Page 41 of All Twerk, No Play

“Ok, fine, you don’t have to hit me.”

She relaxed … until I plunked my palm on her head with a soft thud.

Her eyes blazed with annoyance. “Now I’ll have to restyle that.”

“‘Hey, Mr. Assailant, I just got a blowout …’”

Through her glare, her tight mouth quirked at the corners.

“When somebody grabs your hair,” I gently spread my fingers to turn her head side-to-side, “they have near full control of your body. Try to get away.”

When she twisted, my fingers brushed her scalp and a gentle whimper escaped her mouth. Shit, that whimper. I couldn’t think about that whimper right now, not if I wanted any chance of keeping this professional. She was my business consultant and my tenant. And miles out of my league. And humoring me because we were stuck together.

But that fucking whimper …

“Hands over mine,” I coached as her palms stacked on top. “Feel that? You’ve regained some control.” I shifted her head to demonstrate, and her grip tightened. “Grab my pinkie, bend it back and twist under my arm.”

As she rolled me into a wrist lock, I released. A victorious grin splashed across her face. She doubled down to do it again.

When my hand rose, she tensed. “Loosen up,Cobrita.”

“Iamloose,” she insisted through a tight jaw.

She was thinking instead of feeling it in her body. I could verbally coach, but for self-defense to work, she had to tap into her instincts.

She’d relaxed before, in the club. Ariana Grande on the speakers, getting out of her head … and in her apartment when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, humming along and doing little sashays to the beat …

I moved behind her, broadcasting my intentions to grab her arms before I instead touched her hair bun and gave a gentle yank. Her annoyed eyes met mine in the mirrored wall. “Are you going to keep messing with my hair?”

“It's an easy target when you run,” I released, reaching in my pocket for my earbuds. I tucked one into her ear and one into mine, then found the song I wanted. The sultry synth bassline and deep kick drums began under Ariana’s breathy voice whispering about not needing permission to test her limits.

“Pretend you’re out for a run,” I spoke into her free ear. “You’re making good time, and suddenly,” I tugged gently. The bun released into a ponytail. I restrained the urge to wrap it around my hand, “you’re off balance.”

Without prompting, she grabbed my hand. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, lifting my pinkie to dip under my arm and escape.

“No more ponytail pulling,” Victoria said defiantly. She pulled out the hair tie, copper hair cascading down her shoulders, flooding the elevator with the scent of her citrus shampoo.

Victoria lifted her chin like she’d outmaneuvered me as Ariana moaned a lyric about taking control of the moment.

I grabbed a chunk of hair above her shoulder, knuckles grazing her neck, and held it loosely in my fist. “Now what?”

“Seriously?”

“‘I’m sorry, Mr Assailant, I—’”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said with what might qualify as an eye roll. “So I just …”

“Take back control. Grip my wrist. Set your feet. Grab my pinky. Peel it back, quick. Elbow up. Protect your face,” I said, broadcasting an incoming hit that met her forearm. “Twist. Put space between us.”

As she turned under my arm, our faces came closer.

“Turn into the hold to lock my wrist. Make me release,” I flipped my palm open, “then you can escape.”

When I opened my grip on her hair, a rare smile crossed her face as the sultry voice in our ears sang about wanting to do things that she shouldn’t …

I expected her to drop my wrist, step back, and set her position.

I didn’t expect her gaze to skim over my bare chest.

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