Page 98 of The Clinch
It’s too intimate. Too close.
Still not enough.
I gather her up and set a slower rhythm. My mouth finds her jaw, then her neck. I bite gently, then soothe it with my tongue.
“I want to fuck you everywhere, Liz,” I say against her skin. “I want you not running.”
She makes a broken sound that might be a laugh and a confession at the same time. Her arms lock around me fiercely.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Leo, yes.”
The heat coils tight, relentless. I can feel her slipping, the way her body clamps around me.
My thrusts quicken, my hips turning erratic, and I bury my face in her throat, holding her to me as I come apart.
“Liz—”
I stay buried until the tremors pass through both of us.
When I finally pull back, I discard the condom and gather her onto my chest. She melts into me, boneless.
My hand slides up and down her spine, slow and possessive. “Breathe, Flash,” I murmur.
She smiles against my skin. “This is better than a sprint first thing in the morning.”
I kiss her temple. “Told you I’d take care of you.”
She pinches my side. I don’t even flinch.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again, insistent.
Liz glances toward the sound, then back to me. She doesn’t ask.
I reach over and flip the phone.
A camp email sits at the top of my inbox, subject line in bold.
TRAINING CAMP — CONFIRMED SCHEDULE
I don’t like how fast that changes the shape of things.
Under that is another message from Elliot, timestamped earlier than it should be.
Sponsor shoot moved. Need confirmation.
I don’t answer either one, just look at the screen.
Four weeks.
That’s all.
Four weeks until two-a-days, sparring blocks, media windows, food measured down to the gram, sleep like a religion, and everybody around me acting like the belt is the only thing in the room that matters.
Liz watches me with that ER precision that finds the fracture before you even admit it hurts. “What is it?”
