Page 78 of Green Flag
“Open to feedback?”
“Yes,” she said, immediately standing straight again.
“Down,” I ordered and she groaned but obeyed.
If I kept saying down… how far would she go? One word and she dropped. My brain short-circuited. My cock twitched. Fuck.
Around her, sense was on the back burner. I was startled by just how dirty my thoughts ran over this clothed, unknowing woman.
I needed to teach her to fight. Instead, I wanted her flat on her back.
I needed to clear out my brain.
I walked across the gym to Marco’s gym bag — he cocked a brow in question, training someone else now — and I grabbed a pair of gloves before walking back. She remained in position, but she watched me return over her shoulder. And I could see her squatting ass and thought to myself,I am screwed. Fucked. I wanted to spank it, grab it, hold her against me as I had in the lift. In my bed. In her bed.
Blood was rushing to my cock.
I placed the gloves over my groin as I walked back and gave them to her. “Stay there.”
Dutifully, she put on the gloves. She struggled pulling the velcro strap tight with her gloved hand. I took her wrist and pulled it for her. “Feel good?”
She nodded.
“Try again.”
We worked over and over, emphasising the turns of her hips, adding more power to her swing. Throwing herself into the punches, she improved so much that we started to create a sequence of steps – left, right, hook, uppercut.
Her uppercuts were weak, but anything was a vast improvement on her thumbs in her fists.
When her frustration picked up and I could feel the anger in her punches, I couldn’t help but ask, “Who are you thinking of?”
It had to be Pedro. That piece of shit had touched her yesterday and I’d seen the way she rubbed at her elbow throughout the night.
She stopped short, slightly breathless and blew the loose hair from her braid out of her red face. “My dad.”
I blinked, not expecting that response.
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
She shook her head and punched the pad again, silently requesting another round of the sequence. She ran through it three times before stepping back and breathing out deeply, lips pursed in an exerted ‘o’ shape.
“Well…” She shook her head, taking a deep breath, eyeing up the pads again. With the fury in her eyes, I lifted the pads more to protect myself. “You know what Pedro was accused of. And… by extension, I was also investigated. I lost everything. Music deal. Friends. The sport.” She went again, punctuating every word with a hit. “He. Ruined. Everything.”
She let loose, naturally falling into the position I’d requested.
When she’d exerted herself, she rested a wrist on my shoulder and leaned against me, collecting herself. “I know it sounds dramatic,” she said, too exhausted for her laughter to really sound. “But then sometimes he actually acts like a dad and I go all… hopeful.” She sighed, shaking out the tension in her body. “He doesn’t care.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, letting the pad fall to the floor and brushing back the hair from her face before I could stop myself. “That’s really shitty.”
Cris was a different man at StormSprint. I wouldn’t have ever thought he was like that. Whenever he spoke of Everly, her sister or his sons, it was always with such love.
And he hadn’t protected her enough against Pedro or the investigation.
She’d been twenty. Still so young.
She nodded and we worked on her swing, building more and more force with each punch.
“Nice,” I said with an impressed nod twenty minutes later and dropped the paddles onto the mat. “Much better. Now we just have to practice.”
