Page 92 of Dominate

His voice is a rough, sleep-heavy rumble against my skin. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

He drags his hand up my side, his fingers grazing the bruised, tender skin over my ribs. “How do you feel?”

I take a mental inventory. The physical damage is significant, but it will heal. The emotional weight I carried for twenty-eight years is just gone.

“Like I got hit by a truck.” I shift closer, careful of his ribs. “Like I won the lottery. Both at once.”

A low laugh vibrates in his chest. The sound makes my own heart ache because I love this man so fucking much.

He opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight. “We should probably deal with the outside world at some point.”

“Probably.”

Neither of us moves a muscle.

He closes his eyes again and buries his face in my neck. “Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes.”

We stretch it to an hour.

We trace the new bruises blooming across each other’s skin. I map the dark ink of his tribal tattoo, letting my fingers follow the intricate swirls that honor his dead brother. We don’t talk about the fight. We don’t analyze the scorecards or the split decision. The war inside the cage belongs to yesterday.

My cell phone buzzes on the nightstand, rattling toward the edge. It drops onto the hardwood and keeps vibrating.

A knock sounds at the front door.

The sound carries the undeniable authority of a head coach.

Victor Kaine’s voice booms through the thin wood. “You two awake? Theo is in the hallway, and the coffee is getting cold.”

Micah groans, rolling onto his back. He drags both hands down his face. “There goes the quiet morning.”

“Did you think we’d get one?”

“I hoped for at least noon.” He pushes himself off the mattress.

I watch him cross the room. He moves with a slight limp, favoring his right leg. I landed enough kicks to leave that ache. I’m proud of the fight we gave each other, but watching him limp still hurts. We tore each other apart, and we survived.

Micah turns the deadbolt and pulls the front door open a crack.

Victor fills the frame. He wears a dark track jacket, his massive shoulders blocking out the hallway light. He doesn’t look angry. He looks like a general preparing his troops for a siege.

“The press is swarming the hotel. Reporters are calling Oath back home too.” Victor hands a paper coffee cup through the gap in the door. “ESPN wants an exclusive. Ironside released a statement five minutes ago claiming the kiss was an unprovoked stunt.”

My blood runs cold. The Ironside machine operates fast. Dan is spinning the narrative, trying to make me either the victim or the idiot.

“What did Dan say?” I ask from the bed.

Victor leans down to look past Micah. His dark eyes lock onto mine. He offers no judgment. “Dan claims the weight cut compromised your mental state. He says Rivera took advantage of a disoriented fighter.”

A bitter laugh punches its way out of my throat. “Of course he does. God forbid the formerly undefeated fighter makes a conscious choice to burn the house down.”

“Theo is drafting a response.” Victor taps the doorframe. “He needs your input. Both of you. The world is watching. We control the story from here out, understand?”

Micah takes the coffee cup. “Give us twenty minutes, boss. We need to shower.”