The Fighter's Prize

A shudder passes through him. “Whitney…”

There’s no question he wants me, here and now. The evidence is in my hand. And I know he’s tempted by what I’m offering. Tempted by hunger with a healthy dose of testosterone. All he needs is a push. To claim his prize in front of the challenger, so there’s no more doubts as to who I belong to. “Show him what he could never give me. Pleasure.”

7

Maxim

I am angry.

Hurt, too. Confused.

Aroused.

Oh yes, I am definitely that.

There is something happening inside of me. Cogs turning, cranking my nerves tighter, tight as a bow. This man tried to take my girl. But she is mine. And I must show him this. She is giving me a way to do that. Right here, right now. To solve this the way animals do in the wild.

The strongest male claims his mate. His kingdom.

All observe and understand he is not to be tested.

It is wrong. It is dark.

But there’s no denying it’s what I need.

Rearranging Banner’s face obviously did not work. He still came for my female.

Perhaps he thinks I could not satisfy a perfect girl such as Whitney?

Perhaps he is skeptical she opens her legs for me willingly?

That my claim is not valid?

A snarl captures my upper lip and I find myself walking Whitney backward toward a waist-high round table, our mouths still locked in a kiss. Banner’s amusement is transitioning into irritation and I like that. Want to see more of it.

And God, more than anything, I want my cock inside of her. Now. The need is urgent.

Claim her. Claim her. CLAIM HER.

Whitney’s hand jacks me off through my pants, her moans being swallowed up by my mouth, but when we reach the table, I break the kiss and spin her around. Press her face down over the surface and unzip my pants, keeping a close eye on the man across the room, while also lusting after the supple mounds of her ass, the way she claws at the table excitedly, her sides heaving. “Yes, Maxim…” she whispers.

I use my booted foot to kick her feet wide and she whimpers.

Tilts her hips.

Enjoying this. Needing my ownership of her to be made obvious.

So I will give us what we both need.

I have no choice when I can see her wet pussy hole, so sweet and welcoming in the near darkness. My eager hand guides my cock to that source of pleasure, wrestling the first few inches into her tight channel and bucking the remaining distance with a snarl.

Heaven.

Sweet, perfect heaven.

A vibration goes through my balls and they pull taut, already looking to fill her with come. I groan brokenly, my hips flexing, wanting to pound her like a fuck toy. Not yet, though. Not yet. Dropping forward so my chest is pressed to her back, I reach around and grip her chin, tilting it up. “Such a sexy girl, da? Beautiful, tempting little girl.” I rock into her slowly, finding her more soaked by the second. “And perfect pussy to match.”

Banner curses, his breathing shallow.

“You will never, ever touch it. Or her.” I release her chin and bring my hand to her hair, slowly winding the long length of it around my fist. “She is only for my personal use.” I rear back and drive forward—hard—making her cry out. “And I am only for hers.”

There is something primal about this act. Taking her in front of a challenger.

Something that makes me realize deep down, I’ve always been an animal.

It took finding my mate to bring it out of me fully.

But it demands to be unleashed now.

It demands I fuck my female—and I do. I fist her hair and I pound her roughly against the table, her mewls and whimpers filling the room, the table legs scraping on the floor.

Her body is giving me such pleasure, I’m barely aware of the third person in the room. But I know he is there. I know he can hear the rough pack of inches into her tiny sex. The impact of my thrusts, hard against soft. He can hear her whining for me to give it harder. Faster. And there is no question who satisfies this girl. This pussy.

“You’re so big, Daddy,” she moans choppily. “I-I’m going to come.”

Having that title bestowed on me in this moment, hearing her praise my cock, makes me roar, pound the surface of the table with my fist. I grip the edges to keep the furniture steady and grind into her hole, circling my hips and making her feel me deep, deep.

Tension grips her and she holds her breath. Her flood is coming.

“See her legs starting to shake for me?” I grunt, my release beginning to threaten, seizing my muscles, the bottom of my spine. “Who does that for you, kotik?”

“Maxim,” she sobs. “Only Maxim.”

Gratification sweeps me, holds me in its grip.