Chapter 92: Dear Past Alex: What the Hell Were You Thinking?

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I landed another strike against his jaw, Lorenzo’s head turned slightly with the impact.

He looked back at me, his lip barely split, a thin line of red appearing at the corner of his mouth.

The men gasped and some jaws dropped.

I stared. I had actually done that. I’d made Lorenzo bleed!

A ridiculous surge of pride swelled in me, tangled with the unwanted awareness of how close we still were, the air still heavy with my scent and the pull of his.

"Awwn, did I hurt you, oh sweet Alpha?" I mocked.

He licked the cut briefly. "You’re asking now?"

"I’m just being polite."

"I appreciate it."

He came at me again. I barely dodged. He grabbed my shirt, gripping a little too hard, the heat radiating from his palm burning through the fabric as it lingered just a half-second too long.

I twisted out of it, feeling the strength in his hold and hating how my body reacted to the pressure. He grabbed again.

I ducked below his arm and drove my shoulder into his side, the heat of him against me sending an electric awareness through my core. He staggered half a step.

I quickly turned and struck him again.

This time, he didn’t smile. Something shifted. The indulgence faded. The amusement vanished. Lorenzo was no longer just playing around with me; he was fighting me.

I felt the immediate difference, his movements sharpened. He stopped going with my angles and started cutting them off.

Whenever I tried to move to the side, he stepped into the space before I could use it.

Whenever I tried to back away, he advanced. Whenever I attempted to redirect his weight, he adjusted before I could finish the movement.

He was starting to take the fight seriously... starting to take me seriously.

And every time we clinched, the contact lingered just long enough for me to feel the heat of him, the strength in his grip, the low sound he made when I managed to surprise him again.

He was catching on to my fighting style. Of course he was.

As if being intimidating wasn’t enough, he also had to be frustratingly adaptable, and the dark pleasure in his gaze every time I forced him to actually work only intensified the charge in the air between us.

I backed away. He followed. I changed direction. He predicted it. I ducked. His arm swiped above me, the scent of sweat and alpha pheromones filling the air around us.

I twisted away...his hand caught my shoulder, gripping more firmly than needed, the heat from his palm lingering as I slipped free.

My breathing grew harder, his was too. Sweat dampened my hair and ran down my face.

The scent I had released still lingered, making every close encounter feel dangerously intimate.

Every time Lorenzo got near me, I felt the tension build, the way his body reacted to my closeness despite his attempts to maintain control.

He knew what I had done. And I knew he knew...neither of us dared to mention it.

I tried another feint, but he didn’t fall for it. "Damn it."

He smiled before attacking again. I moved and blocked, twisted and struck. He caught me, but I slipped away, hyper-aware of the muscles under my hands whenever I tried to lock a joint, the low sound he made when I managed to land yet another hit, and the way our scents tangled in the air until every breath felt way too intimate for a training hall full of spectators.

For several minutes, the fight turned into a flurry of movement. My feet ached, my arms burned. My lungs felt raw. But I pressed on.

Every time Lorenzo thought he had me, I slipped away. Every time I thought I’d found an opening, he closed it.

And every time we came together, the contact lingered half a second too long, his hands gripping harder than necessary, my body responding to his heat and strength, making me curse myself for it.

I landed another clean shot against his ribs. He grunted, the sound vibrating through me in a way that felt way too good.

I grinned. "That’s five."

"Are you keeping score?"

"Yep."

"You shouldn’t."

"Why not?"

"Because you won’t like the final score."

I hated how confident he sounded. I lunged. He sidestepped, I spun. He caught me around the waist, heat from his arm wrapping around me, the strength of his hold making my stomach drop even as my body recognized the intimacy of the clinch.

I twisted, trying to use the flexibility Nikolai drilled into me. For a brief moment, I almost broke free.

Then Lorenzo adjusted his grip, it was strong and the hold lingering as my body lost its balance. I hit the mat.

Air whooshed from my lungs. I rolled instantly.

He followed and I kicked upward. He moved back and I scrambled to my feet. My legs felt shaky, and every breath was thick with the lingering weight of my scent and his.

Lorenzo stood a few feet away, breathing harder now. His lip was bleeding.

There was a faint mark on his jaw. His shirt was rumpled. He looked nothing like the composed man who walked in.

Somehow, that fueled my determination even more, even as the dark pleasure in his eyes at the challenge sent another wave of heat through me.

I charged again. He met me halfway, we collided, the heat of his body against mine igniting a shock of awareness in every nerve.

I tried to slip around him. He caught my wrist. I twisted. He tightened his grip, the pressure firm and lingering. I turned. He followed. I kicked at his leg. He blocked. I tried to duck beneath his arm. His other hand snagged my shoulder. I stumbled. He took advantage.

In one smooth motion, he redirected my momentum, broke my balance, and brought me down onto the mat.

I hit the ground, before I could even recover, Lorenzo loomed over me. His weight pinned me down without crushing me, the heat of his body enveloping mine in a way that felt way too intimate for a training hall full of men.

No...no...no...no...SHIT!

I struggled...he tightened his hold, gripping harder than necessary, the strength in his body impossible to ignore as we pressed together from chest to thigh.

"Enough."

"No!"

"Alex."

"No!"

I couldn’t lose! I couldn’t!

I pushed. He didn’t budge. I twisted. Nothing...I tried another angle.

I had...I had to keep trying! I wasn’t going to just fucking give up and...huh?

He immediately adjusted, the shift of his hips against mine sparking an awareness that made my breath hitch.

He was hard...fully, unmistakably hard against me, the evidence of his arousal pressed against my hip.

The realization hit me hard enough that I froze, momentarily forgetting how to struggle.

Shock surged through me, tangled with the heat of the fight and the heavy intimacy of our pin, and I stared up at him with wide eyes, fully aware that the knowledge hung between us like its own challenge.

Holy shit...did fighting me...

Turn him on?!

What kind of man was he even–?!

Of course, he knew I felt it.

His breathing was heavy now, matching mine for reasons beyond the fight.

His hair had loosened from the bun, pale strands falling across his face, and the heat in his eyes was more than just about his victory; it was about how our bodies were locked together.

"Y–you’re cheating," I managed, my voice rougher than I intended.

"So did you." His mouth twitched. "You fought well."

"I haven’t lost!" I struggled, "I can still–!"

His gaze held mine, the weight of his body still pinning me down, the undeniable hardness of him pressing against my hip. "You have."

The room was utterly silent. I became acutely aware of everything...the warmth of his body, the sound of our heavy breaths, the scent still thick in the air, the realization of my defeat, and the unmistakable proof of how the fight impacted him pressing against me. My chest tightened.

Lorenzo stared down at me for a long moment.

Then he said it again, his voice softened, low and intimate, "You fought well, Omega. I’m so proud of you."

There was no mockery in those words. No amusement. He meant it, somehow, that made the loss feel different.

He had taken me seriously, they all had. He had actually had to struggle for this. I had made him bleed.

I had forced him to see me as more than just some fragile thing he could easily handle. I had lost, but I hadn’t failed.

And now I was pinned beneath him, with the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against my hip and the weight of the contract hanging over us like a second bind.

Lorenzo’s eyes remained locked on mine.

Then, he smiled slightly, the heat in his gaze turning my next words into a heavy promise. "But I guess this means you have to honor the contract...snd submit to me forever."

My stomach dropped. There it was...the moment I’d been dreading since we signed the papers. Complete submission.

And the way he was still hard against me, still breathing heavily, still looking at me like this fight had only been the start, made the promise of what came next feel infinitely more dangerous and real.

I swallowed and Lorenzo didn’t move. Neither did I.

The entire room faded away. For the first time since this fight began, I wasn’t considering my next move, balance, leverage, scent, or Nikolai.

I was focused on the contract and what losing meant. The undeniable heat of him pressed against me told me that this fight had turned into something more than just a sparring match, whether I was ready to admit it or not.

I couldn’t look away from Lorenzo’s intense green eyes...

I suppose I didn’t have a choice now.

He’d won this fight, and I had lost.

And his prize was me.

And I wasn’t the type of person who would break promises or contracts...if my submission was what he wanted. Then he had earned it.

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, guess no more trying to run away or get a divorce anymore...

I knew this would happen...

But in the end I was glad I didn’t go down without a fight.

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and that brings us to the end of this book 😊 glad you all enjoyed reading!

I’m kidding lol, but this brings us to the end of Vol 1🥳

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see you in the next volume which will be more spicier and even more fluffy 💕

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