Page 28 of The Masks We Burn

I know now, sober from his presence, sex is not the best idea, but fuck if he didn’t turn my body into a hot pile of mush. I was so wet when I left his room, my panties had to be discarded in a trash bin because they were so uncomfortable.

I’m going to have to call one of the guys in my rotation or else I’m not going to make it around him much longer.

Just as they finish cleaning the area, the announcer in a black suit climbs into the metal fencing. The chatter of the crowd dies down as he lifts a hand, the other holding a microphone, letting his voice echo through the stands. “And for our last preliminary match, we have a newcomer in our midst. Coming in at six-four, two hundred and twenty pounds, we have William Cassidyyyyyyyyy.”

Like the other fights, the pompous asshats don’t cheer or scream but ratheroohandahh, tapping on their phone to enter bets on some app. Before I can roll my eyes, I catch William coming from the back and around to the side of the cage.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt, and I immediately regret not having on any panties. A heavy feeling settles low in my belly, and I have to squeeze my legs together as I let my eyes rove over the rare sight.

The man is literally a walking picture of a Chippendales stripper. Under his broad chest, muscles stack on top of each other both in the front, and on the sides over his ribs. His arms and legs are equally defined, and I really start to wonder what his flaws are. I mean, even I can admit I’ll have to find some soon if I want to keep thisengagementpurely platonic.

As if he followed my dirty thoughts straight to my seat, his eyes find me.

My breath catches when he winks and turns, stepping inside the ring. The butterflies inked on his arm might as well be in my stomach, flapping around like a hurricane is coming, because the anxiety is doing a number on me now. My toes wiggle in my shoes as I keep my eyes on him, tracing over the veins visible through his bicep.

Floor seats have their advantages.

I try to remember the reasons why I shouldn’t let him fuck me six ways to Sunday but right now, I can’t quite think straight.

The announcer calls another name, but I don’t notice the opponent as I’m too focused on watching Will bounce on his feet, a grin on his face. It’s stupidly delicious and causes my nerves to tingle all through my body.

Never in my life have I wanted to sit on someone’s face so fucking bad, and my pussy agrees as it clenches around nothing.

The announcer yells something else, and a woman I hadn’t noticed before wearing nothing more than floss, walks across the ring, carrying a sign with the number one. My eyes track her exit, a strange sting of annoyance prickling the back of my neck, and before I realize it, the fight starts, and the boys waste no time running at each other. I finally let my eyes snap to the lean ass monster on the opposite side of the octagon, who does a weird flippy thing. It forces William to sidestep so the man’s foot doesn’t connect. They both put some space between each other, but not for long as the man twists again, his leg barely missing William. And then, it happens again, and again. It’s as though we are staring at an intricate dance, only instead of working together, they want to pummel the other.

My heart starts working overtime, increasing the sweat beading on my brow to a disgusting degree as the opponent moves quickly. He kicks his foot out faster than William can move and hits him in his upper thigh.

But before the guy’s leg is down, Will’s fist connects with his opponent’s ribs and the crack is audible. He falls down immediately and William is on top of him in the blink of an eye, landing hit after hit until the referee separates them.

Holy shit.

My blood hammers through my body, the loud pulsing in my ear diluting the oohs echoing through the stands. A hushed curse word is hissed behind me, and I’m more than positive it’s because the majority of the people here bet against William. Number one, he’s a new guy going against… I check the app and see Antonio Johnson. Johnson is a six and oh champ and atrainedMMA fighter. And from what I’ve gathered, boxing techniques don’t stand a chance against martial arts.

But William defied the odds.

I try not to think about how utterly fucking sexy that is, nor the way my chest swells with pride, and instead focus on him in the middle of the octagon. The referee lifts Will’s arm as he announces his win and lets both the fighters exit. Unlike what you see on television, everything is orderly and reserved, while a low murmur radiates through the stands.

When he makes his exit, my pulse begins returning to normal, and I contemplate meeting him in his room—I do owe him a truce, after all. But I know better than to let my raging hormones take me up there. He’s got me feeling like a fucking prepubescent teen who is about to risk it all to climb on top of him.

I try to focus on the ass part of him. Not the literal dump truck he has on his back, but the reason I can’t stand him in the first place. Juvenile as it may seem, replaying the night helps ground me, keeping me from making the mistake as I excuse myself from the arena.

As soon as I make it to the exit doors, the announcer from before introduces the main fight, and the cheers are much louder this time. I vaguely hear the name Fluern, and his height of six-five. Before I can turn around to look at the giant, my clutch vibrates in my hand.

Stepping into the hall, I pluck out my phone. “Hello.”

“Did you see me win, bunny?”

Rolling my eyes, I walk to the elevator, goosebumps sprouting along my arm at how deep his voice is through the phone. “Nope. Must have missed it.”

He chuckles, bringing my attention back to the fact I no longer have panties on. “I’m sure. But hey, due to club rules or whatever, I had to Uber here. Can I ride back to the Square with you?”

“What makes you think I didn’t have plans after this?”

“The way you were staring at me in the ring,” he pauses, and I shift in my heels, suddenly realizing how quiet and secluded I am down the hall. It makes the fine hairs on my neck stand at attention, an odd mix of anticipation and arousal tangle low in my abdomen as I wait for him to finish, “I’m pretty sure you’d cancel any and all plans to drive me home.”

“Okay, I see you’re getting a little too big for your britches. A tad bit too comfortable. Let me remind you who the fu—”

“You said if I won, we’d stop fightin’.”

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