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IVAN
It’s only been a few days of training, but Cora is already improving. Her form is better, she’s moving a bit faster while she spars, and she isn’t ending every day near tears.
My body now aches at the end of every session—but for very different reasons.
Cora bends at the waist and stretches both hands down to her ankle. She extends her leg, pressing her hips to one side and straining her already thin leggings. She does it allsofuckingslowlythat I want to roar and rip the mirrors right out of the walls.
At least, I think she’s doing it slowly.
I might just be fucking horny.
The shower massage with no happy ending started as a way to get her back. Then Cora kept “falling asleep” before I could get to bed every night as a way to getmeback.
She thinks she’s winning.
She doesn’t have a fucking clue.
“Enough with the stretching, Cora,” Anya calls from the sparring mat. “He can’t take his eyes off of you. Your job is done.”
Cora stands up and spins around, doing her best to look innocent. But she knew what she was doing.
“Very classy, Anya,” I mutter.
“I wasn’t the one staring at my…” Anya turns to me with an arched brow. “What is she to you now? Your girlfriend? Fiancée? I can’t keep up.”
“She’s mine to look at whenever the fuck I want,” I snap back. “I don’t need your permission.”
Anya holds up her hands and backs away, a smug smile on her face.
Meanwhile, Cora sashays her way to the sparring ring. I know she’s safe with Anya. Still, I can’t shake the feeling thatIshould be the one standing between Cora and anyone who wants to hurt her.
Then again, I want her to feel like she can take care of herself. I want her to be confident. And learning a few techniques and getting stronger—all of it is helping her regain the confidence Mikhail and Alexander stripped from her.
That’s worth its weight in gold.
“Good dodge,” Anya coaches as they circle each other. “Don’t forget to keep your hands up so I can’t—”
In the middle of her advice, Cora feints with her right hand and then lands a blow above Anya’s brow with her left.
Anya is stunned for a second before she grins. “Holy shit. I guess I’m the one who needs to keep my hands up. Nice shot!”
Cora glances over at me. The pride in her eyes is plain to see. She’s ecstatic. I don’t even have to check the mirrors to know that my face shows the exact same things.
She’s my queen. Anya wanted to know what Cora is to me and that’s the answer. Cora is my queen.
As they continue, I can’t stop myself from watching the way her body shifts and bounces with every step. Her sports bra holds her chest in tight, taunting me with cleavage I want to bury my face in. Her stomach is tight and glistening with sweat. Her hips curve wide and I can see the indention on her lower back where my thumbs fit perfectly. Where I can hold her steady and fill her until we’re both out of our minds with need.
Anya shouts out a few more corrections, but I don’t hear a thing. I’m lost in a fantasy, growing harder by the second. I’m so lost that I barely catch Cora unbalancing Anya and taking her to the floor.
“How the fuck did you—” Anya taps out and sits up, arms resting on her knees. “I didn’t see that coming. How did I not see that coming?”
Cora is still on her hands and knees on the mat, panting as sweat drips down her neck. I have the perfect view down the top of her sports bra. And when she looks up at me, a pleased smile tugging the corners of her mouth, I know the game is up.
It’s time for my reward.
* * *
Cora takes a long shower.
