Page 32 of Close Quarters

“Think you’re suddenly tough? That you’re going to do shit to me? Are you fucking kidding me?” I seethed, wanting to advance on him and ensure he didn’t get back up for another round. Thing was, as pissed as I was, I didn’t actually want to hurt him badly. On the other hand, in just those handful of moments, he had proven he was more than capable of doling out damage if he wanted to, so it was probably best for both of us if I held back.

“You fucking…” he ground out, and a warning shot through me at those two words. They were nowhere near as shaky or weak as I’d hoped, and I watched him get to his feet, his face twisted with anger. “Attack me…and think I’m not going to fight back, you son of a bitch? Fuck you, I guess…I should be happy you didn’t wait until I had my back turned.”

“You just can’t shut your mouth, can you?” I demanded, balling my hands into tight, almost painful fists. “You get fucking hit, and you still can’t learn to keep it shut? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He stood up, and I realized he wasn’t nearly as hurt as I thought. He favored one leg slightly but stood tall, shoulders back, without the slightest hint of weariness or pain. Elliot leveled his gaze with mine, his sneer still present. “Really? You think I haven’t been in a fight before? Think I haven’t had my ass beat? I know you’ve been itching to beat my ass. You think you’re the fucking first? C’mon Reno, you’re a prick, but you’re not fucking stupid. I’ll give you that, at least.”

How fucking gracious of him. “So yeah, you haven’t learned.”

He snorted, wiping at his brow where a small cut had formed from when he’d probably hit the ground or possibly part of the chair. “Don’t think I will. Call me stubborn. Call me thickheaded. Call me stupid and a slow learner if you want. But if you think for one second I’m going to roll over and let you beat on me, then you are fucking stupid.”

And there at that moment, watching the fiercest expression I’d ever seen on him, less battered than I thought and ready to give me hell still, I found…attraction? No, not just attraction. That was too weak, too small a word for what suddenly burst to life in my gut, twisting and rolling around with seething desire. The dickhead had been a pain in my ass for two weeks, and that had started the same way, by him losing his temper and refusing to back down when I flashed my anger at him.

“Just stay the fuck right there,” I told him, refusing to take a step back even as both the anger and the lust inside screamed to propel me forward. “I’m done dealing with your shit.”

“My shit? Oh ho, buddy boy, let me tell you about your shit I’ve been putting up with. I don’t expect you to show gratitude for trying to help you. You’re clearly too pigheaded for that. But you could at least have been less of a fucking dick.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“Man,” he said, a new, sharp gleam in his eyes. “I just realized that comment about you beating someone’s ass set you off. Was it that or because I called you a wife beater?”

“You know what?” I began but didn’t need to finish the rest because I’d had enough. If he wanted me to beat his ass, then I was more than willing to grant his fucking wish.

He was ready for me as I rushed him, swinging forward as I reached him. He wasn’t fast enough to stop my fist slamming into his face. He stumbled before recovering, driving his own fist into my gut. I managed to tighten my stomach muscles at the last moment, absorbing the worst of the blow and swinging again when he stood up.

Every time I thought I was going to get the upper hand, he came at me with an inexhaustible source of fury and energy. When we didn’t dodge or weave around the other’s attack, we ended up meeting blow for blow. Neither of us would be able to keep it up for long, but our frustration kept driving us back into the fight.

At one point, he barreled forward, launching himself into my middle. Already worn down from the constant battle, I was too surprised and weak to stop from falling. I barely felt the impact as I was slammed into the ground, swinging at Elliot to make him loosen his grip. He flinched, allowing me to shove him away and switch the roles around, tackling him to the floor.

“Quit!” I snarled as I fought to pin his arms. At that point, I didn’t care about actually beating the shit out of him. We’d done that to each other enough as it was. I just wanted the absolute mess to end, preferably with me on top.

The problem was Elliot wasn’t keen on accepting defeat and kept squirming beneath me. Both of us were battered, bruised, bleeding, covered in sweat and dirt, and even now, he kept bucking up against me, refusing to let me get a grip on his arms as he struggled to get upright and try to pin me. The result was the two of us were forced to roll over, managing little rabbit punches at the other in order to try to wear them down further.

It was inevitable that we’d have to slow down. My body burned, not just from the blows I’d taken but the sheer exertion of the extended fight. We were practically wrapped around one another, gasping for breath, with only a few half-hearted movements as though we still had the energy to fight.

“Get off me,” he growled, giving a thrust of his hips in an attempt to buck me off.

I looked down, taking in the shine of sweat on his face, smeared with blood from a cut lip and dirt from the floor. His chest rose and fell, pushing against his shirt, which had ridden up to expose his stomach. His grip on me was still tight, though not nearly as fierce as before. It should have frustrated me that I wasn’t able to best him, or at the very least, I should have felt some satisfaction that I’d worn him down this far.

Instead, with a surge of alarm, I realized I was aroused.

Not just mentally, oh no, now things had slowed down, I was incredibly aware how painfully tight my jeans had become. The realization froze me as I stared at him, limbs rigid as I tried to understand precisely what was happening. Well, I knew I was hard and that realization had definitely awakened something inside me. It had the same intense heat as my anger, which was still there, but the hunger to hurt had changed into an entirely different appetite.

“What are…” Elliot began, and to my horror, his eyes widened with what could only be understanding. Which made horrifying sense considering my groin was flush against his, and I wasn’t exactly small, so my being rock hard wasn’t subtle. “Are you?—”

“Don’t,” I hissed.

“Holy shit,” he said, eyes going even wider and moving his hips. “I always thought maybe you were compensating for something with that temper, but damn, man.”

“Do not,” I growled.

“Then get off me,” he said, and to my growing horror, I could feel that he too, was starting to stiffen, which should have freaked me out even more. Instead, I could feel that yawning hunger inside me growing even stronger. “Easy fix.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I grumbled. He was right. All I had to do was let go of him and slide away. Except he was more or less pinned beneath me, he was apparently excited by my excitement, and he was just…there, sleek muscle, covered in the evidence of a fight he had gone toe to toe with me in and?—

Fuck.

I let out a strangled noise when he pushed up into me again, grinding against my dick and sending unexpected jolts of pleasure through me. The little asshole even grinned as he did it. Without thinking, I removed my grip from his arm and wrapped it around the back of his neck, my thumb pressed against his throat where I could feel the hammering of the pulse point in his neck.

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