Page 44 of The Price of Scandal

I was too distracted by that lithe, athletic form. Her breasts were small and firm. Her abs were spectacular. Those long, long legs were strong and lean. Her skin had that Miami sun-kissed glow. Who knew an athlete existed under all those designer clothes?

“I’ll go easy on you,” I promised.

The dragon stirred behind those cool gray-blue eyes. It was my last warning.

She decked me in the jaw, threw a body shot, and dropped to the mat to sweep my legs out from under me.

I went down like the big, dumb asshole I was.

She rolled, sliding her body over and around mine. My flight or fight system couldn’t decide whether to be incredibly turned on or terrified. By the time I realized the danger, she’d locked her legs around me from behind and wrapped an exquisite arm around my throat.

There were hoots and chuckles coming from every corner of the gym.

I was no slouch in the ring. But I’d underestimated my opponent.

“I want vetoes,” she enunciated in my ear.

She squeezed tighter, and my vision grayed a bit around the edges.

“You’re not even sweating,” I gasped out. My fingers were working at her arm around my throat.

“I kickbox for fun,” she said evilly. “Now, about those vetoes.”

I didn’t have much at my disposal against her Muay Thai, but I’d be damned if I let her win that easily. Digging my heels into the mat, I worked myself into a bridge and forced all of my weight onto her chest. She could strangle me, but I could suffocate her.

I found the pressure point on her wrist and shamelessly stabbed it. Her grip loosened, and I rolled, mounting her on the mat.

There was nothing cool in those eyes of hers now. The dragon was awake and possibly even enjoying herself.

She hitched her hips and wrapped her legs around my waist, locking them behind my back. And then she realized her mistake. Those eyes widened again.

Biology reared its head. Jude and I didn’t throw blows below the belt. There was no need to wear a cup when I sparred with him.

There was also no danger of me getting a hard-on in the ring with him.

We lay locked together and sweating, our breathing heavy. My weight was pressing her into the mat, my cock hardening to concrete between her open legs where I had her pinned. I could feel the heat from her core through the spandex of her shorts and the mesh of mine.

Her legs never lessened their pressure.

She bucked against me once, perhaps to dislodge me, perhaps to feel the shallow thrust against her sex.

I was gritting my teeth. I was on top, but I sure as hell wasn’t the one in control.

The feel of her beneath me was toying with the part of my brain that wasn’t fully civilized. I wanted to close a hand over her throat and thrust like an animal. To feel her let go. I wanted to dominate her. Submit to her.Pleaseher.

Her left hand fluttered on the mat, and I glanced in that direction. I never saw the right that she plowed into my face. It was enough to shift my balance, and then we were rolling and grappling again.

This time she won the top.

I outweighed her by almost a hundred pounds. I could throw her off. Probably. But she was straddling me, her thighs squeezing my hips like a boa constrictor.

Her chest was heaving with effort.

I’d taken a respectable number of women to bed. I thoroughly enjoyed sex. But never in all of my forty-three years had I seen anything as sexy as Emily Stanton, sweaty and victorious on top of me.

“One veto,” I offered.

She squeezed me with those magic thighs, and my dick rubbed against her enthusiastically. The breath she let out was shaky. “Five,” she countered.