“Don’t relax while you’re on the mat,” he advises.
I squirm helplessly in his hold, feeling incredibly foolish. The indignity lasts a few torturous seconds, and I leap away when he releases me.
“Warn me next time,” I complain.
“Attacks don’t come with a warning.”
“Okay…” Can’t argue with that. Dammit.
“Be ready for anything, Fielding.”
To demonstrate, he feints left and then quickly strikes right. I barely manage to block, and the impact of his fist against my forearm sends shockwaves through my whole body.
“Thanks for the tip,” I reply, gritting my teeth as I lunge forward again.
He counters so fast that I’m down on the mat in the blink of an eye, the wind knocked out of me.
Whatever indignant remark is forming on my lips dies as he offers me a hand up. His arm flexes as he hauls me effortlessly to my feet. Just as I’m savoring our joined hands, he lets go, ending the contact as quickly as it began.
“Keep going. Sometimes getting your ass kicked over and over is the best way to learn,” he encourages… Ithinkit’s encouragement.
“That sounds like something winners say to comfort losers, not actual truth.”
“I’m the youngest of four.” He dances around me, surprisingly light on his feet as we both look for an opening. “All my siblings wiped the floor with me for years. Winning was out of the question, so lasting longer and longer was all I could hope for. It’s how I learned, and it motivated me to fight harder.”
“Oh.” Screw fighting, I’d rather learn how the runt of the litter transformed into the beast before me. “How did you finally beat your siblings?”
He opens his mouth to answer, then shakes his head. “Less talking, more fighting. You aren’t capable of multitasking yet.”
Frustrated, I throw myself into the fight, doing my best to pin the bigger man under me. That will show him.
We dodge and weave around each other. Every time I get close, he dances away or deflects the blow. He connects more often, but I don’t stop. I just keep coming, not backing down.
“Alright,” he laughs, finally breathing hard. “Now this is almost a real fight.”
Not exactly glowing praise but it fuels me on. When he gains control for a moment and pushes me back, I freaking growl and tackle him to the ground. Surprised by me, the move works and we both go tumbling down.
As we roll and twist, the solid muscle of his chest collides with mine. Our limbs tangle. The scent of his aftershave mixed with a hint of sweat intoxicates me, and it sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
“Gotcha.” The battle ends as the alpha gets on top and bears down on me, trapping me in place.
Losing doesn’t bother me. It feels like winning.
The larger man pins me to the mat, his muscular body pressed against mine, his thighs straddling my hips. God, he feels good. I arch up, desperate for more contact. Thinking I’m trying to buck him off, he pushes more of his bulk against me to hold me down and our bodies slot together perfectly.
Gold eyes bore into mine. For once, the usual disdain isn’t there. My breath catches in my throat. He almost looks as heated as I feel.
If I press a bit closer, he’ll feel my hardening arousal. And from the way he adjusts and inches his hips back, I think I’ll feel the same evidence of desire.
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly we’re leaning in, our lips mere inches apart. Warm breath ghosts across my face, and I shiver in anticipation. Would his kiss be skilled and easy, or would it be all teeth and tongue, a clash of wills just like our sparring?
The weight over me eases and then vanishes entirely as Bane rears back and leaps away. I stay on my back, catching my breath and missing the contact between us.
By the time I calm down and get back on my feet, it’s like the moment between us never happened. Bane appears the same as always, distant, impatient, mildly pissed off.
Did I imagine things?
“Let’s step it up,” he grunts.
