Luca made an agonized kind of long groan, and she opened her eyes to see him sweating, his face pinched and dark.
“You look like it hurts.”
He exhaled into a laugh of sorts. “Almost does, sugar. I’m working hard here. You close at all?”
“I like it right here. I could stay like this forever.”
“Jesus. I can’t,” he gasped. “Even with that epic head you gave me, I’m gonna blow pretty soon. Or stroke out, one or the other. You are hot as fuck, little bit.”
She smiled at that. “Okay.” She changed her grip on her tits, taking the rings between her forefingers and thumbs and pulling until her nipples stretched. That was like the express train for her, and she arched and changed her rhythm.
“Holy fucking Christ,” Luca growled.
And just like that, she was coming. She let go of her tits and grabbed his shoulders, loving the feel of the massive meat under her hands, and jerked as hard as she could on him until every nerve ending deep in her core and everywhere else all the way to her scalp caught fire.
Through gritted teeth, his neck bulging and red, Luca roared. And roared. And roared, one long, loud, bestial note. And then they were both finished, and she was still and limp, resting her forehead on his chest, trying to catch her breath.
Manny listened to her Kit-Cat Clock ticking but didn’t bother to keep time. She felt good. Full and happy. With another person. Stop the goddamn presses.
Luca sighed, his chest lifting her head, and then dropped his arms heavily from the back of the sofa, and Manny, remembering how he’d wanted to hold her after the last time, reached out again, as she had before, and picked up his hands.
With what she hoped was a subtle breath to ready herself for the spiders, she put his hands on her hips. He immediately grabbed hold.
The spiders were there, but she kept her hands on his, and that gave her some control of the touch. After a minute, her body settled somewhat. Enough that she could stay like this for a while, give him this little thing.
He kissed her head. She hadn’t expected it, and she wasn’t ready for it, but it didn’t make her jump.
Did she have a boyfriend now? She thought maybe she did.
9
“Goddammit, kid. You gotta keep your hands up. You take one to the button, you’re going the fuck down, no mistake. Pretty little birdies flapping around your head. Then you’re grounded and pounded and carried off on a fucking stretcher. So KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP.” Luca punctuated his instruction with a jab to Anthony’s midsection. The kid took a step back but didn’t fold or drop his hands. That was something.
“Sorry, Luc,” Anthony gasped.
“Don’t apologize to me, asswipe. I’m not the one gonna be blowing into a straw to move your fancy wheelchair around the rest of your pathetic little life.” He swung, telegraphing it intentionally, and Anthony dodged it, stepping back. “Look there. Now I got you on the fence. What ya gonna do?”
Anthony bounced a little, undecided, and Luca swung a left hook. When the kid ducked that, Luca swept his legs out from under him and brought him down, then caught him in a submission hold. Anthony groaned, in immediate pain.
“Don’t tap,” Luca growled low, in Anthony’s ear. “Focus and don’t tap. Block out the pain. Imagine the blood and air is running freely through your body and don’t tap. Focus.”
This was only the fourth day of their training—every afternoon since Monday, four to seven o’clock for Luca, four to eight for Anthony. Luca already had a sense that Anthony had some talent for this undertaking. Good reflexes, grace, a couple of good swings. But he had no technique, his focus sucked, and he always had an excuse lined up. So Luca had decided that tough love was the way to play this new training gig. Or just tough, hold the love.
Frankly, he was enjoying himself. He was tired, but he was having a good time. And now, so early in the endeavor, he could pretend the other part, the part where he was supposed to expose fight fixing and manage to do it without getting himself killed, didn’t exist.
The kid tapped Luca’s arm, and Luca, disappointed, released him and stood.
“I don’t know kicks and holds yet. I wasn’t ready.”
Luca chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Ready for anything, any time, anywhere, Beav. Only way to be.” He tossed the kid a towel. “Arms, then three miles on the hamster wheel. Chris is your spotter.” With a flex of his fingers he summoned a short, stocky boy from across the room. Chris was one of the teens who hung around the club, doing errands and slave labor in exchange for maybe learning something or getting to know the next Chuck Liddell or Floyd Mayweather.