It had been far too long since she had tasted victory in battle—a taste that all Mercs craved. And yet, there was something about this victory that left her wondering if it was really even a victory at all.
If anything, she felt as though she had fallen into a trap.
She was on her knees in the middle of the octagon, surrounded on all sides by black chain-link, and beyond that the wide, mirrored space ofthe Allura’sworkout room. She was naked, save for two padded combat gloves, canvas wraps on her ankles and wrists, and a pair of wet panties. Her skin was sheathed in perspiration. It rolled down her body in fat, oily beads, and dripped on the face of the gorgeous man smiling up at her from between her open legs.
She didn’t know whether to crush that face between the muscles of her thighs, or ride it until she got the release her body so desperately needed. How the hell had the man gotten under her skin so quickly?
“I hate you,” Fairchild whispered to her fallen opponent.
The smile between her legs didn’t waver. If anything, it grew brighter.
“I can work with that,” Nash said.
Before Fairchild could think of a reply, she was startled by a slow clap coming from the far side of the room. The sound was sounexpected, it damn near made her jump right out of her skin. She turned to see who was there.
It was Reece. The team leader was standing in the entrance of the workout room, leaning casually against the doorframe, clapping. Dutton was right behind him, arms folded, face like stone.
How had she not noticed them standing there before?
She’d been too focused on her fight with Nash, that’s how. Too focused onwinning.
Fairchild fought the urge to cover herself. Her sports bra was lying on the mat a few feet away. She desperately wanted to grab it and pull it on, but she knew she mustn’t do that. On Calyxia, such modesty could prove deadly. She needed to break herself of the habit before they arrived. She needed to let them look.
It wasn’t her body she wanted to hide, but her arousal. The tips of her breasts were pebble-hard and aching with desire. The kiss she and Nash had shared up against the side of the cage was still coursing through her. The memory of it still burned on her lips, just as the memory of his hardened manhood still lingered between her legs. The wetness soaking her panties was more than mere sweat.
Reece pushed away from the door and strolled toward the cage. Dutton followed right behind him, silent as ever.
“So tell me,” said Reece. “Is it customary for you to fight in the nude?”
The words were like a match across a strike strip in her chest. Defiance flared inside her, hot and hissing.
“First,” she said. “I’m not technically nude. Second, it was Nash’s idea.”
Reece was standing right outside the cage now, his fingers hooked through the chain-link mesh. He flashed her a deadly-looking grin.
“Yes,” he said. “I imagine it probably was.”
With one quick motion, Reece yanked himself up to the top of the cage wall, and swung his legs over. He landed inside with a soft thud that belied his considerable mass.
Dutton came after him, and his entry into the cage was even more graceful. The quiet Merc sprang up and grabbed ahold of the top of the cage, straightening his body into a perfect handstand. He turned himself in a quick one-eighty, then swung back down again. His feet made no sound as they touched down. None that Fairchild could hear, at least, even with her augmetic enhancements.
Her heart raced faster. She was now closed inside a cage with not one, but three massive males. One of them was already fully aroused, and a quick glance at the others’ pants revealed they weren’t exactly “at ease,” to put it mildly.
Reece gestured toward Fairchild, and the body of his comrade sprawled beneath her.
“What exactly are the rules here?”
It was Nash who answered, and when he spoke, Fairchild could feel his breath ghosting against the most sensitive parts of her anatomy. The sensation raised goosebumps all over her skin.
“Each time a fighter goes down,” Nash said. “He has to take off an article of clothing—not counting wraps and gloves, of course.”
“Of course,” said Reece, casually surveying the scene. “And what happens when someone runs out of clothes?”
“They lose,” Nash answered, tickling Fairchild with his breath again. “The winner gets to tie them up and do whatever they want.”
Reece chuckled deep in his chest.
“Well,” he said, “unless you’re wearing a cock ring under those drawers, I’d say you’re the loser, Nash. I just hope Fairchild goes easy on you.”
