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He grinned. “You won’t.”

They circled. Her movements were sharp, defensive, honed by instinct more than training. Finn clocked each step, calculating. She still moved like she expected to get hit, not like someone confident in her ability to win. But there was grit in her stance, and when she struck, it wasn’t tentative. He was surprised—not just that she remembered how to move, but that she wasn’t afraid to challenge him. That spark of hers hadn't dimmed. If anything, it burned hotter now. He moved slower, deliberate, letting her push first. She struck low—an attempt to unbalance him. He parried, grabbed her wrist, and twisted.

She twisted, pivoting hard on the ball of her foot, and used the momentum to snap her leg out in a clean arc. Her heel slammed into the meat of his thigh with enough force to make the muscle seize. It wasn’t just fast—it was controlled, calculated. A strike meant to sting and remind him she wasn’t just here to play by his rules.

Pain bloomed, sharp and immediate.

His thigh pulsed where she’d landed the kick, muscle already tightening. But beneath the ache, pride roared to life—hot, primal, and laced with something dangerously close to admiration. She wasn’t just fighting back; she was fighting him, with focus and power. And damn if it didn’t make him want her more.

“Not bad,” he murmured.

She huffed. “I haven’t been sitting on my ass, Finn.”

He lunged with force, aiming to close the distance. She ducked under his arms, fast and fluid, her instincts sharp. He caught her ankle mid-move, twisting just enough to unbalance her, and swept her legs with a fluid, practiced motion. She hit the mat hard, the impact echoing off the walls—but she didn’t hesitate. She rolled to her side, sprang up, her momentum building into a full arc, and her fist came swinging in a blur. It connected squarely with his jaw, snapping his head slightly to the side with a clean, bone-ringing crack.

The crack echoed, sharp as a gunshot in the quiet space. She froze mid-breath, arm still extended, eyes wide as if even she hadn’t expected to land the blow. A flicker of something crossed her face—shock, maybe a sliver of regret, or worse, the surge of satisfaction that came with finally hitting back.

His smile was slow, feral. “Better.”

Keira’s breath was ragged. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Another exchange—punch, counter, grapple. Finn felt the rhythm of her body, the way she moved with intent and control. She wasn't flailing; she was adapting, learning him again like a dance she'd once known by heart. Her breath was loud, ragged, but her eyes never wavered from his. A sliver of sweat tracked down his temple as he matched her, holding back just enough to test her limits. But even in the control, his pulse pounded withsomething wild. This wasn't just sparring—it was a storm barely held at bay. He pressed her to the mat, her wrists pinned above her head. Their bodies aligned, chests heaving.

“Finn—”

He didn’t move. Just stared down at her, voice low and rough. “Still think this is about play?”

She glared. “No. I think this is about control.”

He bent slightly, brushing his lips near her ear. “Then you understand what’s at stake.”

Her pulse thundered beneath him—he could feel it where his hips pressed into hers, the rapid flutter just beneath her skin. His own restraint pulled taut, muscles straining with the effort not to grind down into her, not to give in to the magnetic pull that had never dulled. Every nerve was on edge, the beast in him pacing behind his control, restless and hungry. Every inch of her was taut with tension she refused to show. But her voice—God, her voice—stayed level, even. “Let me up.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a dare wrapped in silk—taunting, velvet-edged and dangerously calm. And it punched straight through his restraint, stirring something feral and possessive in his gut. He wanted to dominate that defiance, to tame it without breaking her. But that wasn’t the game they were playing. Not yet.

He didn’t release her right away.

Instead, he searched her face—anger, challenge, and that ever-present defiance tangled with something hotter. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes dilated, lips parted on a breath she hadn’t taken. It would be so damn easy to tip the scale, to bury himself in the heat of her and take what he’d been denying himself for years. But this wasn’t about easy. It never was. And he’d be damned if he touched her without knowing what burned behind those eyes was real—and meant for him.

His voice was hoarse. “Not until you admit you don’t want me to.”

She went still.

A beat.

Then another.

The air between them fractured, sharp as a crack of thunder. Keira’s gaze locked with his, daring him to see past the words. Her voice came low, wrecked and raw. “I don’t.”

And just like that, the tether snapped.

Finn’s breath left him in a rush—not from surprise, but from the violent need that roared to life deep within him. Because no matter how she said it, it wasn’t a rejection. It was a confession dressed in defiance, and it changed everything.

CHAPTER 7

KEIRA