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A thrill I don’t like having. A hunger I like even less.
My body reacts before I can discipline it, heat spreading under my skin, making me hard.
She moves fast despite the dress, one hand gathered in the skirt, hair catching in the wind, pale legs flashing through the slit with each desperate stride.
She’s not helpless. Far from it.
Sera’s clever. Reckless enough to run and too proud to pretend she doesn’t want me to catch her.
But this isn’t a game. And she crossed the line coming here tonight.
When she glances over her shoulder, the security light catches her face, and then she runs faster.
I smile when she reaches the barn and slips inside, probably thinking she can hide or hoping there’s another exit.
There’s only one way in and one way out.
I slow before I reach the door so the realization of her bad choice has time to sink in.
When I open the door, she’s standing on the mats, panting.
The low emergency light highlights the shape of my hanging punch bag, the weight racks along the far wall, and her heaving chest.
Her mouth is parted, angry and breathless, and every inch of her looks like trouble I want to punish.
I step inside and close the door.
“You might catch me,” she says. “But ya won’t keep me down.”
“You reckon?” I uncuff the links on my starched shirt, pocket them and roll up my sleeves. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
She darts left, aiming for the space between me and the door, and I let her come because there’s arrogance in trying to pass me in my own gym.
Her shoulder brushes mine, her sweet perfume invading my personal space, and for half a second, she almost makes it.
Until I catch her around the waist and drag her into me.
Sera twists hard, elbow driving back toward my ribs. I turn with it, taking the force across my side instead of letting go.
She fights like she means it, hands grabbing, nails scraping through my shirt. If she knew how much that gets me off, she’d probably stop.
“Let go,” she snaps.
“Make me.”
She tries to overpower me. Christ, she tries.
We hit the mats together, and I take the worst of the fall on my forearm and shoulder to keep her from getting crushed.
But when her hand slaps my cheek, my muscles brace. Graves is the only one who can survive hitting me.
Her eyes widen a fraction while my little wild thing waits to learn what kind of man I become when pain lands.
“Do you want me to hurt you?” I catch her wrists and pin them above her head. “Want me to fight the brat out of you?”
“Hit me, and I’ll hit ya back.”
She bucks under me, hips lifting, body straining against my strength, and the sensation of it fractures my restraint in an uneven, rapid break.
