Chapter 3

3

Whitney

The next morning, front row seats to the fight are delivered to our apartment door.

They are wrapped in a note that simply says, “Your Maxim.”

“I guess it worked,” Scout muses around her toothbrush. “Not bad for your first seduction, Whit.”

“More like my first anything,” I grumble, rubbing at my tired eyes.

Sleeping last night was a challenge. Not only am I worried about the outcome of the fight tonight, but my body wouldn’t stay still. I wrestled with the sheets until they were bunched between my legs and I was flushed and uncomfortable. Unable to move in a way that achieved the same friction I found on Maxim’s lap.

My heart is restless, too.

So much of my meeting with the MMA fighter was unexpected.

I wasn’t supposed to like kissing him so much.

Wasn’t supposed to forget my mission in his arms.

Wasn’t supposed to find him endearing and honest and sweet.

At least until he referred to my vagina as saleable goods.

Grumbling, I toss the tickets onto the kitchen table and head for the coffee pot.

“We’re going, right?” Scout asks.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Do it out loud,” she suggests.

“Okay.” I stick in a coffee pod and lower the lid, smacking the button for a large. “I want to use the tickets. But I’m also wondering if it would be wiser to stay as far away from the fight as possible. Like maybe I’ll watch from the airport. So I can flee the country if Banner wins.”

“Are you really planning to run?” Scout asks, her toothbrush dropping to her side, her expression distressed but firm. “If you are, I’m coming with you.”

“No. No way. You are the smart one, Scout. You’re finishing college. We need you to design the next space shuttle.” I give my sister a reassuring look. “I won’t run. I was kidding.”

Scout shifts in her socks. “I don’t want to be without you. But I can’t stand the idea of you suffering through marriage to Banner just to stick around for me.”

“If Banner can pay Father’s debts, he can pay your tuition,” I point out. “My acting gigs are barely covering your book expenses. You’re racking up so much student debt. Maybe marrying him will be for the greater good.”

My sister chews her lip. “I put too much pressure on you, Whit. My younger sister should not be hustling to pay my tuition.”

“Like I said, you’re the smart one. It’s going to be worth it.” I go to my sister and wrap her in a hug. “Something good will happen with either outcome. Banner wins, we pay the bills. Banner loses, I’m free and we’ll find another way to make ends meet.” I smile. “Hey. Maybe that audition next week goes well and I finally get that big break.”

“You know I’m pulling for the latter, right?” Scout says, solemnly, pulling back. “I don’t want you trapped in loveless marriage.”

“Of course I know that.”

Scout considers the tickets on the kitchen table. “Anyway, something tells me all this worry is going to be for nothing. You clearly had an effect on Maxim.”

“Nah.” She laughed, ignoring the weight in her throat. “It’s just the blue balls talking.”

Later that night

It was notthe blue balls talking.

Maxim Semenov came roaring out of the tunnel like a demon from hell.

I sit straight up, gaping at the sight of him from the front row.

He’s seething. Gnawing on his mouth guard like a dog chewing shoe leather.

His muscled arms glisten with sweat, his brawny torso heaving in the flashing spotlights.

Banner is already waiting in the octagon and I tear my eyes off Maxim long enough to determine that my wanna-be husband has turned white as a sheet. Maxim’s visible rage has turned the crowd into a roaring, bloodthirsty machine.

They scream and stomp and batter each other’s shoulders, their cheers growing more and more deafening the closer Maxim gets to the octagon.

“Holy shit,” Scout whispers beside me. “Maxim is going to kill him.”

“This can’t be because of me,” I murmur.

“It is. You have a magic vagina.” Scout glances down at her own lap. “You think it’s hereditary?”

We share a laugh and I close my eyes, savoring this moment where my fate hasn’t yet been determined by a fight. Or by two men, rather. My sister and I spent the whole day getting ready, dancing to music that reminded us of growing up. We raided our closets for dresses worthy of front row seats and I wore white to be ironic, since I might have to get married, depending on who wins tonight. Scout is in black, her hair in a riot of mahogany waves, glasses perched on a nose identical to mine.

I open my mouth to tell her again how pretty she looks, but I’m distracted by the sudden approach of several men in black suits and earpieces. If they didn’t look like street fighters themselves, I might wonder if they were secret service.

“What’s going on?” I shout over the noise.

One of them stands directly in front of Scout. “Excuse me, miss. Your presence is being requested in a private box.”

Scout does a double take. “Me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“By who?” I ask, sidling closer to my sister.

“Easton Brawn.”

“What?” we both screech at once.

Easton Brawn is a gangster. He is notorious in this city for his brutality. His utter unscrupulousness. There are whispers that he is the actual devil. He was a murdering, loansharking, racketeering phenom in his twenties and despite all that, he found a way to buy a stake in Ultimate Battle Corporation. It has bought him an air of legitimacy, but everyone knows he’s just as corrupt as ever. What does he want with my Scout?

“No.” I hold on to my sister’s arm. “She’s not going.”

“I’ve been authorized to bring her to the box by any means necessary.”

Scout turns terrified eyes on me. “What does he want with me, Whit?”

“You’re not going to find out.”

The guard listens to his earpiece a moment. “I beg to differ, ma’am.”

The bell chooses that moment to ding in the octagon.

But I pay it no attention, because the guard takes my sister by her elbow and pulls her from the seat. “Hey!” I lunge for her, but another man steps in front of me, this one even larger than the one who is kidnapping Scout. “Get out of my way!”

“Mr. Semenov requests that you remain seated and wait for him.”

This guard belongs to Maxim. Not Easton Brawn?

I shove at his chest. “Well too bad!”

The crowd seems to suck in their collective breath and though I’m terrified for my sister, I have no choice but to glance up at the cage. And there’s Maxim approaching Banner. They circle each other and I catch a glimpse of Maxim’s eyes.

They are laden with fury. Cold, ruthless fury.

Maxim says something to Banner that lifts Banner’s upper lip in a snarl, but his anger comes too late. Maxim attacks Banner with swift vengeance, delivering a neck-snapping right cross to his face, a cracking kick to the ribs, a drop elbow to the back of his neck.

Banner goes down, hitting the mat like a limp noodle.

He doesn’t get up.

Not even thirty seconds has passed.

Maxim looks directly at me and beats his chest, roaring loud enough to rival the crowd.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

I can feel my heart beating between my thighs, my flesh turning slick. I’m going to be claimed. Like, he’s going to claim me. Drag me back to his cave. That shouldn’t turn me on.

Right?

Scout.

My sister is ten feet away now, struggling in the guard’s hold. He turns her at the end of the row and guides her up the stairs. Toward the luxury boxes. And I can see Easton Brawn outlined in one of the rooms, a cigar perched between his lips, his devilish eyes riveted on my sister. What does he want with her? What is going on?

I try to get past Maxim’s guard, but he sidesteps, blocking me. “Scout!”

“Whit!” She shakes her head, calling to me over the riot of noise, chanting, screaming. “I’ll be all right! I’ll call you!”

Her eyes widen at something over my shoulder and I turn, just in time to find Maxim pounding out of the ring with me in his sights. Just like last night, the front of his shorts is tented. This time, however, there are millions of witnesses, including the crowd. And television. Not to mention whoever is filming this with their phones. So like…a billion. And yet, my sex is hot, melting like warm chocolate, tingles racing up and down my body, every inch of me craving his touch. His kiss. “Come to me, Whitney,” Maxim booms.

My legs are shaking.

If I take a step, I’m going to fall.

But I don’t have long to wait before I’m tossed over Maxim’s sweaty shoulder and carried off into the dark tunnel he exited from. Frantically, as the arena starts to disappear in our wake, I search Easton’s box for a sign of my sister and see their side by side silhouettes, but there is nothing I can do for Scout now.

Instinctively, I know there is going to be no speaking to Maxim until he’s had me.

He’s keyed up and shaking with adrenaline.

I am a fighter, kotik. There is an important contest tomorrow. We don’t allow any…spilling beforehand. Depriving oneself creates an edge. An anger.

How long has he gone without relief? Days? Weeks?

Longer?

“Maxim—” My breathing sounds loud in my ears. “How long since you’ve, um…”

He spits his mouthpiece out onto the floor. “Month.”

Oh lord.

“And before that, you—”

“I have not had woman before, kotik. You will be my first and only.” We are almost to the end of the tunnel now. People are jumping out of Maxim’s way, rightfully gaping at the giant carrying the girl over his shoulder. “Usually after fight, I fuck my hand. Several times.”

Jesus.It’s going to be a long night.

I’m nervous. Of course I am. A six-foot-four beast with a month’s worth of frustration is about to take my virginity. But for some reason I’m not scared. For some reason I trust him not to hurt me. Maybe it’s the way my tears turned him soft last night. Or the fact that I slapped him with all my might and he only reacted with mild shock, zero anger. I don’t fully understand my reasons, but I find myself wanting tonight to happen.

Wanting to be the one who relieves him.

Eager to be the one, even.

“I hope you have a lot of c-condoms, then,” I whisper.

Maxim laughs. “No, kotik. I have none.”

I open my mouth to address that shiny piece of information, but we enter a room and I get distracted. From my upside down position, I can see we’re in a physical therapy room full of long, elevated leather-covered tables. The kind athletes sit on while trainers wrap their wrists, ankles. And several of those trainers are still in the room.

“OUT!” Maxim shouts.

The room is empty within ten seconds, the door slammed shut.

My back lands on one of the tables and Maxim climbs on top of me, making the wooden legs creak. There’s no hesitation in him. He’s already shoving down the waistband of his shiny, navy blue shorts, sweaty chest heaving, his eyes black with arousal. “I win fight. Now you open your legs for me, Whitney.”

I’m learning a lot about myself right now.

For instance, it doesn’t matter that I’m fiercely independent or that I’ve attended several marches for women’s rights. Whatever feminine mechanism inside me that is conditioned to submit to the alpha is alive and well and whimpering with lust. He came tonight to win, so he could have me here on this bed afterward. It drove him. And my thighs open automatically, begging for the chance to be his reward.

“Yes, Maxim,” I breathe, pulling down the straps of my dress with shaking hands. Letting his starving eyes feast on my bare breasts. My peaked nipples. “You were amazing tonight, baby. You earned me, didn’t you?”

“Da,” he pants, licking his lips. “Da, Whitney. I keep you now.”

I bite my lip and nod. “I’m your prize.”

For tonight, at least.

Tomorrow I’ll get back to worrying about the whole independence thing.

Sex doesn’t have to mean marriage. Right?

It doesn’t seem to for everyone else.

Maxim sits back a little and drags my dress the rest of the way off, groaning at the flesh he uncovers, my body naked except for a flesh-colored G-string. His lips peel back from his teeth in a growl and he rips it from my body, spitting on my sex angrily. Once, twice. Then he shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, his erection springing free over the waistband.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, trying to scoot away.

It’s huge. It’s huge.

Gripping my knee, he drags me back underneath him. “You will take it.”

“But—”

“I win fight.” Maxim reaches down and guides his enormous shaft through my folds, grunting when he reaches my entrance, frowning as if confused. “You are very small, kotik. This will make you cry?” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I wouldn’t like that.”

A second ago, I was trying to get away.

Now I have an opposing impulse. I want to encourage him.

“Just try and go slow,” I whisper, trailing my fingertips down his cheeks. “Okay?”

“Yes, Whitney.” He urges the round, smooth head of his erection inside of me, then drops his weight to mine. Pinning me, burying his face in my neck. His tape-wrapped hands close around my knees and push them up, back, toward my shoulders and then he slowly sinks home. Slow, yes, but it’s a dogged invasion. He refuses to stop when he hits resistance. He pushes through the barrier of my virginity with a guttural sound, bouncing his hips a little to stretch me, his breath turning to wheezes in my ear. “Oh kotik, is so tight.”

I am astounded by the lack of pain.

Maybe because I was so wet beforehand.

Or maybe because my attraction to Maxim, my eagerness to feel the pleasure I almost reached last night, is overriding everything else. But there’s only a twinge of discomfort.

And then he starts to rock, violent shudders wracking his frame.

A moan breaks from my mouth.

Fire races over my skin. A tickle forms between my thighs.

His sex is reaching a sensitive, undiscovered place inside of me, while simultaneously pressing down on my clit. Teasing it up and back, side to side. “What are you…what is…” I say, making no sense. “Yes.”

“I fuck hard now?” he groans.

“Yes!”

Maxim snarls into action, pumping into me with crude slaps of flesh.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Feels so good,” he grinds out, his warrior’s body rocking the table beneath us, his mouth moving from my ear to my neck to my throat, sucking every inch of skin that arrives in his path. “Ah, kotik. Am I hurting your little pussy?”

“I love it,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes flash with lust. “You like my cock.”

“Yes.”

An exhale rushes out of him. “I’ve been keeping it for you. I have shown to no one.” He grinds into me, presses his forehead down on mine. “Now you will take good care of it.”

I nod. I’m overcome by the overall effect of him as he bucks within me. His flexing shoulders, the sculpted contours of his back. His fighting shorts are halfway down his buttocks and those thick, round slabs hump up and down eagerly, claiming his prize. And my hands travel there and grip, grip his thrusting ass and marvel at his sheer strength.

There’s something happening inside me. A ship has found its moor.

I’ve been taking care of everyone in my life for so long, making sure my father doesn’t gamble away the grocery money, helping Scout pay for classes and books…

I’m always the one who handles things.

And right now, I don’t have to handle a single thing.

I can just be taken. I can be owned.

This man made sure my problem was solved tonight. He just took care of it. And while I don’t ever want to be helpless or completely dependent on someone else…

I like the idea of being totally helpless while he’s inside me.

I like the idea of him being one hundred percent in charge. The man in my life.

My caretaker.

My breath is loud in my ears. “I’ve been keeping myself for you, too, Daddy.”

A sound catches in Maxim’s throat, his driving body slowing down. “Call me that again.”

Heat teases me cheeks. “Daddy.”

That colossal chest heaves, his sex swelling and pulsing inside of me. “You will call me this from now on, Whitney.”

A balm spreads in my chest. “Okay.”

With renewed vigor, Maxim fires back into motion, heightened possessiveness in his eyes. “I told him. I told him in the octagon.” He throws my legs over his shoulders, snaps his teeth at my ankles. Bares down and fucks me brutally. “If he ever thinks about my little Whitney again, I will break his neck. I will murder him with my bare hands.”

“I’m yours,” I sob, a pleasure cord being stroked faster and faster inside of me.

My admission seems to snap something inside of him, send him into a frenzy. “Now I have to come in my little kotik. No condom. Month’s worth of come would break it, anyway.” He folds me in half and pumps in a blur, his features pulled back in a mask of pain. “Hurts badly, Whitney.”

It’s his honesty, his desperation that pluck that final note and my muscles seize suddenly, spine curving, thighs clenching, my sex wrapping tightly around his shaft in quick, wet pulses. And I scream, tears rolling down my temples. Maxim bellows at the sight of my pleasure and scoops into me with one final thrust, flattening me to the table as he ejaculates, his hips squeezing against mine, pain and pleasure seeming to flow through him in equal measure. He chants my name into my neck and floods my womanhood, overflows it and starts to pump again, harder, as if another reserve of his seed has just been discovered.

“More is more is more,” he says raggedly, sitting back and flipping me over onto my stomach. Groaning. “My come drips out of your tiny pussy. It can’t fit more.” He runs a rough finger down the seam of my sex. “You will get it anyway.”

His still-erect shaft spears into me from behind and I’m pinned face down to the table. I didn’t think he could take me harder than before, but I was wrong. My hair is wrapped around his taped fighter’s fist and I’m mastered. I’m molded into the shape of him. It’s rough and almost violent, his sweat landing on my back, his animalistic grunts filling the room. Flesh hits flesh reminding me of the way his fist landed on the punching bag. Repeatedly. Hungrily.

And I love it.

I love this frenzied attack.

How I can’t do anything about it.

How people are outside this room, probably listening, well aware that a girl has been brought to this place to give the master of the universe some relief after his victory, her body his sacrifice. Sensation coils inside me as I stare at the table where it rams into the wall.

“Harder, Daddy,” I choke out, the whirlpool picking up speed beneath my belly button.

Maxim’s length jerks inside of me and he groans, his hips slapping harder against my buttocks. “You will give Daddy babies. You will give me everything.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His second release spurts into me, hotter than the first, seemingly pulled from deep inside of him. With every drop that he gives me, his roar grows louder. His spend brims my sex and scalds the insides of my thighs, pooling on the table and finally, finally, the fighter collapses on me, more exerted than he was after the fight.

“Now I take you home and I never let you leave.”

I giggle dazedly into the table at his declaration.

But the sound fades when I realize…he’s one hundred percent serious.