Gage turned his head slightly. “Then tell me.”
Scar pressed closer.
“You’re making me want to pin you down and show you,” he said, grazing his lips along the shell of Gage’s ear.
He could smell the sweat from their moves, mixing with Gage’s unique powdery scent, which was both intoxicating and sweet.
He eased his hand along Gage’s waist and dipped his thumb under the hem of his hoodie, wanting to feel his bare skin.
And of course it was warm, silky, and inviting, as he’d assumed.
His want was like a blade twisting slowly in his stomach. Gage ignited a craving he could no longer ignore.
He tilted his hardness forward, seeking more.
As if he wasn’t that easy to take—like Roz warned—Gage turned and shot him backward with the flat of his cane against his chest.
It wasn’t enough to send him flying, but hard enough there’d be a bruise there by morning.
Scar circled, his breath even, sweat dripping down his back.
Gage tilted his head, rotating with him, tracking his every step. He thought he’d lightened them, but obviously not enough.
He tried a fake attack from the left, but Gage didn’t bite. He tried another, closer.
Gage snapped the cane up and tapped Scar’s throat with precise control, the tip touching beside his pulse before pulling away.
Scar’s arousal spiked in betrayal.
He knew Gage was pulling his punches, but he didn’t want him to, he wanted Gage to hurt him. Wanted him to make him pay—in bed—for all the times he’d given him hell when they were on the block.
Gage threw him a sly smile. “Your thoughts are loud.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
Gage didn’t pause. “I am.”
Scar surged in.
They collided chest to chest, both hands on each other now, not fighting, but testing weight, heat, and dominance.
Gage spun the cane low around his hips and snapped it into a tight block, the motion too smooth to read until it was already there.
Scar thought he had the cane timed, but he missed the lunge as Gage rolled his weapon over his right shoulder and re-caught it higher on the shaft, changing reach and angle without giving Scar a chance to reset.
Gage pivoted to Scar’s blind side and did some fancy-ass footwork that had him chasing air.
He surged into empty space, and when he turned, Gage was already at his back with his cane threaded across his throat, applying just enough pressure to make the point without choking him.
Gage’s breath warmed the nape of his neck as he held him tightly in place.
“Where’d you learn that?” Scar asked.
“Mirage is a good teacher.” Gage hummed, low and sensual.
Scar tried to turn, but Gage was already gone, the cane flashing between them before it shrunk down to the size of a relay baton.
Gage tucked it behind him and got into a fight stance.
