49
CORA
I lift my arms to try to pull my hair back into a ponytail and my shoulders scream in pain. I drop them to my side and turn to Anya. “Your brother is a sadist.”
She floats up behind me, looking and smelling like a spring flower even after the two-mile jog we just did. “You’re the one who asked him to teach you to fight. If you were smart, you would have come to me first.”
“He said he wouldn’t let anyone else train me. ‘Anyone who lays a hand on you will suffer my wrath’ were his exact words.”
But it feels like I’m the one suffering his wrath right now. Ivan brought out the dumbbells at the end of our session yesterday and I feel like every muscle in my body is still crying.
Anya laughs as she twists my hair up into a perfect messy bun on the first try. “I’m not afraid of big, bad Ivan. You should know that. Plus, look at the two of us right now. I’m training you, aren’t I?”
“Well, yeah. But he gave you permission, didn’t he?”
“He was going to skip your training session this morning because he’s busy being Pakhan Pushkin and reigning over his lands, so I volunteered to pick up the slack. Don’t worry.” She pats my shoulder, drawing another wince out of me. “You’re safe in my hands. Well, safe-ish.”
Anya leads me away from the weights and machines and stops in the center of a large blue mat.
“Sparring?” I balk. “Already? It’s only my second session. Am I ready for that?”
She nods. “It’s what Ivan had on the schedule and we both agreed it might be best for you to try sparring with someone your own size first. Less intimidating. In theory.”
I’d agree with Anya—except, in her pink satin boxing shorts and matching gloves, she looks like Beat My Ass Barbie. I never noticed how many muscles she has. What is in the water in this mansion? Whatever it is, I’m not getting nearly enough of it.
Anya smacks her gloves together. “Okay. No more procrastinating. Get your gloves on and let’s do this.”
I clumsily struggle into the red leather gloves she brought for me. Once they’re on, it takes me three tries to finally get my arms up and into position.
“I’ll take it easy on you since you’re recovering today,” Anya says, bouncing from one foot to the other. “No hard hits and I’ll move slow. This is just practice.”
I bite down on my mouthguard and nod. “Okay. Thanks.”
Then Anya’s smile vanishes from her face. She drops into a stance and takes one powerful lunge in my direction. I flow effortlessly with the motion, let it scythe harmlessly past my face, then turn and unleash holy hell on her for daring to think I was so weak.
Just kidding. That’s what I wish I did. In reality, I shriek and fumble out of the way, trip over my feet, and land hard on my face on the mat.
Anya looks down at me with scorn in her eyes. “What the hell was that?”
“No.” I roll over and gesture up wildly at her. “What in the hell was that? That was not slow and easy, Anya!”
She laughs at first, but quickly bites it back when she sees the frown on my face. “Sorry. Okay. We’ll go again. This time, it will be slower and easier. I’m just used to sparring with Ivan, I guess.”
“Well, I am not Ivan.” At this point, I think that’s apparent to everyone here. And to whichever lucky security guard is monitoring the cameras today. I’m sure I’m giving the security shack a real treat right now.
Anya helps me to my feet. We square up again and, on her signal, we start. She approaches me again, still moving fast, but more “relentless Terminator” and less “enraged bull.” My muscles burn as I try to keep a safe distance between us. Somehow, Anya still manages to weasel her way in and land a few soft jabs.
“Keep your arms in!” she orders. “Protect your ribs!”
I adjust and then she strikes and taps the side of my head. “Keep your hands up. Protect your face.”
Again, I adjust. Again, she hits my ribs. “Ribs, Cora!”
The lesson goes about like that for the next thirty minutes. Anya tells me to protect some part of my body, I do it, and then another part of me is exposed enough that she gives me a love tap that really isn’t so loving.
By the time we finish, I’m dripping in sweat, my muscles burn with exhaustion, and I already have a few purple bruises spreading on my arms.
“That was really good for your first try,” Anya says.
I look up at her from where I’ve collapsed in a pile of limbs on the floor. “Are you just saying that so you can assault me again tomorrow?”
She laughs. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but that was not exactly exciting for me. If I wanted to assault you, I could have done it four times faster and already be showered by now.”
“Great.” I throw my arms over my eyes. “Now, you’ve wounded my body and my pride.”
Anya grabs my hand and yanks me up to standing. I wobble, but she holds me steady. “You are truly pathetic when you’re tired.”
“And hungry,” I add.
She chuckles and then slaps my butt. “Go shower and rest up. I’ll meet you here tomorrow, same time.”
With that torture lying ahead, I practically crawl down the hall to my bedroom and then shuffle into the bathroom. I’m so sore that I think I black out at some point after starting the shower and peeling off my sweaty clothes, because the next thing I know, I’m standing in the steaming hot shower spray, moaning out a litany of curse words.
“Does that feel good?” A deep voice asks from the doorway.
I’m too exhausted to be startled or self-conscious. I just nod and whimper. “This is the best and worst moment of my entire life.”
Ivan laughs. That deep, growly sound would start a fire low in my belly if my body wasn’t currently using all of its reserves of energy to keep me upright.
He leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor and slides into the shower behind me. When his arms wrap around my middle, I give myself over to him.
“I’m so tired,” I whimper. “You Pushkins are going to break me.”
“No. We’re going to make it so no one can break you. It just takes time.”
I groan, but the sound quickly shifts to a moan as Ivan works his hands down the aching muscles of my arms.
“Oh my God, Ivan.” I almost sink to the shower floor, but he presses one hand flat to my stomach to pin me against him. “I’m… You’re… Good God.”
Another laugh rumbles through him as he keeps coaxing his massage lower and lower. Over my stomach and lower still, until his fingertips graze over my center.
I thought I was on the verge of death—but as soon as he teases at my pussy, I’m burning. Aching. Yearning.
Funny how that works.
He comes and goes. Teases and retreats. “What are you doing?” I whimper the fourth time he gets so close to the promised land before disappearing again.
“Pelvic massage.” The words shouldn’t send a shiver down my spine, but with that voice, he could read a phone book to me and I’d have no choice but to straddle him.
“Feels more like you’re taunting me because you know I can’t fight back.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he explains. “Over-massaging the muscles can be just as bad as overworking them.”
I shake my head and lean back against him. His body is warm and sticky from the steam in the shower. “No, no. Over-massage. Overwork. Do your worst. Especially right there.”
He chuckles again. A few minutes ago, all I wanted was to shower and sleep, but I have very different plans now. Ivan presses a kiss to the side of my neck… and then slips away.
I blink my eyes open and watch him climb out of the shower. “Where are you going?”
“You need to be ready for tomorrow. I don’t want to tire you out.”
I start to argue, but then I see the mischief shining in his amber eyes. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s doing it on purpose.
“Is this my punishment for asking Yasha to train me before coming to you?” I groan pitifully. “Are you trying to torture me?”
He smiles and leans into the shower. “If you think this was punishment, you aren’t going to know what hit you when I finally claim my payment.”
With that, Ivan walks his toned, naked ass out of the bathroom.
Even when I’m this mad at him, I can’t help but watch.