My left hand swipes up and out, my sword cutting through the carotid of the person before me, while my right elbow catches another in the throat before slamming the tip of my sword through his chest. I don’t watch to see if he crumples to the ground—the thud of his body is all the confirmation necessary.
Person afterperson is dealt with. They’re either dead or have escaped with what they came for.
Whipping my head around, I notice the missing floorboards. She wasn’t the target—the information she came here to collect was. But I won’t lower my guard until I’m certain they aren’t coming back.
Heaving out a breath, I begin to turn and lower my mask, but an elbow cracks me in the back of my head, forcing me to quickly spin out of the way of her next blow and sheath my katanas.
“Who the fuck are you?” she barks, but doesn’t allow me to respond. Instead, she follows up with a series of side kicks, which I dodge with ease. She’s a skilled fighter, but I’ve been trained longer than she’s been alive.
Another quick mixture of kicks and jabs follows each missed connection. Throughout the sparring, she never loses her composure—a testament to her discipline and training.
Dodging the fist she throws at my face, I sidestep, wrap my arms around her chest, and bear hug her. “It’s me, little fox,” I murmur in her ear while she squirms. I know she doesn’t hear me when her elbow jams into my stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs. It’s not enough to break my hold, but I’m going to have one fuck of a bruise.
“Let. Me. The. Fuck. Go,” she snarls. “Or I’ll castrate you and use your balls to tee up at the Traveler’s Championship.”
“That’s oddly specific, watashi no ai. Don’t you think?”
Not one to quit, she lowers her center of gravity, catching me off guard and flipping me on my back.
Splattered in blood, she straddles my chest, pinning my hands, and I put up no resistance, even when shards of glass puncture my flesh.
I’d welcome hell itself if it meant she’d be mine.
“If you wanted to ride me like you did that couch cock, you needn’t fight me. I’ll surrender to you willingly.”
Her eyes, more hazel-brown than green today, peer down at my masked face in surprise as my words seem to finally register.
“B?” she questions, still not fully believing I’m not the enemy.
Taking advantage of her disbelief, I lift my legs, wrap them around her waist, and twist until she’s beneath me. Her chest heaves, nipples hard, rising up and downin a cadence that threatens to hypnotize me. “The one and only, little fox.”
“Why did you stop me?” The question—more accusatory than inquisitive.
My cock hardens at the challenge in her fiery gaze. “You were clearly outnumbered. Should I have left you to be taken?”
Huffing, Tati bucks her hips, an attempt to free herself, but I’m immovable. “They never would’ve gotten the chance. And now I’ve lost?—”
Tears well in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. She clears her throat, sniffing away her vulnerability as she takes in the empty space that used to hold the Gordons’ safe.
“—lost my last chance to get something I needed.” Her voice is far more in control—her composure—her mask— fully back in place. “And I can handle myself. You didn’t need to charge in like I was some damsel in distress.”
“A damsel in distress—I doubt anyone could ever label you with that moniker.”
Her jaw ticks. “Then, I’ll once again ask why you got in my way?”
Releasing her arms, I sit back, not allowing the full weight of my body down on her legs, but keeping her planted in place until I’m ready to release her.
That’s never going to happen. She’s ours—my mind and body in firm unison.
Lifting my mask, I allow her to see me for the first time—my once neat bun—a mess, half up, the rest in my face. “Your stubbornness is only cute when it’s not wrapped in stupidity, little fox,” I declare as I fix my hair.
Tati’s face blooms red, which I’m sure is equal parts indignation and embarrassment. I lower my body until my chest is pressing into her, giving me access to her ear. “I’ll never take chances with your life,” I whisper before nipping her ear.
She shivers before pushing me away. “You can get off me anytime you’re ready.” But the lust is already there. A spark, kindling. Waiting to catch. A moment we’ve spent years building toward.
I glide my finger up her stomach in slow concentric circles until I’m just beneathher breasts. “Is that what you really want, Tati?” My question—a challenge as much as it’s a taunt. “Do you want me to get off you?” I cup her firm breast, massaging it while I lower my mouth, wrapping my lips around the raised peak poking through her thin white tank top.
Her breath hitches, her hips roll, but she doesn’t respond to my question verbally, and we can’t have that.
