Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I rip my gloves off so I can grip her arms. “How could you think that?”
Her chin quivers slightly. “You told me you wouldn’t date me if I were a sex worker.”
“I said that I would have a problem with your job. Big difference.”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh.”
“Now, if that’s the full extent of your apology, I officially forgive you. Also, I shouldn’t have told you to go home to New York by yourself. I was just upset with my sister getting sick, and the revelations, but I swear I was going to go over to your place after this session and—”
She rises on tiptoes and silences me with a kiss.
I return it with savage satisfaction, nibbling on her lip as I do.
She moans and bites my lip—hard.
I rip the gear off my body and toss it in every direction, finishing with the groin protector—the lack of which my rock-hard cock appreciates. Then I tear away her outfit, all without breaking the rough kiss.
Once all she’s wearing are the foot pads, I splay her on the mat, peel the pads from her feet, and glide my hands over the elegantly curved arches. “These are mine,” I inform her hoarsely. “No one is going to look at them. Not if—”
“Umm, I thought we—”
“I mean it,” I growl. “I will end any man who so much as looks at these feet.”
She dampens her kiss-swollen lips. “Can we put a pin in that? We can return to this topic later.”
“Fucking fine.” Focusing on her right foot, I drag my tongue from her big toe over the arch and bite her heel. I then glide my tongue down her calf and over the inside of her creamy thigh until I reach her pussy—where I feast like I’m starving. Which I am.
“Holy fuck, I’m coming,” she cries out and buckles under me, her elegant toes curling.
“You will come again for me,” I decree as I enter her soft, snug, and oh-so-wet-for-me pussy.
Her nails score my back.
I piston into her, channeling all that unspent energy into the act.
She screams my name, digs her nails deeper, and comes, her inner walls squeezing me with such intensity that my own release explodes into her and my vision goes starry, as if someone has punched me in the face but in the best possible way.
Afterward, we lie on our sides, faces toward each other, limbs intertwined.
As I look at her, something swells in my chest. A realization that might be much too soon to share with her, but I—
“You know,” she says, her voice languid. “If MMA sparring is always like this, I will permanently replace Marcus.”
Ah. I didn’t even bother to think about Marcus’s role in this, but in hindsight, she must’ve arranged this swap with him via Emma.
“Listen, fashionista…” I take her hand in mine. My heart thumps heavily in my chest. “There’s something serious I want to talk to you about.”
She nods. “I know. And my answer is yes. I will move in with you.”
I stare at her. “How did you—oh, never mind. I didn’t realize Marcus was a fucking gossip.”
She shrugs. “He and Emma are married now. Whatever you tell one, you’re telling the other.”
“Noted.” I squeeze her hand gently. “But that wasn’t actually what I wanted to say.”
She sighs theatrically. “Fine. You win. With us moving in together and VersaWear on the horizon, I guess I can kill Candy Berlin.” She nods at our scattered gear. “You’ve made some compelling arguments. But I really love to wear open-toe shoes. And sandals. And peep-toe shoes. And—”
“I get it.” With me around, I doubt anyone will be so foolish as to risk their balls by staring at her feet, so what she wears isn’t all that critical. “But what I wanted to say was something else.”
“Oh. What then?”
I interlace my fingers with hers and take a deep breath. It might be too soon, but I feel compelled to tell her. “That day when you fell into my arms, I started to fall for you.”
Her eyes go wide. “You did?”
“I did. And now I’m all the way fallen. As in…” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it tenderly. “I love you.”
A huge smile lights her face, turning her beauty incandescent. Unlacing our fingers, she pulls me closer, until her lips are brushing my earlobe. “I love you too,” she whispers. “And I want to be with you. Date you. Be your girlfriend. Even if it means I’ll have to wear Crocs. Or even UGGs.”
We kiss then and make love, this time gently, mindfully, punctuating the words we’ve spoken with our bodies. And when we’re lying there, spent, I have to admit that Kendall was right.
MMA sessions with her are far, far superior to those with Marcus.
Epilogue
Kendall
Squeak.
Squeak.
Squeak.
No, these are not the proverbial wheels that get the grease. It’s the sound of my bad idea. I figured if I’m using fitness celebs instead of models in this fashion show, why not have them wear sneakers? Turns out, rubber soles plus the vinyl floor of the runway equals ear torture.