Excuse me?
I twist to look back at him. My breathing is a wrey “And if he does*
Knox smiles. “Then I fear you’ll just have to starve some more
I barely have time to process the threst before his left arm wraps around me, banding across my chest. That other hard slides between my thighs and finds my cht without hesitation. He strokes. fot gee. Not so He presses and Gedes.
My knees buckle a little from the rush of sensation.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice tight.
He groans behind me, low and approving, and his hand on my chest tightens jest slightly.
“Keep your eyes on the fight, Bunny”
I do.
Every move in the ring burns into my brain. Goliath is bruised, bleeding. But he’s not backing down. The other guy lands a harsh blow to his stomach.
My hips stutter. I can feel myself nearing release.
I try to stay quiet. Try to hide it. But Knox knows.
He pulls out.
“No. No. No!” I cry.
I reach for him. He catches both my wrists and hauls them above my head. One hand holds them there.
“You don’t always have to be so wicked,” I pant.
“How else will I make you addicted to me?”
I want to say I already am. That I’ve been addicted since the first time he looked at me like he wanted to ruin me. That no one’s ever made me feel this kind of need, this kind of desperation.
But then he grips my waist and lifts me again, and I don’t even get the chance to breathe before he’s inside me, knocking the air from my lungs.
I cry out, eyes squeezing shut.
His voice comes whispering against my ear. “Eyes on the fighters, Bunny. It’s bad luck not to look.”
I obey, forcing them open. The ring bursts back into focus. Goliath is still upright somehow, blood pouring from his nose, from a split in his brow, maybe both. He’s swaying. Every breath looks like it costs him.
I watch as he stumbles back–almost trips. My heart sinks.
But then he surges forward. Wild. Clumsy. A mess of movement that looks more like survival than strategy.
A punch connects.
Then another.
“Come on!” I gasp. “Come on, Goliath. You can do it!”
Below us, the crowd is a storm–shouting, standing, slapping the barricades. I can’t tell if they’re cheering for him or the turn of events, but none of it matters because Knox is merciless inside me, thrusting so hard and fast I’m seeing stars. And whenever he feels me getting close, he halts.
My thighs are shaking. My body’s a live wire. Every nerve is screaming.
“Finish it,” I whisper. “Finish it, please-”
I don’t know if I’m begging Knox or that fighter in the ring.
Goliath stumbles again–then throws his whole weight into one last, brutal uppercut.
It lands with a sick, echoing crunch. The sound of cartilage or maybe jawbone giving way.
The other fighter collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.
The bell shrieks.
Successfully unlocked!
The crowd loses their minds, and I join them, sort
Knox leans into my throat, biting down hard as he drives into me.
“Let go, Bunny,” he whispers against my skin. “Cum for me.”
I do.
1/2
CHAPTER 971 Whds Sorayat
Everything in me shatters.
My release slams through me, no warning, no mercy. My thighs lock, muscles seizing, and I cry out. My nails dig into the leather beneath us. My vision whites out. My entire body convulses, legs trembling uncontrollably, pulse hammering
behind my eyes.
I feel Knox freeze,
Then he groans and spills inside me, heat blooming deep where we’re still joined. His arms are like iron around me, holding me in place, anchoring me.
We crumple together, a tangled mess of sweat and hard breaths.
The crowd is cheering as the victor throws his arms in the air, lifted by the referee. Blood streaks his face like war paint.
The other fighter is still sprawled on the mat. Unmoving.
And I can’t help the cold that drips down my spine.
“Oh my God, I whisper. “Is he dead?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Knox says, kissing my shoulder. His hands roam my body, caressing every inch.
“And if he’s dead?”
“Then he’ll get a proper funeral.”
*Jesus. You people are insane.”
“It’s an underground fighting ring. What did you think was going to happen? They signed up for this.”
“I just came while someone was possibly dying, Knox.”
“Is your problem that he might be dead?” he says, turning me to face him, “or that you enjoyed it?”
I cover my face with both hands. “I’m a freak.”
“There’s no denying that. But you’re my freak. A freak who just won over two hundred grand.”
My hands part slightly. I peek at him through my fingers.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “I’ll show you.”
I lower my hands and look at him fully. He reaches to the side of the couch, fingers grazing the edge until he finds his phone. He brings it up, swipes the screen, but his expression immediately changes.
His grin fades into a frown.
“What is it?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply at first, eyes scanning whatever he’s seeing on the screen. Then he starts typing, his fingers moving fast, jaw tight.
“Knox,” I press, “what is it?”
He exhales through his nose. “Yara’s been trying to reach me.”
Yara?
My brain stumbles for a second, searching for the name.
Oh, right.
“The psychologist?” I say.
“Mmhmm,” he mutters, still typing.
“Why would your therapist be texting you at this time?”
“We need to go,” he says suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Apparently, Soraya has been arrested for shoplifting.”
He says the word “shoplifting” like it’s sour.
My eyes narrow. “Who the fuck is Soraya?”
That’s when he lifts his head from his screen. His whole expression goes blank, as if remembering where he is.
“Umm,” he says slowly, “promise you’re not going to freak out until I explain.”
“Explain what?” I demand. “Who’s she, Knox?”
He holds my gaze, tension buzzing off him in waves.
“Well… legally, or should I say illegally, she’s my wife.”
