The Fighter's Prize

“Mine.” I bare my teeth, my hand lifting and slapping down on her tight ass, making her moan, pump her hips. “Fuck. She is wrapped around me like vise. Squeezing. Soaking wet.” I thrust into her so hard, repeatedly, the table is rocking beneath us. “Remember every night of your life, wherever you are, that I am riding this kitty. And you are not.”

“Maxim!” Whitney’s pussy cinches tighter, so tight, I groan up at the ceiling and we both find our peak, my girl quivering and panting beneath me, her sex convulsing violently around my shaft, while I curse, shooting rope after rope into the slick, sacred crevice between her thighs, slowly depleting the misery in my balls, my stomach. Ahhh fuck. It is the ultimate claim, putting my seed in her while my challenger watches and as usual, I can’t seem to find the bottom of my well, more and more spend producing from my tip, my hips jerking up and back feverishly to make sure it’s all delivered. Every drop.

God she is sweet. Perfect. My perfect Whitney.

I drop back into the moment soon after, zipping back into my pants, swiping the sweat from my brow. I cover Whitney with the hem of her dress and draw her off the table. She turns and burrows into my arms, her face flushed, eyes dazed.

Without another word, I pick her up in my arms and kick through the emergency exit, leaving Banner slack jawed and staring into a void behind us. It is not until now, with the tide of hunger ebbing momentarily, that I remember Whitney texted with Banner and did not tell me. How sweetly she kissed my mouth while keeping secrets.

Yes, she is mine. That has been made clear.

But I find I am still restless, angry at being deceived.

I cannot have deception between us. I will not.

I want to know every thought in her head at all times.

How else will I give her everything she wants?

How else will I make her happy?

I call for my SUV to pick us up around back and boost Whitney into the back seat. She smiles when I join her, but it drops away slowly when she looks at my face.

Her tone is a little impatient when she speaks. “What is it now?”

“You lied to me, Whitney,” I growl. “By omission.”

She throws up her hands, exasperated. “Banner texted me. He said he could give me Scout. Still I told him to leave me alone.”

“And yet, you went to him tonight. After I ordered you to stay put!”

“Ordered me?” I find this tone of her voice dangerous. Much more dangerous than MMA fighter. “My father was there, Maxim. I didn’t know he was taking me to Banner.”

I make a frustrated sound. “How can I be sure of any of this, kotik? I turn my back for one second and you vanish!”

“You have to learn to trust me,” she whispers, a line forming between her brows. “Can you do that?” My hesitation is a split second too long and my Whitney turns away from me on the seat, crossing her arms. “Wow.”

I reach for her, but she widens the gap between us. “Please come to me. I do not like fighting with you.”

Whitney says nothing. This is silent treatment, then. I have heard of this.

It’s worse than I’ve heard it described.

It takes us five minutes to get where we are going, but I get none of the satisfaction I’ve been anticipating when I arranged the meeting this afternoon. Whitney sits forward when we drive into the empty field, spying the other SUV waiting nearby. The rear door opens and Whitney’s sister starts to step out, before a gloved hand closes around her arm, staying her.

“My sister,” Whitney gasps. “Maxim…you did it. I knew you would.”

I want to tell her I would move mountains to make her happy, but I’m too busy watching the other SUV closely for signs of a threat against my Whitney.

Easton Brawn saunters around the back of the vehicle in an overcoat, a cigar clamped between his lips. He appears to be on edge as he opens the back door, helping Scout climb out, shielding her partially with his body. He signals for us to lower the window and we do.

“Send out the girl,” Easton booms. “Only the girl. They meet halfway. If I see a fucking weapon, it’s over. We’re gone.”

“Same goes for us,” I shout back. “And I’ll wait for Whitney at the same distance you wait for her sister. Or we’re gone.”

After a moment, the gangster inclines his head and I can no longer hold Whitney back. She clambers out the back door and races toward Scout. The sisters throw themselves into each others arms, holding tightly and rocking side to side. Truthfully, as I wait at the edges of the reunion, I begin to feel like a bastard. I might have arranged this meeting, but I did not stop to consider why it was so important to Whitney. I only considered it a task to complete. But her love for Scout is very obvious. Tears are coursing down both sisters’ faces and they speak a mile a minute. Quietly so I cannot hear.