Chapter 30 Training Grounds And Dangerous Games
Training Grounds And Dangerous Games
~ROWAN~
Three hours of self-defense training should not feel like foreplay, but here we are, both breathless for all the wrong reasons.
I have Hazel pinned beneath me on the training mat, my weight carefully distributed so I'm not crushing her but she can't escape. She's panting, face flushed, hair escaped from her ponytail and sticking to her neck where that hickey Luca gave her is still gloriously purple.
"This is so unfair," she huffs, squirming under me in a way that's absolutely not helping my concentration. "You're literally triple my size!"
I chuckle, sitting back on my heels to let her catch her breath. She sprawls on the mat like a starfish, chest heaving, and I force myself to look at the ceiling instead of the way her sports bra is doing incredible things.
Professional. You're being professional. This is about empowerment, not the fact that she looks like sin in gym clothes.
The training room is empty except for us—the other Omegas left an hour ago, Nash dragging a blushing Reverie away while she pretended she wasn't disappointed, Marcus and Tank heading out after ensuring everyone knew the basic moves.
But Hazel wanted to stay, to practice more, to push herself until she felt ready.
"I need to know I can protect myself," she'd said, chin raised in that stubborn way that makes me want to kiss her. "Need to know I won't freeze if he shows up."
So we stayed. Three hours of throws and holds, of escape techniques and pressure points, of me trying very hard not to notice how perfectly she fits against me when I demonstrate a hold.
She's a quick learner when she's not overthinking.
The first hour was rough—too much in her head, apologizing every time she made contact like she was hurting me.
But something shifted in hour two. Maybe it was successfully escaping a chokehold, or the way she managed to actually knock the wind out of me with an elbow strike (accidentally, but still).
By hour three, she was fighting like she meant it.
This is what she needed. Not just the physical skills, but the knowledge that she can fight back. That she doesn't have to be a victim.
What she doesn't know is that Nash isn't just here for Reverie.
He's got connections in both small town and big city law, knows exactly how to build a stalking case that'll stick.
We're setting traps, waiting for Korrin to take the bait, documenting everything.
One more wrong move and we'll have enough to bury him legally.
But I won't tell her yet. Let her have this—this feeling of power, of capability. Let her believe she's doing this alone while we guard her flanks.
She sits up finally, using her core muscles in a way that definitely doesn't make me think inappropriate thoughts about her flexibility. Sweat has made her tank top cling to every curve, and when she catches me staring, she pouts.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," I lie, standing and offering her my hand. "You did good today. Really good. That last escape was perfect."
She huffs, reaching for my hand. "I still can't—"
The next thing I know, I'm flat on my back on the mat, Hazel straddling my hips, my wrist twisted in a perfect control hold that doesn't hurt but definitely could if she applied more pressure.
What the fuck just happened?
I blink several times, brain trying to catch up with my body which is suddenly very aware of her weight on me, her thighs bracketing my hips, the heat of her through thin gym clothes.
"GOT YOU!" She releases my wrist to clap her hands, bouncing with excitement. "I actually got you! Did you see that? I used your weight against you just like Marcus showed me!"
She's so proud, grinning down at me with pure joy, completely unaware that her celebration bouncing is creating a friction situation that's about to become very obvious.
My hands move instinctively to her hips, holding her still. "Stop wiggling."
"Why?" She grins wider, deliberately shifting her weight. "What's wrong, Chief? Am I turning you on?"
When did she become so bold?
My face heats, and I know I'm blushing like a teenager. "When did you become so—"
"Confident? Bold? Sexually empowered?" She laughs, but there's heat in her eyes now. "Maybe Luca's rubbing off on me. He's very... thorough in his education."
I don't need to think about Luca's thorough education right now.
"What?" She leans forward slightly, hands braced on my chest, and the new angle is going to kill me. "Does my dominance turn you on? Didn't think you were a bottom—"
I hook my hand around the back of her neck and pull her down, crushing her mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like the careful ones we've shared before.
This is consuming, demanding, my tongue sliding against hers in a way that makes her moan into my mouth.
She tastes like the sports drink she's been sipping and determination and something uniquely Hazel that makes me want to devour her.
Her hands fist in my shirt, either pushing me away or pulling me closer—neither of us can tell. I nip at her bottom lip, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
When we finally break apart, we're both panting harder than we were during training.
"You better get off me," I manage, voice rough. "Or we're not leaving these mats until you're naked and your slick is decorating them."
Her whole face goes crimson, but she doesn't move. Doesn't even shift back. Just stays there, straddling me, looking down with eyes gone dark with want.
Move, Hazel. Please move. My control is hanging by a thread here.
Instead, she leans in closer, close enough that I can feel her breath on my lips. Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip slowly, deliberately, making sure I watch every second of it.
"And what if I don't want to move, Captain?" Her voice is barely a whisper, but it might as well be a shout for what it does to my self-control. "What if I'm comfortable right here?"
Jesus Christ.
My heart is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Every instinct is screaming at me to flip her over, to claim her right here on these mats where anyone could walk in.
The risk of it, the publicness, the fact that she's looking at me like she wants to be devoured—it's all combining into a perfect storm of bad decisions.
"Hazel," I breathe, my hands tightening on her hips. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?" She shifts deliberately, and we both feel exactly how affected I am. "Seems pretty clear to me."
"Anyone could walk in."
"It's past seven. Everyone's gone home."
"The security cameras—"
"You showed me the blind spots during situational awareness training." She smiles, wicked and beautiful. "We're in one."
Of course we are. Of course she paid attention to that particular detail.
"This is a bad idea," I tell her, even as my hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her sports bra.
"Terrible idea," she agrees, arching into my touch.
"We should stop."
"Absolutely."
Neither of us moves.
The air between us is electric, charged with three hours of physical contact that was supposed to be professional but felt like foreplay. Every throw, every pin, every escape—building to this moment where she's above me, in control, looking like every fantasy I've ever had.
"I burned the roses this morning," she says suddenly, and the non sequitur should kill the mood but doesn't. "Screamed at the sunrise about everything they did to me. Luca helped. Watched my past turn to ash."
"Good," I manage. "You needed that."
"I needed a lot of things." Her hands slide up my chest, feeling the muscles that training and firefighting have built. "Needed to know I could fight. Needed to know I could be strong. Need to know I can take what I want without apologizing."
"What do you want?"
She leans down until her lips brush my ear. "Right now? You. Under me. Looking at me like I'm powerful instead of fragile."
Fuck.
"You are powerful," I tell her, meaning it. "You threw me. You reversed a hold on someone three times your size. You're fierce and strong and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."
She pulls back to look at me, and there's something vulnerable in her eyes despite the position. "You mean that."
"Every word."
"Even the beautiful part? Even sweaty and gross after three hours of training?"
"Especially now." I reach up, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're glowing. Confident. Looking like you could conquer the world."
"Maybe I'll start with you," she whispers.
The last thread of my control snaps.
I flip us in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath me but different this time—not a training hold but something else, something that has her gasping and arching up against me.
"Thought you wanted me to be the bottom," I growl against her neck, finding that spot that makes her shiver.
"Changed my mind," she pants. "Women's prerogative."
"Thank god," I mutter, then bite down gently on the opposite side from Luca's mark.
She moans, legs wrapping around my waist, and the heat of her—even through clothes—is going to end me.
"Rowan," she gasps. "We should—"
"Should what?" I pull back to look at her, both of us breathing hard. "Stop? Leave? Pretend this isn't happening?"
"Lock the door," she finishes, and grins at my expression. "What? You think I'm going to let our first time be interrupted by Jenkins looking for his water bottle?"
First time. She said first time. Meaning there'll be more times. Meaning she wants—
"Rowan?" She's looking at me with concern now. "If you don't want—"
I kiss her again, deep and claiming, trying to pour fifteen years of wanting into it. When I pull back, we're both wrecked.
"I want," I assure her. "God, Hazel, I want everything. To fuck you…oh fuck it.”