Chapter 8
ELARA
It’s impossible not to look at him in this world of mirrors.
He’s wearing a gray compression shirt so tight it looks painted onto his sculpted body.
His pecs are huge. The hard ridges of his abs show clearly through the material.
Shorts that show his muscled legs… and, if he got excited, I know they’d show everything else too.
He approaches me slowly, as if he thinks I’m going to run.
“Shall we get started?” I say, too snappy, but I can’t help it.
“You need to lie on your back,” he says huskily.
I lie down and stare up at him. My heart pounds hard, my every nerve on fire, my body feeling supersensitive. He works his jaw, his hands twitching at his sides.
“The idea is to off-balance them,” he says.
“That’s the main thing, and you have to be fast. The second they’re on top of you, before they can start hitting, you disrupt their base…
their balance. That forces them to plant their hands on the ground.
If they do that, they can’t hit you. Then you get vicious, Elle.
You go for the eyes. The balls. You get brutal, because if you don’t, you’re giving them a chance to let out their dark side. ”
I swallow. He doesn’t need to hammer this point home. I remember it all too well.
“Are you going to show me?” I ask, my mouth dry.
But the aching, trembling truth is… somewhere else isn’t dry.
For the first time in years, I feel the tickle of tension between my thighs.
My folds rub against my underwear. My nub aches.
I shouldn’t trust this man so easily. But lying on my back for him, I feel safer than I ever have, and that’s the insane truth.
“Sure,” he says, his voice growing hoarse.
He lowers himself to his knees in front of me, hesitating.
“Don’t make it weird,” I say.
“Huh?”
“If you need me to sign a waiver or something to say you’re not a perv, then whatever. But can we get on with the lesson, please?”
His lip twitches into a smile. My cheeks heat up, like they’re determined to do whatever I’m around him.
He seems to like it when I sass him. That’s a pleasant change from most men.
“Let’s say I end up on top of you.”
He climbs atop me, and lays his weight gently against me. The hard edges of his muscles press against my body. I can tell he’s holding a lot back, keeping most of it away from me. But I still feel his power.
“The chances are I’m going to lean back like this.” He sits upright, looking down at me. “This is your moment. You need to plant your hands on my hipbones and press hard, one way then the other. Otherwise…”
He mimes throwing strikes down at me, but even demonstrating, he looks guilty about it.
I do as he says: press my palms against him. I push up, hard one way, then the other. He falls forward and catches himself with his hands.
“Good,” he says proudly. “See? Now I have to catch myself.”
“And this is where I go for your eyes, your balls, whatever I have to?”
“There are escapes I can teach you, specific techniques. But as a basic rule, if you know nothing else, yes. That’s your best shot. To get good at technical escapes takes time. But if you blind him, bite him, seriously maim him, then you have a chance to get free.”
He’s talking about dark things, which should, in theory, diffuse any of the excitement bubbling up in me. But it does the opposite. It makes me feel powerful, like I’ve got a shot if Lucian ever returns.
“Can I try again?” I ask.
“Sure.”
He sits up and does some more moves. This time, when I push against him, he balances, riding me like a bull. Nerves tingle over me as I imagine him using these strong hips for something else.
“Now what?” I huff.
“Most likely, some random scumbag won’t be able to balance like this,” he says. “If they do, though, give them a hard knee to the back—”
He laughs, just about catching himself before he face plants from the knee I just drove into him.
“Sorry,” I say, laughing.
“No, it’s good,” he says fiercely, his breath whispering against my ear. All it would take is for me to turn my head, and then we’d be kissing.
“Uh, is there anything else I should know?” I ask.
I think he senses my discomfort—no, not that. Confusion. The conflict in my head and my body.
He stands, then offers me his hand. That same electric buzzing hums between us as he hauls me to my feet as if I weigh nothing.
“There’s full guard too,” he says. “They won’t always end up on top of you in that way. But we don’t have to cover that today.”
“Why not?” I say defensively.
He clenches his jaw, looks into my eyes with tension tightening his mouth, like he’s fighting with everything he has not to slide his gaze down my body.
“Well… we can,” he says. “If you’re up to it.”
“Do I need to lie down again?” I ask a little breathlessly.
“Uh, yeah,” he groans, like he’s fighting a thousand instincts, none of them civilized.
I lie on the mat again. This time, he kneels in front of me.
“Sometimes, they’ll end up below your hips. In that case, you can wrap your legs around them. That’s called guard.”
I swallow. “Okay…”
He shifts closer. I open my legs, far too aware of the sensation of my underwear rubbing against my sex. When I close my legs around him, I stare up, heart thundering in my ears.
“What does this do?” I ask.
“It gives you some control over my posture,” he says. “Tilt your hips one way, drive with your legs, and you can topple me.”
I try it, and he falls to the side.
“Good,” he says. “Very good. You can use your hips to keep me away, where it’s hard for me to hit you. Or very close, where it’s difficult for me to generate any power.”
“Like this?”
I tug him into me, lifting my knees. He falls forward. His groin pushes right up against me. I gasp, then whisper, “I think I get it.”
He stands quickly, like he’s afraid of how his body will respond if he gets too close.
“I… I need a glass of water,” I murmur.
“Sure. There’s a cooler just over there.” He turns.
“I can get my own water,” I say, standing quickly.
As I turn my back to him, I catch him looking at me in the mirror.
His hands twitching, his eyes wide and tense as they follow me go.
Power rushes through me at the realization that I turn him on.
I’ve never felt this wanted before. And even if I had, I wouldn’t experience this thrill, this intoxicating control. It’s like he can’t look away.
So, yeah, I let myself go a little. As I lean down towards the water cooler, I arch my back, showing him my ass. I’ve never been proud of my body, never been overly ashamed either. It’s just been… there, mine, an unquestioned fact.
Now, pride blazes in me. In the mirror, he stares hungrily at my ass. His jaw is clenched tight as if he’s trying to fight the urge. Of course, he is. He’s a good guy, doesn’t want to be inappropriate. Maybe it’s the age gap, or the context.
He doesn’t want to ogle his student.
But I want him to. I love it.
His eyes move to my face, realizing I’m watching him. He sees the smile curving my lips, notes the fact that I don’t immediately stand. Instead, I remain bent over, coaxing more desire out of him.
He takes a step forward decisively.
Somehow, I know what’s going to happen next. He’s going to surge up behind me and drive his length against my ass. He’s been able to fight off his arousal so far, probably by sheer white-knuckle will. But not any longer. He’s going to grab greedy handfuls of my hips and drive himself against me.
And, God help me, I’m going to let him. No, I’m going to do more than that. I’m going to rock my hips up and down, grind against him, tease him until his body is bursting with desire and—
The door flies open.
Mira walks in. “That computer is boring. Can we do some more hitting, please?”
I straighten and spin toward her, almost choking on a breath. It’s like I’ve just been jolted from a fever dream.
Rhett clears his throat. “Yeah, ninja girl, of course we can.”
The ride home isn’t as awkward as it has the potential to be, mostly because Mira is humming happily and shooting questions at Rhett, all about martial arts. He answers without the slightest hint that he’s losing his patience.
I need to remember, though, how upset Mira would be if Rhett suddenly stopped coming by. I need to keep in mind that rushing into whatever this is, even if it makes me feel sexy, desired, and powerful, would be a mistake.
“It’s trash day tomorrow,” Rhett says. “Want me to carry yours to the road?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to, Elle,” he says warmly. “But do you want me to?”
I smile gratefully. “Yeah, sure. Do they take yard waste too? I’ve got a bag out back.”
“Yeah, I can grab that after.”
“I can do that, Rhett.” I climb from the car, calling to Mira, “Head inside, honey.”
“I want to help Rhett,” she says stubbornly.
I bite my lip and look at Rhett. He shrugs and gives me a look. We’re getting pretty good at this silent communication stuff.
I’ve watched Mira like a hawk ever since last year, terrified something might happen to her. What if Rhett’s just biding his time, waiting for a chance to strike?
My instincts tell me no. That I need to relax.
Rhett starts, “I think you should listen to your—”
“No, it’s fine.”
I trust you.
I walk around the cabin, heading to the yard. My body is still warm from the dojo, and the aching potential. I’ve even got a small smile on my face when I lean down for the trash bag.
That’s when I hear it.
A low whistle.
I look up and see Lucian standing deep in the trees, hands in his pockets, watching me. He’s too far away to be sure, but I think he’s smiling.
I scream.