Page 62 of My Sunfall

“How about this—the winner gets to wipe that cocky grin from your face with their fist?” I grouse as I follow him onto the mats after I’ve removed my shoes and socks, too.

He gives a low whistle. “So violent, cara mia. Didn’t they teach you that making love is more gratifying than making war?”

“No, I was only taught to beat up arrogant Mafia men.”

“Well then, give your best.” He winks and gets into position, hands in front of him, feet nimble and muscles coiled.

I’m so wiping that damn grin off his face. And now I know he’s skilled in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, I won’t let him catch me by surprise again.

I mirror his stance, knees loose, hands up, weight centered. Focused. We circle each other in silence, the air between us is tight and humming with tension. Neither of us wants to give the first opening.

Finally, he advances, giving me the opening I was waiting for. I don’t wait for him to test me. The moment he’s close enough, I lunge and strike. My right fist snaps out in a clean jab aimed straight at his mouth.

He dodges it with infuriating ease. “Too slow,” he drawls.

I snarl and follow with a hook, then another jab, my blows fast and angry, each one fueled by weeks of fury I haven’t allowed myself to feel. He blocks, deflects, gives ground, but he never fully retreats.

“You’re angry,” he observes calmly, dodging another hook. “That’s adorable.”

I’ll give you adorable! I let out a frustrated growl and answer with another jab. I know he will duck and I pull my knee upward when he does, hoping to slam it into his throat.

It catches him in the ribs, not hard enough to injure, but enough to make him grunt. Satisfaction flares briefly in my chest, but I don’t linger. He’s already moving again, hands reaching out, trying to close the distance.

No. If he catches me, it’s over. I pivot out, striking again, my punches coming faster now as my muscle memory is taking over and my fury is rising by another notch, fueled by his overconfident smirk.

He’s riling me up on purpose, I register dimly through the haze of my aggression.

I strike again, and he takes a blow to the shoulder this time. “Careful,” he says with a grin. “You’ll hurt someone.”

“That’s exactly the point,” I snap, driving my palm toward his throat in a Krav Maga strike. He reacts instantly, batting it away and surging forward, arms wrapping around my waist as he tries to clinch.

I sense the danger immediately. I duck and slam my forearm into his ribs before he can pull me fully in. He laughs under his breath, the sound vibrating against me.

“That’s it, my little warrior,” he murmurs, something dark and primal creeping into his gaze. “Fight me. Get it all out. The anger, the hurt, the sadness. I can take it all.”

I twist with another snarl, wrenching free just as he tries to hook my leg. He catches my ankle anyway, yanking, and suddenly I’m airborne for half a second before I hit the mat. I roll sideways, barely avoiding being pinned, and jump up to face him again.

We’re both breathing harder now. My heart is racing, but my mind is clearer than it has been for the last weeks.

He’s on me again in a heartbeat, moving like a predator, fluid and relentless. “Still think you’re wiping that grin off my face?” he asks, voice strained but amused.

I leap back, avoiding him by a hair’s width, sweat slicking my palms.

“I haven’t started yet,” I pant heatedly. I come at him again, reckless now from anger. He redirects the blow, dodges, waits me out with infuriating patience.

Then he changes tactics. He lets one of my punches land on his shoulder, letting me come close. Suddenly, his arms are around me and I am trapped. I fight it, slamming my knees up, digging my elbows into his side, but he manages to catch my wrists and hooks his foot behind my leg, making me lose my balance.

We go down hard. My back slams onto the mat, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Before I can roll away, he has me pinned down with his weight, knees bracketing my thighs.

“Got you,” he murmurs, breath harsh against my cheek.

I buck against him, fury flaring to a new high, but he pins my wrists above my head, making it impossible to escape his grip.

“Get off me,” I snap.

“Never.” He chuckles darkly, leaning down to brush his nose along my jaw. “We’ve already established that, haven’t we?” His grin is gone now. Up close, there’s nothing cocky left in his face, only heat and focus. And something dark intense that makes my pulse hammer.

“I won,” he says quietly. “Admit it.”