Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin #1)(56)
Author: Gena Showalter

She was timid at first, and even frightened to the point of trembling, but she soon found a core of strength and met his attacks with vigor. She absorbed everything he said and concentrated with every ounce of her being to do the best she could.

“You keep tucking your thumb under your fingers,” he said. “Don’t do that. You’ll break it.”

“See! I once told you that breaks were bad, but you pretended not to believe me.” Once again she made a proper fist. “Like this?”

“Yes. Now swing.”

She did, going out and around. An ineffectual action that would have irritated her attacker rather than hurt him.

“No. Forward. A jab, jab.” He demonstrated what he meant, then tapped the ridges of his stomach. “Hit me.”

Her eyes went wide, shimmering amethysts backed by black velvet. “No.”

“Yes.” The only way to get her comfortable with fighting back was to get her used to hitting actual flesh. “Don’t be a princess babycakes. Hit me as if it’s the only way to free the otherworlders.”

He expected her to yell at him. She punched him instead. Just straight-up nailed him in the gut, not once, not twice, but three times. If he’d been any less of a man, he would have doubled over.

“Good,” he managed. “That’s good.”

She punched him again.

He caught her wrist, studied her, worried she would revert to her earlier fear of becoming like her father. But her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted, on the verge of grinning. She wasn’t about to break down. She was about to celebrate.

“I’m impressed with your . . . technique,” he said.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, reaching out to stroke her fingers over his stomach.

He sucked in a breath.

“I’m surprised these kitties didn’t break my hand,” she said, gaze locked on the ridges of muscle. “They’re so hard.”

Darling, you have no idea. “These puppies,” he corrected.

“Puppies . . . kitties . . . both are baby animals and therefore appropriate.” Still stroking.

He took her hand before the training session switched gears. “Now it’s time to learn what to do when someone tries to hit you. I’m going to swing at you slowly.” Very, very slowly, every inch measured. That way, if she failed to heed him, he could stop himself before contact. “I want you to duck before I reach you, then come up swinging yourself, okay?”

A nod of determination.

They performed the action over and over, until she could defend and attack in quick succession, without pausing to consider her next move. And oh, was she gorgeous as she worked. All that golden hair danced around her shoulders, down her back. Her chest rose and fell; her tee soon became streaked with sweat—hers and his—causing the material to cling to her br**sts. Her more-than-a-handful br**sts.

Breasts he would hold in his hands. One day. Soon.

Her legs kicked out, and she knocked his ankles together. He stumbled to one side, but caught himself on the bars.

Clapping, she jumped up and down. “I did it! I really did it!”

“You sure did.”

“Wow! I’m amazing! And I have to say, this is much easier than I anticipated.”

A growl lodged in his throat. It should have been more difficult! Get control of yourself, Judah. He was a trained assassin. He could do better than this.

“Let’s take this up a notch,” he said.

“I’m ready.”

He varied his pretend hits, forcing her to think while staying in motion. She began to anticipate his moves before he knew in what direction he was going. A survival technique she must have developed growing up as Jecis’s daughter.

He was saddened and angered by that, but proud of what she’d accomplished, too, and all the more determined to teach her more than survival. He would teach her how to win.

“You’re very good at this,” she said.

“I have to be.”

“Why?”

Uh-oh. Dangerous territory. “When I was little, I had several run-ins with humans who hadn’t yet accepted the otherworlders living on this planet. I had to learn how to control my strength, as well as inflict enough damage to save myself.”

Her hand fluttered over her heart, and she looked ready to burst into tears. “That’s so sad.”

So sensitive to other’s pain. “It’s more common than you realize. But Vika?”

“Yes?”

“You shouldn’t have let me distract you.” Solo sprang into action, knocking her to the floor, catching her before she hit to prevent her from banging her head, and pinning her in place. No matter how forcefully she squirmed, she couldn’t manage to free herself. The sadness had left her, at least.

But desire had taken its place.

She smelled of the jasmine and the mint, and he needed more of both, but one second passed, two, and he stopped breathing. This was too important to mess up. So far he’d kept his touches mostly business, never slipping his fingers past clothing and onto bare skin. Now, the restraint caught up to him, his own desire rampaging through him. He could feel her, every inch of her. Could feel every curve he’d previously denied himself.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

“Yes. Please.”

“I won’t do anything else.”

“Okay.”

“Afraid?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered.

He looked at her lips. So pink and pretty, with only the barest hint of a wound.

Was she ready?

He prayed she was ready.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He leaned down, pressed the softest of kisses onto her mouth. Her nails dug into his chest, and he wasn’t sure whether she meant to push him away or drag him closer.

Well, well. He could stop himself. He lifted his head to peer into her eyes. Wonder stared up at him, more intent than ever before and as thrilling as it was tantalizing. She definitely hadn’t meant to push him away. So he did it again. He kissed her, lingering this time, and a needy little moan left her.

“Open,” he commanded.

The moment she obeyed, he slid his tongue into her mouth. And oh, her taste was exquisite, just as he remembered, like summer berries dipped in fresh cream. Last time, he’d become instantly addicted. This time, he was forever changed. He could not exist without this—without her. She was the only light in a vast expanse of darkness.

Her body heat enveloped him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she tilted his head to the side, forcing deeper contact. As if she needed to force him. He took and he gave. He drank her in, greedy, ravenous, using what remained of his willpower to keep his hands on the ground beside her shoulders.