Good girl.
I twist, taking it on the thigh instead of the groin. Pain spikes white-hot up my leg.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps.
“Don’t be,” I grunt. “Do it again.”
We reset. Again. Again.
She gets cleaner. Faster. More confident.
By the fourth run, sweat darkens my T-shirt. Her hair’s half out of its knot, curls sticking to her forehead. She looks wild and alive and nothing like the girl who flinched at a text.
“You good?” I ask.
“No,” she pants. “But I’m…less breakable.”
“Again,” I say.
We move.
This time, when she drops her weight, my boot slips on the edge of the mat. The world tilts.
We go down.
I twist, taking the hit with my back. The mat slams into my spine. Air punches out of my lungs.
Tallulah lands on top of me.
Everything stops.
Her palms are splayed over my chest, her knees bracketing my hips. Her hoodie’s rucked up so there’s bare skin pressed against my stomach, hot and smooth.
Her hair falls around us like a curtain, and her eyes lock on mine.
For a second, all I can think ismine.
Then Kael’s voice snaps like a whip in my skull—the minute you touch her like she’s yours—and I go rigid.
“Don’t kill me,” she whispers, the hint of a breathless laugh in it, “but I think I just won.”
My hands are hovering uselessly in the air, inches from her thighs.
I should move her. I should roll us apart, get distance, remember what my job is.
Instead I let myself look. Just for a second I probably don’t deserve.
At the flush high on her cheekbones. At the rise and fall of her chest against mine. At the tiny white scar near her eyebrow I hadn’t noticed before.
“You did,” I say. My voice comes out lower than I intended. “You won.”
She shifts, trying to get comfortable. Her weight rolls over my hips.
White heat licks up my spine. I bite down hard enough on my tongue to taste blood.
“Bran,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
