as he passes me. “You’re too slow.”
I quickly focus on him but can’t help taking peeks at Will as I start my second lap, this time launching into a coughing and choking fit when he pulls down his tracksuit pants. Sweet legs of Hercules!
He steps out of each pant leg, now wearing nothing but lightweight jogging shorts that perfectly accentuate well-defined quads. I whack my chest with my palm, forcing it to wake up and help me breathe again.
“You all right?” he asks as I slow to a stop.
Bending at the waist, I nod then join the rest of the group who are standing before him, spaced roughly two metres apart.
“This is my special friend, Elizabeth,” he says, gesturing to me. “She’s—”
“She’s my schoolteacher,” Dylan blurts out.
Will continues. “Yes, she is. This is her first time boxing, so I hope you all make her feel welcome.”
Everyone smiles, so I give them a sheepish wave.
“Right, let’s get started. One hundred air jabs, fifty air jabs and hooks, then a hundred uppercuts.” What the fffk? I’m exhausted just listening to that.
Everyone starts punching the air, kinda like a Cobra Kai karate class. I try to copy, when Will slides in beside me and rests his hand on my lower back.
“Not you, sweetheart. We gotta work on your technique first.”
“My technique?”
He nods, eyes roaming my arms, shoulders, and chest. “You lefthanded or right?”
“Right.”
“Step forward on your left foot.” He squats, and I can almost see up his shorts.
“You won’t see much.”
I look straight ahead. “See much of what?”
“What I’m packin’.”
I snort. “I wasn’t trying to see what you’re packin’. They’re all the same anyway.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you are in for a treat.” Will palms my thigh and slowly glides his hand down over my knee and calf until he’s repositioning my foot. “God did not create us all equally.”
“Is that right?”
“Oui.”
I laugh.
“Now, shift your weight onto your right leg and turn it out on a slight angle.” He grips my hips, firm but gentle. “Soft knees,” he murmurs.
I’m about to say thanks and that I use a milk bath powder from the Body Shop, when he continues.
“Don’t lock your knees. Relax. We call this ‘soft knees.’”
“Oh.”
“Foot work and posture are very important. If you don’t have good balance, you can’t throw good punches.” He stands up and moves back, hand on his chin as he assesses my position. “Does that feel comfortable?”
I look down at my feet then back at him. “I think so.”
“Good. The power of your punch comes from your hips and your knees as you properly distribute your weight.” He moves behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his large, masterful hands on my shoulders. “As you punch forward,” he says, cupping my right fist with his right hand, “your body pivots.”
Will’s lips and beard skim my earlobe, his breath tickling my neck, and I almost topple into his arms.
“Posture, Elizabeth.” He places his hands on my hips again. “You gotta hold your body strong. All movement stems from this very spot.”
Guiding my hips back and forth, he moves me in unison with him, as if we’re doing some kind of erotic Hokey Pokey dance—my right arm in, my right arm out. And for a second, I’m tempted to shake it all about.
I don’t.
Master Will is very serious.
And the last thing I want is to be forced to do more push-ups.
“When do I get to punch something?” I ask.
“You don’t rush what you want to do right,” he whispers into my ear. “You gotta take your time and pay attention to every detail.”
The tip of his nose nudges my neck, and my eyelids flutter then close.
“Look in the mirror,” he says.
I snap my eyes open and focus on our reflection.
“Think of it like fucking.” He pulls my hips inward, his cock pressing above the apex of my arse. “Sure, we can go at it hard and messy and get there in the end. And, sure, it’ll be fun and wild.” His eyes flare, and so does my uterus. “But when you want perfection, you gotta take it slow, be precise, learn, and appreciate every little aspect involved. Once you’ve done that, you can go as fast or as slow as you like.”
I swallow, hard, just as Dylan shouts, “Done!”
All of a sudden acutely aware that one of my students can see us, I quickly step forward, away from Will, now internally grateful for Dylan’s interruption. I make a note to give him extra house points next week. He deserves it.