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“What is your fucking problem?” I narrow my eyes at him. “You asked me to help you and now all you want to do is play around? You could have asked anyone to do that, you said there were things you wanted to work-”
“Can you just not think for one fucking second?” Luca holds up a hand to stop me.
I swear to God if he tells me that one more time…
He watches me expectantly, and when I don’t say anything, he sighs. “Guess not.” He turns back to the bench, and I feel a jolt of disappointment.
I stretch out my fingers, not realising I was squeezing my fists so tight. “Ok.”
Luca stops and turns around, eyeing me. “Ok what?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You’re going to make me say it?”
He slaps a confused look on his face. “Say what?”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.
“Ok, ok, don’t give yourself a stroke,” he laughs. But then he schools his expression and steps towards me.
My heart starts thumping as he gets closer, memories of him standing close to me in the boxing ring flooding my mind. Remembering the feeling of his breath on my lips and his gloves holding mine in place over his chest. His eyes peering into mine, and his voice low, and dangerous.
He stops a couple feet before me, waiting for me to make the first move.
I give myself another moment to settle, before I hold out my fist, and he reaches out to gently tap it.
But the second his hands are on me, my heart is thrashing.
Focus. Forget it’s him… just fight.
I release a breath and go for it. As I suspected, he makes his first mistake early on and attempts a grip at my shoulder. I duck, getting his other arm over my opposite shoulder, my foot between his, and I take him straight down to the mat on his back.
Except I falter and stay too high on my knees. He continues to roll, moving on top of me. I just straight up fucking gave him side control.
I grunt and manage to get my hands clasped at his shoulder, straightening my arms to create distance and push him back. But as I do, my eyes meet his, and I hesitate.
He moves in close to me again, keeping me in side control. And the motherfucker gets his knee into the side of my hip. As much as I hate that I’m in defense right now, I fucking loathe him for getting in my head. I have no plan and I don’t know what my next step is. Because his hands are on me, his hips are against mine, his breath is on my neck… it’s distracting, and I can’t fucking focus.
I can’t do this.
“Stop,” I push him back. “Stop!”
“What?” He sits back on his knees and looks at me with concern.
“Just…” I rub a hand over my face and sit up. “One second.”
I have no fucking idea what any of this means. I don’t know why I am reacting this way to him, and why I can’t even form a fucking thought to do what I am made to do.
“Do you need-”
“I said fucking stop!” I yell as I drop my hand and glare at him.
He stays quiet, sitting on his knees with his brow creased as he watches me.
It’s his fault.
He got in my head.
