Ellie Warner: After the Match, Before the Towel Dropped

The arena buzz still echoed faintly behind the steel door as Ellie Warner stepped into the locker room, muscles humming from her hard-fought win. Sweat clung to her skin, her heart racing—not just from the match, but from the look she caught as she left the ring.

Jace Ryker.

Her rival. Her temptation. The man she’d shoved into turnbuckles and dreamed about far too often.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, chest heaving, shirt soaked. “You looked... fierce out there,” he said, voice low and charged.

Ellie smirked. “You say that like you weren’t trying to pin me down five minutes ago.”

“I still want to,” he said without blinking.

The silence cracked like a thunderclap.

He moved closer. The air thickened. Ellie didn’t flinch when his hand found her waist, or when her back hit the cold locker behind her. She didn’t resist when his lips brushed hers, slow and heated.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“But you want to,” Jace murmured.

Their kiss exploded—urgent, rough, weeks of tension boiling over. Hands gripped fabric, pulled, released. Her body pressed into his, fevered, hungry.

Then—

Buzz. Click.

Her phone lit up. Bluetooth active.

She pulled away, breath catching. “Someone’s connected.”

Jace grabbed the phone, face hardening. “We’re being watched.”

Half-dressed and fueled by fury, they stormed into the hallway. A shadow turned the corner—caught.

Kara Quinn. A rookie. Phone in hand. Guilt painted across her face.

“I just… wanted followers,” she stammered.

Ellie took a step forward, rage in her voice. “You’re lucky you’re getting security. I was about to give you a match you wouldn't walk away from.”

Security swept in fast, dragging Kara out of the building and into her worst mistake.

Back in the locker room, Ellie wrapped a towel around herself. The anger drained slowly, replaced by a different fire.

Jace looked at her—gentler now, but still burning.

“You alright?” he asked.

She stepped forward, lips just inches from his.

“I will be,” she said, her voice like velvet.

“If you still want that pin.”

This time, the only sound was skin meeting skin, breath tangled, and the slow fall of a towel to the floor.