A/N: Rated M for language and sexuality.

****

"Well, if it ain't 'Nikki Kneecaps'!" Sal called, grinning broadly.

"Better watch out, Salvatore, or it'll be you next, paisano." Nikki reached up to slap Sal's waiting palm in a high-five. Her eyes went to Kovacs, who was shadowboxing on the far side of the gym. The twitch of his broad shoulders with each explosive punch was really distracting.

"Bring that shit on Saturday night, Nik," Angel grunted.

"Shock and awe, baby," Nikki agreed, kissing the old coach on his cheek.

Angel sniffed indifferently. "You and Rena gonna spar?"

"Yeah!" Nikki waved at Rena, who was inside Bernie's office. The older woman smiled.

"Right on," called Sal. "I love foxy-boxing!"

"Hey," Nikki responded, heading for the bathroom, "I'm wearing heels, jackass. Don't mess with me." She passed Kovacs, who gave her a deliberate once-over. She almost blushed as his eyes raked her fitted blouse, pencil skirt, stockinged legs, and high-heeled pumps.

"See anything you like?" she challenged.

The redhead's eyes smiled. "Ms. Washington," he growled in greeting, then tucked his head and returned to shadowboxing.

Nikki locked the bathroom door behind her and started stripping out of the work outfit she had chosen that morning specifically with Kovacs in mind. She had tolerated the skirt and heels all day in breathless anticipation of those thirty seconds when he would see her in the feminine attire.

'Masculine', my dear aunt Fanny...

She paused, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She had even applied a fresh coat of lipstick before leaving work.

Christ. Get back in the game, bubblehead.

She switched on the faucet and leaned over to scrub the make-up from her face.

Come to the gym to meet guys, do ya?

Off went the hose and the silk blouse. On went the shorts and sports bra.

Not a girl. A fighter.

She unlocked the bathroom and stepped out into the gym.

Rena approached, hands on her hips. "Why'd you take your make-up off, hon? You looked so cute!'

Nikki rolled her shoulders to loosen up her muscles. "The only reason I know how to do make-up, Rena, is because I have to make dead people look less dead."

Kovacs gave her the fish-eye, hearing her sour tone.

Nikki ignored him. "I'm gonna warm up," she announced, storming off to a corner with her jump rope.

******

She twisted under the sheets, lost in gray exhaustion. Her body ached from the rigorous schedule with which she had been training it lately, including this evening's sparring session with Rena. Bernie's wife had been a New York legend fifteen years ago, one of the best female boxers the city ever saw. She had put Nikki through her paces tonight, but Nikki had loved every second of it.

"Lookin' good out there, chica," Angel had said when the women took a break. "Fast, light. Just don't get too used to that orthodox stance."

She had felt a sudden electric twinge as Kovacs reached between her lips to remove her mouthguard. The invasion of his fingers into her mouth was oddly intimate.

The southpaw handed her a water bottle. "That's what you need on Saturday, Veronica: pop-pop-pop. Forget the power. Work tight and fast, and she'll feel it."

Nikki licked her lips now. She could still feel the rough efficiency of his slim fingers. She imagined how they would feel in her mouth under different circumstances: her wet tongue massaging the calloused pads, exploring his whorls and ridges. She wanted to lick her way along his hand to his wrist, feel the hot beat of his pulse under the fair skin, mouth the taut cords of his muscles.

She took a deep breath. No sex for six weeks before a fight: that was the old wisdom. Did it include masturbation?

It's Kovacs! her left brain screamed.

Nikki remembered how his arms had felt wrapped around her waist, how he had restrained her struggling frame against his own body with ease. His breath had been hot in her ear when he ordered her to cool it. She recalled the chiseled torso she had glimpsed for the first time in the ring.

Shit.

Maybe it would be better just to do it. Get it out of her system. She did not need to be thinking about Kovacs during the fight on Saturday. She needed to be a boxer, not a girl.

Tell that to your girl parts, sugar.

Experimentally, Nikki slid her hand between her thighs. She was not surprised by the slickness she discovered there. A sudden vision of Kovacs parting her folds with his strong fingers assailed her. Nikki banged her head back against the pillow. It was hopeless.

She prances into the gym in her skirt and heels, and he follows her into the bathroom. Their eyes meet in the mirror as he shuts the door and locks it. Then his gaze drifts away to ravage her body. He steps toward her and presses her hips against the sink with his groin. His erection prods her buttock. His hands slide under her blouse, caressing her smooth flesh. She stifles a gasp when his mouth touches the back of her neck. He teases the sensitive area with his tongue and teeth. His fingers close over her breasts.

Nikki's own fingers began to work.

You're not one of the guys, Veronica.

He shoves his hand inside her bra to tease one taut nipple. She bucks back against him.

You've got hips. Use them.

He pushes her skirt up and grips her pantyhose. The nylon tears eagerly. Reaching behind her, she fumbles with his fly and struggles to release his erection. Suddenly she feels the silken hardness, and he is shoving her thighs apart, and she is tilting her hips, and he plunges himself into her dripping center.

Nikki felt her body clenching with need.

He thrusts inside her again and again. She grips the sink desperately as he rocks her forward. He clasps her tightly, one hand still fondling her nipple inside the cup of her bra. His breath burns hot on her neck. She can sense his climax approaching.

"Yes, Red," Nikki whispered, her muscles spasming. The pleasure flooded through her,

Veronica...

and she shuddered with release. She relaxed, her breath slowing. Nikki lay in the darkness, waiting for the blankness, but it did not come.

She still wanted him.

Goddamnit.