“Why?”
“In wrestling, you either win with a pin or points. I’m gonna show you what a pin feels like.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense for me to pin you instead?”
He chuckles darkly. “If you can take me down.”
The second I reach my arms toward him, he smacks them both away.
My skin stinging, I snarl, “You didn’t even let me try.”
“Yeah, I did. Your ‘try’ was slow as fuck. Go again.”
I scan him for any weak spots, finding exactly zero. I mean, there is one. Every man assumes it’s a strength, when really, it’s a weakness. One tap and they’re on their knees, crying like helpless babies.
As if reading my thoughts, Crue covers his dick and warns, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”
I throw my hands up. “Well, I don’t know how else to pin you.”
“The first part’s called a takedown. And even if you did manage to take me down, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”
“Ask all the guys I’ve had under me if I knew what to do with them.”
A wildfire breaks out in my bodyguard’s gaze.
“Tell me who they are and I’ll go ask ’em right now.”
“I…” Feeling the heat myself, I study a cuticle. “Can’t remember. Too many to keep track of.” More like I didn’t bother trying.
“Then this should come naturally for you.” Crue points one long finger at the mat. “All fours. Now.”
And he wonders why I’m always wet around him.
“If I come naturally, why’d you make it look so difficult last night?”
“Jesus Christ, just get on your hands and knees before I change my mind.”
With a sigh, I lower to my knees, then hands.
“Am I at least getting a spanking?” It takes great effort to keep the hope out of my voice.
“Keep it up, and you just fucking might.”
Might is practically maybe, which everybody knows is technically no.
Why am I disappointed I’mnotgetting spanked?
Staring at the mat below me, I wait for Crue’s instructions but nothing comes.
I glance over my shoulder to find him not even looking at me, his body half-turned.
“Crue?”
“What?”
What does he mean “what?” Aren’t we in the middle of a lesson?
“What happens now?”