“No.”

“Here, try it.”

Torment looks from the spoon to me and back to the spoon. “I’ll try it if you’ll watch us sparring tonight. I think it would help you get a feel for the potential injuries you might face in the ring if you saw the different strikes, grapples, and submissions the fighters use. It’s just training. No serious injuries. Rarely any blood or broken bones.”

Anything to gain a convert to the cult of Chunky Monkey.

“Okay.” I waggle the spoon in front of his lips. “I’ll come, but you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Your way.” He pushes the spoon to the side.

Everything below my waist tightens. “My finger?”

His sinful smile makes my pulse throb in unexpected parts of my anatomy.

“This one.” Lifting my hand, he strokes along the finger I just pulled out my mouth.

How damn erotic is that? I dip my finger into the soft ice cream and hold it out. Torment leans forward and takes it in his mouth, sucking gently. His lips are soft and warm. His mouth is wet and oh so hot.

A soft sigh escapes my parted lips and the endorphin rush almost knocks me off my feet. Desire sings its way through my veins straight to my core. My eyes lock on his lips as they glide gently over my skin and then pull away, leaving me bereft.

Torment gives me a heart-stopping, sensual, self-satisfied smile.

“You like?” I lean in toward him as if I might miss his answer.

“I like.”

Is he still talking about the ice cream, or is he talking about me? Please be talking about me. Please be talking about me.

“More?”

“Later.” He cups my cheek and his thumb presses my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’ll be looking for you in the training ring.”

My legs melt, and I am swept up in the warmth of his gaze. “I’ll be the one staring at the floor.”

“And I’ll be the one thinking about dessert.” His mouth curves up in a wicked smile, and he presses my forefinger, still sticky with ice cream, to his lips. “Your way.”

Chapter 5

It has nothing to do with sex

Wedged between Rampage and a thick, heavyset Mexican named Jimmy “Blade Saw” Ramirez, I turn my attention to the ground-level practice ring in the training area. A few fighters join us on the bench to watch and learn as Torment spars with Homicide Hank.

Torment warms up in the corner, and Homicide Hank beats on the punching bag, stopping every few strikes to scream at the ceiling for no apparent reason.

“They don’t seem to be a good match,” I say to Jimmy. Unable to refer to him as “Blade Saw”—either in my head or out loud—without convulsing into fits of laughter, I don’t use his name at all. Rampage has still not apologized for his ill-conceived practical joke, and relations between us remain cool.

My first impression is that physically, Torment has the edge. His height will give him a better reach and his long legs will let him cover more ground. He is also broader, heavier, and more muscular. By contrast, Homicide is small, wiry, and highly strung. He jumps up and down in the corner, punctuating every bounce with a scream.

“Homicide is tougher than he looks,” Jimmy says. “He’s quick and an expert on submission. He won’t win, but he’ll get a chance to practice a few new moves.”

Torment’s abs flex as he twists and stretches. He has changed into a pair of red fight shorts with stylized dragons down each leg, and the deep cuts of his hip bones are clearly visible above his waistband. The fabric clings to every curve of his tight, muscular ass. At least I know where to look if I can’t watch them spar.

Torment turns to talk to Jake, and the light reflects off the tattoos covering his back. Larger and more intricate than the designs on his front, the tattoos cover every inch of his right side down to his waist, including his arm. I remember the feel of soft skin over hard muscle when I traced my finger along the dragon’s tail. My cheeks heat. I should have kept going.

Jake calls the start of the fight. For the first few seconds, Torment and Homicide dance around, feeling each other out, throwing occasional kicks and punches. Finally, Homicide breaks the pattern and lunges at Torment. Reacting quickly, Torment hits him in the jaw. Homicide’s head snaps to the side. My stomach clenches and I bend over and take a few deep breaths. So much for no one getting hurt.

“Did you see that, Makayla?” Jimmy asks. “Torment pulled his punch. He could have really done some damage, but he held back.”

“Yeah. Lucky Homicide.”

Torment calls a time-out. He explains to the crowd what Homicide did wrong. His explanations are clear enough even I understand. He is a good teacher. Authoritative. Patient. Encouraging. Attentive. And damn sexy.

They return to the center of the ring. Torment doesn’t waste any time. He rushes forward and knees Homicide in the stomach. Homicide staggers back into the ropes. He springs forward and into Torment’s chest. I wince, expecting Torment to fall over backward, but his massive body absorbs the blow and he doesn’t move.

Rampage wasn’t the only one who set me up last week. Cheeky Torment pulled me down on purpose when we were in the ring. At least now I know I won’t have to go on a liquid diet.

Homicide feints to one side and then dodges around Torment. He grabs Torment around the waist from the back and crouches down low. I tug on Jimmy’s sleeve.

“He’s going for a double leg takedown,” I say, my voice filled with pride as I reference the only move I know.