45

45
Javier

The sounds of the gym were like a constant soundtrack in the back of my mind. Fists hitting punching bags, the muffled grunts of effort, weights being lifted and dropping onto the rubber floor. It all kept me focused, distracted from everything happening outside, from everything I felt but didn’t want to deal with. My body was in motion, muscles burning with the relentless repetition of punches on the bag and then on my opponent. Sweat dripped down my forehead, falling onto the mat, as the thick air of the gym seared my lungs.

I was in the ring, facing one of my men. It was just training, but that didn’t mean I’d go easy. Every punch I threw carried a raw force that felt more about releasing the tension in my body than winning a fight. My opponent was good, but not on my level. And still, I didn’t hold back. I needed to feel the pain, the utter exhaustion, to drain myself until I had no strength left to think about anything else.

I was so focused on the movement—the sound of my punches echoing through the gym—that it took me a moment to notice something had changed. The noises quieted, fading into an odd silence. All the men training around us stopped what they were doing. My opponent lowered his fists, frowning and looking over my shoulder.

I turned, confused, searching for the cause of the interruption. That’s when I saw her. Camille was standing at the gym’s entrance, wearing workout clothes: a tight black crop top and shorts that seemed ridiculously short for being there, surrounded by men who weren’t shy about staring. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a faint smile played on her lips. She looked so out of place in that environment full of sweat, testosterone, and physical strain that it was hard to believe what my eyes were seeing.

“I came to train with you guys,” she said, her voice casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My body stiffened. For a moment, I looked at her, then at the men around, who were clearly ogling her. My jaw clenched, and anger began to boil in my chest. Their stares weren’t appropriate. They weren’t supposed to look at my wife.

“Everyone out,” I said, trying to keep my voice controlled. But no one moved. They stood there, frozen, as if they couldn’t believe what I’d said.

I took a deep breath and shouted this time. “NOW!”

The sound of my voice echoed off the gym walls, and this time, they scrambled to leave. Big, trained men, built to fight and obey, poured out the doors like kids who’d just been scolded. In seconds, the gym was empty, except for me and Camille.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, arms crossed, with that look that seemed defiant but also slightly amused.

“Of course I did! They were staring at you!” I shot back, indignation clear in my tone.

She stepped into the ring, as if my anger was just an inconsequential detail. Her relaxed posture irritated me even more.

“They have eyes, Javier,” she said, as if that settled it.

“Then I’ll rip their eyes out,” I retorted, narrowing my eyes at her.

She paused, holding my gaze, a barely perceptible smile on her lips. “I didn’t think you were that possessive,” she murmured, as if weighing my words.

“You’re my wife and the future mother of my children.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and as soon as I said them, I regretted it. Not because they weren’t true, but because I feared her reaction. I was afraid she’d pull back, that the emptiness would take over again, like it had in recent weeks.

But to my surprise, she lifted her chin, her smile growing slightly. “Then let’s see how much you can handle,” she said, her tone challenging, as she stepped forward, raising her hands in a fighting stance.

She wanted to play. Or maybe she wanted to test me. But I couldn’t stop looking at her. For weeks, she’d been apathetic, barely speaking to me or anyone else. Now, here in the ring, she seemed more alive than I’d seen her in a long time. It was almost as if she was teasing me, pulling me out of my own bubble of tension and anger.

“Camille, this isn’t a game,” I muttered, though my hands had already risen by reflex, mirroring her stance.

“I know.” She smiled, with a glint in her eyes that almost made me forget the pain of everything we’d been through. “Let’s see what you’re made of, Javier.”

She moved first, without hesitation, aiming a punch at my stomach. Of course, she didn’t have the strength or technique to hurt me, but I still stepped back, dodging. I didn’t know how to handle this. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I also didn’t want to frustrate her by treating her as fragile.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she teased, with a laugh that sounded almost like relief. It was the sound of her slowly breaking down the walls she’d built.

I moved forward this time, throwing a light punch that she tried to block but failed. I grabbed her wrists, holding them firmly but not hurting her. She tried to break free, but I kept her in place.

“Enough, Camille.” My voice was firm, but my tone softened as I saw her expression. She was alive, present, fighting.

She stopped struggling, her chest rising and falling quickly with her rapid breathing. For a moment, we stood there in silence, just staring at each other. The smile faded from her face, but there was no sadness there. There was something else. Something that felt like a step forward, an attempt to climb out of the darkness.

“I’m trying, Javier,” she said finally, her voice low, almost a whisper.

I released her wrists, cupping her face with my hands. I didn’t say anything because there were no right words. I just stood there, feeling the warmth of her skin under my fingers, trying to convey everything I felt, everything I didn’t know how to express. She was mine. And I’d do whatever it took to bring her back to the light.

Burying my hand in her hair, I gripped the silky strands and pulled her head back, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes, wide and shocked, met mine as I slowly lowered her body until she was lying on the mat. Instead of muttering useless words, I leaned down, propping myself on my right elbow, and kissed her brutally, using my hand on her jaw to keep her still. My lips crushed hers. I sank my teeth into her lower lip as I pushed my tongue into her mouth, invading and hurting her. The sadistic monster inside me relished the metallic taste of her blood, while the rest of me ached with the agony of Camille’s mind.

She gasped against my mouth, but the sound was different now, more frightened than desperate. I felt her chest fill with air and realized my harsh method of reaching her had worked, forcing her to focus on physical pain instead of mental anguish. Her fists unclenched, and she lay still beneath me, tense with a different kind of fear. A fear that awakened the darkest, most predatory part of me... the part that wanted to dominate and devour her.

The fury still burning in me fueled this desire, feeding it until I became that terrible craving. My focus narrowed until I was only aware of the silky texture of her blood-tainted lips and the curves of her small, helpless body beneath mine. My erection throbbed painfully as she grabbed my right arm with both hands and let out an agonized sound.

Suddenly, the kiss wasn’t enough. I needed to have her completely. Releasing her jaw, I propped myself up on my arm and rose to my knees. She stared at me, her lips swollen and stained red. She was still panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but the vacant look was gone. She was fully present, and that’s what my inner demon wanted at that moment.

Her position exposed her backside and her sex, making my erection swell even more. I wanted to devour her, to claim every inch of her body. My muscles tensed, and almost without thinking, I moved inside her.

She cried out, closing her eyes as her body stiffened. The darkness within me took over, obliterating all traces of rational thought. I watched, almost as if from a distance, but as I found my rhythm, her body began to relax, yielding instead of resisting. Her cries softened, and her folds glistened with moisture. She responded as if it were a sensual caress.

Camille’s sex was impossibly tight, her inner muscles gripping me like a fist. No matter how often I took her, each time felt new, the sensations richer in my memory. I could stay inside her forever, feeling her softness, her wet heat. But I couldn’t. The primal need to move, to thrust, was too strong to deny. My heart pounded, my body pulsing with a wild need.

I stayed still for as long as I could, then began to move, each thrust making my groin meet her pink, freshly bruised buttocks. She moaned with every thrust, tightening around me, and the sensations built, intensifying to an unbearable level. My skin prickled with the nearing orgasm, and I thrust faster, harder, until I felt her contractions as her sex clenched repeatedly around me, and Camille screamed my name.

That was the breaking point. The orgasm I’d been holding back crashed over me with ferocious intensity, and I exploded inside her with a hoarse groan. The incredible pleasure flooded my body. It was a sensation unlike anything else, an ecstasy that went far beyond physical satisfaction. It was something I’d only ever felt with her.

And something I’d only ever feel with her.

Breathing heavily, I pulled away from her, letting her collapse onto the mat. Then I lay beside her and pulled her close, knowing she needed tenderness after the brutality. And in a way, I needed it too. I needed to comfort her, to bind her to me when she was most vulnerable, to ensure her love.

Maybe it was cold-blooded, but I didn’t leave things as important as this to chance.

She turned to me, burying her face in my neck. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. “Hold me, Javier,” she whispered.

I held her. I would always hold her, no matter what.