My lips ignite the moment he claims them. His arms snake around me, sliding up my bare, exposed back before gripping the back of my sports bra. It's still hard to process this is actually happening – that my body is tangled in his. From the first day I met him, I'd vowed to suppress any feelings he invoked, and now they're taking over.

He suddenly lifts me, wrapping my thighs firmly around his waist. He walks us back as if I weigh nothing and pushes me against the ropes. I let out a breath, my legs growing weak as they tighten around him, forcing his breath to quicken.

The part of me still thinking straight prepares to end this, but my body betrays me. Instead, it draws him closer, pulling him against me until every hard angle can be felt between our clothes. Until I can no longer breathe.

His chest shutters, and I can taste his control slip away. My hands run over the sharp angles of his shoulders. Every muscle is taut as he holds me suspended, but he doesn't break our kiss. His mouth lashes mine, a sign that his well-controlled exterior is crumbling, and it's all because of me.

The thought unravels me. I pull back a little, trailing the hard, controlled line of his jaw to get to his gaze. It's dark and heavy, filled with a heat that scorches my skin, but I couldn't move away if I wanted to.

"Come here," he murmurs.

"Sir, yes, sir."

His eyes flit upward, laced with frustration. "What did I tell you?"

I try to remember, but all I can think about is how badly I want him to touch me. Not in the innocent way that I'm used to, but in a set me on fire, I'm ready to burn way. "My mouth will get me in trouble."

As if to punish me, he snakes a hand around the back of my head, forcing me closer. His next kiss comes harder, commanding control the way he does in the ring, and I finally give in to him. My legs tighten around his torso, enjoying the friction it creates. For once, the heat in my stomach isn't out of fury but something equally as terrifying.

Weeks of frustration seem to spill to the surface. He's touching and tasting, desperate to punish me for every smart remark, and despite all the reasons I know this is wrong, I'm all too happy to let him. His mouth breaks from mine and trails down my throat, forcing me to moan audibly.

That's what does it – what shatters the last of his weakened resolve. He spins me around, lowering me onto the mat before sliding over me. I gasp again, surprised by the domineering look in his eye, but I've never felt more unraveled.

Eyes closed, I bunch my hands in the front of his t-shirt, trying to steady my nerves. The truth is, as confident as I'm pretending to be, I can't manage to silence Auden's words about not being Nico's type.

"Look at me, Cassandra."

My eyes flit to his, which are dark as coal as they take in my face. His gaze is demanding, challenging me to put a stop to this thing, but like a fool, I don't move. "Don't call me that."

He lowers his head, allowing his mouth to graze my cheek on its way to my ear. "Cassandra."

My throat thickens. Maybe it's the lack of air in this room, but suddenly, my lungs stop working. The corner of his mouth ticks like he knows what he's doing, which only urges me on.

Feigning bravery, I draw his mouth toward me and kiss him. He responds by sliding his hand up my thigh and over my stomach. His fingers reach the band of my sports bra, trailing over the thin material and sending quick pulses through my skin. As if he knows this, he lets his thumb gently graze across my nipple, instantly making it harden.

"Fuck," he says.

My breath hitches, and something explosive builds in my chest. This is wrong, and I know it. He's supposed to be my coach, for one, not to mention he's hated at GymCon. If anyone finds out, I won't just be banned from using the equipment; I'll be outcasted.

Is kissing Nico worth that?

His fingers gently pinch the material, sending little shockwaves through my skin. They're enough to jolt my panic to the forefront, and I sit up suddenly, forcing him back. He moves back slowly, watching me run a hand across my swollen lips. His eyes darken, filled with frustration and something I can't place, but he doesn't look surprised.

"We should stop," I say as if it's not obvious.

He lets out a rough, uneven breath. "Your timing is impeccable, Cassandra."

Without another word, he gets to his feet and offers his hand, helping to pull me to mine. For a moment, I stare at him, heated and breathless and alive.

We gather our things without saying a word, but I feel him look at me every so often, making my cheeks burn. I want to say something to fill the heavy air, but what would I say? Thanks for the kiss? For unraveling me? Nothing seems fitting, so I keep my mouth shut.

The walk to the street is silent. When I get to my car, I half-turn to face him. "See you tomorrow. For training, that is."

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him, making my breath hitch. "Are we going to talk about this?"

"There's nothing to talk about," I say and somehow manage to keep my voice even. "I have a fight that I can't get distracted from."

He stares at me for a very long time, then steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets. "If that's the way you want it."

I nod and scramble into my car before hurtling down the street, my lips still burning from his kisses. It's impossible to predict what this means for tomorrow, but something tells me that, after tonight, nothing will be the same.

Still on edge, I pull into my driveway and head into the kitchen, where Mom is tapping away on her laptop. She looks up briefly, frowning as she takes in my face. "You missed dinner. Gym again?"

I nod and grab a bowl from the cupboard, refusing to meet her gaze. If I look at her, some part of me thinks that she'll know. Her eyes hone in on me as I pour myself some cereal, and I wrack my brain for something to say. "Where's Cody?"

"In his bedroom," she says, squinting. "You look a little flustered."

I wave my hand dismissively, eager to change the conversation. "I'm fine. Have you given much thought to the marketing plan?"

"Actually, yes. I outlined a few things you can work on next if you want to have a look." She turns her laptop around to show me a full-blown marketing plan. "I have an idea for some of the promotional pictures you should take of yourself for the fight."

I glance at her mood board, taking in the selection of beautiful boxers, but as great as they look, the idea of me posing like that makes me nauseous. "I don't think so."

She sighs in the way she does when she doesn't get her way. "You have such a pretty face, Cassandra. If you want to drum up attention, some of the promotional pictures should include you."

I stop eating to look at her. "I'm not going to use my looks to drum up attention."

She rolls her eyes like I'm being dramatic, and maybe I am, but the photoshoot for her company was bad enough. There's no way I'm turning this fight into a beauty contest.

"Oh, don't get all high and mighty," she says. "You know as well as I do that society is all about looks."

"I'm not being high and mighty," I say irritably. "I don't judge anyone for doing it. I just don't want to."

"Right," she says slowly, "but studies show that people are more likely to engage with photos of people they like the look of. Not just on social media, but everywhere, and people don't even realize they're doing it."

"Mom–"

"It's called unconscious bias," she says, resuming her typing, "and you may as well use it to your advantage. A little bit of makeup, a proper camera, and you could have some great shots."

A familiar heat starts to swirl in my stomach. I stand up and put my bowl in the dishwasher before turning to face her. "Look, I appreciate your help," I say to avoid another argument. "I'll think about it, okay? But for now, I'm tired and need to shower."

She reluctantly nods, and I take is as my cue to slink upstairs. After turning on the shower faucet, I take off my clothes and hang them neatly on the hook before stepping under the water.

The hot water on my skin feels like heaven. I tilt back my head, allowing the rain shower to soak me completely, and try not to think about Nico. But the harder I try, the harder my thoughts seem to focus on his muscles and how they felt pressed against me. My thighs burn. Bad, Cassie.

I squeeze shut my eyes in the hopes of blocking him out and think about what to do next. From what Auden says, Nico is spotted with a different girl every week, which means it's not like our kiss was serious. And with the fight coming up, I need to remain clear-headed. Focused.

No distractions.

A/N

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