Page 61 of Filthy Beginnings

He followed right behind, grunting as his knot swelled and his shaft reached for her and he nutted in his fucking pants, stream after stream coating the insides of his leathers and thighs.

It was filthy. Raw. And so fucking good. Them, together.

Except she hadn’t once purred from him. Not. Once.

The roar of the crowds echoed through the room. The music ended.

They’d run out of time.

“Baby, I have to go.”

“Damien.” She held him tighter.

“I’ll see you again soon.” But his words would only do so much.

Until he won, she would be afraid.

He slid her down his body, pressing kisses to her face, not liking the glassy look in her eyes, or the tight smile on her face as he fixed her dress.

“It’s going to be okay.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Is it?” Even her post-climax flush couldn’t hide the frantic fear on her face, or the desperation dulling her stare. Her colors hadn’t shimmered across her skin either.

He got it. She was scared she would lose him. Scared this was goodbye.

It made him almost wish he had done as she asked and fucked her here and now. Claimed her with his fangs and cock, so everyone would know she was his.

Except this wasn’t goodbye, it was only their beginning.

And she deserved so much more than a frantic, fearful rut for her first time. They both did. They’d have plenty of time to get it right. Make it special.

“I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be alright.” He gripped her chin and made sure she saw the determination in his stare. “I will not fuck up again. I will keep my cool. I will win this tournament. For us.”

“I know you can.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and squeezed before drawing away, her movements almost wooden, her voice a strained rasp. “I want you to remember that always. I have always believed you can win this.”

The emotion in her voice slayed him. He heard the love and the forgiveness.

He took his first real breath.

They were going to be okay.

He’d fucked up, but she still loved him.

And she really believed he could be the champion.

Otherwise, she would have taken him up on his offer to run.

The dual realizations filled him with a sense of peace. “I love you so much, Scarlett.”

Her smile wobbled. “I love you too, Damien Skolov. I always will.”

Energized once more, he turned to go. Already, he could hear the announcer calling out the names of the entering fighters, whipping the crowd into a frenzy, playing up the money and prize awaiting the victor.

His chest puffed wide—he’d be entering the ring with his female’s sweet slick on his leathers and his stomach, a message to every single fighter and to the consortium that she was already his. He couldn’t lose.

“Wait!” She hurried to a table and then back to him, pressing a container into his hands. “Take this with you. It’s water.” Her smile wobbled once more.

His throat went tight. “’Cause we’re a team.” He tapped the cannister to his chest, right by his heart. “Every time I drink, I’ll think of you cheering me on. And the next time you see me, I’ll be the winner of this tournament and you’ll be mine—and I’ll be yours.”

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