Jaida Jax: Submission After Midnight

After-Hours in the Ring

The arena was a hollow giant now.

Hours earlier, it had been alive — the roar of the crowd pounding in Jaida Jax’s ears as she locked in her signature choke, the lights blinding as her opponent tapped out in front of thousands. 

But now? It was midnight. The lights were dim. The echo of her boots was the only applause left.

She wasn’t ready to leave.

The match had been physical, but the after — the adrenaline crash, the sweat cooling on her skin, the quiet — always stirred something deeper in Jaida. It was the perfect time for risks. She wandered down the backstage corridor, still in her ring gear: black leather shorts, a crimson crop top clinging to her, hair still messy from the fight. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the ache where her opponent had tried to fight free.

At the end of the hallway, the side exit was cracked open. A thin breeze crept in, carrying the faint smell of rain. That’s when she saw him — Damon Creed, her longtime in-ring rival, leaning against a steel barricade in the dim loading dock light.

“You don’t sleep, do you?” she called.

His smirk was slow, deliberate. “Not after a match like that. You had me wondering if you were going to break my neck.”

Jaida’s lips curved. “I could still finish the job.”

He stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking until she could see the sweat still on his temples. “Or,” he said, voice low, “you could admit you’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

She arched a brow. “And this is?”

Instead of answering, he grabbed her wrist — not hard, but firm — and spun her until her back was against the wall. The sudden move pulled a gasp from her lips. His eyes held hers, unblinking.

“You think you’re always in control, Jax,” he murmured. “But tonight, you’re going to tap out to me.”

The challenge in his voice was enough to send heat through her. She tilted her chin up, brushing her lips close to his without touching. “Prove it.”

That was all it took.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. The smell of leather, cologne, and adrenaline wrapped around her as his mouth finally claimed hers — rough, consuming, impatient. Jaida kissed back with the same fire she fought with, fingers gripping the back of his neck.

The hum of the nearby vending machine was the only sound besides their breathing. Damon pressed her harder into the wall, one knee sliding between hers. She responded by looping a leg around him, pulling him closer. Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw, nails grazing skin, making him exhale sharply.

“Still think I’ll tap?” she whispered against his ear.

He growled low in his throat, shifting to pin her wrists above her head with one hand. “We’ll see.”

Every movement between them was a test — pressure, counter-pressure, control shifting like a match’s momentum. His mouth traveled from her lips to her neck, teeth grazing her skin. Jaida’s head tipped back, her breath catching. She was used to being the predator in the ring. Here, she wasn’t so sure.

The air around them thickened. Somewhere outside, a truck’s engine rumbled past, but the world felt narrowed to the heat between them. 

Damon’s free hand slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist, the leather of her shorts squeaking under his palm.

“You fight dirty,” she murmured.

“It’s the only way I know,” he replied, his grin dangerous.

With a sudden twist of her hips, Jaida broke one wrist free, reversing their positions. Now he was the one against the wall. She pressed her forearm lightly to his chest, her lips ghosting over his. “You’re not the only one who can play rough.”

Damon laughed quietly, a sound half-admiration, half-warning. He grabbed her again, this time spinning them toward a stack of padded mats by the exit. She landed with a bounce, and he was on her before she could rise, bracing one arm beside her head.

“You’re mine, Jax.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They moved like they were still in the ring — grappling, shifting, testing each other’s strength. But every lock, every press of their bodies, was laced with something the crowd would never see. Her back arched under him, her breath quickening. His hair fell forward, brushing her cheek.

“You’re stalling,” she teased.

He leaned closer, voice a low growl. “Or maybe I just like taking my time.”

The tension built, an unspoken count that neither wanted to break. Her hands slipped under his shirt, fingers tracing muscle, nails dragging lightly enough to make him inhale sharply. Damon caught her wrist again, bringing it to his lips and kissing the inside slowly.

Her pulse jumped.

Somewhere, a door slammed in the distance. Security making rounds, maybe. The sound jolted them back to reality — but not far enough. Damon’s mouth returned to hers, more urgent now. She pulled him down, the padded mat creaking under their combined weight.

Minutes blurred. The world was the heat of his breath, the strength in his grip, the way he said her name like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to have. She felt her control slipping — and liked it.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Damon rested his forehead against hers. “Looks like I win.”

Jaida smirked, brushing her thumb over his lip. “You didn’t make me tap.”

He grinned back. “Yet.”

She laughed, low and sultry, pushing him off just enough to stand. Her legs felt shaky, but she didn’t let it show. She straightened her top, glanced toward the exit, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“Next time,” she said, stepping into the shadows, “don’t keep me waiting.”

As she disappeared down the hallway, Damon watched her go, already planning exactly how the rematch — in the ring or out — would end.

And somewhere in the quiet, the arena lights flickered once… almost like they knew the match wasn’t over.