Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
My fingers had just slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts when a sharp knock made me jump. "Pearl?" Angelo's voice, right outside my room. "Time for training."
I yanked my hand away, face burning. "Just... just a minute!" My voice came out embarrassingly breathy.
God, what was wrong with me? These men were supposed to be my captors. Instead, here I was, hiding in my bathroom, getting turned on while watching one of them train and daydreaming about the others.
I wasn't ready for any of this. Not for Angelo's training, not for these confusing feelings, not for how completely they'd all gotten under my skin.
But damn, I wanted it. All of it.
The gym in the east wing wasn't what I'd expected. No mirrors or polished chrome like Vittorio's pristine workout rooms. Just mats, equipment, and the lingering scent of leather and sweat that made my pulse quicken.
Angelo turned when I entered, and I nearly stumbled. He'd changed into fitted black training pants and a sleeveless shirt that did nothing to hide the coiled strength in his arms. Those eyes raked over me, noting every detail.
"First rule," he said, voice clipped and professional. "Always be aware of your surroundings."
"I am aware," I managed, trying not to focus on how his muscles shifted as he moved closer. "Vittorio made sure of that."
"Noticing which fork to use at dinner isn't the same as survival awareness." Something dark flickered in his eyes. "Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Trust me." His voice had dropped lower, sending shivers down my spine.
I hesitated, then let my eyes fall shut. Immediately, my other senses heightened. The soft whirr of the ceiling fan. The creak of the mats. And Angelo's presence, radiating heat just inches away.
"Tell me what you hear," he murmured.
"The fan. Someone's in the hallway—Rocco, I think. His boots sound different from yours." I tilted my head slightly. "Your breathing... it changed when I mentioned Vittorio."
The silence that followed made me open my eyes. Angelo stood closer than I'd realized, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Something intense burned in those green depths.
"You're observant," he said finally. "That's good. But observation without action is just..." He moved with impossible speed. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the wall, one hand gentle but firm around my throat. "...waiting to be hurt."
My heart raced, but not from fear. His body caged mine, all controlled power and heat. His thumb rested against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel how fast my heart was beating.
"So teach me," I whispered.
His eyes dropped to my parted lips for just a moment before that professional mask slipped back into place. But his voice was harder when he spoke. "When someone grabs you like this, most people panic. Try to pull away." His fingers flexed slightly against my throat. "But that just wastes energy. Instead..."
He guided my hands, showing me how to break his hold. Each touch sent electricity through my skin. When I successfully executed the move, something like pride flickered across his face.
"Good," he said softly. "Again. Slower this time. I want you to feel every step."
We worked through various holds and escapes, his hands always professional but somehow burning wherever they touched. I tried to focus on the techniques but kept getting distracted by different details—the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, how his accent deepened when he was pleased with my progress, the slight roughness of his palms against my skin.
"You're thinking too much," he growled after I fumbled another escape. "This needs to be instinct." He moved behind me, adjusting my stance. His breath brushed my neck as he spoke. "Feel it in your body, not your head."
Easy for him to say. My body was feeling entirely too much right now.
My breath caught as Angelo moved with liquid grace, demonstrating the next hold. "When someone comes at you from the front," he explained, voice low and controlled, "they'll try to use their weight against you. Like this."
In one smooth move, he had me on the mat, and suddenly I couldn't think straight. The weight of his body over mine sent tingles all through me - he was solid muscle, hot and heavy in all the right ways. His chest pressed against mine with each quick breath he took. One of his hands pinned my wrist above my head, while the other braced next to my shoulder. The touch of his skin on mine made my pulse race.
"The key is to use their momentum against them," he said, but his voice came out deeper, rougher than before. I could feel the strength in him, the way his muscles tensed as he held himself over me. The scent of his skin—clean sweat and something spicy—made my head swim. My whole body felt like it was waking up, coming alive under his touch. Every tiny shift of his weight against me sent sparks of heat through my belly.