by Koko Brown
Cursing under his breath, Leo gripped the leather steering wheel. He’d opened his big mouth and ruined everything.
Leo made a sudden right. As he merged into traffic, he speed dialed his assistant. Instead of returning to his offices overlooking Lake Shore Drive, he headed west outside the Loop and Chicago’s downtown business district. He needed to let off some steam and there was no better place than a round at Halsted Boxing Club.
“What’s up, boss?” His personal assistant, Marcello greeted him on the other end.
“I need you to clear the rest of my afternoon.”
“Okay.” Leo heard the hesitancy in the other man’s voice. “You’re not sick, are you?”
If he were in a good mood, Leo would have smiled. He was notorious for his work ethic. He worked so many hours, his staff, which now numbered in the double digits, had nicknamed him the 80-Hour Man―behind his back, of course.
“No, I’m heading uptown to HBC. I need to work through some things, let off some steam.”
Damn, too much information. His assistant knew he and Roxanne had a late lunch every Tuesday and Thursday. And since he’d left in a good mood, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something had gone down between the two of them.
Extremely private when it came to his personal life, Leo gripped the steering wheel even tighter. Roxanne had him so turned inside out he wasn’t behaving like himself.
There was a long pause on the other end and then Marcello’s baritone voice drifted through the receiver. “No problem, boss. I can shuffle Mr. Lloyd around. Any phone calls you would like me to pass on to you?”
“No.” He knew Marcello was fishing for information.
“See you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Same to you,” Leo replied automatically. He doubted he’d be able to really enjoy anything for quite some time. He’d made sure of it by alienating Roxanne.
* * * * *
Only five blocks from his parents’ home, the Halsted Boxing Club was so far removed from the shiny, spotless gyms most hip Chicagoans flocked to. Truth be known, many locals barely knew the club existed since the brick building still resembled the public bathhouse it once housed during the first half of the nineteenth century.
The interior wasn’t much of an improvement. Converted into a boxing club in the early 1950s, Halsted remained dark, dank and smelled worse than the inside of an old gym bag. Leo wouldn’t want it any other way.
The place kept him grounded, reminded him of how far he’d come from the hard-headed fourteen-year-old disciple of the No Mercy Graffiti Masters. To this day, Leo still marveled over the fact he hadn’t ended up behind bars or living on a park bench, still breaking into train yards. But he’d straightened his life out—or had it straightened out for him by the gym’s owner.
Salvatore Cipriani had caught him defacing the front of the building with a Papadopoulos original. Instead of turning him in to the cops, he’d marched Leo down to his father at the family restaurant and told him to get one last look, because Cipriani now owned Leo’s ass, lock, stock and barrel.
The crotchety, third-generation Sicilian hadn’t been bluffing. He put Leo to work fixing what he’d damaged. What should have only been two days, Leo’s punishment lasted two months as Cipriani had him repairing or repainting practically everything.
But by then, Leo didn’t care. He was so hooked on boxing he was making up excuses to stick around. Thankfully the old man took pity on him and opened a spot for him on the youth boxing team. One single act of charity had led to half a dozen amateur boxing titles and a four-year academic scholarship from the USA Boxing Association, which he’d used to attend Northwestern University.
He’d paid his debt, but Leo received far more in return. He attributed his strict personal discipline, his successful career, multimillion-dollar fortune and even Roxanne to boxing.
As his thoughts turned to Roxanne, Leo developed a mental hard-on. What’s new? He’d been in lust with the curvaceous brown-skinned beauty since the moment he’d laid eyes on her outside the college bookstore several weeks into their freshman year, and secretly in love with her by the time they’d graduated.
Now he’d gone and ruined a perfectly good friendship by allowing his one-eyed monster to lead, instead of his head. After all these years, why had he decided to finally walk the line?
Simple—her rare sexual confessional had turned him on.
“Great job, dumbass,” Leo muttered, retying the drawstring on his dark-blue athletic pants.
“You’re here early.” Salvatore Cipriani’s gravelly bark followed Leo as he set himself up under a speed bag. The club’s owner had just hobbled out of his tiny office, carrying a mug of God knows what in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. He glanced over at two guys sparring in the club’s center ring and snapped, “Keep your hands up, Rodney, unless you want your head to take the place of your ass.” Without missing a beat, he turned back to Leo. “What’s wrong?”
Leo rolled his shoulders. Sometimes he hated how well the old guy knew him. “I came in to exorcise a few demons.”
Salvatore’s shaggy eyebrows shot skyward. “Demons? They wouldn’t be of the female kind, would they?”
Leo shook his head. Salvatore could read people like a book. “How’d you guess?”
“You have a great head for business and you’ve tackled everything else with ease. Females, on the other hand, have always been your Achilles heel.”
“I hit on Roxanne.”
Salvatore nodded solemnly. He’d met Roxanne on several occasions and, with a sixth sense, he’d picked up on Leo’s secret infatuation. And ever since, the old man pestered him on an almost constant basis to finally seal the deal. “’Bout time,” Salvatore barked. “When’s the special day?”
Leo shook his head. “Roxanne’s not interested. She doesn’t want to ruin our ten-year friendship.”
“Pshaah!” Salvatore waved his newspaper in the air. “What a load of shit. If a woman is really attracted to you, she won’t give a damn if you’ve been friends for three minutes, three days or thirty years.”
Leo rested his taped hands on his hips. “Now you know why I’m here rather than at work.”
Salvatore swatted the paper against his leg. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” Leo muttered. In an attempt to close the subject, he lifted his arms and started working the bag. He didn’t get a chance to work up a momentum because Salvatore stepped around him and smacked his hand against the back of the bag.
“Nothing? You’re not going to try to convince her?”
“I don’t beg,” Leo countered with more attitude than he felt, but he didn’t need this right now. He was trying to blow off steam, not become even more worked up.
“Begging isn’t convincing. She just needs to see you in a different light.”
Leo almost rolled his eyes but didn’t out of respect. Salvatore believed he knew the art of seduction like he knew how to train a prize fighter. And he’d trained dozens over the years.
“You need to lay down the three Ts.”
“The three Ts?” Leo asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.
Salvatore smiled slyly. “You need to tempt her, tease her and make yourself so tantalizing she’ll want you as much as you want her. Oh, and you should cock block any potential suitors. You do know how to do that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Leo replied, humoring his old mentor.
“Good.” Salvatore let go of the speed bag. “I’ll leave you to your workout. You’re moving slower than day-old grits. And that’s never a good thing, in or out of the ring.”
Chapter Two
Roxanne clutched her third glass of margarita in one hand, a bottle of Heineken in the other and went to answer the door. Leo had called a little over an hour and a half ago to tell her he was on his way over to help set up her WhipADate.com profile.
Her steps slowed. How could she have been so blind? Leo was her best
friend. She could read him like the back of her hand. Obviously not. His offer to be more than friends had hit her like a dump truck with no brakes. Thankfully she’d imbibed a couple of margaritas to fortify her nerves.
But as she opened the front door, Roxanne realized no amount of fortifying could have prepared her for seeing Leo again.
Casually dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans that hugged his thighs, he looked fresh from a shower. His dark curls were still damp and she could see where drops of water must have dotted the collar of his long-sleeved, navy-blue Henley.
Were his shoulders always that broad? Before she started to drool, Roxanne focused on his glasses. Instead of being a safety net, the dark frames drew her attention to his high cheekbones and aquiline nose, which helped her notice his full bottom lip—
“Hey, you,” he said, his voice interrupting her blatant inspection.
Damn, this is going to be hard. “Hey back.”
Mentally applauding the casualness in her tone, Roxanne stepped aside to let him in. Per their usual routine, she handed him the beer then locked the door behind him. “The computer’s set up in the den. So we’ll work in there.” There was no way in hell they were going upstairs to her home office.
As she led the way into the den, Roxanne found herself overwhelmed by his presence. It seemed to blanket and overshadows everything in the room, including her. Before she fell flat on her back and did something she’d regret, Roxanne hurried over to the sofa and sank down. She tried to slide over to give him some space but he sat on her skirt, trapping her. For the first time since she’d bought the winter-white maxi skirt, Roxanne regretted the purchase.
“I came up with the perfect user name for you.”
“Oh really,” she said, tugging on the flowing cashmere.
“I think you should use WantTheBIGOne.”
Roxanne didn’t care if she resembled a deer in headlights. His recommendation was disturbing on so many levels.
Scooting forward, Leo pulled the laptop toward them. His leg settled firmly against hers and Roxanne wondered why she had never noticed his perfect muscle tone.
“Like it?” he asked.
She more than liked it. Couldn’t he see her hands were shaking? Any harder and she’d spill her drink. Just in case, Roxanne set her glass down on the table. When she sat back, he rested his hand on her knee.
“You hate it, don’t you?”
“Hate?” she squeaked, as visions of her grabbing his hand and thrusting it between her legs danced before her eyes. “Hate…hate is a harsh term. Is there any particular meaning to the name?”
“I’m helping you kill two birds with one stone. You want great orgasms, of course. What’s the point of sex without them? And most women like men who are well endowed.”
Imagining Leo giving her the big one, in more ways than one, Roxanne licked her lips. “WantTheBIGOne is perfect,” she said as if through a fog.
Was that a smirk on his face?
While Leo turned back to the computer, Roxanne found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Fascinated, she noticed the way his muscles rolled under his shirt with every keystroke, and how his curls kissed the nape of his neck whenever he leaned forward to peer at the screen.
With each passing second, the temperature in the room seemed to bump up a notch, which was impossible of course. It was almost Thanksgiving and close to fifty degrees outside. And Roxanne never turned on the heat until mid-December. Once again, she tried to put some distance between her and the source of the heat, but still found herself pinned.
“Now the fun stuff.” Leo sat back some so Roxanne could see the screen. His arm bumped hers and a jolt of electricity ran from the tips of her fingers to her collarbone. She swiftly sat upright and rubbed her chest in an attempt to dispel her reaction.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Roxanne gushed. “Just having a spasm.” When a frown wrinkled his brow, she rushed forward with an explanation. “Long day, on four-inch heels no less.”
Leo shook his head. “I would tell you to shuck those torture machines but you look so damn sexy in them. I read somewhere that women call them fuck-me boots.”
Before she went up in a puff of smoke, Roxanne averted her gaze to the computer screen. “S-so what’s the fun stuff?” she stuttered. His use of “fuck” and “sexy” all in the same breath had her wetting her panties.
“We need to go through what you’re interested in.”
Roxanne breathed a sigh of relief. They were back on neutral ground. “That’s easy. I like shopping in thrift stores, traveling, playing charades, cocktails with intimate conversation and watching old black-and-white movies.”
A smile curled Leo’s lips, drawing Roxanne’s rapt attention. Can you add that I also like your lips? “Those are hobbies, and I’ve already entered them. We need to go through your sexual interests.”
“My sexual interests?” Confused, it was Roxanne’s turn to frown. “I like men.”
“That’s good to hear, but that’s not really what the site and its members want to know. Sexual interests include spanking or hair pulling or—”
“Hair pulling? Why would anyone— Whoa!” she yelped. Leo had grabbed a hold of her ponytail and tugged it back. Hard.
While she stared up at the vaulted ceiling, Leo shifted closer, his body invading her personal space. Her palms grew slick and her thighs parted of their own accord. If he pushed her back on the couch and tried to take advantage of her, she’d so let him.
“Do you feel that pleasurable pain?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now imagine that pressure intensifying twofold as your lover does it while taking you, surging inside you, riding you hard. Now—do you see the draw?”
Roxanne squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes,” she gulped. “You can put me down for hair pulling.”
Leo tugged on her ponytail twice before letting go. “Good girl.”
While Roxanne slowly recovered and tried to figure out why she was so turned on by Leo’s simple praise, he went down her personal sexual checklist. Surprisingly, she said yes to all of them except for foot worship and girl-on-girl. Roxanne was so not a fan of toe jam or potentially sharing her clothes.
“What about spanking?”
Roxanne felt her butt cheeks flex. “What about them? I mean, what about spanking?”
Leo rested his elbows on his thighs. “Are you interested in being spanked?”
“Well, I never liked it as a kid.”
“Then that’s a no.” Leo reached out to click the no box, but Roxanne grabbed his elbow. He turned his head and looked down at her. “Yes?”
“It’s not the same, is it?”
Leo rolled his shoulder and Roxanne resisted the urge to bite into him. She could so eat him up right now. “Depends on your partner. Everyone has their limits.”
Days later, Roxanne would question why she said what she said next. “Do you think you can help me find my limit?”
Leo cocked his head and Roxanne almost lost her moxie. Needing to defend her reasoning, she continued. “You know, a girl can’t say yay or nay without at least some kind of prior experience.”
Roxanne knew she was sending mixed signals. But…why not him? Leo was both a man and seemingly well-versed in the lifestyle she so desperately wanted to explore. Better to test her tenacity with a friend than wasting some stranger’s time. Plus, she trusted Leo with her life. She could certainly trust him with her behind.
“Are you asking me to spank you?”
“Yes. I want you to spank me.”
Roxanne’s brown eyes widened, as if she were as surprised as Leo was. He thought he saw a hint of pleading there as well. Her eagerness teased his dominant side, but he wasn’t going to bite—not yet, anyway. Remembering the three Ts, Leo smiled at her then turned back to the computer.
Even when her hand tightened on his elbow, he shook off the urge to flip her onto his lap and remained motionless. She needed to know who was in charge.
&nbs
p; “Will you spank me, Leo?” she asked so innocently his heart lurched with guilt.
If Roxanne knew her present state of arousal had all been orchestrated with the help of an old and unbelievably wise Sicilian boxing coach, she’d kill Leo, but not before she gutted like a catfish. In truth, he didn’t care. He wanted Roxanne so badly he’d sell his first born son to Rumpelstiltskin.
He glanced at her. “I’m waiting on you to say ‘please’.”
Her eyes widened again, reminding him an anime character. Then, as if coming out of a trance, she blinked. “Leo, will you spank me, please.”
Her assent moved Leo more than he’d expected. His heart started to drum almost violently and his balls tightened. Without a word, he reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. Her mouth parted with a soft sigh and a shiver racked her body.
“You know this is only a spanking between friends and not the real thing, right?”
She licked her lips. “That’s why I think a taste should be sufficient.”
Stifling a groan, Leo fanned his legs outward to relieve the tightness in his ball sac. It didn’t keep his cock from growing hard as a brick.
“We should establish a safe word. If it gets too rough and you want me to stop, say red. If you want me to pull back some, say yellow. And if you want more, say green.”
Leo almost laughed when her mouth formed a perfect O. She really was vanilla. His lust somewhat abated by her naïveté, Leo sat back against the couch’s overstuffed cushions and drew her onto his lap, needing to gauge her reaction to his touch.
Roxanne immediately stiffened. Her hands rested in her lap and her legs jutted out awkwardly, reminding him of a wooden puppet. Leo smiled to himself. All he needed was a glass of water and they could tour Chicago’s comedy circuit.
“Relax, Roxie. You need to trust that I’ll be gentle.”
To his amazement, she expelled another sigh and did as he commanded. Her body went limp and she leaned into him, the heavy weight of her right breast and the warm press of her soft bottom rocking him. If he was a lion, he would’ve roared. Instead, he patted the open space next to him. “Stretch out across my lap, head and chest here, and try to relax.”