Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

popped around his face. For a split second we made eye contact, and I thought I understood his unspoken message: it’s time for all this attention, this painful madness to end. To finally hold his gaze sent a sensation down my spine and directly to my clitoris, my desire only slightly diminished by the fact that my heart was breaking for him.
    That gaze was quickly broken as men in suits clambered through the ropes, wrapped him in a red silk robe, and spirited him away from me. Heartbroken I sat down in my seat, listening to reporters and fans all around me saying that it was over, that his career was finished. The journalists seemed to be thinking up witty headlines as they traipsed out to the victor’s press conference while I simmered with rage at their lack of respect. Any normal fan would accept that defeat came with the territory, but I wasn’t capable of such objectivity, since normal boxing fans aren’t sexually obsessed with the boxer.
    I was in no mood to press myself against all those bodies and endure the crush as the stadium emptied, still less to wait for hours in my car to exit, so I sat in my seat until the auditorium was empty, staring at the deserted boxing ring. When I was sure I had the place to myself, I crept up to the ropes and saw that my darling’s towel lay on the mat in a crumpled heap. I reached in and picked it up, held it to my nose, and shook with excitement to know that I was breathing in his actual essence for the first time. It smelled meaty and masculine and made my pussy swell alarmingly quickly. God, I was definitely taking this as a souvenir. In the privacy of my car I could part my legs and rub this towel frantically between my thighs until the friction on my clit brought me to orgasm and relieved the tension. It would be the closest we would ever come to actually making love, to fucking. Or so I thought.
    His agent, looking downcast, wandered over to me.
    “Hello you,” he said. We weren’t on first-name terms, but he’d seen me often enough to recognize me. “What are you still doing here? Waiting for someone?” How could I tell him there was only one someone for me and that person was his client?
    “Just feeling a bit low after the fight,” I said. “I thought I’d give the crowds a while to clear out before I went home.”
    “He’s a broken man,” admitted his agent. “This was his big fight. Between you and me, don’t be surprised if he retires soon.”
    All the blood in my body immediately rushed away from my clit and started pounding in my chest. He couldn’t retire. Where would I go to see him? What would I do? I slumped back in my seat again, the towel wrapped around my neck.
    “Maybe you could cheer him up,” suggested the agent.
    “Me?” I said, not quite believing what I had heard.
    “Yeah. He’s in despair back there. I can’t get through to him. Maybe his number one fan could reassure him.”
    I shook with desire and anticipation as I followed the agent down a series of cinderblock corridors. My heels echoed on the vinyl floor as we walked under stark strip lighting, past fire exits and security doors. Not a romantic atmosphere to most, but it was to me; these were the corridors and tunnels that he would walk on his way to and from a fight. Finally we stopped at a red door, the same color as his shorts. I felt panic flutter in my rib cage and desire pluck at my pussy. Maybe it was a mistake to meet him. What if my fantasy man, my broken boxer, let me down in reality? But it was too late now.
    “Someone to see you,” the agent said, rapping on the door.
    “Another journalist come to get the exclusive on my big failure?” snapped a gruff voice from inside.
    “No, no,” said the agent. “I’ll let her introduce herself.” Then he turned to me. “I’m going to the press conference. Be back in an hour or so.”
    I put my fingers on the door handle and opened the door. He was alone, slumped on a chair in the corner of his dressing room, with