TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 413

CHAPTER 338: TRAINING’S OVER

EMBER’S POV

We drill it.

The throat, the knee, the eyes, over and over, his hands correcting, his voice merciless, and slowly-I fe it happen – something in my body starts to understand.

The motions stop being separate things I’m remembering and start being one thing I’m doing.

My hits land cleaner. My feet stop betraying me. He stops saying “dead” quite so often, which, from Knox is basically a standing ovation.

And that’s when I get the idea.

Because he’s still faster than me, still stronger, still winning every exchange, and I am never going to out-muscle this man, not today, not in a year, not ever.

But this morning has been one long lesson in exactly one thing, hasn’t it? You don’t fight fair. You find the thing that breaks.

And I spent this whole morning cataloguing the one weakness the Lycan King has that no amount of muscle can armour.

Me.

So the next time he steps in to correct my stance, the next time he says “drop your shoulder, you’re

carrying tension in your-” I let my ankle roll,

I go down hard, and I make it ugly, a sharp cry, my leg folding, my hand flying to my knee, and the

transformation in him is instant and total.

The instructor is gone; the man was there, dropping to a crouch, his hands already reaching, the fear flooding his face.

“Ember-your knee, did you-hold still, let me-”

He leans in.

And I take him.

center of gravity weight and I hook my leg behind his and I shove

I drive up off the floor with everything he spent the whole morning teaching me through the hips, use his own motion against him And the Lycan King, Knox Volkov, goes over backwards with a grunt of pure shock, and then I’m on him, my knee to his chest, my forearm across his throat, both of us hitting the mat in a tangle.

For one full second, there is absolute silence.

He stares up at me. I stare down at him, breathing hard, hair hanging in my face, my arm at his throat and

CHAPTER 33 TRAINING’S OVER

his heart slamming under my knee and the whole world narrowed down to the stunned gold blaze of his

eyes.

“You faked it,” he says.

“You said to find the thing that breaks.” I’m grinning. I can’t help it. I’m lit up like the silver’s still in me. “You have exactly one weakness, Your Majesty. It’s me. You saw me hurt, and you forgot everything you know.” lean down, just slightly, my arm still across his throat. “A god can’t fight what makes him stupid.”

And something changes in his face.

The shock burns off, and what’s under it is pride – fierce, delighted, there she is pride, because I didn’t out-punch him, I out-thought him, I did the exact thing he’d been trying to beat into me for two hours – and right behind the pride, chasing it, comes something else.

Something dark and hot that I feel more than see, because I’m still on top of him, still tangled up in him, and the fight has stopped being a fight, and the three feet of professional distance I’ve been desperate for all morning has become no distance at all.

His hands come up and settle on my hips. Not correcting, this time.

“You outsmarted me,” he says, low, and his voice has gone rough in a way that has nothing to do with the

throat at his windpipe. “You played weak, and you took me to the ground.” His thumbs stroke once, slowly,

over the jut of my hipbones. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I have,” I say, a little breathless now, the grin softening, some idea.”

“Say it again. The thing you said.”

“A god can’t fight what makes him stupid.”

His hands tighten. His eyes are molten.

Under my knee his heart is going like a war drum, and the mat is hard under us, and the room is cold, and none of it matters, because he’s looking at me like I’ve just handed him the most dangerous, most beautiful thing in the world.

And the tension that’s been coiling tighter and tighter since he put his hands on my hips at five in the morning finally, finally pulls taut enough to snap.

“Training’s over,” he says, and drags me down.

My back hits the mat hard. He’s on me instantly-big, sweat-slick, heavy-shoving my my leggings down just enough to get between my thighs.

shirt up

and yanking

His c**k is thick and flushed dark, and he doesn’t tease. He notches the blunt head against my p***y and shoves in deep with one brutal thrust that knocks the breath out of me.

Fuck.

( CHAPTER 33% STRETCHED ON THE FLOOR