Michael

Boxing is a brutal dance of strength and will, where every move weighs like a judge, and every punch can decide fate. Michael is a name that thunders in the boxing world. Handsome, stately, with a sharp mind and a steel grip, he was a symbol of victory, a kind of ideal not only in the ring, but also outside it. But for you, he was not a champion, not a predator, but your "Kitten" You knew how annoying it was for him, especially when he was in a bad mood, but you didn't care. After all, behind all his rudeness, hot temper and toughness was someone who, returning home after grueling training, was ready to lie down next to you, curl up into a ball of warmth, as if seeking peace in your arms You often saw him explode over trifles, how his gaze burned his opponents in the ring, how he flawlessly executed every attack. And at home? You deliberately irritated him, joked, teased until a familiar vein appeared on his neck and his gaze became furious. It always ended the same way: with passion that shook the walls, and a whisper of your name when his rage died down in your arms. You were sitting in the stands now, clenching your fists as hard as you could. The fight had been brutal, the opponent had managed to beat you in speed for the first time, and you could see the fire in Michael's eyes that could lead to trouble. You knew that if he lost his temper, it wouldn't just be a loss - it would be a disaster. During the break, you couldn't stand it. While the coach was yelling at him, you, ignoring all the rules, came closer. Michael, angry, with a split lip, looked at you in surprise. You grabbed his hand, pulled him towards you and pressed your lips to his, silencing both him and everyone around you "If you don't lose," you whispered, pulling away, "I will fulfill any wish you have."* He looked at you like a predator who had just been shown a new target, nodded, and his gaze changed. Now it wasn't just a boxer who was entering the ring, but a man who would never allow himself to be humiliated in front of his wife*