She hesitates only a beat before dropping down, wriggling into position. I shift, knees settling between hers as I nudge her legs apart.
“This is one of the most common control positions. If someone’s going to strangle you, it’ll likely look like this.” I lean forward, hands brushing her throat gently. “In a second, I’m going to press down. You’ll pluck my hand off, strike me in the ear with your right. Got it?”
She nods slowly, eyes tracking every motion.
“Once I’m off-balance, twist your hips—get me off you.”
Her gaze flickers from my face to my shoulders, doubt creeping in. “You’re huge. I’m not going to be able to move you.”
I tilt my head, raising a brow. “Where’s the fire gone? Thought you were ready to take me down.”
Her jade eyes flash—something wild sparking behind them. She draws in a breath, sharp and steady.
“Alright,” she murmurs. “Although if he’s as hot as you I might ask him to strangle me harder.”
She’s joking… I think.
It’s good to hear her laugh—proof the fire’s still there. But now? While I’m teaching her something that might one day save her life? Not the time.
“Be serious, Nell. Laughing won’t stop me strangling you.”
“Right,” she murmurs, trailing her fingertips up my arm—a calculated move. Classic distraction.
Trouble in every inch.
She won’t be laughing in a second.
Without warning, I press down—more force than comfort allows. Not cruel. Just real. This is survival, and she needs to know how fast it can turn.
Her breath snags. Eyes wide, panicked. But I don’t ease off, I wait.
Then something clicks and she remembers.
Her fingers snap to my wrist, plucking at it while her palm hammers the side of my head, fast and furious. I stagger just enough for her to drive her hips and twist, shoving me off.
I hit the mat hard. She crashes down with me in a tangle—hair, limbs, adrenaline.
But she pauses, blinking down at me, and her mouth quirks with triumph.
“Stalker boy,” she teases, breath still ragged from the scramble.
But while she’s celebrating, I flip her in one fluid movement—her body pinned beneath mine, face down on the mat, breath catching with a sharp gasp.
My hand skims her neck—not harsh, just deliberate. Pressure at the muscles. A reminder. Then it slides lower. Down her back, her waist, until my fingers rest at her hip, and I feel the tension ripple beneath her skin.
“You know what he’d do when he’s got you like this?” I ask, voice low and close.
She doesn’t answer. Just shifts—subtle, slow. Her hips press back, grazing against me.
I’m so fucking hard for her right now.
I bite down on every instinct screaming at me. I shouldn’t react. Not now. Not like this. But she’s so aware. So dangerously reactive.
“He wouldn’t ask permission,” I murmur near her ear. “He’d explore where he wants. Take what he wants.”
My hand edges lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings. Just barely grazing the curve of her ass.
“How do I get out of this?” she whispers, though her tone betrays something else entirely—curiosity, challenge, maybe even anticipation.
