This guard belongs to Maxim. Not Easton Brawn?
I shove at his chest. “Well too bad!”
The crowd seems to suck in their collective breath and though I’m terrified for my sister, I have no choice but to glance up at the cage. And there’s Maxim approaching Banner. They circle each other and I catch a glimpse of Maxim’s eyes.
They are laden with fury. Cold, ruthless fury.
Maxim says something to Banner that lifts Banner’s upper lip in a snarl, but his anger comes too late. Maxim attacks Banner with swift vengeance, delivering a neck-snapping right cross to his face, a cracking kick to the ribs, a drop elbow to the back of his neck.
Banner goes down, hitting the mat like a limp noodle.
He doesn’t get up.
Not even thirty seconds has passed.
Maxim looks directly at me and beats his chest, roaring loud enough to rival the crowd.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
I can feel my heart beating between my thighs, my flesh turning slick. I’m going to be claimed. Like, he’s going to claim me. Drag me back to his cave. That shouldn’t turn me on.
Right?
Scout.
My sister is ten feet away now, struggling in the guard’s hold. He turns her at the end of the row and guides her up the stairs. Toward the luxury boxes. And I can see Easton Brawn outlined in one of the rooms, a cigar perched between his lips, his devilish eyes riveted on my sister. What does he want with her? What is going on?
I try to get past Maxim’s guard, but he sidesteps, blocking me. “Scout!”
“Whit!” She shakes her head, calling to me over the riot of noise, chanting, screaming. “I’ll be all right! I’ll call you!”
Her eyes widen at something over my shoulder and I turn, just in time to find Maxim pounding out of the ring with me in his sights. Just like last night, the front of his shorts is tented. This time, however, there are millions of witnesses, including the crowd. And television. Not to mention whoever is filming this with their phones. So like…a billion. And yet, my sex is hot, melting like warm chocolate, tingles racing up and down my body, every inch of me craving his touch. His kiss. “Come to me, Whitney,” Maxim booms.
My legs are shaking.
If I take a step, I’m going to fall.
But I don’t have long to wait before I’m tossed over Maxim’s sweaty shoulder and carried off into the dark tunnel he exited from. Frantically, as the arena starts to disappear in our wake, I search Easton’s box for a sign of my sister and see their side by side silhouettes, but there is nothing I can do for Scout now.
Instinctively, I know there is going to be no speaking to Maxim until he’s had me.
He’s keyed up and shaking with adrenaline.
I am a fighter, kotik. There is an important contest tomorrow. We don’t allow any…spilling beforehand. Depriving oneself creates an edge. An anger.
How long has he gone without relief? Days? Weeks?
Longer?
“Maxim—” My breathing sounds loud in my ears. “How long since you’ve, um…”
He spits his mouthpiece out onto the floor. “Month.”
Oh lord.
“And before that, you—”
“I have not had woman before, kotik. You will be my first and only.” We are almost to the end of the tunnel now. People are jumping out of Maxim’s way, rightfully gaping at the giant carrying the girl over his shoulder. “Usually after fight, I fuck my hand. Several times.”
Jesus. It’s going to be a long night.
I’m nervous. Of course I am. A six-foot-four beast with a month’s worth of frustration is about to take my virginity. But for some reason I’m not scared. For some reason I trust him not to hurt me. Maybe it’s the way my tears turned him soft last night. Or the fact that I slapped him with all my might and he only reacted with mild shock, zero anger. I don’t fully understand my reasons, but I find myself wanting tonight to happen.
Wanting to be the one who relieves him.
Eager to be the one, even.
“I hope you have a lot of c-condoms, then,” I whisper.
Maxim laughs. “No, kotik. I have none.”
I open my mouth to address that shiny piece of information, but we enter a room and I get distracted. From my upside down position, I can see we’re in a physical therapy room full of long, elevated leather-covered tables. The kind athletes sit on while trainers wrap their wrists, ankles. And several of those trainers are still in the room.
“OUT!” Maxim shouts.
The room is empty within ten seconds, the door slammed shut.
My back lands on one of the tables and Maxim climbs on top of me, making the wooden legs creak. There’s no hesitation in him. He’s already shoving down the waistband of his shiny, navy blue shorts, sweaty chest heaving, his eyes black with arousal. “I win fight. Now you open your legs for me, Whitney.”
I’m learning a lot about myself right now.
For instance, it doesn’t matter that I’m fiercely independent or that I’ve attended several marches for women’s rights. Whatever feminine mechanism inside me that is conditioned to submit to the alpha is alive and well and whimpering with lust. He came tonight to win, so he could have me here on this bed afterward. It drove him. And my thighs open automatically, begging for the chance to be his reward.
“Yes, Maxim,” I breathe, pulling down the straps of my dress with shaking hands. Letting his starving eyes feast on my bare breasts. My peaked nipples. “You were amazing tonight, baby. You earned me, didn’t you?”
“Da,” he pants, licking his lips. “Da, Whitney. I keep you now.”
I bite my lip and nod. “I’m your prize.”
For tonight, at least.
Tomorrow I’ll get back to worrying about the whole independence thing.
Sex doesn’t have to mean marriage. Right?
It doesn’t seem to for everyone else.
Maxim sits back a little and drags my dress the rest of the way off, groaning at the flesh he uncovers, my body naked except for a flesh-colored G-string. His lips peel back from his teeth in a growl and he rips it from my body, spitting on my sex angrily. Once, twice. Then he shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, his erection springing free over the waistband.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, trying to scoot away.
It’s huge. It’s huge.
Gripping my knee, he drags me back underneath him. “You will take it.”
“But—”
“I win fight.” Maxim reaches down and guides his enormous shaft through my folds, grunting when he reaches my entrance, frowning as if confused. “You are very small, kotik. This will make you cry?” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I wouldn’t like that.”
A second ago, I was trying to get away.
Now I have an opposing impulse. I want to encourage him.
“Just try and go slow,” I whisper, trailing my fingertips down his cheeks. “Okay?”
“Yes, Whitney.” He urges the round, smooth head of his erection inside of me, then drops his weight to mine. Pinning me, burying his face in my neck. His tape-wrapped hands close around my knees and push them up, back, toward my shoulders and then he slowly sinks home. Slow, yes, but it’s a dogged invasion. He refuses to stop when he hits resistance. He pushes through the barrier of my virginity with a guttural sound, bouncing his hips a little to stretch me, his breath turning to wheezes in my ear. “Oh kotik, is so tight.”