Page 56 of Last Round

“You and me both.”

“FIGHT!”

And just like that, it’s on. Both the contenders have great form. They circle each other, sizing up their opponent. Test the waters with small jabs and light kicks, get a feel for how the night is about to go. It doesn’t take long for them to get comfortable. In the blink of an eye, two fists rise, but only one connects—right on the money spot.

Lights out… KO.

Victory

Killian

Molly’slegsarewobblyas we walk home from the bar. Luke won by a fucking knockout, first round. It was spectacular. Footage from tonight is going to be on all the sport centers replay loops for the next few days—at least.

After the interviews and the onsite celebration in the locker room, we moved the party to the bar. Molly surprised me with how much alcohol she tossed back tonight. I’ve seen her have a beer and what not, but tonight (next to Luke) she was the life of the party. Even more of a shock this evening, I needed to be the one to call it. Usually, I’m the one to keep it going until I’m the last man standing or Sean is dragging me away. But I’m not the one who switches to water after a few glasses of champagne to make sure things don’t get out of hand.

“Why do you live so far away?” she groans. “My house was closer.”

“Almost there.”

“Hold on.” She stops, lets go of me, and kicks off her heels. Standing barefoot on the sidewalk, she lets out a relieved sigh. “So much better. Those things were killing me.” She bends over, picks them up, and continues walking.

“Wait,” I caution before scooping her up in my arms.

“What are you doing?” She laughs.

“We’ve got a couple more blocks. What if there’s glass or something?”

“You won’t get any complaints from me.” She nuzzles my neck, making herself comfortable. “Maybe this is how I will travel from now on.”

“I don’t hate that idea.”

“It’s settled then.” We continue to joke as we make our way home. I carry her all the way up to the apartment, to my room, and lay her on the bed. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” I fill up a glass of water and grab a couple of aspirin. Hopefully this will help her avoid a massive hangover in the morning. Champagne is the silent killer. People toss it back, fooled by its sweet bubbly taste when really it’s going to leave you strung out the next day. With tequila, you know what you’re getting yourself into. There’s no surprise the next morning. “Are you hungry?” I yell as I make my way back to the room. “I can whip up—”

Whatever I was about to say dies on my tongue as Molly sprawls out on my bed in nothing but a black lace thong and matching bra. With knees bent and legs wide open, she sits on the mattress with her back resting against the headboard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi?” God, what am I? Twelve? This is definitely not my first time, yet my brain is somehow short-circuiting.

“Are you coming to bed?” she asks.

I set the water and pills on the dresser. “What are you doing, Molly?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing. The better question is why aren’t you doing what you’re supposed to be doing?”

“And what’s that?”

Molly rolls her eyes. “Killian, stop playing. You know exactly what I want. Why won’t you give it to me? Don’t you want to?”

More than you’ll ever be able to comprehend.I shake the thought from my mind. “You’re not ready.”

Her hand traces down from her breast to her thong. She shifts the fabric over, giving me a straight-on view of her glistening core. I lick my lips as she dips her finger inside, pulls it out, and sucks off her own juices. “Tastes ready to me.”

God, fuck, shit. The threads holding my weakening willpower are being snipped, one by one. “I’m not ready.”

She glances down at my erection that’s pushing the limits of my slacks. “I’d beg to differ.”

I sigh as I comb my hand through my hair. Closing my eyes, I look to the heavens for strength to do the right thing. “Molly, you’re drunk. It’s not right—”

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