But even in the chaos, I knew.
When we hit the floor, Cal’s hand shot out. He cupped the back of my head. He twisted his body so he took the brunt of the impact on the concrete, his shoulder hitting the ground first, shielding my left shoulder completely. It was subtle. Invisible to the fans. But I felt it.
He’s got me.
Security swarmed us. Refs pulled at our arms.
“Get off him!”
“Break it up!”
We were separated, chests heaving, screaming at each other across the barrier of security guards. Cal’s suit was ruined, his shirt torn open, buttons missing. He wiped a smudge of blood from his lip, my blood, and grinned. It was a wild, manic grin. He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. He looked at me like he wanted to fuck me right there on the concrete.
And God help me, the violence was the biggest turn on I had felt in my entire life.
The locker room was buzzing. The adrenaline was a drug, coursing through my veins, masking the pain in my shoulder and the bruising on my back.
I was sitting on a bench, icing my knee. My phone buzzed in my bag.
You got blood on me.
I snorted, the sound echoing in the locker room.
Not like it was the first time. Besides, you liked it.
I liked watching you be ruthless and cocky. But I hated watching you on that table. You looked… exposed.
Yeah? Well, I liked being on top of you.
I looked across the room. Cal was doing a post-show interview near the lockers, holding the title belt, looking serious and professional as he answered questions about my “disrespectful” promo. But I could see the flush on his neck.
I smirked. I typed quickly.
Correction. I liked looking down at you. Not being on top. But honestly? I’m sitting here leaking thinking about how heavy you felt when you rolled me over.
Cal’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, but his hand clenched into a fist at his side.
You look so professional right now, Cal. It’s making me crazy. I want you to drag me into the shower stall and remind me who’s bigger.
Cal paused mid-sentence. His eyes flickered toward me. He cleared his throat.
You know what I want? I want you to pin me down and use me until I can’t walk to the car.
Cal’s composure cracked. He cut the interview short, muttering a thank you, and walked away quickly. He pulled his phone out as he turned the corner.
Get to the car. Now. Before I fuck you right here in front of the entire roster.
We made it to the rental car in record time. The tension was palpable.
But the second the car door slammed shut, the high began to fade.
The silence of the car wasn’t sexy. It was heavy. My adrenaline crashed, leaving behind a cold, aching void. My shoulder started to throb, a deep, sickening pulse that radiated down to my fingers.
Steel grate.
The impact.
Rico’s face.
