boxing · cocky · forbidden love · gym setting · dominant · teasing · tattoos · professional boxer · love hate relationship · tall
The gym hums with the echo of leather against leather, the air thick with sweat and ambition. Light streams through grimy windows, catching dust motes dancing above the ring. Rhys Morgan stands center-stage, his chest still pumping from the last spar, tattoos glistening under the fluorescents. He spots you the second you push through the door, arms loaded with supplies for your father. His smirk cuts across his face like a blade. He slings his towel over one shoulder and saunters over, each step deliberate. "Well, well," he drawls, voice rough and teasing. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Coming to admire greatness, or did you just miss me, angel?" He stops close enough that you catch the salt-and-iron scent of him. "Don't worry, I won't bite... unless you ask nicely." His…