Bad Cat Baby Blues (Shifter Squad Six 3) (15 page)

“Barely felt it,” he said, sending her hissing and coming for him again.

She was a firecracker. Shorter by a lot but a bit faster too. It took effort to keep up with her, parrying and blocking as her fists and legs sought tender flesh. She got in a few lucky hits on his shoulders and one in the gut before Dutch felt a familiar growl rising in his chest, the tender, careful side of him beaten into submission.

The next time she came for him, looking to plant her leg in his chest and then maybe sweep him off his feet when he was off balance, he grabbed her ankle, twisting it roughly. He sent her into the mat, spinning her body in the air, but she had enough good sense to roll along with the motion. She’d barely hit the floor before she was scrambling to her feet, putting distance between them now to regain her senses.

Dutch grinned approvingly. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her now, making her skin glisten, and he knew he had to look much the same. There was a fire in her eyes, a willingness, no, a
need
to win, and he knew that look well. You could see it in the eyes of every warrior. No one wanted to fucking lose, least of all people who got their highs and their lows off of their victories and defeats.

She came for him like a bat out of hell and Dutch forgot all about his good manners. He blocked her first two punches but with a successful feint, she got in a solid jab low in his abs, no gentlemen’s rules in place against it. He heaved over, coughing, and she slammed her knee in his face roughly, sending blood flying out of his nose.

Dutch snarled, snagging two strong arms around her and pile-driving her into the mat, smothering her with his size and strength. She squirmed out from underneath him before he could pin her and they were both on their feet again, wild-eyed and disheveled.

“Shit, Dutch. I’m sorry,” she said, genuine surprise in her voice and her eyes wide. “I didn't mean to.”

“Fuck you didn’t, Ari. Keep going,” he said, his voice low, his shoulders tense.

He hunched over slightly, letting his knees buckle just enough to put his center of gravity lower. She was shorter than he was and it was costing him. Apparently when Dutch had taken the task of checking up on the physical status of the spitfire before him, it was not her health he should have been worrying about, but his.

She lunged at him and he could see the reflection of the jaguar so clearly in her movements, poised yet fast and deadly. Dutch blocked her kick with his arm but did not have time to throw back as she pulled away, traipsing on swift feet. There was a grin on her lips that she probably was not even aware of and it was sexy as sin.

Using the lull, he didn’t wait for her to come to him. He feinted with his left, which she easily anticipated, and then again and again until finally his right came in swinging, aiming for her ribs and hitting with a crack. She wheezed, sucking in a breath, but that didn’t stop her. It wasn’t simple training anymore. This was more.

A year of frustration being let out on one another, perhaps? The violent dance of two people with far more to say to each other than they dared utter? Whatever it was, it was getting fucking painful, but he wouldn’t stop before she did.

Her smile was now gone and she favored one side, trying to keep her arm down to guard the injured ribs. He knew how she felt; he was nursing a similar injury himself. Both were more careful now, circling one another. Dutch could sense the copper in his mouth and it tasted bitter, like the time he’d spent without her.

Finally, she came at him again and it was immediately obvious what Ari was trying to do. Her hands sought to distract him, but the wary look she tossed his injured knee told him everything he needed to know. Her bare foot stomped into it the same moment that he reached down, grabbing her by the calf and flipping her down on her back, and she hissed with pain.

Dutch rained down on her, pinning her down, his strong arms snaking around her as she tried to fight her way free. But she had no leverage, no fight against his size and strength. When they’d been standing, she’d had a shot and a damn good one, to Dutch’s surprise, but in the end, a powerhouse would plow through the defenses of a lighter, more agile fighter.

Dutch waited for her to tap out, squeezing her in a vise, his lips so close to her neck that it hurt not to taste her skin. The tiny beads of sweat that rolled down made his insides twist and he felt like a damn mess over it all.

“Fuck!” she squealed, frustration mingling with anger as she tapped the mat in a hurry a few times, Dutch unfurling himself from around her immediately.

They rolled apart and Dutch fell on his back, looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Hell was that?

When he looked over to Ari, hearing her labored breaths, she was glowering at him from under dark lashes, wiping at her mouth. It came back bloody. Looking down, he could see sharp tooth marks on his arm and a trickle of blood. He burst out laughing, a deep, resounding sound that seemed to bounce back from the walls.

“What’s so damn funny?” Ari asked, wiping the blood from her mouth on her hand.

“You, baby,” he said, hauling himself up to sit, a few feet of distance between him and her. “This was supposed to be a friendly spar. Something you want to tell me about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ari said tersely, jumping up on her feet, though the way she winced a little and how her fingers traced the side he’d pummeled wasn’t lost on him.

“Sure you don’t.”

Ari walked over to her bag and took out a water bottle and a towel. She wet the towel and wiped up the blood before padding over to Dutch with soft steps, barely hinting that they’d just been locked in mortal combat with one another. Dutch watched her as she came back, lowering herself next to him and reaching both the bottle and the towel out to him.

“You look like a mess, Dutch.”

“You should see the other guy,” he replied, taking the offered items and pressing the towel to his face.

It smelled like her. Scratch that,
he
smelled like her. He mopped up the blood, trying his teeth with his tongue to make sure they were all where he expected them to be, and discarded the ratty cloth on the mat before taking a swig of water.

“Come on now, Ari. Talk to me here. That shit was personal. I’ve been in enough fights to recognize when someone really wants to throw my ass to the ground.”

“Are you saying you didn’t do the same? Don’t fool me, soldier, I can read you as well as you claim to be able to read me.”

Dutch looked at her for a long moment, a predatory smile on his lips. He shouldn’t have admitted this, but he liked the way she challenged him. Whether it was physical or mental, he enjoyed their back and forth and finding someone who could and would go toe-to-toe with him—hell, that was something. Gone was the scared girl he’d seen in the office, replaced by a huntress ready to kick ass and take no prisoners.

“So a stalemate? We’ll both pretend that we were at the right place at the right time and both needed to let off a bit of steam, is that it? I’m not sure I’m buying that, Ari.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get,” she huffed, her teeth digging into her lower lip.

For a second, she looked vulnerable again, the way she had been when she’d been in his arms, letting herself put her guard down when they’d been together. She went to get up but Dutch couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been lying to him now, hiding something and he didn’t know what. He spotted his chance and the jaguar acted before the man could object.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her roughly into his lap, his strong hands locking around her and cradling her closely. His lips found hers and he kissed her hungrily, one hand behind her head, gripping her ponytail.

It was now or never. She’d punch him in the face or she’d kiss him back. Lock and load, baby.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ariadne

Ari fell into Dutch’s lap with a yelp. Her first instinct was to clamber up on her feet and put as much distance between them as she could, but the moment his lips touched hers, she was done for. Her hands coiled around his neck and her fingers gripped his hair, kissing his mouth with a ferocity she could remember from only one other time in her life.

The night they’d spent together.

“Dutch, what the fuck are you doing?” she asked, breathless, tearing herself away from his mouth for only a second.

“What are
you
doing?” he quipped back, and that maddening smirk on his lips made her dive back in, hell-bent on tearing the breath from his lungs as he did to her.

Every rational part of her was screaming at her to stop, think, and calm the hell down. Even when her fingers were raking down his sides and tearing his shirt up and over his head, a loud voice was still chastising her about what a stupid thing she was doing.

This man was dangerous. She had the bruises to prove it, even if she’d goaded him into going hard instead of playing light like he’d intended to. This man could kill from a distance so great she could barely imagine it. This man was violent at the best of times, and deadly at the worst.

So why was she clinging to him like her life depended on his closeness?

Ari moaned loudly as Dutch kissed her neck and then the top of her collarbone, her tongue tracing the salty skin. She put her hands up willingly as he moved to take off her shirt and a protesting whine bubbled forth in her throat as he took too long to admire her body instead of putting his hands back on her.

He was like a drug and she a willing junkie and she didn’t want it to stop.

Anyone could walk in through the door, but it didn’t matter. And she knew she shouldn’t be doing what she was doing, but that didn’t matter either.

The truth was, every day and night she’d been away from him, Dutch had been the only man on her mind. The only one who fueled her fantasies and left her gasping and twisting in the sheets, her fingers teasing her clit, her head thrown back in lust. And now that he was here, showing her all the passion and need she’d felt, she couldn’t say no. Wouldn’t.

Dutch took off her bra while Ari dove back in to kiss him, his mouth still having that coppery twang of blood to it, but hers did as well. She licked at his lower lip, biting at it but not too hard, feeling the jagged edges of the cut she’d given him. It was intoxicating knowing that she had the capability to hurt him, and to love him, and that he wanted both.

His hands were on her breasts and she leaned back, giving him a view of them. He grinned and it was shadowed, his eyes dark with desire, just like she remembered from the night in the bunker. Her hips ground into him, loving the way he was growing rigid beneath her, his monster cock ready to fuck her senseless like she’d wanted it to for so long.

She found herself on her back suddenly, Dutch on top of her, dragging down her pants and underwear while her fingers looped around the waist of his sweatpants and she tugged at them. He complied easily enough, pulling off her pants and then easily stepping out of his own, his body as perfect as she’d remembered it.

He towered above her as Ari hiked herself up on her elbows, naked on the training mat, looking up at him. His cock was rock hard, jutting upward like a pillar, and her mouth watered. His thighs were thick, lined with muscles, tapering at the hips and stomach to create a carved picture of masculine power. His chest was wide and strong and her eyes kept tracing the tattoos she remembered on him, seeing details she’d forgotten or never noticed.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” she whispered, clambering up on her knees in front of him.

She stopped him when he moved to get down on his knees, her hand on his thigh and moving upward until it softly cupped his heavy balls.

“I’ve missed you too, baby,” he growled, and it was the most beautiful thing she’d heard in a long, long time.

Of course he’d missed her, he’d told her as much. But then and there, she couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t even sure she could now, because none of the reasons that had caused her to want to keep her distance had disappeared. They were all still there, looming and threatening. But this was now and everything else could be figured out later. She couldn’t handle any reality that didn’t conform to that belief.

Her tongue lapped up the length of his shaft, purring at the feel of the thick veins under her tongue. She followed one up to the head, flattening her tongue against the rigid length. Ari opened her mouth and took the head in, stuttering a little sigh-moan that shuddered through her as she curled her tongue around the velvety smoothness.