Page 10 of Invisible Scars
I narrow my eyes. “Like practicing how to react in real-life scenarios?”
“Yes.”
His cold-toned one-word replies are getting on my last nerve, but I push the irritation aside and focus on the task at hand. The best payback would be to kick Jonah’s ass at his own stupid game.
“Fine, bring it on, Cadet.”
A flash of amusement passes through Jonah’s otherwise blank gaze, and he motions me to turn around with a spin of his finger. I shake out my limbs with a short exhale and roll my neck before turning my back on Jonah. I’m barely done with the spin, and he’s got me in a tight bear hug.
My first instinct is to scream and thrash, but I force myself to take a deep breath to stay composed. My body is lifted from the floor, and I drop my weight, resulting in Jonah losing his controlling grip on me with a grunt, which turns into a pained exhale when I drive my elbows backward into his ribs.
With Jonah’s hold now loosened, I wiggle my arms free and strike backward into his face. Jonah leans back just in time to avoid my fist, but his grip is now breakable, so I pivot and use Jonah’s weight to release myself completely. The scent of pine needles and man-sweat follows me, reminding me of all the things I’m not allowed to have.
At this point, I know I should run, get out. Maybe even lock Jonah in the gym and go about my day, smug and unaffected. But I’m still pissed off at him for being an ass, so I go for his groin. He easily blocks me with a surprised laugh.
“I thought you were in it to win it, Doll,” he says, swiping his thumb over the tip of his nose to remove a drop of sweat.
“Someone’s finally remembered how to use full sentences,” I quip, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Jonah’s raised eyebrow only adds to the playful banter between us, the familiarity of our dangerous game woven into every word. But as his body lunges forward, the atmosphere shifts, and the air crackles with unspoken tension.
He strikes, coming at me with a fierce intensity, his movements an echo of the dangers that await in the real world. Reacting on pure instinct, I block his advances with calculated precision. I deflect his punches, dodge his kicks, and counter with well-timed strikes of my own. With every block and strike, I tap into a wellspring of determination developed through years of having to stand up for myself with no one at my back.
With each successful block, each calculated counterattack, a newfound confidence blossoms within me.
Our movements become a symphony of determination and desire, our attraction simmering beneath the surface. In the fluidity of our combat, our bodies communicate in a way we refuse to put in words. The electricity in the room is palpable, charging every interaction, every dodge and parry.
As our grunts mix with the swishing of our bodies, raw energy courses through me. The intensity of the fight heightens my senses, sharpening my awareness of Jonah’s proximity. His warmth radiates like a magnet, drawing me closer.
My body hums with anticipation as the intense spar continues, my senses heightened by the electric energy passing between Jonah and me. We circle each other, each movement calculated, and a bead of sweat trickles down my temple.
With a sudden sweep of his leg, Jonah knocks me off balance, and I crash to the ground, his weight pinning me down. The air is momentarily knocked out of me as the impact jars my senses.
A surge of frustration rushes through me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I’m not supposed to be pinned beneath him, struggling to break free. My mind races, searching for a way out of this vulnerable position.
“And you’re dead,” Jonah whispers. The words hang in the air, carrying a charge that electrifies the space between us. I grind my teeth, refusing to accept defeat.
Drawing upon the reservoir of strength within me, I gather my focus. With a surge of energy, I shift my hips, attempting to destabilize Jonah’s hold on me. But his grip on my wrists only tightens.
Mixed emotions wash over me—frustration, desire, and a burning need to prove myself. I do the only logical thing I can think of and push against Jonah’s hold, using every ounce of my training to leverage my body.
“God, I love the fight in you, Doll,” he growls in a low and husky voice, easily pushing me back down into the mat.
“There’s a lot more where it came from, Cadet.”
Raw hunger flashes through Jonah’s dark eyes, and suddenly, we’re playing an entirely different game.
“Call me lieutenant, and I’ll let you go,” he says with a hush that caresses my ear.
“Never.”
I continue to fight against Jonah’s grip, my nipples becoming tight as they rub against his hard chest, the scent of his soap drowning out the voices telling me this is going too far.
The shrill ring of my phone pierces through the charged air, and we both freeze. Reluctantly, Jonah releases his hold, allowing me to rise to my feet. I snatch my phone, a mix of frustration and gratitude coursing through me. The interruption broke the spell, reminding us of the realities we face beyond this tangled web of desire.
I answer the call, breathless as I try to regain composure. “This is Effie Teitelbaum.”
“Oof, so official for someone who sounds like she’d just been thoroughlyfucked.” The blood in my veins turns to ice, the heat from sparring with Jonah a distant memory. “Of course, if you’d have agreed to be fucked when you should have, I’d be calling you for entirely different reasons, wouldn’t I, little sis?” I can’t bring myself to say anything. I just shake my head. “So, seeing how your pride got me to this dire point in my life, I reckon you owe me a few minutes.”
“No.” It’s the only word I can verbalize, but it comes out strong. Jonah looks at me from his spot on the mat, brow wrinkled.
