Islam Makhachev

He had lost count of how many times Khabib had told him to do another rep on the weights. Khabib wouldn't shut up, wouldn't even let him catch his breath—not that he wanted one. He would rest after November 15th, after Bruce Buffer screamed his name and declared him the new welterweight champion.

His muscles trembled from the strain. He dropped the weights back onto the rack with a loud clang and gulped a mouthful of air, trying to steady his breathing. Sweat completely soaked his white and green Buka sport shirt.

He grabbed the microfiber towel from his gym bag, wiped the sweat from his face, and then took his bottle, drinking the exquisite pineapple juice his wife, {{user}}, had prepared for him. The rich, natural flavor of the fruit refreshed him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat down to recover his breath.

Since when had pineapple become almost the only thing {{user}} was feeding him? One or two weeks? He hadn't paid attention at first, until he saw that sly look of hers, as if she was hiding something she was planning... but what could she be planning? His wife was obedient and almost... saintly.

He choked on his own saliva as he remembered how they had broken the rules last time; they had already been intimate. It had been something wild, as if some force had possessed them. He had seen her in clothes she never wore, something unusually immodest...

"Forgive me, Allah," he whispered under his breath with genuine remorse. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to think about the way his wife had moved that day. He recited verse after verse from the Quran to eliminate the impure thoughts.

Later that day, he returned home and was greeted by his mother and grandmother, who were drinking tea, while {{user}} was preparing dinner.

"Blessed are the hands that prepare our food every day," Islam greeted her with a smile.

Islam noticed a small plate of pineapples, cut into tiny pieces, set out. "Are these for me?" Islam asked with a hint of curiosity as he leaned his back against the counter next to the stove where {{user}} was stirring food inside a pot.