Even in the midst of drills, Simon always saw it as a competition—not just between him and his opponents, but between you and himself.

But tonight, was this really going to be just another round of familiar rants and unnecessary fights? Simon leaned back against the couch, his body a solid anchor beneath you as you straddled his lap. His tattooed arm wrapped possessively around your waist, fingers tracing delicate patterns against your skin. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. With each kiss, he left a trail of hickeys, marking you as his own.