My heart thumps against my ribs at the possibility of getting up close and personal to him, to feel his hands on me.
“I don’t need you to buy me lunch, Theodore.”
His eyes darken to two dangerous pools of green at my use of his full name.
“I know you don’t. But I want to.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I glare at him.
“Why would I want to be anywhere near you, let alone eat with you?” I hiss.
“Because, Hellcat.” Pure, unfiltered arrogance appears on his face, and it makes my fists curl with my need to wipe it clean off. “You miss me.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I just hate you.”
Holding my eyes, he rounds the desk.
I swear to God my heart pounds in time with every step he takes.
My skin burns and tingles rush over me, knowing that we’re currently the objects of almost every guy’s attention in this entire gym.
He steps right into my space, allowing his heat to seep into my body.
Damn him. Damn him to hell.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“So…” He tilts his head to the side. “Prove it. Get in the ring with me, Hellcat. Show me what you’ve got.”
My teeth grind as I stare at him.
“If I beat you, will you leave?”
His chuckle fills the air, and the sound goes straight to my clit.
“If you win, I’ll do whatever you want me to, babe,” he offers, his eyes darkening.
“Anything?”
“Anything,” he confirms.
“Fine,” I say, stepping around him, escaping the confines of the reception area and keeping my back to him.
Curling my fingers in the bottom of my Mickey’s Gym hoodie, I peel it up my body, letting every other guy in here get a look at me first.
A frustrated growl sounds out from behind me, and I can’t help but smile. That is until his warmth covers my back and his breath tickles the shell of my ear.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game right now, Hellcat.” His fingers gently brush up my hip and over my waist, sending a tsunami of desire through me.
Straightening my spine, I hold my head high, my eyes locked on the empty ring before me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cirillo. Ready to get your arse handed to you by a girl?”
His laughter makes heat pool between my thighs, but I don’t let it consume me. Instead, I force my legs into action and march toward the ring, knowing as sure as the sky is blue that his eyes are locked on my arse in my leggings.
I can’t really say I blame him, mind you. I chose this set this morning for a reason.
I needed the confidence boost that came with the way this outfit made my body look. I’m just glad it’s not going to waste.
Spinning around, I gift him a look at my front.
“Holy—” he breathes as his eyes zero in on my rack. I get it, my cleavage is killer in this.
“You a pussy, Cirillo?”
His eyes lift to mine and I swallow thickly, trying not to allow the look of pure desire on his face to affect me.
“Worried the MC princess is better than the mafia prince?”
He takes a step forward, closing the space between us, but I quickly take one back.
“Worried? Never. I think we both know who’s going to win this,” he says arrogantly, continuing to move closer.
He sheds his own hoodie and I instantly realise that he’s playing me just as much as I am him when he doesn’t stop there and drags his t-shirt off as well.
“Fuck, Theo,” I gasp, taking in the bruising that didn’t look half as bad in that photo last night. “You shouldn’t be—”
My words are cut off when my back collides with the ring and he steps right into my space.
“Don’t let my bruises put you off, babe. I can still have you beneath me in seconds. I’d put money on you begging my name too.”
My chest heaves, my breasts brushing against him with every breath I take.
“You’re delusional.” It’s meant to be a vicious comeback, but honestly, it sounds more like I’m well on my way to that begging he wants.
“You could call me worse,” he quips, leaning closer and pressing the length of his body against mine. My eyes drop to his lips, thinking that he’s about to try and kiss me, but he throws me for a loop—which amuses him greatly—when he says. “In you go then.”
It takes a couple of seconds for my brain to catch up with what’s happening around me, but when I finally rip my eyes from Theo, I find he’s holding the rope up for me so I can slip into the ring.
“T-thanks,” I mutter, much to his amusement as I turn my back on him once more.
A growl rumbles from him when I bend over and climb in, but I don’t react as I look at the pair of gloves Gunner’s holding out for me. He’s suspiciously been here, keeping an eye on me all day.
If the situation were any different, I might be annoyed that Cruz has blatantly sent him to watch over me, but mostly, I’m just grateful. It’s nice to be surrounded by people who care after the dickheads Mum brought in and out of my life over the years.
“Give him hell, Shorty.”
“You got it, G. But I don’t need those. I want it to hurt.”
“Brutal. I love it.”
He throws the gloves down and grabs some tape instead while I roll my eyes.
“We don’t want to bust up these pretty hands,” he says softly, and I reluctantly allow him to wrap me up.
When I turn back around, Theo is staring at me with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye that makes butterflies flutter in my belly.
“Bring it, Cirillo.”
He shakes his head at me.
“Confidence is so fucking sexy on you, Hellcat.”
“Watching you writhe in pain will be even better.”
He’s still laughing at me when I surge forward, planting my fist right in the centre of the bruise that’s covering his ribs.
Is it a low blow? Probably. I don’t really give a fuck.
All the air rushes from his lungs as he bends over. The arrogant look on his face morphed into one of shock.
“Oh sorry, did you want me to pretend I was fighting a girl?”
His smirk returns, and faster than I anticipated, he lunges for me.
My back collides with the sprung floor with a thud, but I don’t let it stop me.
Using every ounce of strength I have and every bit of skill these guys have taught me, I manage to break free of his hold and get a solid knee to his stomach, making him fall to the side to catch his breath as I jump to my feet.
“You got this, Shorty,” Gunner says, his phone raised, recording our fight.
“Really?” I ask.
“What? Cruz is gonna wanna see this.”
Waving him off, I turn back to my opponent.
His eyes are almost black, although as he lifts his hand to push his hair from his brow, I wonder if it’s his burning need to win or just pure undiluted desire as he stares at me.
“Let’s go, Pretty Boy.”
“Pretty?” he scoffs. “A pretty boy would go easy, let you win. I have zero intentions of doing either.”
This time, I’m ready when he comes at me, and I block each of his attempts all while managing to get a few hits of my own in.