by Ciz, Alley
The Steele siblings shared a knuckle bump. He could only imagine what smartass remark she was making at the moment. The smile on her face was the only tell he needed to know Vince had the fight in the bag.
Sure enough, ten seconds into the second round Vince dropped Nunez flat on his back in a double leg takedown. He scrabbled around, wrapping his legs and arms around Nunez from behind, locking him into a rear naked choke until Nunez was tapping out.
Vince jumped to his feet, the referee holding his arm up and declaring him the winner while the rest of his team flooded into the cage, Rocky jumping into his arms in celebration.
If this was how his girl reacted when her brother won a regular fight, he couldn’t wait to see what she did when he successfully defended his Heavyweight title.
Over Jase's head, Gage’s eyes met Jordan’s.
“Start working your PR magic. It’s time to teach The Cutter some respect.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Two days after Vince’s fight, instead of the brief respite The Steele Maker was used to, it was a hubbub of activity. Gage’s decision to give The Cutter the rematch he so longed for had been one of the biggest stories to come out of the UFC in years.
Granted, Gage could admit he probably could have handled making the announcement better. Unfortunately, with his adrenaline still running high from his earlier confrontation with the douchemonkey, a comment or two had slipped out in front of some of the reporters doing their post-fight interviews with Vince.
He sat on the edge of the boxing ring, upper body draped over the middle rope, arms crossed, Rocky resting her head on his shoulder, while they listened to the plan their war room of people had come up with.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vic stood with his arms crossed at the head of the group in the middle of the matted floor looking as formidable as Bruce Willis is an action movie.
“Without a doubt,” he confirmed.
Vic and Mick shared a look he couldn’t read before facing him once again.
“Since The Cutter is already committed to a fight with the UFC, the date can’t be changed,” Mick said.
“So if you do this, your training camp wouldn’t even be a full six weeks,” Vic cautioned.
He was right to do so. Most training camps leading up to a fight were anywhere from six to twelve weeks, with six being the bare minimum. To consider taking on a fight—a title bout—with less than that could potentially be setting himself up for failure, but he was determined to have his shot at teaching The Cutter a lesson about respecting women.
Especially when that woman was his.
A quick glance at Rocky revealed a peculiar expression on her beautiful face. It wasn’t doubt in his ability to defend his title, but concern was definitely evident.
He lifted an arm from the ropes, looped it behind her back, and rested a possessive hand on her hip, tucking her more firmly against him.
Vic's lips were twisted down in a frown, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the thought of him taking on his first fight for the guy with a shortened camp or if it was because he was acting couple-ly inside the gym. Either way, he didn’t care. He was taking the fight and there wasn’t a chance in hell he wouldn’t offer comfort to the woman he loved when he was distinctly picking up unsure vibes from her.
“It’s true,” he conceded. “It would be the shortest camp I’ve ever had. But to be fair, it’s not like I’m coming in cold. The last seven weeks have almost been like a mini-training camp being Vince’s main sparring partner.”
“He’s got a point, Dad,” Vince said, leaning back in a wheeled leather chair, his body decorated in an array of Kinesio tape and ice packs to help promote healing, courtesy of his sister the physical therapist. There was also a goofy smile on his face, but he had a feeling it had more to do with whatever pain killers and anti-inflammatories Rocky had dosed him with for the day.
“Why don’t you take a day before you decide. You might feel different after being home,” Vic hedged. “Today’s a wash for training anyway.”
He could appreciate how his coach was looking out for him. It was obvious he had his best interests at heart. Deep down, he knew he wasn’t going to change his mind, but if it helped give those who cared for him a little piece of mind, he could wait twenty-four hours before signing any contracts.
From the tension he could feel radiating off Rocky’s body, maybe a quiet night spent together would assuage her worries. Plus, they hadn’t really had much alone time since they'd declared their feelings for each other. A night filled with multiple orgasms probably wouldn’t hurt.
He placed a kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the fresh scent of blueberries. “I’m good with that. But since everyone is here now, let's get all the details and logistics figured out so if I do end up signing, we don’t have to lose another day of training.”
Vic and Mick agreed, turning over control to Jordan and Skye. The fact that both women were there proved what a big event this fight had the potential to be. Both owners of ATS rarely consulted on the same client.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have this discussion in a more private setting?” Skye said, looking around the gym that was empty save for their team of full-time fighters and trainers.
“No, it’s fine.” He shook his head. “Most of it will be public knowledge anyway.”
He was no stranger to people knowing how much money he made—hell, you could Google his net worth. Along with Conor McGregor, he was one of the highest grossing fighters to ever come out of the UFC.
“Okay, then.” Skye looked to Jordan to take over.
“So just from signing your name on the dotted line, you’re guaranteed a flat four million.”
“The early stats we’ve seen come in since the sound clip leaked of you saying you would fight the twat waffle are some of the highest we’ve ever seen.”
“Twat waffle?” he cut in to ask.
“If the shoe fits.” How Skye was able to say it with a straight face, he had no idea, but the rest of the room fell into guffaws of laughter. “Anyway…like I was saying.” The broad smile revealed she was amused at the interruption. “The early numbers are showing you earning upwards of another seventy-five mil based on pay-per-view projections.”
“Right now, those numbers are showing over three million viewers,” Jordan added.
A breath whistled through his teeth as he let the information sink in. It wasn’t like he needed the money. He already had more money than he would be able to spend in a lifetime. But those numbers, even if only projections, were the highest he’d ever seen in his career.
“Honestly,” Jordan continued after a minute, “the biggest concern I have is the amount of promotion the UFC is going to require. With an already shortened training camp, you don’t want the time you do have cut more from that.”
“It’s a necessary evil though,” he stated.
“It is.” She agreed with a nod. “We can, however, make sure they come to you and adhere to any scheduling parameters we set for them.”
“They want this matchup even more than you do,” Skye added.
Doubtful.
Sure the UFC was a business, and the money potential was enough to make a grown man cream in his pants, but since hearing the asshat talk about fucking Rocky, there was no one, no one, who wanted to see Curtis Cutler get his ass beat more than Gage did. He was just the lucky SOB who would get a chance to do it in a sanctioned event.
“We’ve already told them everything has to be coordinated through ATS, and one of us will be here at all times during any filming or press.” Jordan waved a hand between her and Skye.
“We’ll both also fly out with you when you head to Vegas the week leading up to the fight. You’ll have an entire team of people to handle any extraneous details so your focus can remain on your training.”
He listened as the two listed out how the next month and a half would flow. It had been barely twenty-four hours since the sound bite leaked
The Coven was real people.
* * *
Rocky followed Gage into his condo. It was barely dinner time and already she was ready to call it a night. The last forty-eight hours were catching up with her. Vince’s fight, the nasty run-in with The Cutter, celebrating Vince’s win, Gage unintentionally declaring he would give The Cutter his rematch, followed closely by when the UFC wanted the fight to be, all combined into a ball of stress and she was officially done.
He may have said he was taking the night to think about the potential pitfalls of a shortened training camp, but she knew him well enough to recognize his mind was made up. As soon as Cutler added her into the equation, it was a done deal.
She’d witnessed her man get jealous and possessive—in the hottest alpha-romance-hero way, not in the creepy jerkwad way—over non-threats. There was no way he would let a direct insult be forgiven. Especially if the one slinging the barb was already on his shit list.
Wordlessly, he led her into the bedroom, pulling her into the circle of his arms, cupping the side of her face in one hand, love shining in his eyes clearly as he looked down at her. She had been in love before, twice actually, but neither of those times evoked the all-consuming adherence she felt for him.
His mouth sealed itself over hers, only breaking away long enough to lift their shirts and her bra from their bodies. His long arms pushed down her leggings halfway, then he stripped out of his joggers while she finished stepping out her leggings.
Not a word was spoken as he hooked an arm under the curve of her ass, lifting her in his arms so her legs wrapped around his narrow waist, and crawled into the center of the bed.
His mouth traced a hot path along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone, down her cleavage before pulling one of her sensitive nipples inside. The suction combined with the swirling laves of his tongue had her back arching off the bed and her nails raking across his buzzed head.
“God, you taste so good, Blue.” He spoke against her skin as he continued down her body until he was settled between her spread thighs, hovering over where she needed him most.
“Gage.” Her voice broke as he treated her clit to the same treatment her nipple received.
“If I could live off the taste of you I would.” His words vibrated through her core.
Slowly, he licked from the top of her clit down to her entrance and back. No matter how much she urged, he maintained his languid pace.
She clutched the duvet under her as the first orgasm washed over her. His name released as a broken plea from her lips.
Instead of getting to the main event, he lifted her legs so they fell over his shoulders, and keeping with the same frustratingly unhurried pace, slipped two fingers inside her center.
“More, Gage. More,” she begged.
His fingers hooked to hit that spot in the front of her vagina and she saw stars.
He released her legs, leaving her to lay like a starfish on the bed, as he kissed a path back up her body. From the pressure of some of them, there would be at least two new love bites left in their wake. Since the first night they spent together, she had consistently sported at least one somewhere on her body.
He clearly had a thing for marking her as his own.
Bracing himself on his elbows, his hands cradled her head, tilting it up for his kiss.
“God, I love you, Blue.”
He kissed her again at the same time as he slid his hard length inside her inch by slow, glorious inch.
She gasped into his mouth.
“Oh…Gage.”
She linked her ankles behind his back, bringing her pelvis flush against his as they rocked together.
“Oh.”
The trimmed hair of his groin brushed her clit.
“Gage.”
A swivel of his hip.
“Oh, god.”
Slow.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“Oh, god, Gage. I love you.” Her neck bowed back as they tipped over the precipice together.
Without pulling out of her, he shifted so they lay on their sides, her partially on top of him to maintain their connection.
“I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me.” His fingers lazily combed through her hair as he spoke.
“Okay.” She shifted so she could see his eyes.
“Do you not want me to fight Cutler?”
She suspected he sensed her reservations, so she wasn’t completely caught off guard by the question, but the way he was studying her, waiting for her answer, caused a tightness in her chest. It was so earnest, she had a feeling if she told him she didn’t want him to fight, he wouldn’t.
“It’s not that.” She struggled to find the right words. “I love going to fights and being able to see one of yours in person is like a dream come true.”
“But…” He could tell there was more she wasn’t saying.
“But I’m concerned you’re letting what happened at the Garden goad you into making a rash decision. Cutting your camp…” Or getting so lost in training because it’s shortened that you forget about me. But she didn’t dare say that out loud.
“I’ll be fine, babe.” His thumb brushed along her bottom lip.
“I’m not worried about you losing. But can you honestly say you would be taking this risk if he didn’t use me to get to you?”
She appreciated how he took the time to consider her words instead of pacifying her with what she wanted to hear.
“Yes, that’s a part of it. There’s always been a bit of bad blood between Cutler and me. The guy is a grade-A prick. The things he said about you were only the tip of the iceberg.”
“I get it. But I don’t want you rushing into something because you feel like you need to defend my honor or something. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
His hand drifted down to cup her ass. “Oh, babe, I know. I’ve seen you in action, remember.”
She smiled at the memory of the night they met.
“But I meant what I said earlier. Helping Vin train was like a mini-camp for me. I’m not going into this cold like I normally would. Plus, I fight in my natural weight class, so I doubt I’ll even have to worry about cutting weight and…you know as well as I do, that’s half the battle during camp.”
He was right. Without having to balance cutting weight, he would be able to train harder than most people preparing for a fight. Not having to cut calories or limit his water intake, he would be able to push himself to the max every day.
Just because she was scared training camp—an accelerated one, at that—would have him pushing her to the background like everyone else had throughout her life when it came to The Steele Maker, she couldn’t use it as an excuse to keep him from doing something that could be major for his career. It was her baggage—she needed to learn how to carry it without weighing him down.
“Okay.” She resolved to be the supportive girlfriend and not the insecure person she felt like.
His eyes widened in shock. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
A smile bloomed across his too handsome for his own good face.
“You gotta promise me one thing though."
“What’s that, Blue?”
“Kick his ass.”
“Like that was even a question.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Incessant knocking sounded on Gage’s front door. Since the morning-that-shall-not-be-talked-about when Vince served as a human alarm clock and general cock block, he had made sure to always lock his door when Rocky spent the night. They didn’t need any more surprise visitors during sexy times.
Knock. Knock.
Knock-knock-knock.
Knock. Knock.
As the knocking persisted, Rocky stepped out from their bedroom—he hadn’t considered it his since their first night together—dressed only in one of his t-shirts. Not that he made a habit of it in the past, but on the occasion he did have a girl spend the night and they wore one of his shirts around the house, he was used to it hitting closer to the girl’s knees thanks to his tall frame.
Not Rocky. With her model height, the hem of his shirt hit her somewhere above mid-thigh, allowing him to see most of her spectacular stems.
As he watched her run a hand through her bed-mussed—okay, fine, it was totally sex hair—he wondered if she had on panties or if she was completely bare underneath. His fingers itched to find out.
Knock. Knock.
Knock-knock-knock.
Knock. Knock.
The familiar pattern tapped again, this time drawing a smile from Rocky as she looked at the front door.
“Expecting someone, Blue?” he asked over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Me? No. You.” The look she gave him over her shoulder, gave him his first glimpse of why she was also a feared member of The Coven. “Yup.” The playful way she popped the p did nothing to ease the nervousness he suddenly felt.
“You’re earlier than I expected,” Rocky said as she stepped aside to let Gemma into his apartment.
“Blizzards are in Canada for the week on a stretch of away games,” she explained. “Jase is the only one I have to prepare meals for.” She paused as if mentally running through the list of clients she meal prepped for. “Well, and Jordan, but she doesn’t count. I figured I’d get a jump start on this guy.” She hooked a thumb in his direction.
“I already have your nutrition guide, Gem,” he said, passing Rocky her own mug of coffee.
“True. But during training camp, you don’t put anything in your mouth I haven’t approved.”
His eyes met Rocky’s mischief-filled ones over Gemma’s brown ponytail. His half smirk telling her exactly what things he wanted in his mouth—her. Specifically, the nipples currently straining against the black cotton of his shirt she wore.
“Eww.” Gemma smacked him, the sound ringing out as her hand hit the bare skin of his chest. “Can you guys wait until I’m gone before you eye fuck the shit out of each other. Some of us aren’t currently getting laid on the reg.” She dropped a clear scale at the base of his feet. “Now step.”
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