“Stop,” I command when she’s mid punch. “You’re standing wrong, and your punches are sloppy. Keep that up, and you’ll hurt yourself for no reason.”
Before she can glare at me again, I let go of the bag, move so I’m standing behind her, and reach for her hips, adjusting her so she’s once again facing the heavy bag straight on. I can feel waves of heat coming off her body, and small beads of sweat stick wayward strands of hair to her skin. More thoughts of murdering Nolan spring to mind, when I notice the entire back of the damn top is nothing but a few strings attached to a thick band that has very bra like hooks on it.
To kill a succubus, go for ranged attacks. If they get too close and are able to make physical contact, their control over sexual energy… and enough of thinking about succubi.
I swallow a groan, as she tilts her head at an angle that better exposes the crook of her neck, and the heady blend of pomegranate and orchids tease my nose.
Clearing my throat, I instruct, “Remember, you want to keep your hips facing your target, it allows you to quickly switch your weight to either foot in case you need to block or keep yourself standing after a leg sweep.”
Strangely quiet, she nods and makes a throaty hum of affirmation. I expected at least some griping over me correcting her.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Girls don’t get in my head like this. Maybe it’s because if Callie was any other girl, I would’ve already had her in bed by now-- or walked away. I’m always in it for the good time, nothing more. Callie deserves more. She deserves a stand-up guy that can be the perfect boyfriend; not some asshole that’ll be gone in a year and dead in seven. As much as it irritates the shit out of me, she deserves someone like Kaleb.
She’s become something I can’t have… that must be it. And now we’re alone, the sun has set, casting the heated gym in a soft yellow from the built in lights, and the music is so loud that I can feel the beat in my chest, drowning out anything we say from outside ears.Add that to the list of things I shouldn’t think about.
My brain and body must not be on fucking speaking terms, because my hands slowly slide up her sides on my way to adjusting her arms. I revel in the shiver that runs down her spine. I’m a special grade of asshole. Just because I can’t have her, doesn’t mean I don’t want her to want me.
Her golden skin is soft to the touch, as I gently encircle my fingers around her small wrists. Now that the idea of seducing her is in my head, I can’t seem to get it out, even if I don’t actually want anything to happen.I don’t, damn it!
The first time I instructed her, I was all business, but this time, I lean down so I can whisper in her ear like a lover trying to convince her to find a dark, quiet corner we can be alone in, “You want to keep your arms at a ninety degree angle, and roughly shoulder width apart.” This is accompanied by me slowly moving her arms to the instructed positions.
“Mmmhmm… ninety degree angles… right,” she stutters out, her husky voice having a breathless quality to it.
An evil grin rolls across my lips, pleased to see that I’m affecting her. My right hand glides up her arm toward her shoulder, and I lead her into the correct form of a proper punch. “Once you turn into the punch, you want to keep everything straight from your shoulder to your fist, because that’s how you gain the full power from your momentum,” I release a low chuckle, “and keep from breaking your wrist.”
“That… um… would be bad,” she murmurs, her breaths coming in shallow puffs.
“Ready to try it on your own?” I ask, like I have no idea the effect I’m having.
“Um… yeah, sure,” she breathes, “but can I ask you a question first?”
A sliver of fear pierces my heart, freezing it in place for a couple of beats, afraid she’s going to call me out on the shit I’m doing.
“Sure,” I answer, attempting a less ‘you want to fuck me’ voice.
“Have we reached the casual touching stage of our friendship?”
She asks so innocently that I start to wonder if I’m reading her wrong, and I’m the only one affected by our proximity. This is followed by the overwhelming desire to feel her hands on me again-- her cool fingers causing rippling shivers of awareness as she traces the tattooed feathers on my back. I liked it a little too much last time, so when I saw how affected Kaleb was when she touched his wings, I knew I couldn’t let her touch mine.
I step back from her, running a hand through my hair, and concentrate on controlling my breathing. “What do you mean?”
Callie turns so she’s looking up at me, nervousness pulling at her features, and she’s back to biting her lip again.
Brain and body are definitely not talking, as I reach up and gently extract her lip from her teeth. I pull my hand away, before I can run my thumb along the abused flesh.
“That,” she answers, her arms clumsily shifting because her hands are still trapped in the gloves. “I mean with Nolan, he’s… well, Nolan. Touching and being touched is like breathing for him. Kaleb always invites my touch, holding out his hands or arms or whatever. I’m starting to get the feeling that Connor almost needs my touch, and he’s patted my head and sniffed my hair, so what are personal boundaries after that?” she snorts, then keeps rambling, her cadence picking up speed, “I can’t exactly touch Felix, but if I could, I imagine he’d be okay with it. But with you, I don’t know, it always feels like there’s a purpose to it. You touch me because you need to show me something or get my attention or keep me from falling on my face… and I’m really only starting to get how all this stuff works. Wasn’t big on the touching before I got here, so I thought I’d just ask.”
After that long ass explanation, she’s panting and swallows heavily.
If you only knew how unnecessary a lot of my earlier touching was, though you’re right, it did have purpose. The wrong kind.
The smart thing to do would be to tell her that I’m not big on touching, which is a fucking lie… sort off. I mean, I don’t go looking for it or anything, but if a hot girl wants to put her hands on me-- and plenty do-- I’m not going to complain. I’m like fucking catnip to the girls who want to fix the bad boy… save him with their love or whatever. Except I don’t need saving or fixing.
“Do you want to touch me?” is what slips from my lips, because when it comes to Callie, I’m a fucking moron.
“I don’t not want to touch you, but I want to know that you want me to if I do. Ugh, I’m not making sense,” she grumbles, finally settling her hands on her hips. “I really need a Dummies Guide to all of this.”
It’s official. I’ve lost my damn mind.
