17. Dangerous Woman, Ariana Grande
"Dangerous Woman," Ariana Grande
Cruz
“You want to teach me self-defense? Now?” She gestured to her formal suit. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, Mr. Assailant, I know my Lou-is Vit-on bag would cover your rent, but can we reschedule for Tuesday?”
She laughed, not trying to hide it for once. “Let’s call it a preview of your incubator observation.”
Oh man, I hadn’t expected her to agree. This was awesome. I leaped up to standing and held out a hand to help her up. She brushed off her pencil skirt and started to slide on her heels.
“Shoes off,” I said.
“In your scenario, I’d be wearing them.”
“Yes, but I want to train you on flat feet so you get used to how your hips should move. Heels tilt your pelvis forward,” I hovered my hands over her hip bones, “and if you don’t adjust for it, it might lead to a pinching feeling in your lower back.” She shifted her hips back, and the line of her mouth softened. She respectfully placed her heels beside her briefcase.
“Blazer too.”
Her eyebrow lifted to ask, ‘ Are you trying to get me naked?’
“Wouldn’t want you to sweat through it.”
She begrudgingly shed the jacket, revealing a crisp white blouse. She was already sweating from 20 minutes in a closed elevator, and through the shirt I could see the outline of her nude bra.
I averted my gaze and lifted my fists. She mirrored my stance.
“Okay, normally I start with the basics: know your surroundings, trust your instincts, speak confidently—not that you’ve ever had a problem with that,” I said and she grinned. “Don’t try to be a hero. If you can run, run. Of course, none of that helps in forced proximity.” I gestured around our metal death trap. “Know your opponent’s weaknesses: eyes, nose, throat, ribs, groin, knees, toes …”
“Head, shoulders, knees and toes,” she said in the cadence without the melody. God, wouldn’t she just sing for me?
“Replace ‘shoulders’ with ‘junk’ and you’re onto something,” I smirked. “When I teach class I wear a cup, but I wasn’t exactly expecting this, so I’m going to politely ask you not to knee me in the balls. Fair?”
“I can restrain the urge for a few more minutes,” she said, looking up with a gleam in her eye. Without her heels, she was a few inches shorter than me. I usually liked that glare straight-on, but looking down made her seem more vulnerable, stirring the urge to protect her.
Or even better: Teach her to protect herself.
I took her wrist. “Twist toward my thumb, it’s the weakest part of the grip.”
She tugged down instead of twisting. I guided her hand, trying not to fixate on the dusting of freckles on her wrist.
Her determined expression showed her desire for security, but she moved stiffly, like instead of listening to her body, she could override adrenaline with a checklist.
“Once your wrist is free, protect yourself. Jab up sharply with the heel of your palm. Aim for my nose or chin.”
Her palm made contact with my jaw, fingers lingering on my beard.
“You’re petting your attacker?”
“I forgot how soft it is,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling back.
“When you’re done fondling your assailant,” I said, and she bit her lip—god, that fucking lip, “recoil your strike to snap my head back.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know how to take it.” When she didn’t budge, I said, “If you break my nose, the fire department will move us up the priority list.”
She tried to scowl, but her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Ok, fine, you don’t have to hit me.”
She relaxed … until I plunked my palm on her head with a soft thud.
Her eyes blazed with annoyance. “Now I’ll have to restyle that.”
“‘Hey, Mr. Assailant, I just got a blowout …’”
Through her glare, her tight mouth quirked at the corners.
“When somebody grabs your hair,” I gently spread my fingers to turn her head side-to-side, “they have near full control of your body. Try to get away.”
When she twisted, my fingers brushed her scalp and a gentle whimper escaped her mouth. Shit, that whimper. I couldn’t think about that whimper right now, not if I wanted any chance of keeping this professional. She was my business consultant and my tenant. And miles out of my league. And humoring me because we were stuck together.
But that fucking whimper …
“Hands over mine,” I coached as her palms stacked on top. “Feel that? You’ve regained some control.” I shifted her head to demonstrate, and her grip tightened. “Grab my pinkie, bend it back and twist under my arm.”
As she rolled me into a wrist lock, I released. A victorious grin splashed across her face. She doubled down to do it again.
When my hand rose, she tensed. “Loosen up, Cobrita .”
“I am loose,” she insisted through a tight jaw.
She was thinking instead of feeling it in her body. I could verbally coach, but for self-defense to work, she had to tap into her instincts.
She’d relaxed before, in the club. Ariana Grande on the speakers, getting out of her head … and in her apartment when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, humming along and doing little sashays to the beat …
I moved behind her, broadcasting my intentions to grab her arms before I instead touched her hair bun and gave a gentle yank. Her annoyed eyes met mine in the mirrored wall. “Are you going to keep messing with my hair?”
“It's an easy target when you run,” I released, reaching in my pocket for my earbuds. I tucked one into her ear and one into mine, then found the song I wanted. The sultry synth bassline and deep kick drums began under Ariana’s breathy voice whispering about not needing permission to test her limits.
“Pretend you’re out for a run,” I spoke into her free ear. “You’re making good time, and suddenly,” I tugged gently. The bun released into a ponytail. I restrained the urge to wrap it around my hand, “you’re off balance.”
Without prompting, she grabbed my hand. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, lifting my pinkie to dip under my arm and escape.
“No more ponytail pulling,” Victoria said defiantly. She pulled out the hair tie, copper hair cascading down her shoulders, flooding the elevator with the scent of her citrus shampoo.
Victoria lifted her chin like she’d outmaneuvered me as Ariana moaned a lyric about taking control of the moment.
I grabbed a chunk of hair above her shoulder, knuckles grazing her neck, and held it loosely in my fist. “Now what?”
“Seriously?”
“‘I’m sorry, Mr Assailant, I—’”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said with what might qualify as an eye roll. “So I just …”
“Take back control. Grip my wrist. Set your feet. Grab my pinky. Peel it back, quick. Elbow up. Protect your face,” I said, broadcasting an incoming hit that met her forearm. “Twist. Put space between us.”
As she turned under my arm, our faces came closer.
“Turn into the hold to lock my wrist. Make me release,” I flipped my palm open, “then you can escape.”
When I opened my grip on her hair, a rare smile crossed her face as the sultry voice in our ears sang about wanting to do things that she shouldn’t …
I expected her to drop my wrist, step back, and set her position.
I didn’t expect her gaze to skim over my bare chest.
I definitely didn’t expect her to exhale a soft curse, then use her grip on my wrist to tug me closer.
And the last thing I expected was for her to press her lips to mine.
Shocked, I stilled. Her mouth lingered, her warm breath on my lips until she started to retreat. Then my brain caught up to reality. My grasp tightened and I kissed her back. She sighed into my mouth, still gripping my wrist between our chests in the world’s lightest restraint. Her free hand ran up my neck, giving a little tug on my hair that ran down my spine to my cock.
Her mouth was soft yet demanding and so, so sweet. Her tongue swept along my bottom lip, and as my erection pressed into her stomach, a soft groan rose from her throat. She was gonna kill me with those little noises.
Victoria released my wrist, her smooth palms exploring every muscle on her way to my ass. She tugged me closer until her back hit the wall, caging herself in. Her chest arched into mine, hard nipples covered by her silk shirt against my bare chest. I slid my lips along her neck and ran my tongue over her pulse point, feeling her heartbeat in time with the music.
“Shit,” she whispered, tilting her head to give me better access to the long column of her neck. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Totally,” I hummed against her skin. “Remind me why not?”
“Your—” she exhaled sharply as my teeth scraped against her neck, her fingernails digging into my bare back. “Your no tenant policy.”
“Right,” I moaned into her jaw, her hips jerking against mine. What a stupid idea that had been. How could I get out of it? “Not relevant.”
“How do you figure?”
I kissed behind her ear. “Between floors. No man’s land. Doesn’t count.”
She huffed a laugh as her fingertips reached between us to loosen her blouse from her pencil skirt. I greedily slid my hands under the fabric and asked, “Is this ok?” She moaned her consent, arching into my hands as they rose along her ribs and up the sides of her breasts.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about your tits that night. You in my bed,” I confessed, skimming over her bra, her nipples hardening underneath my thumb. ”I laid awake for hours, thinking about how much I wanted to do this,” I said, lifting the blouse to run my lips over her bra. She gasped as her back arched, the crown of her head banging against the wall.
I peeled down the fabric to lick her skin, coaxing her nipple into a wet peak. Her hands cradled the back of my head as I swirled my tongue around her swollen tip, bringing my free hand up to flick and pinch the other side. “Open that gorgeous mouth. Sing for me.”
Her mouth released a low, raspy cry. When I pinched her nipple the sound intensified, sending an electrical signal straight down to my cock.
“Good girl,” I said and her breath hitched. Why am I not even a little bit surprised that Little Miss Ivy League has a praise kink?
I bet her pussy is a teacher’s pet. I bet it wants to earn all the gold stars.
My palm trailed down her ribs, but when it grazed her waistband, her breath hitched self-consciously and her shoulders curled protectively.
I froze.
Her neck snapped forward. “Stop.”
I immediately removed my hands, leaning back.
What just happened?
“Turn off the music.”
I tapped my airpod, dropping us into silence.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tugging her silk top down. RIP, gorgeous tits.
“No problem,” I said, stepping back. “We’re good.”
She touched her puffy lips. “We … we can’t do this now. Not yet.”
Not yet . So not all hope was lost.
“Okay,” I said, raising my hands in surrender.
Her hands fidgeted on her neck. “I’m sorry, I can't—”
“No need to apologize,” I said in the calmest tone I could muster.
“So you’re not going to …”
Her gaze ran down my body, lingering on my raging hard-on.
What did she expect me to do, get mad? Force her?
Who the fuck had she slept with before this?
“You say you’re done, then we’re done,” I said with a casual shrug. “Unless we agree beforehand that you want to be overpowered, at which point we’ll need a safe word … and I’m not wild about somebody overhearing that.” I glanced at the elevator speaker on the wall.
She chewed her lip. It was the first time in weeks I’d seen even a hint of vulnerability, and I didn’t know how to reassure her, except …
“How did you phrase it? Both parties acknowledge their rights to freely consent or withdraw consent at any time .”
Not that I would ever sign her damn sex contract … but her brow softened when I quoted her terms. “You memorized it?”
“It seems important to you.”
“It’s not that I—“ She slumped against the wall of the elevator. “I mean, it’s not a good time for—” Her hand splayed over her pelvis.
“Oh, it doesn’t bother me if you have your period. What’s a little uterine lining between friends?” She laughed before she could rein it in. “But if it’s weird for you, I get it. I still got to lick your tits, that made my week.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she shook her head affectionately. “But no, I don’t have my period.”
“Obviously we can stop, no reason required, but if there’s something—”
She crossed her arms and looked over my shoulder. “I haven’t found a salon since I moved, so down there, it’s …” She closed her eyes to avoid my gaze. “Mallory said women get waxed before they take their night.”
Oh my god. This sweet little perfectionist.
“This isn’t your night.” I leaned on the elevator railing beside her. “It’s Monday morning, and we won’t meet the two hour minimum before the fire department arrives.”
Her arms stayed crossed, but her shoulders relaxed. “If it’s not my night, then what is it?”
Why does she always need rules to follow? “What do you want it to be?”
Her lips quirked. “Tenant mediation.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “And the waxing? That’s news to me. I don’t expect it.”
She popped her hip, shifting it into my forearm.
“Remember, I lived on a submarine with a hundred ugly, smelly dudes. I’ve seen more wrinkly, hairy ballsacks than you can imagine. Pubes on pubes.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “So if you think a couple stray hairs would turn me off … If there’s a jungle down there, I’m going in head first with a machete. We don’t have to do anything, but please don’t let that stop you. Anything else on your mind?”
Her lips tightened in a thin line before she blurted out, “I hate when people joke about the curtains matching the rug.”
Well that answered one of the many questions I pondered in the shower … and the answer would feature in my next shower.
“Never,” I vowed, biting my cheek so hard I could taste my own blood.
Her hand rose to rest on my chest, tracing the dove tattoo. Her half-lidded gaze dropped to my mouth. “Okay,” she whispered as she—
“Cruz?” Tracy’s metallic voice came from the speaker. “Fire Department will be there in five.”
I dropped my forehead to hers and whispered, “ Coitus interruptus .”