Chapter 31 Victor
VICTOR
The announcer’s voice booms across the warehouse as Jenkins and Alvarez circle each other in the ring. I should be watching every move, analyzing their form, tracking the patterns that’ll make or break their careers. Instead, my eyes keep drifting to the VIP section.
Theo throws his head back, laughing at something Julian said. The sound doesn’t reach me over the crowd’s roar, but I can picture it clearly—that deep, genuine laugh that vibrates through his chest when something truly amuses him.
I grip the edge of the barricade, knuckles white. This jealousy churning in my gut is fucking irrational. Julian Frost is completely devoted to Elliot, who’s sitting on his other side, nursing what looks like a whiskey. I know this. I’ve seen them together countless times at Purgatory events.
Hell, I’ve seen all three of them fucking during the Hunt—Julian buried deep inside Elliot while Theo took Elliot from behind. The memory floors me, making my cock twitch despite the inappropriate setting.
What if that’s what Theo wants? Someone who’ll claim him publicly, who doesn’t hide what they are together. Someone like Julian, who walks into rooms with Elliot at his side, his hand possessively at the small of Elliot’s back.
“Left hook coming,” Marco mutters beside me, and I force my attention back to the ring.
Alvarez telegraphs the move exactly as Marco predicted, and Jenkins slips it easily, countering with a right cross that connects with Alvarez’s jaw.
“Good,” I say automatically, but my eyes are already drifting back to Theo.
Julian leans close to him, whispering something that makes Theo nod thoughtfully. Julian’s hand briefly touches Theo’s shoulder—casual, friendly, meaningless. It shouldn’t bother me. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve done to Theo’s body, the ways I’ve made him scream.
Yet here I am, imagining grabbing Julian’s expensive silk tie and yanking him face-first into the concrete floor.
“You okay, boss?” Marco asks, giving me a side-eye. “You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, straightening my shoulders and refocusing on the ring where Jenkins is finishing off Alvarez. “Just thinking about strategy for Rivera’s match.”
The crowd erupts as Jenkins lands the final blow, and Alvarez drops to the canvas. I applaud mechanically, nodding to Jenkins as the referee raises his arm.
Jonah’s already on his feet, scribbling in his notebook so fast I can’t read what he’s writing.
He doesn’t look up. “Two things I want to flag before Rivera goes in,” he says.
“Watch his right—he’s drifting wider than he was last week.
” I trust the notebook more than I trust my own eyes most nights. “Hit me.”
Twenty minutes later, Micah Rivera stands in his corner, eyes locked on mine while I’m supposed to be giving him final instructions. The kid’s our rising star—lightning-fast with knockout power in both hands.
“Boss, you with me?” Micah’s voice cuts through my distraction.
I blink, realizing I’ve been talking on autopilot while my gaze drifted to Theo again.
“Your left hook’s telegraphing,” I say, forcing myself to focus. “Keep your elbow tight, don’t wind up. And watch his right counter when you press forward.”
Micah nods, but there’s something in his eyes—he knows I’m not fully present. The bell rings, and he touches gloves with his opponent, a stocky fighter from Dawson’s gym with a reputation for dirty tactics.
During the first round break, Micah comes to the corner breathing hard but controlled.
“He’s dropping his right when he jabs,” I tell him, sponging water over his head. My eyes betray me, flickering to Theo in the VIP section.
“Coach.” Micah grips my wrist, pulling my attention back. “I got this. Don’t worry.”
There’s understanding in his voice that makes my stomach twist. The kid thinks I’m worried about him losing. If only that were the problem.
In the second round, Micah fights with a ferocity I’ve never seen from him. He’s usually calculated, methodical. Tonight, he’s a hurricane, pressing forward relentlessly, landing combinations that have his opponent stumbling backward.
When the knockout comes—a well-timed uppercut that snaps his opponent’s head back—the warehouse explodes with cheers. Marco slaps my back so hard I almost stumble.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” he shouts. “Kid’s a fucking beast!”
I nod, scanning the crowd’s reaction, but my eyes lock on Theo, who’s watching me instead of the ring. The roar of the audience, Micah’s victory dance, Marco’s excited commentary—it all fades to static.
After the final fight, I stand near the makeshift bar as investors circulate through the warehouse. My fighters performed well tonight—five wins, only one loss. I should be working the crowd, capitalizing on our success, but I can’t tear my eyes from Theo.
He moves through the room with effortless grace, commanding attention without demanding it. The CEO of Altitude Sports, a potential investor I’ve been chasing for months, laughs at something Theo says, clapping him on the shoulder like they’re old friends.
Cruz nudges my elbow before Marco even speaks. “He’s been watching you the whole fight, boss.” Cruz has a way of seeing the room a beat before everyone else. He goes back to his beer like he hasn’t said anything.
“That nightclub owner’s got game,” Marco comments, following my gaze. “Maybe we should hire him for PR.”
I grunt noncommittally, watching as Theo shifts to another group. Three investors I introduced him to earlier are hanging on his every word. One of them—Harris, I think—passes Theo a business card that disappears into his suit pocket with a practiced motion.
“I’m heading out,” I tell Marco. “Lock up when you’re done.”
Outside, the night air hits my face, cooling the heat of jealousy burning under my skin. I scan the parking lot and spot Theo walking toward his car, parked down the alley behind the warehouse.
I follow, my footsteps echoing against brick walls. Theo turns at the sound, expression unreadable in the shadows.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“Thought you were busy with your fighters.” He unlocks his car but doesn’t open the door.
I close the distance between us, backing him against the sleek black paint of his Audi. “You’re good with those investors.”
“Just business.” His breath hitches when my hand finds his hip.
“Is that what you were doing with Julian too? Business?”
His eyes flash. “Fuck you, Victor.”
I spin him around, pressing him face-down against the hood. “That what you want, wildfire?”
He pushes back against me, and I feel him hardening through his expensive suit. “Someone might see,” he whispers, but his hands are already fumbling with his belt.
I look around—the alley is dark, hidden from the main parking lot. The risk only heightens my arousal as I yank his pants down just enough. He’s not wearing underwear.
“My fucking slut,” I growl, spitting into my palm. “You came ready for this.”
“Always ready for you,” he gasps as my fingers push inside him.
I work my fingers deeper into Theo’s tight heat, watching his back arch against his car hood. The expensive fabric of his Tom Ford suit contrasts with how fucking filthy this is—taking him in an alley where anyone could walk by.
“Someone could see us,” I growl into his ear, but I don’t stop. My fingers curl inside him, finding that spot that makes his breath hitch. “See me fucking you out here like I own you.”
“You do,” he gasps, pushing back against my hand.
My free hand fumbles with my zipper, pulling my cock out. I’m already rock hard, leaking pre-cum. Usually, the thought of being caught like this would terrify me. Tonight, it’s making my blood burn hotter.
“Missed this,” I mutter, withdrawing my fingers and pressing the head of my cock against his entrance. “Thought about it every fucking night.”
I push in with one rough thrust, and he bites back a moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth car hood.
“That’s it, baby. Take all of me.”
The risk of someone walking down the alley, of someone from the fight seeing us—it’s turning me into something feral. I set a ruthless pace, one hand gripping his hip, the other pressed between his shoulder blades.
“Missed your tight ass clenching around my cock,” I pant, driving deeper. “Missed how you take everything I give you.”
A distant laugh from the parking lot makes me freeze for half a second before I resume with even greater intensity.
“Tell me you missed this,” I demand, reaching around to grip his cock. It’s hard and wet in my palm. “Tell me you missed being filled.”
“Fuck—Daddy—yes.” His voice breaks as I stroke him in time with my thrusts.
“Nobody sees this part of you but me,” I growl, surprised by the possessiveness in my voice. “This pretty cock, the way you sound when I’m inside you—it’s mine.”
I’m slamming into Theo with an urgency I can’t control, my hips snapping forward while he moans against the hood of his Audi. The sounds he makes drive me wild—those little gasps when I hit just right, the way he whispers “Daddy” knowing what it does to me.
“Going to fill you up,” I promise, tightening my grip on his hip. “Mark you from the inside.”
He pushes back against me, taking me deeper. “Do it, Victor. Fucking do it.”
My rhythm falters as I get closer, the pressure building at the base of my spine. Theo’s ass clenches around me, drawing me in, making me forget everything—my fighters, my gym, my carefully constructed image—all of it disappears except for this, for him.
Suddenly, a bright light washes over us.
Headlights sweep across the alley as a car turns into the lot, illuminating us completely for one heart-stopping second.
I freeze mid-thrust, still buried deep inside Theo. My blood turns to ice, panic closing my throat. Everything I’ve built could crumble in this single moment of exposure.
The car continues past without slowing, turning toward the far end of the parking lot.
Black SUV. Tinted windows. The kind of car that fits a hundred guys at a fight night.
The brake lights flare red as it backs into a space at the far end. I can’t see the driver. I can’t see the plates. I might be making things up.
I might not be.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my blood rushing in my ears. “We should stop.”
But even as I say it, I’m already moving again, unable to pull away from him. My hips betray me, resuming their rhythm with even greater urgency.
“We should,” Theo agrees, his voice ragged. “But you won’t.”
He’s right. I can’t. I’m terrified of being discovered, of what it would mean for my reputation, my business—but I’m more afraid of losing this, losing him. The fear mixes with arousal, creating something overwhelming.
I’m addicted to him—to his body, his mouth, the way he takes me. To the defiance in his eyes when he challenges me, and the surrender when I break him down.
I grip his hips hard enough to bruise, my control snapping completely. “I’m gonna come inside you,” I grunt, driving into him with savage thrusts. “Fill you up with my cum.”
“Do it, Daddy,” Theo gasps. “Fucking breed me.”
His words push me over the edge. My entire body tenses as I slam in deep one final time, holding myself there as I empty inside him. Pleasure explodes through me, so intense my knees nearly buckle as I pump him full, marking him from within.
For a few seconds, I stay there, panting, still buried in his heat. Reality crashes back slowly—the cold night air on my sweat-dampened skin, the distant sounds of cars, the brick walls of the alley. Of my gym’s warehouse less than fifty yards away.
Jesus Christ. What am I doing?
I pull out abruptly, stumbling backward. My fighters, my clients, my entire reputation—I’ve risked everything for a quick fuck in an alley. Anyone could have walked by. Anyone could have seen Victor Kaine, the ultimate alpha male, balls-deep in another man.
Theo straightens, pulling his pants up with a wince. My cum is leaking down his thighs, staining the inside of his designer suit pants.
“This can’t happen again,” I say, fingers trembling as I tuck myself away, zipping my pants with jerky movements. The post-orgasm clarity is brutal, stripping away the haze of lust to reveal the recklessness of what we’ve done.
Theo’s expression hardens, his eyes cooling from molten need to something distant and sharp.
“Which part?” he asks quietly. “The sex or the being seen?”
The question stops me cold. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What can I say? That I want him desperately, but can’t bear the thought of others knowing? That I’m terrified of what it means about me?
My silence stretches too long. Theo’s jaw tightens. He straightens his clothes with quick, efficient movements, then opens his car door without looking at me again.
The engine roars to life, headlights sweeping across the alley before he reverses sharply and drives away without me.