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I smooth my hands down my faded denim jeans, reading myself to say something dumb like, ‘You’re hurt or hi or I’ve seen better—' When he gets to me, he ducks down, grips me around the back of my thighs, and slings me over his shoulder like a log.
The breath is stolen from me. Filled with both unmeasurable amounts of adrenaline and smug satisfaction that every bitch here has to watch the spectacle with green projecting from their envious eyes.
I watch on the massive display as Xander struts down the corridor with my person as his baggage. Behind us, in the ring, his dad is now taking the belt, shaking hands, representing his uncontrollable son.
“Don’t let anyone back here,” he tells the two bouncers at the entrance.
Then we push through a curtain, but the intensity doesn’t disappear with the horde, the flashing lights, the cheering, the growls, no, it continues all the way to the changerooms because it is him… The passion and energy beat from him in uneven, unrelenting, ferocious waves.
He strides with me into the shower and plants my feet on the ground. I am still reeling as he cups my face with both crimson-marred gloves and gives me a bloody kiss that buckles my entire soul.
I grip his shoulders, finding them rocks of pulsing muscles, finding his skin dripping with blood and sweat, his pulse wild in his neck, the veins and cords beating as the adrenaline lingers.
And his mouth eats at mine, while blood falls down his face. He pulls away and spits a bloody mass through his lips and to the floor. “I want you!” He growls, his tone guttural, his tongue curling around those three words darkly.
“Tie me up!” He backs me into a corner and presses me against the tiles. “Tie my hand with the skipping rope to the shower tap.” His body burns with need while his voice is strained with restraint. “Drop to your knees, drain the fight from me, or I’m going to fuck youhard, and I don’t want to do that for your first time, Woman. So, tie me the fuck up before I explode. I’m barely holding on.”
He presses his gloves to the shower wall on either side of my head, allowing me room to duck under them and grab the skipping rope from the bench.
I’m wet from his sweat, the blood, and the frenzy of his need building in my core. When I return, he hasn’t moved, but his muscles vibrate, wrestling against his desires. I duck back into the cage of his body. There is blood in his lashes, beads drying on the strands. An angry split in his brow. An utterly brutal vision.
With a groan, he lowers his shaking fists for me. I wrap the rope around his wrists, through the centre and circle them again. As I work, he lowers his nose to the crook of my neck and inhales me on a rough hum.
“Tighter, Woman! You smell too good. I don’t trust myself with you, not with that innocent pussy.”
I tether them together and fasten his bound gloves to the tap just above waist height. He growls as he tries to get free, to test the restraints.
With feigned strength, I brave his fierce blood-shot gaze that is a meagre inch from me. “I’m not innocent, Butcher. And don’t treat me like one of those whores. Do you understand me?”
He licks his bloody lip, untamed in this moment, the fight still in his twitching muscles, the blood freshly dripping from his wounds. “If you were one of those whores, Woman, you’d have that skipping rope handle in your cunt and my cock bruising your guts right about now.”
My pussy weeps from his words.
He goes on, “Drop to your knees.” He tugs on the restraints. “Have you ever sucked a cock before?”
My indifferent confidence shatters, but I’m with Xander, and maybe it’s okay to be honest with him. “No,” I admit.
“Fuck.” He drops his head back, groaning in a feral way. When he lifts his heated gaze, arrowing in on me like a target, he declares, “You’ll only ever taste my cock.” His tone is reverent and greedy. “So, jerk me off with your hand and lick the tip. Don’t be gentle, Woman.”
Our attraction pummels us both.
I drop to my knees; blood and sweat drip on me as I pull his silk shorts down. His huge erection springs free, the size of it, the crimson colour, it appears just as aggressive as he does. The piercings protrude.
Rocking slightly, unable to control the need in my hips, my arousal for him a potent thing, I run my hands along his cock. He pulses within my clutches.
“Hard!”
I use both hands and jerk him off, one after the other, feeling his need in the thrashing veins along his long shaft. I lean in and lick the tip, earning myself a growl from his throat.
“Hold your fists still.”
I do as he asks, and he starts to fuck the tight channel. I grip harder, squeeze. He batters my lips, my tongue darting out to taste the sweat and cum dripping from him.
“Good.Fuck.That’s my girl.”
He looks down at me on my knees for him. Unwavering from the action, he bucks his hips forward into my fist.
“I can see you rocking your pussy,” he hisses the words, each one a sliding, rasping timbre. “Are you juicy right now? I dream of your pussy. At night, when I jerk myself off, I dream of you sitting on my face. Of soothing me with your pussy to my lips. Tell me, do you feel this, too? This thing between us.”
