The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2) Read online

  I grab it back, making sure he knows it’s mine. “I’m going to ignore the fact you think my lips are that big.”

  He swivels in his seat to face me. “I like your big lips.” Attempting to hide his laugh, he purses his lips.

  “Really? Well, then I’m not arguing about your forehead,” I say, turning my back on him to stare out the window.

  His breath tickles my neck a second later, his hand wrapping around my waist.

  “I’m sorry, baby, you don’t have big lips. However, if you did, I know where they’d benefit you,” he whispers and I eye the cab driver who is talking on his Bluetooth.

  I turn to him and his lips cover mine in a passionate kiss that sets every nerve in my body on alert for more. My hand weaves through his hair as he presses my back to the vinyl seat. His hand slides down the side of my dress to my hemline, but I grip his hand with mine, effectively stopping our kiss. Lucas’ lips vibrate along mine because he’s chuckling.

  “No?” he questions and I shake my head to say, No way are we doing a repeat of the night we took a cab after being on the yacht.

  “Not tonight.”

  He retracts his hand and slides to his own side of the cab.

  “Why are you moving all the way over there?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.

  “When I’m around you, I can’t control myself.” He holds his hands up in the air, clasps them together and places them in his lap. “They’ll stay here until we get out of the cab.”

  “And then?”

  “Now if I told you, what fun would be that be?”

  “Hint?”

  His gaze locks with mine, lust and desire swimming in the depth of his green hues. “No way am I spoiling the surprise.” He winks and my pussy clenches.

  The cab stops along the curb of my condo building and I’m already collecting my purse, preparing to slide out. Lucas stays seated, blocking my way out of the cab.

  “Are you in a rush, Miss Santora?” he asks, digging out his wallet and handing money to the driver. We’re both well aware that every other time I’ve ridden a cab with him, he’s paid through the passenger window.

  “Come on,” I urge him, my hip knocking his, but his lips turn up. He glances to me and then back to the driver.

  “Just give me a five back,” he directs the cab driver.

  I huff.

  He laughs.

  “Lucas.” I roll my eyes.

  He laughs again.

  “Miss Santora, why are you in such a hurry?”

  The cab driver is paid up and still he sits in place, his face straight as he asks me the question.

  “Keep it up and I’ll be keeping your suit jacket.” I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows like I’m serious.

  He laughs, shakes his head and climbs out of the cab.

  I graciously accept his extended hand and I’m not even out of the cab before the driver speeds off, probably upset that we wasted his time with our game.

  “Is this where I’m supposed to ask you in for a cup of coffee?” I ask, slowly walking to my door.

  “You could ask me for a fuck and I’d gladly oblige.”

  A flush rushes up my neck. “So, no to the coffee then?”

  The doorman opens the door for us and Lucas tips him.

  “In the morning maybe?” Lucas questions as we step into the elevator.

  “Are you going to expect breakfast as well?”

  He looks up to the ceiling. “You do owe me a cinnamon roll.” He shrugs, acting as though we’re business colleagues.

  “True. Will Pillsbury do?”

  The elevator stops on my floor and we file out, venturing down my hallway.

  He scoffs, “You stole a homemade, gooey, delicious, cinnamon roll soaked with icing and you think that a pop-open-a-tube, smack-it-on-a-cookie-sheet cinnamon roll will be a suitable replacement? No, no, Miss Santora, that will not do.”

  We reach my condo and his hand molds to my hip, turning me into him as he pushes me against the door. His two arms cage me in, his lips softly brush mine.

  “But, Mr. Cummings, I don’t know how to make a homemade cinnamon roll,” I say in my high-pitched what-will-I-do voice.

  His lips betray his attempt at being serious as they turn up. “I guess you’ll have to let me eat something else in order to pay me back.”

  I look up to his face, pull his tie to break the remaining distance and crash my lips to his. Urgent and demanding, our tongues explore each other and his kiss makes it hard for my legs to support me. Our lips pull apart and I’m practically panting, locking my thighs together.

  “Miss Santora, you’re so forward,” he says, but I push him back, dig into my purse for my key and unlock the door.

  He’s still standing in the hall as I back up a step into my condo. I toe out of my shoes, one at a time, leaving them in a path as I continue walking backward, then reach to my side and unzip my dress, sliding my arms out and allowing it to fall to the floor.

  “Is this too forward?” I ask him.

  He grips either side of my door frame, his eyes bugging out of his head. Lucas steps forward, shutting the door behind him without breaking my stare. “Never,” he says, stepping toward me as he loosens his tie. The tie falls to the floor while he toes out of his loafers. He manipulates the buttons of his shirt one at a time until he stops right in front of me.

  I can’t keep my hands off him, so I slide them over his shoulders to push the shirt off his chest. He digs into his pockets, leaving keys, a wallet and a tube of Chap Stick on my breakfast bar.

  “Allow me,” I tell him, falling to my knees.

  He sucks in a breath and those hard ridges on his stomach flex as I stare at him the entire time I work on unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants and lastly guiding the zipper over the engorged bulge. I lick my lips as I push down his slacks and boxer briefs in one quick motion.

  His perfect cock stands to attention in front of my face with a drop of pre-cum ready to drip down. My right hand grips his dick and I lick the drop from his tip.

  He groans.

  I become wetter.

  Nothing is more of a turn-on than when you encase your entire mouth over a guy’s dick and he’s harder than you thought possible. Nothing is more of a turn-on than when his fingers thread through your hair and grip the strands so tight, it hurts. Nothing is more of a turn-on than when he grinds his hips because you’re just that good.

  Lucas does all of those things as I hollow my cheeks out and guide my mouth as far down on his cock as I can go. He’s too big for me to fit the entire thing in my mouth so I fist the bottom and pump him with my hand. Every time I draw back I swirl my tongue along the sensitive underside of his mushroom tip and every time he lets out a deep, guttural groan. Seconds before I’m sure he’s going to explode in my mouth, he rips me away from him. By my hair, I might add, and it makes me so wet that my panties are soaked.

  I stare up at him, still on my knees, wondering why he stopped me.

  “Not tonight,” he murmurs, reaching under my arms and pulling me up.

  Man, I love how strong he is.

  He carries me into the bedroom, depositing me on the bed. I move my arms behind my back to undo my bra.

  “No. I’ll do it.” His voice is gravelly and demanding and it solidifies that he’ll be stripping soaked panties from my body.

  “I thought I was taking charge tonight?” I joke as he crawls up the mattress on his hands and knees toward me.

  “One night, I’ll let you tie me up and whip me.” He chuckles, but I’m not sure if he’s serious.

  I don’t mind playing this cat-and-mouse game, but whips, crops or whatever else might be a little out of my league. For now, anyway.

  While my mind runs through a mental arsenal of kinky sex toys, Lucas’ mouth continues a path up my body. One brush of his tongue on my hot skin and I’m back in the moment with him.

  His callused hands run along my skin and the wetness of his mouth follows closely behind
. His fingers hook either side of my panties and he drags them down my legs. After tossing them on the ground, he hovers over me, his eyes staring into mine. The lust that’s usually there is still present, but there’s also the promise of more.

  The weight of his body gradually falls on top of me and he cradles my face with his hands. Emotions hot and wild and somehow just as calm and reassuring swell between us. Just when I feel a pricking behind my eyes, his lips meet mine and our mouths move in a slow dance. Our tongues glide, his thumbs caress my cheeks and his length circles my center. The take-charge Lucas turns into a sweet, gentle man and I like this side of him just as much as the former.

  Our hands explore each other, discovering the places on our bodies that make the other moan or whimper—for him, my hands running down his back, for me, the hollow of my neck. He never lingers too long, continuing his path of discovery to what pulls the pleasure from my lips. The wetness of his tongue circles my nipples, the hotness of his mouth sucks my pebbled nub into his mouth.

  His hands fit perfectly along my hips as he turns me over onto my stomach and slides up my body until his cock nestles between my legs. His breath tickles my ear and all too soon his cock leaves my skin because his lips are sucking a trail up and down my spine. He glides his hands up my arm, his fingers webbing with mine above my head while he moves back up my body.

  “You’re so beautiful. Your skin… so soft,” he whispers and I turn my head to give him access to my ear. He takes the hint, nibbling on my earlobe. “I could touch you all day long and never have enough,” he continues whispering while shivers rush up the back of my hairline.

  I try to raise my hips to meet his own, needing more of him. Needing him inside me.

  “You want me?” he asks, his fingers tightening in mine.

  “Yes,” I say softly into my pillow.

  “I can’t hear you, baby.” He circles his hard length and it presses into me at just the right spot when he grinds.

  “Yes!” I whimper.

  His fingers dig into my skin and he turns me so I’m on my back again. He stands and reaches into his pocket to retrieve a condom and shuffles out of his already open pants and boxer briefs. His socks quickly come off and he rips open the foil packet and joins me back on the bed.

  I rest my weight on my elbows, watching him glide the latex down his length, and my legs open wider with the undying need to have him inside me.

  He positions himself over the top of me and glides himself in, resting his weight on his elbows. Instead of rushed thrusts, he circles and grinds his hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. He sprinkles kisses all over my face, licking up my neck. My fingers run up and down his bare back. I wrap my legs up and around his waist, my heels digging into his ass.

  His slow and steady thrusts spur on a building need inside of me until I can’t take it anymore—I need hard and fast. My fingers dig into the flesh of his shoulder blades, my moans grow louder. He growls into my neck, speeding up the pace.

  At some point in the mixture of tongues colliding, hands gripping, and moans escaping, Lucas spurs my nerves into a frenzy of excitement until I can’t hold it in anymore and I unravel in his hold with his mouth swallowing down my screams.

  He grinds into me a few more times and then stills, his sweaty body collapsing on top of me. Instead of withdrawing, he cages my head within his arms and kisses me until his erection wanes. Then he disappears into my bathroom.

  I lie on top of the sheets trying to make sense of what just happened between us. It was different than all the other times we’ve been together, weighted with something more than blind passion demanding to be sated. I feel as though Lucas just made love to me, but that’s crazy. We’ve only known each other for weeks and most of the time I was acting like a lunatic.

  I have no time to mull it over because Lucas climbs on my bed, under the sheet and comforter, patting the spot next to him.

  “Feel free to make yourself at home,” I joke and he only smiles as if to say, That ship sailed weeks ago.

  “Your bed is much more comfortable than mine,” he says while I climb under the covers with him. His hand finds my bare hip, pulling me a little closer.

  “Well, I am a princess,” I joke again and that smile I adore graces his lips.

  “And deserve to be treated as such.” He leans over and places a chaste kiss on my temple.

  I close my eyes briefly at the feeling of comfort his kiss provokes. When I open my eyes, we sit there, each resting our head in our hands, staring at one another.

  “Tell me about you,” he says, rubbing up and down my hip.

  “You know everything. I was engaged and now I’m not. I work at my family’s sausage company.”

  “No. That’s what you do, not who you are. Did you grow up wanting to be a sausage distributor?”

  “Are you trying not to laugh when you say that?”

  A peal of laughter belts out of him and his head falls on my pillow. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you get it all the time.”

  “All. The. Time.” I smile. He sits back up, pursing his lips to stay serious, trying to keep a straight face. “I grew up wanting to be Mary Fiore.”

  “Is that Guy Fiore’s wife?”

  I stare blankly at him. “Yes, Lucas, I wanted to be the wife of one of the Food Network chefs. You got me.”

  He chuckles again and the deep-throated sound brings me comfort. “Sorry. Who is Mary Fiore?”

  “You don’t know?” I ask, while flinging the covers off the bed and running into my family room to grab my basket of romantic comedies.

  “Oh, boy, you are a romantic.” He’s not asking a question, but rather confirming something he seemed to already know for himself. “Have you never heard of Netflix?”

  I look up from scouring my titles to find The Wedding Planner. “Of course I have, but true romance only happens in the movies.”

  I rush through the DVDs and when I find it, I hold it up in the air. Lucas’ eyebrows rise in question.

  My shoulders falter a bit at his expression. “What?”

  “He sure did a number on you,” he says, his eyes full of sympathy. “Tell me Tahlia, did he ever watch any of these with you?”

  I stare down at my white comforter, picking off a small piece of lint and rolling it around between my finger and thumb. “What kind of man wants to watch romantic comedies?” I tried to get Chase to watch my favorite movies with me numerous times—even just Love Actually during the holidays—but getting Chase to do something he didn’t want to was like trying to move a skittish elephant.

  “This one does.”

  The tingling in my nose signals I could cry at the moment, but I push it back as the apples of my cheeks rise to limits I’m not sure they’ve ever seen.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yes. Put it in.” He slides up so his back hits the headboard, getting comfortable.

  I jump up and down on my knees. “Seriously?” I clarify again.

  “Tahl,” he sighs and I’m not sure if it’s him using my nickname or if it’s the fact he’s interested in sharing something I love with me, but a small piece of my splintered heart opens for this man who’s become the exact opposite of who I thought he was.

  22

  “So, you want to become a wedding planner and fall in love with the groom?” Lucas asks, dipping his spoon into my carton of Fudge Overload ice cream.

  I push my spoon into his Chunky Monkey, pulling up a heaping spoonful. “Well, the wedding planner, yes. The groom thing and my father setting me up with an Italian guy, no.”

  The credits continue to roll as we dig into each other’s ice cream.

  “Good, because I was torn on which would be easier, finding a fake fiancé or learning Italian and moving in with your parents.” He laughs and I slide closer to him.

  He hands me his carton and I hand him mine.

  “Why aren’t you a wedding planner?” he asks. My spoon slides around the cool ice cream, not actually spooning it. “If you’d rathe
r not—”

  “No. It’s fine.” I skim a small amount of ice cream onto my spoon. “Family obligations. I’m the oldest and there’s only my younger sister. With no boys, the company’s future falls on me.”

  He nods. “Tough gig,” he says and places his ice cream on the nightstand.

  “It’s not so bad. He pays me well and my dad made me work my way up so I know the business inside out.”

  “Hmm… so you’re a glass-half-full girl then?” he asks, getting out of bed and putting his boxers on.

  I follow him, placing my ice cream on my nightstand and throwing on a camisole and shorts. “Nothing can change, so I try the optimistic approach.”

  We both pick up our cartons of ice cream and walk into the kitchen.

  “You could quit.”

  I huff. “Yeah, not an option.”

  I grab the carton of ice cream from him and he takes my spoon. I go to the freezer while he rinses off the spoons and places them on the other side of the sink.

  “Why?” he asks and moves to the fridge. “Do you mind if I grab a water?”

  “Help yourself to whatever.” I climb on top of the kitchen counter, crossing my legs. “I can’t leave my family in the lurch. It’s really that simple.”

  He leans against the counter across from me, crossing his ankles, and cracks open the water bottle.

  “You really are rare,” he says, nodding his head a few times as his eyes bore into mine.

  “What about you? Why boxing?”

  His lips turn into a smile as big as a girl whose boyfriend just got down on bended knee. Or a boy whose girlfriend just got on her knees.

  “I love it. It’s really that simple.” He laughs lightly and pushes himself off the counter to come stand in front of me.

  “Since when?”

  “Rocky.” He winks.

  I laugh at the fact he uses the movie title. “Hmm…”

  His hands skim up my bare legs, coming to rest on my pajama shorts. “What?”

  “I’m trying to see Mary Fiore and Rocky Balboa as a couple.” My face scrunches up and I shake my head.

  “I won’t be a pediatrician like the guy in the movie, but my boxing days are numbered.” His hands continue gliding along my skin and I unwind my legs to spread them open. He grips my ass and slides me forward.