“I like a lady who takes control,” he said softly.
She smiled up at him and then pivoted, breaking the grip of his hand easily. She took a few steps back. “Perhaps we need a street fight, eh?”
He arched a brow. “Oh? Do I need to go get you a sword?”
“No, I’ll go bare with you,” she said with a saucy wink. She gripped the midsection of her chemise and tugged. He realized as she pulled it free that she was wearing two pieces. Her top was a chemisette and as soon as she freed it from the leather she tugged it over her head, leaving her bare from the mid-waist up.
He swallowed hard at the sight of those gorgeous breasts against the dark leather.
“I think I might like street fighting,” he murmured as they fell back into a fighting stance. This time when she struck out, her punch was no longer hard. She barely brushed his chest, letting her cloth-covered knuckles drag down his skin again.
He sucked in a breath and stepped in closer. “I’ve heard some grappling is part of women’s fighting, as well. More often than men’s.”
She nodded. “Oh yes. Sometimes we…”
She trailed off and launched forward, catching his arms. He did the same and they moved around the ring together, eyes locked.
“And a takedown is very easy in this position,” she said. Before she even finished the statement, she swept her leg against his. He didn’t have enough time to adjust and he toppledbackward. She came down over him, straddling his body, and pushed his arms back up over his head, holding him down.
“It seems,” he said with a little smile he couldn’t hold back. “That I am at your mercy, my sweet little Hellion. So how shall we fight now?”
The idea that Finn was at her mercy was a potent one, even if Esme knew it wasn’t really true. Despite her skills, he was a far bigger and stronger person. It he wanted to put her on her back, he could. If he wanted to hurt her, he could.
But he wouldn’t. She knew that down deep into her soul. This man would never hurt her. And that made her feel safe in ways she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
She shifted, grinding down against him. She felt that he was half-hard already and smiled. “I don’t think I want to fight anymore, my lord.”
“No,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Than what do you want to do?”
She leaned down, continuing to hold his hands above his head, and kissed him. He groaned deep in his throat and lifted to meet her. Their tongues tangled and dueled, in a whole new kind of fight that set her body on fire.
“I want that tongue somewhere else,” she whispered when she pulled away.
His dark eyes widened with desire, and then he pulled each hand away from her. He pushed at her skirt and smiled when he lifted it away and showed her to be naked beneath. Then he cupped her bare hips, his fingers pressing into the skin, and slid her up his body.
She realized with a start that he wanted her to ride his tongue like this. And oh, she wanted to. Wanted to use him, draw all the pleasure she could from him, forget with physical acts that were just as powerful as fighting.
She slid up his chest and perched herself over his mouth, where she hovered. He laughed and tugged her flush with him, and then the only sound in the room was the wet lap of his tongue on her. She bunched her skirt in her hands, watching him work at her as she began to ride him. There was no hesitation, he delved into the act of licking and sucking her with nothing but attention and enthusiasm. He swirled his tongue around her, latched his mouth at her clitoris and rocked her hips harder. She rested her hands back on his sides, tilting herself for better access and surrendered to sensation. It was a gift he gave, an act of love that nearly shattered her as much as he would soon shatter her with pleasure.
“Let go,” he murmured against her skin.
She closed her eyes, focused on what he was doing to her. The way his fingers clenched against her skin, the way his tongue swirled, perfect pressure applied to the most sensitive place in her body. She listened to the catch of his breath, the way he moaned as if making her weak was his favorite pastime. And she spiraled in on the building pleasure between her legs, the expert way he built every brick in a wall he intended to pull down.
When it fell, she arched back, crying out his name in the quiet as she jolted her hips over his mouth and let the pleasure wash away everything else in the world. It was only him, it was only her, it was only this.
He drew her through the crisis, his hands clutching her tighter against him, never allowing escape. Only when her elbows buckled, when she collapsed back in a heap across his body, did he relent. She felt him shift, untucked her legs from beneath them. He moved over her, his hands coming into herhair, his mouth finding hers. She tasted her release on him, sank into the warmth and heat of it and of him.
“If this is where sparring with you leads, I’ll do it any time,” he whispered against her mouth.
She smiled. “Only with you.”
“Good.” The kiss deepened and she lifted her hips against him, needing to feel him inside of her. He ground down, the rough fabric of his trousers not hiding that he was hard now.
He shifted her onto her stomach and she whimpered as she lifted herself up in offering. He stroked her from behind and then she felt the bare thrust of him pushing against her wet sex. She collided back and took him inside in one harsh thrust.
“Fuck,” he grunted, and then he caught her hips and any illusion she had of control was gone.
He took her hard and fast, their skin slapping, their moans intertwining in the quiet. As she supported herself with one arm, she shoved her other hand between her legs and arched against her fingers. He moved faster as she gripped him, taking her pleasure as he lost himself in his.
