I launch forward and swing at his head. His hands remain in his pockets as he ducks beneath the blow and sidesteps, then hip-checks me with enough force to send me sprawling into the countertop.
“Is that all you’ve got?” his hands are still in his pockets, and he resumes whistling.
I go at him again, this time aiming a blow to his knee. He dances out of reach, but I’m faster; I switch hands and bring the spoon crashing into his shoulder.
The effect is comically underwhelming. The metal is lightweight; he doesn’t evenflinch.
“There’s a knife in the third drawer down,” he says causally, nodding behind me. “Grab it.”
“What?”
“Do you want to keep coming at me with a fuckingspoon, Flame? You don’t even have a fighting chance with that.”
I rake my gaze over him. “You’re unarmed.”
“I’m well aware, thank you. I don’t need to be armed to beat you.” He jerks his chin at the drawer in question again. “Grab it now, or I’m assuming you’ve forfeit, and I’m going to bend you over the counter and fuck the hell out of you.”
“Are you going to come at me when my back’s turned to you?”
He scoffs. “Please. This is a clean fight. I’m a gentleman.” I arch a dubious eyebrow; he chuckles. “I’ll be a gentleman for you. Go ahead.”
The knife’s in my grip five seconds later, and this time, I come at himhard.He dodges my first, second, and third blows, all in rapid succession. His posture is loose and fluid. He’s flexible, nimble, and his footwork is fuckingimmaculate.For the first time in maybeever, I feel like I’m finally facing my match.
And it turns. Me.On.
Unbearable heat sweeps through my body, hardening my nipples and making the place between my thighs ache. I swipe at Max’s shoulder; he throws a light elbow to my side. Not hard enough to hurt or even bruise, just enough to successfully divert me. His hands remain in his pockets as he dances around me, bumping me away every now and again, waiting patiently for me to tire myself out.
We’re at a stalemate. I’m not fighting to kill him, which is my expertise, and that puts me at a disadvantage. I have no active fear for my or my sister’s life. This is for fun, forpracticeinstead of the real thing, which is a novelty I’ve never before experienced.
I sort of love it.
Still, I’m not one to tire out or give up easily, so I resort to fightingdirty. I manage a kick to Max’s knees that makes them buckle, smash the hilt of the knife into his jaw, andsprintpast him.
I’m not sure where I’m going. A mixture of instinct and curiosity guides me into one of the spare bedrooms, which is minimally decorated with a bed, a dresser, and a shuttered window.
Max is hot on my heels. There’s a bright red patch on his jaw from where I hit him, and his eyes are alight with exhilaration. The length of his cock presses insistently against the front of his pants, demandingmy attention. I try not to stare at it, butfuckit’s hot. He’s hot, and hard, and so damncapable—
He launches at me. I employ some footwork of my own, dancing behind him and landing an elbow to the base of his spine, making him waver. Then, the hilt of the knife goes into the back of his neck in aharshblow. That’s whatfinallygets his hands to come out of his pockets, and that’s when I know I’m completely fucked.
He spins, eyes blazing, fingers twitching, posture no longer relaxed yet still not too tense to move. I gaze over the set of his body, the stance of his feet, thereadinessin his eyes… and I realize he’s beentoyingwith me. My body is coated in sweat, while he doesn’t even have a sheen on his forehead.
He’s beenwarming upwhile I’ve been tiring out.
“Ready to lose, Flame?” he asks.
I bare my teeth at him. “Give it yourbestfucking shot.”
And he does.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ember
He dives for me; I parry him with the flat of the knife against his cheek. If I’d angled it a centimeter differently, it would’ve sliced him open, but this isn’t a fight meant to incapacitate or kill. It started out as a fight to let out energy, but now, it’sforeplay.
Max grips my wrist, wrenching it to the side. The pressure is too intense, and the knife clatters from my hand, falling harmlessly to the ground. Then, his arms come around my midsection, and he hurls me face-forward onto the bed. I barely have a chance to bounce before he’s on top of me, wrangling my hands behind my back and pushing my head into the mattress.
“You lost,” he says, his voice gravelly,finallysounding a bit out of breath and a whole lot turned on. “I won. I’m taking my prize.”
