He was in his element; that much was clear. The breath that whooshed and wheezed out of him as he practically danced around the ring created an odd sort of cadence that was like music as I stared.
I felt like a voyeur, like someone seeing something they weren’t meant to see… Yet the idea of turning away, of leaving him to his privacy, was more than I could bear.
I needed to see him like this. I wanted to.
The changes in him, the changes that started in L.A. and followed us here… I finally knew what exactly I was feeling. He was becoming human. Where he once seemed cold and shutdown, he now looked more alive than half the people I knew.
Butterflies with razorblade wings.
That’s how he made me feel. It was the feeling that plagued me since we had met, the feeling that took me so long to acknowledge and even longer to identify. It’s exactly what he did to me.
Because the way I felt about him…
It hurt, but like a butterfly, it was beautiful. He made me feel like I was walking on the edge of a cliff. Like at any moment the bottom could fall out of my stomach. At any moment, the cliff’s edge could tumble away and I would be left falling… plunging toward the unknown.
The fluttering in my belly was never gentle. It was as if a million wings were in there beating, making me breathless, but then the wings would come into contact with me and slice me open. Being with him hurt. Being without him… I wasn’t sure, but I thought it might be worse.
I noticed he was no longer moving. He was standing in the center of the ring, watching me.
I pushed out of the doorframe, the heavy door swinging shut behind me and banging with an ominous finality.
When I got closer, he grabbed the ropes around the ring and created an opening, holding them while I ducked inside, straightening to face him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, staring at his chest, following a rivulet of sweat that made a path all the way down his six-pack and disappeared beneath the thick waistband of the silver gym shorts hanging low on his hips.
“Me either.”
It wasn’t lost on me that the only thing separating me from him was the very flimsy fabric that made up those shorts.
“I didn’t know you had a boxing ring,” I said, my voice going hoarse.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
I was beginning to understand that. There were so many layers to him. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever uncover them all.
One of those butterfly wings nipped at my belly, causing a stinging sensation inside me.
I wanted to uncover every single part of him.
My eyes locked on his. Without looking away, I grabbed his arm, pulling the glove up between us. My fingers tugged on the string that kept the laces tight. It unraveled, loosening the hold the glove had on his hand. I brought my other hand up and gently, slowly yanked the glove off and dropped it onto the mat.
He watched me, his eyes heavy, as a thick cloud of desire grew between us.
I repeated the same process with his other hand until both of his hands were free. He reached for me, but I shook my head and laced my fingers through his. We stood there for a long time, hands clasped, staring at each other without saying a single word.
Maybe I was waiting for my conscience. Maybe I was waiting for him to turn me away. Maybe I was drawing out the anticipation until everything inside me was pulled so taut that I was sure I would snap apart.
None of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the here, the now.
I released his hands and reached out, laying my palm against his stomach. His muscles rippled beneath my touch and my skin instantly became slick with his perspiration.
I stepped forward, done with waiting, and slid both my hands into the waistband of his shorts.
“Frankie,” he rasped, his voice stilling my movements.
Another one of those razorblades nicked me. If he turned me away right now, I would likely bleed to death. I raised my eyes, waiting for his decision.
“My name…” he began. “My real name is Oliver.”
Everything beneath my skin vibrated. I felt like I couldn’t stand still a second longer because all of the energy—all the emotion that was building inside me—was dying for release.
“Olly,” I said, trying the name out on my tongue. I liked it.
He must have liked it too because he made a sound in the back of his throat and nodded.
The damn broke. Whatever thin barrier had lain between us until this point was now completely broken. I pulled my hands up and leapt at him, jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist.
He caught me, stumbled back a bit, but the ropes were there to steady us as our lips finally met.
I’d been kissed by many men in my life before I met him, but I couldn’t recall one of them now. It was like he was my first, my only.
“Say it again,” he said as he trailed kisses down my neck.
“Olly,” I purred and he sank to his knees.
He pulled back, robbing me of his lips, robbing me of the sensation of them upon me. His green eyes were practically electrified; they were so intense.
“Don’t ever stop calling me that. No one has called me that—” His words dropped away and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just don’t stop.”
I don’t know why, but tears filled my eyes. I whispered his name again and he lowered me backward so I was sprawled out in the ring and he was on his knees between my thighs, staring down at me with lust in his eyes.
He reached out, grasping the hem of my boxers, and yanked them down. I lifted my foot as he slid them off one leg and then I kicked them away, over beside his discarded gloves. I was still wearing a pair of white lace panties and a white tank top, but by the look on his face you would think I was completely exposed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as perfect as you.”
I sat up, my face directly in line with his hard abs, and I hooked my hands into his waistband and pulled.
He wasn’t wearing any boxers.
All the breath whooshed from my body and I was left with a dull buzzing sound in my head. He wanted me; that much was very clear.
I looked up, expecting to see the Charming I always saw, the Charming with the arrogant grin, the gleam in his eye… but that man was gone.
In his place was someone who was vulnerable, whose feelings were laid bare in his eyes and looked like he’d been alone far, far too long.
No, I wasn’t seeing Charming. I was seeing the real man beneath the carefully built exterior. I was seeing Olly.
“I want you,” I told him, reaching out my hand and grabbing the evidence of his want, wrapping my hand around it.