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