There might have been a time when the barn was used for livestock, but those days are long over. Lucas has done a wonderful job of converting the space into a giant fencing practice areas. The ground is covered with hardwood floor boarding that gleams in the overhead lights that are threaded around the rafters.

Every single wall is completely covered with a seven-foot mirror that not only reflects Lucas, allowing him to see what he’s doing, but also makes the already enormous space seem even bigger.

The door closes behind me and I stand a moment watching Lucas, the man who has become my husband and who seems bent on making me insane, parry and thrust against an invisible partner.

With each move he makes, the tension I first felt after he kissed me during the press conference grows.

A lack of time and general self-consciousness stopped me from doing much dating in high school and throughout college, but that didn’t stop me from fantasizing. In my dreams, I’ve enjoyed the attention of a wide assortment of men, but they all have one thing in common. Each of them was exceptionally graceful. I’m not sure why, but men who move well turn me on.

It’s a strange fetish. But I know one thing: the men who fit my extremely specific criteria are very rare.

Lucas is one of the few smooth movers.

I could watch him glide across the hardwood floor all day long and be perfectly happy watching how the effortlessness of each move. And his tight white outfit not only emphasizes the smoothness of his gait, but also perfectly showcases his lithe body.

Lucas stops and turns to me. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He sounds so formal, I can’t resist being just a little saucy. “Just enjoying the view. You’re quite good.”

He pushes his facemask on top of his head and studies me with unfathomable eyes. “You fence?”

“Oh God no. I’d cut off my foot or something equally stupid. But I’ve always liked the look of it. I made a point of watching the little bit of coverage the American TV channel gives the sport. At the Olympics, you know?”

Suddenly I remember the something the broadcasters had spoken about during the event. I meet Lucas’s eyes.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Strange that I hadn’t thought of it sooner, but then again, I’ve had a lot on my mind.

A dark shadow crosses Lucas’s face. I instantly realize that I’ve said something wrong. Then again, how am I supposed to know exactly what when he refuses to share anything with me?

My mind drifts back to the Rio Olympics. I try to remember what the broadcasters said. Something about a scandal and a big upset, but despite my best efforts I can’t remember exactly what they said or even if they made any real mention of what had gone wrong.

Lucas’s steely gaze and tense body convince me to avoid talking about the Olympics. I walk over to the assortment of swords, no foils, displayed on of the few sections of the wall that isn’t covered with a mirror, and search for a distraction.

“Pretty.”

Conscious of Lucas standing behind me, I reach out and lightly run my fingers along the cool steel. They’re not antiques, but that doesn’t make them any less valuable.

“About two years ago, I orchestrated the sale of a few old swords a theatre group had found. They weren’t especially valuable, but I fell in love with them anyway. I spent hours wondering if they’d ever been used in a battle or to a duel.”

My hand falls back to my side. “Once, late at night, I even held one and practiced swinging it. It was heavier than I imagined.”

“Here.” Lucas removes one of the swords from the rack and offers it to me. “This is a sabre. It weighs 500 grams.”

I grasp the handle and hold it in front of me in what I only hope bears a passing resemblance to the en garde position with one hand holding the sword and the other resting on my hip. Five hundred grams doesn’t sound like much weight, but holding the sabre out in front of me, it feels like half a ton. My arm is already getting tired.

Lucas walks up to me. “Not bad.”

He uses the side of one of his feet to move my right foot forward, before nudging my left foot backwards and changing the angle of my ankle. The position puts his own legs between mine.

One of his big hands slides down my arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, until it reaches the sword’s hilt where it envelopes mine, surrounding it in heat.

His other hand rests in the curve of my waist, just above my free hand.

“The first move is a very basic lunge.” His breath caresses my cheek. It smells of the coffee he consumed on the plane ride over here.

I swallow and try to concentrate on his words, and not on how my ass and his cock are aligned. My knees tremble. “You’re going to take one large step forward and make a short, sharp thrust at your opponent.”

I’ve always thought fencing was beautiful, a demonstration in control, grace, and strength, but Lucas makes it sound … naughty.

“The idea isn’t to disarm your opponent, or even get a strike against them. You just want to put them on the defensive. You want to control the match, not them. You want to always be on the offensive.”

He’s so close I can practically feel the words vibrating in his throat. “Do you understand?”

“Offensive.” My voice cracks.

“Good.” Lucas’s hand squeeze mine. Suddenly I remember how his hands had felt on my breasts this morning. Had it really been a handful of hours ago? It seems like years.

He uses his body to shift me to one side, away from the rack of swords until we’re in front of a mirror.

Our reflected image mesmerizes me. The way his big body is bent over mine makes it look like he’s about to encompass me. The image calls to mind the stories I used to read about the young women during the Regency period who were seduced by their dancing masters.

If those lessons were anything like this, those women never stood a chance.

“Now,” his hand slides back until his fingers encircle by wrist. “We’ll start with the basic arm movement. It’s one strong, determined thrust.” In the mirror, his eyes meet mine.

“Focus on keeping the tip of your weapon moving directly towards your intended target.” He guides my hand forward, “like this. Speed isn’t nearly as important as keeping your thrust strong and smooth.”

His voice deepens, growing increasingly seductive with each word. Every atom of my body is hyperaware of each brush of his body against mine. My knees tremble as I fight the sensation to nuzzle the side of his neck.

His eyes darken. Good. I’m not the only one affected by this impromptu lesson.

His grip on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t completely release me. “Now you try it.”

Biting my lip, I force my nerves to fire. I take a moment to think about how each muscle needs to respond, the amount of tension needed to both move fluidly and hold the sword steady.

“Remember, strong and smooth.” Lucas tilts his head. With each word, his lips brush against my ear lobe.

I close my eyes, and order my body to stop fixating on him, to listen to my basic commands. Reluctantly, it obeys.

“Well done,” Lucas growls. His thumb draws a slow circle against the inside of my wrist, sending a delightful tingling sensation zigging up my arm to settle in my chest. My nipples harden in response.

I can’t take much more of this. I lack the strength and experience needed to resist the tidal wave of desire building within me. I’m not sure I want to. I want to lean back against Lucas’s body and trust him to handle everything.

But I don’t.

“Onto the footwork.” Footwork. That doesn’t sound erotic. I should be able to get through a speedy course on footwork without embarrassing myself.

Hopefully.

“The sword is nothing but an extension of your hand, and for the lunge, it provides the precision. Your strength, your speed comes from your feet, and from here.” He moves both hands to my hips. His long fingers rest on my pubis bone.

I watch in the mirror and shiver.

“Are you all right?”

I lick my lips. “Fine.” I’ve never heard my voice sound so husky.

Lucas slides his hand down until it cups my right thigh. “This is your front leg. When you lunge, brace your weight on our heel before you shift your weight onto the leg. At the same time, use your rear leg to push yourself up and into an erect position. Understand?”

I nod.

“Good,” his hand slides back up my thigh. “Shall we give it a try.”

I follow his directions, shifting my weight from one foot to another. On its own, the movement’s difficult, it feels unnatural, but with Lucas’s hands inches from my throbbing pussy it’s nearly impossible.

“Nicely done.” Lucas lowers his head and places a light kiss on the side of my neck. My pulse jumps. “Now let’s put it together with the sword.”

I let my body drop back into the en garde position and raise the sword. It wobbles slightly.

“Now. Concentrated and put everything you’ve learned so far together. Just take it nice and slow.”

In the mirror, I watch as my hand slides forward and I transfer my weight. It’s not much movement at this point, but Lucas’s big body follows mine throughout the entire process.

I drop back to the en garde position.

“Wonderful,” genuine warmth and surprise warm his tone. “Better than I expected. You might turn out to be a prodigy.” His large hand squeezes my hip. “My prodigy. Do you want to try again?”

I shake my head and the sword falls to the ground with a loud clatter.

Ignoring it, I turn to Lucas. I tip my head back and look directly into his eyes. “No. All I want is you.”