Chapter 19 #2
He narrows his eyes at me a moment before looking around the empty space. He finds what he’s looking for, bending over to collect something from the ground.
“Think fast,” he says before chucking something at me.
With an entirely too embarrassing shriek, I throw my hand up and catch what I now know is a small pebble. “What the fuck?!”
He nods towards my right hand where I’m holding the pebble. “There’s your dominant hand.”
My brows rise as my eyes flick between my right hand and his face. “Well, that’s a neat trick. But did you really have to launch something at me? What if I hadn’t caught it?”
“I had faith,” he says simply. “But also, if you didn’t, I picked one small enough to not seriously maim.”
My jaw drops open. “Rude,” I mutter to myself. “What’s your dominant hand?” I ask as I launch the pebble back at him.
His hand shoots out with impressive speed and snags the pebble from the air. He gives me a bored look. “Seriously?”
“I was curious,” I shrug and give him a wide grin. “We know my dominant hand. Now what?”
He walks over so he’s standing right in front of me. “Move your feet shoulder width apart.” I do as he instructs. “Okay, good. The most important part of any fight is your feet. All your power will come from there and up through your hips into your fist.”
“Is the power not in the punch itself?”
“Not the punch. The power comes from the movement of the body. Which all starts with your feet and the leverage you have. Now pivot your body so your left side is forward.”
“Uh, what?”
He sighs, lifting his hands to hover above my hips.
“May I?” I nod, granting him permission.
He places his hands on either side of my hips and the heat that spreads through me at the touch is entirely too distracting to focus on what he’s trying to show me right now.
Our eyes connect and hold for several beats before he blinks and tears his gaze down to his hands.
He gently twists my hips, so my left leg leads.
He crouches in front of me which only makes my already frazzled brain dive into truly despicable thoughts of his being in a similar position on his knees in front of me—
“Twist your feet in the same direction,” he directs with a tap on my left foot. “Your toes should point the direction your torso is facing.”
“Right, okay,” I say breathlessly, shifting my feet as instructed.
“Good. Now lift so the heels of your feet are off the ground.” I do and he laughs instantly sending a wave of embarrassment through me.
“Not that high. You’re not wearing fancy dress shoes.
Just enough that I can slip a leaf beneath them.
” I make the adjustment, lowering my heels until they are hovering a breath above the ground.
“That’s better,” he says as he rises to his full height again.
“Slightly bend your knees… like that. Now lift your hands again.” I lift both fists in front of my face.
He grips my left hand and pulls it over the smallest amount, but still in front of my face.
He takes my right hand and tugs it lower so it’s in front of my chin.
His hand reaches out and he pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it towards the forward-facing shoulder.
“There. This position allows you to protect your face and jaw. This should be your holding stance. Bounce around a bit and you’ll see that with this stance you have more freedom of mobility. ”
I bounce on the balls of my feet and find I can move pretty easily. “Yeah, that’s not so bad.”
“Speed will also be your best friend in any sort of confrontation, especially against a larger opponent. You’re small, which means you’ll be inherently faster. But that also means your strikes won’t have as much force behind them as a larger opponent.”
I nod along with his explanation.
“Now let’s focus on those hands.”
I look down at the clenched fists in front of me. “What’s wrong with them?”
“So much,” he chuckles. “For starters, you don’t want to tuck your thumb in like that.
Unless you want to break it. Open your hands and hold them flat out in front of you.
” He puts his hands under my flat ones, and I have to bite my cheek against the sensation of his calloused palms scraping against my skin.
“You need to keep your thumb out. Fold your fingers in on themselves like this.” He uses his hand to curl my fingers over until they’re tucked into a fist and his hand holds there, wrapping around mine for longer than necessary.
He clears his throat before removing his hands.
“And then your thumb goes on top of those closed fingers, like so.” He shifts the thumb until both hands resemble a fist and steps away. “Now, get back into that formation.”
I place my feet as he showed me, slightly bend my knees and lift my fists. He nods in approval, and I preen.
“When you actually throw a punch, you need to twist your right hip forward, pushing power up through your feet. The more of your weight you can push into it, the stronger the punch will be.” He walks around so he’s positioned behind my hips.
I can feel the heat as he hovers his hands over my hips, hesitating for only a moment before he places them there.
“You’ll move like this,” he says as he twists my hips.
I stumble a step, not expecting the movement.
“Keep your feet planted.” I retake my position, and he does it again, this time my feet remain in place.
“Good, now when I twist, push your fist out in front of you.” I try to do as he says but the timing is slightly off, that it feels clumsy.
He releases my hips and steps back. “You try it.”
I do. I punch my fist out into the air ahead of me in sync with the twisting of my hips.
“Good.” He steps around into my vision, setting up in front of me with his hand held up in front. “Punch my palm.”
My hands drop slightly. “What? No, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t hurt me,” he says with a chuckle.
I sigh. He’s probably right. No, he’s definitely right. “Fine.” I lift my hands back up into the correct form before I thrust my fist out at his hand. His hand doesn’t even shift.
“Not bad. But you need to push up through your feet more. Try again.”
I grunt but try again. And again. And again. And again.
By the end, I’m not even sure how many punches I’ve thrown at his hand. None of which seem to make him even flinch.
“I think you’re getting it,” he says. “Let’s talk about where you should hit someone now.”
I let out a groan. “Can’t we be done?”
“Almost,” he answers with a smirk. “The nose is good. It’s likely to disorient your opponent the most with watering eyes but also blood.
They break incredibly easily and will make the biggest mess.
Now, if your opponent is male, you’ve also got an easy option with the groin.
” My eyes flick down to his and heat climbs up my cheeks before I bring them back to his face.
“That’s another easy way to distract an opponent long enough to either attack again or escape.
You don’t necessarily need to punch that either.
You can kick or knee a male in the groin.
The throat is another good one but be careful because that one could easily become a killing blow. Got it?”
“Yeah, I think so. Nose, groin, throat. Sounds simple enough.”
“You say that, but gods forbid, just wait until you find yourself in a moment needing to use it. The rush from the attack will completely override logical thought.”
“You make it sound so enjoyable,” I deadpan.
He gives me a scathing glare. “Attacks are not a funny thing, and I sincerely hope you never find yourself in a situation where you need to use any of this. But it makes me feel more comfortable that you do.”
We drilled as the moon rose higher in the sky and our bodies grew tired. Even through the bone-tired weariness we were both feeling after the long day, I couldn’t miss the look of pride on his face with each improvement.