by Sylvia Ryan
He wondered what she’d been doing up there for the last half hour until he smelled the peppermint.
“I don’t understand why we need to go through all this,” she grumbled. “I mean, when are we going to have to jog or fight? The chances I’m ever going to need these skills are so slim, it’s not worth the pain.”
“You think? The Gov has been exiling about a hundred criminals a year to the Onyx Zone. Multiply that by twenty-five years, then add the offspring from the exiled people and you have at least three thousand people living within a fifty-mile radius of New Atlanta. Three thousand people who would do anything to take what we’ve collected out there. Besides, it doesn’t matter how miniscule the possibility. You train because the possibility exists. I don’t feel like dying on this mission, and you have to realize that not only am I covering your back, you may have to cover mine. So, I’m going to teach you every skill I can, and you’re going to take the training seriously and try your best.”
By the time he finished his breakfast, Laila had slowed to picking sporadically at egg remnants.
“Done?”
She nodded.
He collected the dirty dishes and pulled her off the stool.
She groaned.
He hunched down in her line of vision. “Go home. Get dressed.”
She stood in an unnatural way, her head tilted slightly to one side, her shoulders bunched. He caressed her cheek. “It will be better soon. Promise.” He swatted her rump. “Now go on. You’ve got ten minutes,” he called before she closed the door. No slam this time. He smiled.
He stowed the dishes in the dishwasher and straightened up. She returned with time to spare, walking as if her body was loosening up. He greeted her with a smile. “Looking better already.” He placed a kiss on her temple, led her out to his truck and drove them to OZ.
They started their morning routine with a driving lesson, and he tested her on the gas to additive ratio. He wouldn’t let her turn over the engine, but she didn’t say shit about it. He mentally celebrated the small victory.
He opened the door to the armored truck and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her out. He held her close so she slithered down his body. Her lush lips parted, and their quick breaths intermingled. Time stood still as her slow slide continued until her feet hit the ground. He let go, and she stumbled. He snatched her up quickly and helped get her feet underneath her again. “You okay?”
“Uhh.” The utterance quavered. “I’m good.”
He heaved himself up and sat at the opened door with his legs angled out. “Go on and change the tire.”
She gaped. “You’re insane if you think I’m doing that again.” She crossed her arms and kicked out a hip, openly belligerent and waiting for a fight.
“What’s lesson one?”
She sawed her molars together before she answered. “Follow directions.”
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest.
“Without hesitation or questions.”
The staring contest between them lasted about fifteen seconds before she gave in and started cracking the nuts on the tire. She finished the task in half the time it had taken the day before.
“Nice job,” he said, kissing her temple again.
He pulled his T-shirt off. Her gaze affixed to his chest, to his nipple piercings. She seemed fascinated by them. “Let’s run before lunch today.” Before she had the opportunity to display her displeasure, he grasped her hand and started a slow pace, dragging her with him until she gave in and jogged.
He kept a close eye on her. She was overheated and panting. He would have to keep the distance at a mile again tomorrow. Afterward, they sat in the shade and ate lunch in silence. Rock made sure she rehydrated, and allowed her extra time to recover. Then, they retrieved their side-arms from the armory and returned to the shade to review its care and use.
“When are you going to let me shoot?”
“You think I’m giving you a loaded gun when you’re this irritated with me? Sorry baby, don’t have a death wish. There’s plenty of time for that later,” he said evenly.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but snapped it shut instead.
He smiled at her. “Good girl.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘good girl.’”
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t complain when I could see you wanted to.”
“A lot of good it does me.”
“Exactly.”
Toward the end of the day, they made their way into the gymnasium area of the main building. Laila eyed the enormous navy blue mat with the big circle in the middle as Rock took his place inside it. She followed until they stood face to face.
“We’re going to train in hand to hand every day.”
Her mouth fell open. “I can’t fight you. You’re twice my size.”
“You can. And you will. Today, I’m going to teach you the basics of—” He tapped his temple. “Up here. You’re so small, you have to fight smart. Gouge the eyes, knee the groin, kick the knee, hard and preferably in the opposite direction of how the knee bends normally.” He put his finger up and made sure he had her attention. “If you choose groin, be careful. Men can be hyper aware of their need to protect their balls.”
She laughed, and he stopped to take it in then forced his expression to match the seriousness of the lesson. “If it comes to this, you’ll be fighting for your life, and I absolutely guarantee you can win a fight against any man if you fight smart and dirty. If feasible, catch the person off guard by taking the first strike. Put as much force behind it as you can. No sympathy. Got it?”
She nodded.
“If you get a good one in, run. The only time you stay after the first shot is if you don’t think you’ll be able to get to safety before your opponent gets to his feet and catches you. If a big man tackles you from behind while you’re running away, you’re done for. Got it?”
She nodded, looking worried.
“Come at me.”
With a running start, she attempted to knock him to the floor. He swiped her aside like she was a gnat.
“Get up. If this were a real situation, you’d be dead. You have to get away from the opponent’s immediate reach if you go down. Either get right back up, or roll away.”
Eyes narrowed at him, she took her place in the circle again. She attempted the same maneuver, and so did he. Rock looked down at her splayed body and realized he couldn’t follow his own advice. He had too much sympathy to toss her around the mat anymore.
She groaned as she got slowly to her feet.
“That’s all of this for today. I want you to think about your approach. Figure out a better way.”
“Fifty kicks to the heavy bag.” He pointed to where it hung in a corner of the gym. “And then we’ll call it a day.”
Like the day before, by the time they arrived home, Laila’s muscles had stiffened. She whimpered as she gingerly slid out of the vehicle.
He advanced on her fast, scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.
She cried out. “You’re not helping.”
“I know, peanut. I can hear your muscles yelping from here.” He laughed and carried her up the stairs that way, finally putting her down on the edge of the tub. He pulled off her shoes and socks while the bath filled with lukewarm water.
She seemed distracted, staring at the filling tub. Maybe thinking of the events from the day before? Had she learned her lesson, or would she be stubborn and denied an orgasm tonight as well?
He assessed every part of her as he removed each piece of clothing. Her breaths were quick and short, and her nipples were puckered and hard. That, along with her weary compliance, made him sure he would see her come today.
As soon as his brain wrapped around that delicious piece of information, his cock filled. Ignoring it, he grabbed the shampoo, flipped the cap, and held it to her nose to smell before he washed her hair.
; When he was done, he made her stand. He stood this time as well, starting their washing ritual at her shoulders and smoothing the sweet smelling foam all over her. She lolled her head back, with closed eyes, as she gave herself over to him. She widened her stance so he could pass the washrag between her legs, not knowing his touch without the barrier of the washrag would have to be earned. They weren’t there yet.
She groaned as he lathered away from her pretty little cunt and down the fronts of her thighs, moving slowly and building her anticipation.
Finally, he made her sit while he diverted water to the hand sprayer and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. This time, when he submerged the sprayer in the water, her legs fell open to him, and she moaned at the first sensations of the jets hitting her pussy. Her head fell back, and he studied the curve of her clavicle, her bared neck, and the dark rose hue of her parted lips. For more than a minute, he sat on the edge of the tub, admiring her pleasure soaked face and listening to her express appreciation at the sensation he provided. She was breathtaking, a priceless snapshot etched in his memory for a lifetime. Unfortunately, he had to teach lesson two.
“Peanut.”
She opened her eyes but her gaze remained up at the ceiling. “Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
She grunted her objection then lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“Don’t make a sound.” He put his finger to his lips. “Complete silence.” He repeated the hand motion.
She nodded and laid her head back again.
Less than a minute later, her body was rigid, coiled and ready to explode. Her thigh muscles quivered, and she gripped the lip of the tub. She cried out as an orgasm rolled violently through her. He immediately removed the jet of water from her spasming core.
Her eyelids flew open. “Ahhh!” she screamed.
He turned off the water and set the sprayer in its cradle. “Follow directions tomorrow and maybe you’ll get to finish that orgasm. Maybe even have two.” He winked at her, then motioned. “Up.”
She sat in the tub, eyes glazed, truly stunned. Then, her brows furrowed and those glazed eyes narrowed. “More training?” she ground out between her teeth.
He leaned, hovering over her until their lips were merely an inch apart. “Everything’s training, baby.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips.
She stared at him. “This training makes you happy.”
He didn’t answer, just smiled.
Chapter 11
The end of Rock’s first week of tutelage was only an hour away. Laila wanted to jump for joy and scream at the top of her lungs in celebration. She was being overdramatic. It hadn’t been all bad. She’d earned luscious peppermint oil massages the last three mornings in a row. She got to start the truck and actually drive it, though it was only a few feet. And as an added treat the morning before, Rock hadn’t made her change the tire anymore. On top of all that, she ran the mile without wanting to pass out afterward.
Now, she was going to take Rock down inside the big white circle on the mat. She’d been wholly unsuccessful all week, trying different approaches. But she quickly found that the opportunity to knock that arrogant wall of muscle on his ass, and success in doing so, were two entirely different things.
She’d paid close attention to the moves and tried hard to get them right during drills. She’d tried her hardest to take him down, and he just stood there, brushing her aside, relaxed.
It ticked her off. He didn’t even try to appear as if he had to defend himself. Her blood boiled with every failed attempt. She was going to kick his ass.
After a shrieking run and an unceremonious counter move that left her ass planted on the mat, she was livid. He waved her to come again as she picked herself off the floor, challenging her to take her best shot, groin or knee. She accepted the challenge…over and over again, but none of the kicks landed at their intended destination.
After falling face down and breathing in a whiff of men’s locker room for what had to be the fiftieth time, she picked herself off the floor.
He waved at her to come again with that smug look on his face.
She was going to scratch his eyes out. Then, in a second of brilliant clarity, everything clicked into place. She lunged at him the way she had dozens of times before, and as he leaned over to swipe her leg away with his forearm, she raked his face with her nails.
It hadn’t been a good hit because he’d adjusted his defense at the last minute to protect himself, but one nail hit its mark, scoring the front of his cheek.
When she picked herself off the floor and turned to meet his gaze, he smiled at her, the raised, red line on his face moving with the motion.
“Good girl. Remember, you have to fight smart. You’ll be able to tell from your opponent’s stance what he’s expecting from you. Then, you’ll give him something else in the spot that’s left exposed.”
He waved her to come at him again and took his stance. She examined his positioning and changed her strategy accordingly. As she attacked, he read her move and blocked it, knocking the air out of her lungs as she landed hard on her belly. She stayed down this time.
“I hate you.” She flattened her hands on the mat and pushed herself to standing.
“That’s okay. I’m not concerned about winning a popularity contest.”
They sparred more and she took at least five more trips to the mat.
After Rock called it a day, he picked up his water bottle, took a long swig then offered it to her. “You did well today,” he said as she drank big gulps.
“Thank you.”
The drive home was silent. It usually was. They needed time to mentally transfer from their formal training interactions to home. Even while it appeared no one was looking, they maintained a professional relationship when they were in OZ. During the eight hours they spent there every day, Rock acted as if there was no relationship, connection or affection. He insisted it be that way. Said it was safer. The ride home allowed her to rid herself of the restrictions and slip into her old self—her true self.
Rock opened the front door and stepped aside so she could enter first. He followed her upstairs then guided her to the edge of the tub.
Instead of filling the tub, he turned the water on in the separate shower.
When he returned to her, he peeled her clothes off the way he did every day, and kneaded her aching muscles while using one word commands to move her to suit his needs.
He gave her the signal for quiet and then a new signal, touching the spots directly under his eyes with his index and middle finger. “Keep your eyes right here,” he said quietly and did the motion again.
She smiled, remembering the last two days of him getting her off while she remained totally silent. She’d gotten good at it and was sure she could remain soundless, even in the most difficult circumstances. She should have known that, just as she became comfortable with the skill, he’d change up the game.
She focused on his gorgeous face, his bottomless brown eyes, his lush lips. Looking at him was easy. Locking gazes with the soul she found behind those all-seeing eyes got easier and easier by the day.
She wanted to die when she realized he was stripping himself. All week, he’d showered alone after they’d eaten dinner together. She hated it. The fifteen minutes he was gone seemed like the longest minutes of the day. She wanted to return the favor and slide her hands across his wet skin, lathering him, taking care of him as he did her.
Picturing the glimpses she’d gotten of his body, Laila nearly giggled out loud. Glimpses, ha! More like brief, intense bouts of gawking. She actually looked forward to the torturous running he forced her to do, simply because he took his shirt off. The tattoos were badass despite the fact she still hadn’t had the opportunity to read them because he never stood still long enough. And the nipple rings, she loved looking at the nipple rings. Every day, once her gaze landed on them, she found it hard to drag it away. Looking at his form was like looking
at art.
He was her incentive.
Today she’d gotten an eyeful of the area between his belly button and the waistband of his pants. The skin was tight over defined muscle that came to a luscious vee somewhere underneath the damn clothes he insisted on wearing all the time. The man was ripped. The thought of being able to finally see everything made her stomach dance.
Now he wanted her to not look at it. Yeah, right.
He cleared his throat, capturing her attention, and raised an eyebrow.
When she complied with his wishes, she got an added bonus, his emotion. Pleasure washed over her as his peace and happiness surged. She guessed it had been a long time since he’d experienced those emotions, and she wanted to be the person to give them to him.
With a hand on each of her biceps, he walked her backward into the shower stall. She kept her eyes focused and locked with his as he washed her. The experience was terribly intimate, as if he saw her soul.
When she was clean, he began washing himself.
“Can I do you?” She felt his satisfaction at her question.
“No. Stay with me.” He gave her the eye contact signal again.
She about died when his hands lowered out of her peripheral vision. He was hard. She knew it without having to look directly at it. She just knew.
She realized he had not moved on. His eyes were locked with hers, and he was stroking himself.
“Oh God,” she whispered. Suddenly, she could barely catch her breath.
“Stay with me, peanut,” he repeated. His words were deep, guttural. “You can do this.”
The entire situation sent her reeling. She wanted to beg him for just a glimpse and she was sure he read it in her face.
The seconds were interminable. All she could do was think about what she didn’t have, what she couldn’t do. She was frustrated, provoked, and every cell in her body wanted to defy his command.
“Relax your muscles.”
She consciously made her muscles grow limp.