The air in the room is cold on my skin as Alec flips my dress up over my hips and peels my panties down, lifting my feet to remove them.
I almost forget about the fight, with my eyes closed and his hands sliding up my legs, but I remember in time to open them and see the headliners enter the ring.
My quick inhale of breath has nothing to do with Alec’s fingers, sliding over my drenched core, and everything to do with the fighter who steps forward, head held high.
It’s Ashton.
I had a suspicion he’d be the one fighting tonight. But seeing it is something different entirely.
The crowd roars as he steps into the ring, raising his hands above his head and grinning at them like a star. On the other side of the ring, his opponent scowls, lip curling at the showboating, but Ashton clearly couldn’t care less. This is his arena, his dominion.
I swear his eyes land on our private box, and he grins even more.
Seeing him makes me shift back more against Alec’s hand, searching for friction, because Ashton?
Ashton is beautiful.
Wearing just a pair of fighting shorts, he looks like he’s been sculpted for just this moment. He stretches, pulling at his wrists to stretch out his arms and shoulders, and shaking his limbs out, hopping from foot to foot.
Alec’s hand disappears briefly, and when it returns, he’s pressing his cock against me, sliding it through my drenched pussy.
“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, breathless.
I shake my head violently, eyes glued to the fight.
Alec makes a sound like a laugh in answer. “Hold on tight,” he advises, gripping my hip in one hand and positioning himself with the other.
The bell rings the exact moment Alec thrusts inside me. My scream is lost in the deafening noise from the crowd as the fight begins.
Alec was right. The other fighters were nothing, nothing at all, compared to this.
Ashton moves like a jaguar, all toned rippling muscle and grace as he circles his opponent. He’s patient, calm, moving on the balls of his feet as he waits for the first strike.
Buried to the hilt inside me, Alec waits too, fingers digging into my hips through the fabric of my dress.
The first punch is a doozy, coming at Ash so quickly I can barely see it. But he does. He darts to the side, easily avoiding it, and answers with a hit that lands squarely on his opponent’s jaw.
Alec leans his whole body over me, hands grasping mine on the rail, and gives a derisive snort.
“He doesn’t stand a chance,” he tells me. “Not against Ashton, not tonight. Watch him, darling. He was made for this.”
I clench around him, his cock buried inside me, and am rewarded with a low groan.
It’s easy to see what Alec means. Ashton’s opponent is a top-notch fighter, maybe one of the best. But Ashton? Every move he makes is like water: fluid and precise. He dances around the ring, every hit, every dodge, done with an unfathomable grace.
It’s a pleasure to watch him fight.
By the end of the first round, Ashton has only taken a single hit. He looks fresh as a daisy.
His opponent is already swaying on his feet, one eye so swollen it’s practically shut.
And I’m not much better.
Alec refuses to move, and I’m writhing against him, trying to shift my hips enough to make him fuck me. It’s a terrible torture, having him so still inside me.
“Please, Alec,” I beg. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and rock back against him, but his body is so hard against mine, so immobile, it doesn’t accomplish anything but frustrating me further. I let my head fall forward, groaning.
“Please what?” Alec asks, sounding impossibly calm. His cock twitches inside me, and I moan shamelessly, trying to arch against him. “Tell me what you need, darling. Use your words.”
