I should have left. Should have given him the space he was demanding.
Instead, I moved into the room. Set down my jacket. Started rolling up my sleeves.
He paused mid-strike. Looked at me. “What are you doing?”
“You said to train or leave. I am training.”
“I didn't invite you.”
“Do not need invitation. Is palace training hall. Is open to all security personnel.”
His eyes narrowed. “You're really going to do this? Just insert yourself into my space after I made it clear I wanted to be alone?”
“You want to be alone, go to your private chambers. You want to train in shared space, you accept that others may train also.”
It was a weak argument. We both knew it. But he didn't call me on it. Just stared at me with something between frustration and challenge.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Train. Just stay out of my way.”
“Will do my best.”
We worked in silence for several minutes. Him on the heavy bag. Me running through forms on the far side of the mat. Both of us hyperaware of the other. Both of us pretending we weren't.
My cock was already thickening in my pants. Just from watching him move. From the sounds he made with each strike. From the way sweat made his skin gleam.
The tension was suffocating.
“Your stance is off,” I said finally. Couldn't help myself.
He stopped mid-strike. “Excuse me?”
“Your left foot. You are telegraphing your kicks. Anyone with training would see it coming.”
“I wasn't aware you were watching.”
“Is impossible not to watch when you are making so much noise.”
His jaw worked. “My form is fine.”
“Your form is adequate. Could be better.”
“Then by all means, enlighten me.” He turned to face me fully. Challenge in every line of his body. His cock was definitely harder now. Pressing obvious against black fabric. “Show me how it's done, since you're so much better than me.”
The implication hung between us. Sharp. Dangerous. Nothing to do with combat.
I moved to the center of the mat. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because I cannot show you from across room. Unless you prefer to keep making same mistakes.”
He crossed the space between us. Movements fluid despite the injuries I'd cataloged earlier. Despite the anger radiating off him like heat. He stopped close. Close enough that I had to tilt my head down to meet his eyes. Close enough that I could smell him. Sweat and something clean underneath. Something that made my mouth go dry and my cock thicken further.
“Show me then,” he said. Voice low. Challenging. “Prove you're not just here to criticize.”
I saw the bruises then. Purple and yellow blooming across his ribs. Finger-shaped marks on his bicep. Fresh bandage on his shoulder stark white against bronze skin.
“You are injured,” I said.
