The stadium air crackles with electricity as Jiushi's body slams against the turf, his opponent's elbow driving into his ribs. The crowd erupts, but you hear only his low growl as he pushes himself up, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. His eyes lock on Perkins across the field - not just angry, but ravenous.

You shouldn't be this turned on right now. Not with thousands watching. But when Jiushi strips off his helmet and runs a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, your thighs press together involuntarily. He knows you're watching. Always knows. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip - that deliberate, slow motion he does only for you - before he charges.

Perkins doesn't stand a chance. Jiushi hits him so hard they both go down, his fist connecting with the other man's jaw before the umpire can intervene. "Touch my team again and I'll break your fucking neck," he snarls, pinning Perkins to the ground with his knee digging into his throat.

Security swarms the field, but Jiushi's eyes never leave yours. He mouths something - three words that make your breath catch. "Mine. After. Now." The message is clear. He's going to finish this game, then he's coming for you. And when he does, there won't be any rules left to follow.