Too soon, it was over. The tattooed champion stood over his bloody opponent like it was nothing. Someone handed Maddox his T-shirt, and he used it to wipe specks of blood and sweat from his face.

Someone handed me cash, but I didn’t pay attention to how much.

“Tyler … let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want to get fired, man. There’s about a dozen underage, wasted kids in here.”

Maddox kept his gaze on me. “What’s the rush?”

“I don’t feel like explaining to the superintendent why we got arrested. Do you?”

Maddox pulled the white cotton tee over his head and the defined curves of his chest and abs. When the V just above his belt disappeared behind the shirt, my shoulders slightly sagged in disappointment. I wanted to see more of him. I wanted to see all of him.

His nervous friend gave him a black White Sox ball cap, and he put it on, tugging it low over his eyes.

A friend patted Tyler on the shoulder. “You made me fifty bucks, Maddox. Feels like old times.”

“You’re welcome, dickhead,” he said, his gaze not leaving mine.

The crowd exchanged money, and then, in mass exodus, left for the kitchen where the kegs were tapped and flowing.

Tyler Maddox approached me in a damp and blood-smeared shirt. His eyes and nose were shadowed by his hat. He began to speak, but I gripped a fistful of his shirt and pulled, planting a hard kiss on his mouth. My lips parted, letting his hot tongue slip inside. He reacted like I knew he would—carnal electricity between us—as he gripped the back of my hair, tilting my head up toward him.

I shoved him back, keeping a grip on his shirt. He waited, unsure of what to expect. With a wry smile, I took a step backward, letting my hand slip from the fabric down his arm, and then pulled on his hand. His hands were rough, his fingernails bitten to the quick. I couldn’t wait to feel the coarseness against the soft parts of me.

One side of Tyler’s mouth pulled up into a grin, and a deep dimple appeared on his left cheek. He was the kind of beautiful you couldn’t buy, with his golden-brown eyes and square, scruffy chin—a symphony of perfection only flawless genes could compose. There were plenty of beautiful people in my circles, with access to the best products, stylists, spas, and cosmetic surgeons, but Tyler was real—effortless and raw.

I quickened my pace, climbing the first step backward.

Tyler glanced up from the base of the stairs. “Where are we going?” I didn’t answer, but he still followed. I could have been leading him to his death, but I could tell Tyler Maddox was afraid of nothing. “What’s up there?” he asked, still climbing.

He began to move with purpose, his eyes turning from amused to hungry. I twisted the knob of the master bedroom and pushed through, revealing my parents’ California king and two dozen pillows.

“Whoa,” Tyler said, looking around the room. “This house is nuts. Whoever lives here must make bank. Friends of yours?”

“Your dad is like on Fortune 500, isn’t he?”

“Don’t really want to talk about my father right now,” I said between kisses.

He held me at bay. “Sorry about the painting, and the table … and the vase. I’ll replace them.”

I reached down, cupping the hardness behind his jeans. “Stop talking.”

Tyler refocused, reaching down to slide his hands between my leggings and bare skin, his fingers knowing the perfect place to pause and explore. I kicked off my boots, humming while his fingertips glided more easily, slick with my desire for him.

The end of the bed touched the backs of my thighs, and I leaned back, yanking Tyler on top of me. I’d kissed dozens of lips before that night, but none of them had felt like they’d been starving for me, and had been for a long time. Every part of my skin Tyler touched seemed purposeful. He was anything but nervous, as practiced as I was at ripping buttons and pulling at fabric.

The second my bra and panties were tossed to the floor, I yanked down his boxer briefs. He kicked them off the end of the bed, and we rolled. I straddled him, both of us panting and smiling. My red lipstick was smeared on his mouth, and my insides tensed, begging for him.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked in awe.

I raised an eyebrow, and then looked over at his jeans hanging halfway off the bed. I reached over, searching his pocket with my fingers and grinning when I touched a foil packet. “Slow your roll, Maddox. I haven’t come yet.”

Three deep lines formed on Tyler’s forehead as his eyebrows shot up. He watched me tear the condom package with my teeth, and then his eyes rolled back in his head as I used my mouth to secure it in place.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He lifted his hips as I put his entire length into my mouth and throat. His fingertips raked through my hair and pulled, and I hummed against the latex. He arched his back, sending his tip even deeper.

I climbed up from his lap, straddling him again, gripping his girth and lowering myself slowly, watching the warmth and wetness of my insides overwhelm him. He had done this many times before, but not with me. Tyler looked like the type to take charge, the kind of guy who pleasured his women until they futilely begged him for more. But he couldn’t give them more, and that was exactly what I liked about him—aside from the fact that he was insanely hot and knew how to touch my sensitive parts like he was the architect who’d built me.

His fingers dug into my hips, and I could tell he was trying to relax my pace. He wouldn’t admit he wanted me to slow down. He was close, but so was I, and some asshole was knocking on the door, calling his name. He wasn’t leaving until he’d finished what I’d started.

I was panting hard, moaning every time my ass slammed against his lap, and when Tyler came, he came hard, gripping my ass as he arched his back. He was so deep it hurt, but I circled my hips until I tumbled over the edge. I dug my fingers into his chest, smiling with an open mouth, unable to control the cries ripping from my throat.

Tyler spread my thighs and tensed his ass, pressing into me further. He growled a string of expletives, and then relaxed, exhaling after catching his breath. He looked up at me, sleepy and satisfied. “God damn, woman.”

I leaned over, lifting my leg, and then crawled off the bed. He watched me dress as he lay on his side, ignoring the knocking on the door.

“So?” I fastened my bra behind me, and then stepped into my underwear.

Tyler paused, trying to decide what to say next. “So … are those Calvin Kleins?”

I looked down at the extra small men’s tighty whities I’d slipped on. Lace, thongs, cheekies … not my thing. “Yeah?”

He chuckled. “So, uh … I won’t be able to … you know—”

“Call? That makes two of us.”

Tyler stood up and began collecting his clothes while the pounding from the hall began again. “Maddox! You in there?”

“For fuck’s sake, Zeke! Hang on!” he said, pulling on his jeans.

He was waiting for me to dress before opening the door, but I’d barely pulled my T-shirt over my head before his friends opened the door.