The chirp of her phone woke her from deep slumber. She snuggled deeper into her hard pillow, ignoring the sound. But the chirp sounded again and again until she was fully awake.

Rosalyn sat up and looked around for her phone, finally locating it on the nightstand on Diego’s side of the bed, the glowing screen lighting up the darkened room. When had the sun gone down? How long had she been asleep?

She blinked and set the questions aside as she reached across Diego to grab her phone. He was still breathing at a comforting pace, but he grumbled softly as she pressed into him to reach the nightstand. His arm drifted up a little, and his hand lazily squeezed her butt cheek.

A bolt of heat shot through her at his unconscious move, immediately priming her. What was it about this man? She rarely got so worked up about anyone, and yet one little move from him was ready to send her into overdrive.

She shook her head in annoyance at herself and snatched up her phone. She saw the time, first. She’d slept through lunch and dinner—a rarity for her. Then, she saw the missed call was from Anthony.

It was unusual for him to call on a Sunday. Had she missed an article deadline? She didn’t think so, since she was generally pretty punctual.

Curious, she got off the bed and locked herself in the bathroom so she wouldn’t wake Diego. She hit redial and waited until Anthony picked up.

“What’s up?” she whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” he asked at normal volume.

“Because someone is asleep in my apartment and I don’t want to wake them?” Not that it was any of his business.

He grunted at that, a sound which could mean anything from ‘I didn’t need to know that’ all the way through to ‘how dare you have a sleepover?’. She ignored it.

“Why’d you call? I didn’t miss a deadline, did I?”

“Hmmm? Oh, no. I thought I’d call to see how you got on with your investigation last night? Do you have an article for me?”

Rosalyn rolled her eyes. “Not yet, but I’ve started. I still need more time. Last night was more…eventful than I anticipated, so I didn’t get as many interviews as I wanted.”

“But you got some?” he asked.

She glanced towards the closed bathroom door to where Diego was sleeping beyond. “I got a partial one.”

“Look, I have a spot coming up in Thursday’s paper. Presuming the world doesn’t end and I need the space to announce the apocalypse, I can hold it open for you. But you need to get it to me by midday Wednesday. Can you do it?”

It was Sunday. Three days to write the biggest story of her career?

“Absolutely,” she told him, her voice firm. She tucked her shaking hand into her armpit, not willing to analyse whether it was excitement or nerves causing the reaction.

“I need this to be good, Rosalyn. And I need it to be solid. If you’re outing powerful society folks for watching deathmatches, I need proof. Verifiable information, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And names—of the fighters, of the guy who’s running it—whatever you can get me. Find an angle and run with it, okay? And Rosalyn? Make it good. Juicy. You know what I want. Secrets, sex, scandals. The trifecta.”

She swallowed, nerves causing her heart to flutter. “Yeah, I got it. You won’t regret this, I promise.”

He grunted again. “We’ll see.”

He hung up, and Rosalyn was left staring at the phone. What had she gotten herself into? Other than the short conversation with Diego earlier, and attending two fights where no one would talk to her, Rosalyn had nothing to go on for this article. She thought she’d have another week, maybe even two.

She squared her shoulders. She could do this. She would do this. She wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through her fingers. This article could make her career. It would be the proof she needed that all the years of hard work and suffering were worth it. She’d stayed in her foster home despite the horrors for a chance to go to college when she could have left and lived off the streets, in many ways a better option. Now, she was on the verge of it all being worth it.

Better yet, she would have a chance to tell the stories of these fighters. Forgotten by society exactly like she’d been. In desperate straits and deserving another chance. She’d been there once. And maybe if someone had told her story when she’d been thirteen, she would have got the help she needed.

It happened all the time—homeless people, or others forgotten by the world, happened to get on a news program for one thing or another, and suddenly they had jobs, or people were crowdfunding a new start for them. Maybe her article could do the same thing?

She just had to do it right. If all she had to go on was her access to Diego, then she’d milk that connection for all it was worth.

Guilt nagged at her, but she ignored it. It wasn’t like she’d expose Diego. And he himself had seemed to hate the fights, the world he was stuck in. Really, by writing this article and exposing these people, she’d be doing him a favour. She’d get his story out in the world, and hopefully it would get him the freedom he craved.

So why wasn’t she telling him what she did for a living?

She shook her head and ignored her doubts. This was her chance, this was everything she had worked so hard for. Nothing could stand in her way. Not even Diego.

She cracked open the door and peered out. Diego was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily.

Secrets, sex, scandals. Diego had at least one of the three. If she figured out what he was hiding, maybe she could use it for her article. With his permission, of course. But she wouldn’t know whether it would be a good idea to even try to convince him until she knew what the secret was.

First things first, she had to find out his full name.

She cracked open the bathroom door and snuck past the headboard of the bed. The threadbare rug beneath her feet muffled her footsteps as she made her way over to Diego’s duffel bag. She kept one eye on her sleeping guest even as she crouched by the bag and slowly eased the zipper open.

Gym clothes, the hand straps he’d worn last night, and a few other bits and pieces. The white light from the streetlight outside was her only source of illumination, and she couldn’t risk using her phone as a flashlight or she might wake up Diego. She stuck her hand in, going by feel. Slowly, she moved through the objects, careful not to make a sound.

Her fingers closed over leather and a thrill of triumph ran through her. She tugged the worn leather wallet out and flipped it open. It was mostly empty. A few smaller bills, but no bank card. Nothing except a driver’s license.

Perfect. She tugged it out of its hold and squinted, but she couldn’t make out his full name. She replaced the wallet and zipped the bag back up.

Keeping an eye on Diego, she made her way over to the window.

It wasn’t unreasonable for her to want to know who she had in her house, she told herself. She was a woman living alone and had to be careful. It didn’t mean she had to use whatever she found for her article—if there was anything to find.

Standing in the kitchen, she tilted the card towards the light. Diego Johnson. Not an entirely unique name. Still, she was sure to find something, even if he won a science fair in primary school.

She memorised his birthdate and then crept back towards the duffel bag. She unzipped it, still careful, and placed the card back in his wallet.

Relief flowed through her as she reached for the zipper for the last time.

A hand gripped her wrist and tugged her upright. “What are you doing?” Diego’s voice came on a rasp. She hadn’t heard him approach, she’d been too focused on keeping herself quiet.

Her heart thundered wildly as she froze like a deer in the headlights. He was scowling at her, fierce and angry and her heart leapt in her throat.

She tried to get words out, come up with an excuse, but it was no good.

He gripped her other wrist and pushed her back into the wall, pinning her hands on either side of her head.

“Answer me,” he growled. His hot breath fanned across her face.

She swallowed twice, trying to get some moisture into her desert-dry mouth. “I was checking to see if Doc gave you any more bandages. Thought you’d want a shower and I might need to replace them.”

Her knees shook and she struggled to keep herself from sagging, but she locked them in place. She never thought Diego would be scary—not to her—but his scowl, his superior strength, the way he towered above her, it made her tremble.

But not just with fear.

His height, the way he surrounded her and filled her senses, caused her brain to short circuit. She wanted him, needed him.

He pressed himself closer, his gaze roaming over her. She licked her lips in anticipation and his gaze darkened further. The look in his eyes made her melt, boneless. She was already wet, preparing herself for him, craving him to make good on the promise in his expression.

His hands shifted so their fingers entwined, but he still held her pinned against the wall. He leaned forward like he couldn’t hold himself back any longer until their lips met, a careful brush of mouths.

“I told you this would happen,” he whispered against her mouth. “I warned you.”

“Then let it happen,” she replied. She strained her neck forward to press a kiss against his lips. “Give in.”

The words snapped whatever tenuous control he’d had over himself. He captured her mouth in a punishing kiss, lips, teeth and tongues clashing. She responded in kind, a desperate need roaring to life within her at the kiss.

She needed this. Wanted this. Had from the first moment she’d seen his hard warrior’s body in that cage.

She pushed against the hands still pinning her to the wall, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn’t budge an inch, holding her still with his hands and body so he was in complete control.

The kiss was hot, like an inferno, and her skin was on fire. She needed her clothes off, a bucket of water, an orgasm, something.

She squirmed. “Please,” she begged, already so ready for him.

He pulled back to meet her gaze and grinned a conqueror’s smile. “Patience.”

The bastard.

He dived down, pressing a wet kiss to her cleavage. She arched her back as pleasure spun through her, presenting her breasts to him. He didn’t disappoint. He used his teeth to tug down the neck of her tank top until her breasts popped free. They were pushed together by the action, plumped for his perusal. And look he did, with a long groan.

“Fuck,” he said eloquently. Rosalyn grinned in reply, his obvious admiration for her body making her even more wet for him.

He took one nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue. She squirmed against the onslaught, needing friction against her clit, but Diego didn’t oblige. She was so close to orgasm already, but he’d barely touched her.

When he was done with that nipple, he moved across to the other. Unable to bear the pressure building in her without avenue for release, Rosalyn hooked one leg around him and ground herself against his thigh. She gasped in pleasure at the sensation, rocking herself back and forward, but Diego growled in annoyance.

“Mine,” he said, then stepped out of her reach.

Rosalyn whimpered in thwarted release. Diego finally let go of her hands and Rosalyn immediately reached for him.

But he stepped into her space and picked her up by the hips, his arm muscles bulging.

“Your ribs!” she cried, but he ignored her. He turned and almost threw her on the bed.

“They’re fine,” he muttered.

She sat up and reached for him again, but he crouched by the edge of the bed. He gripped her beneath the knees and pulled her forward until she was in exactly the position he wanted. She grew even wetter in anticipation as she realised what he intended. His hand splayed possessively over her stomach and he brushed her thumb against her belly button in a tender stroke.

Then, he undid her shorts, put both hands on the waistband, and tugged them and her panties off in one smooth move.

Cool air brushed over her skin as he stared at what he’d just revealed. He was silent so long she began to feel self-conscious and moved her hands to cover herself. Before she reached her goal he caught her wrists again and pinned them against the bedspread.

“You’re beautiful,” he said reverently. She gasped at the words, at the way he uttered them with such intense focus on her. Her hips flexed, begging him to touch her where he looked.

“Spread wider for me,” he ordered, and she obeyed without question.

He dived between her legs, flattening his tongue and running it up her centre. Her hips bucked as pleasure speared through her, centering on her most sensitive area.

But he didn’t stop. He did it again, and again, until she writhed beneath him.

He release one of her hands, and she immediately gripped his hair. She was mindless with pleasure, had no idea if she was hurting him, but the faint grin she felt against her core told her that he liked it.

He sucked her clit and inserted a finger into her. He slid in with no resistance she was already so wet and prepared. He moved the finger in and out a few times, still working her clit, then added a second, and eventually a third.

With one final flick of her clit she came hard on a scream. He didn’t stop, keeping the movement going until the last contraction shuddered through her. Then, he stood and reached for the hem of his t-shirt and ripped it over his head. His hard chest rippled with muscles and tattoos decorated the skin. Scars, too, if she was seeing correctly in the darkness. A history of violence written over his skin.

He was so powerful, standing there in the muted light from outside, looming over her with his chest on display. It was a masculine display of power, the likes of which she’d never been privy to. And she wanted him all over again.

He reached for the waistband of his own shorts and shucked them off, revealing a straining erection. She was immediately distracted from his chest, her gaze focusing on his cock.

He was big, thick and veined, and Rosalyn’s mouth watered at the sight. She already wanted him again, wanted him inside her. He took a step forward, stroking himself almost absently, then stopped.

“Condom?”

“Top drawer,” she replied, gesturing to her nightstand. He took the necessary steps, unashamed in his nakedness—not that he had a reason to be. He was glorious, like a warrior of old ready to charge into battle.

She used the opportunity to pull off her own tank top and manoeuvre further up onto the bed.

He found the condom and put it on without ceremony, then came back over to her. His brows were drawn down in concentration.

“Is everything okay?” she asked as he hovered, not coming any closer.

He exhaled, short and sharp. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.” Rosalyn’s heart sank. “But fucked if I can’t help myself now.”

Rosalyn’s heart leap at the raw edge to his voice. He was hanging on by a thread. She’d caused that. This powerful man wanted her, could barely control himself in her presence. It gave her a sense of her own feminine power.

“Come here,” she said, beckoning with her finger. He knelt on the bed and leaned over her like a puppet pulled on a string.

He positioned himself at her entrance, holding himself over her and staring into her eyes.

She wrapped her legs around him and reached down, guiding him into her as he thrust deep. She gasped at the sensation of his thick cock filling her. All her nerve endings stood to attention.

He pulled out slowly and thrust deep again, sliding into her as if he belonged there. Their eyes locked. Rosalyn let out a shaky breath. Their skin already had a light sheen of sweat over them.

Diego flexed his hips and filled her again, and again. Claiming her. Her body, her soul.

She was close already, so she tilted her hips to improve the angle, so he hit the exact right spot.

He grunted. Then without warning, he rolled so she was on top.

“My ribs,” he explained with a grunt. “You take control. Ride me.”

She did as he asked, levering up, then slowly easing down. He thrust up into her, meeting her stroke for stroke.

“So good,” she told him, the only words she could manage.

“You’re amazing,” he replied, hands closing over her breasts as they bounced in time to her movements and playing with her nipples.

“I’m close,” she told him, increasingly her pace, fucking him harder.

“Come for me,” he insisted.

She brushed her fingers against her clit and squeezed his cock as she descended on him again. It was enough. Her orgasms rolled over her like a tidal wave, crashing into every part of her, filling every crack within her.

The tidal wave felt like him, like Diego, coming into her life and imprinting himself on her soul.

She collapsed over him, but he wasn’t done. He gripped her hips and pumped into her a few times until he came on a yell.

Their breaths heaved liked they’d run a marathon. When she had the strength, Rosalyn rolled off him, conscious of his ribs. Diego slipped from the bed and into the bathroom, dealing with the condom, and then came back to her. He wrapped himself around her, and as she drifted into a post-orgasm slumber, Rosalyn could almost swear he brushed a tender kiss against her temple.