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What a man to possess.

“So it’s just me?”

“Everything about you,” he says, copying my earlier answer.

Lust-drunk. He has to be lust-drunk.

But then, so am I.

“Except my stance,” I tease.

Chuckling, he straightens, then launches into a demonstration on how to stand, not only for a slap but other hits as well. I lose count after the fourth type of punch.

“Why do I need to know all these?”

“One day you’re going to leave sleepy little Sea Haven and backflip your way into a male-dominated field—”

I make a face. I do more than backflips.

“—surrounded by men on power trips. You need to be able to defend yourself.”

“With a hook and a jab and a…” Okay, maybe I lost track after two.

“The more tools in your arsenal, the better.”

“What if a slap or a punch doesn’t stop them?”

“We’ll get to that.”

Khaos has me demonstrate each of the punches on the freestanding bag, talking me through them, and correcting any mistakes I make.

“Good?” I finally ask. My knuckles are already red even though I’m not hitting the bag with my full power.

He gives a head tilt. “Better.”

“Can we move on?”

“Yeah. We’ll go to the floor. Get on your back.”

Flat on my back in corpse pose, I stare questioningly up at Khaos.

It’s like he doesn’t see me as his eyes travel over my body, assessing.

“Bend your knees.”

One, then the other, I bend my knees.

While he straddles my stomach without putting all his weight on me, his top half remains upright.

“Try to punch me.”

“I don’t want—”

“Just try.”

I aim a jab directly at his nose.

Khaos doesn’t so much as flinch as my fist comes to a standstill inches from his chin.