Page 9 of Fighting the Alpha

I don’t. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My fingers hook into the stiff leather of the sofa as the coils of tension in my lower stomach tighten to a breaking point, my inner alpha drowning in the thrill of submitting, of being taken apart by the only alpha who’s ever managed to get under my skin so completely.

Levi’s hips hitch, driving deep and staying there as his upper body goes completely rigid against mine. The sudden, intense spike of linen floods my senses as he boils over, but even during the throes of his orgasm he manages to reach around me, wrapping a hand tightly around my length.

And that’s all it takes. A breathless groan rips from my chest, my thighs trembling violently as the friction immediately takes me over the edge alongside him, spilling uselessly against the cushions beneath me, my eyes squeezing shut from the incredible, disarming force of it.

For a long minute, the only sound in the dressing room is the harsh puff of our synchronized breathing. Levi slumps forward, burying his face into the curve of my shoulder, his taut chest heaving against my back as our scents settle into a thick, quiet haze of exhaustion.

Footsteps in the hallway outside the dressing room snap us both back into reality.

“Merde.” Levi pulls out of me with a hiss, and I wince at the feeling of wetness seeping out of me and down my thigh as I straighten. My body feels broken. Sated, but broken.

Levi pads over to the door, pressing his ear against it and sighing in relief when the footsteps pass.

“You didn’t lock the fucking door?” I mutter harshly, turning to sit back heavily on the sofa, only narrowly avoiding sitting in my own mess.

“So what?” he shrugs, leaning down to scoop up his shorts. I try not to stare as he tugs them back on. “Can you blame me? I was about to fuck you. I was distracted.”

I roll my eyes, still catching my breath.

“Everyone probably thinks we left already,” he continues, picking up my shorts and throwing them at me. I catch them, and he pauses, pushing his dark hair back. “I should go. You will be okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” I say, slightly taken aback by the question. “I should go too. I’m dead.”

“Next time we fight—”

“I’ll knock you out, then make you suck my dick,” I finish for him, smiling weakly.

He huffs a laugh, eyes dancing. “We will see.”

Levi gives me one more look and a final, smug wink before slipping out the door. And I’m left alone, once again staring at my flushed, bruised face in the mirror, and wondering what the fuck just happened.

And when it might happen again.

Dylan

Nine months is a long time when your life revolves around one thing.

For the next two hundred and seventy days, my life has been reduced to a brutal, unrelenting schedule: wake up at dawn, hundreds of rounds on the heavy bags until my knuckles bleed through the tape, and try not to drive myself mad replaying what happened the last time Levi Bastien and I got in the ring together.

I spend every waking moment at The Foundry. Marcus, Max and Jed rotate training me, putting me through my paces five days a week and usually trying to drag me out to a bar to chill the fuck out on the other two. At first, I take them up on the offer, figuring that a couple of hours shooting the shit will take my mind off of… everything. But it doesn’t take long to realize that every distraction technique is just delaying the inevitable.

Because whether I’ve spent my night running drills with Marcus or listening to Jed make wisecracks in Duke’s all night, I’ll still end up lying awake on my mattress, my muscles twitching with restless energy, and my mind will inevitably betray me. It’ll still take me straight back to that dressing room; back to the heat of Levi’s skin, the dominance of his scent, and the totally unbearable relief of submitting to him.

So I train. I spar. I put every ounce of energy I have into making sure I’m ready to crush Levi Bastien to dust when we face each other again. Because if he wins, and the wager stands, I don’t know if my pride will survive another round on my knees. Or worse, I don't know if I'll ever want to stand back up.

"You're wrapping those too tight, kid," Marcus grunts from the doorway of my hotel room, cutting through the low hum of the overzealous air conditioning. After our last match and the furor our rivalry has whipped up in local media and online boxing forums, the fight is sold out, so the promoters splashed out on hotel rooms for our teams at the casino the fight is being held at. It’s a taste of the big leagues that I’d usually be excited about, but it’s the last thing on my mind tonight.

I look down at my hands. Marcus is right. The cotton wraps are biting deep into my skin, turning my knuckles a bloodless white. I slowly back off the tension, flexing my fingers to encourage the blood to start flowing again.

Jed slides in past Marcus, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe with a relaxed smile, though his eyes are sharp, taking in my rounded shoulders. "Let him cut off his circulation, Marcus. It's a strategy. He can't feel Levi's pretty face breaking his fingers if his hands are already numb."

"Jesus, Jed," Max mumbles, although he’s suppressing a grin. He sets down a fresh water bottle and a bucket of ice on the metal table, his gaze steady on me. "You're in peak condition, Dylan. You’re better than last time. Your footwork is clean, your defense is tight. Just don't let him bait you. He wants you angry."

Marcus reaches down, taking my wrist firmly in his massive palm to still my hands. "Look at me, Dylan. The media is calling this a grudge match, but inside those ropes, it's just physics. You’re faster than you were nine months ago. You’re stronger. Don’t chase him. Let him come to you."

"Yeah," I say, my mouth suddenly dry. "That’s the plan. Thanks guys."

But as they lead me down the narrow corridor toward the roaring tunnel of the arena, my mind is running a thousand miles a minute. The noise of the crowd and my usual walk-on music blurs into one singular wall of chaotic sound. And then, before I even step through the ropes, the scent hits me.