Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?”
He lifts his head, staring at where my hand’s hovering over him. Slowly, he probes the bruise. He sucks in a sharp breath, then cups my cheek, drawing closer.
His lips find mine. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
“It wasn’t luck, Griff. It was your skill.”
“I’m not talking about the fight.” He brushes a lock of hair off my cheek. “I’m talking about waking up with you. Not just the sex—although, that was fucking amazing. And I definitely want to start every day like that.”
“I don’t know if I can handle it.” I press one hand between my legs. “I’m still all tingly and fluttery down there.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, pure satisfaction spreading over his expression. “That feels like a bigger achievement than winning any fight, you know that?”
I tickle my fingers over his pecs. “Do you want me to have a belt made up for you? We can call it the World’s Longest Orgasm Giver, or WLOG belt for short.”
He shakes with laughter for a few seconds, then wipes the smile off his face. “No, because I’d never let anyone challenge me for that title.” He taps his finger against my nose. “We do have the results of our scientific experiment to discuss, though.”
I press my lips tight and pretend to be serious. “It was successful.”
He dips his chin in agreement. “That’s how fighter superstitions are born.” Griff teases his lips along my jaw and down to my neck. “We had lots of sex leading up to the fight and I won—won easily and with little damage, I might add.”
Uncontrollable giggles shake my body. “I think I know where this is headed.”
“Yes, so now it’s been established, we have to have a lot of sex before every single one of my fights. Otherwise, I’ll lose.” He shrugs like he’s completely helpless. “Those are the rules.”
“Every single one of my fights.”
Does that mean there will be more?
How many more?
Not now. Not today.
“I’ll agree to those terms, Mr. Royal.”
Thankfully, he’s closed his eyes and laid back against his pillow, so he can’t see the anxiety slowly chipping away at my joy.
I rest my head on his shoulder and kiss along his jaw.
“With little damage.”
This time.
“Baby, I know I promised that if I won, I’d take you out so we could see Vegas.” He yawns wide without opening his eyes. “But will you be mad if we just do this for a day or two? Laze around in bed? I’m exhausted. The training…the fight…all the stupid press stuff. My brain and body are completely fried.”
Griff, who hates showing any sign of weakness, admitting that he needs rest, stuns me into silence for a moment.
“Anything you want.” I rub my hand over his chest, but I think he’s already fallen asleep again. “Today’s your day.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Griff
It’s late in the afternoon when I wake again.
Molly’s sitting up in bed next to me, wearing one of my T-shirts and scowling at her phone like she wants to melt it with the power of her eyes.
“Why aren’t you naked?” I rasp, reaching for the sleeve of her shirt.
She clicks the screen off and smiles at me. “Hey, champ. How do you feel?”
I sit up, groaning at the tightness in my abs. “Like I got punched in the gut a few times,” I admit. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there for a second. The heaviness in my head feels like I’ve got a skull full of wet towels.
Molly’s hands, soft and comforting, gently massage along the lines of my neck down to my shoulders. I drop my head, enjoying her touch.
“Is this okay?” Her fingers slow.
“More than okay. It feels good.”
She resumes the gentle probing and massaging, slowly working her way down and along my shoulder blades. I could almost fall back asleep like this.
I reach behind me, capturing one of her hands and bring it to my mouth, kissing her fingertips. “Let me run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
When I return to the bedroom, she’s standing by the dresser with her hand curled around the handle of my half-gallon water bottle.
Thirst slams into me and she holds out the bottle.
“You need to drink some water.” Her tone’s a mixture of stern and sweet.
“On it.” I grab the bottle and flip the top. “Thank you.”
The water’s ice cold, the way I like it, soothing as it slides down my throat. I finish more than half, then set it on the dresser and stumble back to the bed.
“What were you reading when I woke up?” I glance at the nightstand. “Where’s my phone?”
“Here.” She picks my phone up off her nightstand and climbs into bed. Kneeling next to me, she holds it out for me.
Now that I have it, I don’t want to look at anything.