Chapter 1: Submission in the Spotlight
The roar of the crowd hit Ethan like a punch to the gut, a wall of noise that made his ears ring. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring his vision as he strained against Alexander’s crushing grip, his muscles screaming in protest. "Give it up, Russo," Alexander rumbled in his ear, his voice dripping with amusement. "You know you can't win."
Ethan gritted his teeth, shifting his weight, searching for any opening—any weakness—in Alexander’s ironclad hold. But the man was a goddamn fortress, all coiled muscle and unshakable confidence. The spotlight overhead turned the sweat-slicked mat into a shimmering trap, and Ethan caught flashes of the crowd—faces twisted in bloodlust, hungry for his humiliation.
"Not—gonna—happen," Ethan grunted, twisting hard, trying to break free.
Alexander just laughed, low and dark, tightening his hold until Ethan’s ribs creaked. "What’s the matter?" he taunted, breath hot against Ethan’s neck. "Can’t breathe? Maybe you should tap out. Save yourself the embarrassment."
Ethan spat on the canvas, defiance burning through him. Screw that. He wasn’t some rookie—he’d trained for this. He might not be the biggest, but he was fast, agile, and he sure as hell wasn’t going down without a fight.
For a split second, he thought he had him. He twisted sharply, using Alexander’s own momentum against him, feeling the grip loosen—
Then the world flipped.
Ethan hit the mat hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening, their laughter like knives. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and bitter.
Alexander loomed over him, grinning like a predator who’d just cornered his prey. "Admit it, Russo," he murmured, leaning in close. "I’m better than you. Stronger than you. More man than you."
Ethan glared up, his pulse hammering. "Go to hell, Grant."
Alexander’s grin widened. Then he shifted—just enough—and Ethan felt it.
Hard. Unmistakable. Pressing against his lower back.
Humiliation burned through him, hotter than the ache in his ribs. The crowd’s laughter swelled, cruel and knowing, as Alexander chuckled in his ear. "Enjoying the view, Russo?" he purred. "I know you are."
Ethan clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. The throbbing pressure against his spine was relentless, the jeers of the crowd a deafening reminder of his defeat. And as Alexander’s massive, throbbing erection pressed harder against him, Ethan knew—humiliation was inevitable
"Open your eyes, Russo," Alexander commanded, his voice thick with amusement.
Ethan squeezed them shut tighter, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
Alexander chuckled, shifting his weight just enough to make Ethan gasp. "Come on, don’t be shy. Look at me."
Reluctantly, Ethan cracked his eyelids open—just in time to see Alexander’s smirk widen.
"That’s better," Alexander purred, his breath hot against Ethan’s ear. "Now, say it."
Ethan swallowed hard. "Say what?"
"You know damn well what." Alexander flexed his hips, grinding against him. "Tell me who’s on top."
Ethan’s stomach twisted. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—give him the satisfaction.
Then the crowd erupted.
Ethan barely had time to register the hands grabbing at him before two women—faces flushed, eyes wild—hauled themselves into the ring. One yanked at his leg, the other clawed at his waistband.
"Let’s see what you’re hiding, pretty boy," one of them sneered, her nails digging into his skin.
Ethan thrashed, panic surging through him. "Get the hell off me!"
But they didn’t stop.
With one brutal tug, his trunks were down.
The crowd roared.
Heat flooded Ethan’s face as the spotlights burned against his exposed skin. Laughter and catcalls filled the air, the sound like knives twisting in his gut.
Alex