I tighten my fingers around the hilt and shake my head.
“Attack me, Lyra.”
A growl escapes my lips as I lunge toward him. He moves sideways, and I stumble to the ground.
“Again,” he says, his voice annoying.
I lurch to my feet and pivot toward him, aiming my sword at his face. He quickly knocks my weapon away with his hand.
Another growl escapes me as I attack again and again, but he keeps blocking me. Or he simply moves, and I swing at air.
“You’re so infuriating.” I arch my weapon toward him, but he dodges it easily.
Then, he grabs my shoulder with his free hand and jerks me against him, our swords caught between us. “And you’re so damn beautiful.”
“What?” I gasp out, my eyes still flashing with anger.
“You have fire in you. Use it as fuel, but don’t allow it to consume you.”
I try to push him away, but he tightens his grip.
“Use it. Wield it in your favor,” he says, his voice low, husky, and chipping away at my anger.
Sunlight mingles with the heat in his eyes as he leans down and kisses me. I gasp as he pulls away and grins at me.
“Y-you.” I back up and raise my sword.
His brow lifts. “Are you going to lob off my head now?”
“I might.”
Mirth skips in his eyes as he waves his weapon back and forth. I lurch toward him, and he grabs me, spinning me around until my back is pressed against his chest.
“I thought you were going to lob off my head?” he teases.
“I will as soon as you release me.” I tighten my grip around the hilt of the practice sword, not willing to concede to him.
“Then, I better not let go.” He allows his weapon to fall to the ground, then turns me to him.
I know I should back up—probably even run away, but I don’t. Instead, I allow him to take my sword and drop it too.
“I thought we were training,” I whisper.
“We are.” His gaze lowers to my mouth. “Kiss me.”
I lift my chin, needing to be defiant. “No.”
The flecks spark in his eyes as he frames my face and lifts my chin. “Kiss me.”
I stare up at him, wanting to deny him, needing to deny him, but there’s something about the way he looks at me. Something captivating. Something real, as if in this moment, he’s just a man who needs this. Who needs me.
It’s empowering, being needed.
So, I do something I have never done before. I lift my mouth to his, initiating the kiss. His lips are warm, inviting, provoking my boldness. I wrap my arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss.
I want more. It’s there every day now, this all-consuming want. I try to ignore it when I sleep next to him, but there’s no ignoring it. Only surviving until he takes me over the edge.
Shamelessly, I run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer to me as our tongues dance together. His hands move from my back to my hips, gripping me tightly as he grinds against me. I gasp at that sensation, that hardness, that need.
