45. Chapter Forty-Five

I was starting to think that asking Kieran to train me might have been a mistake.

As much as I wanted this, despite how badly I wanted to succeed next quarter where I had failed in the last round of entry exams, I hadn’t necessarily considered the consequences of working in such close, continued physical proximity to Kieran fucking Vistarii, of all people.

Maybe I should have asked Hans. Or better yet, Jeremiah.

But either one of them would have been preferable at the moment, because I wouldn’t be on the verge of panting if I’d felt their breath on my neck, their hands on my hips, my waist, my arms. And I most certainly wouldn’t be tempted to grind my ass back into their groin every time one of these hypothetical lieutenants stood behind me.

Their captain? That was a different story.

He was behind me now, hands on my hips yet again, raising the hair on the back of my neck with his hot breath and low, rasping instructions as he walked me through the difference between a hook, a jab and an uppercut.

I was doing my godsdamned best to listen, to commit his words to memory the same way I might during a lecture—but that was arguably difficult to do while my brain was swimming, drunk off the cocktail of his voice, the spiced citrus of his scent, and the foreboding feel of his tall frame bent over mine.

I knew he wasn’t trying to fuck with me. Kieran knew me well by now, and he understood the way my mind worked. He knew that I learned best through physical instruction, and that sometimes I struggled to pair the intellectualization happening in my mind with the actual motion of my body. This proximity was simply a tool, a teaching method that he knew worked best for me… or at least it did, when I could fucking pay attention.

“Gimme a sec,” I wheezed, breathless not necessarily from the exercise, but the fact that I had been avoiding inhaling his scent.

Seriously though, why did this cocky bastard have to smell so good,even after a five-mile “warm up” run? There was nothing offensive about his natural musk—if anything, the residual salt on his skin seemed to amplify everything else, the cinnamon, the cloves, the orange peel.

The least he could have done was be even remotely repulsive to make this proximity more manageable, but no… the perfect, fit bastard had to remain a bronze god in my presence, the absolute epitome of temptation.

I scowled to myself before taking a long sip from my waterskin, rolling my neck and cracking my knuckles.

“Tired yet?” Kieran inquired, flashing me a lazy smile.

“Not really,” I replied honestly. Tired of thirsting after him maybe, but physically? I felt fine. Energized, really.

“Good. You’re getting stronger,” Kieran observed. “Your endurance is miles ahead of where we were a few weeks ago. Keep this up, and there’s no way you don’t pass next quarter.”

I knew my cheeks were already tinged red, but I felt additional heat flush beneath my freckles. This was another environmental hazard, a risk that I’d failed to calculate when I had agreed to let Kieran train me multiple times a week.

His praise.

I needed the validation like water, I had to admit. It was difficult for me to parse my own progress, so I had to rely on Kieran’s sincerity to track when I was successful, when I was doing things right. That being said… he didn’t bullshit me, so every commendation was genuine. There was legitimate pride in Kieran’s voice any time he offered his encouragement, and that? That was dangerous.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pocket away the memories, every murmured “Good,” “Atta girl,” “Just like that,”—because I did. Greedily, I took them all, tucking the words away to be savored later.

It wasn’t until we moved on to kicks that I realized that at least some of Kieran’s behavior today might have been a counterattack. As the captain ran his hand under my thigh, I caught glimpse of a smirk in my periphery. My eyes narrowed.

“What’s the matter, Ark?” he crooned, pausing his walkthrough of the left foot jab.

“The fuck are you smiling about over there?” I accused, and the cocky bastard simply chuckled.

“Forgive me if I’m enjoying myself,” he countered, his hand still underneath my leg, just above the crook of my knee. It wasn’t lost on me, the way his forefinger was lazily stroking at the seam of my leggings as we spoke.

“I can’t imagine why,” I replied dryly. “Don’t you do this all the damn time?”

“Three times a week,” he purred—reiterating our schedule.

“I meant like, in general,” I huffed. “For work?”

“Ah,” Kieran replied. “Well, yeah, but that’s… different.”

I rolled my eyes, shifting my hips so I could drop my leg back to the floor for a second to regain my balance.

“Different how?”

“I can’t say I get quite so hands on with my men. Nor do any of them look as good as you do in training leathers.”

Godsdamnit.

The last thing I needed right now was Kieran complimenting me like that. Even if I knew damn well I had started it first this afternoon—this depraved little game of ours, constantly teasing at the edge of our platonic boundaries.

“Pig,” I spat toothlessly.

“Am I supposed to pretend that I don’t find you attractive, Arken?” Kieran laughed, cocking a brow as he stretched one arm behind his back. Bare and golden-brown muscles flexed beneath shimmering panes of late-afternoon sun as it streamed through the ceiling’s skylights. “Or that I don’t enjoy touching you? I’m a damn good liar by trade, but I’m not that good.”

Oh, fuck off.

“Keep it in your pants,” I muttered.

“I fully intend on it,” Kieran purred. “You’d be far too distracted otherwise.”

Abyss take me, we were on another level of our bullshit today. But with the endorphins and adrenaline swimming in my veins alongside the aether this afternoon, I was far too competitive to just let him win.

“You mean like how you’ve been distracted by my ass all day?”

“Among other things,” he replied smoothly, unphased.

It was rare that he was so flippant, so open in admitting he was attracted to me. He was usually more subtle about it… Subtle enough that from time to time, I honestly forgot. It was easy to assume that this addictive allure was one-sided, but good fucking gods, did the confirmation otherwise do unspeakable things to my ego.

“Are you gonna teach me how to do this kick, or not, Captain?” I demanded, skirting around our flirtatious exchange for a moment so that I could catch my damn breath.

“Get back into position,” he replied easily.

Tightening my ponytail, I bounced on the balls of my feet before running through the motions again. Hands up. Elbows in. Lean back. Aim with the ball of your foot.

“Lift your knee a little higher,” Kieran instructed, keeping his hands to himself this time. He had taken a step or two back, giving a more comfortable berth. Something tight in my chest softened a bit, appreciative for how responsive Kieran was when it came to my boundaries.

He always seemed to respect my limits more than I ever could.

There was a particularly satisfying slap and thud against the striking bag this time when I kicked it—he wasn’t wrong. The higher I lifted my knee, the more power I could put behind the jab.

“See?” Kieran said.

“Yeah, yeah,” I groused. “You were right. What else is new? And what now?”

“Now do it again.”