Beneath the Surface (14 page)

Dale swooned. She appreciated every inch of his toned flesh. The muscles of his shoulders bunched with each throw of his fists, sweat slicking across his skin and highlighting every contour. His biceps bulged as he pulled back his arm, ready to punch Angelo full force. She bit her tongue, not wanting to distract him by cheering, though the instant Kyran’s bandaged fist connected with his opponent she let go, screaming that he finish it.

The atmosphere in the room electrified, everyone focused on the fight.

Dale was aware of Sam beside her but didn’t bother with a greeting. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Kyran. Whenever he fought, her body reacted the same way. She’d given up fighting the arousal, even though she felt weird for feeling such pleasure from pain. But then she wasn’t alone in being the twisted one—Kyran actually enjoyed getting pummeled and bloody. So they made a perfect pair. She didn’t know what it was that turned her on. Maybe it was the sheer animalistic nature of two men using their fists on one another. Whatever the reason, she enjoyed watching her man.

Dale had watched Kyran so many times now she knew when he was reaching his peak. Other opponents seemed to have a pattern when it came to boxing, but Kyran always kept it fresh. Until it became clear he was leading. At that point he’d increase his combinations, snapping his fists out harder than before. While most fighters started out heavy, trying to get as many punches in as soon as they could, Kyran saved it for the pinnacle, startling his adversaries every single time. The man was nothing short of amazing, and Dale was hooked.

Kyran’s competitor started to swing his arm but stalled, wincing as he brought it to his side. Kyran saw his opportunity, whipped his arm up, and hooked his fist into the side of the man’s face. A second later, he was jabbing him in the ribs, bombarding him with as many punches as he could, as fast as possible. His assault was working; the man paled, unable to gather enough energy to fight back. The noise of the crowd amplified, the cheers thunderous as they could smell victory.

Dale felt the excitement, feeding off the energy, and screamed at Kyran, “Kick his ass, Ky!” Not that he needed the encouragement; he was in the zone. He offered up one last jab, jab, uppercut, and slammed his knuckles underneath the guy’s jaw.

A triumphant roar filled the room. Kyran raised his arms in victory before Angelo even hit the floor. Dale jumped up, cheering as she raced toward Kyran. She pushed and shoved at the advancing people headed toward the bar; everyone wanted to get a drink before the next fight started.

Winners were short-lived at Metro.

An announcement over the speakers advised that there were fifteen minutes before the next bell would ring. Dale assumed she and Kyran would be occupying the showers by then. If she ever reached him, that was.

Dale shouted his name, but Kyran couldn’t hear her. Her voice got lost in the din as someone jostled her and almost made her fall. She turned, ready to chew someone out for not looking where they were going, when a pair of heavily tattooed arms swamped her. They wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet as Kyran moved his lips against her ear. “I told you not to yell at me.” The gruffness of his voice turned her on so much she had to clench her thighs, positive she would orgasm from listening to him speak. “Next time you get punished for disobeying me.”

Wiggling around in his arms, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Really? Well then, maybe next time I’ll shout louder.”

“Then prepare yourself, Ms. Porter.”

She kissed him, smoothing her hands over his damp shoulders, and then hugged him. “Well done, Ky.”

Kyran swayed as he held her. When Dale tried to get off him, he protested and held her tighter. She liked his strength but worried about him.

Kyran wouldn’t admit if he was exhausted. He’d see it as a sign of weakness, even in front of her. So she gave up protesting and allowed him to carry her into the locker room where Sam would be waiting for them.

“Put me down,” Dale said without conviction.

Kyran kissed her cheek and lowered her to her feet. He slumped onto a bench and exhaled, closing his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Fucked. Tough fight.”

His admission stunned her. “Wow. So the great Kyran Reese does have an Achilles’ heel.”

He shot her a weak, exhausted smile. He pulled her down on the bench against his side, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to go home? I’ll drive you.”

“Haven’t we done this before?” He kissed the skin just below her earlobe. “I seem to recall it always gets you into trouble.”

“If you call waking up in your bed with you manhandling me trouble, then yeah, it does.”

He closed his eyes, mumbling about wanting to sleep. The door to the bar opened and Sam entered along with Trace. She froze. The warmth she felt from Kyran cuddling with her soon chilled as she wondered why her brother had come, too. Sam pointed at the sinks, mumbling about the shelf underneath it. Trace scowled at her but didn’t say anything as he continued his walk across the room. Dale watched Trace squat down and rummage through the gauze, bandages, and peroxide.

“How’s he doing?” Sam asked.

She stilled before looking back at Sam. “He’s worn out. Admitted as much. I’m gonna drive him home and clean him up.”

Sam smirked. “Clean? You two?”

Kyran huffed against her shoulder. On any other occasion she would have enjoyed the sensation of his hot breath caressing her skin, but with Trace in the room it had the opposite effect. She couldn’t feel aroused with her brother sitting a few feet away.

“Can you put his stuff in his bag? I think he’s about to fall asleep.”

“Sure thing.” Sam shuffled off, patting Kyran on his shoulder as he went.

“Got it,” Trace said, raising his voice as he clutched a metal tin in his hands. He looked at Dale. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s not the first time I’ve driven him home. My concern is not scratching his car. I’d never escape alive.”

“Text me when you get home?” It sounded more like a question than a demand, so Dale agreed.

Trace helped Dale rouse Kyran enough so he could walk out of the club. He carried Kyran’s bag to his car. Trace shot Kyran a look, his message very clear: Don’t mess with my sister. Trace snorted, shaking his head as he said, “He’ll be bruised in the morning. His jaw took a knock.”

Dale opened the passenger side door, making sure Kyran buckled his seatbelt before shutting it. “Again, not the first time I’ve dealt with a bruise.”

Her brother toed the floor. “Do you know what you’re doing with him, D? I’ve watched him. He can be mean and packs one hell of a punch.”

“Like I said, he’s a winner. Big, strong, and all mine. And to answer your question, I’m not sure I do know what I’m doing, but that’s never stopped me before.”

Trace huffed and nodded his head. “True.” He kissed her cheek. “Text me.”

“Will do.” She rounded the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and waved good-bye.

Kyran squeezed her thigh. “Thanks, Dale.”

“Close your eyes. Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get to your place.”

To her amazement, Kyran did as he was told. He left her in silence with nothing but her thoughts. Which wasn’t a good thing because at that moment she was wondering when her feelings for him had altered from lust to something very different. Something very danger

Kyran stretched, pushing through the last vestiges of sleep. His body ached—the kind of ache he only gained the morning after a fight. The throb of his muscles wasn’t foreign, however this morning the sting was much more intense.

He turned onto his side, grunting when his body protested.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Kyran pried one eye open, not surprised to see a sleep-rumpled Dale lying beside him in bed. She wouldn’t have left him alone in the apartment.

She always panicked about him being hit in the head. The woman was insane. He’d been managing just fine before she thundered into his life.

“Um, hi,” he said, his throat like sandpaper.

Dale caressed his jaw. “You’ll be needing makeup today.”

“Bad?” Kyran dragged her closer by the hip, entangling their legs together. Skin against skin, his senses awakened and aroused his body.

She wrinkled her nose, her voice low when she spoke. “Not so much, but you’ll need to hide it, otherwise people will ask questions . . . again.”

Reluctantly, he admitted she was right. Over the last month he’d visited the club more often, hooked on the lust that shone in Dale’s eyes whenever he won a fight. The sex afterward blew his mind and had become |

addictive in its own way. He had run out of excuses for the marks on his body, and people were starting to ask questions. The office already had one fuckup running the place, they didn’t need another. If it was up to Kyran, he would have fired his brother as CFO long ago.

“I’m sick,” he said, coughing.

Dale’s brows drew together in concern. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead to check his temperature. The action was one of worry and compassion. It had been a long time since he’d experienced that kind of affection.

“You don’t feel feverish. What’s wrong? You did seem more wiped out after the fight last night than you usually do. Did he hurt you and you you’re not telling me?”

Kyran feigned another cough, clutching at his chest. He peeked at her through half-closed eyes. He recognized the instant Dale understood what he’d meant. A broad grin lit up her face, and she slapped his shoulder hard.

“Ouch!”

“Poor baby.” She mocked him. “You get punched in the face with surprising regularity and you don’t even flinch, and yet a feeble girl slaps you and you complain?”

“It hurt, and you’re hardly a girl.”

Dale shoved his shoulder and squealed when he grabbed her waist and began tickling her. She thrashed around on the bed, her legs flailing. Dale’s laughter filled the room, prompting his own and causing him to tickle her more. That was until her knee jerked up, almost hitting him in the balls.

He twisted her around and locked his arms tightly around her waist.

They panted, Dale’s curly hair muffling his face. Her intense, sweet scent teased his nostrils. Kyran’s dick hardened, the yearning to fuck her until she begged him to stop coiling low in his stomach. He nuzzled her neck while pushing her hair aside with his nose. Kissing behind her ear, he asked, “So what do you think? Wanna play hooky with me?”

“Hooky? You? Kyran, did you bang your head last night? You need to tell me because right now you’re acting weird.”

He dismissed her question by unsnapping her bra and dragging a strap down with his teeth. “Come on, Dale. It’ll be fun.”

She squirmed, trying to turn around and face him. “Taylor needs me today. I can’t.”

He tensed. “You can. And Taylor will fucking manage.”

Dale tore herself from his grasp and pushed off the bed. Placing her hands on her hips, she glared down at him, unconcerned that she stood by the large window in her tiny panties and unfastened bra. Her curls rioted around her face and her skin still glowed from the exertion. The woman stunned him when she wasn’t even trying.

“You can’t just tell me to take the day off. You’re not even my boss— Taylor is! Besides, you still haven’t told me what’s going on between you two. Sure, he has problems, but he’s not a bad person.”

Kyran flopped onto his back, grumbling a little before getting up and standing in front of her. To her credit, she didn’t back away. “The subject of Taylor and me is closed. And I’m not
telling
you to do anything. I
asked
.

Jesus, you’re high strung.”

“What? ‘High strung’? That’s rich coming from Mr. Stick-up-his-ass. I still don’t understand your issue with him. He’s your brother. He needs your help. I don’t understand why you’re so mean to him.”

Dale tried to shove him again, but this time he stopped it. Kyran grabbed her hands and pressed her against the bedroom window. She yelped but continued to glare at him in defiance. He held her arms above her head, thrusting his thigh between hers.

“You’re right, technically I’m not your direct boss, and Taylor is my brother, but those facts change nothing. The man is pathetic, and with all due respect, I will treat him as I see fit. You have no say in this, Dale.”

“Fuck you!” she shouted.

His dick pulsed from her ferocity. She was spitting fire, but Dale ground her hips against his thigh. It appeared she got off on the exchange as much as he did. They either ran hot or cold—there never seemed to be a happy medium when it came to what was occurring between the two of them.

“I have fucked you. Numerous times, in fact. We will continue to do so because, seriously, Dale, it’s amazing.”

She moaned, pressing her lips to his. Kyran nipped her lips, and she whimpered. He pushed his thigh further between her legs as she rubbed herself against it.

“What the hell are we doing, Kyran?” Dale panted.

He bit her shoulder then said, “You keep asking me that question. My answer is still the same. I have no idea. You are one irritating woman, but I can’t get enough.”

“You’re an arrogant, controlling bastard.”

He licked her neck, tasting her salty skin before growling into her ear, “Maybe, but I turn you on. I make you wet. I give you what you want. So why should I quit now?”

Dale writhed, giving a weak tug on her arms. There was no strength to her actions. In an action of dominance, he nipped at her earlobe.

Desperation throbbed within him, pumping to the heavy rhythm of his heart. Both of them were panting. Both waiting for the other to pounce. It was a game, much like every other one they played. Cat and mouse.

A trail of sweat trickled between Dale’s breasts, and Kyran lost it. He wanted to taste every inch of her, so he lowered his head and slowly lapped it up.

She cursed. The venom with which she spat it had him laughing into her flesh. She sure had a way with words. His dick ached to be inside her.

“Dale. I need a condom. I need you.”

Nodding at his request, her body relaxed and sagged as he let her go.