“C’mon now… let’s see how deep that tank really is,”
he murmured, voice low and maddeningly calm.
Gunloc could feel the tremor in her grip, the subtle shake in her shoulders. He kept the pressure constant—unyielding, but measured—until he felt her center start to fold. One incremental step forward, then another, and their linked hands sank inch by inch toward the mat.
“Easy… steady…”
he coaxed, smirking as he watched her knees bend under the mounting weight of his strength.
Another surge. Her right knee brushed the canvas. Gunloc leaned in, chest expanding with a slow exhale. He held her hands firm, guiding the descent like a trainer spotting a heavy squat.
“There we go,”
he breathed, amusement flickering in his eyes as her other knee dipped and hit the mat. Now she was kneeling before him, their arms still locked overhead—her gaze almost level with the waistband of his cobalt-blue trunks. He felt the heat of her breath ghost against his lower abs; the situation wasn’t lost on him for a second.
Spoiler
“Quite the view from down there, huh?”
A wink.
“Don’t get too distracted.”
But he didn’t mock her—he wanted the contest to continue. Maintaining his grip, he slackened the push just enough to give her space to power back up if she dared. Those thick forearms of his stayed flexed, veins pulsing with every heartbeat, inviting her to make another stand.
