The Fighter's Prize

By: Jessa Kane

Don’t usually have eyes that make my stomach feel very odd.

With a low grumble, I rub the area, but it does not dissipate.

Instead of anger, I find I am curious. To know what is compelling her to lie. To know why she has come in here playing dress-up asking to use the phone. I know little of young girls, but I suspect they do not go places with nearly dead phones. There is intelligence in Whitney’s answers, the challenge of her eyes, and I do not think she would be so stupid to leave her home dressed in such a way without the safety net of a phone. Or a man to protect her.

A roar builds in my throat so suddenly, it rocks me forward onto my toes.

“Do you have a man?”

I growl the question, stomping toward her. Moving in her direction the way I move toward an opponent. With strict purpose. But I do not want to bloody this girl. I want to…

I want to do things I have never been tempted to do before.

Things I cannot do tonight of all nights.

“N-no,” she whispers, backing up two paces. “No man. Not technically.”

I’ve almost reached her now and my cock is throbbing. Raging in my shorts. What has she done to me, this sneaky little kitten? “What does that mean? You don’t technically have a man? This makes no sense.”

“Well.” Her tits are taunting me, straining in the neckline of her dress. I want to yank down the bodice and pinch them. Suck them. “There is a man who w-wants to marry me.”

“Stop backing away from me, kotik. You will fall in those shoes.” I snap, grabbing her elbow, marveling at the softness of her arm, brushing my thumb through the crook with a harsh, amazed sound. “And nyet, you will not marry such a fool.”

She seems to be having a hard time breathing. Is it because I’m standing so close, forcing her to look up at me? Does she also feel these…urges? “Why is he a fool?”

“You said he wants to marry you. Yet he has not made it happen?” I run my palms up the outsides of her arms, across her shoulders and into her honey-colored hair. I can’t seem to stop touching her, though I should be shot for doing so with filth-covered hands. “I would not be so complacent, Whitney.”

A shudder goes through her when I say her name.

So I say it again. “Whitney.”

And again. “Whitney.”

“Stop,” she whispers, swaying closer. “You’re distracting me.”

“From what?”

I rub my thumb along the seam of her lips and her eyes turn unfocused. “My…mission.”

Ah. Now we are getting somewhere. “What is this mission?”

She shakes herself. “To use your phone. Broken down car, remember?”

“Hmm.” I am eager to find out how she feels in my arms, so I pick her up and cradle her like a baby, enjoying the way her softness gives against my muscles. She stares up at me, stunned, but doesn’t try to escape. This pleases me. “I will bring you to use the phone.”

“Uh…thank—thank you.”

I carry Whitney to the back office, mentally listing other ways to hold her. I could put her over my shoulder, give her a piggy-back ride. Or she could put her legs around my waist, her adorable little wrists locked behind my neck.

My balls nearly spill a month’s worth of seed at that thought.

At the image it paints in my mind.

How easy it would be to wedge my cock inside of her in such a position.

Would her beautiful face screw up with pain or would she moan, close her eyes?

Ride me.

I realize I’ve stopped halfway to the office, my chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Everything okay, big guy?”

“No. I am worried what I will do if I get you in back room.”

Her swallow is loud, as if she is nervous, but I see her nipples have turned to tempting pebbles. Are females always so confusing? “Oh.”

“I am a fighter, kotik. There is an important contest tomorrow. We don’t allow any…spilling beforehand. Depriving oneself creates an edge. An anger.”

She seems almost relieved at my explanation.

The tension in her tiny shoulders ebbs.

“We could just…um…kiss?”

Air rifles in and out of my nose. Is she trying to make me come? “You want to kiss me?”

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