Tristen lands a vicious hook. The crowd screams.
I slide my hand higher. She’s not wearing panties. I took them earlier.
"Is this from the cum I left inside of you? Or does violence turn you on?" I murmur, feeling the slick heat of her.
"No," she denies, but her hips buck against my hand.
"Liar." I push a finger inside her.
She gasps, the sound lost in the roar of the fight. Her nails dig into my thigh through my pants.
"You like this," I accuse, matching the rhythm of my finger to the violence in the ring. "You like seeing men bleed. You like knowing you're safe right here in the middle of it."
"I don't," she whimpers, but she spreads her legs wider.
"You do. You're twisted, baby. Just like me."
The other man goes down, spitting teeth. Tristen doesn't stop. He lands one final, brutal kick to the ribs that shakes the floor.
Blair clamps down on my finger, her body shuddering as she comes.
The bell rings. The fight is over.
I pull my hand back. Her juices coat my skin. I bring my fingers to my nose, inhaling the scent of her arousal mixed with the scent of blood in the room.
Intoxicating.
Blair’s cheeks tint even more when I suck my fingers clean.
Romeo walks over with a smirk on his face, handing me a thick stack of cash. "Tris saysyou’re welcome."
The money lands in my palm. I don't count it, but instead I toss it onto the table in front of us.
"Keep it," I tell Romeo. "Buy Tristen a drink on me as a thanks for the show."
Romeo raises an eyebrow but pockets the cash. "You staying for the main event? Wraith’s fighting."
"No," I say, standing up and pulling Blair with me. "I’ve seen enough."
I need to get her out of here. The whole point of coming here was to see how Blair would handle the darker parts of me and now I have my answer.
The air in the warehouse is too thick, too charged. The scent of blood and sweat mixes with the scent of her arousal, and if we don't leave in the next five seconds, I’m going to fuck her on this leather couch in front of a crowd of people who are more animal than man right now.
And while I don't mind an audience, I’m not sharing her. Not even visually.
It doesn’t take long to get out.
The transition to the cold night air is jarring. It hits our heated skin, sharp and biting, snapping reality back into focus.
Blair is shaking.
My grip on her arm tightens as we walk to the car. I open the back door instead of the front.
"Get in."
She doesn't argue. She just climbs into the spacious backseat of the Bentley, and I groan when her skirt hikes up her thighs before I follow her inside.
The door slams, locking us in the dark, quiet cocoon of leather and luxury.
