“It doesn’t matter,” I rasp.
I wrap my arms around her waist, burying my hands in the fabric of her dress. I pull her off her feet, crushing her against my chest. I don’t care that I’m getting blood on her expensive clothes. I don’t care that cameras are flashing like a strobe light storm around us.
I kiss her.
It’s not a polite, celebratory peck. I devour her. I kiss her hard, claiming her mouth, pouring all the violence and adrenaline of the last hour into her. She tastes like champagne and relief. She tastes likemine.
She makes a small, desperate sound against my lips and clings to my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Mine,” I growl against her mouth. “You’re mine, Tilly.”
“I know,” she breathes. “I’m yours.”
The crowd goes absolutely feral. Somewhere to my left, I hear Charlotte screaming: “YES! GET HIM, TILLY!”
I break the kiss, breathless, resting my forehead against hers. I need to get her out of here. I need to get her alone. Now.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“But the reporters,” she stammers, glancing at the wall of media closing in on us. “The ceremony, the belts—Dana will kill you?—”
“Screw the belts. Reign can carry them. And Dana can bill me.”
I don’t give her a chance to argue. I bend down, hook my arm behind her knees, and hoist her up over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Tilly squeaks, grabbing the back of my trunks for balance. “Ben! Put me down! You can’t just carry me out of here! People are watching!”
“Let them watch.” I slap her ass—a sound that gets picked up by a nearby boom mic, earning a roar of laughter from the crowd. “I’m the champ. And I’m retired.”
I turn and start marching toward the tunnel, cutting a path through the stunned crowd.
“Make a hole!” Koda bellows from somewhere ahead of me, clearing the way like a bulldozer. “Let the man through! He’s got a date!”
Reporters shout questions at my back.
“Ben, when’s the wedding?”
“Is she pregnant?”
I ignore all of it. Instead, I walk into the tunnel, leaving the noise, the lights, and my old life behind me without a single backward glance.
* * *
I kick open the door to the locker hard enough to splinter the wood near the jamb.
I carry Tilly through the threshold, my arm clamped around her legs, and kick the door shut behind us. The deadbolt twists under my fingers with a sharp click, sealing us in.
I slide her down my body until her heels hit the tiled floor, backing her up until her spine collides with the row of gray metal lockers. I step in close, caging her there, my body pressing her back against the cold steel.
She gasps, her chest heaving against mine. Her pupils are blown wide. She looks at the sweat dripping from my jaw, the raw, unhinged hunger in my eyes, and her breath hitches.
She’s looking at me like I’m a predator. And she wants to be eaten.
I hold up my gloved hands, keeping them away from her dress.
I bring my wrists to my mouth, tearing at the red tape with my teeth.
Tilly’s small hands fly to the knots, her fingernails digging into the tight binding while I loom over her, vibrating with the need to touch her skin.
