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“Want to find out?”
“Fucking hell,” she mutters, turning away.
“Come on, Nova, I’ll show you, and you can take all that aggression out on me. Don’t worry, I’ll try to go easy on you.”
That does the trick. She storms after me as I lead her to our training room. I don’t tell her that having her under me is exactly what I want. I’m a greedy bastard, and I want to touch her. Plus, fighting always leads to other things, especially this time. I’ll make sure of it. She needs to feel less alone, less scared, and more in control. I’ll offer her that and whatever else she needs.
I can take it. I’ve had worse.
TWELVE
That cocky, egotistical, sexy—wait, what?
No. Not sexy.
He’s an asshole.
It doesn’t matter that his ass is tighter than a goddamn peach or that his arrogant, dangerous smirk has my heart clenching. It also doesn’t matter that when he was pressed against me, it made me wet as hell. I left my room for a distraction after not being able to sleep, and I guess I found one in the guise of Jonas.
He leads me to a set of double doors and winks. “Ladies first.”
Rolling my eyes, I shimmy past him, and he spanks me as I go, making me realise that was the only reason he wanted me to go first. That, and when I look at him, his eyes are locked on my ass hungrily. I can’t help it. I smile. He’s so forward with what he wants, and yes, definitely a little crazy as well, but aren’t I also?
I guess we all are.
Thanks, Dad.
“Are you going to stand there fantasising about my ass or actually spar?” I joke, crossing my arms. His eyes quickly jerk to my breasts, and his tongue runs along the front of his teeth. I don’t know why the sight is so sexy. Maybe it’s the way his eyes sparkle or just that this bastard is hot as hell, but it has my pussy clenching. I appreciate a good fuck as much as anyone, but this one has strings, and I don’t do strings or attachments. I only do strangers.
Jonas wouldn’t be that.
He strikes me as the type who would want to fuck all night and then brag about it.
What is it about the cocksure assholes, though, that makes a clever woman weak?
He’s clearly deranged and fucked up from his past, but damn if I’m not curious if he fucks as good as he looks.
“I’d rather have the real thing, but fantasies will do for now, unless you want to fuck instead of fight . . . or both?” He grins as he advances on me. I slowly step backwards, already having scanned the room when I walked in, so I know there are huge mats in the middle of the room which I lead him to now like a dog.
I ignore all the weapons on the wall, the athletic equipment to the right, and the assault course to the left—I’ll explore those another day. For now, my entire focus is on Jonas. He could strike at any moment.
Once I feel my bare feet sink into the mat, I hop backwards, only stopping once I’m in the middle of a sparring ring. Tilting my head, I run my eyes down him, searching for weaknesses. I’ve fought a lot of people before, usually during training supervised by my father or on missions, but never one as skilled as Jonas. It’s in every line of his body. He works hard to be the best, to be strong, just like me. It’s probably another trait from our fucked-up childhood. It will make him unpredictable, wild, dangerous, and an actual challenge for once. The thought has me bouncing on my toes in excitement. Life has almost been too easy up until this point.
“Come on then, crazy, show me what you’ve got. Show me what I’m missing out on,” I purr, widening my stance to prepare.
His eyes narrow, and his grin kicks up a notch as he steps closer. He begins to circle me, shirtless and shoeless, as his eyes roam over every inch of my body. I feel his gaze like a physical touch, but I focus on the shifting I hear, preparing for his first move. The anticipation has my heart slowing and going into business mode despite the electricity in the air. I’m not fighting to avoid punishment from my father or even for money—no, this time, I’m fighting because I want to know exactly how dangerous the men I’m going to be working with are and to see if they can keep up.
I hear the whistle of air just before I see his arm darting past my head. I throw myself to the side, rolling away and to my feet, having to leap back to avoid his oncoming attack.
I move across the mat, on the defensive, as he kicks and punches. Weaving around me, he lands a few hits, winding me, and I bend over. With my eyes narrowed in anger, I meet his gaze. “You’re dead,” I hiss.
I lunge forward with all my strength, throwing him to the floor. I manage to get a few kicks in before he grabs my leg and pulls. Bringing my knee against his face, I hear his grunt of pain as I wiggle from his grip and get back to my feet. He climbs to his own, ignoring a trickle of blood running from his nose as I circle him.
“You’re good, Nova, but not quite good enough.” He flies at me again, mixing moves from different martial arts to try and throw me off. He should know better, though, because I’m Dad’s first experiment. He taught me all the same and more.
We fight hard and fast, equal in each way.
He’s harder, but I’m faster.
