I lower my face to hers until our mouths are inches apart. “If I was Elliot, you would be dead.”
She bucks hard and almost throws me off.
I let her.
She rolls, scrambles to her feet, turning fast with her mouthguard clenched tight. She looks dangerous. That matters more than whether or not she is ready.
She needs to fight someone she trusts before she has to fight someone who wants her dead.
She comes at me again. More focused this time. Her punch lands clean in my ribs. I don't block it.
I smile.
She stands across from me, chest heaving. Her arms shake from adrenaline and effort. Her fingers twitch. Her mouth opens as she pulls air between her teeth.
She wants to get better. She wants to stop being a target. She wants to be the one people can't touch.
“That’s it.”
She spits the mouthguard into her palm and narrows her eyes. “You’re holding back.”
“I am,” I say, stepping in closer. “And one day I won’t.”
She doesn't back up.
My restraint cracks for one second.
I grab her jaw and kiss her.
Her mouth opens right away. Her body leans into mine like it can't decide if it wants to fight me or fuck me. Her hands go to my neck. Her chest presses to mine. I kiss her harder. Slide my tongue against hers. She moans into my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my dick.
She rolls her hips forward without thinking. Her body remembers what we did last night. So does mine.
I pull back.
“Do you wantto keep going?” I ask.
She nods.
I press my hand to her chest and push her back three steps. “Then prove it.”
She comes at me again.
This time her punch misses, but her knee follows fast. I catch her waist, twist us together. The second I touch her again, my brain goes back to her legs around my back, to her cunt dragging me deeper.
I force myself to stay present. We aren't done.
Not until she can fight and win.
And when she does, I will fuck her again the way she wants, hard, filthy, with nothing held back.
Two monitors sit at one end, wired into Travis’s laptop. Another screen glows against the far wall, scrolling lines of code and location pings.
Travis stands at the head of the table, posture rigid, eyes locked on the data. He has that look he gets when he digs too deep and doesn't like what he finds.
Brooke sits beside me. Whatever exhaustion sits in her body has not dulled her focus.
Beau leans against the counter near the back wall, arms crossed.
