Page 13 of Corrado

Corrado’s gaze darted away. “Get off me.”

He would have.

But he leaned in close, instead.

A bloody sneer answered him back.

“Do you really want me to?” Alessio asked.

Corrado let out a hard breath. “Fuck you.”

He kissed him, then.

Brutal, and fast.

Unforgiving.

He didn’t know what made him do it. God knew Alessio had more control than this, but here he was, and he couldn’t really complain when Corrado answered him back with a kiss of his own that had his whole body feeling like it was on fire.

Corrado tasted like blood and heat. His tongue lashed against Alessio’s without shame, his fingers coming up to drag against the muscles of his chest like he wanted more. He understood that need—it was currently driving him insane, too.

There was nothing easy about the kiss.

Nothing soft.

No sweetness.

It felt like war.

Teeth biting his lower lip, and stubble dragging across his skin. It all felt like a fight he wasn’t going to win but fuck him if he didn’t try. Kissing never felt like war before—it didn’t feel like his body was going to rip itself in half if he didn’t get what he wanted right now.

Until this moment. With Corrado.

It was then that Alessio should have known what was going to happen here between him, and Corrado when this was all said and done. Corrado Guzzi was a fucking problem. One he was never going to escape.

Then, someone cleared their throat.

Ah, fuck.

A throat clearing would have made Corrado jump back from the man he was kissing fast. But not Alessio. No, he didn’t jump to get off Corrado, or even act like whoever had interrupted them bothered him in the slightest.

Before he did climb off Corrado on the mat, he pushed his gloved fists one more time against his chest and cocked a brow like he was daring him to do something. More than anything, Corrado wanted to do exactly that, but given the fact he was still hard under his jeans, and his mouth now tasted like Alessio and blood, he didn’t think it would work out very well for him.

Corrado drew in another sharp breath, because even as Alessio left him alone on the mat to go to the other side of the ring, it didn’t matter. His body still felt the man—his weight keeping him down, hard lines pressing into his, and those lips working savagely against his own. His tongue snaked out to run along his lower lip, and he willed his raging erection to go down just a little bit before he moved.

Pride was a bitch.

Corrado had too much of it.

It was only the sound of footsteps approaching the ring that finally made Corrado roll over to his knees and stand up from the mat. He shot a look over his shoulder to find Alessio at the other side of the ring, slipping on a T-shirt like he didn’t have a care in the world. That irked Corrado a bit, too. How could he be so flippant about what just happened?

His fucking heart was still racing.

Christopher came up to the side of the ring and rested his arms along the ropes. His brother arched one eyebrow at him, a mirror of his own reflection right there staring back at him. He didn’t need his brother to ask the question to know what Chris was asking him. What in the hell was that?

Corrado could count on two fingers the amount of people who knew he was bi. His brother was one of them because one day, Chris outright asked, and Corrado had never been able to lie to his twin for some fucking reason. The two weren’t very much alike despite their identical features—Chris was more reserved, and Corrado wasn’t; his brother tended to think things through, and Corrado went in full steam on something if he wanted to do it.

But lying?