Fight Dirty (Black Rose Kisses 1)

“Ooh, there was some fire in that one,” he says when I land a particularly hard punch.

“I was imagining it was your face,” I snap back, and he laughs and pushes me back a bit.

“Aw, you’re going to hurt my feelings,” he teases. “Here I am trying to be helpful, and you’re thinking about hitting me.” He cocks a brow. “But between you and me, I don’t think punching would be the first thing you’d want to do with my face.”

I glare at him and lash out harder, but he blocks each hit easily.

“Think whatever you want,” I grunt. “Doesn’t change the truth.”

He’s a good fighter, I have to give him that. He’s not as polished as someone who does it all the time, like my dad, but he’s got really good instincts and natural balance and a sort of grace that carries over from the easygoing way he is in life, I guess.

He makes each block look effortless, and I have to work hard to take him by surprise. It’s a good thing for my training, and I have to grudgingly admit that I’m enjoying myself.

Of course, there comes a point when he gets too cocky. He’s laughing, dancing back a bit and making me come to him, holding his hands up higher so I have to reach up to hit them.

“What would you do if you had to fight a guy so much taller than you?” he taunts, eyes bright with amusement.

I’m not even short, and his constant joking is grating enough that I decide to take him down a peg.

“I’d aim for his balls,” I reply. Then, instead of kicking him right in the dick like I’d really like to, I drop a little and sweep his leg out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap. I go down with him in a smooth motion, taking advantage of his vulnerable position and straddling him in a full mount.

He looks surprised at the takedown but not upset about it, and I spare a second to wonder what it takes to really get under this guy’s skin.

“Whoa, Hurricane. That move definitely isn’t regulation.” He chuckles, grinning crookedly.

“So? I fight dirty. What’re you gonna do about it?” I shoot back, staring him right in the face, daring him to make a big deal about getting his ass kicked by a girl.

His grin grows, and he bucks his hips, shifting his weight so he can flip us over in one fluid motion that leaves me surprised and breathless, flat on my back. I end up pinned under him, one of his legs between mine, his face just inches away as he holds himself up above me.

“I do everything dirty,” he says, his voice dipping down into a lower tone that pulls a shiver up my spine.

He’s close enough that I can smell him, sweat mixed with something fresh and clean under it. And I can feel him against me, hot and getting hard, either from the sparring or the proximity or both.

Shit. This was a bad idea.

I’m still emotionally on edge from my fight with Sloan and everything else that’s happened over the past week. A restless sort of energy is creeping under my skin, and it has to get out some way.

It needs some sort of fucking release.

I lick my lips, feeling my own body responding to his obvious arousal. My nipples are hard, pressing against the thin material of my sports bra, and there’s a throbbing ache between my legs. It’s a struggle not to push up and rub against the sturdy thigh that’s wedged between mine, but I’m trying to keep my distance, trying to ignore the thrumming, pulsing heat inside me that’s calling me to grind against him and give in to the pleasure I want to feel.

Rory’s eyes widen a little. His gaze lingers on my face for a second before it drops down to my mouth, and I don’t know which of us moves first, but the thread of tension that’s been growing this whole time finally snaps.

We’re kissing a second later, his mouth hard and hot against mine, demanding and unyielding. I arch up with a soft gasp into his mouth, hands going to his shoulders, holding on to him like I need an anchor.

Whatever I’m hoping to save myself from by clinging to him, it doesn’t work. The searing heat between us just grows, and Rory laughs under his breath, pressing me harder against the floor as he slips his tongue into my mouth.

I definitely don’t mind the tongue, or the aggressive moves. No one’s ever accused me of being passive when it comes to shit like this. I’m not some soft girl who needs to be wooed and coddled, and I prove that by shifting under him until I have enough leverage to roll us over once more, feeling triumphant when I end up on top of him.

Of course Rory kisses like he does everything else, playful and teasing, but with a hard edge to it. He licks into my mouth, coaxing my tongue to tangle and slide with his, and then runs his hands down my

back to land at my hips. They rest there for a second, and he drags me in closer, letting me feel how hard he is as we kiss.

I can hear myself moaning into his mouth, and if I were in my right fucking mind right now, I’d tell myself to shut up. To not let him know that he’s getting under my skin. To not let him hear how much I like this.

But I’m very much not in my right mind, so all I do is press down harder, rubbing against him and enjoying the hard slide of our bodies together before he flips us one more time, reclaiming the top spot.

It’s almost like sparring, the way we keep shifting the upper hand, mouths clashing together. There’s nothing timid or gentle about it, and that makes it even better. Even harder to resist.