SCOTTISH ROMANCE: My Sinful Surrender to a Highlander Werewolf (Scottish Werewolf Pregnancy Romance) (Historical Medieval Shape Shifter Paranormal Science Fiction Short Stories) (30 page)

“Yes.  Where will you be in case I need to call you?”

“Going upstate.  Going to see Nicholas.  My friend from high school.”

“Be careful,” Othlo said, always so damned cryptic as if she knew the past, present and future.

Kerrigan laughed heartily.  “Why do you say that?”

“Friends who aren’t part of our present, always insist on recreating the past.  What do I say about the past, Kerrigan?”

“I know, I know.  Leave it behind.  Why you gotta talk like Yoda all the time?”

“I’m not talking like Yoda,” Othlo growled, finally losing his smile and going stark.  “My advice is never ‘free.’  You just remember what I said for your own good.”

“Will do, Big Poppa Smurf.  Hey, Viola?  One of these days we’re going to charge you for taking up space.  You know being so courageous the way you are.”

“Go home, white boy.”

“Oooh, feisty,” Kerrigan said with one more smirk, before he walked towards the exit.  “I’ll be back next week.”  He eyed Viola one more time, who stared him down and folded her arms.  “You all have a good week.”

Othlo was about thirty minutes early for the new class.  Viola came on time but Kerrigan had neglected to mention the postponement of the 3:45 PM class.  Nothing surprising, just a common error.  But it did manage to make the wait awkward and Viola felt pressured to clarify the misunderstanding.

“I see Kerrigan didn’t tell you again.  He postponed the class.  I have to-”

“I understand,” he interrupted strongly.  “Class begins in thirty minutes.”

“Right.  So I’ll just wait here if that’s okay.”

“Yes.”

Othlo went on surveying the room, looking up at the roof as if trying to figure out a problem.  He seemed distracted from the conversation but still focused.

“I know Kerrigan thinks I’m afraid.  But it’s not like that.”

Othlo sighed.  He didn’t care much for chatter or polite conversation.  But the awkward tension was enough to get Viola talking.

“No one is required to take part in anything they don’t want to do.  You can observe all you like.”

“Yeah but…I mean, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t start lessons yet.”

“No.  I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

“I know why you haven’t.”

“Oh?  Let me guess,” she said with a shake of the head.  “You think I’m afraid too.”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He moved closer, meeting her eyes and challenging her with his calm but begrudging disposition.  “You like to watch.”

“That’s it?”

“You like to watch men grappling with men.  You get some kind of sensual pleasure out of watching.”

“Excuse me?!” she said wide-eyed and slamming her hands on her hips.  The fact that Othlo never laughed or told jokes made the revelation even more surprising.

“I’m not a fool.  I know your motivation.”

“Well, I think you are!  How dare you say that to me!” 

“Young lady, don’t think that I am so naïve.  I can read a person by looking into their eyes.  You’re afraid, but not of failure.  You know you could learn this.  But you’re afraid of what knowledge and self-confidence will do to your self-image.  To your beliefs and values.  You come here every week, laughing to yourself about your man-on-man fetish.  But in reality, you’re arguing with yourself.  About what you really want from this.”

“Oh my God!  Old white man thinks he knows me.”

“Yes.  Has anything I said been untrue?” he looked at her boldly.  “Little black girl?  Since we love speaking in stereotypes today.”

She shook her head, quite appalled.  Until she gradually stopped shaking.  Othlo figured her out quickly.  And damned if it didn’t feel good…to have her kinks openly exposed.  To have someone know her secret—her entire motivation that not even her own flesh and blood brother could understand.

“Well…so what if I like me some gay porn?” she asked quietly.  “That’s my business.  Anyway, it has nothing to do with why I haven’t signed up yet.”

“You’ll sign up when you’re ready to accept who you are.  And you want to become.”

“I know who I am.  I’m Viola Johnson.  I’m black, proud and I don’t mind admitting that white people like you and your home boy make me uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.  “A teacher is not obligated to make you feel comfortable.  The teacher’s job is to make you more efficient.”

“Fuck that.  I have a pocket knife, pepper spray and a concealed pistol in my car, fool.  I don’t need protection.”

“Martial arts isn’t about protection, Viola,” he said, again finding her suddenly flinching eyes.  “It’s about self-fulfillment.  Reaching the pinnacle of your own existence.”

He walked closer to her, giving Viola a mild chill.  His body was so commanding and whenever he invaded someone’s space the very air seemed to change.

He didn’t break contact and neither did she but the silence was eerie.  She felt a pang of desire build deep inside of her.  She was always attracted to white men in their thirties and forties but somehow never let that get out—certainly not among her friends and siblings.  But something about Othlo always silenced her.  His monster confidence.  His lack of joviality, his austerity which was spilling from his pores.  He was the opposite of that big kid Kerrigan.

She struggled to think of something to say.  Something badass or flirty, but it was all a flash.  She looked into his eyes and shrugged, her voice descending in volume.  “What can you teach me?”  The way she said it…it didn’t sound good.  She sounded mousey, almost giving away her attraction and exposing her feelings. 

But damned if Othlo even acknowledged any of it.  “I won’t teach you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re welcome to practice in group class.  But I will not teach you privately.”

“Why?”

“Because.  You’re clueless.  You’re young.  None of this matters to you.”

He walked away nonchalantly, passed the gym and back to the corridor where his dressing room waited.

Viola was so provoked she decided to screw tact and walked back to meet him, throwing a little tiff.  “Hey, wait a minute.  What kind of teacher says shit like that?  Aren’t you supposed to encourage me?”

“No.  You encourage yourself.  You find your own motivation.  Then you come back to me.”

He almost walked away but then turned back around.  “But I’m sure Kerrigan is available.  If you need to spend another few months finding yourself.”

“Now then…” he said right before unsleeving his vest and tossing it, leaving his chiseled body shirtless.  His muscles were pronounced, slightly hairy, and his abs stabbed into his lower abdomen, his crotch barely covered by his black pants.  His chest and belly sunk in and out like as calmly as waves and his confidence was still beaming as he eyed her in half-hearted interest. 

Viola bit her lip and hummed, then eyed him in smiling confusion, not sure if this was a come-on, an attack or a misunderstanding.

“I believe you’re in my dressing room.  My shower is over there.  You’re not invited.”

He walked away, already unfastening his pants leading Viola to only wonder what that shower scene might look like.

**

II

Viola went home and thought it over.  Oh sure, she thought about him, half-naked and so intense all the time and how that energy might convert into sex.  How he made her shudder whenever he gave her the eye—not a look of need or even hunger but extreme focus.  That kind of deep inner strength that she longed to feel from someone else, let alone have.

She even thought about what he said.  How she has to accept who she needs to be, before she can progress.  How all the Kerrigans of the world were sure to lie to her, telling her what she wanted to hear but not really challenging her.  She thought about what really held her back.  Being proud and black, and with booming self-confidence that she can truly achieve anything in life.  But why was that so vexing?

Late into the night she even thought about Othlo.  His ruggedness.  What his strong arms would feel like holding her close, training her, and locking her in submission.  She wanted his power to hurt just a little bit, not letting her “tap out” until she couldn’t bear it anymore. 

Pain and pleasure, what was the difference anyway when you were the student and your teacher was so…stringent?  She touched herself slightly, her darkest secret being that she felt attraction for powerful men.  As she rubbed away, she couldn’t tell whether the passion came from wanting to be powerful or wanting to be weak and controlled.

The next day she went back to see him and made sure he was alone.  He always planned for some down time before class, probably deep meditation or something like that.  And then he went for a shower, which Viola could just imagine—and vividly at that.

But today wasn’t about dreaming.

Othlo saw Viola enter and gave her only one cursory look.  She remained tall and stared at him until he looked back.  “I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.  I’m not afraid of you.  I’m not afraid of getting hurt.  I’m not even afraid of failing.”

“Then what?”

“That’s none of your business, Sensei.  What matters is that I want you to teach me.  You and only you.”

He walked closer to her, testing her, looking into her docile eyes and almost smiling. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Why?  Because you want me to admit my shame?  Fine.  You want me to embarrass myself?  Tell you that I’m attracted to powerful men.  That I’ve always wanted a white man to dominate me?  That I’m afraid to be strong because I don’t want to lose that feeling of what it’s like.  To be feminine and desired.  I don’t want to scare men away because I can be stronger than they are.  But so what?”

She shook her head in rage and slapped herself in the heat of the moment.  “It’s what I need to be.  Like you said.”

“Hmmm,” Othlo said with a nod.  “I was actually going to say that I can’t teach you because we met our quota.  We have no more openings until next season.”

“Oh…well shit.  I guess I just embarrassed myself for no good reason.”

“And what about that?” he said, with that brazen little half-smile.

“What about that?” Viola snapped back this time sending him a coy look.  “Well what about that!  I said what I said.  And hell, I didn’t embarrass myself at all.  You want to know something about my
pussy
you just ask, honky.  But that’s not why I’m here, is it?  I’m here because I want you to
teach
me everything you know.  Because I know only you have the strength to train me.  Because I’m a barracuda, baby.”

He nodded and that was that.  He didn’t even say “Well done” or “Start next week…” he just eyed her and walked out of the room.

“Well?  When we do we start?  What the fuck, man?”

Viola found her answer soon enough.  She decided to go back to class, the same time as always, when the group met.  She figured at best, she’d give the moody fox a piece of her mind for being such a dick.

But to her surprise, there he was and the whole gym was empty.  Just him, staring, pacing and ready to reach his most promising student.  The first lesson didn’t go well—it was strange, awkward and far too difficult.  Just what Viola wanted. 

He wasn’t friendly but firm.  He didn’t ask questions about her feelings but explained how to channel her rage and power into strategic sparring.

They both suited up, wearing sleeveless t-shirts and sprung into action.  

She already knew how to brawl and he helped her adjust for technique, firing into a punching bag, then kicking at his gloves.  But the best was when they did the grapple.  He tied her into a waist lock, a very tight one, bordering on sexual harassment, she thought, since he tightened his grip by clutching his forearm, then shoved his crotch into hers keeping her as still as he could, overpowering her smaller frame.

It felt good.  It felt dominant, and her desire to fight back was compromised by the urge to let him touch her and take her femininity. 

But that’s what she needed—to resist what felt good, what felt easier.  She wrestled his grip away but he remained strong.  Each time he gained the upper-hand he shoved his crotch into her butt harder, so hard that she felt his erection growing through his pants.

She liked it and damned if he had to explain himself.  Not only was it going to be this way if a rapist attacked her some day.  More importantly, she had to have the strength to break free—from what felt good and what demanded her attention.  Because the moment she lost her focus and began falling for distraction was the moment she would lose.

She detached herself from his throbbing dick and instead used his own momentum against her, tripping his calf with her outstretched foot as he raised her into the air and side to side.  He let go of the clutch, giving her time to squat and recover, then subdue him in a headlock.