Willing Sacrifice

“You’re bluffing. Your legs have to be noodles. Every man has to have a post-coital nap. Women have counted on it for centuries, to give them that precious moment to slip a knife between the ribs of their Viking captor, or an overly ambitious king.”



“If she’s slipping him the knife, sounds like she’s the ambitious one. Also sounds like a really good reason to keep one eye open around a woman.” Max pressed his lips to hers, a long, sweet denouement to ease the loss as he slid out of her, moved back up to his knees. He adjusted his sweats, then moved off her to help her pull her leggings back up to her hips. As he did so, he dropped a kiss here and there. Her knee, her thigh. When he slid an arm around her back to help her to a sitting position, she crooked an arm around his neck as well. He surprised her, lifting her off the ground entirely as he rose to his feet.



“I can walk to the fitness station.”



“I know. But I haven’t been able to hold you for four weeks. I’m taking advantage.”



Well, that definitely caused a feminine leap to her heart.



* * * * *



It continued as he went through each station to work out his upper body, legs and back. If he was trying to impress her, it worked, but she could tell it wasn’t that. This was a part of his day he took very seriously. He was no longer in the SEALs but he still trained like one. She thought of how he’d driven Savannah through traffic, demonstrating the skills of a man who’d served as personal security for high-risk dignitaries visiting occupied zones. Probably another reason Matt liked having him on staff, since all the drivers had some form of law enforcement or military background. Though it wasn’t a regular job requirement, Max, Wade and some of the others had accompanied the K&A men more than once to do the driving for them when they were scoping out new plant locations in Central America.



Her radar detected something more to it than just force of habit though. She wondered if he was staying prepared for something specific. The thought was an uneasy one, taking her back to the roof and Matt’s warning that Max had his own demons.



A mystery to puzzle over and unravel another time. Today, she had no desire to open a new can of worms. It was much more pleasurable to float in a dreamy haze of lust, watching him working out his upper body on the push-up stand, pommel horse, parallel bars and horizontal ladder, then showing off his climbing skills on the integrated fitness station. He finished up with the bounding bars and floating balance system, testing his agility.



“You know, if you really wanted to impress me, you’d fuck me three more times after doing all this. And still show up for work on time.”



He flashed her a grin as he came off the last station. He’d left his shirt off, bless all the gods. She tilted her head back for the kiss, but he gave her that and more. Snaking an arm around her waist, he lifted her off the balance beam and put her up against the tree beside it, one fluid motion. As he pushed his body between her thighs, her still-damp pussy responded to hard male demand, her tissues quivering. His gray eyes got that heated look that suggested they might end up in the leaves again. It was insane.



“Exercise turns you on?” She had to gasp it out, no help for that, though she laid a quelling hand against his chest. “Now I really hate you.”



He put his mouth on her throat, one hand gripping her ass, fingers sliding along the seam. “Just answering the challenge, Mistress. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you. Christ, I can’t get enough of you. What is that scent you wear?”



It would have made her laugh if she didn’t feel so swept away by him and bemused by her own reaction to it. “At the moment, it appears to be male sweat.”



He chuckled against her skin. “True enough. But something else beneath that. You put it on your thighs as well, because I smell it when I’m eating your cunt. It gets me hard during the day, thinking about what you put between your legs.”



She tried to get her legs down, slip his hold, but each time she did, he countered it, caught her to him again. It moved them to the grass, and now she tried twisting inside his grip. That just gave him the opportunity to cup her between her legs, send a ripple of pleasure through her core. She was laughing through her frustration and tried to drop out of his hold. He countered that as well but brought their play to a halt, releasing her enough to let her step away, though he held on to her hand.



“You’re trying to break my hold the wrong way,” he said. “Everyone thinks you fall back against your attacker, and instead you fall forward. Look.”



Now serious, he turned her so her back was against him again. “This time, lunge forward, not back against me. I outweigh you by nearly a hundred pounds. That’s like shoving back against a tree. If you lunge forward, I have to grab at you, and I’m off balance for a vital second. It might give you the chance to duck under my arms.”



She did it, found he was right, though of course she was sure he modified his response to show her how it worked. When she did the duck, she balled up her fist, hit him in the side, albeit not too hard, but he had a correction for that too.



“Better to hit below the sternum with the heel of your hand. For a girl, tiger claw is better than the full fist.” He took her hand, curled it so the knuckles pointed out, fingertips pressed to the top of her palm. Running his finger over the knuckles, he had her do the same with her free hand. “See how hard and sharp that is? You get that on either side of his windpipe, or hit his temple, you’ve really landed a blow. Plus, those beautiful nails of yours left some great marks on my back, but they make it hard to form a tight fist.”



“Show me the marks,” she demanded, and he smiled.



“You were ogling me close enough to see them, Mistress. You haven’t seen me in four weeks. They’ve faded. You’ll have to give me new ones.”



She narrowed her eyes at the ogling comment, but he dropped a kiss on her knuckles, his tongue teasing the crease between two of them. He also wasn’t done with his lesson. “Your best shot is a kick that takes out someone’s knee. Or if you can get your hands on the back of his neck, pull him down, put a knee in his diaphragm. Women have much more strength in their legs. Even the average guy has two-thirds more upper body strength than you do, so you play on your strengths. You should take some Tae Kwan Do. You’d be good at it. You already have the confidence part down, and that’s the hardest part for a woman.”



Her brow lifted. “And why is that?”



He shook his head. “I’m not insulting women. When it comes to fight or flight instincts, men are more socially conditioned to fight, with women conditioned to flight. Which makes sense if you think about it, because women usually have the kids. They run to get children out of the way while men hold the line to give them time to do that.”



Then he rolled his eyes. “Okay, let me correct that. Men used to be more socially conditioned to fight. Now they’re momma’s boys who play non-competitive sports and duck the ball at baseball games so it hits their girlfriend.”



As she smirked and shook her head at him, he continued. “Anyhow, the thing most women have a hard time doing in Tae Kwon Do is standing toe to toe to spar with someone, accepting and giving blows. But learning that skill is vital, because when it comes to some scumbag chasing you, nothing’s harder than to stop and wait for them to come at you. However, if you’re at the end of a blind alley, that’s all you can do.”



He touched her face, bringing her eyes back up to him, “From what you told me about Mexico, I think you’ve learned that. You don’t run, Mistress. That’s why I said you’d make a hell of a SEAL.”



“For a girl,” she added, more moved than she wanted to reveal.



“For a girl,” he agreed. He dodged her attempt at the tiger claw. Chuckling, he caught her to him, but when he did, he sobered, hands cupping her face so he could press his forehead to hers.



“We good now? Because I don’t want to go through four weeks like that again.”



“I can’t promise. You’re my first relationship outside those club doors, Max. Sometimes I need space to deal with that.”



“You could have at least sent flowers. A card.”



“Really? What were you saying about momma’s boys?” Laughing, she broke free and dodged around the balance beam, letting him chase her down and catch her at the horizontal ladder. He pressed her against it, kissing her deep, freeing her hair so it rippled down her back, tangled around them both.



“Will you come visit my sister with me this week? I’d like for her to meet you, if she’s up to it.”



She lifted her head, studied him. His expression said he wasn’t sure what had made him go down that road at this exact moment, but she had a distinct feeling he’d been thinking about offering her the invitation for a while. And that made her feel a variety of ways, not unpleasant.



“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d love to.”



All in all, it was a perfect morning.



Chapter Eleven



They’d showered at his place, which he’d warned her wasn’t much more than a hole in the wall, but the small size of the shower had proven to be a benefit beyond measure. For one thing, he knocked another pin out of the challenge she’d issued about impressing her. He’d taken her up against the wall, driving them both to orgasm. The water tattooed against her face, her throat and against his back where her hands gripped him. Within only a few moments, the shower had echoed with her cries, his guttural sounds of release.



Afterward, while he was occupied in the kitchen, pulling them together an omelet, he encouraged her to look around. He was right. His house was no more than a box divided into four rooms. The neighborhood was close to Dana’s church, so it wasn’t the safest area of NOLA.



It was military neat, such that she considered bouncing a quarter off the smooth bedding. There were few personal items in the house. Given how likely robbery was in this neighborhood, that might explain it, but he didn’t even have an old television. Just a radio, an assortment of old paperbacks on a shelf, his toiletry items and clothes. The suits he wore for more formal assignments with K&A appeared to be the most expensive things in the house. That and the gun safe bolted to a central support beam in the bedroom wall. Standing in his closet, she ran her fingertips down the sleeve of one dress shirt. There was a precise inch of space between each garment, all pressed and clean.