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Without blinking, Kota flips my waistband and begins undoing the knot in the drawstring.

Yeah, I see exactly where this is going. It doesn’t matter. I won’t budge. She’s not coming to my fights.

But I am willing to hear her out.

Blood rushes to my cock as I watch Kota untie my shorts.

“He does not,” I say thickly.

“What a shame.”

“Not really. Dex isn’t exactly my type.”

The shorts fall to my ankles and I step out of them.

“What exactly is your type?”

Kota pushes me backward to the bench, where I’m forced to take a seat.

“You,” I tell her.

Her pants are removed in one smooth motion, then she’s straddling me.

“So does that mean you want me to sit on your cock?”

My nod is slow and deliberate. Fuck yes, I do.

Licking her palm, she takes my cock with it, squeezing the shaft as she strokes up and down.

Jesus.

My eyes fall shut.

“And I get to come to your next fight?” is whispered into my ear.

Eyes open again, I rear back to pin her with them.

“No.”

She releases me and stands, even shimmies out of reach.

“Kota.” I groan as I grasp at air. “You little fucking…”

Her hands go to her hips. Naked hips.

I can barely focus right now. Jesus Christ.

“Say it. Say I can come.”

“You can come on this dick. All you want.”

“I want to come on your dick here—”

“It’s—”

“—after your next win.”

Another groan, this one painful because I can feel myself budging.