Dylan
I stumble out of the ring and through the haze of flashing cameras. Marcus and Max flank me, steering me along the winding maze of harshly lit back corridors.
Reporters and YouTubers with press passes shove microphones in my face, and I barely manage to grunt out a few words to their questions, grateful when Max shoos them away and finally ushers me into the makeshift dressing room in one of the countless rooms in this goddamn place.
Marcus and Max try their best to talk me through the loss, but even Max’s usual positivity and Marcus’ grounding energy aren’t enough to bring me back today. I’m only half-listening to their pep talks, my ears filled with cotton wool and my mind replaying every crucial moment from the fight.
Agreeing to his wager out of pure, idiotic pride. The roar of the crowd. Levi’s intense, exhausted stare. Throwing in the towel.
And the moment that came just before it—his smirk, his breath hot against my cheek and his voice a low vibration in my ear. I fuck you in the ring, then I fuck you backstage.
The way it stirred up something I don’t even want to name, catching me off guard so badly I fumbled the entire fight.
I feel like I’m eighteen all over again.
“Go home, guys,” I say eventually, mustering a weak smile.
God knows I love them like family, but all I want is to be alone right now.
And I know it’s only a matter of time before Levi comes looking for me—whether or not he tries to follow through on his promise, he’ll want to gloat.
“It’s late, you must be tired. I need to get changed and get my head together, and I want to wait until the crowds have died down before I make an exit.
I can’t handle any more fucking YouTube assholes. ”
Max and Marcus exchange a concerned look, but they know me well enough to know when to give me space.
“Okay, buddy,” Marcus says. “You fought well tonight. This fight’s done; on to the next. Ice that cheek when you get home and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
I give them both a grateful nod as they see themselves out, collapsing onto a stiff sofa when the door clicks closed behind them.
I drag my hands over my face, flinching when I accidentally catch the rapidly forming bruise on my left cheek.
There’s a mirror hanging on the wall opposite where I’m sitting, and I stare at my own haggard face, still flushed from the exertion of the fight, the skin around my eye already darkening.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
The silence in the room is a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the last few hours, but it doesn’t last.
When the latch clicks less than five minutes later, I don’t move at first, assuming Max or Marcus has forgotten something, or maybe one of those persistent reporters finally broke through security.
Then the scent hits me.
Linen. Warm sun. Triumph.
Levi slips into the room, all taut sinew and glistening muscles, the gratification of his win radiating off him and crawling under my skin. I stay seated on the edge of the sofa, watching him with open disdain.
“No ‘congratulations’?” he taunts, sidling over to me. “No handshake for the new champion?”
“You won, Bastien,” I growl, the words sticking in the back of my throat. “What more do you fucking want?”
“Oh, I think you know,” he says, a knowing smile on his smart-ass French face that makes me want to drive my fist right through his teeth.
He stops directly in front of me. He’s so close now that his scent is everywhere, his arms crossed and his hips at eye level.
Dominant. Provocative. He’s squeezing every last drop of humiliation out of this defeat for his own sick pleasure, and I want to pull him down and tear him apart for it.
And yet, something about the way his scent fills my nostrils has me pinned to this uncomfortable fucking sofa, my hands hanging uselessly at my sides, my inner alpha paralyzed by an inexplicable inertia.
“And you got rid of your boring trainers for us,” he continues, looking around the the room as if he’s in a waiting room rather than invading my space after we just beat the shit out of each other in front of a crowd. “Such a good boy for me.”
“Go fuck yourself, Bastien,” I ask, my voice rough.
I finally muster the strength to push myself up from the sofa, sending a hot throb of pain through my bruised ribs.
But I need the extra few inches of height just to claw back some semblance of dignity.
“You’ve had your fun. The cameras got their show. ”
“Oh, my fun is only just beginning,” he smirks, leaning in to me conspiratorily. “We had a deal, Dylan. I believe my words were total submission, hmm?”
I run my hands through my hair, trying to get a read on him and coming up empty.
There’s every possibility that he’s still fucking with me, trying to see how far he can push me.
But then again, we’ve never made a wager we didn’t stick to.
For all our competition and mutual hatred, neither one of us ever broke our word.
It’s probably Levi’s only redeeming quality.
And if the shoe was on the other foot, and I had come out on top in the ring…
would I expect him to stick to his end of the bargain?
Deep down, I know the answer is yes. In fact, I was counting on it.
I swallow thickly. Levi doesn’t move. He just takes a single step forward, closing the gap between us.
Our bare chests are inches apart, the heat rolling off him.
His green eyes narrow slightly, the lazy smirk fading just a fraction, replaced with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“You were always a man of your word, Dylan,” he murmurs, his accent thick and low, the showman persona evaporating in the quiet of the room. “Don’t tell me you are going to back out now?”
“Don’t lecture me on honor, Bastien,” I rumble, though the defiance feels hollow, even to my own ears.
The truth is, I can’t seem to take a full breath. His scent is thick enough to choke on, and mine is spiking just as hard, a potent cocktail of alpha pheromones that bypasses my logic completely.
Levi tilts his head, reaching out to grip the edge of my silk robe, which is hanging open around my chest, and trailing his fingers up the smooth fabric. His fingertips brush against my pecs, my collarbones—my neck—and I have to suppress a violent shiver.
When he slides his hand up to my jaw, his thumb pressing deliberately against the edge of the fresh bruise on my cheek, I flinch at the sharp sting, a ragged breath huffing out of my lungs. But I don’t pull back. I can’t.
“I am not lecturing you, mon grand,” Levi murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back to my eyes.
The cliché showmanship is gone now, replaced by that predatory confidence as he realizes I’m not running scared.
That this is really happening. Fuck, this is really happening.
“Six years ago, in that dirty locker room, you paid your debt because you couldn’t bear the thought of breaking your word.
You’ve been thinking about it ever since. Don’t lie to me.”
The reminder of that night sends a hot, electric shiver down my spine. Every alpha instinct screams at me to twist his wrist, throw him against the ground, and show him exactly how much power a heavyweight alpha still commands when he’s cornered. I want to shatter his smug pride.
But as his fingers slide into my hair, pulling my head back just enough to expose the line of my throat, a terrifying, forbidden urge stops me in my tracks.
The thickness of his scent is dredging up something deeper from the far reaches of my psyche, something that overrides all the alpha rage and takes me right back to that fucking locker room.
“As if you haven’t,” I whisper.
Levi smirks, his breath ghosting over my mouth, his scent surging in answer. “So show me you know how to pay your debts, Dylan. Or do I need to force you to your knees?”
And fuck. Oh, fuck. I exhale sharply, and my stomach does a complicated flip. The speed with which my body betrays is horrifying. Dizzying. My legs go weak, and I slide to my knees as I look him dead in the eye.
He looks magnificent from this viewpoint. Undeniably alpha, tall and lean and tan, and fuck, what am I doing?
Something close to disbelief passes across his face, before it’s replaced by pure, searing heat. “Good boy,” he murmurs breathlessly, pushing off his robe as I hook my fingers around the waistband of his shorts.
“Fuck off,” I say, but my scent spikes and goosebumps prickle my arms. I pull down his shorts.
His cock is huge and fully erect already, a prominent vein running down his impressive length as it juts out from his shorts aggressively.
When I wrap my hand around him, it feels exactly like it did last time we did this; from the pulse of him against my palm to the blown-out, hazy look in his eyes as he gazes down at me.
“Merde.” His head drops back when I stroke him from root to tip, the glide of my palm a rough friction over his length.
I lean forward to spit on his cock, a string of saliva connecting my lips and his shaft for a moment until I break it with another stroke, smoother now.
When I glance back up at Levi, his eyes are dark and unfocused.
Good. If I’m going to degrade myself for him, the very least I can do is make it so fucking good that he’s the one left trembling at the end of it. His abs contract as I twist my palm and rub my thumb over the precum-slick head.
“More,” he rasps. “We said total submission, right? I want your mouth.”
I exhale sharply through my nose. Aside from that fumble in the locker room with Levi, I’ve never been with a man, or an alpha.
I’ve thought about it—more than I’d ever admit out loud—but exploring that side of myself always ranked pretty low compared to becoming a professional boxer and not risking everything I’d spent my life building.