Page 29 of Winter's End

I made it through a shift at Bourbon & Blues and then texted Winter to meet me at Logan’s condo. I pounded into the boxing equipment in the back corner of the private space. It wasn’t the gritty, well-worn set-up I was used to, but it would do for the exorcism I was currently performing.

Logan had given me the keys to the space without so much as a smirk, only asking me to drop them off in his mail slot when we were done.

I guess I could learn to work with Billionaire Boys Club after all.

A chime on my phone and a knock at the door stopped my punches dead in their tracks. I hadn’t intended to teach my little violet to fight, but I couldn’t argue with Logan’s logic that she needed to know how to protect herself better.

I needed my little violet safe more than I needed to quell the rage inside of me.

I toweled off my sweaty shoulders, having abandoned my t-shirt long ago, and drew a long pull from my water bottle before moving to open the door.

My spitfire of a woman had one hand on her hip and a scowl on her face as she looked up from her phone; whatever she was about to say fell from her mouth as her lips popped open like a baby guppy.

“Sometimes, I forget how hot you are,” she said, inhaling sharply as she pushed past me into the sterile gym. Her workout bag bobbed against her plump rear as she stalked towards the back of the room.

The caveman in me preened, while the educated man in me stood still. I’d confessed to this woman I loved her in front of a crowd of men who also loved her, but I didn’t know how to move forward from that admission. Especially since I still struggled to touch her, not knowing my place in her world.

Travis’s words hadn’t been lost on me, but it wasn’t as simple as opening my heart to let her love me. I needed to open my heart to letthemloveher, too, and the man who needed his own love and attention didn’t know how to do that.

Winter whipped off her school sweater to reveal a black sports bra that matched her skin-tight workout leggings. My traitorous cock roused from its slumber and I fought like hell to put him back to sleep.

This would not work if I couldn’t tame him into submission tonight.

What I’d give to have her tamemeinto submission.

Not helping.

“So, how does this work?” Winter asked as she moved to the mats beside the stand-alone punching bags.

When she stretched into a lunge and brought her arms over her head, the move surprised me. Winter wasn’t a big woman, but she had wide hips, thick thighs, and a sizeable ass. Traits I wouldn’t have considered for great flexibility. Her body was more limber than I expected, and that thought contributed to the now-solid cock in my shorts.

“We’re going to take this slow,” I explained patiently, moving beside her to do some of my own stretches, even though I was thoroughly warmed up. “I’ll teach you some basic techniques tonight, and we’ll practice them until you’re comfortable. Next time, we’ll build on that.”

Winter smirked. A devilish glint entered her blue-green eyes. “I’m used to you taking it slow, Cam. Sounds about right to me.”

Her sassiness did not rile me up. A deep sense of calm washed over me and I reached for the rolled hand wraps on the edge of the mat.

“You’re in my territory now.” I unwrapped the long ropes of material and motioned for her hand. Her palm soft and warm beneath my fingers, I steadily swathed her knuckles in the cotton fabric. “I’d be more careful with my words.”

I reached for her second hand and wrapped it like the first. Her heat and the lavender scent of her soap overwhelmed my senses as I fought my body for control.

Her breath caught when I moved in closer and tightened my grip on her fingers with just enough pressure to exert dominance in my space. This was about her safety, and we would not make light of it.

I released her hand and walked backwards, putting distance between us.

“I want you to copy my movements.”

I stood in a fighting stance, legs slightly wider than hip-width apart, dominant leg slightly forward.

“Your power in boxing comes from your legs and your core. I’m going to teach you a few boxing moves that are translatable in protecting yourself in a street fight.”

She raised her eyebrows dubiously. “In a street fight?”

“When someone comes at you with no ground rules with intent to harm, yeah.” I shrugged, the stickiness of the dried sweat chafing along my hand wraps. “That’s why we’re here, so you can protect yourself when we can’t.”

“There’s a ‘we’ now, is there?” Another dubious look. Then, more softly, she asked, “Is there a ‘we’, Cam?”

I had walked into that one, and it was a question I still didn’t have the answer to.

---