Page 8 of Mountain Daddy's Girl
“Is that an order?”
“Yes,” he says, stepping close to me. But not touching. Not yet. It’s like he wants the fire in me to swell until it’s blustery and out of control. “So, do as you’re told.”
“Some manners.”
He bows theatrically. “Please.”
I laugh and take off my coat, pulling my hoodie over my head. His insatiable eyes immediately go to my chest. A man has never looked at me like that before, as if his entire world has crushed down to one subject and one subject alone.
Me.
“Put on the gloves and get in the cage,” he says. “I’m going to lock the doors and draw the blinds.”
“Why?” I ask.
He gives me a look as though it’s obvious. My breath catches in my throat. Obsession smolders in his eyes, and, yeah, it grips me too. Grips me like a vise.
I go into the cage and pull on the gloves, pacing up and down.
“Feel like an animal yet?” he jokes, joining me in the semidarkness, the only light coming from the wall-mounted lights.
I felt like an animal the moment I laid eyes on you.
“It’s weird being inside the cage,” I admit.
“The worst position to be in,” he says, “is under full mount. If you get mounted in a fight, it’s almost always game over if your opponent knows what he’s doing. Even worse in the streets. I’ll show you a simple escape.”
He lies on his back, his shirt lifting slightly, showing me a glimpse of his marbled abs.
“What do I do?” I ask.
“Climb on.”
A shudder dances up between my thighs, teases my lips. My hole is aching as I stare down at him. His smirk is unflinching. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Climb … on?”
“It’s a regular MMA position,” he says.
I lower myself to the mat, then slip one leg over him. As I straddle him, I shift against his cup. It’s hard and pushes urgently against my sex as if trying to make a point. The point?He owns me. I try—and fail, big time—to push that notion away.
“Is this the part where I beat you up?” I ask, making light of it, aiming a few playful punches at him.
He’s not laughing. He’s deadly serious.
“Are you going to teach me the escape?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “First, you want to off balance your opponent. You plant your hands in their hips, like this.”
His hands slide into my hip bones, his touch settling naturally against my body.
“Then you bridge so they don’t have a stable base to hit you. I’ll go soft at first. Make sure to catch yourself.”
He drives up, his solid cup grinding against my sweatpants, pushing my clit with an urgency that has my body aching. I catch myself on the mat, so I don’t faceplant.
“See?” he says. “It’d be hard to hit me now, wouldn’t it? And I know you want to.”
I laugh. “Nah-uh, because that’d mean being as savage as you.”
