Page 80 of Sing For Us

Lana launches herself forward, using the momentum of the kick, and lands across my upper chest.

“What—"

Her thighs snap shut around my head. For one disorienting second, my face is trapped, my vision swallowed by denim fabric and the pressure of her legs as she locks herself into position.

Damn.

She hadn't been trying to escape.

She'd been setting a trap.

I plant both hands against her hips, trying to create space before she can tighten the hold or reach for one of her knives, which she probably has, but she shifts her weight with practiced precision, making every movement cost twice the effort.

I stop resisting, while still holding onto her thighs.

“Do you think that you can escape my grip right now? Do you, Noa?” The seduction is dripping from her voice as she says my name. It sends a straight shot to my groin, and I refuse to give in to what she wants—me begging.

Hell to the fucking no.

I bite her flesh, and to my surprise she doesn’t shriek—she slaps me hard across the face. The sharp sting of her hand doesn’t hurt me; it arouses me. She could have easily killed me like this by snapping my neck, but she didn’t. She chose to let me live. That obviously means that she wants me.

Time to indulge and devour this ravenous woman.

I tuck my chin and turn my face towards her delicious thighs and avoid looking up. Then I place my hands on her hips, and I keep my arms tight so she can’t attack me any further. My shoulders are shrugged upwards, and my feet are planted on the ground and close to my glutes.

Then I escape.

My hips are aggressively thrust upwards so her weight is driven over my head. I dip my fingers into her thigh muscles—enough to bruise her. And her leverage is broken as I throw her over my shoulder and I slip out of her hold.

I roll away instead of landing on top of her. What’s the fun in winning anyway?

She rises from the ground, and as she lifts her body, she starts looking more terrifying. The usual shine from her eyes is replaced by a cold gaze that can freeze blood. There’s a tiny crease between her brows, the kind that only appears when she’s genuinely annoyed—as if murdering me was nothing more than crossing another name off a list.

That shit should made me wary. Or even frightened—but it doesn’t.

Instead, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth because she’s never looked more beautiful. I admire her because there isn’t a shred of fear behind those gorgeous eyes. She is standing her ground against someone who has every reason to terrify her, but that dynamic changed the moment I threw that knife at her.

Every instinct I possess is screaming she is about to try to kill me. Another, far less sensible part of me wants to see what she'd do next.

“You are going to let me come to you,” I tell her as I start walking towards her.

“And why should I do that?”

“Because I can give you something that you clearly want.”

“Don’t tell me that you can give me yourself. I wouldn’t fucking touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

I laugh out loud, and she smirks back at me. “It’s so sweet you think that you have a choice. Since you clearly want to kill me, here,” I throw a knife at her feet that I had tucked in my back pocket, and she picks it up. She doesn’t waste any time as she throws it at me immediately.

The weapon flies towards my right hand, and it’s a good throw, but not perfect. It misses my hand by a couple of centimeters. I grab the knife mid-air and throw it back at her. Had it not been for her dodging it, it would have lodged itself into her shoulder. The knife disappears behind her, and if looks could kill, I would be six feet under.

“Amidst all of this fucking chaos, I have to thank you.”

What the fuck is she talking about?

She registers my confusion and cocks her head to the side. “I have been feeling pretty down, and fighting with you makes me feel invigorated. So, yeah, thank you.”

“With pleasure. Now”–I stand up and wipe my hands clean off my pants– “you are going to be a good girl and go stand by that tree.”