Page 48 of The Beta's Blind Date

She begins her hits as soon as she steps back into the ring, and I brace myself. I saw how she fought with Maddie the other day—how she kept up with her and pinned Maddie almost as many times as Maddie pinned her—so I knew there would be some decent force behind her hit.

But even though I expect it, I’m still not ready for how strong she is. I grit my teeth and strengthen my stance, using my legs and abs to keep from budging as she rains hit after hit into the focus mitt on my hand.

“Take a lap,” I order after she finishes one round of reps.

She nods and takes off, running around the edge of the training field while I get a drink of water, giving my hands a break. She is strong. And persistent. And well-trained. I had the hardest time thinking of things she needed to work on for these next two weeks. She’s already top-notch. She only needs some minor adjustments to push her to the next level.

She returns from her lap and we start again, repeating the same cycle of reps and then a lap for several rounds, until her face glistens with sweat and her hits on both sides get too slow.

“Get some water,” I say, removing the mitts.

She breathes out, her shoulders relaxing, then she adjusts the yellow and black polka dot head wrap in her hair as she walks to the water jug. I spray the gloves with sanitizing spray before setting them on the table, then turn to her. “Toss me your weights.”

“Okay,” she says.

She takes them off her wrist and tosses them to me, but I don’t move, don’t reach out to grab them. Because this girl, my mate, has taken her yellow top off and thrown it aside, leaving her in only leggings and a black sports bra.

Holy fuck.

The tight-fitting workout clothes she’s wearing already left little to the imagination, hugging her long, toned legs and ass and highlighting her lean upper body. But now, with her top removed, all the smooth skin of her stomach is exposed, shimmering in the winter sun like there is a dusting of bronze glitter on her skin.

She bends to fix her shoelaces, and the small sports bra that doesn’t fully cover the swell of her perfectly sized breasts is a web of criss-crossed straps in the back, leaving almost every inch of skin there uncovered. Not to mention the way her ass sticks up in the air, tight and round and begging to be grabbed and squeezed.

I bite my fist to staunch my groan, and then I remember we’re outside. On the training field. With all of Crescent Lake able to ogle her, check her out as much as their pretty little hearts desire.

Fuck that. That is not happening. My girl will not put herself on display like this. Not without a mark on her neck. My mark on her neck.

My restraint snaps. My mouth moves before my brain has time to catch up. “What are you doing?!” She glances at me, looking up from her shoes. “You hate the cold,” I add.

She stands up straight and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m warm. We’ve been working out for a while and the sun is out today.”

I grit my teeth and clench my fists. “We’ll finish training inside.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Although it is good to practice fighting in all types of weather, I need you focused on technique and not the temperature.”

And I don’t want any other wolves to see her cute ass in those tight leggings or the smooth, taut skin of her exposed abdomen for any longer than necessary. But I don’t tell her that.

“Okay.” She shrugs, grabs her top, and follows me towards the training building.

As soon as we’re inside, I lead us into one of the mirrored rooms and pull out a mat, my jaw still clenched and my brow furrowed. Part of me does backflips because I have her alone now, with no one else around to see her perfect warrior body in that tight little outfit. But the other part of me has weights on his ankles, still dragging his feet and insisting he is going to reject Taryn.

And I’m no longer sure which part is bigger.

We face each other, hands on our hips. Her skin still shimmers, reflecting the light back to the world, giving her an ethereal glow. Our heartbeats echo in the room’s silence, our chests rising and falling in unison.

My hands itch to touch her. To run my palms across the expanse of her exposed stomach, to learn how her body reacts to my touch.

Is her skin as soft as it looks? Does she taste as good as she smells?

“Pin me,” I say.

“What?”

“Pin me.”

She stares at me, biting her lip, and like a rabbit she darts forward, ready to take me down.

---