Page 98 of Burning Ember
Mav raises an eyebrow. “Change your mind?”
“I’ve never thrown a punch before.”
He peers over my shoulder, makes some noise in the back of his throat, then mutters, “I’ll show her.”
Taz snorts and chuckles.
Mav steps into my personal space. First, he straights my wrist. “Keep this straight and strong.” I do what he says. “Good. But it takes more than your fist and your arm to throw a punch.” Taking my fist, he guides it in slow motion to his damaged yet beautiful face. “See, that’s weak. But use your whole body . . .” He puts a hand on my stomach. “Tighten these muscles here.”
He doesn’t have to tell me. My muscles automatically contract as I fight not to show how much his touch affects me. His hand even over my shirt sends sparks of electricity firing through my nerve endings.
“Good.” Grabbing my hips, he twists my body forward. “Now put those together.” We do it together in slow motion. Three, four, and then five times, me pushing my fist out and him twisting my hips.
“Perfect, Doll.”
Perfect Doll.
Irritation pings through me at the nickname and its meaning. However, it’s quickly drowned out by the flames fanning out from his hands on me; the intoxicating scent of him that’s overwhelming my senses. This time, his scent isn’t cloaked by tobacco. It’s all him. His scent. His sweat. All Mav.
My gaze is drawn to the vein in his neck. It’s pulsing wildly, making me wonder if his heart is beating as erratically as mine is. My gaze ventures down again, this time to the tattoo sitting at eye level in front of me. It’s in the center of his delicious pec covered by golden skin. I read and reread the bible verse inked in small, cursive letters. I try and fail to understand the meaning of it. But it’s about darkness, light, and death. All the things I see when I look at him.
His hand cups the back of my neck. He squeezes once and puts his thumb under my chin so he can lift my face to meet his. His tongue comes out and sweeps against the cut on his lip, and my eyes follow. I’m drawn back to the kiss we shared and I remember in vivid detail the way his mouth felt against mine, demanding and hungry, soft and yet savage. Like he’s been famished for half a decade and I’m the only sustenance he needs to survive.
His breath washes over my cheek, sending a tremor of need down my body. “If you’re gonna hit me, Doll. You better do it now.” The huskiness of his voice has my eyes flying up to his.
“Why?”
“Because you’re lookin’ at me like I got somethin’ you need. I can’t fuckin’ stand here and not give it to you. Not when I want nothin’ more than another taste of your sweet mouth.”
His eyes dart behind me and back to my face. “Personally, I don’t give a fuck’all who sees me takin’ it, but you probably do. So hit me. Or I’ll be tastin’ you again, Doll. And I’m not likely to stop anytime soon.”
Birds take flight, going all different directions inside my belly. I stare up at him. Was that a threat or a promise?
His dark and intense gaze tells me it’s both. He backs up a step. “C’mon . . . Make this right between us. Hit me. Give it all you got.”
I mentally shake myself from the lust-filled daze he has me under. Yes, I want him, but I also want to give him back a small slice of the pain he’s thrown at me.
“Okay.” I firmly plant my feet on the mat. I practice my punch one more time slowly. After taking a deep breath, I prepare to launch my fist at his face. But I’m hesitant. He’s already bruised and beyond handsome, and hitting him feels wrong.
“Think of it as payback for me being a dick,” he says.
Nodding, I dig through my arsenal of bitter memories of what he’s put me through since arriving here. The insults. The death stares. The disgusting jobs I’ve had to do around the club. Him siccing Taz on me.
My anger builds.
Attacking me last night was the last straw and either I do this or I need to leave. Staying will only tell him and every other biker here, I’ll put up with the mistreatment I’ve been given. And I won’t. Not again. Not anymore.
I pull in a deep breath and launch my fist toward his face. The damn glove barely grazes his jaw.
I internally growl with frustration.Dammit!I get my one chance for some payback and I screw it up.Ugh . . . Em.
“It’s all right. Try again,” he encourages.
I bite my lip.
“C’mon. Again.” His tone changes. Hardens.
Waving me forward, he grates out, “Get angry. Curse. Shout. Whatever. Just show me the part of you that’s not a fuckin’ mouse all the time.”
