Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(39)

Today, right now was just such a time. “Come here, you,” I said.

“No. I’m going to strangle you, Hollywood style, and you’re going to escape like we practiced, got it?”

“Aw…”

With me flat on my back on the mats, Austin straddled my stomach. I rested my palms on the thick muscles of his thighs, and he reached down with both hands to grasp me around the neck.

“Escape.”

His grip tightened to the point where it was almost impossible for me to breathe and, despite the fact that I knew I was safe, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of panic. Whatever you might know, academically, cut off your air and your body’s fight or flight response is triggered.

I fought down the panic, remembering what Austin had said during one of these sessions.

“You know what my greatest weapon is?” he had asked, then held his arm up to the side, flexing his bicep as he curled his arm. It took a second for me to drag my eyes away from that crowd-pleasing sight enough to realize he was pointing at his head.

That’s what I had to do now. This was a strangle, as opposed to a choke. It was cutting off my air supply rather than my blood. Scary as it felt, I could survive and function for a while like this, like holding my breath. A choke would be a different story.

I took my hands from his thighs and put my palms together like I was praying, before pushing my hands and arms up between his. Once my arms were over my head, I spread them to each side, kind of like the breast stroke in swimming, which broke Austin’s grip on my neck.

With his hands semi-trapped under my armpits, I heaved upwards and to the side with my hips. As he had no arm free to brace himself, we rolled until I was on top. For a second I felt pleased with myself, but the exercise wasn’t complete as far as Austin was concerned.

“Don’t wait for me to recover! Get up! Get up! Go!”

I sprang to my feet, feigned a stomp between his legs and backed off, as he had shown me. Austin rose to a sitting position and gave me the thumbs up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’m goin’ over there, over here!” I said in my best Robbie Johnson impression, which always cracked Austin up.

This was no different, and Austin laughed, holding out his hand for me to help him up. “Come over here, over here!”

I reached out and for a moment had no clue which way was up. When I gained my bearings again, I was lying on top of Austin, but facing the ceiling. He had his legs wrapped around me, feet hooked into my inner thighs and his arms wrapped over one shoulder and under the other. I could feel his breath on my neck just below my ear, but I couldn’t turn around to face him.

“Never let them recover. If you’re out on the street, there is no giving up, no tapping out. You hold the submission until you hear bones break, until they lose consciousness, until they’re in so much pain that they’d rather fight the devil than fuck with you again.”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Sir? I like that.”

He loosened his grip on me with arms and feet, letting me turn to face him. Brushing my sweat-soaked hair from my face, he cradled my head and pulled me towards him, planting a kiss on me that tasted faintly salty.

“I’m glad I married you,” he said.

I closed my eyes and let myself float in the beautiful, exhausting… but beautiful, moment for a few seconds. I loved being around him, I loved how he made me feel like some kind of sexy badass chick instead of the timid wallflower I’d tried to be my whole life. Most of all, I loved him.

“Me too.”

“I was thinking. You wanna move in with me? Like, officially?”

My mouth dropped open and I must have looked like some kind of stunned idiot. My first inclination was to squeal like a schoolgirl, kiss him again and say yes. Then I thought of my uncle.

Sure, I was already spending most of my time at Austin’s house, but I was still using my uncle’s apartment as a kind of home base for myself. It was closer to the campus, for a start, and I kept most of my stuff there, because I had this idea that guys didn’t like it when their girlfriends… or wives I supposed… started leaving toothbrushes in the bathroom and doing laundry in their houses.

I was surprised at just how much I wanted for us to have a place that was ours, instead of feeling like a visitor there. My heart ached for the chance to build a home.

The only thing holding me back was the fact that if I gave up on my uncle’s apartment, packed away all his things and moved out, well, that would be like giving up hope on him ever coming back. Could I do that?

It had been over a year now, and the police had basically pulled the plug on the investigation. They’d framed it as a “reallocation of human resources,” but giving up was what it boiled down to.