Page 31 of The Boxer’s Belle

Bella caught her lip between her teeth before releasing it along with a shuddering breath. Then she gathered his hand in hers.

Together, they slid along her inner thigh, up, up, up.

West watched their joined hands with interest as they approached her dark blonde curls, his heart in his throat. Impossibly gently, they glided—together—over the petals of her sex. His obscene groan entirely overtook Bella’s delicate moan. She was soft and wet for him and everything lovely.

“Here,” she whispered, directing two fingers to the button at the apex of her thighs. She guided him until his palm pressed against her mound and her bud was wedged between his index and middle fingers. His fingertips dragged along her opening. Once, twice, she demonstrated the rocking motion she preferred, her hips working in time.

He caught her lips with his, matching the cadence of her movements. When she was satisfied that he understood the rhythm of her body, she left her pleasure to him, drawing her hands down his body in long, luxurious strokes as she encouraged his efforts with breathy moans.

With each pump, she grew damper against his fingertips. He practically drooled at the thought of tasting her; she would be musky with that hint of spice that always lingered inexplicably on her skin. But such a thing surely wasn’t done with a lady—not that anything else he’d done that night ought to be done with a lady.

Carefully, he slid one fingertip into her opening, just teasing.

Once again, her hand reached for his cock and found the now familiar motions with ease. West bit off a curse.

And then, she shocked every last thought out of his head: she parted her thighs wider and guided his cock toward the crevice between them.

“Bella—”

She shook her head, silencing the feeble protests at the edge of his tongue.

He swallowed the lump that overtook his airway, nodded, and dropped even lower above her. The overgrown strands of his hair brushed her forehead.

With a surprising confidence, Bella drew him toward her center. Breath fled his body when their most private flesh met. Aligned, her hands caught the curve of his arse and urged him inside. Nothing had ever, would ever, feel so incredible as the slick, wet, burning heat of Arabella Sinclair’s sex.

As he sheathed himself fully inside her—unthinkingly fast—his heart stopped. Tiny pinpricks dug into the cheeks of his bottom. Bella’s fingernails loosened one at a time as the furrow smoothed from her brow and her umber eyes met his—flecks of gold flickering in their depths.

“Alright?” he breathed.

“I— yes.” She nodded, one hand dragging along his side to his shoulder blade. Tentatively, she shifted her hips, and his cock slid another inch inside her, knocking a soft huff from her.

“Again?”

Her responding eye roll had a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Do you require step-by-step instructions?”

“Wouldn’t complain about them.”

“Pull out,” she demanded. His hips responded to her command without any prompting from his own head. “Thrust in.” Again, they complied. “Repeat until you achieve the desired effect.”

“‘Desired effect’?” he quoted with a laugh. A pretty rosy flush surged across her cheeks and crept up her chest—where her nipples brushed his. Even as he teased her, his body knew its orders—whatever Bella wanted.

“Do you really intend to argue semantics?”

“You’re pretty when you’re amused but trying to hide it— You get a little furrow right here.” He dropped a kiss on the divot between her brows.

“Miles…” she sighed until he shifted his hips, adjusting his thrust. Whatever end she had intended, that thought vanished with a gasp, her back arching under him. “There!”

Those fingernails dug into his back once again—his hellcat. A strange part of him thrilled at the idea of wearing her claw marks with the same pride he wore his bruises from the ring—a mark of hard-won success.

Now that she’d deigned to give him appropriate instruction, he stuck with that swirl of his hips, shifting his weight to one hand so he could return his attention to her pearl.

Already, he was shamefully close to spilling, and he would actually die if he could not bring her to peak first. He rounded his hand in time with his hips, earning a hitch of Bella’s breath before her eyes flicked shut. Hungry lips fell to her nipple, suckling obscenely.

Her channel clenched around his prick in response—he bit back a curse, ignoring the tightening in his lower belly as he repeated his efforts.

“Miles,” she whispered, one hand curling in his hair as she rose to drop a kiss on the crown of his head. “I⁠—”

“Are you close?” he grumbled against her sternum as he mouthed toward her other breast.