turns up his nose.
Fucking asshole. Messenger or not, some things never change.
“Your sister says she'll be at your club tonight. It's just taking her a little longer than usual to get home from work. She's doing overtime today for the internship.” He says it like it's supposed to mean something to me.
“Whatever, Pops. So am I. You think these charity things aren't good for business? I'm all about giving as much as the next guy with a heart, but it's good for building the club's cred too.”
“Ty, come on.” He slowly blinks and rushes back toward the entrance, ready to leave just as suddenly as he arrived. “I know all about the PR value a little charity brings. Spree raised fifty million a few months ago for –“