The Fancy Pants Club — Chapter 19 - A Woman's Art Of War

~ Daniella ~

“Move your body.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Up, down, straight!”

“Again!”

“Up, down, straight!”

“Again!”

“Again!”

For about forty minutes, these words were the ones that Erik kept on repeating as I attacked the red punching bag into oblivion... or at least the little effect that it gets from my lady knuckles. This is the reason why they are sore right now and this is the reason why I could feel the burn in my arms and thighs.

Erik said to have a fifteen-minute break so I used this chance to sit on the gym bench, out of breath with my tank top soaking wet with sweat. I drank as much water as I could to feel refreshed while I watched his back muscles flexing under the sleeveless shirt as he delivered powerful blows on the life-size dummy some distance away from me. He didn’t even mind taking a break himself.

I wasn’t drooling really, but I admired how his physique came to be. It made me remember how he looked like shirtless standing in the bathroom door a few days back when—

Okay, shut the memory away! my thoughts immediately commanded so I shook my head.

Back to the facts, this is just my first kickboxing session together with him. He said that learning how to punch is the easiest of them all so he made me do some rounds on the cylinder bag, but I believe I am having a hard time with it; a really hard time since he was a damn unmerciful trainer.

After staying in my room the whole afternoon and after eating dinner, he called me up to meet me in the basement exclusive club gym. I went there thinking that I’ll watch him kick someone’s ass, but it seems it wasn’t the case. I am the one who is being kicked at metaphorically with his stern way of teaching me.

I don’t even know why I agreed to it. Maybe because he initially said that it is in order for me to learn how to defend myself, but as minutes ticked by, I began to think that this is his form of punishment for my transgression this morning.

“Break’s done,” he paused from hitting the poor thing to death and then went back to the punching bag. “Come Daniella. Don’t waste time.” He held the bag into place with both arms.

I released a sigh, stood up, and left the bottle and the towel on the bench. Mr. Ian was quick to collect them after me.

“Don’t you get tired? You didn’t even take advantage of the break you provided,” I complained.

Once I did my punching stance, he answered, “I don’t get tired.”

“Hmf, that’s too airy of you,” I replied. Did a tornado just passed by or what?

From readying himself of my blows, he suddenly straightened and eyed me smugly. “I have great stamina, Daniella. I was brought up this way and I adapt to it quite perfectly.”

“Hmm, there’s no surprise in that. You like per-fec-tion!” I hit the bag continuously in time with the syllables. They weren’t powerful really, but it was enough to swing the cylinder towards him. He caught it just in time before it hit his face.

Tsk. It would have been comedic to see that.

“Exactly,” he barked, a brow lifted up briefly. “Now keep your shoulders straight. Don’t slump forward. Widen your stance and punch stronger!”

I rolled my eyes and released an exasperated sigh. “Can you remind me of the reason why I am doing this again?”

“For your own good,” he answered promptly, displaying no enthusiasm.

I punched again, with greater force this time. He held the cylinder in place. The fact that the muscles in his arms were flexing didn’t seem to faze me, well... not yet.

“Hmf, that’s debatable,” I retorted.

“For you to be fit and healthy,” he added.

I punched the cylinder hard. “I am fit and healthy!” Scrunching up my nose, I posed like a model in a fashion show. I don’t know, either he is blind or his definition of fit comes with being plump as what he told me in the restaurant days ago with Enrique and Vincent.

Our gazes locked. He released a long sigh whilst regarding me with depth. “For your...safety Daniella.”

“Oh really?” I raised a brow. “Are you sure about that because I am quite certain this is your form of punishment to me.” I touched the solid bag that probably weighed five times heavier than my weight and pushed it towards him. I aimed to hit his face again but failed, mentally hitting myself for the defeat.

“And besides, I am no damsel-in-distress. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much!”

Fed up, I turned heels planning to leave but I felt a grip on my right wrist then. “Why do you keep on challenging me, Daniella?” I heard him ask before he twisted my arm behind me.

“Shit! Erik!” I cried, wincing a little when the pain of my rotated elbow joints presented itself.

I felt his warm breath fan my earlobe. I felt his chest pressing against my back. I felt his left hand snake it's way into my abdomen. In response to these, my heartbeat quickened its pace.

What is he doing? my thoughts asked. The answer to it came almost instantly.

“Erik!” I shouted when he brought me down the rubber mat. My arms, which had sprung free in the process, shot to block his face from advancing, but he quickly seized and brought them over my head. He eased himself on top me and I was left lying under him with my body secured in between his long legs.

“Erik, what are you doing?!” I glared at him.

Leaning in, he inhaled deeply near my forehead and I can dearly bet my virginity that what he smelt was my workout body odor. Not sexy at all, but who says I want to be sexy for him?

“You’re right, this is exactly my way of punishing you,” he affirmed, face serious. No hint of mischief at all.

“I know! I know! I get it!” I yelled. “Now get off me!”

We met eye-to-eye; mine in panic while his smoldering with an emotion I had always seen these past few days but failed to understand.

“Erik, please get off me!”

My plea was ignored as he continued his ministrations on me. This time one hand was holding both of my wrists while the other started to touch my waist. He slid my tank top halfway up my stomach and paused. I felt my belly flip in response.

“You have been a naughty slave since this morning, Daniella,” he narrowed his eyes at me. “First you didn’t do what I commanded you to do. Then second, you deliberately wore a revealing gown when you knew already every man in this club, including me, would ogle you.”

“The gown was not my idea! It was Suri who picked it for me!” I wiggled myself to set free but failed again.

I know... I have been quite a train wreck of failures since this morning and all because of this man.

Erik gave me a brief smirk. “I know that it must have been the case, but still, you have the power to refuse. Didn’t the aphrodisiac you drank last night wore out? It seems you are still emitting your sexual hormones up until now Daniella.”

He continued to drag up my clothing, collecting it just below the wire of my brassiere. Heck, if he had pulled it up to my neck, I would have called it a strike. He was way pushing the boundaries of our master-to-servant relationship.

“Erik, stop!” I pleaded on deaf ears. Looking at him, I found that his focus was on the task he was doing.

As my lungs hauled deep breaths, his fingertips grazed my skin; my bellybutton specifically and the part where my surgical scar lay which I intentionally got a blue rose tattoo to cover with. He traced its raised edges; his expression oddly in deep turmoil. Maybe he had seen my sufferings there? Maybe he had felt my struggle against pain through it? I have no idea, although I wished I knew. I was unable to care much of it however for at this moment his touch kept the wiring of my brain in overdrive. I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to take the ticklish feeling anymore.

“Erik, please stop...” I whimpered.

But my eyes widely opened when I felt his soft lips kiss the scar and then followed by his moist tongue tracing it. What possessed him to do it, I don’t know, but goddammit his mouth was gentle, hot, and altogether a turn on. Maybe he was right. Maybe the aphrodisiac effects still lingered on me.

When I thought he was already done, I only yelped and shot a glare on him when I felt his tongue skate across my tummy to my navel. I wriggled again and twisted my spine but he subdued me by pressing a forearm on my thighs.

“President, you will stop this at once!” I shouted, panic and anger mixed in along with the fact that I was seriously battling an arousal from coming to the surface.

He only answered me through playful bites and a sucking motion in that area. A sharp moan escaped from my lips then.

I. Am. So. Ticklish. In. There. Period.

Luckily, he didn’t advance his assault for he withdrew after that.

“Your sweat tastes sweet, Daniella,” he crooned whilst kneeling before me.

I immediately set myself up, towering above him, and out of reflex, my right hand torpedoed towards the nearest cheek it could find.

“Sweet. My. Ass!” I shouted.

Before it contacted Erik’s face, however, he captured my arm like a handcuff. He used it to pull me towards him. His free hand grabbed a mass of my ponytailed hair and pushed my face to collide with his own after he said these two vague words, “Time’s up.”

I almost...almost stumbled over because of the quickness of the events, but his strong arm held me in place. Imagine me stooping low while he was kneeling, our faces connected whilst we shared one unexpected heady kiss.

I fought, damn I did, using my hands to push his face away, but he was quick to suppress them by putting me back on the rubber floor.

Shit.

Our lips never disconnected during the process. Like a frightened deer caught in the headlights, I made a move to escape by pushing his chest. Erik wasn’t a gentleman however for he used his weight to press me down and just like that, I was rendered immobile. His hands kept my head in place.

His warm breath touched the bridge of my nose and my cheek. I tried to keep my mouth shut but he pried it open with his tongue. As he slid the wet muscle inside, I moaned...yeah, moaned in protest.

My God, I can’t believe that he is kissing me! Erik Romano Fancii, the President of the Fancy Pants Club, a man whose heart is made of stone, is kissing me. Kissing me like he was branding every fiber of my being!

But punishing, bruising, forceful or any other synonyms you could find in a dictionary, that’s what his kiss was. That’s what his initial kiss felt like until he slowed and moved like he was kneading a special bread or making a fragile vase. His hold on my face loosened a bit; fingers turn relaxed.

With my palms pressed against his chest, I could feel his heart beating as he had just been in a marathon race. It was erratic. It was arrhythmic. It was trying to burst out of his rib cage. Like mine.

Languidly, his lips explored my own. No woman could possibly stay still with that, me included. So in the craziest of crazies, I decided to reciprocate his kisses... decided to dip my tongue inside his mouth.

But... he abruptly withdrew before I could fucking make it happen.

I fell dumbfounded.

“Now, you know you can’t protect yourself against a man’s assault woman.” He stood up and eyed me coldly. Half lying in the rubber mat, I was flushed all over and I bet my face showed different kinds of red, but he didn’t look bothered with it at all.

“You are a damsel-in-distress as long as you are with me, so do as I say,” he stressed. “Learn. Know how to defend yourself. Fight back.”

My head thudded in confusion... confusion on what to feel. Anger? Embarrassment? Hopelessness? Or arousal?

The last one I quickly scratched out. I have suppressed it the moment he stood away from me.

“Move your feet under you. You have my leave to go.”

He turned around and left without helping me up.

Bastard.

With a forceful expel of air to end my ragged breathing, I scrambled to my feet, enlightened by his words. Boring a murderous look on his back as he punched the dummy again, an idea popped out of my head.

This chateau is a battleground and Erik is my enemy. If he is open to war with me then so be it.

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy not with fighting—” I mumbled to myself but Erik seemed to hear it.

“What are you blabbering about Daniella?” he asked although he wasn’t looking at me.

I pressed my lips firmly and narrowed my eyes. Then, in long strides, I attacked him from behind.

“Erik,” I softly called.

“What?” he snapped and turned around.

“—but with a kiss.”

I quickly pulled his head down and without over-analyzing it, clashed my lips against his.

I knew he was taken aback. I knew he was caught off-guard, so because of that, I felt pleased, satisfied, making a victory grin at the back of my head. This is what you get for toying with me President!

I am not a pro with kissing. Heck, I even just received my first kiss minutes ago, but in a bold, bold move, I thrust my tongue inside his mouth. I sparred with his unmoving tongue, discovered the softness of his palate, tasted him all the while I grabbed a good amount of his hair in my fingers.

It seemed that his initial shock wore off for I suddenly felt his hand eased in the small of my back, pressing me closer to him.

Before he could respond to my kisses though, I wrenched myself free.

Eyes like saucers met mine when I looked at him. Confusion and a mixture of desire were cemented on his face.

“Fight back, that’s what you said,” I announced dryly. “Good night, Erik.” I smirked at him before I made my way out of the gym... before he could order me to stay.

Just when I stepped inside the private elevator, I heard one powerful punch and the sound of metal chain clanking. Before the door closed, I saw the red punching bag lying on the floor with Erik next to it, looking at me with dark, predator-like eyes.