Chapter 15

It's a mistake to use a heavy bag just for punching. I also use it to harden my elbows, knees, and headbutts. Martial artists make mistakes in fights. They fight within their rulesets. I've drilled the best way to bite an attacker, the best way to blind him, and dirty, ugly tactics that save lives if I'm separated from my weapon.

After another savage round, I turn to find Dad looking at me with an approving smile.

"What news?" I growl.

"None," he replies. "You've been in there for hours. It's almost time for dinner."

Sweat covers the floor. My head is swimming. I didn't realize how hard I was working out until the interruption. It's only now I feel my body aching, the pulsing of exertion.

"Molly and Anna have been spending a lot of time together," Dad says. "They've been talking for hours. Molly texted me, very excited, thanking me. Anna seems desperate for a mother, and we've given that to her."

"Anything from the brothers, or are you here to gloat?"

"I can't gloat. You were right. If I wasn't so damn selfish and I'd told Molly the truth from the start, we could've avoided this mess."

"Hmm."

"Are you going to join us for dinner? This was supposed to be a good day. There's no reason we should let them spoil it."

"Sure," I reply. "Why not?"

I keep my tone as civil as I can. Dad leaves without another word. I hammer one more round on the bag and then go to the guest room and use the en suite. As the hot water blasts down on me, I can't stop thinking of Ania, her slim legs, her small hips, the pertness of her breasts, making me feel like an animal as I imagine sucking her nipples, making her moan in that sassy way, rubbing her until she's soaking wet for me.

My hand threatens to stray down my body, but no. No, I can't. Fuck. I want to hammer her so badly. I want to drive into her hot, tight body, watching her beautiful face shape into pleasure, her dark hair splayed across my bed, her ballerina body bouncing up and down, sliding, gliding.

"Quiet," I growl under my breath. "Quiet, quiet."

But my thoughts won't listen. It's like my body acts on autopilot. Or is that an excuse?

Whatever. My hand's on my rock-hard prick, and I'm stroking. Eyes shut tight, I see Ania in her ballet gear, a hole in the white leggings to reveal her glistening wetness. In the fantasy, she moans and bounces, grinding up and down, letting me dominate her. Own her. She knows I'm the only man who will ever touch her. Just me. Fuck. I'm pumping harder now.

Just me. Only me. Just me. Only me.

I bend her over, her ass aimed at me, and then she glides up and down my dick and?—

Come explodes out of my dick. More and more and more of it. I imagine it flooding into her body, her eyes widening as her release grips her.

Then it's over. I let my hand drop. My dick turns limp. A wave of guilt smashes into me. She's too young. Too innocent. Too lost. Too broken. I have to be the mature one. I have to maintain control.

After cleaning up, I promise myself I won't do that again. I know what a lie feels like, and this is one. I'm already tempted to do it right now. My dick's hardening as I get dressed for dinner. I want her hand wrapped around my base so damn badly, with her lips kissing my tip. Then, after, I'd lie in bed with her, hold her, talk about everything, nothing, just talking for its own sake.