His Every Desire (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Alexis Winter

  I let my arms fall to my sides as I nod my head, unable to speak. I don’t know if it’s because I’m breathless from the relentless punching or if it’s because I’m at a loss for words given how much sexier he is up close.

  He has his arms crossed over his sculpted chest, causing his biceps to bulge as he looks me up and down. “Can I give you some pointers?”

  “Of course,” I agree, trying to sound nonchalant. In reality, I’m about to melt into a puddle on the spot.

  “Take your position,” he orders.

  I bring my fists back up.

  He walks a circle around me.

  “Spread your feet,” he says, gently pushing them further apart with his foot.

  I do as he says.

  “Straighten your back.” He places one hand flat on my spine, causing me to suck in a breath from the electric current that cuts through me. He steps to my side and places the other hand on my stomach. “Tighten your abs. Can you feel that? The difference in how you were standing and how you’re standing now. You’re taller, tighter. All your muscles are under your control. Keep that core engaged; don’t let your spine hunch.”

  I nod, now focusing more on how his hands are touching me rather than listening to what he’s saying.

  “Now, jab!”

  I extend my arm and hit the bag. It makes a thumping sound that fills my ears.

  “Good. Keep your wrist straight,” he tells me. “Again!”

  I extend my arm again, this time focusing on keeping my wrist straight. The blow is much more solid than the previous ones.

  “Better. Now, when you swing, put your whole body into it. Again!”

  I swing with all my might while keeping my wrist straight. The strike is solid and powerful.

  “There,” he says, letting his hands drop. “Much better.”

  “Thanks,” I say a little too breathy for my liking.

  He looks at Jazz. “You need some tips?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. I’m only here for support.”

  He lets out a deep chuckle. “Alright.” He looks back at me, but he doesn’t just look at me: his eyes roam up me until our they meet mine, like a lion staring at an antelope he’s about to devour. “Keep going. I’ll check back with you later.” Without another word, he walks away to help the next person.

  For the rest of the class, I watch him out of the corner of my eye, checking to see if he helps another person the way he helped me. He doesn’t touch them at all. The most he does is walk by with a nod, sometimes offering a quick comment. I’m not sure if I should be creeped out by that knowledge or accept that maybe my form was just that shitty.

  When the class is dismissed, Jazz and I stand at the counter, removing our gloves.

  “Hey, what happened to the guy you were dating? Travis?” Jazz asks, arching an eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes. “Travis was fun.” I shrug. “He was like a toy, but you know, all toys get old after a while. So, I donated him for the next girl to enjoy.” I smile.

  Jazz shakes her head. “One of these days, the love bug will bite you.”

  I laugh. “I don’t know about the love bug, but I’d definitely take a hit from that sexy boxer.”

  “Is that right?” he asks, stepping up behind me.

  My face immediately heats up and I bite my lower lip as I turn around to face him. Shit!

  He offers me a grin as his eyes travel up my body again. “I’m here most nights. If you want a private lesson, you know where to find me.” He shoots me a wink and walks away.

  When he’s far enough away from me, a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my mouth and my shoulders fall.

  “Really? You couldn’t tell me he was behind me? Mouth, meet foot.”

  Jazz laughs. “I thought it’d be funnier this way. Not to mention, now you have a reason to come back.”

  I grab my jacket and pull it on. “I already had a reason to come back; now I have a reason to completely avoid this place.”

  “What? Why would you do that? I thought you wanted to take a hit from that boxer?” she teases.

  I bump her arm with my elbow. “Because I’m completely embarrassed!”

  “Oh, you’ll be fine. I’ve seen you recover from much worse. But on another note, I’m meeting up with Damon for dinner. Want to join? We’re going to your favorite pizza place.”

  “I don’t want to be your third wheel,” I complain.

  She opens the door and walks out onto the sidewalk. “Seriously, it’s always been the three of us. Nothing changed, Mads.”

  “Nothing changed? Jazz you’re carrying his baby and you guys are in a relationship. Now you have all the little inside jokes and communicate with stupid looks like you and I always did.” I know I’m sulking, but I’m still not over the moon that I was pushed out of the group. “Whatever, I’ll go. But I’m ordering my own breadsticks.”

  She laughs. “Deal.”

  Jazz and I walk into the pizza place a little while later and Damon is already at a table waiting. When he sees us, he stands and pulls Jazz in for a hug and a quick kiss. I slide into the booth and pick up a menu.

  “How was the class?” he asks.

  “Well, your sister got hit on by a hot boxer,” Jazz says, wrapping her hands around Damon’s arm.

  “That’s gross,” Damon mumbles, picking up his water and taking a sip.

  “I didn’t get hit on. I got invited to a private lesson.” I smile, just hearing myself saying the words.

  “That’s worse. Who is this guy?” Damon looks between the two of us, brows pulled together and eyes bouncing from her to me.

  “I didn’t catch his name, but he has sweaty muscles for days, dark hair, a face I could mount, and bright green eyes. Like, his eyes were green-green. Not your dull, boring green.”

  Damon holds up his hands and waves them back and forth violently. “I NEVER want to hear those words again, Maddie. Jesus!”

  “I think your eyes are gorgeous, babe,” Jazz says, squeezing his arm.

  Damon smirks as he turns to admire her.

  When they start kissing, I can’t help but roll my eyes and sigh loudly. I’m still not over the disgust of watching my brother suck my best friend’s face.

  “We seriously need to find Maddie someone to settle down with,” Jazz says, running the tips of her fingers up and down Damon’s forearm.

  “You guys are killing me. I mean, can’t we just have dinner like we used to? You know, you two throwing insults at one another, making me laugh? Now it’s like a god damn porno every time we hang out.”

  “Oh, I have my first doctor’s appointment tomorrow. We get to find out how far along I am and see our little baby,” she gushes, ignoring my comments.

  “I thought you were six weeks along?” I ask.

  “Well, that’s what I’m guessing, but I have no real way of knowing because we were just doing it all the time,” she laughs. This is usually the talk I like, but knowing my brother is involved makes me want to barf.

  “Ew, all right. I’ve had enough. I’m going to grab a hot and ready pizza on my way home. You two, enjoy your night,” I say, scooting out of the bench.

  “No, Mads, please stay. We don’t hang out much anymore,” Jazz says, trying to stand up to stop me, but she’s on the inside of the booth and Damon isn’t moving.

  “You know, I’m really tired, and I’m just going to crash. But thanks for the invite and for going with me.” I’m already walking backward toward the door, so they can’t stop me.

  The moment I step out into the cool night air, I feel like I can finally breathe. I suck in a big breath, hold it a second, and let it all out. I can feel the annoyance and stress leave my body at the same time. I hope Jazz and Damon don’t think that I’m not happy for them, because I am. I’m celebrating that they got together, but I’m also mourning the loss of my best friend. She’s no longer just my best friend; now she’s his fiancée, and soon, she’ll be a mom.

  Jazz just got her drea
m job too. Her life is going places, and I’m still stuck in the mailroom, waiting for my desired position to open up. When I started a year ago, I was told it would only be a couple of weeks before I could move into data configuration, but here I am, still stuck sorting mail.

  I don’t have my dream job. I don’t have a special person to share things with. I’m not about to have a baby—thank god. And, I no longer have a best friend that’s always down to hang out. What do I have?

  I have a large pizza to myself. I smile as I look down at the warm box and take in a big whiff of the gooey cheese.

  When I get home, I kick off my shoes but don’t bother to change. I drop all my takeout on the coffee table and flip on the tv. I flop onto the couch and pull the blanket around myself. As I search for something to watch, I move all the food up onto the sofa, so I don’t have to reach for it. I look around my lonely, quiet apartment and wish I had someone to share this with. I never understood why people got into serious relationships until I saw Jazz and Damon. They’re literally never alone. They work together and then come home to each other. They always have someone to talk to, someone to eat with, and someone to hold them when they feel lonely. Maybe I should put myself out there and make it clear I want a relationship instead of random hookups and flings.

  I shake my head. What the fuck am I thinking? I like being single. I like getting dressed up and looking hot. I like the chase. I like a no-strings-attached fling. I like having complete control over the TV, and I like for things to be where I left them. I’m obviously way too tired if I’m even considering giving all this up.

  I push all thoughts away as I dig into my food and watch reality TV all alone, with nobody to complain.

  2

  Bennet

  “Who was that girl you were practically eye-fucking over there?” Phillip asks, taking off his gloves and tossing them into his bag.

  I shrug. “I don’t know who she is. And I wasn’t eye-fucking her. What are you, a seventh-grader?” I tease, pulling my shirt on.

  He laughs. “You know what I mean. You were obviously flirting. I haven’t seen you help someone with their technique like that in a long time. Since Bethany, I think.”

  I think back to Bethany. We had hit it off immediately when she came in for some boxing lessons. Sparks flew and we had the fling of a lifetime. But, like most girls, she wanted more, and I wasn’t willing to give anything else. Our relationship consisted of nothing but flirting, fucking, and leaving. It lasted a good three months before it ended, and I’ve been on the lookout for someone to have fun with since. I’m not a complete piece of shit; I let the women know out the gate I’m not looking for anything more than a good time.

  I wave my hand in the air. “I doubt this girl ever walks back in here again. She seemed kind of…”

  “Hot? Really into you? Almost jumped you when you were pawing at her?” he inserts.

  “Shy,” I finish.

  “She didn’t shy away when you grabbed ahold of her.”

  I laugh. “That was the test. But did you see how red her face got when I caught her talking about me? I invited her for a private lesson, but I doubt I ever see her again.” I grab my bag and pull it up over my shoulder. “I don’t have time to get involved with a woman who doesn’t know how to handle me, if ya know what I mean. I’ll see ya tomorrow night.”

  He waves as I walk out of the locker room.

  I toss my bag into the passenger seat of my convertible Mercedes-Benz AMG and hop behind the wheel. Twisting the key, the engine roars to life. I hit the gas a couple of times to rev up the engine before shifting into gear and taking off, causing the tires to squeal off the damp concrete.

  I drive through the city, thinking about making a stop at my favorite club, but I end up deciding that I’m too tired to play the usual games tonight. You know: find the girl, woo the girl, take the girl home. I don’t feel like having to ask her to leave in the morning. Plus, it’s a Sunday night. I have to be at the office bright and early in the morning. I don’t need to give my dad any more excuses to try to take the company back.

  I pull into the drive, my sensor opening the gate. I pull the car into the garage and make my way into the house.

  “Good evening, Mr. Windsor,” Quinn, my house manager, says, standing at attention. She’s normally gone by this time of night. I’m tempted to ask her why she’s still here so late but don’t bother.

  “Evening,” I respond, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. I turn and look at her. She’s young, and her blonde hair is pulled up high on her head. She has long tan legs and big tits I’ve noticed more than just a few times and a pink pouty mouth. She looks just like any girl I’d pick up at the club. Only problem is, she’s my employee, and if I sleep with her tonight, I’ll end up having to fire her soon after. That’s how it always goes, I’ve learned my lesson after hiring, fucking, and firing three house managers in a six-month period.

  I shake the bad idea from my head. “I’m heading up to bed. Have a good night.”

  “You too, Mr. Windsor.”

  God, her voice is so sweet. She’s like a siren, singing a song that only I can hear. I get to the swinging door and turn around, giving her one last look, trying to talk myself into asking her to come up to my room. She looks at me with her big blue eyes. Her pouty lips part and her full chest rises.

  I open my mouth, about to say to hell with it, but I snap it shut and leave the room before I can change my mind. The whole way up the stairs, I’m fighting with myself. Just ask her to come up. But if I do that, I’ll end up looking for another manager by next week.

  Quinn was hired by my mother when I mentioned needing some assistance around the house. I refused to tell her why I let the last one go, but it was because I got trashed and invited her to my room. After a week of trying to get her to understand that it was just a bodily need and poor decision made under the influence of alcohol she still insisted we were ‘meant to be.’ So, I had to fire her. She would get all pissy when I’d bring other girls home. I even found her naked in my bed one night. I like women and the comfort they bring, but I also like having my own life and space. I don’t want someone else’s life intertwined with mine.

  I let myself into my room and walk straight through to the bathroom. Turning on the hot water, I strip down to nothing and step beneath the flow. The heat eases the sore muscles in my back, and it calms all the thoughts inside of me. I’m no longer thinking about women, drinking, or sex. Finally, my head is quiet, and I can relax.

  I hit the button that turns the shower into a steam room, and I have a seat on the bench while drinking my beer. I lay my head back against the wall and close my eyes. At first, there’s nothing but darkness that I see, but then, out of nowhere, the girl from the gym pops into my mind. All I can think about is her body, how it felt against my palms. She’s tall and thin with slight curves in all the right places. Her lips are full and pouty, her eyes a brilliant blue, and her hair is so dark brown, it’s almost black. She’s different than the girls I usually go after. She isn’t sexy in an overt, obvious way and she hasn’t tanned her skin to the point of it looking and feeling like leather. She’s pale and soft. I bet she used to be goth in her younger years. I’ve never met a girl with skin that fair and hair that dark that didn’t go through a goth phase in her youth.

  My lips curl up at the corners while thinking about her accepting my invitation for a private lesson. I want my hands back on that body of hers. I want to be able to taste the sweat that drips onto those plump lips from working her so hard. My ears fill with the sounds of her grunts and whimpers that she let out as she punched the bag. My dick twitches when I think about being the one that makes her make those sounds.

  I wish I would’ve caught her name. Or asked her out for a drink. But, like I said before, she’s probably too shy to let loose with me. Then again, I like the chase, the waiting…the anticipation.

  I’m sure she’s the relationship type. She’s gorgeous, but she’s not easy. Usually, it�
�s only the easy girls that take me up on my offer the first time it’s given. I know one thing for sure: I’ll be back at the gym every night until she shows up again.

  I wake in the morning and dress for work. I step back and look myself over in the mirror. My new haircut with this suit doesn’t look right. Usually, I keep my hair a bit longer, so I can style it. It really pulls the power suit thing together. But every year, around the time that I start training for the championship, I shave it off.

  My work persona is a totally different me; it’s the fake bullshit I put on to please my family. I’m not just some rich prick that sits in an office all day. I’m driven by danger and adrenaline. I need my heart pumping at full power to feel alive. And sitting behind a desk doesn’t do that for me. However, if I didn’t keep this part of my life, I’m sure I’d be disowned by my father. To him, a real man doesn’t run around fighting. A real man sits behind his desk and gives orders, making others do his dirty work while he sits back and collects his money. My father hasn’t seen the real me since I agreed to take over this company a little over a year ago. He doesn’t know that I still box. He doesn’t know that I race, or skydive, or anything but work for that matter.

  I adjust my black tie and grab my briefcase. Heading down the stairs, I bump into Quinn again. She has her uniform unbuttoned a little more today. Maybe she picked up on my inner turmoil from last night regarding her. Either way, I’m a different me today. When I put on this suit, I’m not the man who has testosterone pumping through his veins from a good fight. This suit means I’m respected and feared and won’t be controlled by my dick. It also means I’m a fake asshole. I’m getting sick of this game of pretend.

  “Good morning, Mr. Windsor. Breakfast is ready for you in the dining room.” She reaches out and takes my briefcase like every other morning.

  I skip the pleasantries, offering only a small smile, and turn down the hall. Walking into the dining room and taking a seat at the table. I pick up my paper and read over it while she gets to work on pouring my coffee and making my plate.