higher than him, than anyone, never stopped being a strange, heady sensation. It was part of my addiction to the fighting ring. Being above and looking down on other people, I could almost imagine what it might be like to be taller than 4'11".
With outstretched arms, he grabbed the top rope around the ring and tugged it down as he stared at me. A predatory grin played at the sharp curve of his lips, an overwhelming tease in and of itself.
Those lips were made for sinning.
Resisting the urge to move, I refused to let him see me squirm. He hadn't so much as touched me, but he seared my skin with his brand and imprinted himself on my soul with nothing but a look. "You want me to put my hands on you, Baby Girl?" he asked. "I can think of far more interesting ways to entertain you."
I swallowed, shaking off the fog of lust threatening to make me jump his bones.
Well, bone.
"This is the only thing I'm interested in," I said.
"Little Liar," he chuckled, shaking his head. The look on his face held zero trace of the annoyance most men would have felt if they’d thought I was playing hard to get. Instead, my resistance only seemed to spur Enzo on and make him more determined to watch me unravel. Something lurked behind his eyes, a demon simmering below the surface even though his face and words seemed otherwise amused.
I had the distinct impression I was treading water in the deep end and too naïve to realize a current threatened to pull me under.
"Don't be a douchebag," I laughed. "We both know sex would be a blast, but it isn’t going to happen. So put on your big boy pants, jump up here, and show me what you've got, Enzo."
He complied, pulling himself into the ring with a masculine grace that should have been impossible for a man his size. Enzo moved like an assassin in the night, fluid and silent until he wanted his victim to feel that single moment of pure terror before it all ended. Bellandi men were psychotic, often enjoying the thrill and fear they instilled in their victims before they struck.
But Enzo was his own brand of crazy. Determined to win, with zero interest in anything but getting the job done, he didn't do it for joy.
He did it because it was his duty, and I had a feeling he was a killing machine beneath the careful facade he created to hide what lurked inside him.
Standing in the middle of the ring, I watched him unfold to his full height and smile at me subtly. A single step brought him closer until the next one followed and he stepped directly into my space.
Hands came down on the bare skin of my waist, his pinky touching the spandex of my shorts and his thumb grazing the curve of my breast all in one touch. His long fingers curled around my sides, damn near brushing the base of my spine and touching at the center. His voice tickled my senses, his breath faint but warm on my face as he tilted his down to look at me.
I should have pushed his hands away. Should have insisted he respect my damn personal bubble. But the feeling of his hands on me sent electric tingles zipping through my nerves, lighting my body until it came alive for the first time in what felt like forever.
"I'll spar with you on one condition," he murmured, moving his thumbs ever so slightly until I arched my spine to get away from that invading touch.
"What's that?"
"If I win, your ass is mine," he grunted, tightening his fingers around my sides.
"Geez, straight for anal. Could work a girl up to that at least," I laughed, squirming in his grip and trying to brush off the heat the filthy image conjured in my head.
He chuckled, reaching one of his offending hands up to catch my chin and hold my eyes. "If I win, I'm taking you to the mat and you'll be creaming all over my tongue, Baby Girl."
I smiled through the desire to run and never look back at the man who would unravel me and leave me in pieces, without a doubt. Men never wanted me for long, not with my frantic energy and need to be doing something at all times. "And what do I get if I win?" I asked instead, focusing on the very real opportunity to get rid