by Ashley Hall
At the end of the first round, Desmond barely had a scratch on him, while Griffin was spitting out blood. It looked like the stitches on his face had broken open, covering his jaw in a thin sheen of blood.
If I thought I’d been on edge before, it was nothing compared to how I felt in that moment.
While the women around me were whispering excitedly, even speculating on how they would get Dario Desmond’s attention if he was the one to win the fight, my eyes were glued to Griffin’s image on the monitor overhead.
He was sitting in the corner, getting his injuries seen to and his mouth washed out.
“Looks like Webb is having a harder time than projected, folks!” The announcer all but crowed his excitement. “Desmond’s reach is getting past his solid defense and it looks like an old wound has opened. Now would be a great time for him to turn on some of that trademark speed!”
It was a struggle for me to stay in my seat as the second round started. Griffin’s expression was determined as he rose from his chair to strut back towards the center of the ring, his wrapped fists raised.
When the bell sounded for the second round, I saw what the announcer meant. Though I had observed the way Griffin moved when he worked out, that was nothing compared to the way he moved now. Every time Desmond went for him, he ducked out of the way, moving almost quicker than the eye could see in an attempt to get behind the bigger bruiser. I bounced around in my seat, biting at my fingers as he landed a roundhouse kick to the back of Desmond’s head that made him stumble forward.
Then, out of nowhere, the larger man righted himself and lunged at Griffin, hitting him in the stomach so hard that his grunt echoed around the crowded stadium. His back hit the side of the cage closest to the VIP section where I sat—hard—and then he was fending off his opponent’s jackhammer-like punches, to the outrage of almost everyone present.
Before I could help myself, I shot to my feet, heart in my throat. “Griffin!” Someone had to stop him! Desmond was going to kill him!
Luckily, the round came to an end before Griffin could be beaten to a pulp and Desmond moved off of him with an animalistic grin. Luckily, Griffin’s defense was practiced enough that his opponent hadn’t actually managed to land that many punches, but he was breathing hard as he went back to his corner, and when he spat out his mouthpiece, his teeth were stained red.
Christ, I couldn’t take this.
“Come on, Griffin! Don’t be such a pussy!” A bottle-blonde sitting in front of me called out, making me wince at the grating tone of her voice. A pussy? I’d like to see her get up in the ring with a giant like Desmond!
“Yeah, come on, Griff, honey! Man up and fuck that idiot up!”
Jesus, they were all crazy!
However, their catcalls did serve to get Griffin’s attention. He was all but thunderous as his gaze jerked to the VIP section for the first time. I glared accusatorily at the women seated before me, swallowing the urge to tear their hair out. The last thing Griffin needed to hear right now was that he was any less of a man. How could they accuse someone of being inadequate when it was obvious they were barely women themselves!
When I looked back at the cage, I froze.
Griffin was staring at me.
He had torn his attention from the hussies in the row before me and was now staring directly at my flushed face, his expression unreadable.
Inhaling sharply, I quickly raised my hands to hide my face, even as heat suffused my body. It was as though those green eyes saw right through my veneer of calm to the hunger below the surface. All at once, I was aching between the legs and breathless, struggling to regulate my heart rate.
Of course, the shallow whores in my section immediately started squabbling over which of them he’d been staring at, but that hardly mattered anymore. Griffin’s gaze was burned into my mind, and nothing, not even an act of divine intervention, could have pulled me from the arena at that moment.
When I worked up the courage to expose my flaming face, the third round of the match was starting. There was nothing on Griffin’s face that reflected that he’d seen me and I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he hadn’t recognized me. Hell, I didn’t recognize me with what I had done to my clothes.
The bell rang, and the final round began.
Griffin moved like a man possessed. When Desmond reached for him, he streaked under the man’s defense and reeled back to deliver a devastating blow to his jaw.
It happened so fast that I was sure some people had blinked and missed it.
Desmond hit the mat hard, knocked clean out.
And the crowd was on its feet.
The din was so intense I almost couldn’t hear the announcer counting. It was evident from the sight on the monitor that the dazed Desmond wasn’t going to rise without help, and by the time he got to ten, every woman around me was screaming.
And I was able to take my first real breath since the match started.
He won. Griffin won.
And nearly gave me a heart attack in the process.
“Now second in the world, ladies and gentleman, give it up for our son, our champion, Griffin Webb!”
I almost couldn’t look at him. There was so much blood, and he was still scowling like a goddamn idiot at the camera like all this was par for the course.
It took a moment for me to remind myself that it was. Griffin got beaten up every single day and liked it.
Music played and the city flag was draped over his broad shoulders; and, all at once, I had the unfathomable urge to touch him. To wrap that big, strong body of his in my embrace and take all his pain away. God, he looked awful.
Was I insane for wanting him with every fiber of my being?
If I thought the half hour leading up to the match was a shit show, it was nothing compared to what came after. People were celebrating, drunk with revelry and violence in the aisles. Some of them were leaving but most of them weren’t, and almost all the women from my VIP section made a beeline for the aisle that Griffin disappeared down.
They were all turned away by the burly men protecting the backstage section of the stadium from the public; no matter how much they begged and pleaded, no matter how much cleavage they flashed, the immense men weren’t budging. No doubt each and every one of the bitches hoped to be the one Griffin took to his bed that night.
As I stood at the end of the aisle, watching them, I swallowed the bile that rose in the back of my throat. I couldn’t stand the thought of him choosing one of them. Not when I wanted him so badly I was almost shaking with it.
My mind whirled as I gazed over the stadium, wondering where Griffin would come out when he finished cleaning up. As I did, I spotted another, half-hidden entrance to the backstage area behind the cage.
And almost no one noticed that it was there.
All but holding my breath, I turned on my heel and darted towards it, hoping against hope that I could get somewhere where all those other women had failed.
I was destined to be disappointed.
Just as I reached the curtain, another huge man slipped out, blocking my way with arms crossed over a massive chest. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His growl was just as scary as the rest of him and my words caught in my throat.
Damn it. What was I supposed to say?
“Um…” I raised the badge Alex had gifted me with hours before. “Press?”
“There’s a conference after Webb cleans up.” The guard barked harshly, making me wince. “You can ask your questions then.”
I had almost given up hope when a familiar voice interrupted.
“Hey…you’re that chick. Williams…Warbler…”
I turned in shock to see Riley O’Connell coming up behind me, a knowing smile on his face.
I had to beat down the urge to take offense that he didn’t know my name and, instead, plaster a smile on my face. “Warner. Sadie Warner.”
“Yeah, that’s right!” The man gave me a very intimate up and down that reminded me of
how I’d modified my clothes and I blushed. “You did that piece on Griffin last week.”
“Still doing, actually.” I held up my pad and press pass as if it were my lifeline, and Riley was my savior. “I was actually hoping I’d get to talk to him…alone. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
O’Connel’s expression turned from knowing to almost licentious as a grin spread across his face. “Talk. Right.” He nodded once, curtly, at the guard in my way. “Let her back, James.”
The beefy individual followed his order without question and I could have jumped for joy, streaking past him.
Backstage, I realized, was almost as crowded as the arena was, what with cleanup crew and fighters’ entourages milling around. It took me about ten minutes of squeezing through the throng until signs finally led me to Griffin’s locker room.
As I slipped in, what looked like a doctor and his attendants were coming out, their arms laden with bloody bandages.
My chest clenched as my breath caught.
Was he hurt that badly?
I didn’t give myself time to contemplate it, simply making my way into the otherwise deserted space where I hoped to find the victorious fighter.
And there he was.
I stopped five paces into the gleaming locker room and watched, transfixed, as Griffin’s form twisted in front of me, whipping a bloodstained towel from his shoulders to toss onto the bench. I covered my mouth at the sight of his face, not nearly as battered as I’d feared, but nonetheless, re-stitched where his cut had split and with a spot of blood at the corner of his mouth.
It was clear from the violent bruising along the gleaming muscles of his left side that the damage there was the most severe. However, Griffin didn’t seem to have any trouble moving, the tendons in his back contracting as he reached down to shuck his shorts.
Rendering him gloriously naked.
Obviously, he hadn’t noticed my presence.
God…he was gorgeous. The muscles of his behind tight and decadent, his legs powerful and muscular, hair freed from the rubber band to plaster to his back. He was dirty, sweaty, and bloody from his match. If I went through with this, Griffin was the kind of man who stood to hurt me worse than I’d ever been hurt.
And I had never wanted anyone more in my life.
“Griffin?”
Griffin
My jaw hurt like a son of a bitch. It was probably the most painful thing that had happened to me in a while, and it wasn’t even from the damned fight.
Frowning, I touched the stitches the doc had renewed on the right side of my face and winced. I felt the bitches pop when Desmond took his first swing at me and cursed the motherfucker seven ways to Sunday. Him and Ivan, who I suppose was really to blame.
As I yanked my hair free, finally alone in the solitude of the empty locker room, I exhaled hotly.
That had been far too close for comfort.
For the first two rounds of the damn fight I’d been lethargic, almost listless. It had been that way ever since the previous week.
Ever since Sadie walked out on me.
I must be the biggest pussy in the history of the world to let a woman affect the tide of a fight. Despite his size, I normally could have taken Desmond down in under two minutes.
But my head hadn’t been in the game.
It didn’t help that there had been a few ridiculous whores screaming at me not to be a pussy. I clenched my fists as I remembered Rhonda yelling at me to just hit Desmond. If that was her strategy with men, no wonder they didn’t want to do much more than fuck her.
I’d been so fucked up that I thought I saw her, for God’s sake.
Sadie.
Why the hell would she come to one of my fights? She’d all but told me she was finished with me, that things between us were just “professional.” I should have just gone on with my life, instead I was brooding like one of those emo-fuck guys who was probably more her type.
But I could have sworn I saw her. Right there in the VIP section. Wearing some glorious shirt that showed her flat, creamy belly, and half her tits as she stared back at me, red-faced. It was her sweet mouth I was thinking of, her curvy, ripe form, when I knocked Desmond the fuck out. Let her put that in her article.
But I knew better.
Sadie hadn’t really come. She was probably back in her apartment, sheets tucked up beneath her chin as she diddled herself to mediocre memories.
And I needed a goddamn shower. It wasn’t going to help me to think of her now.
Reaching down, I shucked off my shorts, kicking them aside as I began towards the stalls.
“Griffin?”
I whirled, every muscle in my body tensing.
And there she was.
Like a goddamn wet dream walking.
She really was wearing a top that exposed half her gorgeous tits. The brown fabric tied high on her belly, and her skirt rode low on her hips, barely reaching her mid-thigh. That certainly wasn’t the modest little Sadie I knew. Despite how much I was enjoying the view, the clothing looked all wrong on her. I wanted her to have more on so I could take it all off.
My body reacted immediately, betraying my poker face. “What are you doing here?” My demand was curt, almost sharp. “And what the hell are you wearing?”
She jumped slightly before shifting on those long legs of hers—no heels. “I…well…the other girls…” She trailed off, toying with her press pass as she mouthed words I didn’t quite hear.
The other girls? Those skanks who were determined to show everyone their natural hair colors? Sadie couldn’t be like those whores if she tried. When I arched a brow, she took a deep breath, her face reddening, and tried again. “My boss sent me…” She swallowed thickly, her throat contracting as she faltered again.
I crossed my arms over my chest, doing everything I could to ignore all the blood in my body pulsing downward to my hungry cock. Jesus, I had touched myself just hours ago—and when I had, I thought of her. Blonde-haired fucking sex goddess.
Then, she surprised the hell out of me.
All at once, Sadie dropped her notebook and her press pass and stalked up to me to throw her arms around my neck. Her mouth met mine fiercely, hungrily, and a moan of pure want tore through me. Despite how pissed I was, my hands immediately delved through her hair as I slanted my mouth against hers to get a better taste.
She tasted like honey, peaches, and everything that was good in the world.
Everything I wasn’t.
“I watched the fight.” Sadie murmured the words hotly against my mouth, arching her barely dressed body close to mine. The heat of her was almost scalding against my cock, and I grabbed her hips to jerk them against mine, biting down on her lower lip with a low curse. “Jesus Christ, Griffin, you scared me. Are you alright?”
This wasn’t fucking fair. She didn’t get to care. Not after pushing me away. Not after making me almost sick with wanting her.
“I’m fine,” I growled against her neck, my hand fisting in her silky blonde locks as I was torn between lust and anger. “Fucking fine. Fuck.” I nipped at her throat hard enough to leave marks and she moaned, squirming against me. “Don’t tell me things are professional and then come in here like this, Sadie. I’m not going through that shit again.” I slammed her up against the closest row of lockers with enough force to make her gasp, my hold on her hair drawing her neck taut.
I should have scared her. Innocent little Sadie being thrown around a room like a rag doll? I expected her to slap me and run out screaming.
Instead, the little minx just shuddered, thrusting those gorgeous tits out like a feast for the taking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Griffin I just…I don’t know!”
Reaching up, I grasped the flimsy material of her shirt and ripped it right down the front to bare her cotton bra so a sharp gasp escaped her. The buttons popped off to ping off against the tile and I forced myself to breathe. “What don’t you fucking know?” My hand slid up to caress the line of her throat before wrappin
g around it with just enough pressure to make her tremble.
“I don’t understand!” she all but sobbed, writhing in my grip as she clutched at my wrist. “You make me feel things I don’t fucking understand.”
There. There it was.
My gaze never leaving hers, I reached down to undo the zipper of her skirt, jerking it southward before tearing the garment off her entirely, leaving her only in her flats and lingerie.
