EPILOGUE - NYLA
Eight months later
The warehouse is louder than that first night.
And I’m not at the merch table. I’m in the corner with a bucket and some tape, and when Hush, well Reece, turns his head after the other man hits the canvas, his mask still on, his eyes find me like they did that first time.
Like the crowd doesn’t exist. Like the win was just an excuse to get back to me.
He doesn’t raise his arms in victory. He just walks through the ropes, through the bodies, and the second we’re in the hall his taped hand is at the back of my neck. Sweat. Blood. My man. His voice gravelly.
“Knees.”
I lock the locker room door and drop.
He fists my hair, mask still on, and I take him the way we both fucking love, messy, eager, no hesitation.
I know the weight of him now. I know how to breathe through the thick head punching my throat.
I know he likes it sloppy, likes the spit, likes watching my lips stretch around him while the skull hides everything but his eyes. And I fucking love all of it.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “Take it. Get it wet for that pussy. You been thinking about this all fight? Standing in my corner with your perfect fucking tits in my shirt, waiting to get used?”
I moan around him. He curses and pulls me off with a filthy pop, hauls me up, bends me over the bench. My skirt (of course, his idea… for easy access…), flips up. No panties… also his idea. He drags the head of his cock through me once, twice, and pushes in with one stroke.
I cry out into my fist. He’s so deep. So thick. I’m dripping down to my knees before he even starts moving.
“Fuck. Still the best I’ve ever fucking had.
And all fucking mine.” He fucks me in hard, claiming slaps, one hand on my hip, one on my neck.
“I’m going to come in this pussy and walk you out of here fucking leaking.
Then I’m taking you home and putting a baby in you for real this time.
You ready for that, Nyla? You ready to take it like a good girl and keep it? ”
“Yes! Reece… please!”
He slams in and stays, grinding, and I come so hard my vision spots. He follows with a groan, pulsing hot and deep, mask scraping my spine.
After he peels the skull off and kisses me slow. And I can feel him dripping out of me already.
“Home,” he growls.
I grin against his mouth. “Lead the way, handsome.”
He slaps my ass, grabs his bag, and laces our fingers together. In the hall, somebody calls his fight name. He doesn’t look back.
I used to think masked men were a catfish waiting to happen. Turns out some of them just need a good reason to take the damn thing off…
THE END