The Fighter's Prize

“Did you do a lot of thinking?” he asks, studying my face closely.

“Yes.”

He sucks in a breath, holds it. “And?”

“I can’t imagine not being with you,” I whisper. “You make me happy, Maxim.”

His breath releases in a rush. “Whitney, you must give me warning before you say these things.” He rubs at his chest. “I am aching very badly right here.”

I lean up and kiss him. “We just have to learn to compromise. Okay?”

Maxim’s expression is dubious, but he kisses me back and soon we forget everything but the give and take of each other’s mouths. With a groan, he unhooks the seatbelt and drags me into his lap sideways, his erection pushing up against my buttocks, his tongue ruthlessly invading my mouth. “It’s okay, little girl.” He slides a hand up my inner thigh and knuckles the material of my G-string, right over my clit. “We have small fight, but your Daddy will fuck you now. Make it all better.”

“Wait. Maxim,” I whisper, pulling away winded and stroking his jaw. “We can’t. Not until after we leave the club.”

“Why?”

“You…this dress. It’s short.” My face is enflamed. “And when you come inside me, it drips out. For hours. I wouldn’t be able to hide it.”

Pride straightens his spine.

“I don’t mind this so much.” He glances down at my lap. “My come dripping out of your pussy all night. Everyone seeing this and knowing I have privilege of taking you bare.”

I hide my face in my hands, but I’m smiling. “I mind people seeing!”

A grumble emanates from his chest. “We will wait then. I am in your good graces and I want to stay there.”

“Thank you.”

“But I will watch it drip out later.” He ducks his head and nips at the underside of my jaw, his hand lifting to fondle my bare breasts through the thin silk of my dress. “I will hold you down and watch it leave you slowly, da?”

I nod, too breathless to respond.

“You are my world, kotik,” he whispers in my ear, kissing it. “I have become obsessed with you. Do you know this? Do you know I am fucking burning in my chest? In my head? You live inside me already and I only want more.”

I’ve barely caught my breath when we pull alongside the curb outside the club.

It is a lot more upscale than what I had in mind. It looks more like a red carpet event with suited security, paparazzi and beautiful people filing through the arched, golden doors. Loud, fast dance music pumps from within. Suddenly feeling very underdressed in my black slip, I nonetheless allow Maxim to help me out of the SUV. He holds me against him in mid-air for several seconds, my toes dangling somewhere around his knees, his forehead pressed to mine.

Chaos erupts at our arrival. Until now, it never even occurred to me that Maxim carrying me out of the arena over his shoulder would garner so much public attention, but of course it did. Someone shouts “there they are.” People with cameras rush over, falling all over themselves to reach us. Flashbulbs going off, reporters shouting questions. Maxim seems to realize at the same time as me how popular we are—and he doesn’t like it. He holds me like King Kong held his blonde sacrifice while climbing the Empire State Building and bellows for security. Several men in black suits and earpieces rush over and help block the paps on our way into the club while I cling to my fighter, face buried in his neck.

“I would never have brought you out if I’d known.” His arms are wrapped around me tighter than steel bands. “Or I would have put you in sweater and jeans.”

“I’m not dressed any differently than the women here.”

He scoffs. “None of them are you, Whitney.”

I sigh into his neck. With the wild rush taking place around him, I feel like I’m centered. In the middle of my very own serene island. Safe. Loved.

Yes, loved. This is what it feels like. I’ve only known the sisterly version of love. This is an animal unto itself. Volatile and exciting. Warm and inviting. And knowing I have this man’s affection opens up the gates to my own. Allows the feelings he stirs in me to rush out, like wild horses, stealing my breath. How can I love this man after such a short time?

I don’t know. My heart is making the decision for me.

“We will be quick,” Maxim says, kissing my forehead. “I want you home, kotik.”

The men with earpieces are directing him, telling him his manager is waiting in back, along with some fight promoters and an emcee. Maxim will be introduced and brought out on stage in five minutes. Before they leave us, the security guards ask for his autograph, their guy crushes on full display. Maxim signs with his right hand, his left arm still wrapped around me, crushing me to his side.