“Christ!” Lachlan says, wincing. I can barely bring myself to look at the ring, certain Tiernan’s been hurt if Lachlan’s reacting that way.
“Scaredy cat,” Fiona says with a laugh. “You can hardly stand these fights, can you?”
I brush her off. “I fucking love them.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure you do. You won’t even look at the ring when he’s fighting.”
What she doesn’t know is that the reason I temper my gaze has to do with how it affects me, not because I’m afraid. Every time I see Tiernan’s sweaty, massive body, all flexing muscles and raw, masculine strength, it gets me hot under the collar.
“Lair,” Fiona says playfully. “You’ve looked everywhere but the ring, you wimp.”
I elbow her in the ribs. “Fuck off, you.”
I call her bluff by focusing myself squarely on the ring. I ignore the crowd, the cheers and hollers, the noise and heat, and watch Tiernan.
Oh, God. Jesus Christ on a cracker, he’s so fucking sexy I can hardly contain myself. Goddammit, I knew this would happen.
He’s unencumbered with those ridiculously large gloves they have in America, his large hands lightly fisted and ready to strike. He’s doing what I’ve seen him teach the boys time and time again. Bob and weave, light on your feet, wear him out. I gasp when his opponent strikes him, landing a punch to his gut that momentarily winds him. But the next second, Tiernan strikes back, his body moving with grace and power only he possesses.
“Go, baby,” I whisper under my breath. I can’t seem to bring myself to cheer for him like the others do. “Get it.”
My belly clenches when he strikes his opponent. My heartbeat races when he strikes again. My mouth goes dry, and a low hum of need begins to coil in my belly. Jesus, he’s magnificent like this, bloody mastering the ring, and I want him in me right this very minute.
Bloody hell, I knew this would happen.
My panties dampen, and I clench my thighs together watching him win. Strike. Blow. Pivot and move, it’s the sexiest, most masculine thing I’ve ever fucking seen. Then it’s over. His opponent’s flat on his back, and Tiernan’s declared victor. The stadium erupts.
“Faidha, no!” Fiona yells my name to prevent me from running up onto the ring to congratulate him. Even now, she doesn’t want me to be recognized, but I don’t hear her. I leap onto the ring, shove past the security guards, and lift the heavy rope that keeps me from him. I think for one brief moment I see a familiar face, but I look away. I can’t be bothered now. I can’t let fear hold me back. I’m Faidha Hurston, and I want my man.
High on adrenaline and victory, Tiernan sees me, opens his arms, and I throw myself at him. My legs wrap around his hot, sweaty waist, and my core clenches with the need to have him.
I throw my arms around his shoulders, as he leaves the ring, dodging the press, moving past the judges, skirting the crowd and heading to his private dressing room. Before we even leave the arena, his mouth’s on mine with an insistence that tells me I’m about to get fucked, and hard.
I pull my mouth off his long enough to whisper in his ear, “That was fucking brilliant.”
He grins. “You broke your rule, didn’t you?”
He knows I don’t stare at the fight because it makes me want to jump him, but he has no such qualms about this himself.
“I did,” I groan. “Fuck me.”
It’s both a curse and a plea, as he kicks the door to his dressing room closed. He slides me down his body, his hands on the hem of my dress. There’s a loud tearing sound as the dress gives way like the wrapping on a present. Ah, well. That one had a good run before it’s joined its predecessors in the land of clothing Tiernan’s destroyed.
He quickly balls it up and tosses it to the side. My panties are next, and when he sees them, his eyes go narrow.
“Thought I told you I didn’t want you wearing these here.”
Crap, I came straight from school and didn’t think to change. He tears the panties off me next. I can hear people milling about in the hall just outside this room, laughing and chattering, hooting and hollering. I wonder if they’ll hear me getting spanked and fucked.
He shoves me against the wall, and my pulse spikes. He kicks my feet apart to spread my legs, then runs his fingers through my hot, slick folds.
“Who owns this pussy?”
“You,” I breathe, just before he slams his palm against my arse. I come up on my toes and gasp, but he’s only begun.
“Who told you to leave the panties at home?”
“You,” I repeat, bracing for the next searing strike of his palm. I whimper at the pain, even as my belly contracts and my clit literally throbs.