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But that wouldn’t help right now.
“Get up here, Rose,” I ordered. And I was fully aware of the voice I was using. The same voice I had used when I was in the SAS, when I commanded soldiers in the field, or when I was in charge of a mission with our contractors.
Her head whipped up at me, and she moved to get through the ropes of the boxing ring. She moved with an exhausted-looking urgency. She wanted to move faster, but her shaking, and I’d guess aching limbs wouldn’t let her.
She climbed into the ring, and I noted how she struggled to lift her leg to hoist herself up on the canvas.
If she were fresh, well-rested, I’d be a little nervous about fighting her. She was well-trained, adept at fighting men larger than her, and moved around the octagon with the grace of a ballerina with the power of a Juggernaut. But in her state? It’d be easy pickings. I didn’t want to hurt her. And I most definitely didn’t want tobeather, either. She didn’t need anymore losses today.
A stalemate. That would be the best outcome right now.
“Hands up,” I ordered her.
And she brought them up to protect her face. I noted the shaking of her deltoid, probably tired. If I cut her, I bet her blood would taste sour, filled with lactic acid.
“Hit me,” I told her. She tried, but her jab was slow. She was running on fumes. I dodged it with little effort. She tried again, but the speed wasn’t there. She turned her back foot to pivot into a cross punch, But the lag time between the turn and the movement was so long that I could roll my shoulder to take the brunt of the impact. I let it land on me, but the impact was diffused.
She tried a combo, but her face gave her away. She was concentrating so hard. Her brain wasn’t firing as fast as it could have. Exhaustion had probably blunted her mind.
She tried to duck low and get below my fists to clinch, but nothing happened.
That was what I needed. I wrapped my arms around her, and gently took her to the ground. I let my back hit the canvas, her securely against my chest, my legs wrapping around her waist to have her in my guard. She tried to push me away from her. She struggled to squeeze her arms into my arms to create space between us, but I wouldn’t let her.
“Let me go,” She growled.
I didn’t. She retaliated by hammer fisting my ribs, my torso, anything she could find. The hollow land of her fists reverberated through my chest. Her proximity and her blows made my cock hard, and I prayed she couldn’t feel it.
“Let it out, Rose,” I told her, still using that commanding voice that she responded to. “You’ve got to let it out. Let me hold you and give you the comfort you need.”
I squeezed her closer to me, our skin pressing together, our sweat mingling, heating the space between us. I let go of one hand and started to stroke her hair, my palm moving from her temple to the base of her ponytail.
“Ask me for help.” I told her.
“No!” she cried, continuing to hit my ribs. But even that was losing its power.
“You should be able to ask your lover for help.” My words were a demand and a plea. I wanted to comfort her the way you would a damaged bird. “You can ask. I’d deliver for you, I swear.”
“You’re not my lover.” She wept.
Those words made my blood run cold.
“I’ll take your lies as an insult,” I told her. “And you’ve insulted me enough in our short time together.”
Chapter 35
Rose
Iwentlimpinhis arms. I was spent. Exhausted. Broken.
Guess I wasn’t as unbreakable as I thought I was.
“Don’t insult me,” he said, petting my hair as he held me to his chest. I could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest. I wanted to drown in this feeling. This warmth. I wanted to sleep and hoped that when I woke, my life would be something completely different.
But that wasn’t how life works. I’d wake up and my same lonely existence would continue.
I pulled myself away from him, and he let me go, possibly sensing that I was calmer now. I sat on the canvas mat, leaning back on my hands, my legs bent in front of me. He moved himself so that his legs were straight on either side of me, as if we were stretching together.
“I’m not insulting you.” I insisted, my voice wavering. “But I know what this is.” I moved my hand, indicating the space between us. “We were clear about that.”
