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I slam into Wicker, and he grabs my hand, clenching our fists together. “That was fucking amazing.” His smile instantly falls when he meets my gaze. “Hey, man, you good?”

“No.” Panting, I don’t stop, only vaguely taking in the way his arm snakes protectively around Verity’s bare waist. Those green eyes clock me. What does she see? A victor? A Prince? Or the empty-eyed felon who just shanked her precious Duke?

This whole fight was a mistake.

When it’s the three of us down in the dungeon, my brothers know to give me time to come out of it. Space. Quiet. But those are jobs, and this is entertainment. People are everywhere, watching, crowding, pressing. Everything’s too loud and unbearably bright, every sensation jacked up to eleven.

Grabbing Verity’s arm, I yank her out from under Wicker and flee.

Beneath the pulse of panic and pain, I can still feel the memory of her mouth before the fight. The way she kissed me, her lips soft, tongue hot and slick against mine. I had to empty the feeling out before the match, but it comes rushing back in like a tidal wave. The way her body felt pressed to mine as she tasted me back is exactly what I’ve been searching for all this time–ever since the first time I saw her picture.

Mine.

“Pace,” she huffs, stumbling over those fuck-me heels.

Blindly, I point myself in the direction of a door and march toward it, aware of her footsteps rushing beside me. I don’t even know where I’m going, driven purely by the instincts I’d cut off while in the ring. They point me down the hall and I rush to follow, shoving through doors until I find it.

It’s a broom closet, small and dark and quiet.

She stumbles as I halt, and I jerk her upright, slam my hand into the door, and toss her inside. I dive in after her like it’s my fucking salvation, and maybe it is, because the second I shut myself inside, I feel the tickle of comfort at the rim of my awareness.

Unfortunately, she starts a breathless, panicked ramble. “I didn’t mean to upset you with this. I did it to be supportive. For real. And that shit with Remy out there—he’s just trying to save face. You beat him. No one beats Remington Maddox. He’s—”

I slam my mouth over hers to shut her up, her voice as sharp as razor wire in my ears. I feel more than see her freeze, and she’s probably drawing a conclusion that’s all wrong. It doesn’t matter that she thinks I brought her in here to fuck her. It only matters that she adjusts accordingly, winding her soft arms around my neck as I plunge my tongue between her lips.

My hands curl behind her neck, holding her still, kissing her the way she kissed me. Pressing my body into hers the way she pressed into mine. My cock grows hard, the panicked hammering in my heart shifting to sudden, pounding lust.

I go with it, because if I’m going to be ruthlessly assaulted byfeeling, then it might as goddamn well be a good one.

With my tongue in her mouth and hands on her hips, I guide her back until she knocks into a shelf. A gasp leaves her, and my hands push at her top, greedy for her tits. They fall out, heavy and perfect, and I flatten my palm over one, causing her back to arch.

“What’s that saying?” I ask her, dipping my head down to lick her nipple.

Her breath hitches. “Saying?”

I pin her with my hips, my cock drilling into her belly. “The one your fucking Dukes always say after a win.” I pause over her tits, wanting to hear her say it.

Her chest rises and falls. “To the victor go the spoils.”

A shudder rolls through me, fingers digging into her flesh, because I did it–I won her.

Fuckingfinally, she’s mine.

I reach between us to pop the button on her shorts, impatient fingers ripping the zipper down. She moves with me, shimmying as I shove them down her hips. But when I claw at the stockings, her hand lands over mine. “Wicker actually might kill you if you shred these fishnets.”

There’s a careful, testing levity in her voice that I muster up the effort to match. “He probably bought you a dozen more before the first round was even over.” Yanking one and then the other, the tights fall down her legs. “When he wins, he can do whatever the hell he wants. But tonight, you’re mine. I won you.” I drop my shorts, releasing my erection. “Say it.”

There’s only a short pause before she obeys. “You won me,” she replies, and there’s not enough light to make out all the details in her expression, but I hear the wetness as she licks her lips. “I’m yours.”

My response is instant, pushing her up on the shelf to spread her legs. The crotch of her panties is already damp when I grab it, yanking it aside. A thin layer of hair is growing back on her pussy, and I grip my balls when I feel it. It’s not so much the hair, but the knowledge that she follows orders that makes my cock surge with a sudden rush of precum.

I push into her before it’s wasted.

She’s torturously slick, her heat engulfing my cock as I slam forward, basking in her stunned gasp. Her fingers scrabble at my biceps, thighs widening to make room for me. “Oh,” she breathes, pussy clamping tight around my dick. She says it in this tone, as if someone just told her the secret to the universe. Maybe she’s disappointed in my unwillingness to drag this out for hours, pushing her to the brink and dragging her back again.

I don’t care.

I press my sweaty forehead to hers and fuck her like she’s mine, inhaling her little gasps as my hips punch into hers. The thrusts are short and sharp, more punishing than I mean for them to be. She winds her legs around my waist and holds on, a stack of something heavy and soft tumbling from the shelf beside her. I swipe out to slap it away–paper towels–before ducking in to force a hard, clumsy kiss into her mouth.