Page 86 of Cruel Legacy

He was thinking he had a hot body in his hands. I wanted to rip his arms off and beat him with them.

“You disrespected yourself by putting yourself in harm’s way. I asked for people to demonstrate the moves. I picked two students that I knew could do them correctly, because they have wrestling experience. You just jumped up there with no regard for your safety, andthenyou got trapped in a hold that you had no chance of escaping.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to show I could escape it. Why am I in here, anyway, and not Michael? He didn’t even do the move you told him to. He was too busy tryna put thislittle girlon her back.”

He was definitely trying to do that. I plan to deal with him later. Right now, she’s the one in front of me.

“You owe me five push-ups for every minute you disrupted class, and five for every minute you were in the ring. That was a total of ten minutes of my class you wasted.”

“Push-ups?”

“That’s right. You’ll do them military style, not on your knees. I wanna hear you count them off, and those arms better be parallel to the floor. If you break form, you’ll start over again from one.” I point towards the floor. “Get to it.”

She stretches out into a plank, eyes trained on me, and lowers. “One.”

“It’s one, sir.”

Her eyes flash with a challenge. She wanted training. This is only a taste of what she’d get in my gym.

“One, sir. Two, sir.”

I go to sit behind my desk, leaning forward on my elbows. She’s still looking me in the eye, back straight.

“Six, sir.”

Usually, by the time the girls who aren’t in the MISTIC program get to ten, their arms are shaking and they’re ready to quit. They break form and have to start again. But she’s still cruising along. “Twelve, sir.”

Up and down she goes. Those damn big blue eyes drinking me in. I imagine they’re as wide as they’d be if she were looking up at me from her knees. “Twenty, sir.”

She doesn’t break her rhythm, but she’s a little winded. “Twenty-four, sir.” Her face is flushed, her glutes locked tight as she maintains her form. “Thirty…” I arch a brow, the sir, comes out on a puff of air.

My fingers are linked together, pressed against my mouth, to hold back the groan that’s threatening to escape. I’m supposed to be punishing her, but I’m the one suffering. There’s a soft sheen of sweat on her arms, and the flush on her skin extends down to her neck. “Thirty-three, sir.”

I shift in my seat, discreetly readjusting myself, as she pants for air. “Thirty-four, sir.”

She’s doing better than I expected, but I can see fatigue is setting in. Her arms are shaking. If she breaks form, she’ll have to start all over. “Thirty-five, sir.” I say to keep her moving.

She lowers and repeats it. “Fifteen more, LaReaux.”

“Thirty-six, sir.”

I stand to my feet and walk back around the desk, leaning against it with my arms folded across my chest. “That’s it. Give me one more.”

“Thirty, se-ven, sir.”

“Don’t you dare quit. Show me what you’re made of.”

“Thirty… eight, sir. Thirty-nine, sir. Forty, sir.”

She’s paused in a plank. “Ten more. Right now. Perfect form.” I drop to the floor right in front of her. “Eyes on me.”

She lifts her gaze to mine. “Good, girl. Give me ten.Now.”

“Forty-one, sir.”

“Forty, two sir.”

We go rep for rep together, her eyes never leaving mine. “Forty-seven, sir.”

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