Matteo joins us at the gym a moment later, and I can’t decide if that helps my nerves or if it only makes it worse knowing he’ll be watching.
He winks at me and waves me over so he can wrap my hands and tie my gloves. Matteo seems satisfied and leans in. He doesn’t kiss me, but he whispers, “Try to get in and hit him on the right side, he’s got an old injury there.”
“I heard that,” Zeno grumbles, his tone making it clear he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Matteo presses his lips together, his eyes full of mischief. “Ignore him. He’s just a barking dog that never bites.”
At this, Zeno growls, and I try to give Matteo a reassuring smile. I know Zeno is anything but that, but I also know he’s Matteo’s friend and he must be a good guy, or we wouldn’t be here.
Zeno steps onto the mats—that Matteo has reassured me, with much amusement, have been deep cleaned—and slams his pads together in a thundering sound. “Come on, princess. I don’t have all day.”
Matteo whispers in my ear, “You’ve got this. Remember, his right side.” Then he pats me on my butt and gives me a little push that almost has me stumbling forward.
Zeno and I stand only a few feet apart from each other while he goes over the basics of boxing again, like Matteo did the other day. I nod after everything he says, trying to remember every single word. Although I’m nervous because Zeno is a beast and Matteo is watching, I actually want to do well.
I enjoyed my sparring session with Matteo way more than I thought. It was different than anything I’d ever done before, and it was . . . empowering. For the first time in a very long time, I’m doing something for me, something that has my adrenaline pumping in the best way possible.
Zeno slaps his pads together once more, but this time, I give him a little glare that he ignores. I go into a fighting stance with my feet shoulder-width apart, and one foot slightly in front of the other. My knees are bent, and the heel of my back foot is lifted a bit, then I raise both hands in guard position, with my knuckles facing the ceiling, just above chin height.
I get a raised eyebrow from Zeno as he watches me, but this time, I slam my gloves together to tell him I’m ready.
And crap, does he mean business.
He’s a brutal teacher and has whacked me more times than I can count—mostly on my arms and sides—but I’m loving it.
His pad connects with the side of my rib cage once more.
“Tuck your elbows in by your sides. You need to protect yourself.” He lowers and raises his arms several times to show me exactly what he means.
I do better the next time, and he grunts his approval. At least that’s what I’m telling myself he does.
A few minutes later, he straightens to his full height and removes his pads. “Take a quick break and we’ll continue with some other stuff.”
Other stuffturns out to be basic self-defense moves. He walks me through a series of kicks and hits, explaining how to do them before we practice a few times. It looked a lot easier when he showed them to me compared to me actually doing them myself, but a few rounds later, I slowly get the hang of them.
The front kick to the groin is definitely my favorite and Zeno’s least favorite to practice.
“I think we’ll move on to something else,” he mutters, after he was almost too late to block me, Matteo chuckling from the sidelines.
Repeat, repeat, repeat. Hammer fist punch, palm heel strike, and a few others I already forgot the names of, but we keep going. My absolute favorite is where he tackles me from behind, and I bend down to grab his leg and try to pull it out from underneath him. This move will take a lot more work until I’m able to get him on the mat, especially since he’s expecting it, but I can’t wait for the day it’ll happen.
We do this every day for the next week. Those few hours have quickly turned into my favorite time of the day, other than the time I get to spend with Matteo while he either fucks me senseless or we spend time together sharing a meal or doing other mundane things like two people who live together would do. Like a couple, arealcouple. At least those are the silly ideas my heart keeps feeding my brain.
That same brain is distracted today because Matteo made me come so hard right before Zeno came over that I can still feel his tongue between my legs. That thing he did today . . .
Zeno sighs dramatically, and I snap back to reality.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I grimace. “Sorry. I’ll be good now.”
He gives me a glare that doesn’t hide his disbelief one bit. “Weak spots.”
I stand straight and rattle off, “Eyes, nose, throat, solar plexus, groin, knee.”
Zeno nods. He likes it when I’m a good student, as much as he allows himself to like it, I suppose. The glares have definitely dimmed the tiniest bit this week, and sometimes, I could swear I almost see a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost.
“Hands out,” he says the command as I knew he would, but I still groan.
As usual, he ignores my protests and uses a zip tie to bind my hands together in front of me. We go through the motions we practiced several times, until I break free from it.