“The chances are I’m going to lean back like this.” He sits upright, looking down at me. “This is your moment. You need to plant your hands on my hipbones and press hard, one way then the other. Otherwise…”
He mimes throwing strikes down at me, but even demonstrating, he looks guilty about it.
I do as he says: press my palms against him. I push up, hard one way, then the other. He falls forward and catches himself with his hands.
“Good,” he says proudly. “See? Now I have to catch myself.”
“And this is where I go for your eyes, your balls, whatever I have to?”
“There are escapes I can teach you, specific techniques. But as a basic rule, if you know nothing else, yes. That’s your best shot. To get good at technical escapes takes time. But if you blind him, bite him, seriously maim him, then you have a chance to get free.”
He’s talking about dark things, which should, in theory, diffuse any of the excitement bubbling up in me. But it does the opposite. It makes me feel powerful, like I’ve got a shot if Lucian ever returns.
“Can I try again?” I ask.
“Sure.”
He sits up and does some more moves. This time, when I push against him, he balances, riding me like a bull. Nerves tingle over me as I imagine him using these strong hips for something else.
“Now what?” I huff.
“Most likely, some random scumbag won’t be able to balance like this,” he says. “If they do, though, give them a hard knee to the back?—”
He laughs, just about catching himself before he face plants from the knee I just drove into him.
“Sorry,” I say, laughing.
“No, it’s good,” he says fiercely, his breath whispering against my ear. All it would take is for me to turn my head, and then we’d be kissing.
“Uh, is there anything else I should know?” I ask.
I think he senses my discomfort—no, not that. Confusion. The conflict in my head and my body.
He stands, then offers me his hand. That same electric buzzing hums between us as he hauls me to my feet as if I weigh nothing.
“There’s full guard too,” he says. “They won’t always end up on top of you in that way. But we don’t have to cover that today.”
“Why not?” I say defensively.
He clenches his jaw, looks into my eyes with tension tightening his mouth, like he’s fighting with everything he has not to slide his gaze down my body.
“Well… we can,” he says. “If you’re up to it.”
“Do I need to lie down again?” I ask a little breathlessly.
“Uh, yeah,” he groans, like he’s fighting a thousand instincts, none of them civilized.
I lie on the mat again. This time, he kneels in front of me.
“Sometimes, they’ll end up below your hips. In that case, you can wrap your legs around them. That’s called guard.”
I swallow. “Okay…”
He shifts closer. I open my legs, far too aware of the sensation of my underwear rubbing against my sex. When I close my legs around him, I stare up, heart thundering in my ears.
“What does this do?” I ask.
“It gives you some control over my posture,” he says. “Tilt your hips one way, drive with your legs, and you can topple me.”
