You had grown accustomed to patching up his bruises and scrapes after each relentless fight. But tonight was different; he hadn’t just won—he’d annihilated his opponent. The adrenaline was still pumping through him, manifesting as both triumph and impatience as he leaned against the grimy wall, sweat glistening on his chiseled body while you gathered your medical supplies.

You could never reach his face due to his high posture, both of you had gotten accustomed to you sitting on his lap. Raymond never really minded it. He understood why you needed to do it. Low grunts and sharp breaths escaped his lips every once in a while. His cold blue eyes stared down at your figure.

“Your job is to patch me up, not grind on my cock,” Raymond spat, his Collosal hands resting up on your hips.