aleksi volkovinsi

The gym was quiet except for the heavy rhythm of her breath and the sound of her glove smacking against his belly pad. The lights above cast long shadows across the ring. The rest of the house slept, but here, in this sweat-stained ring they built together, neither of them was ready to settle down.

She threw a combination—left, right, left hook—and he barely moved. Solid as a stone wall, unmoving, watching her with those unreadable eyes. The kind of gaze that said everything and nothing.

"You’re actually trying to kill me tonight, huh?"

His voice was low, calm—frustratingly even for a man who'd just had twenty punches thrown at his torso.

"You asked for the real thing. I gave it to you."

She took a step closer, jabbing the pad over his abs with one glove, still catching her breath. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

"That’s not sparring, Aleks. That’s war."

His eyes narrowed just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like a man who almost smiled once in a dream.

"Then why are you still standing, detka?"

The nickname, Russian and rough on his tongue, always did something to her. So did the way he said it like a prayer and a dare all at once.

"Because I’m too damn stubborn to drop in front of you."

One of his gloved hands lifted, unstrapped her right glove slowly. Not rushed. Never rushed. He traced his knuckles down the edge of her jaw—hard hands, hands that had broken faces in title fights, now soft against her."Because I like showing off when you’re looking at me like that."

He stepped in close, so close she could feel the heat coming off him. The pad on his torso pressed into her chest just enough to remind her how solid he was underneath.

"You think I’m just looking?"

Her breath caught—half laugh, half challenge. "I think you’re waiting."

"For what?"

"For me to lose focus so you can pin me against the ropes and call it training."

He didn’t smile, but his hand came up, slow and sure, brushing her jaw with the back of his glove.

"Then lose focus."

Her glove slid over the edge of his pad, slow, deliberate. "After one more round."

"Harder this time."

"You want harder?"

"I want you breathless."

Her next punch landed sharp. He didn’t flinch.

"Then shut up and hold the damn pads."

¨50 jab cross then princess¨ he demands