We stand across the room from each other. Lane with a huge smirk plastered across his handsome face. I rub my chin, wondering how I can bring down this brick shithouse. I used the only trick I had in my bag of moves. What to do, what to do?
“Are you ready to charge at me again, or are you going to let me show you how to do this properly?”
I match his smirk. “Oh, you’re going down, doll face.”
“Doll face? Really?” His eyebrows hitch.
“It’s what I said, isn’t it?” I flip him the bird, which causes him to laugh once more.
“Okay, then it’s your funeral,” he teases.
“Or yours.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Well, come on then. I’m getting bored waiting.” He fake yawns, patting his hand in front of his lips.
Him and his smart mouth.
I bend my knees then sway from side to side. Go for his throat. That’s what I need to do.
“Are you coming or what?” He winks.
I need to show him I’m in control. I push my shoulders back and bounce on the balls of my feet until I take off at full pace towards him, bending my right arm and leaning in with my elbow.
Lane’s hands take my legs, and he flips me upside down. Mothertrucker. I scramble against his strength, and flick my legs around his neck, crossing my feet over each other behind his head, my head bouncing by his knees.
“Wrong move again,” he says. I feel his breath between my legs.
No shit!
I dangle, like a dead weight, until I cackle and squeeze my thighs as hard as I can around his neck.
Death by thigh strangulation. It could happen.
“Stop!” he shouts.
It’s working. I’m winning … until I’m not.