Page 62 of Savage Saint
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the restless energy that threatens to consume me from the inside out. Every muscle in my body feels wound too tight, like a spring ready to snap.
"Spar with me, Butterfly. I don't want to think. I need to move."
The words come out rough, desperate. I'm practically vibrating with pent-up rage. Dante, Nicolosi, the whole fucked-up situation has me reeling. My fists clench and unclench at my sides as I wait for her answer.
She studies me for a long moment, those sharp blue eyes taking in everything. My tense posture, my barely contained fury, the broken phone on the floor. Then something shifts in her gaze. Her chin lifts, defiance replacing caution.
"Fine." Her eyes harden, accepting the challenge.
We move to the main gym area without another word. The large mat in the centre is like an island in a sea of equipment. I roll my neck as we step in, the familiar give beneath my feet grounding me.
Kasia stretches, her movements fluid and practised. The muscles on her abdomen tighten, the pale skin stretching with each movement. I try not to look at the space beneath her right breast where the Kittens tattoo is for fear of ripping this whole place apart, but my mind doesn't listen. Before I force my gaze away, I drink her in, cataloguing every freckle and mark I can see.
We circle each other, two predators sizing up their prey. Her footwork is light, precise. There's no wasted movement. She's smart, analysing my stance, searching for weaknesses. I'm doing the same, watching how she guards her left side more than her right. She's definitely done this a million times, and once again, I try to figure out who she is, who she was before.
She strikes first. A quick jab toward my solar plexus. Fast and precise. I counter, but she's quicker than I expected, ducking under my arm and landing a blow to my ribs.
"Not bad," I grunt, genuinely impressed.
A hint of a smile plays at her lips before she's moving again. We fall into a rhythm. Strike, block, counter. Her technique is flawless, a blend of styles that are clearly self-taught but effective as hell. She anticipates my moves like she's reading my mind, slipping away from holds that would trap anyone else.
I manage to sweep her legs, but she rolls with the fall, immediately springing back into a fighting stance. Before I can press my advantage, she's inside my guard, using my momentum against me.
A split second later, I'm flat on my back, the breath knocked from my lungs. Kasia pins me down, her thighs straddling my waist, one forearm pressed against my throat, not hard enough to choke, but enough to establish dominance.
Our chests rise and fall in sync, sweat beading on her brow, her face inches from mine.
"You're holding out on me,Savage."
Maybe I am, but she's good.Really good. The realisation that we're evenly matched sends a jolt of electricity through me.
"I don't want to hurt you, Butterfly."
"I'm not a fucking butterfly!" She presses her forearm harder as she leans closer to my face, her tits right in front of my mouth.
My body reacts instantly, desire coiling hot and heavy in my gut. From the widening of her eyes, I know she can feel my hardening cock against her.
"Kasia…" I groan as her nipples peak through her sports bra. Fuck me, she's as into this as I am.
I feel her body shift as she registers my arousal. For a second, I expect her to pull away. She doesn't. Instead, her thighs tighten around me, and something darkens in her eyes. Something hungry.
"It's a tattoo removal machine," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My fingers drift up, brushing the bottomedge of her sports bra where I know his mark sits. "So you don't have to wear his brand on you anymore."
The fierce determination in her expression falters. Her lips part slightly, eyes widening with surprise as they dart to where the massage room is, then land back on my face, her expression melting into something softer. More vulnerable. Her weight settles more fully against me, tension draining from her shoulders.
"Savage," she breathes.
My nickname on her lips is my undoing. The sound of it, rough and intimate, snaps the last thread of my control.
"Youmake me savage," I growl, reaching up to tangle my fingers in her hair. I pull her down until our faces are inches apart. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me."
Our lips crash together, and it's like a dam breaking inside me. All the tension, all the want I've been holding back, floods through me in a torrent that drowns out everything else. Her mouth is hot and demanding against mine, her taste sweeter than anything I've ever known. She moans, opening her lips, letting me in. She tastes like mint and coffee, and I can't get enough.
I flip us over, pinning her beneath me on the mat. She arches up, wrapping her legs around my waist, grinding against my cock through our clothes. The friction is maddening. Perfect. Not nearly enough. I kiss her like my namesake requires, savagely taking everything she's willing to give me.
"Fuck," I mutter against her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse point.
Her hands slide under my shirt, nails raking down my back as she rocks against me harder. I grab her ass, guiding her movements, helping her find the right angle.
