It was also obvious that this wasn’t the room’s current purpose. Someone had dragged over enough mats from the gym that the floor was completely covered. That, along with the heavy-duty punching bag and small rack of free weights at one end, screamed personal gym. Almost too personal, because damn if that wasn’t a cot tucked into the corner by the free weights.
“This your room?” he asked casually, all the while trying to ignore the overeager organ in his pants. To go from hand-holding to tossing her on that cot might be a little fast even for him.
“Like it?” she asked, walking over to the cabinets. He pulled his eyes away from the cot as she popped open the cabinet doors, revealing a virtual arsenal of hand-to-hand combat weapons.
He moved to stand beside her, the soft scent of her shampoo tickling his nose as he studied her collection. Brass knuckles, tiger claws, escrima sticks, nunchucks, sai, throwing stars and knives, regular knives, a manriki chain, and even fighting fans—all well worn and lovingly cared for.
“I like these.” He reached out to test the tip of the sai—not a practice instrument, at least not with a live partner. Of course, even the escrima sticks could be deadly if yielded with skill. “Do you know how to use all these?”
“Of course,” she scoffed.
“Who was your instructor?”
“Mostly my dad, but whenever we get a new recruit who has an expertise I normally charm some lessons out of them.”
His groin tightened, his imagination running away with the thought of her charming some lessons out of him too—though the lessons he would want to provide had nothing to do with the contents of that cabinet and everything to do with that cot in the corner.
“So, what’s your poison?” she asked.
The knife, but he wasn’t about to play around with a sharp object with her, and she didn’t appear to have any sparring weaponry besides the escrima that didn’t threaten stitches, and those were far from his favorite. “You don’t appear to have any staffs.”
“Ah!” She moved down to a tall cabinet at the end and yanked it open. “Ta-da!” She waved her hands in a Vanna White imitation at the contents, which were, sure enough, a variety of fighting staffs.
His fingers began to itch. It had been a while since he’d had the time to devote to simple sparring. But he also didn’t think he had the patience to play teacher tonight either. “You any good with them?”
“I’m good with all my weapons,” she replied and tossed a staff to him.
He snapped it out of the air, twisting it around a couple times to get a feel for its balance and weight. Perfect.
She smiled, grabbing her own staff and whirling it around in a pattern that suggested she wasn’t too shabby with the weapon either.
Wanting to ensure that her proficiency extended to sparring, he moved into an easy pattern of strikes and jabs to test her skill at blocking that any student should know. She didn’t disappoint, meeting each movement with its countermove and often following through with her own attack.
Their pace quickened, running through more complicated maneuvers, and soon enough he found that he was defending as much as attacking.
“You’re good,” he said after one particularly powerful clash of their staffs, the vibration of the block running up his arm.
She wiggled her brow. “I know.”
He chuckled and, stepping back from the lock, quickly swung the staff around the other way. She blocked that too, countering with her own blow, which barely missed his side.
Oh, this is going to be bloody fun, he thought, and stopped holding back.
They sparred for what seemed like forever but was really only a couple hours, still long enough to turn his muscles to liquid. Her stamina, like her skill with the staff, was amazing. She was amazing. And just plain comfortable to hang out with. Which was good considering they both were laying on the mats now panting like exhausted dogs.
“I think you could come teach some of my brothers a thing or two,” he said when he’d caught his breath enough to speak. Even as he suggested it, he didn’t like the thought of bringing her anywhere near his brothers. There was no doubt that with her gift, they’d see her either as a weak link to be eliminated or almost as bad, a potential mate. Neither of which sat well with him.
“Hmmm…but what would I get in return?”
“You expect compensation?”
She rolled over onto her side, propping herself up with her elbow as she smiled down at him. “I always collect my payment.”
He stilled, his entire body tensing as she blatantly ogled his body. Predictably Mr. Thomas decided to put on a good showing, straining against his trousers.
She raised her gaze back to his face, her eyes twinkling. “Hmmm…and here I thought I’d worn you out too much for that.”
“I’m not at death’s door yet.”
“So it’s not just my amazing gift at revival?”
“That’s a gift?”
She pulled off her top, then arched like a stretching cat on the mat as she slowly drew her arms up over her head and kept them there. “Isn’t it?”
He groaned and, with an amazing burst of newfound energy, shifted over her. She was right; she did have a gift, because right now the heavy thud of his racing heart had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the woman staring expectantly up at him out of her golden eyes.
Damn, she was sexy. Her short spiky hair glowed like a sunset, framing the dramatic features of her face. Her nose might be considered a bit too long, her jaw too square, her lips a bit thin, though wide and nicely shaped. Possibly even her wide-set eyes could be considered almost eerie with their unnatural golden hue. But for him everything matched, melding together into a combination fit to inspire the most gifted of poets. Too bad he wasn’t one. Though he could worship each and every one of her features in turn, first, though, he had to pay homage to the offerings she’d so generously given up to him.
Holding her gaze, he slid his hand up her torso to cup her breast. He’d known she didn’t have much up top, but he was surprised how much he seemed to like the slight weight against the palm of his hand. She’d never get saggy, or need a bra, and the thought of her going around without one sent his heat levels to raging. And her nipples, the sweetest little nubs of pink against her creamy skin. He had to taste them.
Lowering his head, he pulled one of the rosy pink disks into his mouth, gently flicking the pebbled tip with his tongue. She gasped, lacing her fingers through his hair and digging into his scalp with her short little nails.
He shuddered, his pulse quickening at the evidence of her increasing desire. The fact that she had to communicate her need through such actions made it all the more exciting for him. To be able to concentrate on the sensations, to kiss her like this because he enjoyed doing so and not because of some twisted feedback loop his gift created from her pleasure. Not that he didn’t want to please her—he did—but he knew, for once, that the trembling in his muscles that came with rising need was his, all his.
“Woman, you drive me mad.”
“Ditto,” she replied and wrapped her long legs around him. Oh lord, they fit just how he’d imagined, her ankles crossed behind his back, her heel digging into the cleft of his arse, and his erection grinding against that sweet, sweet juncture of bliss. And then she proceeded to rub herself against him in a way that had him practically weeping.