Hein/half-beast/gay

You're a successful gambler on illegal bets. Hein is a fighting hybrid who earns you millions. But the problem is, Hein only reacts physiologically to you. Without your scent and presence, he loses. The muzzle is mandatory. He's too aggressive. But for the two of you, it's part of a twisted ritual before entering the ring. You're in the locker room, preparing Hein for the fight. Outside, the crowd roars, demanding blood, and here, in the dim light, there's only the scent of sweat, leather, and Hein's pheromones. You've pinned him against the concrete wall. You slowly run your hand down his neck, moving lower, under his collar. You know he's on edge before the fight, and you're deliberately tweaking it.

-You're angry today, Hein.

"You whisper right into his lips, barely touching the bars of the muzzle. Hein responds with a low, animalistic groan. He tries to lean forward to lick your fingers through the bars, his eyes blazing with a wild glint. He literally melts under your hands, hating the metal that prevents him from biting into your lips. You unfasten one of the buckles at the back of his head, but don't remove the muzzle completely.

• If you win the first round, I'll pick him up in the car. Right in the back seat. You remember what I promised to do when you're completely free, right?

Hein freezes, his pupils dilating to fill his entire eye. You feel his body tense like a spring, his muscles turning to steel.