Chapter 8 Calli
CALLI
"And what is that?" I ask, taking a sip of wine to hide my intrigue that's making me almost giggle.
"Maybe you could show me some of your moves."
"My what?"
"I know you train. I want to see it," he says, leaning against the island and crossing his arms. "Maybe I can even show you a few of my moves."
"Like, right now?"
"Why not?"
"Well, I'm in a dress, for starters."
"Ah," he says and pushes off the counter. "Sounds like excuses."
"What? No way," I say and lean in. "You want to spar?"
He shrugs. "Unless you're scared I'll beat you."
"Oh, it's on," I say, hopping off the stool. "I should warn you, I'm better than I look."
"We'll see about that," he says and smiles.
I turn and start walking.
"Wait. Where are you going?" he asks.
"To change," I say and turn to face him. "I'm not going to ruin this new dress while I'm kicking your butt."
I head to my room and quickly change into black compression shorts and a tank top. Instinctively, I reach for a hair tie and pause. I spent way too much time making my hair look nice.
Screw it. If my hair in a ponytail turns him off, his loss.
I glance at myself in the mirror, and my eyes are too bright, my cheeks flushed. I look a little too eager to be doing this.
When I walk back into the living room, Niko's eyes trace over my body, lingering on my bare legs. A muscle in his jaw tightens.
"Follow me," I say, not waiting for a response.
I lead him through the cottage to the small gym I've been using. It's big enough for us to practice in.
I walk to where I keep my gear and grab my hand wraps. "You going to spar in your fancy pants?"
He takes off his shoes and, with a half-smile, starts unbuttoning his shirt. "I'd hate to give you any excuses when I win."
I snort, beginning to wrap my hands. "Big talk from someone who hasn't seen what I can do."
He watches the process intently, those dark eyes following each loop of fabric around my knuckles. "I've seen more than you think, orea mou."
I look up at him and give him a smile. I bet you have.
He says nothing and takes his shirt off, and just when I think he's going to stay in his white undershirt, he removes that too.
My skin prickles in every way possible. I knew he was fit under those suits, but not like this. He looks like something sculpted to tempt women into ruin.
Chiseled chest, perfect pecs, his stomach contracts with each breath, drawing attention to his defined six-pack and that perfect V-shape that draws your eyes to his...
I clear my throat and look back up at him.
I slip on my gloves, flexing my fingers inside them.
"Ready?" I ask, stepping onto the mat.
Niko follows me and raises his hands into a defensive position, and I notice the faint scars across his knuckles.
"No gloves?" I ask.
He laughs. "I can win without hitting you."
I narrow my eyes and raise my hands. "Well, I'm going to hit you."
"There's your fire," he says and winks. "Ladies first."
This man is insane.
I like it.
I bounce lightly on my feet and circle him slowly, sizing him up. He's bigger, stronger, but I've always been quick. I throw a testing jab. He deflects it easily, almost lazily.
"That all you got, Calli?" he taunts.
I narrow my eyes and throw a quick combination. Jab, cross, hook. He blocks each one.
"There we go. Not bad," he says, and I can hear the genuine appreciation in his voice.
We continue like this, a dance of attack and defense. I land a few hits; he blocks most. He doesn't throw many punches of his own, just light taps that let me know he could have hit harder if he wanted to. It's both infuriating and thrilling.
"Stop holding back," I say between breaths.
"You sure about that?" His voice drops lower, a challenge threading through it.
"Positive."
He moves faster then, his footwork impressive as he pushes me back, forcing me to be defensive. I duck under one of his strikes and manage to land a solid hit to his ribs. He catches my next punch and uses my momentum to spin me.
Before I can recover, his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him. My back presses to his chest as he locks my arms in place.
"Good," he says, his breath hot against my ear. "But I can show you some better moves."
Our bodies are flush together. I can feel the hard planes of his chest, his heavy breathing, the warmth of his skin.
He releases me, and I turn to face him, looking up.
"When someone comes at you like this," he says, moving his right arm, "you need to weave down and to the side before they lock you in a corner and throw a combo."
He mimics the throw, and I duck as he says and throw the punches he told me to.
"Good," he says, moving behind me. "Let me show you."
His hands slide down my arms until they reach my gloved fists. He guides my arms through the motions of the counter-strike.
I can barely focus with his breath at my neck. My skin tingles where he touches me, every nerve ending lit up, and this skin-to-skin contact we're having, it's driving me up a wall. His chest occasionally brushes against my back, and each touch sends a jolt straight to my core.
"Like this," he says, guiding me through it again. "Feel how that works?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. It feels like fire and ice all at once, his touch burning me while sending cool tingles down my body. I've never been more aware of my own desires rising.
He guides me through a few more moves, his touch growing lighter, his voice dropping lower. The tension between us builds with every shared breath until it's almost unbearable.
I can't take it anymore. I turn to face him, breaking his hold.
We just look at each other.
His chest is starting to sweat, making his skin glow. There's something in his eyes, a dark hunger that he's desperately trying to contain.
His hand slides up, cradles my jaw, and his thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
"Calli," he says, and then—
I don't know who moves first. Maybe we both do. But suddenly his lips are on mine, and the kiss explodes through me like a volcanic eruption.
It starts slow, gentle. But when I open to him, it transforms into something consuming. His tongue slides against mine, and I make a sound I've never heard myself make before, something between a whimper and a moan.
He tastes like the wine we shared, rich and intoxicating. His hand on my jaw holds me steady as he deepens the kiss, while his other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. I go to touch him, but my gloved hands won't let me feel him properly.
Even still, his lips on mine feel like everything and too much and not enough all at once.
As if reading my mind, Niko breaks the kiss and his fingers find the Velcro straps of my gloves. He pulls them free and tosses them to the ground.
I begin unwrapping my left hand, the fabric loosening as I unwind it. Niko kisses my neck, and I move faster, trying to get them off my hands so I can grab him.
I finally get it off and drop it, and as I start on the other, he catches the strip and starts unwrapping it himself.
When he finishes, he holds it for a moment, still keeping his eyes on me. Then he takes the long strip of fabric and begins winding it around my neck. It's not tight, just a gentle pressure, a presence I can't ignore.
His eyes never leave mine as he wraps it. The look in them is pure desire, almost worshipful.
"This means you don't run anymore," he says, his voice rough with emotion.
I touch my neck where the wrap is, and surprisingly it doesn't feel confining. With him holding the other end, it feels like a connection, a tether between us that can't be broken.
"Are you putting a collar on me?" My voice trembles as I ask.
He doesn't answer.
He just pulls me forward against him by the end he's holding, and I fall against his chest. He then leans down and claims my lips in another searing kiss.
I feel his hand slide up and massage my breasts. I arch, wanting his hands on me more.
He steps back and tugs the wrap gently, tightening the connection between us.
"Be my good girl and take your shirt off."