38. Wilder #2
“Fuck! Dude. I’m sorry…” I trail off, putting my gloved hands on top of my helmet, and watching him as he takes a few deep breaths that make his back heave up and down. He stands there silently for a few minutes before he slowly comes out of it. “You good?”
He blows out a breath when he turns around with reddened cheeks. “Uh, yeah. It’s…all good. Uh, hurts and burns. But it’ll be okay.” He doesn’t sound that convincing, but I let it go. It’s obvious he wants to keep going. “Dicks all good.” He gives me an awkward thumbs-up.
I cringe. “Sorry, man. Maybe we should have worn more protection for our shit, too. We have some cups if…”
“No, no!” He waves a hand and clears his throat. “I’m good now. Dick’s all good.” He cringes at that and turns a deeper shade of red at the mention of his dick again.
You and me both, pal.
“Glad to hear your dick is okay,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.
What the fuck am I saying? Glad your dick is okay? Fuck me. This is the stupidest shit I’ve done in a while.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s, uh, all good. You want to keep going? Reset?” He eyes me expectantly again, that familiar eagerness shining through his eyes.
“Yeah, Man. Let’s uh…touch gloves and reset.” We meet in the middle again and touch gloves.
Oliver immediately gets back into fighting mode, getting into his stance and throwing a few leg kicks in the same spot again like he didn’t almost lose his shit by getting kicked in the balls. If that were me, I’d be on my ass for the rest of the fight.
“So, are you ready to eat your words yet? You’ll be calling me the champ before you know it,” I quip, grinning when I land a kick to the outside of his leg and not his dick this time. He doesn’t even flinch when dodging a second one, moving out of the way quickly.
“Not likely. The only champ here is me,” he quips, sending another kick my way. His eyes widen when I catch his calf in my hand, suspending his leg in the air. He attempts to throw a few punches, but before he can retaliate, I throw him to the ground.
Ground and pound, here I come. Wait… Fuck. I shake those thoughts away from my mind, sending Oliver a cocky grin again.
“Not likely, huh, Champ?” I grunt, climbing on top of him with a huge grin.
I settle my body weight against his, successfully pinning him to the ring and taking his dainty wrists and locking them tight above his head with one hand.
Huh. I can’t believe his wrists fit in one of my hands.
This gives me the advantage I need to finish this round.
His legs lock behind my back, keeping me there as the wheels in his brain try to figure out how he can escape my hold.
“You think this will be in your favor?” I chuckle.
“You’re so small, Oliver. You’re at my mercy.
” I wiggle my brows playfully, driving my fist into his ribs over and over again.
Lightly, of course. I wouldn’t want to actually hurt him.
This is all fun and games. I’d rather not bruise my newest sparring partner.
“Not nice to make fun of my height and weight,” he grunts, squirming against me and rubbing himself against me with heavy breaths, trying to maneuver himself away from me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Tingles rush down my spine, and I swear to fuck every touch against his skin does something to me.
I swallow hard. “You better stay down, Oliver. Say it. Say onion,” I grunt, trying my hardest to keep him with his wrists confined in my grip, but he’s so damn wiggly and moving so much against me it’s almost impossible to keep him pinned down.
Shit.
“Never!” he retorts with a grunt, moving his hips more and trying to dodge my halfhearted punches to his ribs.
Oliver bucks his hips more, moving against me, but it does nothing.
Well, for his position, anyway. For me? A sweat breaks out along my flesh, dripping down my forehead and slicking my palms.
“Say it, Oli,” I goad through heavy breaths, trying to ignore the way he feels beneath me and the way my body is reacting to it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Not going to happen,” he grunts again, bucking his hips again and again, rubbing right against my hardening dick that can’t take any more.
I swear my eyes roll back in my head with the way he feels against me.
His body pressing against mine and moving with me.
My dick gets harder and harder under my shorts to the point I’m adjusting my position and hoping to God Oliver doesn’t feel my reaction to him.
What would he think then? Huh? He’d never come back here.
God, I have to end this now. Time to bring him to his fucking knees and…
Nope. Not that either.
“Say onion!” I grunt, throwing a few punches into the side of his helmet and down his body, hoping for him to call it so I can get out of this position before I cum in my fucking shorts and show Oliver how my body truly reacts to him.
“Never going to happen, asshole,” he grits out, finally wiggling a hand free and clocking me on the side of the head.
I grunt, retaliate, and throw a fist into his helmet.
Or what I think is his helmet. It all registers too late.
The force of my punch. Where my fist landed.
My eyes widen when my fist connects with something squishy.
Something that doesn’t feel like the protectiveness of his helmet.
All at once, Oliver’s movements under me stop.
Every inch of him goes limp beneath my body.
Bright red blood greets me, coming straight from Oliver’s slightly twisted nose; it falls over his popped-open lips and stains his pearly white teeth a light shade of red.
“Oliver?” I ask as his legs slide out from behind my back and his limp body lies there.
His chest moves up and down. Thank fuck.
Shit. I quickly check his pulse with my fingers.
“Shit. Fuck. Oliver,” I say again, grunting to remove his helmet and toss it aside.
I bite my gloves and pull them off with my helmet, too, tossing them wherever they land.
“Oliver!” I say again, slightly tapping his cheek a few times.
“Jesus,” I groan as panic overtakes me and I swipe the blood from beneath his nose.
Suddenly, those bright green eyes pop open, and he startles, looking up at me. There’s a glaze hanging over his eyes. Confusion lingers there. He inspects my face and looks all around. Relief instantly floods me at the sight of him alive.
“Fucking hell, Oliver,” I mumble, putting my forehead against his and suck in several deep breaths. “You scared the shit out of me.” I stay like that for over a second.
“Did you break my nose?” he mumbles from beneath me with confusion. “And knock me out?”
“Shit!” I pop up, offering him my hand. Slowly, he sits up with a distant look in his eyes, and his brows furrow.
“Sorry. God.” I take his face in my palms, inspecting his nose.
“Doesn’t look broken. I think I caught it just right with the glove.
It’s bleeding like crazy. Let’s go take care of that? ” I ask, staring deep into his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Let’s take care of it, Champ.” He grins at the nickname, a laugh bubbling up in his chest.
“That’s right,” I quip, slowly letting go of him. “Let’s take you to the medical kit we have in the locker room office. We can get it to stop the bleeding. I’m…”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he chides, slowly getting to his feet with me and swaying a bit.
“That was fun.” He shrugs with a nonchalant shoulder and a huff.
His fingers prod his nose a few times. “I don’t think it’s broken, either,” he hums as we make our way out of the fighting ring and head toward the locker room.
“We’ll have to do this again.” He grins at me, exposing his blood-stained teeth, and it makes me feel even worse.
“Fun,” I laugh. “Yeah, I guess it was. Minus that,” I say, pointing to his bloodied nose.
Oli snorts and then groans. “I can’t believe you actually knocked me out.” He shakes his head, his sweaty, tousled brown locks moving with him. “My cousin is going to be jealous.”
“He was here, wasn’t he?” I ask as I open the locker room door for him and then lead him to the small office with medical supplies.
“Yup. Came to the fights with me. Stayed for a few days,” he says lightly, plopping down on a chair opposite me with a goofy grin. Fuck.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, getting the medical kit and pulling out the instant cold pack and some gauze. “You’re looking a little concussed.”
Oliver shakes his head. “No. No. I’m good.” He waves a hand.
“If you say so,” I mumble, not thoroughly convinced that he’s okay.
After taking care of his bloodied nose, Oliver and I climb into my car and make our way back to campus.
“If you’re feeling bad later, text me or something. So I know I didn’t kill you or whatever,” I say, putting the car into park outside the dorms.
Oliver snorts. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks for the bloody nose and concussion,” he teases before climbing out. He lingers for a second, scoping out campus, and leans back in. “But I’m fine, seriously. Don’t think anything of it, Champ.”
My cheeks heat at the nickname, and I clear my throat. I swear it all goes straight to my dick. Fuck it. “Hey, uh, would you want to grab some dinner sometime and hang out?”
He blinks several times. “Just the two of us?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Some burgers and…”
“Sure, but let me beat your ass in the ring again.” He grins as he shuts the door, getting the last word as I chuckle to myself.