Linda Williams: The Night She Didn’t Tap Out to Desire

 

The arena lights had dimmed, but the fire inside Linda Williams burned brighter than ever. Her body still hummed from the intensity of the match—muscles aching, heart pounding, sweat mingling with anticipation. Tonight, she had won. But it wasn’t just the victory ringing in her ears.

It was him.

Cole Maddox.

Her fiercest rival in the ring, and the only man who could make her forget every rule she ever swore by. He stood in the corner of the locker room, his shirt damp, eyes dark with something unspoken.

“You fought harder than I expected,” Cole murmured, stepping closer.

Linda’s lips curved into a sly smile. “You’re just lucky I held back.”

His grin was a challenge. “I think you just didn’t want to lose to me… tonight.”

The air between them thickened, charged with months of stolen glances and unspoken tension. When Cole reached out, his fingers brushed the soft skin at her jawline, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I shouldn’t,” Linda whispered, her voice trembling. “But I don’t want to.”

Before she could think twice, his lips found hers—hot, demanding, impossible to resist. The world outside the locker room ceased to exist. Her back pressed against the cool metal lockers as his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. Their kiss was a clash of strength and surrender, years of rivalry melting into desire.

Clothes fell away in a heated blur. Linda’s fingers tangled in Cole’s hair as he traced fiery paths down her neck, every touch igniting a new flame. She gasped, arching into him, the tension they'd kept at bay exploding between them.

“Tell me to stop,” Cole growled against her skin.

She shook her head, breathless. “I won’t.”

They sank onto the bench, bodies entwined and desperate. Every caress, every whispered promise, broke down the walls they’d built. Cole’s hands memorized her curves; Linda’s heart raced with a reckless abandon she had never allowed herself.

Suddenly, a sharp buzz cut through the haze.

Linda’s phone vibrated loudly on the floor.

She pulled away, her chest heaving, eyes wide.

“Someone’s connected to my hotspot,” she said, panic creeping in.

Cole grabbed the phone, eyes narrowing at the screen flashing an active Bluetooth connection.

“That’s not just a coincidence,” he muttered.

They dashed toward the exit, half-dressed, adrenaline now fueled by something darker—betrayal.

Near the hallway, a figure slipped away.

“Ally Vega,” Linda called, recognition sharp as a knife.

The rookie froze.

“I needed exposure,” Ally stammered, hands trembling.

Linda’s glare was ice. “You got it. With security and a lifetime ban.”

Within moments, Ally was taken away, the threat erased.

Back in the locker room, wrapped in a towel, Linda looked at Cole—his concern and desire shining through.

“You good?” he asked softly.

She smiled, flushed and fierce.

“Better than good,” she whispered.

And this time, when their lips met again, there were no cameras, no crowds—just pure, undeniable desire.