Page 15 of Born into Mayhem
Chapter 4
Mia
It’s been a week since I accidentally came on the back of Dario’s bike, and every time I think about it I can’t help but smile. There’s a soft sting of embarrassment that lies beneath the surface, but mainly I just want to laugh at the shocked, pissed-off way he’d looked at me, like he couldn’t believe I’d had the nerve to orgasm with my body wrapped so tightly around his.
In all fairness, I hadn’t planned to, and I’d fought it off for as long as I could, but all those vibrations against my new piercing meant I didn’t stand a chance in hell of avoiding it. There’s no way I would’ve stopped it even if I could, though, because it had felt amazing. I’d worried about breaking the rule of no stimulation for a month, but when I’d used a mirror to get a good look at myself, everything appeared okay, and a week later there’s still no sign of redness or infection, so I think I’m in the clear.
All I need to do now is make it through the next two weeks, but it appears Dario is dead set on derailing my plan. Ignoring the fact that he’d told me he would pick me up for my next lesson, I’d had Feliks drop me off. Having me show up on his pristine doorstep had immediately put him in a foul mood, and the training had been brutal. He’sbeen making me pay all week long, and even though I’m exhausted and every muscle aches, I refuse to back down.
“Again,” he growls, tossing me the training knife I’d dropped because my hands are so sweaty they can barely grip anything. I reach down to grab it, but he doesn’t miss the annoyed grunt I give or the muttered mouthing off.
“Have something to say?” he asks, daring me to test his limits.
I should back down, I really should, but whatever that self-preservation gene is that gets people to close their mouths instead of mouthing off must’ve passed me by. I blame my dad. I really doubt he’s ever minced words when he’s angry and fighting.
So instead of doing the smart thing, I grip the knife, stand back up to face him and say, “I guess your plans to fuck out your aggression failed because you’re in a shit-poor mood today.”
“You’re more of apiccola viperatoday, Mia.”
“I don’t know what the hell that means,” I tell him.
“Little viper,” he says. “You’re not just casting spells today; you’re striking out for the kill.” He slowly circles around me while I catch my breath. “Need to quit for the day? Want me to take it easy on you?”
I’m bent over, still trying to catch my breath, but my fist tightens around my knife handle while I glare up at him. I blow out a breath, pushing aside the strands of hair that have fallen free of my braid. “I’m not a quitter, Dario. You should know that by now.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders, looking way sexier than any man has a right to, so I make a point of dropping my eyes to his bandaged forearm. I smirk, enjoying the way it drops him down a peg or two. No man likes to be bested physically by a woman, especially one half his size, and this is the second time I’ve left my mark on his body.
“You’re a little out of breath,” he says, his words laced with everything but concern. I try and not show how much his next words pain me. “I think we’ll finish tonight out with push-ups and burpees. Evidently we need to bump your cardio up.”
I fuckinghateburpees. He knows this, and that’s exactly why he’s chosen this particular form of punishment. He raises a brow, daring meto mouth off to him. I settle on sarcasm, since we both know I can’t keep my mouth shut, but I’m not crazy enough to bitch him out when he’s dishing out cardio.
“Wonderful,” I say, taking one last breath and then lowering myself to the floor. “It’s so nice of you to worry about my cardiovascular health.”
“Twenty push-ups, and don’t you dare put your knees down.”
I’m already exhausted and working on my last little bit of strength, so each push-up feels like way more than I can handle. My pride won’t let me quit, though, so I force myself to keep going as he slowly counts them off. When I hit twenty, I collapse to the floor, every muscle in my body shaking from exertion.
“Twenty burpees,” he says, and I give a pained groan before I can stifle it. “Or you can quit,” he adds. “The choice is yours.”
“Fucker,” I mutter, too exhausted to waste precious energy on keeping my mouth in check. Taking a breath, I force myself up and then repeatedly tell myself I’m not a fucking quitter as I go through several minutes of pure burpee hell. It takes me longer than usual, and when I complete the last one, I drop onto the mat, not caring that I’m showing how much he’s worn me out. The truth is I’m barely holding on, every muscle pushed way past my limits, and I know I’ll be sore for days from this. Even with all that, I still feel a small swell of pride at not giving up.
With my eyes still closed and gasping for air, I feel him press a cold bottle of water against my cheek. I sigh at how good it feels and turn my head so I can feel it better. When I make no move to get up, he slides his hand under my head, gently lifting it up as he presses the bottle to my lips.
“Drink, stubborn girl,” he says, and his tone is much softer now that he’s not trying to kill me by cardio. “You need to learn when to back down.”
I slowly peel my eyes open, watching him as I drink the cool water. It’s refreshing in a way that plain water never is unless you’resuffering from heat stroke, exhaustion, or dehydration. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I have all three at the moment.
With his knee digging into the mat near me, he supports my head with his other hand and watches me drink. I keep my eyes trained on his, taking every mouthful of water he gives me. He refuses to let me chug it, even though every part of my body is screaming at me that it’s exactly what I should be doing.
When I reach up to force him to tip the bottle up even more, he says, “Easy, not too fast,” and refuses to let me try and waterboard myself. “I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you.”
The corner of my mouth lifts up.
He sees it, and his mouth mirrors mine when he says, “Of course you’d take that as a fucking compliment.”
When the bottle is empty, he tosses it aside, but he doesn’t move his hand.
“You’re the one who tried to kill me,” I remind him.
