“Still waiting,” she breathes.
I laugh, breathing heavier now. “You talk a lot for someone about to lose.”
“Then make me.”
She presses in, trying to stabilize control.
I brace, push, roll, and break free, still on the mat just before she can position me in place.
We split apart again, pace picking up, every move intentional.
“You’re getting predictable,” she jests.
“That ego of yours is getting bigger by the day.”
“Winning will do that.”
I tip my chin up. “You’re not winning.”
Her brow lifts slyly. “No?”
I don’t answer, instead, I move.
Low this time, I manage to throw her off guard.
I catch her legs clean and drive forward, taking her down again. She hits the mat with a sharp burst of air. I follow her down. Before she can react, I’m on top of her, pinning her shoulders to the canvas.
“Now?” I ask, my breath rougher.
Her gaze dips to my mouth, holding there, heat flashes in her eyes as she bites on her lower lip.
“Still not impressed.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
I bridge the gap between us, my voice filled with desire, “Yeah, I do.”
Without warning, she pivots hard, and her leg hooks around mine, trapping it.
Her arm slides under mine, twisting and locking me in place.
I bear down, increasing the pressure.
She counters harder.
Until pain spikes sharply through my arm, unforgiving, stealing my breath. I freeze, every muscle going rigid.
Fuck, she’s got me locked in clean with a perfect arm bar.
I exhale once, throwing my head with a quiet laugh and tap out.
She releases immediately, sitting up with a satisfied look that’s almost smug.
“You let me win!” she accuses me, regarding me with suspicion.
I push up onto my elbows. “If I let you win, you wouldn’t have had to work that hard.”
