"C'mon," he motioned, heart pounding, blood pumping, and circled, looking for a weakness to exploit. His thin tank top was caked in sweat, loose jogging pants molded to his thighs. Across from him, Fox looked just as winded, just as sweaty. Her hair, pulled into a loose ponytail, was matted to her skull, and her tank top and pants were plastered to inked skin. Just that morning, he had spent a leisurely hour tracing every one of her tattoos with his tongue. But that had been much earlier, when the first rays of sunlight had been slowly creeping across Lake Michigan, when they'd been tangled together in the large bed they shared when they both had a mind to, when he was free to simply be Eric, in bed with a beautiful and fascinating woman. When nothing except her breathy moans and his harsh cries had filled the air as he'd entered her, started moving in slow movements, calculated to drive them both to the brink and keep them there. When all he could smell was her arousal, all he could feel was the satin of her skin beneath his roughened palms. Here and now, they were locked in a different dance, but one just as intimate. He sidestepped out of the way of her next kick, used her momentum to knock her off her feet with a sweep of his foot. She landed hard, but immediately rolled, getting back up and grinning around the split in her lip from the fall. "That all you got?" she asked, arrogance and grace radiating from her very pores. With a cocked eyebrow and a calculated punch that she barely missed, he returned the grin. "For you, sugar, I got nothing but time."
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