I joined Mac on the mat, hoping the look in my eye communicated the many ways I was fantasizing about eviscerating him.
By the wicked laughter in his, I assumed he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Okay, Arro, lie on your back, please.”
At my hesitation, the laughter in his expression died. “This is useful. Please.”
With a sigh, I laid down on my back, staring up at the high ceiling with its harsh strip lighting.
“Right.” I heard Mac say, and I dropped my gaze to watch him as he towered over me, directing his words to the class. “We need to know how to do this for competition, but this is also useful training if you ever find yourself in a real-life attack. We’ll go into that after we demonstrate the grapple.” He stepped toward me and lowered himself to his knees. It was suddenly a little too hard to breathe as he took hold of my thighs and instructed, “Wrap your legs around my waist and lock your ankles.”
My cheeks heated at the suggestion because my body seriously loved it. “What?”
Mac held my eyes as his voice rose for the class. “For closed guard, you wrap your legs around your opponent’s waist and lock your ankles behind their back to maximize your leverage.”
He waited.
Finally, with a sigh, I looked up at the ceiling while I wrapped my legs around him and locked my ankles. Mac leaned into me, his hard stomach pressing between my thighs, causing several types of frustration.
I startled when he grabbed the front of my tank top with both hands.
His expression was reassuring as he murmured, “We’ll get you a gi for next week.” Then louder, he explained to us all, “There is a center area of control here. We’re both attempting to keep our arms inside the other’s. Inside control equals dominant position. Everyone understand?”
There was a murmuring of yeses as I tried to ignore the feel of Mac’s stomach muscles flexing against me as he moved. “So my arms are inside Arro’s, but Arro needs to get her arms inside mine. Your job, Arro, is to break my grip so you can get a dominant grip on me. Raise your arms, elbows bent, palms out … good. Now, the hand closest to your upper body is the grip you need to break first.”
Concentrating on his instruction helped me forget our intimate position because, feeling his weight on me, I realized how powerful this information was, now more than ever. If an assailant as big as Mac attacked and got me on the ground, I wouldn’t know how to get out from under him. The thought was scary as hell.
“Now, you want to break my grip by pulling that arm up and out toward my fingertips. Take your opposite hand and grab hold of my wrist.”
I did that.
“And then slip your other hand under my wrist to steady yours.”
Once I did that, Mac nodded, pleased. “Good. Now push my wrist upward—and stop.”
I did with his arm raised and stretched out toward my head.
“When you release me, you can push my arm away with the hand that was holding your wrist, and this brings your arms inside mine, exactly where you want to be.”
Once we did that, Mac made me repeat it several times until the movement was fast and fluid. Then he had me grab the lapel of his gi and bring my knees forward, which brought his face against my chest. That broke my concentration more than a bit as he turned his cheek to talk to the class. My heart was pounding, and I knew he must hear it.
Don’t think about it, don’t think about, don’t think about it.
If Mac felt my entire body tense, he didn’t react to it. He continued his instruction with professional aplomb. He told me to adjust my hips slightly to the side to bring my leg on top of his back to help keep him down. The lesson seemed to go on for ages until eventually, Mac had taught me how to free myself from him and get back on my feet. We repeated it until I could do this smoothly, and a surge of pride and self-sufficiency flooded me.
Still, as the class paired off to practice, I muttered so only he could hear, “You had to choose me, aye?”
This time, Mac’s expression wasn’t teasing. “Aye, because more than anyone else in this room, I need to know you can do it. I need to know that if anyone comes at you, you can handle yourself. I care if my students learn self-defense. But you’re not just a student. You’re the woman I love. And if you can’t protect yourself against an attacker and something happens to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. Because I’ll kill the fucker.”
That shut me up.
Because I knew deep down, he meant every word.
22
Mac
Annie Stuart had been frequenting my class for two months, and while I took her flirting as harmless, I should have seen it coming when she lingered after class.