Page 14

14

Helpless

Annalise

There’s no chance I can focus with him standing so close, looking at me the way he looks at me.

Like he’d have his way with me, right here and now if he thought I’d allow it.

Would I allow it?

Focus, stupid.

I lean my head to the right, nearly pressing my ear to my shoulder as I mirror Cas’s movements. He stretches one arm across his chest next, counting it out for twenty seconds. I do the same, trying my damnedest not to gawk at the definition in his bicep. Part of me wishes he’d hadn’t removed his hoodie before we began, but here we are. Me, losing count as we switch arms, because I’m suddenly back in that private room at The Wet Bar the night of my birthday. I remember the taste of him, spilling down my throat when he couldn’t take anymore. Then, the feel of my thighs clamping the sides of his face as I writhed on that mattress, balling the sheet in my fists.

“Annalise.”

My name falls from Cas’s lips in such a way that I’m certain this isn’t the first time he’s called out to me, which means I’ve been caught fantasizing. I’d be screwed if he could read minds.

“Yes?”

One corner of his mouth curves up with a half-smile, and for the fraction of a second, I’m wondering if that mind reading part might be true.

“I asked if you’d like some help. Stretching your hamstrings, I mean.” He stammers in this incredibly self-conscious, boyish way that somehow makes him even harder to resist.

I’m nodding before I answer, because I’m still a bit off kilter, having visions of him standing before me naked.

“I… yes. Please.” I flash an awkward smile with the equally awkward response.

Thank the gods, Cas doesn’t call attention to it. Instead, he quietly walks over to the steps where we sat a moment ago and grabs something from inside his duffle bag. It’s a rolled mat, and he spreads it on the ground. I take note of how careful he is, removing a sharp stick hidden nearby in the overgrown grass.

“Let me help you,” he says, offering his hand the next second. I take it and lower my back onto the soft mat, knees casually bent and pointed toward the sky. Cas kneels beside me, and I do my best not to grin when he slowly lifts my leg, pressing it toward my chest.

One hand on my calf, the other splayed across the back of my thigh. His palms are warm, their heat radiating through the fabric of my pants, making me wonder what would happen if I weren’t wearing any. It’s as this wildly inappropriate thought floats around inside my head that his touch becomes even harder to ignore. He presses harder, letting some of his weight rest on me as I stare down my torso. It’s then that we accidentally lock gazes, and a breath hitches in my throat.

His dark, tousled hair beckons for me to run my fingers through it. I’m tempted to pull him closer, locking him between my legs as I capture his lips—soft and full, incredibly difficult to resist or forget.

Shit. I’m doing it again, objectifying him when I should only be focused on repairing our emotional connection.

Somehow, I make it through the rest of the stretch without attacking him, but it’s definitely touch and go. When we finish, his hand shoots out again, and I latch on, hardly using any of my own strength as I’m pulled to my feet with one fluid motion. The force of it causes my body to collide into his, until we’re face-to-face, breathing one another’s air. Of course, I’m even more tempted now to kiss him than I was before. Honestly, if it weren’t for the slight hint of awkwardness still lingering between us, I’m certain I would’ve already gone for it. But thank the gods, Cas backs away as I begin to realize I might not have the strength to do so myself.

“I figured we’d start simple,” he says. “I’ll teach you a few defensive maneuvers first.”

I nod, trying to ignore my racing heart. “Ok. Ready.”

His brow arches, and I can imagine he’s surprised. Maybe because I’m not quite as reluctant as he expected me to be, thanks to my grandfather. However, I intend to let Cas figure out on his own that I’m not exactly defenseless. My lips are sealed.

“Ok, so show me how you’d stand in preparation for a fight,” he says.

“I’m gonna need a scenario.”

He smiles, then gives it some thought. “Ok, fine. Let’s say you just got mouthy at a bar, and someone’s taunting you, challenging you to square up. Show me how you’d stand.”

I smirk at his wording, trying to imagine a world in which I’d find myself in a bar fight, needing to ‘square up’ .

I space my feet apart, imagining myself in this fictitious bar, picking fights with men twice my size. I raise my hands, but I’m intentionally sloppy about it—slouching, tucking my thumbs inside my fists. Cas notices the errors right away and holds in a smile.

“Almost,” he says.

The next second, his hands are on my waist. I wasn’t expecting the contact, which makes it all the more jarring when he kicks my feet apart until my stance is wider. Next, he fixes my wonky fists, tucking my elbows closer into my sides right after.

“Better. Now, you might actually have half a chance.”

I offer a demure smile, pretending I couldn’t have made those corrections myself.

“I’ll come at you with a few slow punches,” he says. “Just focus on guarding your face.”

I nod, putting on the most frightened and bewildered expression I can manage. Then, his fist flies through the air, but not so quickly that I can’t easily block him with my forearm.

“Good. Again.”

Hearing him admonish me, I’m reminded of my training, the hours spent in that dark, sterile facility one summer, going over one defensive strategy after another. It was one of the most awful experiences of my life, but it wasn’t lost on me that I was privileged. There aren’t many women in our quadrant afforded this luxury, although not everyone would consider it that—a luxury. Aunt Geneva certainly didn’t. She made it known that, in her eyes, my training was a complete waste of time, a summer I could have spent learning to mend clothing or perfecting her recipe for homemade apple pie.

Cas comes at me the same way he did before, and just like last time, I block him with ease.

“Good. Again,” he repeats, but he goes right into the next swing without warning.

Caught off guard, I dodge him this time, and it’s clear from that look I his eyes that he’s impressed by my quick reflexes.

“Nice. You might just be a natural.”

I smile at the compliment, knowing that’s not exactly true. “Thanks.”

“Again.”

He punctuates that single word with another unannounced swing of his fist, and just to be coy, I rear back to clear the hit, but counter the move with a quick jab of my own.

“Shit,” Cas says with a wince, reeling from the blow I just landed against his ribs.

“Sorry. Guess it was just a reflex.”

His eyes narrow when he smirks, and I’m curious whether he’s starting to figure it out. That I’m definitely not helpless.

“Again?” I ask, stealing his thunder.

He nods, then tries to catch me off guard, faking me out with a right hook before actually coming at me with a left. Only, I track the hit from a mile away and block it. But just to be a dick, I lift my leg, intending to strike his hip with a kick, but he’s quick, too, and catches my leg midair. I’m breathing wildly, balancing on one foot as his large hand swallows my calf, hiking it up to his waist as I teeter a bit, struggling to keep steady.

I hold in a laugh, knowing he won’t let go until I concede. Or maybe until I admit what we now both know.

That I can hold my own.

“Mind telling me what the fuck just happened?”

I flash a grin now, unable to hold it in. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He smirks a little, and I note how his gaze flashes toward my chest, where a light sheen of sweat glistens on my skin in the early-morning sunlight. His eyes are on mine again, and I pretend not to notice how he seems to be having just as hard a time resisting this carnal pull toward one another as I am.

“You’ve trained before,” he accuses, and my smile gives everything away. “You little shit.”

I belt out a laugh, still balancing on one foot as a flock of birds explode from a nearby tree, flying above the clearing.

“Maybe this’ll teach you not to assume you have me pegged.”

He hikes my leg higher up his torso as punishment for the smart remark. “Keep it up, and you’ll be on the ground, Little Wolf.”

And… will you be on top of me?

The off-color response is on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to hold it in. He smirks when I nearly lose my balance, winding both arms in dramatic circles to steady myself. Despite the lighthearted vibe between us, it still feels like we’re standing inside a furnace with the heat cranked to full blast.

Maybe realizing I won’t give in, he slowly lowers my leg, letting it slide down the left side of his body. But with that look in his eyes, and with the deep breath he’s just taken as he steals another glance at my breasts, I’m guessing he feels it too.

The heat, the tension, the need.

Having just endured such grueling distance, and with our newfound resolve to take things slowly, we’re fighting a powerful current. And I, for one, would love to be carried away by the undertow, tossed to and fro, feeling the relentless crash of every single wave.

Cas takes a step back, averting his eyes after they not-so-subtly land on my breasts a third time. It doesn’t help that I’m extremely turned on, and my nipples are so hard they’re straining against the fabric of my bra underneath my tank top.

I’m not sure how long I can do this.

“Water break?”

I answer Cas with a nod, but I don’t think anything can cool me off at this point.

We settle on the crumbling steps again, and I’m quiet while he rifles through his duffle bag.

“I’m guessing you’re pretty damn proud of yourself,” he says, and I know where this is going before he even finishes. Hence the reason I’m already smiling.

“Isn’t it healthy to be proud of oneself?”

The corner of his mouth twitches when he peers over his shoulder, amusement dancing in his eyes. When he turns toward his bag again, I decide to be a little less cheeky, finally giving him a straight answer.

“My grandfather sent me to a training camp before he died.”

Cas hands me a water bottle, and I squirt a bit into my mouth before handing it back.

“That’s rather unconventional,” he says, looking somewhat surprised.

I nod, because he isn’t wrong. “While my grandfather valued Clan Centauri traditions, in many ways, he was unconventional. He supported the idea that women should be seen and not heard like most others, but where he differed was that he never felt as though that applied to women in his bloodline.”

Cas smiles at that, but I’ve only told the truth. I loved my grandfather with my entire heart, but from every angle, Gideon Breedlove was as chauvinistic as every other man in our clan. However, what he held in higher regard than tradition was his ego, and that part of him wouldn’t allow for any part of himself, including his descendants, to be considered ordinary.

Cas responds with a thoughtful, “Hm,” then takes a sip of water before squeezing some onto his face. I’m completely mesmerized and fail to even blink as beads of water stream down his skin, falling onto his otherwise crisp, white t-shirt. The moisture causes the fabric to cling to his well-sculpted chest, and now I’m the one who can’t stop staring.

It's in this moment—as I realize we’re seated dangerously close to one another—that I make a snap decision.

I have to break up the tension.

If I don’t, this whole taking it slow thing will be out the window in zero seconds flat. The list of questions I thought of earlier comes to mind again, quieting the butterflies in my stomach almost immediately. Which is perfect. Although, I’m torn.

On one hand, there’s a conversation Cas and I must have before we can ever truly move forward. However, on the other hand, I’m deathly afraid that it’s too soon. It’s entirely possible that we’re still in such a fragile state that a serious discussion could destroy our progress.

But I’m choosing to have more faith in us than that.

“Do you think we can maybe finish sparring some other time?”

Taking another sip, Cas nods. “Of course.”

“I’m enjoying myself, it’s just… there’s something I think we should talk about. Before we get too far ahead of ourselves.”

His expression turns solemn, and I don’t mean to bring the mood down, but this conversation will serve two purposes.

First, it will splash a much-needed, metaphorical bucket of cold water on the two of us, cooling the premature fire that’s ignited. And secondly, it will prove once and for all if we’re truly ready to move forward together.

It’s been amazing to reconnect with him, and I’m elated to have gotten away from the estate for some much-needed one-on-one time together, but I’m dying to know if this version of him is even real.

Or is this new Cas too good to be true?

Hopefully, once our time here draws to an end… I’ll have my answer.