Julian #2
Isabelle gets up and goes to shower. Anything she says, I respond to in short grunts, waving her off as I try to focus. Until a little while later, I hear the bathroom door click open. I look up automatically at the sound, and my brain short-circuits.
Isabelle is standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel—and the towels at this hotel aren't much to speak of.
It's wrapped around her body, barely covering her breasts and ending high on her thighs.
Her skin is flushed from the heat of the shower, water droplets clinging to her shoulders and collarbone.
Her dark hair is wet and slicked back from her face, making her green eyes look even more vivid.
She looks like every fantasy I've had for the past week made flesh. And her body is the last fucking thing I need to be thinking about right now.
"I forgot to grab clean clothes," she says, her voice perfectly casual. "Do you mind?"
I mind. I mind so fucking much that I can barely form words. Because she's standing there half-naked and beautiful and alive, and all I can think about is Maddox's voice on the phone. Twenty-four hours. Kill the girl. Provide proof of death.
"Go ahead," I manage to say, my voice strained.
She moves past me to her bag, and I catch a whiff of soap and shampoo, sweet on her skin. She bends over to dig through the bag, and the towel rides up, exposing more of her thighs. I force myself to look back at my laptop screen, but the words blur together into meaningless shapes.
This is deliberate. She's testing me, pushing my boundaries, seeing how far she can go before I break. And fuck, she's pushing me to my limit. My cock twitches and swells, and it takes everything in me not to look at her again. The way she's bent over, I could almost see…
Fuck. I'm sweating now.
"Julian?"
"What?" I snap, my teeth gritted.
"Can you help me with something?"
A breath hisses out. "What do you need?"
"There's a knot in my necklace. I can't get it undone." She turns around, lifting her wet hair off her neck. "Can you...?"
I stare at her. "Are you serious?"
She turns to look at me, her lips pouty. "I need one hand to hold up the towel. But I suppose I can manage it myself—"
Her hand starts to move, and the towel slips. Fuck. No. If it falls off, I'm not fucking responsible for what happens next.
"I'll do it!" I snap, standing up quickly. "Just… sit still, for the love of God."
A smile twitches at the corners of her lips.
Fucking brat. I want to spank her, punish her for being such a fucking cocktease, for pushing boundaries when I've already set them down in stone.
But my cock is stiff as iron right now, just from our interaction so far, throbbing painfully, and if I put her across my lap, she'll be on it when I'm finished.
Fuck, just the thought of spanking her makes pre-cum leak down my shaft, leaving my cock wet and aching in my boxer briefs as I cross the room to her.
I reach for the delicate gold chain around her neck. My fingers brush against her skin, and she shivers, the movement so subtle I might have imagined it. The knot is tiny, barely visible, and I have to lean in close to see what I'm doing. "You're doing this on purpose," I say quietly.
"Doing what?"
"Testing me."
"Maybe." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, so innocent that if I didn't know better, I'd almost think she didn't know what she was doing. "Is it working?"
My fingers work at the knot, trying to ignore the way her skin feels under my hands, the way she smells, the way every breath she takes makes her breasts rise and fall, visible under the towel as my gaze trails over her shoulder. "You need to stop."
"Why?"
"Because I'm trying very hard not to touch you, and you're making it impossible."
"Good." She tilts her head slightly, exposing more of her neck. "I want you to touch me."
"Isabelle—" My jaw clenches. The urge to punish her only grows, along with the ache in my cock. No. Stop. That will make this worse.
"I want you to stop pretending you don't want me. I want you to stop pushing me away. I want—"
I get the knot undone and step back quickly, putting distance between us before I do something I'll regret. Before I lose what little control I have left.
"Get dressed," I say, my voice rough. "We need to talk about your training."
She turns around slowly, the towel slipping slightly before she catches it. Her eyes search my face, confusion replacing the attempt at seduction from a moment ago. "Training?"
"Self-defense. You need to know how to protect yourself." In case I'm not there to do it. In case I'm dead, and you're alone, and the hunters find you.
Her eyebrows shoot straight to her hairline. "When do we start?"
"Now. As soon as you're dressed."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I see that confusion change to curiosity. She doesn't seem to hate the idea, which is more than I expected. I thought she'd fight back, be prissy about it, but she seems interested.
"Fine," she says. "But this isn't over."
She grabs her clothes and disappears back into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
I sink back down into my chair and run my hands through my hair, trying to get my breathing under control. My heart is pounding, my body tight with need, and I can still feel the ghost of her skin under my fingers.
I'm not going to make it. I'm going to break before the deadline, going to give in to the wanting that's eating me alive. I don't know how to keep doing this. And if I do…
Fuck, I'll be a monster. The man who fucked a woman who has no idea he was on the verge of killing her.
The bathroom door opens, and Isabelle emerges, fully dressed now in leggings and a tight tank top that makes my mouth go dry as I look at her. Her hair is still damp, pulled back in a ponytail. "I'm ready," she says.
She's not ready. She has no idea what's coming. But I nod anyway and stand up, moving the furniture as far as I can to the edges of the small room to create an open space in the center. She watches me, her expression unreadable.
"First rule," I say when I'm done. "In a real fight, there are no rules. No honor, no fairness. You do whatever it takes to survive. Understood?"
Isabelle narrows her eyes at me. "Understood."
"Second rule: your goal is never to win. Your goal is to escape. You hurt your attacker enough to get away, then you run. You don't stick around to finish the fight."
"Got it."
"Third rule: the most vulnerable points on the human body are the eyes, throat, groin, and knees. You go for those targets first."
She nods, her green eyes locked on mine. "Stop talking then, and show me."
Brat. I feel a surge of desire heat my veins as I look at her. She's fucking fearless. That's not to say I haven't seen her scared, but she faces it all down anyway.
She drives me fucking insane.
We train for two hours straight, and it's the sweetest torture I've ever experienced.
I show her how to throw a proper punch, my hands on her waist and shoulder, guiding her through the motion.
I demonstrate defensive stances, adjusting her position with my hands on her hips.
I teach her how to break free from holds, which means grabbing her, restraining her, and feeling her body struggle against mine.
Every touch is agony. Every moment of contact reminds me of Ibiza, of how she felt wrapped around me, of the sounds she made when she came. And every second that passes reminds me of the ticking clock we're on.
"What if someone grabs you from behind?" I ask, moving behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. "Your arms are trapped. How do you get free?"
She struggles against my grip, and I hold her firmly.
Not tight enough to hurt, but enough that she can't break free easily.
Her body is warm and solid against mine, and I can feel her breathing quicken.
"Stop fighting my strength," I say, my mouth close to her ear.
"You're smaller than me. You can't overpower me. So you use technique instead."
Isabelle huffs impatiently. "What technique?"
"Drop your weight. Make yourself heavy." I feel her body go slack in my arms. "Good. Now drive your elbow back into my ribs. Hard."
She does, and I let out a grunt of surprise.
She didn't hold back. I feel my cock twitch, and suppress a groan.
I've never been a masochist, but apparently any touch from Isabelle turns me on, even if it's violent.
"Good," I say, releasing her before she can feel me getting hard behind her, for the umpteenth time over the last two hours. "Again."
We run through the scenario several more times, and each time she gets better, more confident.
But each time I touch her, each time I pull her against me, the tension between us ratchets higher.
The wanting becomes more unbearable. I feel like I'm being made to pay for every sin, here in this overheated room with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen wriggling against me while I tell my cock to stay soft.
"What if someone pins you against a wall?" she asks. There's no twitch to her lips, so she could be serious, but I have a feeling this is another trap. Like the necklace. Still…
This is a bad idea. I know it's a bad idea. But it's a valid question.
I back her up against the wall, placing my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. I can feel my heartbeat pick up as I do, and I see her pulse leap in her throat. "Like this?"
"Yeah." Her breathing is faster now, her pupils dilated. "What do I do?"