That little motion took away her last glimpse, and her interest fled along with it.
"Were you really gonna do it?" he asked while rotating his shoulder. The answer probably wasn’t as nice as he would have liked, but she gave a resounding yes anyway.
Gina kicked herself away and propped herself on her elbows. "You’re lucky I didn’t."
"I’m fucking lucky I still remember how to spar. I almost ripped out your tendon. And your supposed to let go when someone taps out."
That really didn’t make sense to her—the wording of it—but she decided to save it for a later date. Instead, she turned her attention to her achilles. Deep indentations from his fingernails lined one side, the other a dark red from the knuckle of his thumb.
This might just require vengeance, she thought with less resolve than expected. As she studied it, a hand leapt into view and inched closer.
"Does it hurt?"
She wanted to say no. That it didn’t hurt. That she was perfectly fine. Those words didn’t seem right though as his fingertip grazed the curve of her ankle. All she seemed capable of was an up and down nod that had more to do with his touch and less to do with the pain she actually felt.
It would be swollen in no time flat, that was for certain. Oddly, she found herself entranced just watching his finger slide against her skin. "Does your lucky leprechaun hurt?"
"My what?" He paused while rotating his jaw. Finally, the smile returned to his face as he caught the meaning of her euphemism. "Oh, just a little. I was pretty...stimulated."
That much was clear. Even now it looked pretty well stimulated as his admission gave her another opportunity to look. Gina smirked. "I’ll aim for the balls next time."
"Please don’t."
Her taunt received a quicker reaction than she anticipated and his hand pulled away, leaving a splotch of white around her red ankle. "Ah, son of a whore."
What were they even doing right now? They were alone. In her room. She was naked with her weight resting on a bent knee. But he was just staring into her eyes, his jaw set.
It was so quiet she could hear the thump of her own heartbeat in her ears. If she moved first—if she let on that there was something more she might want—she lost. But if she didn’t make the first move, did that mean he wouldn’t? And how was she supposed to maintain eye contact when it felt like so much hinged on this single moment?
The urge to look away won out. She’d have to take this additional loss...for now. But there were many ways to skin a cat. Now that this particular idea had lodged itself inside her, she knew she wouldn’t be satisfied. Not until something else had physically taken its rightful place. That determination shattered though as something collided with her door from the outside.
Gina jumped off the bed, ready to unleash hell. The only was that when she opened the door to the hallway, it was empty. Empty except for...a stapler?
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