Page 23 of Flipping the Script

“Fuck.” He hit the ground hard, his chest heaving and his muscles tight.

Before he could even think about moving, I was on top of him again, pinning him to the ground as I tried to grab his wrists.

He switched tactics, and instead of trying to overpower me, he wrapped his arms and legs around me like a baby koala, locking them tight and squeezing hard.

I clawed at his arms, trying to rip them off me as my ribs cracked from the force of his bear hug.

We rolled and scrabbled on the ground, both trying to get the upper hand and neither of us conceding.

Adrenaline and something akin to lust swirled around inside me, clouding my brain and making me revert to pure instinct as we fought.

We weren’t trying to hit each other, although I did get a few elbows to the side and a knee in the thigh that made my muscle cramp. I didn’t want to hurt him, not really.

I wanted to win. I wanted him to concede and submit. To give in and look up at me in defeat.

My muscles and lungs burned from exertion and the myriad of emotions pelting me, but all I could focus on was Sebastian’s hard body and powerful grip, how his soft grunts and cries mixed with mine, creating a symphony of aggression that was way too hot.

My back hit the ground with enough force that I was momentarily dazed and gasping for air.

Sebastian lay over me, his eyes wild and his hair a mess. Dirt was smeared on his shoulder and stained his shirt.

“Give up?” he demanded, his voice scratchy and rough.

“Never.” I gave another feeble attempt at freeing my arms, but it was mostly for show at that point.

We were both slicked with sweat and dirt, our chests heaving as we panted. My muscles were shaky with fatigue, but I refused to let him see how spent I was.

“You look good like this,” he said, his tone mocking and his eyes dark with something I couldn’t read.

“Like what?” I ground out, hating that he once again had me on my back and at a disadvantage.

“Helpless and disheveled.” His grin deepened.

I glared up at him.

“Give up yet?” he asked again, dropping a little more of his weight on me.

I paused.

What the fuck was our endgame here? Did he want to punch me? Was his goal to humiliate and fuck with me like mine had been with him, or did he truly want to hurt me?

This kind of fighting wasn’t my style. The few times that I’d had to throw hands had been quick and dirty, with my only goal being to walk away less injured than the other guy.

This wasn’t that. I had no idea what the fuck it was, but I couldn’t deny how much I was enjoying it.

How much it turned me on.

“Well?” he taunted, his breathing calming slightly. “Are you going to admit that I won?”

“Are you going to admit that I let you win?” I asked sweetly.

I didn’t let him win, but I knew saying that would piss him off and get a rise out of him.

He let out a feral snarl and threw his body weight on me, rage flashing in his eyes as he glared down at me.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“You didn’t let me win,” he growled.

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