Page 31 of His Ruthless Match
When her form slipped again, I stepped in without thinking, my hands finding her shoulders. “No,” I murmured, low and steady. “Keep your shoulders loose. Like this.”
Her breath hitched, barely audible, but I felt the tension ripple through her. My fingers lingered, guiding her shoulders down, and the brush of her skin under my hands sent a jolt straight to my core. My inner cougar stirred, obviously just as turned on as I was. Gods, this woman. Every touch was a live wire, every movement like a test of my willpower.
“Are you done groping me?” she asked, her voice tight, though there was a slight tremor in it she couldn’t quite hide.
I smirked, stepping back, my hands raised in mock surrender. “Not my fault you’re a slow learner.”
Her glare was scalding, but she turned back to the bag and threw another punch. It landed cleanly, her form finally clicking into place.
“Better,” I said. “See? You can be taught.”
She scoffed. “Keep talking, and I’ll teach you what it feels like to get punched in the face.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, rich and low. “Careful, sweetheart. You’d have to catch me first.”
Eva spun on her heel, hands on her hips, her face flushed with exertion—and maybe something else. “Sweetheart? Really?”
I shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “Would you prefer princess?”
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “How about you just shut up and let me work out?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I quipped, crossing my arms. “Besides, you’re almost tolerable when you’re throwing punches. Almost.”
“Almost?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Funny, I was just thinking you’realmosttolerable when you’re not talking.”
I grinned, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, knowing I should keep my distance but unable to stay out of her orbit. “Careful, Delgado. Keep this up, and I might start thinking you like having me around.”
Her mouth opened, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she closed it again. Her jaw tightened as she turned back to the bag. She punched, harder this time, and the sound reverberated through the room.
I watched her, leaning casually against the wall again, though my gaze was anything but casual. There was something about her—the fire in her eyes, the determination in her movements. She was a storm, all sharp edges and controlled chaos, and standing too close felt like asking to get burned.
I’d never been so willing to be incinerated.
She landed a solid jab, finally, and stepped back, smug. “See? I don’t need your help.”
I chuckled, stepping closer until I loomed over her. “Not bad. But you’re still too slow.” My voice dropped low, a challenge. Her breath hitched, and I saw it—that flicker of something unspoken in her eyes.
We paused, standing inches apart, both of us breathing harder than the workout warranted. The air between us practically hummed, and my gaze betrayed me, flicking down to her lips for a fraction of a second.
I snapped myself out of it.Don’t even think about it, Jareth.
“Shower,” I said abruptly, my voice rough. I turned on my heel, not waiting for a response.
“Yeah,” she replied, her tone equally strained. “Good idea.”
I retreated to the guest bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My pulse was pounding, my blood hot as I stripped and stepped under the spray of ice-cold water. I let the chill wash over me, but it wasn’t enough. My thoughts kept circling back to her—her flushed cheeks, her glistening skin, the way her lips had parted slightly when we’d been inches apart.
My mind betrayed me further, painting vivid pictures I couldn’t unsee. Eva on her knees, those sharp words silenced for once, her lips wrapped around me, taking me so deep she gagged. The image hit me like a punch to the gut, and I groaned, bracing myself against the shower wall.
“Get a grip,” I muttered, but it was too late. My body had already betrayed me, hard and aching.
I leaned against the cool tile of the shower wall, the water pounding down over me, but it did nothing to drown out the thoughts racing through my mind. My jaw clenched as the images flared behind my eyelids, unbidden and uncontrollable—her narrowed gaze, sharp and unyielding, yet with a flicker of vulnerability she probably thought no one noticed. The graceful curve of her body as she threw those punches, all strength and precision, her skin glistening with effort. The fire in her eyes when she challenged me. Gods, that fire.
My hand moved on instinct, gripping myself as the tension I’d been battling all morning surged to the surface. It was impossible to stop the cascade of thoughts now. I imagined her standing there, her cheeks flushed not with exertion, but with something else entirely. Her lips parted in defiance, the kind of defiance that begged to be met with equal intensity. She’d fight, of course—she was a fighter to her core—but I could almost hearthe hitch in her breath when she’d finally surrender, even for a moment.
The fantasy deepened, my grip tightening as the vivid images in my mind took over. Her heat, her fire, the way her body would yield even as her glare promised retribution. The tension between us wasn’t just antagonism—it was a challenge, a promise of something explosive if it ever broke loose.
I groaned, my muscles straining as the release built to a fever pitch. When it finally hit, it was violent, shuddering through me like a breaking storm. My forehead pressed against the tile, and I bit back a growl as wave after wave crashed over me. For a moment, all I could hear was the pounding water and the rasp of my own breath.
