Page 164 of Hide and Keep

It worked. It worked! All Crue has me by is one wrist. That’s it. I got up. I got out of it.

I did it.

I twist to face my bodyguard, finding him wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

“Was that explosive enough for you?”

“Good job,” he says instead of the “good girl” he was handing out freely before.

“Now, how do I reverse wrist control?”

“You got a free hand. Use it to grab one of my wrists.”

He immediately pulls his free hand out of my reach, so I grab the wrist of the hand holding mine.

“Why is this so important?”

“Wrist control is huge. It makes whoever has it feel in control, which gives a mental edge. It helps set up other moves, takedowns. It can prevent a takedown. Anything your opponent tries to do while you have their wrists, you’ll be able to feel and react to quicker.”

“I have one of your wrists, can I take you down?”

“From what I saw earlier, no.”

“You didn’t take me down either.”

“Do you want me to?”

His skin on mine burns as he pulls me closer. He’s been holding my wrist since he got me on my stomach, but it’s more noticeable now that we’re gazing at each other.

Is that why he insists on eye contact? Does it make it more personal?

All I can do is whisper out a “No. I want you…”

Crue’s own voice comes out hushed with, “How?”

“On all fours. Now.”

That smile returns, making him unfairly handsome. He’s sweaty. He’s an asshole. He’s being paid to clam-jam me. And still, every bit of my body is attracted to every bit of his, especially those eight or nine inches I’ve had the pleasure of feeling pressed against me but haven’t seen in person…yet.

My lips stretch apart so much so they hurt. I usually only smile this big during performances, except this is no performance. Not on my part anyway.

“Since you asked so nicely…”

Finally, he releases my wrist, but I decide to keep his a little longer.

“I ‘asked’ the same way you did.”

“Tit for tat,” he tsks.

I shrug and let go so he can get down on all fours.

Talking me through what he did to me, I weave an arm under Crue’s armpit, then up and over his neck before rolling him on to his back, with me topping him perpendicularly.

“Congratulations, you just got a pin. You win,” he tells me.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. In a real match, it wouldn’t be this easy. Your opponent would be countering your moves the entire time.”

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