“Good girl,” I praise her, watching her cheeks turn pink. “Next, let’s work on the elbow strike,” I try to focus. “You, with those pointy elbows of yours, they’re already a deadly weapon.”
“Pointy?” she says, “Pointy?” Holding up said elbow, she looks at me disapprovingly. “They’re not any pointier than yours.”
“If you say so,” I laugh, “but they’re quite useful as weapons if you’re too close to set up a kick or punch. Plant yer’ feet, get stable…”
I’m nearly certain she didn’t mean to angle her elbow down instead of up, but that sharp, pointy bit of her hits me right in the goods.
Seventy percent sure she didn’t mean to.
“Oh,bozhe moyI’m sorry!” she says, waving her hands like fluttering birds around me, trying to help but not daring to touch me, which is wise. “I didn’t mean- really, I’m so sorry!”
“This is a good time for a water break,” I say, when I’ve recovered my voice.
It’s not the first time I’ve been hit below the belt during a sparring session, so we start again. Carefully.
The sun is setting when I teach her one of my favorite moves, and not just because I can get my hands on her.
“Ya’ need a break? Do you want to sit down?”
She shakes her head, drinking half a bottle of water at my insistence. My bride is down to her sports bra and those tight, stretchy pants and it’s going to be impossible to hide the fact that my dick’s hard enough to pull down my zipper. How he had recovered from the incident not an hour ago is a testament to just how beautiful my bride is.
“Ye’ use this move on an attack from behind, when a man tries to lock ye’ down with a bear hug. It’s a harder one to defend against,” I say hoarsely.
“Okay,” she nods firmly, absolutely focused.
“The second you’re grabbed, you bend from the waist. Shift your weight forward and make it harder for your attacker to pick you up. You’ve got a wee bit of space between ye’, enough to bring an elbow back to their face or neck. Ready?”
“Uh-huh.” She trustingly puts her back to me and I groan silently, seeing that perfect arse on display again.
“I’m puttin’ my arms around you now,” I warn, trying to keep my hips angled so my cock doesn’t dig into her back, but the moment she leans forward, she freezes.
“I only have so much self-control, lass,” I say, “and your arse is very distractin’.”
She turns around in the circle of my arms, looking up at me. I can’t seem to loosen my grip. Goddamn, her breasts are pressed hard against my chest and I can feel the taut little points of her nipples pushing against the thin spandex between us.
“Why haven’t you tried to have sex with me?” Morana blurts in that adorable way she has, eyes widening after she speaks as if that’s not what she’d planned to say at all.
“I’m a consent kind of man,” I say, enjoying the feel of her perfect little nipples. “I’m progressive like that.”
Her brows draw together. “You’re fine with kidnapping me and forcing me to marry you, but you draw the line at having sex with me?”
“Do you want me to have sex with you,mo fhlùr?”Pressing my cock against her stomach, I can feel her deep breath. I can’t hold back. I can’t stay away from my wife any longer, no matter who she was before I took her. “Do you want me to slide into you? Fill you up? Lick your nipples and bite them, spank that perfect arse?”
“Wh- I-” Her lips are attempting to shape words, but she’s having trouble, so I halt the effort by kissing her, groaning in relief and grabbing a fistful of her hair, holding her still.
It’s dark in the gym now, the sun’s set, and no lights switched on, so it’s easy to be honest. “I fecking want you, lass,” I whisper into her ear, giving it a sharp bite, enjoying how she jumps a little. “I’ve been desperate to get inside you since the moment I married you.”
“Against my will,” she manages to protest before I kiss her again.
“You get this choice,” I softly tug on her lower lip with my teeth. “You can tell me yes-” I grip her arse and bring her up hard against my cock and she gives a deeply satisfying moan. “Or no.” Dropping her back to her feet, I hold her as she staggers, regaining her balance. Even in the shadows, her eyes are glowing and she’s so beautiful. So exquisite.
“I’m not going to be any good at this,” she warns me. “I’m vanilla pudding and you- you're a dark chocolate whorebag.”
Howling with laughter, I lean over enough to throw her over my shoulder, slapping her arse with a thunderous strike as I race out of the gym and up the long flight of stairs to my room.
Chapter Eleven
In which Morana melts faster than butter in a microwave.
