He slides his hand up my arm, the goose bumps running rampant now. I swallow heavily, hoping he doesn’t comment on it. “Tighten everything up to your shoulder just before you make contact with the bag, keeping your elbow loose at that point. Hit it like you mean it and don’t linger. Pull away as soon as you hit. Try it again.”
I ground my feet and follow his instructions, feeling the difference this time. How much more solid the connection is.
“Why didn’t you say any of this when we were sparring?”
He shrugs. “That was just to blow off steam. I didn’t think you were serious about boxing.”
“I could be serious.” I punch the bag again.
“Yeah?” He grins. “Would you come here when the place is full of guys? Get in the ring with a heavyweight?”
“Definitely.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
Oh, crap. I didn’t expect him to call my bluff.
He’ll know you’re a fraud. A big scaredy-cat. Weak.
I stay silent, focusing on the bag, imagining punching through it like he said as I connect with it. Knocking out that inner voice.
“What are some other moves?” I pant, my breaths picking up the more intensely I hit.
“You’re doing jabs and crosses right now, but you’ve also got hooks and uppercuts.” He steps over to another punching bag. “Bring your arm around in an arc to hook.” He demonstrates with his body first slowly, then full speed, the movement fast and fluid. “And from underneath for an uppercut, like you’re catching the underside of their jaw. Then you can combine them.” He hits the punching bag in a sequence of blows, his body quick and brutal.
I stare at him, seeing him in a new light. So much of how I know him is in a cerebral way. His mind has always impressed me, first in that shared class last year and now with our research study. But this physicality is something different. Objectively, I’m aware of what his body looks like. He’s muscular and obviously in shape. Hell, I had that body pressed against mine the other night and it felt damn good.
But personally seeing what he’s capable of is different. The strength. The raw power. Another wave of shivers rushes over me watching him. The intense concentration he has on his face. The way the muscles in his arms flex and release. Is there such a thing as a boxing fetish? Because I could seriously watch this all day.
“Mia.”
I startle, realizing he’s stopped and facing me. “Um, yeah?” I touch my chin lightly to check if there’s drool. No, I’m good.
“I asked if you wanted to try next.”
“Could you show me the moves again?” I’m not admitting I was watching him more than actually paying attention to the technique.
“Here.” He comes in behind me, settling his hands on my arms. I instinctively want to back up and rub myself on him like some kind of cat in heat.
No, bad Mia. He’s trying to be professional, already helping me out when he’s made it clear I shouldn’t expect anything from him. But I can’t help my body’s reaction to him, especially not after the other night.
I do my best to keep my hands and thoughts to myself as he guides me through hooks and uppercuts.
But it doesn’t change what’s simmering below the surface.
Chapter Nine
Tyler
“I saw you last week.”
I glance over at Oscar, the guy I’m paired up with during my shifts at the school’s computer lab. My official title is Lab Assistant, which sounds much better than Guy who shows people how to sign in to the computer and print. Literally, those two tasks take up ninety percent of my job.
“What?” I ask, looking up from the textbook I’m studying from. One good thing about this place is the exorbitant amount of free time to study in between helping students.
“Leaving the psych building. With a girl.” He lowers his voice for the last part, as if it’s scandalous.
I look at him wryly, his thin mustache he’s struggled to grow and thick-lensed glasses doing no favors for him. Is the thought of a woman really that exciting?
“She have big, curly hair?”
“Yeah, it was kind of—” He makes an extravagant gesture around his head. “Poofy.”
I don’t know why, but I’m mildly offended at his word choice. Mia’s hair isn’t poofy. It’s just sort of… wild. “That’s my partner.” I settle back into my textbook, but he interrupts me again.
“Oh, is that the politically correct term for it now? Even if you’re heterosexual?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose like the biggest dork in the world and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. We’ve worked together for nearly two semesters, and he still doesn’t realize I just want to be left alone.
“She’s my lab partner, for a psychology study we’re working on. We’re co-contributors.”
“Oh.” He ponders that for a bit, and just when I think he’ll stay quiet, he continues, “Yeah, I thought it was weird you’d be out with a girl.”
I sigh, shutting my textbook, and fully turn to him. “And why would it be weird? Am I that undesirable?” I motion to my whole body, which I’ve been told by many girls is fucking hot, not to be conceited or anything. But I’m a realist if nothing else.
His eyes widen. “No, you look good. Real manly.” Now I do roll my eyes at him, not that he notices. He can be exceptionally unaware when he chooses to be. “It’s just, you’re more of a lone-wolf type.”
“Lone wolf?”
“Yeah, like you don’t care about anyone else. You do your own thing. I don’t have time for a woman. I need to kick ass and take names.”
I stare at him, unsure if his impression of me is because I box or just a stereotypical macho dude. “Is that how you see me?”
Now he seems to pick up on my mood, shrinking in on himself. Yeah, Oscar, not a good idea to piss off the guy who could easily crush you like a bug. “Um, maybe?”
“Whatever,” I mutter, opening up my textbook again. This Geology won’t learn itself.
So what if I’m being compared to a wolf? They’re badass. I should take the compliment.
But for some reason, his interpretation hadn’t seemed favorable. More… sad. Like I don’t have anyone in my life. That the thought of him seeing me out with someone is incomprehensible.
I’ve been out with Mia plenty of times now. At the library, in the psych building, at Element where we shared that hot—
No, forget about that. That was an anomaly. A strange impulse. It won’t happen again.
Probably.
“Thanks so much for coming in, Brad,” Mia says warmly as she turns the dials off on her biofeedback machine.
“No problem.” He picks his backpack up off the floor and slings it over his shoulder, but makes no other move to leave. I want to tell him to get gone, but Mia would say that’s rude. “Hey, I meant to tell you I finally placed you. You were in Dr. Hahn’s Cognitive Psych class last semester, weren’t you? I knew you looked familiar.”
“Yeah, I was,” she says shyly, tucking a curl behind her ear. My eyes narrow at the action. Is that a sign of nervousness? Or attraction?
“How’d you do in that class?”
“I got an A.”
He continues asking her questions and my shoulders tense up the longer he goes on. I try to focus on uploading the data from his session, but something about his voice worms its way into my brain. I watch the two of them, his all-American looks complementing her wholesome, farm-girl image. He was our last appointment of the day, so it’s not like I have to hang around if I don’t want to, but I decide to stay. This information won’t analyze itself.
When he finally says his goodbyes and leaves, I casually ask her, “Are you done flirting with the participants?”
“What?” She looks over at me, genuine confusion on her face.
“You and Brad.”
She rolls her eyes. “So just talking to someone about classes is flirting now?”
/> “He was all over you. And you liked it.” I don’t know why I’m getting worked up about this. It’s not like it matters.
She raises her brows, then crosses the room over to me, laying the back of her hand on my forehead.
I still at her touch, the contact easing something inside me. “What are you doing?”
“Checking if you have a fever. That might explain your delusion.”
Now I roll my eyes, but that tension in me fully leaves as she gives me a goofy smile. I tentatively return her smile but a knock on the door of the lab interrupts us. Brad comes back in, gaze trained on Mia.
“Did you forget something?” she asks.
“Could I actually talk to you outside for a second?” He hitches his bag higher on his shoulder, his gaze never straying from her.
The tension in me returns twofold and I blurt out, “Mia can’t leave the room. We still need to go over the results.”
She gives me a strange look and turns back to him. “What is it?” she asks softly.
He shoots a dirty glare my way and wipes his palms on his jeans, staring again at Mia. He better not be doing what I think he’s about to do. “I just wanted to know if you’d like to go out for coffee sometime.”
Her eyes widen and she glances over briefly at me, something like guilt on her face.
I immediately jump in before she can answer. “Mia is a researcher here and any interaction outside of this study could be seen as a conflict of interest.”
Brad looks taken aback at my outburst, but that’s probably more because of the hard tone I said it in than the actual words themselves.
He flicks his eyes back and forth between us. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know—”
“No worries,” Mia says, ushering him out with promises to see him next week during his scheduled time. She closes the door behind him and turns around, keeping her back to the door, hands behind her, and watches me carefully.
“What?” I ask her defiantly when it’s obvious she won’t say anything. “Tell me it wouldn’t be inappropriate to date him.”
“It would be,” she agrees evenly.
I stand and move to the front of the desk, leaning back against it. I don’t like this dynamic of her standing when I’m sitting. In fact, her compliance is a little suspicious. I’ve gotten used to her falling for it when I try to rile her up. “All right, then.”
She tilts her head slightly, still staring at me. “Why do you care so much about my love life?”
I cross my arms, uneasiness settling in my stomach. “I don’t.”
“So if I told you I was going out with someone not related to the study, you wouldn’t have anything to say?”
I stay silent, not liking where this is headed.
She smirks, the same way I’ve probably done to her countless times. “Actually, this would be a great time to tell you, then—”
I don’t let her finish, my body already halfway across the room before I realize what I’m doing. I cup the back of her head and bring her mouth to mine, cutting off anything she was about to say about other guys. She tastes sweet, like the sugar cookies she brought for us to snack on today, and it’s all I can do not to utterly devour her.
I release my hold on her and tell her in no uncertain terms, “Don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes take a second to focus before she narrows them. “You didn’t even give me a chance to say no.”
“He should know better.”
“Because of the ethics? Or because of you?”
I pause, keeping my mouth shut.
“And what are the ethics of us kissing?” she continues, on a roll now. “Is it a conflict of interest?”
“No. Neither of us has any kind of power over the other.”
She rests her fingertips against my chest lightly. “You’re saying I don’t have any kind of power over you?”
My mouth dries at her sultry expression, an aura of assertive energy around her I have to admit I find wildly arousing. It’s so at odds with her normal sweet nature, something only I draw out of her. I’m not sure if that’s necessarily a good thing, but I can’t help but take pleasure in it.
I shake my head, realizing she’s waiting for an answer.
The light in her eyes fades and she steps back against the door again, uncertainty now on her face.
She must have taken me shaking my head as saying no. The truth is, I don’t want her to have power over me. But even seeing a glimpse of her insecurity has my stomach doing a twisting motion I don’t like.
“Do I have power over you?” I ask, instead of fully acknowledging what’s going on inside me.
“No,” she rushes to say, too fast of a denial for it to seem genuine.
“So we’re equals, then. No conflict of interest.”
“Right.” She nods hesitantly.
“So we could keep kissing if we wanted.”
“Is that something you want?”
Yes. I refuse to say it aloud, but show her instead, taking her mouth again, settling a hand on her lower back to draw her closer, but she pushes me away.
I immediately let go, stepping back.
“What are we doing?” she asks, the slightest hint of worry in her eyes.
“Why are you focused on that?”
“Because you keep kissing me!” She throws her hands up in the air. “You’ve made it clear you’re not looking for anything more, so what is this, then?”
My eyes flick between hers, absolutely knowing she’s right but unwilling to stop whatever this is happening between us. “This could be a… mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Her brows rise. “You Slytherins and what’s beneficial to you,” she mutters.
I ignore her, continuing, “We could just be two people who occasionally kiss.” I step closer, her body instinctively swaying toward mine. She can’t deny she wants this either. I lean down, whispering in her ear, “And those kisses don’t have to be restricted to the mouth.”
A quiet moan escapes her lips, such need in it that I take it as an assent, swallowing the end of the sound as I kiss her once more, greedy this time. She clutches at my shirt, brushing her front against mine, practically rubbing all over me. Fuck, that feels good.
I deepen it, starving for her, her sweetness calming me just as much as it incites. How does she do this to me? Is it the thrill of the chase? Because she’s not the kind of girl I ever thought I’d be interested in?
That doesn’t mean she lacks a sexual side, though. Her tongue tangles with mine and I do what I wanted to that night at the club, hitching her leg up over my hip and grind into her.
“Yes,” she breathes, easily picking up my rhythm, matching me thrust for thrust.
This is… madness. I’m dry humping her against the door of the Stress Lab, but I can’t seem to stop.
She makes these tiny gasps every time my chest brushes against hers and I finally clue in to what’s causing it. I bring my hands up, molding them over her breasts and her head falls back against the door with an audible thud, a guttural sound of pleasure leaving her mouth.
“You like that?” I whisper in her ear, increasing the pressure.
Her whole body shudders. “Can you say that again?”
“You like that?”
“No, in my ear,” she says, her eyes still closed in bliss.
I whisper it again directly in her ear and she groans, her hands latching on to my shoulders to keep me close.
“What do you like so much about that?”
“I love your voice,” she says dreamily.
“You do?”
“Mm-hmm. I’ve fantasized about it.”
My jaw drops and I’m temporarily distracted from touching her at all.
“Fantasized?”
Her eyes open slowly, the bliss morphing into alarm. “Um, I mean—”
She slides out from between me and the door and I watch her in amusement, her cheeks steadily turning redder.
“Just forget it.” She grabs her backpack a
nd the container of cookies.
Yeah, right. Like I’m letting her leave without explaining herself and taking the cookies.
I set myself up in front of the door, widening my stance, and cross my arms like I’m a bouncer.
She huffs, “Seriously?”
“Spill your secrets, Clemons.”
“What if I promise you a whole batch of fresh-baked desserts every week instead?” She opens the lid of the container, holding it under my nose for me to inhale. “I haven’t made you my famous dark chocolate pie yet. Or my lemon blueberry cheesecake bars.”
My mouth actually waters at her offer. Everything she’s brought in so far has been insanely delicious.
But I shake my head. “You’re already making me fat.”
She sighs, sliding her backpack off her shoulder to plop on the ground and grabs a cookie, settling into her desk chair. “You remember when Kelsey came up to us at the library?”
I nod.
She rolls her eyes, focusing on a spot about two feet to the left of me. “Obviously, she was talking about you. And part of what I liked about you in class was… your voice.” She’s barely audible by the end, nibbling at the cookie, studiously avoiding my gaze.
“What was the other part?”
“Your brain,” she mumbles.
My eyes widen involuntarily. I’ve never had a girl say she likes either of those things about me before. I’ve only hooked up with girls interested in my body.
“Not the way I look?”
She finally makes eye contact with me. “I wasn’t even aware of what you looked like till a month into class,” she admits.
A rush of pleasure runs through me until she kills it. “But I didn’t really know you then.”
Her words echo the same sentiments she made that day at the library when she asked what exactly there is to like about me. But the slight disappointment I’d felt then is nothing to what it is now.
“I’d like to think I’ve improved some in the last month and a half,” I defend myself. It must come out more harshly than I intended because her eyes widen comically.
Under Pressure (Lessons Learned Book 1) Page 8