She comes only a second after I do.
It’s like a dam bursting. The tension and unresolved attraction between us finally shattering as we share this experience together.
About as fucking intimate as two people can get.
We’ve touched ourselves together. Watched each other in these moments people normally reserve for only themselves.
And as pleasure rushes through us, we’re left spent.
Jhene’s limbs turn into jelly as she falls flat against the mattress, hand sliding out of her panties. I’m no better, tucking myself back into my gym shorts.
“That okay?” I rasp finally. “You feel good about it?”
She sits up with her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, barely holding off a smile. “That was…thank you.”
“C’mere.” I grab at her hand to pull her back toward me. Her body drops against mine as she curls into my side and my arm rests at her hips. I kiss her on the lips, a peck that’s more quick affection than the passion from earlier. “Any time. You got it? I’m at your service.”
The smile she’s been fighting makes its way onto her face. “I knew you’d say that.”
The night of the big fight arrives. The Barclays Center in Brooklyn is electric, pulsing from the excitement this match has drummed up. Winner goes on to fight for the championship against the current title holder, Ivan Sharapova.
ESPN cameras sweep over the arena from every angle.
The crowd is huge. There’s not an empty seat in the entire arena. Thousands of faces packed into the stands and screaming ’til their voices go hoarse.
Half of them are wearing my colors—white and green to represent Ireland—and holding up signs like “GO FOR THE KILL.”
Then there’s the other half of the arena. People decked out in red and gold as they cheer on Darnell “The Tank” Thompson.
The betting markets are just as divided. Those wagering on the fight from New York to Vegas have got their work cut out for them.
It’s anybody’s match.
…except as I listen to the roar from the crowd, I know it’s going to be me.I’mgoing to take it, and I’m going to show them firsthand tonight.
In the private locker room, I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, prepping myself for what’s to come.
Dez is as excited as the crowd outside. He grins and flashes his gold teeth. “You ready for this, Kill? This is your moment. Your time to shine. You think you’ve got sponsors now? Wait ’til you knock The Tank’s lights out—baby, Nike’s about to be banging on your door. Adidas too. They’re gonna be fighting over you, and we’re gonna be cashing those big fat checks.”
“Inspiring as always, Dez,” I grunt.
Malone claps a hand to my back as I do some cross-body arm stretches. “Don’t pay Mr. Golden Grill any mind. Focus on what you came to do tonight—take The Tank down. Remember he’s got power. There’s no doubt about that. But you’re quicker and smarter. That oaf telegraphs his right hook. Watch his shoulder—it dips when he throws.”
I nod in acknowledgment, shuffling from foot to foot in place. Warming my body up for twelve rounds in the ring with a man who weighs as much as I do and hits just as hard too.
But Malone’s right. I’ve got him on the footwork. I’m quicker than he is. More strategic.
I’m about to have him down for the count.
The door opens and Ronan steps in. He’s had his hands full since returning from his honeymoon, but he’s made it a point to attend tonight. He might be Clan Chief, but he’s also my best friend and has been since we were boys.
“Make the clan proud tonight,” he says, gripping my shoulder. “We could use a win right now.”
“You’ll get one.”
“We’ll be watching from the stands.”
He steps aside, and that’s when I see her.
