Chapter 16 Sixteen

Chapter 16 Sixteen
REINA’S POV

I was curled on the living room sofa with my tablet propped on a cushion when the front door opened. Orion stepped inside, loosening his tie with one hand while carrying his briefcase in the other. The late-afternoon light slanted through the windows and caught the faint lavender scent that still clung to his shirt from the laundry I had done the day before.

On the screen, my three brothers were mid-argument about who had let the chickens into the garden last week. Two older ones, Caleb and Jonah, were in their usual spots at the kitchen table back home, and little Micah, only sixteen, was sprawled on the floor with a half-eaten apple.

“Reina, tell Jonah he’s wrong,” Caleb said, pointing at the camera. “The latch was his fault.”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who said ‘leave it open for fresh air.’”

Micah looked up and spotted Orion in the background. His face lit up.

“Hey! That’s him! Orion, come say hi!”

Orion paused, glanced at me, then walked over and leaned into frame.

“Hello, gentlemen.”

Micah grinned wide. “Reina says your muscles are way bigger than mine. Show me!”

I felt my face ignite. Heat rushed from my neck to my hairline so fast I thought I might combust. I pressed my palms to my cheeks.

“Micah!”

“What? You said it yesterday when we were talking about farm chores! You said he could probably lift a whole bale without breaking a sweat!”

Caleb and Jonah both laughed. Orion’s gaze slid to me, slow and lingering. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something dark and warm, something that made my stomach flip.

I wanted to disappear into the sofa.

Jonah leaned closer to the camera. “Since we’re not there to wrestle with you anymore, Reina, you should make him do it. Teach him how we settle things on the farm.”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah. Show him what happens when you lose a bet.”

Micah bounced. “Do it! Film it!”

I forced a laugh that sounded strangled. “Okay, that’s enough. Love you guys. Talk soon.”

I ended the call before they could protest. The screen went dark. Silence settled.

Orion was still watching me.

I cleared my throat. “They’re enthusiastic.”

He set his briefcase down. “They seem nice.”

“They’re menaces.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “You blush very prettily when they embarrass you.”

I groaned and buried my face in a throw pillow. “Stop.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. The sound vibrated through me.

After lunch I decided the man had a serious gap in his education. City people probably solved arguments with paperwork and lawyers. On the farm, sometimes you had to wrangle a stubborn sheep or play-wrestle with your brothers to settle a bet. It was about leverage, control, and reading the other person’s energy.

Orion needed to know this. For his own safety. And maybe, mostly, because the thought of putting my hands on him in a new way brought back that fizzy feeling in my chest.

“You need to learn how to wrestle properly,” I announced.

He looked up from his tablet, one eyebrow raised. “Wrestle.”

“Yes. In case you need to subdue someone or escape a hold. It’s a useful skill.” I was already moving the coffee table out of the way. “We can practice on the rug. It’s thick.”

He watched me with a slow smile that was not his usual tense version. This one was curious and amused. “You think you can take me?”

“I know I can,” I said honestly. I dropped into a playful crouch, knees bent and hands up. “It’s about leverage and reading your opponent’s energy. Come on.”

He set the tablet aside. He took off his suit jacket and draped it neatly over a chair. He rolled up his sleeves. My mouth went a little dry looking at his forearms.

He approached, not in a crouch, but like a man walking into a boardroom. I sighed. Wrong energy.

I darted forward, hooked my foot behind his ankle, and pushed his shoulder. He went down with a surprised oof and landed on the rug. I was on him in a second, trying to pin his arm.

He was stronger than I expected. He rolled, reversing our positions. Now he was on top, his weight pinning my hips. A thrill shot through me. His face was above mine and his eyes were bright.

“Leverage,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.

I didn’t waste breath answering. I bucked, using his own momentum to unbalance him. He slipped to the side and I scrambled up. For the next half-hour it was a game of grab and release. He tried to catch me, his big hands closing around my wrists or waist.

But I was smaller and faster. I slipped from his holds like water, using his own weight and size against him. He lunged and I twisted, sending him stumbling past me. The room filled with our breathing, the thuds on the rug, and my giggles. He was trying so hard and he was gloriously bad at it.

At one point I ducked under his arm and got behind him. I wrapped my arms around his neck in a loose headlock, my front pressed snugly to his back. He went very still.

“See?” I panted, my breath right in his ear. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest. “Now you’re stuck.”

He wasn’t struggling. He was just standing there, breathing hard. His skin was warm under my cheek.

Then he moved fast. He grabbed my forearm, bent at the knees, and flipped me over his shoulder. I landed on my back on the rug with another oof, the wind knocked out of me. In a flash he was over me, his knees on either side of my hips. He captured my wrists in one of his big hands and pinned them gently above my head on the rug.

We both froze.

Our chests heaved. His body was a heavy welcome weight on top of mine. The laughter died in my throat. His face was inches from mine. His eyes were dark and intense. His gaze dropped to my mouth.

The air crackled. The playful energy was gone, replaced by something hotter and wilder.

I lifted my head off the rug and kissed him. It wasn’t sweet or curious but breathless and desperate. He kissed me back immediately, his free hand coming to cup my jaw. We kissed again and again there on the floor, lost in the taste and the feel and the rightness of it.

When we finally broke apart, gasping, I looked up at him. His pupils were huge.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice ragged. “You win. What’s your prize?”

For a long second he just looked at me. His eyes burned with an answer that made my whole body flush. Then, as if I had shouted it, he let go of my wrists. He released me like my skin had burned him and pushed himself up. He stood, running a hand through his hair which was deliciously messed up from my fingers.

“A cold shower,” he muttered. His voice was rough. He turned and walked away without looking back.

I lay on the rug, my wrists still tingling where he had held them and my lips swollen from his kisses. My heart was doing a wild happy dance.

A slow wondering smile spread across my face.

He had run away again. But this time I had felt the want in his kiss. I had seen the answer in his eyes before he hid it.

I was starting to understand the game. And I was starting to really really like it.

ORION’S POV

Wrestling. She wanted to wrestle. After the head massages, the storm cuddles, and the kiss ambushes, she now wanted to put her hands all over me in the name of self-defense.

It was the most transparent wonderful terrible idea I had ever heard.

“You need to learn how to wrestle properly,” she said with the seriousness of a general planning a campaign.

I almost laughed. The idea was absurd. Then I watched her move the furniture with capable ease, saw the determined glint in her eye, and a different thought occurred. A dangerous thrilling thought.

What if I let her?

She dropped into a crouch. She looked adorable and utterly ferocious. “It’s about leverage and reading your opponent’s energy.”

My energy at that moment was purely recklessly interested. I took off my jacket. I rolled up my sleeves. I approached her, not as an opponent but as a man walking into a trap he desperately wanted to spring.

She moved like lightning. One second I was upright, the next I was on my back on the rug with the breath knocked out of me. She was on me, her hands trying to pin mine. She was strong. Surprisingly distractingly strong.

That’s when it stopped being a joke and started being a battle. A glorious physical hands-on battle. I rolled, pinning her under me. The feel of her body beneath mine was a shock. She was all soft curves and wiry strength. She bucked me off like I was a bothersome fly.

For thirty minutes she schooled me. She was agile slippery and infuriatingly clever. She used my size and momentum against me, sending me stumbling. The room echoed with her giggles and my grunts of effort. I was a highly coordinated athletic man and she was making me look like a clumsy fool. I had never had more fun.

Then she got behind me. Her arms wrapped around my neck. Her body pressed flush against my back from shoulders to thighs. Her breath was hot in my ear.

“See? Now you’re stuck.”

Stuck? I was in heaven.Her front was molded to my back igniting every nerve ending I owned.

I stopped breathing.

A surge of possessive need gave me a burst of clarity. I grabbed her arm, bent, and flipped her. She landed on her back with a soft gasp.

I followed her down, my knees caging her hips. In one smooth motion I captured both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head.

We stopped.

The world shrank to the space between us. Our bodies heaved for air. Her eyes were wide beneath me and her lips parted. The playful light was gone, replaced by a dark dawning awareness. Her gaze locked on my mouth.

Then she kissed me.

It was a kiss of victory and surrender all at once. Hot deep and tasting of shared effort and pure Reina. I kissed her back like a dying man. My free hand framed her face, holding her to me. We kissed deep and searching there on the living room floor. It was raw real and unmanageable.

She broke away panting. Her eyes were heavy-lidded.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice a husky thrill. “You win. What’s your prize?”

The answer was in the feel of her under me, in the wild beat of her pulse under my thumb. My prize was her.

The realization was a bucket of ice water. I was a breath away from taking everything on the rug like an animal.

I let go of her wrists as if they were electrified. I pushed myself up and off her, putting precious distance between us. I stood, raking a hand through my hair. I could still feel the shape of her body against mine.

“A cold shower,” I ground out. It was the most honest thing I had said all day.

I walked away. I didn’t look back. If I saw her lying there flushed and beautiful and wondering, I would turn around.

I reached my bathroom and locked the door. I leaned against it breathing hard.

She was starting to understand the game and I was running out of ways to play it without losing.