Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Which is a terrible thought for a woman in danger. Also, I’ve been in danger for weeks, and my body is done being polite about what it wants.
Sin resets the scenario.
“Back window breaks,” he says.
I jump, then move fast. Hallway. Second door left. Closet. Panel. I yank it open, slip inside, and slam it shut. Darkness. My breathing sounds too loud.
“Time,” Sin calls through the door.
I push it open and step out, heart racing.
Sin checks his stopwatch. “Better. Again.”
“Do we get snacks for good performance?” I ask, trying to keep it light.
His gaze pins me. “You want a reward.”
I swallow. Because yes, actually. But I don’t want a snack. I don’t want some stupid gold star.
I want him.
The words sit in my chest with a heavy ache. I nod once anyway, because I refuse to look flustered. “I want to know I’m doing it right.”
Sin steps closer. “You are.” His voice is calm, but his eyes are not. His eyes look like a man holding the line on something that wants to break through.
I can tell. It’s in the way his jaw tightens when I get too close. The way his gaze tracks my mouth and then snaps away like it’s dangerous to look too long. I should back off. I don’t.
Because I’m lonely.
Because I’m scared.
Because I haven’t been touched in almost a year and now there’s this man in front of me who makes my whole body feel awake. And because I know he wants me too. He can pretend he doesn’t. He can call it discipline. He can hide behind rules. But I see it. I see it in his hands when they flex at his sides like they want to grab me. I see it in the way he breathes when I move. I see it in the hard stillness he uses to hold himself back.
“Next drill,” he says, and his voice is a little rough.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Evasion,” he replies. “If someone gets their hands on you, you break contact and move.”
My throat goes dry. “We’re doing… that.”
“Yes.”
“Here.”
“Now.”
The room suddenly feels smaller.
Sin steps behind me. “You don’t panic. You don’t fight the wrong way. You strike soft targets, and then you move.”
He reaches for my wrist. My body reacts like it’s been waiting for his touch. Heat flares under my skin. My breath catches. His fingers close around my wrist, firm but not painful. My brain shouts This is training. My body says I do not care.
“Break it,” he says.
I twist the way he showed me earlier, turning my wrist toward his thumb. I step in, pivot, and wrench free.
Sin’s brows lift a fraction. “Good.”
I spin to face him, breath coming fast.
He’s close.
Too close.
His chest rises and falls steadily, but his eyes are sharp, locked on mine. There’s something in them now that wasn’t there five minutes ago. Or maybe it’s always there and I’m just finally brave enough to see it.
Sin steps forward again. “Again.”
“Okay,” I manage.
He grabs my wrist again, this time higher, closer to my forearm.
My pulse jumps. I break it again, faster.
His hand catches my other wrist, and now he’s holding both, bringing me in just enough that I can feel the heat of him. “This is what it feels like,” he says quietly. “Panic makes you weak. You stay clear.”
I swallow, staring up at him.
His face is close enough that I can see the faint scar near his cheekbone, and the slight crease between his brows. His mouth is set in a hard line that I know he’s forcing.
“Sin,” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
My whole body aches.
“Break it,” he says, but his voice doesn’t sound like a command anymore. It sounds like a plea.
I should. I should do the drill. Instead, I lift my chin and say the truth that’s been burning in me since breakfast. “You want me.”
Sin goes still. The air between us crackles. His jaw clenches. “Rowan.”
“I’m not asking you to break your rules,” I whisper. “I’m asking you to stop pretending you don’t feel this.”
His grip tightens slightly, then loosens, like he’s catching himself. Like he’s fighting.
I breathe in, and he smells like coffee and clean skin and restraint. “I’m disappointed,” I admit, voice shaking just a little. “Not because you said no. Because you said no like it hurt.”
Sin’s eyes flicker, something raw flashing through them before the control slams back into place. “This isn’t a game,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “That’s why it’s real.”
His throat moves. For a second, he looks like he might step back. Then he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers his voice. “You’re running on pure adrenaline.”
“Maybe,” I whisper. “But I’ve been wanting to kiss you since yesterday.”
Sin’s breath catches. The smallest sign. The crack.
I lean in slowly, giving him time to stop me. Giving him an exit.
He doesn’t take it. His hands slide from my wrists to my waist, firm and careful like he’s still trying to be responsible even as he’s failing at it.