Page 214 of Breaking Rosalind
“I like to work through tough emotions with exercise.”
Minutes later, we’re walking toward a set of doors leading to a vast home gym of white walls and spongy black floors, equipped with cardiovascular machines and weight machines.
Avoiding my reflection in a mirrored section with racks of dumbbells, I peer through the glass portion of a doorway into a room filled with boxing equipment.
Gloves hang from hooks on the wall, neatly lined up by size. A punching bag hangs in one corner, but what catches my attention is the boxing ring.
“Fight me.”
Cesare scoffs. “No.”
I turn around. “Why not?”
“I don’t fight smaller opponents,” he says with a smirk.
“Especially if they’re stronger.”
His eyes flare. “I didn’t say that, pet.”
“Then why won’t you spar?” I ask.
“You said fight. If you want me to help you train, that’s one thing, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”
I tilt my head. “It’s sweet that you think you could hurt me.”
He walks up to me, his nostrils flaring. “Reverse psychology won’t work on me, pet.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap.
“If you want something to punch, then use the bag,” he snarls. “I don’t fight women.”
I close the distance between us, so we’re standing chest to chest. “You’re only saying that because I beat you the first time we fought.”
“I was holding back. Besides, that drug you tricked me into drinking dulled my reflexes.”
“True.” I slide my hands over his chest, skimming his nipples. “If you’re too scared to fight me, then how about a challenge?”
“I’m listening.”
I step backward until my ass hits the door. Cesare advances on me, his pupils dilating.
“Defeat me, and you can fuck me any way you want.” I reach behind me, pull the door handle, and step into the boxing room. “Any position, any hole, with or without lube.”
His chest resounds with a deep growl. “Rosalind.”
“You can even cover me in oil, and we can wrestle.”
His gaze darts to a shelf containing supplies, including several bottles of baby oil.
The pulse between my legs pounds to the beat of my heart. “Well? Are you game or are you limp?”
His eyes flicker back to mine with an intensity that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“When you lose, I get to stick my fingers up your ass and fuck your tight little hole until you squirt.”
His nostrils flare. His jaw tightens. He stalks to the shelf and grabs two bottles of oil. “I’ll be squirting alright, when I fill your holes with cum.”
Triumph inflates my chest. I jog backward, my lips stretching into a grin. There’s only one thing hotter than an enraged Cesare. That’s an enraged Cesare with an erection straining through his shorts, ready to wrestle me into submission.