Page 80 of Surrender to Me
He shakes his head once. “Do it again. This time faster.”
He resets.
This time, he scans me like a hostile would—eyes cold, expression minimal, stance hardening.
A chill skitters up my arms.
He looks dangerous.
Not to me—but he looks like everything I should fear.
“Mirror me, Allie.” His tone softens a fraction. “This is what buys you the seconds.”
I force myself to move—shoulders, jaw, stance—matching line for line. My breath catches.
His gaze warms, just a little, before fading. He’s trying to teach me something potentially important.
He circles me slightly, his boots whispering against the wood floor. “Now I’m going to escalate. I’ll change posture, angle, intention. Your job is to track me.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
“Ready?”
Am I? I nod.
He shifts fast—shoulders rolling forward, head dipping, weight sliding to the balls of his feet.
I jump to catch up, my movement messy.
He shakes his head again. “Don’t watch my face. Watch my center of gravity. A person’s intent is in the hips, not the eyes.”
I adjust, and his teaching begins to click into place.
“Again.”
Stryker moves, and I instantly match him. This time, I’m closer.
He switches—arms loosening, body pretending to relax while his stance still hums with readiness.
I follow, mimicking his subtle drop of weight, the angle, the tension under the stillness.
He circles again, faster now.
“Good girl.”
Heat slides down my spine.
He moves one more time—sharp, abrupt, a stance meant to intimidate.
I echo it instantly.
“That’s it.” He doesn’t correct anything that I’ve done. He just looks at me—long and slow, approval darkening his eyes.
“We’ll do it one more time. No coaching.”
He changes his stance to a more neutral position.
So do I.
