Джена Шоуолтер - Enslave Me Sweetly

I spent the next two hours stretching on the mat and centering my energy, forcing my body past the barriers my injuries had set. At times, I found myself unsteady and shaky. A good shaky, though. The kind that let me know I was alive. I’m sure Lucius would have preferred I make use of the weights, maybe the virtual boxing ring.

Usually, I did train in the ring. I didn’t want to go that route today. Instead, I pranced off the mat and to the bar across the far wall. I stretched one leg up, glancing over at Lucius. I nearly gasped when I realized he was watching me, his eyes heated and intense.

My gaze slitted on him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Let’s practice,” he barked. “If you think you can handle me.”

“I’ve been handling men like you for years, Sparkie.”

A muscle ticked in his temple. “Let’s get a few things straight, cookie . You don’t like me and I don’t like you. You don’t want a partner, and I sure as hell don’t need one—especially an arrogant female other-worlder with no talent that I can see.”

“Then why did you agree to work with me?” I ground out.

“A paycheck is a paycheck, baby, and your daddy is paying out the ass to have me here.”

“We’re paid by the government, baby . Get your facts straight.”

His lips pursed, and he cut off his next words.

“At least you got the better end of the deal,” I muttered.

“How’s that?” He arched a brow. “You failed your last mission, and I’ve succeeded every damn time.”

I worked my jaw in irritation. Like I really needed a reminder of my failure. Like it wasn’t front and center in my mind, even in my dreams. “In all my years as an agent, that’s my only failure. One I plan to rectify.”

“You’ve succeeded at easy cases, sugar. That’s nothing to be proud of.”

Bastard. “Have you even made a single kill?”

“If you have to ask, you’re not a good judge of character.”

Cold, hard death gleamed in his eyes, speaking of innumerable kills. My hands clenched at my sides. “I’ve made kills, too. Many, in fact.”

“I’m curious,” he said. “How did you eliminate those targets of yours? Annoy them to death?”

Scowling, I closed the distance between us until we were nose to nose. Our breath mingled, and I could feel the vibration of his strength. I could not seem to hold my usual cool facade with this man. I responded to him whether I wanted to or not. “Why annoy them when I can use my knife—when I can take a human like you, cut you up, and sauté you for breakfast?”

He studied me for a long, silent moment, his eyes raking over my curves with heated intent. “That’s one glorious ego you’ve got there.”

“I’ve earned it. You, however, have probably never—”

“That’s enough, children,” Michael said, suddenly filling the doorway.

We both spun around and faced him. With a feigned nonchalance, he leaned against the thick wooden frame. He held a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and an unlit cigar with the other. “I leave you two alone for a few hours and you turn on each other. Work together on this or find yourselves new jobs.” He shook his head and gave me his complete attention. “I meant to give you more time, but something’s come up.” Now he turned to Lucius. “Finish your training, then explain to Eden what I want done today.”

With that, he left us alone.

“Explain now,” I said, glaring at Lucius. I would have run after Michael, but that would amused my partner, I’m sure.

“Anyone ever tell you if you’re nice to a man, he’s more likely to be nice to you?”

“Please explain what Michael wants done,” I said, the words ripped from my throat.

“Not until after we train,” he said, drawing out each syllable with relish. He eyed my injured side. “You, cookie, are in desperate need of it.”

I had to swallow back a rush of curses. How did he keep getting the upper hand? “I’m ready when you are,” I said through gritted teeth. As a Raka, I didn’t have special, instinctive fighting skills. As a trained assassin, I did . I would not be the easy mark he obviously considered me. Injured or not.

He claimed his place on the large blue mat in the center of the gym.

Gathering my energy, centering at last, I placed myself just inches away from him. My strength was not at the level I wanted it, but for now it would have to do. I considered my battle strategy. Focus. Keep my thoughts clear. Don’t allow an emotional reaction.

“I won’t go easy on you,” he said. “I don’t care that you’re a woman, and I don’t care that you’re injured.”

I’d trained with holograms more fierce and lethal than this man, so his warning didn’t frighten me in the least. “You plan to take me down all by your little self?” I laughed. “Good luck, Sparkie.”

Uttering a low growl, he sprang at me.

In one fluid motion, I leaned to the side, effectively avoiding impact. He whizzed past me and tripped on his own feet. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You let your anger get the better of you.”

Pivoting, he advanced on me. I kicked him in the stomach, but that didn’t slow him. He reached me all too soon and grabbed me by the shoulders. This time I couldn’t evade him; he moved too quickly. He tossed me down, and I hit the mat with a smack. I winced at the sharp ache in my side but quickly leapt to my feet. And just like that, before I could drag in a breath, he was on me again, shoving me down, his hands wrapping around my throat to choke me.

“You’re too slow,” he said.

I knew that. The slower I moved, the more time my opponent had to consider his next action. I broke Lucius’s hold with a quick thrust to his elbow. Not enough strength to break his arm into two pieces, but enough to hurt. Then I kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. When he regained his momentum, he launched at me. Twisting, I sprang up and sidestepped. Gave another fluid twist. Kick.

Contact.

My foot slammed into his midsection, knocking the air from his lungs. As he doubled over, trying to suck in air, I lunged, elbow raised. With one downward slice, I connected with his cheekbone.

He howled.

I grinned. “Still too slow?”

“Not a bad move,” he said, rubbing his cheek. After a moment of staggering, he stood to his full height. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.” He went low, spinning on his heels, at the same time performing a booted strike. Anticipating such a move, I jumped.

Not far enough away, however.

The heel of his boot ground into my calf. My knees knocked together, buckled, and I propelled onto my face. Cool foam met hot flesh. I lost my cockiness.

He jumped on me, his chest pinning my face to the floor. His warm breath fanned my ear, my cheek. Everywhere his skin touched mine acted as a live wire, singeing me, making me ache—not in pain, but in lust. I had trouble drawing in a breath, but when I did, I inhaled the savageness of his scent. The wildness.

“What should you do in this position?” he said calmly.

I should place one palm against my cheek, then extend my other arm and roll myself over. But his long, thick fingers were surprisingly gentle as they slid down my arms, and I remained in place, doing nothing. His touch wasn’t like that of an enemy, but like that of a lover.

An unwanted wave of need and desire crested inside me, growing hotter, hotter still. It didn’t help that he had an erection. Thick. Hard. Hot.

He didn’t want me , I knew. Not really. Men were simply turned on by physical contact. And we’d definitely gotten physical.

Knowing he would have desired any woman under him failed to diminish my own lust as it should have. Dark, dangerous fantasies sprang to life. Naked bodies, moans of surrender…Without thought, I arched my butt toward him, seeking more of his heat, craving deeper contact.