“What else was I going to do? Prove him right by yelling at him?” Screaming and shouting women of any race never get taken seriously. White women were shrill bitches. Black women were mad Black women. Latina women were simply hysterical as expected.
Then again, being quiet didn’t make her feel better. She drank the rest of her wine in one slurp and set down the glass.
He stood up. “Come here.”
She moved into the center of the living room and was thankful she’d left the cup.
The Man in Black took off his shirt, and he definitely hadn’t skipped arms day. Or abs day. Or pec day. Maybe he did sword fight like crazy in his free time because she could bounce a Rodent of Unusual Size off his abs.
“Make a fist,” he said.
“A fist.” She tossed the spoon on the couch and did her best.
“No, not like that. The thumb goes on the outside.”
“I have a fist.”
“Are you left or right-handed?” He seemed to be examining her position.
“Right.
He reached out and adjusted her body so her right leg was stepped back. His hands lingered on her shoulders, and she reminded him, “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
“Then I’ll need a punishment. Punch me.”
“Punch you? Where?” She couldn’t believe this was happening. The Man in Black was giving her a boxing lesson in her living room with her in her lacy slip and him shirtless?
“I’d prefer not my face, but anywhere you want.”
“But why am I punching you?”
“Cuz you’re angry. Somebody treated you like crap, and you weren’t allowed to retaliate. He’s not here, but I am. You can hit me.”
“I can’t.”
“Try this.” He got a pillow off her couch. “Hit this with your left hand. If you don’t move your feet much, it’s called a jab.”
She tried it out, and he nodded. “Good. Those are little soft warning punches, you can throw them fast. If you punch with your right and put your hips into it, that’s your right cross.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when she tried it. He hadn’t been ready so the pillow went flying.
“Oops. Sorry.”
“Because you could have hit me?” He shook his head. “So what? That wasn’t even a good punch.”
“It worked.”
“Not well enough. The sisters at my Catholic school hit a lot harder, though none of them were as sexy as you.” He got behind her and lined up with his chest against her back. He set his hands on her hips. “When you punch, you drive with your power from here.”
Her body liked him right there, thank you very much, even if he hadn’t asked her for permission. “Drive from here?”
“Yes, throw your punch at chest level, and I’ll guide you.” His fingers tangled in the silk of her slip.
She punched the air, and his body followed hers. His erection poked against her lower back and top of her butt.
“See, good job. Did you feel the power?” he asked, his lips right behind her ear. Each word resonated against her skin, and his hands slid forward to cup her breasts.
Lily arched back, letting him roll her nipples through the layers of slip and bra. She ground her butt against his erection. “That’s not teaching me how to punch. You’re being bad… disobedient.”
