Page 83 of Connectio

I laugh.

“Now, shift your weight onto your right leg and turn it out on a slight angle.” He grips my hips, firm but gentle. “Soft knees,” he murmurs.

I’m about to saythanks and that I use a milk bath powder from the Body Shop, when he continues.

“Don’t lock your knees. Relax. We call this ‘soft knees.’”

“Oh.”

“Foot work and posture are very important. If you don’t have good balance, you can’t throw good punches.” He stands up and moves back, hand on his chin as he assesses my position. “Does that feel comfortable?”

I look down at my feet then back at him. “I think so.”

“Good. The power of your punch comes from your hips and your knees as you properly distribute your weight.” He moves behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his large, masterful hands on my shoulders. “As you punch forward,” he says, cupping my right fist with his right hand, “your body pivots.”

Will’s lips and beard skim my earlobe, his breath tickling my neck, and I almost topple into his arms.

“Posture, Elizabeth.” He places his hands on my hips again. “You gotta hold your body strong. All movement stems from this very spot.”

Guiding my hips back and forth, he moves me in unison with him, as if we’re doing some kind of erotic Hokey Pokey dance—my right arm in, my right arm out. And for a second, I’m tempted to shake it all about.

I don’t.

Master Will is very serious.

And the last thing I want is to be forced to do more push-ups.

“When do I get to punch something?” I ask.

“You don’t rush what you want to do right,” he whispers into my ear. “You gotta take your time and pay attention to every detail.”

The tip of his nose nudges my neck, and my eyelids flutter then close.

“Look in the mirror,” he says.

I snap my eyes open and focus on our reflection.

“Think of it like fucking.” He pulls my hips inward, his cock pressing above the apex of my arse. “Sure, we can go at it hard and messy and get there in the end. And, sure, it’ll be fun and wild.” His eyes flare, and so does my uterus. “But when you want perfection, you gotta take it slow, be precise, learn, and appreciate every little aspect involved. Once you’ve done that, you can go as fast or as slow as you like.”

I swallow, hard, just as Dylan shouts, “Done!”

All of a sudden acutely aware that one of my students can see us, I quickly step forward, away from Will, now internally grateful for Dylan’s interruption. I make a note to give him extra house points next week. He deserves it. Because little did I know, boxing was like fucking, and little did I know it would turn me on just as much.

I’m not here to be turned on; I’m here to learn how to punch.

“Okay,” Will says to the group. “Repeat those punches, but this time grab your gloves and a set of pads, and pair up. Elizabeth, you’re with me.”

I wrinkle my nose.

“You’ll like this. You get to punch me.”

A sinister gleam creeps onto my face. “Finally!”

Will bends down and takes out a set of gloves and pads from his bag, and his shorts pull tight across his arse. Fuck me, he’s right. God did not create us all equally.

I quickly look away but notice his tickled expression in the reflection of the mirror. Shit! Busted!

He inconspicuously cups himself as he stands then hands me a pair of gloves. “Chuck them on.”