You try and tell yourself that this all comes with the territory of having a boxer for a boyfriend. Five a.m. runs with sparring matches afterwards, sometimes weight training, coming home with such an adrenaline rush, wanting an egg white omelette, or three.

You make great egg white omelettes. You don’t know what it is you do to make them so great but apparently they are, or at least he seems to like them. Enough so that he begs you to make them for him, every goddamn Saturday he’s training, which is the majority of Saturdays it seems.

You sigh, opening his fridge finding it stocked with eggs, water, and low fat cheese. If you didn’t know any better you’d think a model lived here. The only thing that gives it away is the jingle of the door, lined with nothing but Budweiser bottles.

You shake your head pulling out the cheese and one of the many large cartons of eggs. You sure do love his ass, you think to yourself as you pull out a bowl. Seriously, every Saturday you get up…to make him omelettes? What kind of modern woman are you? Your Cosmo magazine would be ashamed. But you forget all about this as your heart flutters at the sound of the door opening and closing and he comes bouncing around the corner.

“Mornin’ girl,” he says rather breathlessly, pulling various things from his pockets and distributing them on the counter; Chap Stick, a small tub of Vaseline, and some athletic tape.

“Hey, babe,” you grin, glancing at him quickly over your shoulder as you crack open an egg, using one half of the broken shell to trap the yolk in the other half and draining the whites into a bowl.

You feel his body slide in close behind yours, his small kitchen barely enough room for the two of you to stand in together. He drops a small plastic bag on the counter next to the carton of eggs and then you feel his hands slide around your stomach, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I bought some veggies this morning from that fresh market near the gym,” he says, his breath stirring the hair next to your ear.

“And lemme guess,” you say, placing the broken shell, yolk still cradled in one side, back into the carton, hands smoothing across his arms, leaning back into him, “you would like me to put them in your omelette.”

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he breathes, squeezing you tight, a little too tight. He doesn’t realize his strength a lot of times.

“How was your run?” you say, forcing back a yawn as you pull out a knife and begin chopping up onions and green peppers.

“Good,” he sighs and you steal a quick glance at him as he falls into one of the chairs at the kitchen bar. “Six miles.”

“How long’d it take you?” you ask, slicing up a few mushrooms before going back to extracting egg whites.

“Bout an hour,” he sighs, folding his arms on the bar and resting his head on them.

“You just go from here to the gym?” you ask, knowing he usually takes 9th Street to Monroe, up to M.L.K and then turns south towards Charlton Street and then huffs and puffs the last eight blocks to the corner of Charlton and Broughton, Skidrow’s Gym.

“Nah I ran through the park today,” he sighs and you can hear him shuffle off his chair, feel him slide behind you again, leaning against the counter.

You’re sautéing the vegetables, feeling him fidget behind you and you can’t help but sigh, sliding them off onto a paper towel before pouring the egg whites into the pan, the sizzling filling your ears. He’s always so impatient for his food. You know he’s starving but he doesn’t have to hang over your shoulder like a vulture.

“Babe, your food isn’t going to get done any faster with you standing there,” you say, watching the eggs settle across the bottom of the pan.

“I know, I’m just hungry,” he says, grumbling a little and he moves to lean against the counter next to you, watching as you lay the vegetables and cheese in the pan.

You finally look over at him, taking the time to take in his bundled form, zippered sweater jacket layered over a hoodie, and sweats, beat up running shoes on his feet. Your eyes fall on his face and a gasp a little, a small cut on the eyebrow over his blackening eye.

“Justin!” you exclaim, cupping his face in your hands and he tries to shake you away rolling his eyes.

“It’s nothing, babe,” he says dismissively but you tip his head down so you can get a better look. “The guy at the gym took care of it for me.”

“But you were just at the gym!” you exclaim, fingers gently brushing against his bruised flesh. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Babe, we were sparring. It happens,” he shrugs and then looks at the pan. “You’re burning my omelette.”

“Oh I am not,” you reply huffily, grabbing the spatula and flipping one side over. “You aren’t supposed to get hurt sparring.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, his voice slightly strained and you glance up at him to see him glaring down into the pan.

“Then why-”

“Because Thad punched me in the fucking face!” he exclaims and you jump slightly. “We were only supposed to be doing body shots and I was kicking his ass…like twenty points ahead of him, right? And he fucking clocks me in the side of the head!”

“Oh, Justin,” you say again, setting down your spatula to take his face again but he grabs your wrists pulling your hands away.

“Oh, stop,” he says flippantly. “You’ve seen me worse off than this.”

And indeed you have. You’ve carried him through the door more than a few times after a fight, his body leaning heavily on yours, bleeding all over you. You’ve sat by him in bed, helped him bathe when his ribs were too bruised and broken for him to really move. You’ve cooked for him and cleaned up after him when both his eyes were swollen shut. You take care of him.

But he also takes care of you. In fact that’s how you met, at some random bar with your girls and these assholes were hassling you all night. And finally one of them grabbed your ass when you got up to get another drink and when you slapped him you thought he was gonna fucking clock you. You had closed your eyes waiting for the blow and you felt someone slip in front of you quickly, gasping at the sound of skin smacking skin. You opened your eyes and there was Justin, standing in front of you, having just taken a massive punch for you, and then another and then another. He just stood there, trying to talk the guy down.

“I’m telling you man you don’t want me to hit you.” He had said and when the asshole pulled back to hit him again Justin pulled out a left hook that had the guy flat on the floor.

And then he’d turned to you and asked to buy you a drink. You bought him one instead. You’ve been together ever since.

“Is it done?” he asks, peering over your shoulder and you sigh, pulling the pan off the stove and he reaches into the cabinet, snatching a plate from the shelf and bouning on the balls of his feet as you slide the omelette onto his plate.

You watch in slight horror as he cuts it in half, allowing some of the steam to rise before jabbing one side with his fork and shoving it into his mouth, working his jaw slowly for a long time before swallowing.

He scrunches his nose. “Whew…hot,” he says before scarfing down the other half.

You raise an eye brow at him as he swallows again, running his tongue along his teeth and he grins sheepishly. He looks longingly at the carton of eggs and then back at you, tipping his empty plate forward.

“Can I have another one?” he asks, giving you that grin that you can’t fucking resist and you sigh, cracking open another egg.

“You’re so demanding,” you reply and he bounces a little, tapping his fingers against the side of his plate in anticipation.

You fix him another omelette and only give it to him when he promises to eat it like a normal human being and not some ravenous animal. You watch him eat, eyeing his bruised face, seeing that it’s beginning to swell a little.

“Justin, should we put some ice on that,” you question, leaning against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest and nodding up at his eye.

“Nah,” he says, swallowing his last bite and dropping the plate in the sink. He tucks himself into his fighting stance and jabs at you a little grinning. “We were just sparring, babe.”

“I know but…” you pause as his fists come at you rapidly, watching him bob and weave as best he can in the small space.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your elbows and trying to position your arms. “Spar with me.”

“NO!” you exclaim, trying to tuck your arms back against your body but he’s still got you by the elbows.

“Oh come on, put your hands up,” he says, tugging at you. “Protect your face.”

You sigh, doing as he tells you, fisting your hands in front of your face.

“Loosen up, girl,” he says, rolling his head around, bunching and unbunching his shoulders. “Leave your hands loose.”

You unclench your fists a little, curling your hands lightly and glaring at him. He loves doing this shit. You find it slightly annoying but he’s so fucking adorable, eyes all bright and grinning as he jabs at you. You jump a little, backing up and he advances, pushing you back until you’re in the open space separating the living room from the small dining area.

“Come on babe,” he says, his hands like lightening, the flat of his fist tapping your belly, one, two, three. “Hit me back.”

“I’m not hitting you, Justin!” you exclaim, dropping your hands to your sides and he bobs up, his right fist skittering across your jaw softly, shocking you.

“Protect your face!” he exclaims, shaking his head in a disbelieving way and you scowl at him.

“You were hitting me in the stomach before,” you argue, bringing your hands up to your face again.

“And that’s exactly how I got this,” Justin replies, pointing to his eye. “Focus. Gimme all you got. Hard as you can, come on!”

“I don’t wanna hit you, Justin,” you whine, dropping your hands again and he taps your cheekbone lightly with his fist.

You growl and pull your hands to your face again, crouching, mimicking his pose. He grins widely at you, dancing around and you do the same, staying on the balls of your feet. You take a chance, jabbing with your right hand but he blocks it effortlessly, closing his forearms over his face to deter the blow. You growl stepping forward and trying again but he evades this time, leaning to one side and you nearly topple into him with the weight behind the punch.

He chuckles a little moving back quickly, but not before reaching down to smack your ass, bringing his arms back up to block your next blow. You glare at him, jabbing at his face a few more times and he’s openly laughing at you, blocking your blows and landing soft hits of his own all over you, reaching down to slap your ass every once in a while. You’ve pushed him back into the kitchen and he’s trapped between the two counters, grinning like a Cheshire cat from between his hands and you fake a left jab to his face before bringing your right hand up against his ribs hard, your wrist jamming painfully, and you feel the breath leave his lungs, a small “humph” falling from his lips and you jump back immediately.

“Oh my god! Justin are you okay!” you exclaim as he leans over, supporting himself on the counter, head bowed. “Justin?” you say when he doesn’t respond, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m just fuckin with ya” he says, popping up and grinning and you swear you could hit him again but that punch really hurt your wrist. “You hit like a girl.”

And rage boils in you and you haul off and smack him again, open palmed on his shoulder once and then you pound against his chest a little with the bottom of your fists. He’s laughing the entire time, head back and finally he grabs your arms, holding you steady.

He always does this shit to you; gets you so fucking mad you can’t see straight and he knows – he fucking knows – that shit turns you on like nothing else. Which would be perfectly fine… except he’s training. When Justin trains, you don’t get his dick. His trainer, that sadistic fuck, insists that Justin not have sex at least six weeks before a match. It has been five weeks, four days and – you glance at the clock on the stove – sixteen hours. Sure he takes care of you. He’s not a complete ass. But sometimes his fingers and mouth aren’t enough...

“I do other things like a girl too,” you muse and he stops laughing immediately, and you smile, realizing the soft purr in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

You smile up at him, your arms moving to wrap around his slim waist and you feel him stiffen in your arms. You press your body against his, and he tries to pull back but only succeeds in trapping himself against the counter. You slide one foot between his, pressing your hip against his crotch and he clears his throat, resting his hands on the counter at his sides, looking anywhere but you.

“C’mon Jus,” you whisper, your hands rubbing his back a little as you lean up to nuzzle your nose with his. “It’s been sooooooooo long, baby.”

You press your mouth to his and feel him sigh, losing himself in it for a moment, his hands coming up to cup your face gently, his mouth sucking your bottom lip softly. You moan, leaning more fully against him, your hands moving up to delve into his soft curls, still slightly damp from his sweat.

“Babe,” he says, wrenching his mouth from yours, panting slightly, “You know how it is when I train.” And then he grins down at you, nuzzling his nose against yours, saying, “And besides I was under the impression you were more than happy with the way I’ve been…” he growls softly, “satisfying you.”

“Yeah,” you say, drawing the word out a little as you bring your arms to curl between your bodies, one finger trailing down his chest. “But I want this…” You pout slightly as you cup him through his sweats.

He hisses slowly as you press your palm hard against him and you can feel him stir a little under your hand. “Ugh you know I can’t,” he groans weakly and you press harder into him.

“Babe, you know you could just let me…” you trail, letting your offer hang in the air and you lick your lips for emphasis, watching his eyes widen slightly.

He swallows hard, shaking his head slowly and you rub your palm against him leisurely, relishing the way his eyes roll as his head hangs back, his mouth falling open in a silent “oh” of pleasure. You take the opportunity to press your lips to his neck, licking and sucking at his throat, feeling his adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallows hard.

“Guh,” he whines softly, “You know I can’t.”

“Babe, you know you could,” you say softly, licking your way up his jaw, breathing against his ear hotly.

You can feel him steel himself slightly and he reaches down to rip your hand away from him, gripping both your wrists in his hands and holding them up against your shoulders. “Baby, if I let you do it once I’m just gonna want you to do it again later.”

“That can be arranged,” you grin slyly and you press yourself fully against him and he’s almost completely hard now, the moan that bubbles from his chest sending a pulse of pleasure from your stomach to your center. You want him so bad.

“You know I’m trying to take this seriously,” he whines softly, his hips pressing involuntarily into yours, his grip loosening on your wrists.

And you can’t keep the pout out of your voice as you say, “I take not getting this dick-” You reach down to give him a gentle squeeze. “-pretty seriously.”

“Don’t saaaaaaaaaaaay shit like that to me,” he groans, his eyes rolling back in his head. “And don’t even act like you’re being mistreated… I’m the one going six weeks without a release here,” he adds snottily.

“That’s your choice, Ali,” you say, mockingly, knowing damn well it was the famous heavy weight that started this celibacy trend in boxing. “I’d do it in a heartbeat if you asked,” you breathe against his ear, relishing in his low moan, “…if you wanted to.”

His eyes snap open. “You know DAMN well I want to,” he scowls moodily. “That’s not even a fucking question.”

“Really?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You giggle as he lifts you effortlessly, spinning you so that your ass rests on the counter, his large hands skimming up your bare thighs. He pushes up the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, tugging it over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties. But not for long, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear and tugging them down your legs before moving to stand between them. You start to wrap one leg around his waist, trying to pull him against you but one of his hands grabs your knee, keeping your legs open, as the thumb of his other finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles.

You grip his shoulders, biting your bottom lip as he pleasures you slowly, the rough pad of his thumb tickling your clit slowly, his mouth peppering kisses along your collarbone. You gasp when one of his fingers slides in, cry out when he adds another, your nails digging in as he reaches deep inside you.

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, watching your face intently as he works his fingers in and out, keeping his thumb firmly over your clit and you can’t help it. Your hands begin to roam of their own accord, sliding down from his shoulders, reaching into his sweats and he gasps when your fingers grip him. His hips press forward as his fingers slow to a stop and you take the opportunity to push his sweats and boxer briefs to the floor and tug his hand away from you. You pull him against you, pressing the tip of him against your wetness and the strangled sound that comes from his throat is enough to make you moan.

“Please babe,” you beg softly, pressing your forehead to his.

And he can’t say no to that, not to the pleading in your voice, not the wetness between your legs when it’s smeared over the head of his cock. His hands move to grip your hips as you align his body with yours and you grip his hip when he starts to slide in, the feeling of him filling you up enough to make you tremble, sending you close to the edge and by the hard shudder that runs through him you know he’s feeling the same.

“Oh god, baby,” he pants, pressing himself deep inside you and you can’t fucking stand it.

You need to feel more of his skin, your hands bunching in the cloth of his jacket before shoving it roughly from his shoulders. He lets it drop to the floor and you grip the hem of his hoodie tugging it and his thin t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Your hands run up and down his chest, skin sticky from sweat and your arms slide around his back, tugging him close to you as he plants his feet, getting ready to fuck the shit out of you.

This is how it always is the first time after you’ve been celibate. He works you fast and hard, doing all the things he knows to get you off as quick as possible because he knows – he fucking knows­ – that he’s coming in like three minutes. Six weeks is a long time. So is five weeks, four days, and sixteen hours you think but all thought is erased when he pulls out and slams back in, a yelp of pleasure escaping you as he holds your hips and pounds into you over and over again, panting hard against your neck, grinding his teeth occasionally.

He reaches between you to pinch your clit and you cry out, coming violently and without warning, your pussy clenching hard around him as you moan his name over and over again, hissing slightly when he releases into you with a low grunt and a breathy “fuck.”

You sigh as he falls against you, his face burying in your neck, arms sliding around your back to hold you against him, lips smudging and kissing every now and then. He pulls his head up with a sigh, his nose nuzzling yours and you grin against him, kissing his lips softly.

You squeal when you feel your body being hoisted into the air again and find yourself hanging over his shoulder.

“Time for round two!” he says, giving your ass a smack as he makes his way down the hallway to the bedroom.

“Justin!” you exclaim, giggling madly, “What are you doing!”

“Round one was pretty even babe, you worked me…I worked you…but Round two…” he says as he drops you onto the bed, grinning down on you. “That’s when we see who the real champ is.”

You burst into giggles again as he practically pounces on you, his lips attacking your neck.

“Jesus Christ baby,” he moans, his hands roaming all over your body. “I’m so fuckin hot for you right now.”

And he is, you can feel him rock hard already, pressing against your thigh. Your hands smooth up his back, reveling in the feel of his skin against yours. It’s been too fucking long. You just want to ravage him.

He’s laying over you, his hands holding your breasts as he alternates between sucking one of your nipples and then the other, his hips pressing needily against you. You grip his hips between your knees and roll him onto his back, grinning down at him as his eyes take in your naked body, mouth hanging open slightly in anticipation.

You slide yourself against him, trapping him between your slick folds and his stomach. His head falls back against the pillows, gripping your hips in his strong hands. You pant at the feel of him so close to being inside you, sliding against you sweetly.

“Don’t tease me baby,” he moans, his hands smoothing up your stomach, palming your breasts.

“Mmmm it feels so good, J,” you moan, hanging your head back, bracing your arms against his chest, rolling your hips harder against him and he whines softly, arching up against the bed.

“Please,” he pants, lifting your hips, positioning you over him.

“I dunno,” you tease softly and he growls low in his chest, his hands pushing you down and you gasp as he pierces you, and you slide slowly down him, panting as you come down to rest flush against him.

You can feel him deep inside you, touching places only he can reach, and you’re so overwhelmed by it. He growls a little, flicking his wrists slightly and you feel him move you up his shaft and then he relaxes, allowing you to fall against him again, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes sliding shut in pleasure.

You allow him to do this several times, gazing down at him, tracing your fingers over his bruised ribs, enjoying the small hisses that escape his lips every now and then. After a few moments you take over, bracing your arms against his chest, lifting your body slowly and then slamming back down onto him.

He groans deep in his chest, his face contorting in pleasure as you ride him slow but hard, your body sucking at him, taking him deep inside you with every roll of your hips. His hands are roaming over your body, sliding warmly up your stomach, plucking at your nipples, running up and down your arms.

“Shit baby,” he moans, his hips rising to meet you thrust for thrust, sending zings of pleasure through you. “God you feel so fucking good.”

You moan in response, hanging your head forward, your mouth agape as you chase that feeling that’s coiling inside you, tightening your muscles and stealing your breath. You widen your knees a little, allowing yourself to drop more fully onto him, sending him deeper inside you still and he’s nudging that spot that makes you tremble hard, that makes your body suck at him involuntarily.

“Mmmm,” he moans, his hands gripping your hips again, pulling you down harder against him. “I can feel you, girl. Give it to me. Lemme feel it baby. Shit I’m so fuckin close.”

He arches his back, thrusting up into you, his eyes squeezed shut, his plush bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You watch him, your hands rubbing up and down his chest, feeling the muscles of his stomach contract and his hands pull you forward slightly, crushing your clit against his hipbone as he slams into you and the scream that tears from your lungs echoes off the walls. You roll your hips continuously, grinding your clit against him, riding your wave, small whimpers and whines pulling from your throat as he drains every last ounce of pleasure from your body.

His hands are still guiding your hips, his breath hitching loudly as he pulls you hard against him and you know he’s close. His mouth opens and his fingers dig into your hips and he’s almost there, and then you do it, that thing you know he loves. You contract your muscles around him, holding him tight inside you and he grunts like he does when someone punches him hard in the stomach. You’ve literally stolen his breath and the strangled cry he emits is so fucking animalistic you almost come again, and you do when you feel him shoot inside you, coating you thick and warm, feeling it slip out and down your thighs, your body trembling hard as you collapse on top of him.

His hands slide up your back, cradling you against his chest as you both come down, the only sound in the room that of your pounding hearts in your ears and your heavy breathing. His hand trembles slightly as he strokes your hair and you marvel again at how someone so strong, so capable of inflicting pain and harm on another can be so gentle, so loving. You press a kiss to the middle of his chest and he sighs contentedly, holding you tight against him, squeezing just a little too hard. He does that sometimes and you really kind of love it.

“Damn babe,” he breathes, chuckling slightly. “You fuckin worked my shit out.”

“That,” you say, pulling back to look him in the face, grinning widely at him, “was what I like to call a T.K.O.”

He growls, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and says, “You know I love it when you talk boxing. Shit that was amazing,” he sighs and the he cuts his eyes at you. “You set my training back about three weeks but it was amazing.”

You giggle a little, wriggling up to peck his lips softly, before dropping your head to his chest, feeling his heart thud steadily against your cheek.

“So…” you say after a moment and he hums softly in response, “who won?”

You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at his face and he peers down at you quizzically from under heavy lids.

“You said round one was pretty even…” you say, running your finger lightly around his nipple and he grins at you. “You said round two would decide who was champ.”

He chuckles low in his chest, sighing as he cups your face. “You babe,” he says, grinning at you. “You’re fucking undefeated.”