She blew out a breath. Heaving her mind out of the gutter, she directed the pressure cooker of her lust and anxiety at the vinyl and struck out. Left-right. Left-right. Left-right. “Feels . . . freaking . . . awesome,” she gritted in between punches. And it really did. She pictured Charlie’s apartment, thought of someone breaking into her house, recalled the precise moment she’d learned that her mom had died of an aneurysm when she’d been thirteen. And Scott of a totally mind-boggling overdose. And her father of an enemy attack. Smack-smack, smack-smack, smack-smack. Her fists pounded harder.
Sweat dripped down her face and her mind raced. Where the hell is Charlie? God, if somebody took him, hurt him . . . She punched faster. What else can I do? There’s got to be something. Why didn’t I listen to him? What if I never see him again? A moan echoed from somewhere, but all she wanted to think about was the amazing release pummeling the heavy bag brought.
“Becca. Becca, stop.” Hard arms banded around her upper body and hauled her back. “Becca, it’s all right.”
Without the exertion to distract herself, she came slamming back into her body. It wasn’t sweat alone that covered her face but tears as well. A sob worked up her throat. Nick turned her into his body, cradling her head against his chest as best he could with the thick gloves. “Sshh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
She shook her head and gulped down the jagged ball of emotion, afraid that if she started letting go, she might never stop. “I’m okay. I’m all right,” she rasped against his hard chest.
“I know,” he murmured against her hair.
Becca’s breathing hitched, and she sucked Nick’s masculine scent—all clean sweat and spicy soap and leather—down deep. After that, the rest of her senses came online in sequence. The feel of his hard chest against her cheek, warm and pulsing with life. The heady sight of his inked shoulder, bringing his arms around to hold her. The sound of his heart, picking up steam beneath her ear. That only left taste . . .
Out of nowhere, her emotions lurched in a new direction. Her tears dried up, but just the thought of acting on the urge to press her lips, her tongue to his skin had her body growing damp elsewhere. God, as wrong as it probably was, she had no doubt she could lose herself in him, that being with him would take away all the crap filling her head and weighing on her chest. Even if only for a little while.
Heart slamming against her breastbone, panting breaths falling against his pecs, she looked out over the edge of the responsible thing she should do and leapt. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered, the room spinning around her at the admission. If he hadn’t been holding her, she was sure she would’ve fallen.
On the outside, he didn’t seem to react, but their position gave him away. His chest rose and fell more quickly, his heartbeat thundered. The pressure of his growing cock nudged her belly.
The thrill of arousing him made her bold.
She pressed her lips to his chest, once, twice. On the third kiss, she let her tongue drag against his skin, drawing the salt of his sweat into her mouth. His taste—the very fact that this was happening—blew her mind, especially as his thick erection grew harder against her. Her hands yearned to clutch him, to feel every ridge and cut of muscle, but the gloves made it impossible.
“Becca,” he growled. A warning.
The need to have him inundated her. She couldn’t deny it. Didn’t want to. Her mouth came down on his nipple.
The groan that ripped out of his throat shot right between her legs and filled her with an empty ache that begged for relief.
Hands tight on her upper arms, he shoved them apart but didn’t let go. Mouth open, breathing hard, muscles rigid everywhere, he glared down at her with a lethal look that did absolutely nothing to deter her lust.
He ripped off his gloves and threw them to the floor, blazing eyes never leaving hers. And then he was on her.
Hands in her hair, he tilted her head back and devoured her in a kiss. Hot. Hard. Commanding. Her lips fell open on a gasping moan and his tongue slipped between, stroking against her own. He tasted of mint and man and sinful promise, and Becca couldn’t get enough.
The room spinning around her, she grasped at his shoulders—and groaned at the gloves. “Off, off,” she rasped around the edges of the kiss.
Nick pulled back, his face a dark mask of desire. He removed her gloves in about two seconds and tugged her into his chest, holding her tighter than before, kissing her more deeply.
Becca’s hands were immediately in heaven, caressing and grasping at the bunched muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his back. He was hard everywhere, and the strong, aroused feel of him curled heat low in her stomach.