He asked for business, and Mikhail delivered on his promise.

Kamar groaned when Mikhail caught him off guard and flipped him again. If his muscles hadn’t been on fire, Kamar would be appreciating how Mikhail’s body molded over his on the carpet they had been using as mats to soften tumbles.

Breathless, Kamar stared into Mikhail’s eyes. His gaze flitted to the merchant’s mouth, his lips only an inch from Kamar’s. All he had to do was lift his head a little higher to lock their mouths. It certainly didn’t look like Mikhail was going to initiate the first move. And Kamar might have done it. But he was pummeled, muscles frozen after the third day of their daily training regime.

Mikhail’s dark eyes narrowed, and then there was that taunting tilt to his lips. He knew what Kamar wanted, and he wasn’t going to give in that easily.

Kamar glared, and then he tried and failed to shove Mikhail’s heavy body off him. Bearing down on him, Mikhail’s smirk grew wider when Kamar clued in that he wouldn’t be going anywhere without Mikhail’s help.

Shit.

The curse slithered through Kamar’s mind. Right on the heels of lust, hot and pulsing, demanding Kamar roll his hips to create friction between them. Not the time to be panting for the Alpha merchant to claim him in the middle of the room with some dozen other rebels watching them.

“Please,” Kamar gritted.

Mikhail’s smile didn’t reach his icy eyes. Now they narrowed while he flashed teeth at Kamar. Rather than being turned off, Kamar bit his bottom lip to muffle the moan rumbling around in his chest. He was beginning to arch into Mikhail, his mind slipping into the rapture of Omega heat, his body seeking comfort from the merchant on top of him.

“Get off,” he begged softly, popping his teeth from his lips long enough.

“Are you sure?” Mikhail’s deep voice, his questioning, made Kamar sink his teeth deeper into his lip.

“If you’re sure,” Mikhail drawled, lifting his hips off first before pushing his bare chest away. He pushed up to a stand, offering a hand to Kamar.

Kamar was panting harder than before. His body flushed with sweat, his blood burning with yearning, and his glare reserved for that mocking smile Mikhail threw down at him. The bastard. The scoundrel. The cruel-hearted jerk.

“Up you go.” Mikhail lifted him easily, his hands holding onto Kamar longer than necessary before he dropped their contact. Turning to their audience, Mikhail gestured for the next rebel to step up and spar with him.

Kamar kept his stare focused anywhere except on Mikhail’s rippling abs and his muscled frame. The man was jacked, a warrior-king through and through. Course he’d seen that body before. It had rocked his world, taken his virginity, made him into a man…but also easily reduced him to a puddle of horny mush.

Suleiman was there and so was a stubborn Asha. She was the only female rebel present. The only one willing to spar with a man and not care what her fellow rebels gossiped about when she wasn’t around.

Kamar nodded their way, his body stiff, and his movements short and jerky and pained. A cramp pinched his side, and the ache persisted all the way to the far end of the room where he turned and slid to the ground, glad to be resting.

He stayed resting there until Mikhail had Suleiman continue the training, and he pushed through the audience, his stare locked on Kamar.

“That went well,” Mikhail said, gesturing with the water bottle in his hand. He tipped his head back, spraying water into his mouth. A new tension gripped Kamar as he strained to concentrate on anything but Mikhail as usual. What was new really?

“If by well you mean my body is screaming at me, then yes, it went well.” Kamar locked his jaw, his glance bouncing off of Mikhail’s smug smile.

Shrugging a sweat-glistening, muscled shoulder, Mikhail said, “The pain means the training is working. You’ll feel awful at first, but then the muscles will mend themselves stronger than before. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Kamar couldn’t help the acerbic note slipping into his voice. He was tired and weak, and just sick of this training. And, yes, he was going to take it out on Mikhail; all of this confusion Kamar felt was his fault. Mikhail was the reason he was caught between wanting to throttle the man and kiss him until they were both blue in the face.

Staring at Mikhail, he snapped, “Trust you? Because you know what you’re talking about, or because this time I can actually trust you’re telling the truth.” Then because it wasn’t enough, he took a final jab, “For all we know you’re making us do this to get back at me for not wanting to do…this.” He gestured between them, trying to grasp the indefinable, indescribable firestorm that always raged whenever they were around each other.

Feeling the tears working their way out, Kamar slowly pushed from the floor, using the wall as support when he didn’t trust his aching, weakened body to hold him up. He was going to get away. He would leave and cry in private.

Mikhail’s hand wrapping around his arm stopped him.

“We’re not done, mouthy.”