33. Octavia #2
I grip Vas’s arms, trying to hook my legs under his and throw him off balance just like we talked about. The old injury in my knee pulls with a familiar ache, taunting the effort. After so much practice, the pain is easily ignored.
But even after all that, the fucker doesn’t move an inch.
“Better.”
I squint my eyes. “Vas, can’t we find somewhere more private for me to embarrass myself in?” I try cutting my leg back behind his knee joint again, but somehow, I manage to knock myself off-balance.
Though the expansive courtyard in front of the stone mansion is relatively quiet, I can feel the burning attention of various soldiers on the back of my neck, and anyone in the spacious building above has a direct line of sight to my pity party.
“You are not an embarrassment. You are learning, Octavia,” he says sharply, using my full name for once.
“I am failing,” I say back. “And they are laughing at me.”
My balance falters. A high-pitched shout leaves my mouth a second before I land on Vasiliy’s chest. Then I’m rolling in the damp grass until each of my limbs is pressed down, and his face is hovering an inch above mine.
“You are not failing,” he repeats. “And if someone dares to laugh at you, I will cut out their throat before they can so much as suck in their next breath.”
“You will start a war,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“I think your honor is the one subject your father and I can agree on.” He raises a brow. “But you are Octavia fucking Clarke. And you do not run away from anything.”
The words melt through my exhaustion and soreness, wringing out my precious pride.
“You are building. Rolling vital anchor stones across the field in summer heat. Right now, it looks like a messy collection of shit, and no one but us will be able to see the vision, but come winter, those stones will support the cabin that keeps us warm through the storms.”
His intense, blue eyes slice into mine, wind on the fading embers of my fight. My determination returns.
“I never knew you were such a poet.”
His large body is stretched over mine, one hand securing my wrists above my head, and his thighs keeping mine pressed apart.
Were it any other man on top of me right now, I’d probably be losing it.
My pathetic mind wouldn’t even allow me to try fighting back with some of the moves we’ve been learning.
I’d slip into that familiar, frozen state.
It’s not any man, though.
He smirks. “I’m a multidisciplinary coach, remember—”
I bring my elbows down and in before he finishes his cocky response, dislodging the hold on my wrists.
Rather than freeing my legs, too, I wrap them tighter around his thighs and use every last bit of strength to roll him to his back.
He releases a low grunt as we switch positions, me landing on the cradle of his hips.
I can’t help the proud smile that pulls my lips at his surprised expression below.
“I told you that you weren’t failing,” he whispers, irises glittering up like I’m his entire sky. His rapt attention is intoxicating.
No wonder he talks so much shit. Sitting here and looking down at the grown-ass man at my mercy, I feel invincible. I lean forward, trailing one hand to the inked expanse of his throat. My fingers wrap around his skin, covering as many inches as I can.
“How does it feel?” I taunt, leaning even closer to his panting mouth. “Being the one on their back for once?”
His next exhale is shaky and warm, brushing right against my cheek. “I think you should get off.”
“Why’s that?” I say, gripping my hand tighter around his throat.
“You don’t like being dominated in a fight?
” A gust of wind ruffles my sweaty braid, sending stray curls into my face.
That’s what’s causing the chill on my skin, I tell myself.
Not the fact that I’m touching every hard plane and ridged scar along his body.
“No.” His throat moves beneath my palm, working through a thick swallow. “I think you’ll find that I don’t mind being dominated one bit, as long as you’re the one doing it.”
I frown. How very un-Bratva-soldier of him.
I’m about to tease the big, scary mob interrogator below me when I feel it.
His hips press up the slightest bit, just enough to feel his hard presence between my legs.
My mouth dries even as my hips instinctively lower, seeking more contact.
His eyes flit closed as I do, something between a groan and a sigh leaving his throat.
The sound lands deep in my stomach, melting everything it touches.
I don’t remember leaning forward. The movement is subconscious, as familiar as it is foreign.
My lips brush his in the lightest touch.
Just enough to feel the heat of his mouth.
The birds’ low chirp and the rustle of trees in the wind disappear entirely, leaving me with nothing but a low vibration overtaking every single one of my senses.
In the span of my next heartbeat, his head dips, one arm threading behind my head to guide me closer.
He deepens the kiss, sucking my lower lip between his in a silent fight for dominance.
My fingers tighten around his neck in an unconscious flex.
When his tongue slides between my lips, begging for entry, my limbs writhe.
His low groan when I open up to him reverberates deep in my stomach.
Then the contact is torn away.
My eyes snap open to a swirl of grass and sky, and all the air leaves my chest as I land on my back.
I wheeze.
Did he just…
“Like I said,” he says with a smirk as he locks me into a hold. “You can dominate me any time you want.” His head blocks out the sun above, casting me in a cold shadow that does little to extinguish the fire still burning in my veins. “But domination is earned, zlaya.”
My fingers are still clutched around his inked neck in a mockery of control. He leans into the touch to lower his chest onto mine.
“Earn it again.” He spreads his swollen lips into a challenging smile. “I dare you.”