Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Cedric

The roar of the crowd pulses through my veins like a second heartbeat. I'm Big Ced, the man mountain, the king of the ring. Wrapped in my usual pre-fight ritual, muscles coiled and ready to spring, that's when I see her .

My world comes to a halt.

A little blonde bombshell sitting ringside, her bright green eyes shining like beacons in the sea of faces. She looks sweet and innocent and so motherfucking delectable I feel my cock instantly harden.

Of course, it probably doesn't help that part of my regimen before a fight is to abstain from all sexual activity. No jacking off, nothing. My trainer claims all that extra pent-up testosterone makes me more of a beast in the ring.

Maybe he's right, but I don't give a fuck because if I had her , there'd be nothing in this world that could stop me busting nuts left and right in her sweet pussy.

She doesn't know it yet, but she's about to become the center of my world.

I don't know who she is. Don't even know her name. But hell, do I want to. There's something about her—maybe it's the way she bites her lip or the gentle curve of her smile—that reels me in hook, line, and sinker. She's got this innocent look about her, like she doesn't belong in this den of sweat and fury. Yet here she is, and damn if I can take my eyes off her.

"Focus, Cedric," I mutter to myself, cracking my neck from side to side. My gaze locks onto hers for a fleeting moment, and something ignites within me. It's like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.

She's why I'm throwing punches tonight. She's who I'm fighting for.

The bell rings, and I step into the spotlight, every inch of me a weapon honed for combat. But all I see is her. Each jab I land, every slam that shakes the ring—it's all for her. The crowd is wild, chanting my name, but I'm in a world of my own, where it's just me and the little blonde with the tempting lips.

Sweat drips down my brow as I dodge and weave, feeling like a goddamn hero in some epic tale. And then, there it is—the knockout blow.

My opponent crumbles to the mat, and the referee lifts my arm high. Victory never tasted so sweet. I've won fights before, plenty of them, but none like this. This one's special because she witnessed it.

The moment's mine, and I'm ready to claim my prize. I turn to the crowd, chest heaving, searching for those eyes that set my blood on fire. I'm gonna pull her into the ring, make her part of my world. But when I look to where she was sitting, craving the sight of her clapping, cheering, my heart sinks.

She's gone.

"Where did you go, sweetheart?" I whisper to myself, scanning the sea of people.

But it's no use. She's vanished like a dream upon waking, leaving me with nothing but the echo of her presence and a fierce need to find her.

I'm damn near in a panic as I rush from the ring. I'm on the hunt, and nothing will stop me from my reaching my prey.

I'm prowling through the crowd now, my eyes darting from face to face, heart pounding out a desperate rhythm. She's got to be here somewhere, that angel in human form who just turned my world upside down. But she's a ghost, slipped away into the night and left me aching.

"Hey, you seen the blonde?" I bark at my manager, who's already scrolling through his phone, probably checking stats or some shit.

"Huh?" He lifts his gaze, clueless. "What blonde?"

"The one who was sitting ringside! With the green-eyed stare that just about knocked me out harder than—" I cut myself off, frustration boiling over. This isn't about the fight anymore.

"Man, I don't know your girl." He shrugs, dismissive. "But her friend—" He taps his screen, and suddenly there's hope, a lead. "This chick, she was with her."

I grab the phone from his hand, my fingers trembling. There's a photo of two women smiling, carefree and beautiful. Not my mysterious blonde, but it's a start. I memorize the name on the profile and hand the phone back.

"Thanks," I mutter, already halfway to the locker room where privacy and Wi-Fi await.

Slumped against a cold metal locker, I fire up my own account and dive headlong into the digital rabbit hole. Her friend's profile leads me straight to her—Judy.

Judy.

Even her name's a caress. I devour every post, each picture more intoxicating than the last. There she is, laughing, her hair like a golden waterfall. Flipping pancakes at some diner, cute as hell in a retro apron. Painting, her cheeks flecked with color, concentration etched into her lovely features.

My body reacts, hard and insistent, and I'm past caring about decency or restraint. The fire she lit in me roars to life, demanding release.

I free my cock, rough and ready, and I'm stroking myself to the rhythm of her smile, the curve of her waist.

Judy .

My grip tightens as fantasies dance behind my eyelids, her soft moans filling my ears, her body writhing beneath mine. I imagine the taste of her skin, sweet and addictive, as I work myself faster, chasing the edge.

"Fuck, Judy," I gasp out, her image seared into my mind. Pleasure spirals, heat coiling tighter, and then I'm there—a shuddering, groaning mess, coming undone at the thought of a woman I've never even spoken to.

Panting, spent, I lean back, the afterglow bitter and hollow. I've had my moment of stolen bliss, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough until I have the real thing.

"Dammit," I whisper into the empty room. "I'm gonna find you, Judy."