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Ugh.Patronising Butcher-hole.
I smirk. “Aren’t you worried about my palm, Dr Butcher? You were so concerned about it before.”
“Underestimating me, Woman. I knew I was going to get you in here. Now, you’re wearing gloves. You’ve got a numbing agent on it. The sting will have mellowed some by the time it wears off.”
“You just want me to sweat more.”
His eyes darken and he leans in. As his hot breath cascades across my neck, my shoulders rise. “I want that more than you know. I’m aching for that. But if you get some of that anger out here, it’ll help out there. So, be a good woman, and then I’ll let you shower in the gym after. Deal?”
The way he calls me ‘woman’ feels intimate, personal, although the term couldn’t be more common. Then I hear the rest of his sentence. I picture a public shower, suddenly swallowed up by revulsion that purses my lips. “Gross.”
“They are damn good showers.”
He claps with the pads again, the smack of vinyl on vinyl summoning something inside me to shock my heart.
Presenting the plane of each pad at eye level, he waits for me to respond.
Nodding, I hold my gloves up like I saw Hilary Swank do inMillion Dollar Baby.My heart gallops up my throat, my pulse fluttering under my skin as I jab into the opposite pad with my right fist.
“Whoa.” He laughs, and it’s beautiful. I try not to smile at the way it sails around the room. He loves the ring, his eyes shining under neon lighting. “Ease up. Wait for my instructions and then jab on my command.”
“Sorry.”
His eyes narrow. “One.”
Jab.
“Good,” he praises me, and I smile uncontrollably. “Two.”Jab.“Three.”Jab.
“Three. Three. Three.”
“One. Three. Four.”
And with each jab, I feel my anger dwindling, but something far more potent and uncontrollable building between my thighs.
CHAPTEREIGHT
kaya
The shower is hot,and the steam rises around me, fogging the stall and clinging to the tiled walls before making snake tracks to the floor. Xander’s right. It’s seriously good. The pressure hits my chest hard. The temperature is just below scolding, pinkening my skin.
I breathe deeply through the dense air. I’ve heard that a workout can make you feel good. Not just your body, but actually affect your mood. There is a contented feeling in the aftermath of a workout, and it’s peaceful.
I’m washing myself, the water lapping the walls and floor when I hear the door to the changing rooms open.
Steps move across the floor confidently, a steady rap that awakens my contended pulse.
They stop outside my stall.
I turn to face the door, running my hands down my body and gazing at Xander’s feet below the stall’s door. The changerooms are unisex, but he’s not moving.
Finally, he says, “What’s it gonna take to finish what we started last night? Your legs wrapped around my waist. Your husky moans and emotions falling into my mouth.”
My palms knead the soap into my skin. “I’m clean now. I’m about to get out,” I say through deep pants, fighting against the thick steam and the overwhelming effect his deep timbre has on me.
A sound of contemplation leaves him, but it’s strained and hoarse—a hum laced with a groan. “I’ll take you clean. I’ll take you dirty. Just let me take you.”
“I don’t let boys come,” I remind him, sliding my hand south, resting my palm between my thighs to ease the building sensitivity. Against my hand, I feel my pussy muscles working, wanting. It’s his voice.
