Page 87 of Bound to a Warrior
The solution was simple.
“I’ve missed you,” Mercy said, having known from his first touch that it was Duncan. A true foe would have been harsh. His touch had combined strength and passion, and besides, the scent of him was all too familiar.
He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “And I you. But what is this you do here?”
She waggled the weapon in the air, though his hand remained firm around hers. “I asked Harry for a suitable weapon for me.”
“Why? You have me and my family to protect you.”
“But who protects you?”
He laughed. “I think I’m capable of doing that.”
She titled her head back until it hit his chest and looked up at him. “That might not always be so. I want to be prepared for you and for me.”
Duncan released her hand, keeping her pressed against him. He ran his hand up her exposed neck, until his fingers played along her chin. “I will always be there for you, Mercy.”
She struggled to smile. “As much as I’d like to believe that, I know it may not always be possible.”
“Then I will teach you how to defend yourself,” he stated emphatically.
Her smile came easily. “I would like and appreciate that. Can we start now?”
“A brief lesson for now, for I wish to talk with you.”
She nodded, glad for the time with him and glad he wished to talk with her, for she felt the same.
Duncan took the dagger from her and they stepped apart.
“A dagger is basically a companion to the sword. Its thrust span is limited, meaning unless you know how to move and avoid someone who attacks with a sword, you will not survive a fight. Remember that,” he cautioned.
She nodded and listened intently, wanting to learn everything he could teach her.
“You were doing well, finding a good rhythm. It is important in any blade fight. You must know when and where to step to avoid injury and to do damage.” He held his arms out to her. “Come, we will move together so that I can show you areas you must pay close attention to.”
She went into his arms without hesitation. She knew she always would and the reason made no difference. She simply wanted to be there.
His large hand devoured her small one; she fit so snugly in his hand. And his arm went around her waist easing her back against him.
“Move with me.”
That would be easy, since she had become so very familiar with his moves. Chained or not, they seemed to have a natural rhythm to them. She liked to believe it was born of love since it seemed so normal, so right.
He detailed various attack scenarios and demonstrated how she should approach them. He was also candid about ones that could prove fatal far more easily than others. But it was the thrusting and jabs he emphasized and warned, as Harry had done, that only practice would make perfect.
He worked with her over and over, admonishing and praising her efforts, and her confidence grew, and so did her passion. Their bodies moved in unison with each thrust and jab, and each time, her bottom bumped against his groin. And she was well aware that his passion had been stirred along with hers.
“Very soon you’re going to find me inside you if we continue this,” he said, keeping her flat against him just before a thrust.
“Then perhaps it is time for that kiss I promised you,” she said.
He spun her around to face him. “It won’t be just a kiss you give.”
She rested her hand to his cheek, and his heated flesh tingled her palm. “I know.”
“Then kiss me,” he said impatiently.
Apprehension suddenly assaulted her, and she felt unsure. Would she do this right? Would her kiss please him? Then she almost laughed. He already desired her. She had nothing to worry about. She only needed to enjoy.
