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The bell rings.
Nervousness races through her body. I feel it like electricity where I touch her skin. The first punch is thrown, and she burrows close to my body. I’m an opportunistic bastard, so I tuck her tight against my side, her soft breasts lush against my hard chest, her hair like sleek night.
The boxers dance around each other.
A punch. A dodge. They circle each other again.
They’re learning each other, the same way Eva and I learn each other, our bodies in constant conversation. Do you like that? Yes, more. I stroke her hip with my thumb.
Thorn rushes in, secure in his past victories.
Wagner was clearly prepared and fights back with vicious precision.
The long, powerful exchange brings the entire warehouse to its feet. Even Eva jumps up, stepping onto the rattling metal bleacher in order to see over the tall men in front of us.
“Is he hurt?” she demands as Wagner staggers back. He touches one knee to the ground, but he’s standing again, back in fighting stance before Thorn can advance.
It’s a solid match, but Thorn clearly has the advantage. He has more weight, more muscle, more experience. He’s not as fast, but the blows he lands send Wagner reeling.
In a burst of speed, Wagner strikes, throwing Thorn against the ropes.
The crowd erupts.
“Yes,” Eva shouts, jumping and clapping.
Her hesitation about the brutality evaporates in the face of excitement. She’s one with the crowd now, cheering for her favorite, shouting encouragement when he’s hit.
A one-two punch, and then Wagner is on the ground.
The ref steps in to start counting, but the fighter staggers to his feet. He’s not looking steady, though. The fighters dance around each other, but it’s clear one is fading.
Thorn pummels Wagner, relentless, stone-cold.
There’s a reason he’s the returning champion.
Eva tightens her grip on my arm so hard her knuckles turn white. “Finn?”
“Yeah?” I ask, my lips on her temple.
We have to be this close because it’s loud in here. She won’t hear me otherwise. And we have to be this close because she’s clinging to me in both excitement and fear.
Mostly we have to be this close because it feels so damn good to hold her.
“You were joking about the fight to the death, right?” she asks.
“The ref will stop it if he goes too far.” The word ref is a lofty term for what the man in the ring actually is. His only job is to keep them from killing each other.
And to count down at the end.
Wagner throws a hard jab, and Thorn’s body recoils from impact.
Eva gasps. This is not a choreographed fight routine. This is not something for television. It’s real. Fists crack against flesh. They tackle each other, use vicious holds that wouldn’t be allowed in any of the real boxing matches.
She’s shouting in the following moments.
I should be watching the fight, too. But I’m watching her. Surprise makes golden lights in her dark eyes. I feel the shock in the crowd. Then even more shouting.
“He’s coming back,” she says. Though I can only tell because I’m looking at her lips. The crowd consumes her voice. Something big is happening in the ring, but I don’t care. I’m mesmerized by her excitement. It almost looks like arousal. This is how she’d be when I’m thrusting inside her, when she’s begging me to go harder, faster, deeper. Then I’d change the angle. I’d press that spot inside her with my cock. I’d rub my thumb over her clit. Her head would fall back. Her eyes would close. Bliss would overtake that beautiful face.
