“I was counting on it.”
She moves first. A testing jab that snaps the air near my face. I shift back, letting her see the ease in it. Her mouth curves like she hates that I didn’t bite.
“Are you holding back already?”
“Just getting a read.”
“I don’t need you to read me.” She throws a low kick, fast and close enough that I feel the brush of air over my shin. “I need you to keep up.”
Katana lands a jab to my ribs before I can even register the shift in her stance. I catch the second on my forearm, but the force still bites the bone. She’s quick, precise and dangerous. There’s heat in her strikes, the kind that makes you feel them hours later.
She comes in again, and this time I meet her halfway. Our forearms smack together with a sound that’s all tension. Her skin is warm, slick from the sheen of sweat already gathering. I’m close enough to see the edge of her jaw flex as she exhales.
The next punch comes harder, aimed at my ribs. I catch it, twist, and she uses the momentum to hook her foot behind my knee. I stumble half a step, no more, but it’s enough for her to see she’s drawn blood in the form of my pride.
“Is that all you got?” she taunts, her eyes locked on mine.
I grin despite myself. “You really want to find out?”
She doesn’t answer, she just lunges. We trade strikes, each one harder, faster. I’m not giving her everything, but she’s making it damn hard to keep the leash on. My knuckles sting from blocking, my forearms throb where bone meets bone. Her elbow grazes my jaw, and the copper taste blooms in my mouth.
She sees it.
“Stop holding back,” she says, her breath coming faster now. “I can take it.”
She means it, and I feel the truth of it when her next kick lands solid against my ribs. Pain shoots across my side, sharp and hot. I ride it, step in close, and catch her wrist before she can pull back. The heat between us spikes, skin to skin, her pulse thudding under my thumb. For a second, neither of us moves. I can feel her breathing quick, and shallow, but steady. Her eyes don’t waver, and neither do mine.
Then she jerks free and comes at me harder, like she’s trying to burn off whatever that was. Our bodies crash together in a blur of fists and blocks, feet scuffing the mats, sweat sliding down the side of my face. Every time she closes in, there’s a flicker of heat between us. A brush of her hip when she pivots, the rasp of her breath near my ear when she feints high and drives low. My blood’s running hotter than it should for a sparring match.
She spins for a roundhouse and I catch her mid-turn, my arm locking around her waist. Her back slams into my chest, and the scent of her hits me like a sucker punch. She tries to twist out, but my grip’s too tight.
“Let me go,” she growls.
“You sure?”
Her elbow comes for my ribs, and I have to shift to avoid another bruise. That’s when she pushes off me, breaking the hold, and we circle each other again.
My breath’s heavier now. So is hers.
She feints left, comes right, and her fist clips my cheek. The flash of pain sharpens everything, my focus, the sound of our feet on the mat, the rise and fall of her breathing. She comes at me again but I catch her wrist mid-swing, twisting just enough to throw her off balance. She recovers quickly, using themomentum to spin into a kick that clips my jaw. My teeth slam together and I taste blood.
I swipe the blood from my mouth with my thumb and smile.
“Is that all you got?” I throw her words back at her.
Her answering grin is wicked. “Not even close.”
The pace builds, Sweat slicks my skin, hers too, catching the light in thin lines down her arms. I block a hook, step in close enough that I catch a flash of gold in her eyes. I feel the heat of her body when my hand grazes her side as I push her back.
We break apart for half a second, then collide again. I catch her arm, she twists, our chests brush in the scramble, and the heat that runs through me has nothing to do with the fight. Her hair’s come loose, a few strands sticking to her damp skin. For a moment we’re locked there, breathing hard, eyes on each other, the air between us tightens. My gaze drops to her mouth. She notices. Her eyes drop to mine, then flick back up like she’s daring me to make a move. My chest tightens, the urge to bridge the distance overriding the voice in my head that says don’t but suddenly we’re there. Her face inches from mine, her breath hot on my lips. My hand’s still on her arm, hers braced against my chest.
For half a heartbeat, the fight stops.
But she’s the one who breaks first slamming her palm into my chest and sending me back a step. “Not bad.”
“You’re better,” I admit, catching my breath. “But I can take a hit.”
“Yeah,” she says, brushing hair from her face, “I noticed.”
