Deeper

by Jenika Snow

  “Well, maybe you can cancel your plans and come with me to watch a fight.”

  She didn’t know if she wanted to witness grown men beating the shit out of each other. “Are we talking boxing or the UFC?” Why she bothered asking was beyond her because she knew the fight Tate wanted to take her to was of the illegal kind.

  “I think you know the answer to that, Stella.” He wasn’t being sarcastic or mocking her, but giving her the cold, hard truth. Yeah, she knew what he was talking about, and although she didn’t feel comfortable going to something like that, she couldn’t deny that her curiosity was piqued.

  “Yeah, I know.” She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “It isn’t like I have a choice, but yeah, I think I might like to go.”

  “I’ll send over something for you to wear and—”

  She stopped him midsentence. “Tate?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  Hearing him call her that had butterflies flapping around in her belly. Focus, Stella. Remember who and what he is. She cleared her throat. “Maybe I can go and pick out my own attire for tonight?” She didn’t want to feel like an infant that needed to be dressed. She’d survived dressing herself way before he came along, and even though she was only staying with him for a short time, she had every intention of continuing to be her own person.

  She didn’t know what he planned on saying, maybe no or hell fucking no, but he didn’t say that at all.

  “All right. I’ll have Miles take you into the city and then drop you off at the club at five.”

  A beat of silence passed, and she was surprised that he had agreed so easily. For some reason she’d assumed he would give her a hard time, stake some kind of caveman claim that she do what he said. This little bit of freedom pleased her to no end, and she felt ridiculous for feeling like that. He wasn’t her owner, and she knew she could do whatever the hell she wanted to, but then she remembered who she was dealing with.

  A man like Tate Wessen was used to getting his way. The fact he was giving in, letting her have a little bit of control, told her a lot about him. Maybe he was breaking down a bit of the iron wall he had erected? It almost seemed impossible and laughable, but it still had warmth seeping through her. With each passing hour she was finding out she wanted to know more about who he was deep inside.

  * * *

  The door to the Mercedes opened, and Miles helped her out of the car. Stella adjusted the hem of her dress, almost regretting her selection. When Miles had taken her into the city and told her Tate was footing the bill, she hadn’t even batted her eyelashes at the prices. He was, after all, the one that wanted her to come to this fight, so she figured he should pay for her outfit.

  She thanked Miles, but instead of getting back in the car, he walked her to the front of Tate’s club, the Rabbit Hole. A red velvet rope blocked the entrance, and as soon as the bouncer saw her and Miles, he unhooked the rope so they could pass.

  “Well, Miss Vincent, I just wanted to see you to the entrance. Someone inside will escort you to Mr. Wessen.” Miles took her hand and brought it to his lips. “It has been a pleasure escorting you around town this afternoon.”

  She smiled and watched as he walked back to the car.

  “Right this way, Miss.” The big, burly bouncer held his arm out for her to enter, and she stepped inside.

  The music was loud and obnoxious, but it was apparent the people packed in were all about it, if their gyrating bodies were anything to go by. A man as big as a house met her as soon as she passed the threshold and leaned in to speak in her ear.

  “Miss Vincent?” His voice was booming in order for her to hear him over the thumping music. She didn’t bother responding verbally. Instead she just nodded. His big palm landed on the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. The smell of sweat and alcohol was thick in the air, and she saw a few people having sex on the dance floor, but she didn’t stare for too long for fear she might see a nip slip.

  They stopped in front of a heavy-looking steel door. She looked up to see another bear of a bouncer standing next to her cup his ear and lean into his shoulder, his mouth moving. It was obvious he was speaking to someone, and she had a pretty damn good guess who. A moment later the door opened, and she walked through into a little sitting room.

  As soon as the door shut behind her, all sound ceased. The room was set up with a few couches. There was another door off to the side that was guarded by another mean-looking asshole. He wore all black, and his stoic expression and bald head made him look like some kind of assassin. Should she just walk through those doors? Did Tate expect her to just sit here and wait for him? He was the one who had invited her tonight, and against her better judgment she’d agreed, yet here she was waiting on him. Before she could let her irritation get the better of her, the door opened and Tate walked out. He was adjusting his tie when he looked up. The smile on his face could have lit up the whole damn place, and it stopped her heart.

  The way he let his gaze travel up and down her body had her instantly wet, which was a problem since she wasn’t wearing panties.

  “Stella.” The way he said her name reminded her of dirty, rough sex. It was deep and hard, and it reflected the raw masculinity that was all Tate. He walked up to her and took her hands in his. His hands were so much larger that it made her feel incredibly feminine. Even with her three-inch heels, he still towered over her. “You look”—his gaze dipped down her body once more—“gorgeous.”

  The dress she’d picked covered her from neck to midthigh. Even her arms were covered with the deep green silk material. Yeah, she’d chosen green again, but she told herself it had nothing to do with the fact that Tate had whispered in her ear how good she looked in the color during one of their fuck sessions.

  He looked his fill again, and she blushed. It wasn’t like he could see any cleavage, but the dress was tight enough that she was sure he could use his imagination fairly well. Hell, she wasn’t wearing a bra either, so she knew he could see the tight beads of her nipples through the material.

  “I don’t know if I should take you anywhere wearing that dress.” He let his hands drop to her waist, his fingers curling around her hip bones as if he couldn’t help himself. “I have a feeling I might get in a fight tonight.”

  Stella smiled and stepped closer. He smelled so good that she leaned in and ran the tip of her nose along the collar of his black shirt. She knew that scent well because for the past couple days it had been the first thing she smelled when she woke in his bed. It was an aroma that made her ache between her thighs.

  “Maybe we should go back in your office and take care of some business.” Was she really initiating sex with Tate? Her pussy positively throbbed at the thought of Tate bending her over his desk, pulling up her dress, and ramming that hard flesh into her. A moan slipped free, and she saw the way Tate’s lids dropped a little lower.

  “Damn, baby.” He dipped his head and kissed the side of her neck. “As much as I want to take care of you, I know if I have you in my office, I won’t be coming out for a very long time.” He dipped his head and ran his tongue up the side of her throat. “Which wouldn’t be a bad thing if I didn’t have to watch this fight.” His hands cupped her ass and gave the mounds a firm squeeze.

  Stella needed to get her head cleared. What was she thinking tempting Tate with sex in his office? She looked over his shoulder and saw the guard still standing by his door. He wasn’t paying attention to them, but her cheeks still heated at the thought they were all but dry humping in front of an audience. It shouldn’t have embarrassed her seeing as Tate had fucked her in the Mercedes, but still, this was so out of the norm for Stella.

  “You’re right. We should be good.” She stepped away from him, his hands falling from her body. She turned and made her way toward the exit.

  “Oh, fuck no, Stella.”

  She smiled at the knowledge that he was finally seeing the back of her dress.

  17

  “You must really want
me to get in a fight tonight.” Tate’s hand was pressed against the small of her back, his bare skin touching her bare skin and sending tendrils of heat and electricity through her. She tilted her head and gazed up at him, not stopping the smile that spread across her lips.

  When she saw the dress, she’d known it was the one. Her front might have been covered, but the back was completely bare all the way down to the top of her bottom. Hence the reason she hadn’t worn a bra or panties. A thin chain of crystals connected the two sides of the dress between her shoulder blades so the material didn’t slide right off her body and really give everyone a show. It had been a must buy, and seeing the look on Tate’s face, she was glad she’d gone with her instincts.

  He used his hand to lead her through the mass of people in the basement of the club, but he really didn’t need to because the bodies parted as they saw that it was him. She’d never been to one of the underground fights, but she’d certainly heard stories about all the blood and violence. She couldn’t believe how many people were here, as if seeing men smash each other’s faces in was the highlight of their evening. A table blocked off with rope was at the front of the cage in the center of the floor. Tate held a chair out for her and then took his seat across from her.

  “What would you like to drink?” Tate leaned forward, his voice raised so she could hear him over the rise of noise.

  Stella wasn’t much of a drinker, but she had a feeling she might want something to get through what she was about to see. “Something strong,” was all she said. A smile tugged at the corner of Tate’s mouth, and he waved down the waitress. Of course, the woman who flounced over had big breasts and an outfit that was the size of a pair of panties. Her unnaturally blond hair was teased and pulled into a high ponytail, and Stella wondered if she had a headache from how tight the damn thing looked. Her posture was totally suggestive as she leaned down, placing those ridiculously large mounds right in his face. She had to give Tate some credit, though. The man didn’t even bat an eyelash at the sight. Chances were, he had already seen them, though.

  Why in the hell was she letting herself think these things? He said something in her ear that caused the woman to giggle. Of course the movement caused her boobs to jiggle, which reminded Stella of a bowl of Jell-O.

  Oh. My. God.

  Was that jealousy Stella was feeling as she watched this woman throw off so many fuck-me signals even a blind man could have seen them? Her feelings on the matter were completely misplaced. As if Tate felt her staring daggers his way, he turned and leveled his dark stare on her. When the waitress didn’t move, he waved her off, and Stella was pleased when she gave a huff and all but stomped away. She would bet just about anything that Tate had fucked that waitress and the poor girl wanted a repeat.

  “Did you sleep with her?” Oh shit. No way did she just say that. Maybe he hadn’t heard her over the noise. She lifted her gaze to him, and her cheeks burned when she realized he had in fact heard her. His grin was big, his teeth straight and white and flashing like a damn predator about to attack its prey.

  He didn’t answer right away, just leaned back in his seat and threw his arm over the back of it. The shirt he wore stretched across his chest, defining all that hard male power she knew was beneath the material. Damn, she was in so much trouble when it concerned Tate Wessen.

  The buxom blonde came back with their drinks. A rather large glass was set in front of her. She might not be a drinker, but she knew what a Long Island iced tea was. Although there was noise all around, the silence between them was the loudest. She pulled her glass closer and brought the straw to her lips, taking a hefty swig. As soon as the liquid went down, her eyes watered and her throat constricted. Had she ever tasted anything with so much alcohol in it? She certainly didn’t think so. Of everything that is holy.

  The drink had to be straight alcohol, a Long Island without the tea. The smirk on Tate’s face and the laughter in his eyes made her take another drink just to show him she could handle it. The second time was easier, and she knew if she was going to get through tonight, she would need to suck down more than two swallows.

  When her glass was half-full, Tate reached over and slid it away from her. The alcohol was already swimming through her veins, and she was in a pleasant enough mood that she didn’t give a shit about his caveman attitude. If she wanted to finish her drink, she would. It was as simple as that. The sound of someone speaking over an intercom rang through the room, and the noise dimmed but didn’t cease.

  “Welcome, everyone, to the main event.” The crowd roared and Stella’s ears rang. She turned her attention away from Tate and to the octagon. She saw Byron enter the ring and turned her attention back to Tate. She hadn’t known this was the fight they were going to watch, although she should have assumed by the conversation at the party he had taken her to.

  Byron only wore a pair of shorts and what looked like tape around his knuckles. He started bouncing on the balls of his feet and swinging his fists in the air. Stella’s heart pounded as she watched him pump himself up. The man that entered the cage next was huge and looked like he wanted to draw blood. His blond shoulder-length hair was tied at the nape of his neck, and when he stopped in the center of the cage, he cracked his knuckles, a sardonic smile crossing his face. The announcer started rattling off statistics about the men, their height, weight, wins and losses.

  A bell rang overhead, and the two men lunged at each other. Fists swung, punches were blocked, and blood spewed forth. It was pure violence and rage to see these two men attack each other with such determination on their faces. She had to give Byron credit. He was a machine and could take a hit as well as he delivered them. She felt like she was on the edge of her seat, anticipating the next move, seeing who would come out the victor.

  A glance back at Tate showed him just as engrossed in the fight as she was, but she knew it was all business for him. He was sizing Byron up, seeing if he was worthy to become a full-time fighter in his illegal underground cage matches. Her stomach roiled at the thought. Was it so easy to forget who Tate really was? Yeah, at times it was.

  Byron dodged a wicked-looking undercut, and just as the other guy took a step back, Byron struck. His fist first connected with the guy’s abdomen, and when the guy was hunched over, Byron did a few kidney shots. His opponent stood, ready to exact some vengeance when Byron threw his fist into the side of the guy’s face, connecting with his nose.

  The sound of bone breaking was like a gunshot throughout the room, and everyone was momentarily stunned silent, but just as soon as that quiet descended, the noise of roaring and cheers took over. An arc of blood sprayed from the guy’s nose and covered the mat like a signature. Stella’s stomach rolled, and she knew she shouldn’t have been greedy and guzzled all that alcohol.

  “Bathroom?” She stood and looked at Tate. Sweat started to bead on her forehead, and she gripped her belly, praying she didn’t vomit all over the place. A worried expression crossed Tate’s face, and he stood, taking a step toward her. She held out her hand to stop him and shook her head. She didn’t want him to see her throw up. She needed to be alone at the moment. “Please.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Where’s the bathroom?” She was thankful when Tate realized she needed her space and gestured for someone to take her to the restroom. The feeling of his gaze on her back was so strong she had the urge to turn around, but when her stomach cramped, she picked up her speed until she was hunched over a toilet and spewing out all her Long Island iced tea.

  18

  Tate watched Stella run to the restroom. The worry that had gripped him when he noticed how pale she’d become after seeing all that blood was stronger than anything he had ever felt. He’d wanted to go to her, but she’d stopped him. Maybe it was best that she’d done that. He didn’t need to coddle her, not when that wasn’t like him. When had he ever tried to comfort a woman? Never. He never kept them around long enough to do any kind of comforting.

  He stared at the corner she rounded that l
ed to the restrooms. It should have been me taking her there if she wasn’t feeling well. He shouldn’t have let her drink so much. Hell, he shouldn’t have ordered her a top-shelf drink to begin with. He knew how Alex made his drinks, ass-kickin’ potent. He pushed those thoughts away and ran a hand through his hair.

  He took his seat and stared at the cage, watching Byron work the crowd. Izac “Izzy” St. James, the tough motherfucker that had been fighting Byron, was picking himself off the mat, blood streaming down his face. A few medics were surrounding him, but Izzy shoved them away and stalked out of the cage, leaving a crimson trail in his wake. Tate couldn’t blame him, though. Izzy hadn’t lost a fight since he started working the underground a month ago.

  A hand on his shoulder had him smiling. At least Stella was feeling better, even going out of her way to touch him. When she’d taken the initiative for sex back at his office, he had gotten so fucking hard all he wanted to do was bend her over the nearest piece of furniture and screw her brains out. Thank God he had been thinking clearly enough not to do just that, because if he had given in, they would still be up there.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better, baby.”

  Her hand trailed over his shoulder and down his arm. He turned and smiled up at her, but that smile faltered when he saw that it wasn’t Stella but Alyssia. He didn’t ask why she was here because being at these fights was what she did. That was how he’d met her all those months ago. It had only taken a crook of his finger, and her panties had dropped. Her being here, around him, was not good.

  “I missed you. Why haven’t you called?” She moved her body, barely covered in spandex, on top of him so she was sitting on his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her big tits pressed against his chest. He knew every inch of her body well, and at one time it had driven him fucking crazy, but now all it did was make his dick shrivel up in his pants.