Chapter Nine

Violet’s meandering thought train derailed as Peyton and Vanderboon touched gloves at the center of the octagon. The ref called the bout into action. They circled each other, with Vanderboon darting in and out, feinting punches and kicks that neither landed nor seemed to serve any other purpose than to bait Peyton into engaging. Peyton blocked the attempts but refused to be drawn in.

After two minutes of nothing but dancing and retreating, the crowd started to boo. Peyton didn’t seem to notice. Vanderboon did, and he was the kind of fighter who loved to put on a show. He shot for Peyton’s left leg and managed to get enough of a grip to send both fighters careening into the chain link edge of the cage. Peyton grappled with him and splayed his hips, evading the full takedown. The crowd roared in approval, though it was short-lived when Peyton refused to go down.

Vanderboon kneed Peyton in the hip several times, trying to force his opponent into a misstep that would allow the takedown. Peyton dropped a few elbows to Vanderboon’s shoulder blades and back, drawing an audible grunt from Vanderboon as the last found a sensitive spot.

They broke apart and Peyton recovered his guard, his hands up, his seafoam-green colored gaze hard and cold as diamonds. Vanderboon smirked around his mouth guard and made a “come hither” motion with his left hand before he shot on Peyton again.

Peyton dodged the reckless onslaught and the crowd booed its disapproval. Vanderboon laughed as he crashed into the cage, spun, and resumed stalking Peyton in a slow circle at the center of the cage. In his attempts at showmanship, Vanderboon wasn’t prepared for the hard, swift kick that Peyton delivered to the outside of Vanderboon’s left knee.

Vanderboon had enough sense to hide a wince but anyone close enough to the cage could see that the kick had done damage. Vanderboon snarled and retreated a few steps, his guard coming back up. He glared at Peyton and the crowd booed again. Just as he charged Peyton for another takedown attempt, the end-of-round buzzer sounded.

Violet raced up the steps ahead of Peyton’s coaches and Manny, eager to assess the damage he’d sustained. She checked his hip, which had already started to darken from angry red to purple where Vanderboon’s vicious knees found their mark earlier. It was going to be sore afterwards but it looked to be only soft tissue damage—not enough to hurt his chances in the fight. She checked his hands, satisfied that those seemed uninjured. She moved on, checking the rest of him over.

While Violet worked, Manny and the coaches barked orders at him. Keep defending the takedowns. Keep hitting that left knee. Don’t let him goad you into making a mistake. Ignore the crowd. Start scoring hits. Knock this motherfucker out already.

“I got this, Vi,” Peyton murmured through his mouth guard as the fighters’ corners were dismissed for round two.

She nodded and squeezed his shoulder as she left the cage.

The second round began and that time, Vanderboon came out swinging. He tried for a hard right jab, left elbow, spinning-backfist combination. Peyton dodged the first two strikes, then ducked as the spinning backfist came. Peyton landed his own hard combination, first right, then left, directly into the lower section of Vanderboon’s ribs.

The crowd roared as Vanderboon staggered back, gasping in pain from the devastating body shots. His gaze hardened and narrowed and he grinned savagely, exposing his full mouthguard.

That psycho is enjoying this, the same unfamiliar voice from earlier mused.

“That’s kinda prerequisite for being a gladiator,” Violet softly replied, nonplussed.

Vanderboon feinted a takedown attempt and when Peyton evaded, Vanderboon launched another combination, ending with an elbow strike toward Peyton’s jaw. Peyton lifted his shoulder to block as the elbow flew in but ended up catching the brunt of it on the edge of his jaw, just behind his ear. Though his shoulder took most of the momentum out of the strike, it still hit hard enough to knock his equilibrium off, which in turn caused him to stumble.

Violet covered her mouth with her hands as Vanderboon swept Peyton’s legs out from under him and both men careened to the mat with a horrendous “crash”. They fought for position, Peyton recovering quickly enough to set up his guard. Vanderboon reared up and attempted to deliver a double hammer-fist blow to Peyton’s forearms, but Peyton lifted his hips and slammed a knee into Vanderboon’s ribcage just as the other fighter drew down.

Vanderboon’s body curled over on the injured side and Violet heard his breath rush out in the wake of the blow. Peyton saw his chance then and took it. With lightning speed, he reversed their positions. He managed to snake his left arm around Vanderboon’s neck. Vanderboon furiously fought him, trying to yank Peyton’s forearm loose. Peyton delivered another hard body shot with his right fist directly to the spot where his knee hit earlier.

Vanderboon grimaced and gasped as the hit landed, momentarily forgetting about the impending choke hold Peyton had begun to setup. But Peyton switched grips again and shifted his body away from Vanderboon. He abandoned the choke attempt and instead went for the armbar submission.

Vanderboon, who appeared to suffer from possibly broken ribs, didn’t recover quickly enough that time. But, he was saved nonetheless. Just as Peyton began to crank on the armbar submission, the round ended. The crowd roared, a mixture of cheers and boos. The ref split them up and Violet ran back up the steps, snagging the fight kit from Manny as she went.

Violet checked the knot that moused up behind Peyton’s ear from the elbow he’d eaten earlier in the round. It was dark purple already and about the size of a golf ball. She snapped a small ice pack, activating the cooling agents, then pressed the pack against the bruise, satisfied when Peyton held it himself. She checked the rest of him over as the coaches and Manny resumed barking orders.

“Time to put him away,” Manny said as the ref told them to clear the cage.

Violet’s gaze met Peyton’s. He grinned at her around his mouthguard and nodded once. She smiled back and allowed Manny to pull her down the steps.

The third round began and Vanderboon barely waited for the ref to clear before he shot again on Peyton. Peyton splayed his hips and managed to get a grip around Vanderboon’s torso. Peyton heaved and lifted Vanderboon off his feet, then violently slammed the other man to the ground.

Violet screamed in elation, her voice swallowed by the approving roar of the crowd. Peyton delivered several nasty, swift, punishing knees directly into Vanderboon’s side. Vanderboon hammered his fists against Peyton’s own ribs, but their position didn’t give Vanderboon enough leverage to inflict enough damage. Peyton dropped a vicious elbow down onto Vanderboon’s collarbone, drawing a shout of pain from the champion.

Vanderboon tossed his hips, managing to unseat Peyton for a precious half second…

But that was all Peyton needed. He scrambled to Vanderboon’s back and before the other fighter could defend, Peyton locked in a rear naked choke. The crowd was on its feet, their shouts and cries deafening as Peyton ratcheted the submission down.

Vanderboon’s hands dropped after a few seconds and the fighter went limp. His eyes glazed over and closed. The ref jumped in and called the fight. The noise from the arena’s crowd was deafening as Peyton released his hold on the other fighter and rose to his feet.

The crowd roared again as Peyton vaulted to the top of the cage, pumping his fist in the air in jubilation. Violet screamed herself hoarse, jumping up and down with Sif and Manny hugging her. Tears of joy rolled unimpeded down her cheeks as Peyton’s gaze flitted from the roaring arena crowd to her.

Peyton spat out his mouth guard into his hand and fixed her with a thousand-watt smile that could have lit the world. He pointed at her then held his hands over his heart. He hopped down from the top of the cage and Violet, Manny, Sif, and his coaches ran up to join him.

Peyton raced over to Violet, his grin triumphant, and he firmly cupped her face in his hands before planting a hard, impassioned kiss to her lips. Violet was vaguely aware of the renewed cheers from the crowd as they kissed—probably a little too long to be considered remotely appropriate.

Violet didn’t care. Peyton had finally won. They had finally won. They’d achieved the goal they’d worked so hard for together. She wasn’t about to let the moment slip away.

It took Manny to pry them apart for the post-fight interview with the announcer. Violet allowed Dezzy and Sif to drag her back down the steps. Her eyes never left Peyton the whole time. She’d never seen him so happy and her heart felt fit to burst.

“That was a hell of a good fight,” Dezzy said as the crowd quieted to listen to the announcer.

“Great way to end the night,” Gorski added, materializing from wherever he’d been watching the fight in the crowd.

“Girrrrrrllllll!” a familiar voice screeched.

Violet caught the petite firecracker as Taylor launched herself into Violet’s embrace. Violet’s legs threatened to buckle and she hastily put Tay down, happy to jump up and down with her instead.

“Team Phenom has three belts now!” Tay screamed triumphantly. “Three titles!”

Violet watched as the judges placed the belt around Peyton’s waist. The league officials, coaches, and Manny posed for pictures with Peyton and his new belt. Since it was the last fight of the night, the crowd rapidly dispersed, as did all of the other fighter camps. They reconvened outside the arena in the parking lot.

Dezzy took off with Brie to begin the festivities at the Christopher Mansion, where all the team’s afterparties were held. He took Gorski and a couple others with him as well. Sif disappeared shortly after Peyton had won—she was unusually cranky and didn’t want to entertain company. Taylor and Manuel escorted Peyton and Violet to their vehicle, which was parked near Tay’s SUV.

“So I’ll see you at the afterparty?” Tay called as they separated to enter their respective vehicles.

“Nah,” Peyton tiredly replied. “I’m bushed. We’ll see y’all at the gym on Monday.”

Tay pouted theatrically as Manny led her away, smiling back at them over his shoulder. They waved their goodbyes and Violet followed Peyton back to his truck. She laughed as he opened her door with a gentlemanly flourish.

Violet moved to sit down in the truck and was just about to swing her legs in when Peyton’s hands seized her hips. He moved so that his torso met hers, their faces mere inches apart, his grip on her firm.

“Pey—”

He cut her off by seizing her mouth with his. It was a rough kiss, though not unpleasant in the slightest. She found herself responding in kind, the fingers of one hand burying themselves in the short hair at the nape of his neck while the other arm snaked around his waist.

Violet moaned against his mouth when his tongue darted out, pressuring for entrance at the seam of her lips. She hungrily obliged, emitting a soft, pleased sigh as his hands slid from her hips to her sides. His body pressed harder on hers and she was all too aware of the evidence of his arousal as his hips ground against hers.

A split second later, he tore his mouth from hers and buried his face against her neck. His breath came in heavy, hot gasps against her skin. She realized with some small amount of alarm that he trembled.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just—goddamn, Vi. I don’t know if we’re gonna make it home.”

“We are home,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair and holding him closer, if it was possible.

Violet ran her hands up and down his back, a gentle massage that he leaned into. Peyton planted several kisses to the side of her neck, the heat of his breath on her skin sending chills rocketing down her spine. He pulled away after a couple moments of just holding each other, his movements slow and reluctant. He looked deeply into her eyes, his lids half-closed, and gently ran the backs of his knuckles down the line of her jaw. As his gaze held hers, they were lit with an icy green-blue fire that seared her to her very soul.

“You did it,” she breathed. “You won.”

“We did it,” he corrected, his tone huskily soft.

He reluctantly released her and ran to the other side of the truck. The ride home was tense. They didn’t speak, but he held her hand as he drove, frequently bringing her knuckles to his lips so that he could impart feather-light kisses there. A promise. An action of self-soothing until the real thing they desired could be obtained.

Violet’s stomach was full of frenzied moths as he parked the truck outside the home they shared with her brother. No one was there except for the Einherjar guards and they kept themselves well-hidden. Peyton turned the truck off, drawing her hand back to his lips for yet another kiss.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers as he released her hand and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t take the way he looked at her sometimes. He may have been “Ice” in the arena, but when it came to her, Peyton was all fire.

“Let me get your door,” he whispered. “I want this ta be perfect.”

Violet nodded, though she was unsure of what exactly he meant. She watched as he swiftly exited the truck and came around to open her door. She waited until he held out his hand, which she took, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He deftly pushed the door closed and they turned to walk up to the house.

“Wait,” he breathed when they’d made it nearly halfway up the walkway to the front door. “Let me just—let me just look at ya.”

Perplexed, Violet did as he asked and she froze. He circled her, their hands still entwined, leading her to spin as he moved around her. His eyes raked over her from head to toe, a familiar hungry light taking them. As he circled behind her, he let go of her hand only to ensnare her waist. He pulled her hard against him, his hands sliding from her waist up her rib cage.

Her heart hammered against her sternum, her blood rushed in a deafening torrent in her ears. His lips found the column of her throat, murmuring incoherent praise as they burned her skin. Her head lolled back at the gentle tug his fingers gave as they buried themselves into the hair at the base of her skull and his teeth abruptly seized one of her earlobes.

“Peyton,” Violet whispered shakily as a vehicle drove slowly past, its occupants blessedly oblivious to them. “We should go inside.”

He abruptly spun her to face him and before she could register another thought, she found herself scooped up in his arms. She wrapped her own arms around his neck and giggled as he jogged for the front door. He set her down and hastily fumbled for the key fob. The door clicked as he held it up and together, they rushed through.

Peyton slammed the door behind them, pausing only long enough to ensure that it had closed and locked before he rounded on Violet again. He scooped her up, eliciting more nervous laughter from her, and carried her quickly to their bedroom.

Once inside and the bedroom door was both closed and locked, Peyton turned on the lights. He twisted the dimmer switch down and the lights immediately dimmed in response. Violet turned to look at him and began to unzip the track jacket she wore.

Peyton rushed to her, swatting her hands away from the zipper.

“Let me,” he quietly commanded as he slowly drew the zipper down the rest of the way.

Peyton’s hands slid up the front of the undone jacket, parting it to reveal the white tank top she wore underneath. His eyes followed the movements of his hands as he slowly pushed the jacket down her shoulders. He stepped closer to her as it fell to the floor.

Violet held her breath. Though they were well-accustomed to the physical aspects of their romance, that time felt vastly different. Deeper, somehow. It wasn’t merely the slaking of lust, it wasn’t a need to be close to the other, or even the desperate desire for mutually assured relief in the wake of climax. It felt…

Like worship. He worshipped her, she realized.

His lips followed, pressing reverent, intense praise upon the freshly revealed skin of one shoulder. His hand smoothed down the other shoulder at the same time, its heat and roughness drew gooseflesh across the entirety of her body in its wake. She shuddered and a low, throaty, barely audible chuckle rumbled in his throat. He saw. He wanted more.

Violet reached for the hem of her tank top and his hands caught hers, stopping her for the briefest of moments. His lips feathered caresses across the curve of her deltoid muscle as he covered her hands with his. Together, they grasped the edge of the shirt and pulled it over her head. He tossed it haphazardly across the room, his eyes never leaving her body.

Peyton moved to stand in front of her and drew her hands to his chest. He covered them with his and gave them a guided tour down the hard planes of his pectorals and the rutted expanse of his abdomen until their fingers encountered the hem of his own tee. Once there, he taciturnly instructed her to remove it.

Violet sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as together, they pulled his shirt over his head. It too was flung carelessly away as Peyton was liberated from its oppressive grasp. Violet took the liberty of smoothing her hands back up his belly in a slow, careful, deliberate study of each line and curve with the fleshy pads of her fingers. She noted the increased volume of his breath, the uptick in the tempo of his pulse beneath her fingers as her expedition led her back to his chest. The fine sheen of light sweat broke out across his skin, lending it a comely glow in the low light.

She bent to plant a series of kisses across his collarbone, drawing from him a guttural moan as her lips found and caressed his skin. His fingers tracked the indent of her spine as his head rolled back, giving her even more access. She dragged her tongue up one of the more prominent lines of sinew on his throat that had been exposed with the lifting of his chin. He shuddered beneath her touch and his hands dipped below the waistband of the track pants she still wore.

Violet gasped when his fingers curled around the curve of her buttocks, the fabric barrier of her panties cruelly keeping the magic of his skin away from hers. His mouth seized upon hers once more, immediately begging her lips to part with the sweet persistence of his tongue. His grip tightened and lifted, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

He pivoted and lowered them to the bed, his pelvis nestled deeply in the welcome alcove of her hips as his tongue rolled to meet the rough, wanton press of hers. Peyton’s hands slid from her derriere to her waist, then up the sides of her belly. His fingers skimmed up her ribcage until they encountered the abundant curves that heralded the beginning of her breasts.

He tore his mouth from hers then and reared his torso up so that he could look down into her eyes. Violet reached up to caress the side of his face, unable to keep her eyes from assessing the dark bruise that colored his jaw.

“No,” he whispered, adept at deciphering her thoughts through her gaze. “Ya ain’t trainer Vi right now.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from her throat.

“You really should ice that,” she murmured, tracing the line of the bruise and testing it for tenderness.

Peyton caught her wrist and drew it away from his face. He pinned her hand behind her head, then grabbed the other one.

“No,” he growled, drawing another amused laugh from her.

“I can’t really argue when you’ve got me pinned,” she managed.

He lowered his head so that his face was intimately close to hers. His tongue darted out playfully at the tip of her nose, but before she could react further, he released her arms and slid down her body. His lips pressed a reverent, searing trail across her collarbone, between the swell of her breasts, and down the soft, shallow hollow of her ribs. Violet’s fingers caught in his short hair, seeking an anchor as he further stoked the heat coiling deep and low in her abdomen. His teeth caught the edge of the waistband of her pants and he playfully tugged, using his hands to help him guide the thin fabric down her legs.

Violet kicked the pants off when Peyton’s actions led him to her feet. He seized one of her ankles, holding her foot to his chest, and deftly untied the sneaker that still encased her foot. He let it drop to the floor, removed the other shoe, and then removed her socks. She just watched him, putty in his capable hands that he could mold and shape however he wished.

Peyton stood beside the bed and motioned her to him. Violet sat up, acutely aware of how his eyes followed her every movement. She scooted to the edge of the bed and clutched at the waistband of his shorts. As she pushed the encumbering fabric down his legs, her lips pressed soft, hot kisses to the sensitive skin over his hip bones.

Again, she paused to inspect the damage he’d incurred in his earlier fight. The bruising stood out starkly, dark, reddish purple against the light amber of his skin. She brushed it lightly with her fingertips, ignoring the tremor that rolled through him at her touch.

“Don’t say it,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Say what?” she innocently asked as one rogue hand brazenly smoothed across the hard protrusion at the center of his hips.

Peyton gasped, followed by a strangled groan as that same impertinent hand repeated the action, much more brazen in its second pass. He pushed her back on the bed, kicking off his shoes and the shorts she’d started to remove before coming to rest above her once more.

He stared down at her, cradling her face between his hands, painfully aware of the friction and heat her bare skin offered his as they lay together. She smiled sweetly up at him, though her jade green eyes darkened with her own evident desire.

“Ya get prettier the more I look at ya,” he murmured, smoothing a few strands of gently curling flyways away from her face.

“I don’t deserve you,” Violet whispered in reply.

Peyton shifted, rolling so that she was above him, straddling his hips. Both of them trembled as Violet adjusted her seat to a more comfortable, squared position; the action caused her hips to grind deliciously against his desperately hard erection.

“Why do ya think that?” he grunted, his eyes traveling unabashedly to her cleavage, which was on full display just inches from his grasp.

“Because it’s true,” she murmured as his hands slid up her ribcage once more.

“Well, darlin’,” he drawled, licking his lips. “We’re just gonna have ta agree ta disagree on that account.”

Violet’s back arched and her head fell backwards as his hands slowly moved to cup her breasts. He rolled his thumbs across the peaks in the fabric, the friction threatening to undo her the longer he continued the motion. Her hips gyrated of their own accord, mercilessly teasing him through the thin layers of what scant clothing they still wore.

He sat up then and his hands skimmed across her back. She lifted her arms so that he could pull the sports bra she wore up over her head. He happily and hastily obliged. As soon as she was free of it, his hands flew to cup the supple, soft globes of flesh.

Violet arched against him, unable to rein in the soft cry he elicited from her with the sweep of his tongue across first one, then the other painfully erect nipple. He seized the second gently between his teeth, then soothed the tender bite with soft, exploratory suckling.

“Peyton,” she sighed, arching again to meet the heat of his mouth as he switched sides.

He rolled them with the toss of his hips and as he landed above her, he buried his face in her cleavage and growled. Violet couldn’t help it. God, but he could make her laugh.

She burst out in peals of giggles, ruffling his hair with both hands. He chuckled against her skin and slid further down her body, planting desperate, white-hot kisses across her belly. Violet writhed against the press of his mouth, her teeth grasping her lower lip in a last-ditch effort to maintain a semblance of sanity.

Peyton seized upon her final piece of clothing with his hands, clawing them swiftly down her legs but careful not to harm her. He sat up and finished yanking the small clothes away, then tossed them over his shoulder. Violet giggled again as he slid up her legs, lavishing kisses across her inner thigh. He grinned and sat up then, eliciting a slight whimper of protest from her. He clicked his tongue at her and shook his head, making a shushing noise under his breath. She watched as he shimmied out of the under shorts he wore and kicked them off.

He slowly lay next to her, palming her cheek, his eyes riveted on hers. He smoothed his thumb across her cheekbone, eyes half-lidded. She stared up at him and smiled sweetly.

“Ever since ya fledged, there’s this… This light about ya. I don’t know if anyone else has noticed but I find it absolutely enchantin’,” he whispered at length, lowering his face toward hers by slow, steady increments.

“And you,” she murmured, gently tracing his bottom lip with her thumb, “Are my light.”

It was hard for either Violet or Peyton to tell who the aggressor was in the moment that followed. Violet arched to catch his lips against hers. He sought to be caught with equal fervor, his hands roving frantically over whatever bared skin was closest.

Before she came back to a reasonable facsimile of sense, she rolled him and found herself above. He writhed and gasped beneath her. She realized that she teased him mercilessly, denying him a union he was unabashedly desperate for and had more than earned.

A quick thrust of her pelvis brought them both the gratification they sought in each other. Peyton’s breath hissed out between his teeth and his hands flew to her hips, loath to let her pull away. She fell forward over him, panting against his chest. The movement granted even greater contact with one another and the friction between their skin was an exquisitely pleasurable torment.

“God. Damn. Vi,” he hissed between breaths.

She couldn’t respond with words but instead shifted her hips just enough to incite him to further action. He rolled them so that he was above her. His mouth ravaged hers as he drove into her; a deliberate, slow, maddening pace.

“Please, Peyton,” Violet found herself gasping against his lips.

“Please what?” Peyton rasped in response, pulling away to look down at her.

Her hair tried to break free from the braids, an interesting study of the dichotomy between chaos and order. Her pupils dilated wide, the slight shimmer of purple beneath the jade green in her irises. Her cheeks, neck, ears, and chest were flushed, making the slight smattering of freckles on her fair skin suddenly stand out. He picked up the pace, not waiting for an answer.

Violet rewarded him by matching his movements, driving and retreating, her back arching in her desperation to be closer, to touch as much as possible. All too quickly, she felt herself cresting and her nails gently raked his lower back in warning.

The action only served to spur him on and he settled his mouth over hers once more, eager to taste, eager for the clever, quick movements of her tongue as it sparred with his. Eager for the savage, explosive release the taut grip of her body around his promised.

Violet lost control first. She suddenly gasped and arched violently against him, unable to draw breath or exhale it. The heat between her thighs erupted and she was helpless against that vicious tide. She dragged Peyton up and over the zenith with her as the intensity of her climax touched off the same in him. He cried out as he buried his face in the hollow where her shoulder met her neck and clung wildly to her, riding the ebb and flow until it slowed and both of them could actually breathe again.

Peyton shifted so that he lay more next to her instead of above her, mindful of his mass. His heart hammered frenetically in his chest and he wheezed in the effort to draw enough breath. Violet still clung to him, her own breath coming in ragged breaths, her head lolled back into the pillows. She turned to look down at him for a second. He couldn’t move—breathing was a chore at that moment and even blinking took too much energy. After months of hard training, after the grueling, nearly three-full-round fight, and then the earth-shattering love making session...

He was absolutely spent.

Violet offered him a soft smile, her cheeks flushing anew. He watched a bead of sweat slip down her throat, glinting as it caught the low light just right, then disappearing in the shadow behind her neck and shoulders. He managed a caricature of a smirk.

“You. Need. Ice,” she struggled to say between heavy breaths.

“I’ll survive,” he whispered.

“Peyton.”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Ice.”

He shifted so that he lay fully on his side, stretched next to her, and languidly traced the long, sinewy line from her shoulder to her elbow. He worked on taking deep breaths and holding them in, employing a box-breathing technique to slow his racing heart.

Violet slowly and gingerly sat up, drawing a whimper of protest from him. She softly laughed and stretched her arms above her head, catching her wrist in the opposite hand’s grasp and cocking her head to one side. Her neck made an audible crack and she groaned at the release.

“I’ll get you an ice pack,” she murmured.

Just as she moved to stand, though, the sound of the front door opening froze her in place. Dezzy laughed loudly and was joined by the unmistakable tenor of Thor.

“Fuck,” Violet spat, falling back onto the bed.

Peyton chuckled quietly, shifting so that he lay on his belly, one side of his face hidden by the pillow. The bruised side was still visible and Violet sighed. She prepared to stand again, but Peyton’s arm shot out, ensnared her waist, and dragged her bodily back into the bed. She lay on her side, her back against his torso.

“Don’t go yet,” he quietly said. “Wait a little bit.”

“But—”

“But nothin’. Ya go out there right now without fixin’ your ‘I just had the best sex in my damn life’ hair and they’re gonna tease ya mercilessly for the rest of your life. You’re immortal, darlin’. That’s a damn long time.”

Violet couldn’t help it. He could always make her laugh, damn him. She giggled, covering her mouth with both hands to stifle it. The tremors she felt against her back informed her that he laughed, too. His grip tightened and he pressed his lips to her shoulder.

“I’ve got a… Mess to clean up,” Violet said a few seconds later.

“I claim full responsibility,” Peyton snorted against her neck, drawing another giggle from her.

“I’m gonna go take a shower. Then I’ll get you some ice. Probably should take a few ibuprofen too, while you’re at it,” Violet quietly stated, looking over her shoulder at his bruised cheek and jaw line.

“Let’s save some water and do that shower together. I need one too,” he said, finally recovered enough to sit up.

“I like how you think, Mr. Ashley.”

“I’m so happy that you do, Miss Jorgensen.”