She cuts me off on a laugh. “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you when we get back.”
“Okay. Have fun and hug Adele and the rest of the family for me.” We disconnect with her, promising to call me when she has a chance to fill me in.
Panic at my husband’s booming voice has me stumbling, my eyes going wide. I stop the machine, gripping the sides as I lock my stare on Mason as he drops the practice pads, wraps his hands in tape, and slips on a pair of gloves to box with his protégé.
No. What does he think he’s doing? Mason is not supposed to be boxing.
Not ever again.
Chapter Two
Eden
“That’s it, rotate those hips a little more with that jab, then come at me with all you got. Just remember not to hit me in the head, or you’ll have to deal with the wrath from my wife. Pretend I’m your opponent. Annihilate my body. Come on.” Mason winks at me, then focuses back on his teaching.
I exhale with a smile. Everything that was shaking inside of me breathes a sigh of relief as Mason reminds Cody Ware not to hit him in the head.
Cody has the potential to go somewhere in the boxing world. This young kid is real good; he’s reckless and eager to learn. I adore him and his ability to listen. He has what it takes. Determination and strength. Agility and athletic ability.
Most importantly, he has the heart for the sport.
I stand outside of the ring and watch them start the familiar dance of circling one another, both waiting for the opportunity to take the first punch.
God, this was the part of boxing that made me the most nervous, when you’d feel your opponent out, taunting and tempting them to take the first swing.
I don’t miss it at all.
“Harden your spine, Eden. It’s not like he’s sparring for a real fight.” I speak under my breath as they start taking shots at each other.
I cross my arms and lean against the wall enjoying Mason in action as he jabs, weaves, blocks, and throws a one-two punch.
Cody doesn’t even falter; he comes back and slams his fist in Mason’s gut. You’d think I’d be comfortable seeing someone hit my husband, but I’m not. I cringe every single time.
I’ve watched Mason box since we were kids. I’ve seen him hurt badly. Broken ribs, busted lips, swollen eyes, and none of it was easy, but the hardest thing I ever saw was the way my husband broke down a few years ago after his last concussion.
He ended up retiring because of it.
The decision to retire was hard on him as well as me. It took Mason quite a while to realize he would end his career at 49-0. One win shy of tying Floyd Mayweather. Then one day out of the blue, he snapped out of it and decided it was time to get to work on the gym. Plus, I didn’t think Mason could stand it much longer without putting on a pair of boxing gloves.
And now, it keeps him in the ring, technically speaking, anyway.
“Give me more, come on. Your first sanctioned match is in a few days. The world is yours to conquer. I’m not going to break kid.”
I swallow the admission that I’ll break if Cody forget and punches Mason in the head, but when Mason’s full lips curl into a pleasing smile, I’m able to pick my drooling mouth from the sight of his muscles flexing and rippling off of the floor, grab my phone off the treadmill and walk into the office to finish the paperwork for Cody’s match so we can go home.
I start filling things out, getting lost in memories of how I used to do this for Mason when he first started.
After a few minutes, my phone goes off with a text from Aubrey, letting me know she didn’t have to throw down or make a mad dash home to make a shit bomb. The woman apologized and promised to talk to her son.
I text back with an I love you and a smiley face, toss my phone into my purse and become so lost in the vibe of the paperwork and some Bon Jovi that I jump at the sound of my husband's deep voice.
“You do know this is a boxing gym and not one where my wife runs around half-naked wearing tight shorts that cling to the curves of her lush ass, causing men to lose their train of thought. Which then means their opponent clocks them upside the head, and they are down for the count.”
I pay no attention to what he says as I stand up, round the desk, and lick my lips at the sight of his sweaty body.
The muscles in his forearms twitch when he lifts them above his head and stretches. His chest heaves up and down. It’s quite the look on my husband.
Tiny spurs of desire light my flesh, as I scan from head to toe, every muscle in his body rigid and on display. I want to lick every part of him.
To some, the sight of a sweaty man might not be appealing. To a woman who has seen her husband drenched in it for years, it’s a sight to behold. One that pulses between my thighs.
Longing.
It vibrates off him and onto me.
“Please tell me you didn’t knock Cody out? And he wasn’t looking at me, neither we’re you.” Cody is like a younger brother to both Mason and me; he feels the same. He’s family. Besides that, focusing is the name of the game when you are inside the ring.
“You scared me, by the way. Next time warn me if you're going to get inside the ring, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll show you ma’am if you come here and kiss me.”
The lopsided smirk I fell in love with many years ago kicks up on the left side of his mouth as he shuts the door and locks it, his eyes snaking down my neck to my chest.
That smirk was what drew me to him when I moved into the foster home we grew up in, Mason was the cocky kid always picking a fight with the older boys who liked to tease me. That fighting is what landed the gym teacher at our elementary school into talking Mason and our foster parents into him going to the local YMCA.
It started as him working off his aggression.
Then we met Hector Whitaker, one of the instructors. He watched Mason, taught him a few things, and the next thing we knew, Hector became Mason’s trainer and coach throughout his entire professional boxing career. The man inspired him, loved him, and Hector is the reason behind this gym. Mason wanted to honor his name.
Hector also adopted Mason when he was thirteen. I was happy he had found a father figure in spite of Mason moving out. It didn’t stop the bond we shared; it made it stronger. And to this day there isn’t a thing we don’t know about each other.
No secrets, no lies.
Meaningful, unbroken promised words written in our wedding vows we etched in both our skins. Mason has them across his back. I have them underneath my left wrist.
Hector passed away a year and a half ago from heart disease. It killed him in the middle of the night, breaking us both. We miss him every day.
I whimper when Mason’s magical tongue darts out, sweeping seductively across his lips. An indication we won’t be going home just yet.
My knees wobble, and the space between my legs clench. A shiver rolls through every inch of my body, and a trembling breath leaves my lungs.
I’m about to get a sweaty fuck in his office without anyone outside these walls knowing.
How wicked.
“You didn’t think I would notice those tits bouncing when you ran, that perfect peachy ass in the air when you stretched those legs? You were offering it up to me baby, begging for my hands to spread you wide, face looking like my every wet dream come to life. It isn’t easy concentrating on boxing and trying not to get a massive hard-on, you know.”