Page 74 of Break Me Knot

I pull my thoughts from the memory of her crumpled in a ball in that apartment one step from being condemned. If I can give her anything, it will be a mean right hook.

Her chin notches up in defiance at my teasing, and my cock swells. The gesture is pure Mira, that flash of fire beneath her fear that makes me proud. I shift my stance, trying to hide my body's reaction to her presence, grateful for the loose gym shorts. I can’t let her understand how she affects me; how every scent-infused molecule in the air makes my knot throb.

This is such a fucking bad idea. Having her this close is torture. Pure fucking torture.

I deserve every second of it.

The training gloves look ridiculous on her delicate hands, and something possessive stirs in my chest. I shouldn't be teaching her to fight. I should be making sure she never needs to defend herself. I should be hunting down whatever demons haunt her, eliminating any threat to her safety, but I want to see just how perfectly she fits against me here in the scent-laden gym..

She approaches with spitting green eyes, all fear and defiance and omega seduction, and I want to throw her on the mat, rip those rags off her and sink my cock into her willing body.

But that’s the point.

I want herwilling. Bare. Screaming.

With Mira, I want it all.

“Show me what you've got,” I growl, gesturing to the bag. The words come out rougher than intended, my voice already wrecked from her proximity. “Let me see your technique.”

She squares up, and fuck, everything about her stance is wrong. Her fist is tucked wrong, her weight poorly distributed, her balance off. One hit like that and she'd break her thumb.

“Stop.” I move behind her, and the moment I'm close enough, her scent hits me as hard as my fist striking the bag. Her sweet scent wraps around notes of arousal that makes my cock throb. I ignore it. “Your technique will get you hurt.” My hands hover over her shoulders, not quite touching. The heat from her body radiates against my palms. “May I?”

She nods, and who am I kidding? I'm lost. Totally, utterly lost.

My hands settle on her shoulders, positioning her body in front of mine. She fits against me exactly like I knew she would, small and perfect and dangerous. I take her wrist and guide her arm. Her perfect backside bounces against my thigh. Every point of contact burns like fire, like redemption, like punishment. Her scent fills my lungs, making my knot pulse painfully. Focus. She needs to learn this. Needs to be able to defend herself. Even if having her this close is pure torture.

“Like this,” I murmur, my voice dropping to a growl. “Keep your thumb outside your fist. Rotate from your hips.”

She throws a few punches, but I can tell her mind isn't on the lesson. I can smell her arousal, sweet and tempting, mixing with my own desperate ache. The combination is intoxicating, making it hard to remember why I shouldn't just spin her around and claim her mouth.

And her cunt.

“Come on, Little Mouse,” I taunt, trying to spark that fire I glimpse in her. “Hit like you mean it. Like it's someone you hate.”

She whirls around, eyes flashing with something darker than anger. “This is stupid.” She starts to walk away, and something in me panics. I don’t want her to leave even when I’ve taunted her into it.

“What happens if you're attacked and you can’t fight back?” The words burst out before I can stop them, rough with concern and need. “What then?”

She stops, tension visible in every line of her body. The fear in her scent spikes, telling me I've hit a nerve. “I'm not going to be attacked by a punching bag,” she snaps. “This is useless.”

“Hit me then,” I say, and her eyes widen. She takes a step back, but I catch the thickening of her scent. Interest stirs in my chest at her reaction, which is fear and desire and determination all mixed together.

“You're right,” I continue, moving into her space. Her sweet scent floods my senses, making my head spin. “If you're attacked, it won't be by a punching bag. So hit me. Experience what it's like to connect with something that fights back.” I tap my shoulder, forcing myself to focus on the lesson rather than how badly I want to pull her against me. “Right here, Little Mouse. Show me what you've got.”

She hesitates, and I can't help pushing. I want that fire that lives beneath her fear. “Unless you're scared? Unless you really are a Little Mouse?” The taunt hits its mark. Her eyes flash, her scent sharpens with anger. Good. Anger is better than fear. Anger might keep her alive.

The glove lightly touches my shoulder, hardly strong enough to deter anyone intent on causing her harm. The idea of someone attacking her and her being so defenseless ignites my alpha instincts. Images of her running, hiding, fighting for her life flood my mind, making my protective instincts surge.

“Better,” I growl, “but you're just using your arm. Put your whole body into it. Step forward, let your weight drive the punch.” I demonstrate the movement slowly, hyper aware of how her eyes track my body. “Like this. Use your smaller size to your advantage. Momentum matters more than bulk.”

She hesitates again, and fuck, I shouldn't love that defiance in her eyes. Shouldn't want to push until she breaks through her own restraint. Shouldn't be this turned on by teaching her to fight. But every flash of spirit, every hint of the strength she possesses, makes my cock throb harder.

“Come on, Little Mouse. Hit me like you mean it. Like I'm whatever you're running from.”

Something dark flashes across her face, and this time when she punches, I feel it. The force, the fury, the fear behind it. All her pent-up emotion channeled into one strike. My alpha rejoices even as my cock hardens further. Her scent spikes with a combination of triumph and arousal that makes my knot pulse.

That's my girl.

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