Page 54 of The Desire

I grasp my other hand tightly around her neck and kiss her like I need to remind her who she belongs to.

Her rules say I can’t claim her, but I just fucking did. Enough to let her know I’m not giving up and I’ll wait the year I promised her, but she better be prepared to live with an arrogant asshole who will remind her every chance I get.

She’s mine whether she is ready to tell the world that or not.

I push her away and take in how she looks, so ready to be fucked. But doing what I promised her, I walk away.

“I’ll be back later. Good night.”

Walking to the door, I turn to take one last look of her pale peachy skin and cheeks that are on fire with lust, her big brown eyes that are open so wide, and her lips that bear evidence that I have just been there.

Yeah, I’ll be dreaming of that tonight.

But first I need to deal with my emotions, and the only one who can deal with me when I’m like this is Cherie. I better be ready to pay her double to be demanding a session on such short notice tonight.

The drive is short, and I walk into reception where Jordana is on the desk, all dressed up for the night, with a face full of heavy makeup and bright red lipstick, which I’m sure she’s about to put around some guy’s cock.

“Remington, she told me you were coming in. You don’t want me to join you?” Her voice irritates me every time she opens her mouth.

“No!” Storming down the corridor to our usual room, I open the door to see her sitting on the couch waiting as Jordana yells at me down the corridor that it’s my loss, but I’m not even listening as I close the door.

I know she is pissed at me for calling her out tonight, but she’ll forgive me by the time we’re finished.

“Strip off.” Her voice does the same thing to me every time. It’s like a hypnotic chant on my body that makes me just do as she says.

Dropping my clothes and leaving just my boxers on, I pull up the gym shorts I always have in my car, and she throws me my gloves.

I walk over toward the mats that are my safe space, and before I have time to even get prepared, she has my legs out from under me and I’m flat out on my back with her standing above me, smirking, gloves raised and ready for my retaliation.

If anyone knew what we did here, that I spar with a woman, they would be appalled that I deliberately hit her.

But it’s not like that!

This woman is a friend, and she is far tougher than I am and takes great pleasure in beating me and getting paid to do it. Cherie is an ex-street fighter from her youth, and when she pulled herself out of the drug-addicted family she was living with, she put herself through college to train in mental health and anger management. For years I didn’t know how to manage my temperament besides seeking out adrenaline-fueled activities. Until one night I met her in a gym, and she tried to correct my boxing technique. A few of the guys I was with started clowning around and making fun of her.

Daring them to put their money where their mouth was, she challenged them in the ring. Before we knew it, she had all three of them on their asses on the mat, and she was still ready to go against me.

I’m not stupid enough to deny when someone is better than me.

We went out for drinks afterward and talked about life in general, and not once was there any chemistry or spark between us. She told me about a program she wanted to get off the ground with kids, where she teaches them to defend themselves, get the raging hormones under control, and talk to them at the same time. Helping them get off their chests whatever had them so pumped up and angry.

I was at a point that I needed some help, and I just wasn’t prepared to admit it. So, we struck up a deal that I would be her first client, and I would pay her to spar with me and to try to teach me ways to control my mind.

I was seeing her twice a week in the beginning, we boxed, along with a combination of other martial arts techniques, while she had me talking or should I say yelling out my problems. It takes a lot of skill to try to defend your body and your mind at the same time. So, while your brain is busy protecting your body, Cherie beats down the walls on everything else you need to let loose.

“What are you crying like a baby about tonight? This is twice in one week,” she throws at me while we are dancing around each other on the mat.

“Just fucking hit me,” I yell at her, because tonight I feel like shit, and I need to feel pain. The whole drive here I couldn’t stop thinking about El and how she is turning me inside out, and my friend Flynn who I am being the lowest of friends to.

“Got it, it’s still the girl.” She swings a right jab, and I manage to duck under it.

“And then some.” I grunt as she lands one in my ribs, being distracted over the vision of El that is back in my head. She laughs as I groan from the next hit.

“Sounds like we are in for a long session. Hope you aren’t planning on walking out of here until you get it out. I’m not seeing you again this week, so start fucking talking.”

Annoyed at the reminder that I have let myself fall back into this position that I’m here at all, I land one in her ribcage this time, but she doesn’t even flinch, because after years of doing this, she now wears body armor.

I’m the only stupid one that wants to feel the pain in all its glory.

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