“Afraid?” I dropped my voice until it was almost a growl. “No. Distracted? Definitely.”
Her grin flashed, and she came at me again. The world narrowed to the rhythm of our strikes and the steady pull of her focus locked on mine.
I didn’t give her the full measure of my strength. I wanted to see everything she could do. I wanted to feel her thinking, adapting, pushing me as much as I was pushing her.
And I wanted to prolong this as long as I could.
Her latest strike caught the edge of my forearm, the sting barely registering before I trapped her wrist and drove her back two steps.She went with the move, twisting in my grip to break free, and this brought her so close her braid brushed my chest.
I caught the blaze of defiance in her eyes as she pivoted, her weight already shifting for her next attack. I’d fought soldiers with decades of training who’d never adapted this fast.
When she aimed a kick toward my knee, I stepped into it, narrowing the space and catching her ankle before it could land. Her balance wavered for half a breath, long enough for me to let my hand slide from her calf up to her thigh as I set her foot down.
“Still holding back.” Her voice came out steady despite the flush creeping up her neck.
I smirked. “And you’re still prolonging the inevitable.”
Her next strike came fast, her palm toward my ribs. I blocked, but she hooked my wrist, spun, and used my momentum to try and take me over her hip. I let her get halfway there before twisting my weight and reversing the motion, bringing us chest-to-chest, her back bowed toward the mat.
Her breathing caught. Mine matched it.
If I dropped her now, I could win in seconds. If I didn’t, I could keep this up longer. Feel her moving under my hands. Watch the way her eyes tracked every inch of me like she was memorizing my shape for later.
She broke my grip with a sharp twist, ducking under my arm and pivoting to strike at my back. I turned in time to catch it, the impact reverberating through my forearm.
“Better,” I said.
She was brilliant. Calculated. Daring.
She smirked, the kind of expression that promised trouble. “I’m just getting started.”
So was I.
Every time she came in close, our breaths mingled before we broke apart again.
I caught her by the waist mid-pivot and lifted her off balanceenough to set her back two steps. Her palm hit my side in return, hard enough to make my heartbeat jump.
She’d barely touched me, and I was already unmade. If this was war, I’d surrender without terms.
The air in the room had changed. I could feel it in my bones, that shift from sparring to something else, a feeling that lived in the space between a held breath and a touch you shouldn’t want but couldn’t hold back.
She came at me hard, a fast, high strike followed by a low kick aimed at my thigh. I blocked both, twisting to catch her arm and pull her in until our chests pressed together.
She broke the hold, spinning away with a flash of her braid. I followed, narrowing the gap again. When she tried to feint left, I was already there, blocking and shoving her back, testing her balance.
“Still pretending you won’t lose to me, Minx?” I asked.
I adored the wickedness of her smile. “Not even close.”
I pressed harder to see how long she’d keep pace. Her breathing came faster now, and the soft squeak of her boots marked every pivot, every dodge, and every clash.
I stepped in for another strike, but she was already moving, reading me before I’d even committed to it.
And I realized I could fight her all damn day.
Her thigh brushed my hip, and I caught the sharp hiss of her breath. I wanted her to do it again. I wanted her to do even more.
“I’m still standing,” she said, breathless. “Are you going easy on me?”
