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“Oh my god,” she moans, writhing into my hand.
“He’s not here right now,” I say, clamping my mouth around her shoulder and biting down over where I claimed her. “It’s just me and you, princess.”
“Yesss.”
I pump into her as best I can with my knot until her walls flex and pulse around me, milking another round of cum from my cock, and we both moan together, panting and sweating and falling apart.
Together. As it always should have been.
Forty-Five
DYLAN
Quinn has finally forgiven Brady, and everything is right again. It’s amazing how easy it is to breathe now that she’s finally ours. Everything comes easier. Studying. Fighting. Me and Brady. Even though Austin and I have always gotten along well, we’re closer than ever. Maybe it’s the high from claiming a mate. Maybe it’s all the orgasms. Maybe it’s her scent covering me every second of every day that gives me the extra energy.
Whatever it is, I’m not complaining.
My opponent circles me, searching for an in, but I’m not giving him one. I’m too fucking amped up, ready to finish this training session and get home to my omega. We’ve been at it for over an hour, but it’s necessary with the regional championship coming up.
Evan, the beta fighter, is quick and throws a mean hook. Too bad that’s not going to help him now. He fakes me out with a jab, then brings his knee up, but I dodge away from it and throw an uppercut. Grunting, he dances back, but playtime is over. It only takes three more hits for me to lay him out. The ring thuds as his back hits the mat, and I suck in a breath, grinning down at him.
“Try that sneaky shit in my ring?” I hold out my hand to help him up.
He clutches his side where I landed the upper and groans. “I was mixing it up.”
“It was sloppy, bro.” I tug him to his feet and drop into a stance. “Try it again.”
“No way.”
“I’m not going to hit you back for real. Come on, E. Go.”
Grudgingly, he gets into his stance and does it again. I easily knock his knee away, and he huffs but starts over. We work it a few more times, focusing on his speed and eliminating his tells. Evan has been coming to the gym for a little over two years, a scrapper who was used to fighting in the streets. He’s tough, but there’s a difference between fighting for survival and fighting for sport.
Evan steps back and puts his gloved hands behind his head. “Shit, I need a break. You hit me fucking hard.”
“I’d say sorry but . . .”
“You’re not,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I smirk. “You did good, though. You’re getting better.”
“Thanks. I don’t know if training with you is helping or hurting me.”
“Probably both.”
“Asshole.”
“Love you, too, E.”
“Speaking of love.” He side-eyes me as we head out of the ring. “You’ve reeked of omega for weeks.”
I press the middle rope down and slip out, shooting him a look. “Yeah, and?”
“Relax, man. I’m just wondering what’s up. I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”
“It happened kind of fast.” I grab my water and take a long drink, using it as a way to keep from answering.
“Oh shit, Dylan. This chick just walked in, and I think I came.”
