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His muscles ripple while he waits for the other to charge forward like the idiot he is. Because fighting isn’t about brawn or weight.
Anyone can be brought to their knees no matter the size. Which is what happens next.
One second, he’s charging like a raging bull, and the next, the young guard is flat on the ground, facing down, while Javier locks his arm in a hold. He pulls back and the man groans, gritting his teeth while Javi continues to teach. The group surrounding them comes closer—they’re hanging on his every word while Javi points out pressure points with his free hand.
I can’t make out his voice from here, but I follow the movement of his lips. The way he signals the lines and position of his body and arm, the way it’s tucked and crossed over his opponent in a way that’s near impossible to escape.
I could escape.
And God, I’m tempted to challenge him. Show him just how equal we are.
“Pair off,” I hear him call out and I lift my eyes to his, fighting back the urge to admire every solid inch of his physique. His brown eyes are narrowed, lips curling up into a small snarl while listening to something one of the new men to his right says.
Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.
His face contorts, and the demon behind the facade of perfect makes an appearance. Javier is glorious in his anger. His movements are precise and meant to cause more than harm.
With a quickness no one predicts, the guard flies over his back and lands harshly on the ground, away from the mat. Head bouncing, he’s disoriented while Javi mounts and pins his arm with one hand and his knees in a kimura, ignoring the cry to stop and doesn’t let go until breaking the forearm in two.
And as the man cries, Javi proceeds to break the other.
No one stops him. No one dares to protest.
Instead, they watch him land punch after punch on a defenseless man until he’s unconscious and bloody, face swollen and rapidly bruising.
My feet carry me closer on their own accord, pausing only when his angry eyes meet mine. “Any one of you disrespect Miss Asher, and Malcolm will be the last person you should fear. I’ll personally empty a clip into your skull.”
Jesus. I shiver. My thighs clench.
White-hot desire pulses through my womb, and I step back and then again, all the way to my belongings on the grass with my eyes on him the entire time.
This, my reaction to his protectiveness and possessiveness, proves I’m weak when it comes to him. I’m a ticking time bomb.
Want. Need. Hunger.
Those three words describe me to a ‘T’ and he knows. Mirrors those feelings.
How can I win a losing battle?
Come Monday morning, there’s a cup of coffee from my favorite little shop near the office; a quaint location owned by a lady older than dirt and run by her granddaughter. It’s hipster meets old European vibes, and I can’t get enough of their eclairs.
I’ve been known to buy half a dozen per visit, and the box in front of me holds seven with a note above in neat penmanship.
One is for me.
I’ll be by on my coffee break to pick it up.
~ Javi ~
“Stupid attractive man.” I’m smiling as I bring the cup to my lips, almost moaning as the rich cappuccino greets my caffeine-deprived body. There’s a hint of almond to this one, just the right amount without overpowering, and reminds me of my mom’s favorite biscotti.
The one thing we have in common is our sweet tooth.
“Do you and your coffee need a moment?” Malcolm says from beside me all of a sudden and I yell, almost dropping my coffee. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes, and I’m tempted to kick his shin or stomp his foot with my heels.
“Shut it.”
“Did you bring me anything?”
