“All that means, Kat, is we go slow.”
He might fucking die doing it, but for fuck’s sake, he was going to enjoy whatever time he had with Kat before he did.
He was going to fucking die. Just drop over dead.
Having Kat sleeping pinned against him when he hadn’t even had a chance to fuck her yet was just going to kill him.
He’d had a perpetual erection since earlier and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
He wanted to. But he was the stupid ass who suggested they take it slow.
Just like his death.
Maybe he needed to go back to his own room and take care of his issue. And of course, unlike him, Kat was sleeping soundly.
He had made her come about four times.
Four.
Kat – 4. Steel – 0.
Fuck.
His tongue and his fingers had gotten a great workout while his cock whimpered in suffering. And worse, his balls were ready to pack up and leave him.
He turned his head to read the clock next to the bed. Midnight.
It was time for his rounds anyway. Maybe he could take a quick pit stop on the way around the house and relieve some of his frustration.
He smoothly rolled toward the edge of the bed, trying not to wake her.
Apparently, he failed. He was halfway across the room when she asked sleepily, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Even in the limited light he could see her push up onto her elbows and a dark chunk of her short hair fall across her forehead. “Where are you going?”
He couldn’t believe how much he liked short hair right now. “On my rounds.”
“Rounds? Have you been doing that since you came here?”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming back here then?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
Even though she probably couldn’t see it in the dark, he turned his head away and smiled. “Give me ten.”
And as tempted as he was to turn that ten into twenty, he didn’t. He walked both the outside and inside of the house, made sure everything was secure and headed back to Kat.
Who was still awake, waiting for him.
He was glad he hadn’t taken a detour, because not five minutes later, he got to see if it was possible to grip her short hair while she learned to give him head.
The short answer was, fuck yes.
Chapter Eight
The room seemed small. Most likely because it was packed with a variety of male bodies. Or mostly male from what she could see. And the smell—like a men’s locker room gone horribly wrong—was also enough to make her gag.
Like last night, when she’d taken Steel’s cock in her mouth and accidentally took it too deep. He had laid back in the bed, letting her experiment. Sometimes a little noise—possibly a whimper, but she didn’t point that out to him—would escape him and when that happened, she’d concentrate on whatever caused it.
Eventually his relaxed demeanor changed just about the same time his breathing did. And when his muscles clenched beneath her fingers, which she was letting explore his body as she licked, sucked and nibbled down his length, he barked out a warning.
But she didn’t heed it because she was enjoying watching him lose his shit.
Then he really lost his shit. Right into her mouth.
His hot wad of cum had sat on her tongue for a few seconds while she decided whether to get up and go spit it out, or just swallow it.
During her dilemma, Steel said her choice either way wouldn’t insult him, he was just happy to finally relieve himself of his load.
After she came back from the bathroom, she had asked him what men preferred and he’d answered, “They prefer you suck their cock. What you do with it afterwards, they don’t give a shit. They might say they do, but spit or swallow, we really don’t care.”
Which she told him was very enlightening and he gave her a sexy grin until she told him next time she’d try swallowing, which got her a response of, “fuck,” on a low groan and him planting a fat, noisy kiss on her mouth before falling into a coma.
She wiped away her current smile caused by that memory, and let her gaze sweep the room again.
Steel’s hand was planted solidly at the small of her back. She had a feeling it was to “claim” her since, upon closer inspection, she was the only woman there and a lot of the men’s eyes had turned toward her when she'd walked in.
She also figured out it wasn’t just the smell of piss and sweat that permeated the room. It was beer and booze.
And plenty of it.
Since drunks would try things they normally wouldn’t while they were sober, Steel kept her close, which she appreciated. She could hold her own, but not against a roomful of possibly drunk men with a mob mentality, especially in tight quarters.
Some places in Vegas could be seedy. This was definitely one of those spots.
But then, it wasn’t a permanent place for fights since it was rare that an underground fight would happen at the same location. Tonight, it was in this room in some run-down brick building. Next week, it would be in some other hole.
At least that’s what Bobby, one of her sparring partners, told her. This morning, as she made Steel breakfast, he had asked if she knew where any underground fights were.
He quickly followed that question with, “And don’t pretend you don’t fucking know what I’m talking about.”
Of course she knew about underground fights, she’d just never went to one. She had no reason to and she doubted Berger, or her sponsors would approve.
“I know what you’re talking about, but I never had a reason to go to one.”
“You don’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t.”
She had turned from the stove where she was making them omelets—with the yolks—and sausage, while he got the coffee brewing.
“Do you know what you’re getting into?”
Steel smiled at the coffeemaker. “Just want to go spar a little bit.”
Which was a bullshit answer. Underground fights weren’t for “sparring.” They were for beating the fuck out of an opponent and taking home cash winnings.
“You can spar at The Strike Zone,” she reminded him.
“Can’t make bank at The Strike Zone.”
“So, you’ve done this before.”
“Kitty Kat, this ain’t my first rodeo.”
“Is this something you do on the regular?”
“When I’m in the mood. Or have some frustration to work out.”
She had pursed her lips and studied him before stating, “Frustration from me.”
“Told you we’re going to go slow. Whatever you need, whatever you want, you’re going to get. When you’re ready. Not before.”
A man coming the opposite direction bumped into Kat, bringing her back to the present. “Sorry, honey,” the drunk slurred. Then he stopped and let his gaze rake up and down her body. “Sweeeeeet. Are you here to be a ring girl? Where’s your bikini?”
“It’s going to be in your dreams, when I knock you the fuck out. Get lost, asshole,” Steel growled in his face, his arm now thrown heavily over her shoulders.
Definitely staking his claim to anyone watching.
Normally, she wouldn’t tolerate that. She glanced around the room of men in various states of undress and drunkenness. She also wasn’t stupid.
She assumed the guys in only a pair of jeans or shorts were either waiting their turn to get into the makeshift ring or had already fought.
The crowd cheered and the yells became even louder as Steel worked their way closer to the center of the room, his hand tightening on her shoulder as he guided her.
“This was a bad idea bringing you,” he muttered just loud enough for her to catch.
“But you need this.”
“Fuck yeah. I need this,” he answered, his eyes continually assessing the room and the groups of men. “And I’m not leaving you anywher
e alone until that stalker gets caught.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You think it’s safer here?”
He brought her to an abrupt halt and tipped his face down to hers. “You’re always safer with me.”
She rolled her lips inward to keep from grinning and rolling her eyes. “So damn cocky.”
He snorted and shook his head before steering her to a guy standing by the ring watching the current fight closely.
The organizer was the epitome of sleaze. He fit the bill when it came to someone who ran illegal underground fights. He also had a big brute of a man standing behind him. Kat assumed the big guy was a bodyguard or maybe the person who held the cash.
She wasn’t sure. And she certainly didn’t care enough to ask. She just wanted Steel to do what he came for, to get what he needed, so they could get the hell out of there.
She might need another shower after his fight. A long one while using a scrub brush.
Kat turned her eyes to the current fight in the “ring” while Steel talked to Mr. Sleazy. The two men going at it were definitely amateurs. They had no form, no plan, they were just trying to beat the snot out of each other. And while doing so, they were both losing a lot of blood.
Kat was sure that blood wasn’t cleaned up after each fight, either.
“I sure hope you’re vaccinated against Hepatitis,” she muttered when Steel was done with Sammy Sleazebag.
“I don’t plan on touching the floor,” he told her. “Two more bouts and I’m in the ring.”
“Against who?”
He shrugged and at the same time dropped his arm around her shoulders again, pulling her against his side. “Don’t care. I just told the guy the bigger the better.”
Kat leaned away enough to stare up at him. “Seriously?”
He dropped his gaze from the activity in the ring to her. “Yeah. Why?”
“You just want to fight the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the joint?”
A grin spread over his face and his toothpick flicked from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Yeah. I want a challenge.”
“I’m certainly not that,” she muttered.
“Not in the ring, no.”
That comment made her believe she was a challenge to him in other ways.
“Kitty Kat, I don’t go a hundred percent with you when we spar. You know that.”
“Because I’m a woman.”
“Because it’s sparring,” he countered.
“And I’m a woman.”
“There’s no reason to go full bore with you, Kat, just so you can prove yourself. That would be stupid. You don’t need to beat a man; you need to beat Calamity Jayne.”
“I can beat a man.”
He took a deep inhale and she realized he was beginning to get annoyed. “You can’t beat me.”
Damn. “That sounds like a challenge.”
His dark eyes landed on hers. “It’s not. Get it out of your fucking head. I will not fight you. You want to spar, I’m good with it. I will not knock you out, because, Kat, no matter how tough you think you are, you cannot go even one round with me in a real fight. And that’s not a challenge, it’s the fucking truth. You might not like to hear it, but you have to accept it.”
“Okay, fine. But I can beat a man.”
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered and shook his head. “If you’re trying to work me the fuck up for my fight, you’re doing a good job at it.”
A loud cheer went up around the room and a few seconds later, one of the men fell to the floor out cold. A floor, Kat noted, which was concrete and not a mat.
A few more seconds later, someone was dragging the knocked-out guy out of the center of the “ring” by his feet, leaving a bloody trail behind.
After a shout and a fist pump into the air, the winner left the ring wearing a bloody grin and collected a wad of cash from Sammy McSleazebag.
Not even a minute later, two more guys entered. One looked like he weighed about a buck ten and had just smoked meth, the other a good two-twenty and looked like he’d just ate two whole large pizzas.
“Well, you’d better get ready, this won’t last long,” she murmured to Steel.
And she was right. It was over before it even started. The lightweight screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged the bigger guy and launched himself at him, while the big guy clobbered the guy upside the head mid-flight. The meth-head dropped instantly to the ground at the bigger guy’s feet. It was then that Kat had to wince when the skinny one got a good kick in the head for good measure.
Sammy Sleazemaster yelled to Steel, “You’re up.”
Steel dropped his arm from around her shoulders, spit his toothpick out and ripped his tank top over his head. He pressed it into her hands as he leaned in and planted a big, fat kiss on her lips, surprising her. “For luck.”
“You need luck?”
“Fuck no.” He stepped up to the ring, then said over his broad shoulder, “Stay close where I can see you, got me?”
She wasn’t planning on taking a stroll through the room to socialize. Instead, she moved closer to the ring or whatever it was supposed to be. Basically, it was some length of rope hooked to some poles that were set up in a sort of square.
Steel entered the ring, jogged in place for a few seconds, jerked his head to the left and to the right, swung his arms around a few times and then his eyes sliced through the crowd surrounding the ring.
Probably wondering who his opponent was.
A group of rowdy, noisy men parted opposite from where Steel stood and a man who had to be at least three hundred pounds and an NFL linebacker made his way into the ring.
Holy fuck.
“Steel,” she called out, her heart in her throat.
His eyes flicked to her but only for a second before they landed on the huge guy. Steel didn’t look worried. In fact, his eyes narrowed, and his fingers curled into fists.
Bare knuckled fighting. That’s what they were doing. No protection. Nothing. Not even a mouthguard. One good punch from that guy and Steel could lose every one of his straight, white teeth.
Basically, this was street fighting with money being tossed around. And from what she could see so far, a lot of it.
A deep voice yelled, “Fight!” and the two men approached each other flat-footed. The huge guy had to be three inches taller than Steel, which became obvious as they closed in on one another.
A big meaty fist headed toward Steel’s face and he leaned back in time for the guy to miss. Steel recovered quickly and moved to the side, cracking the guy in his ribs with his shin.
The big man didn’t even flinch.
Kat was bouncing on her toes, her muscles working as if she was in the ring with Steel. She moved the same as he moved around the ring, dodging and ducking punches, kicking and punching, but basically not trying to take the guy out, only trying to tire him out.
Which didn’t take long.
There were no rules here. No bell. No timed rounds. Someone simply yelled “Fight!” and the action started and didn’t end until it was over in one way or another.
In a way, she liked that. Watching Steel in the ring got her heart pumping and her blood flowing. Watching his body as he moved, watching his strength as he kicked and punched, turned her on more than she wanted to admit.
The tattoo on his back rippled and moved as he did. He said he was a Marine, but his tattoo was not the typical symbol for the Marines. She knew what that looked like. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.
The two men currently circled each other, their fists up, but the big guy had slowed down a lot. Even so, there was still power behind his punch, which was evident when Steel missed a block and took one to the face. Good thing it glanced off his cheek and didn’t connect with his teeth or nose.
He might have a black eye or a bruise after that but that should be all. He wasn’t bleeding and he hadn’t slowed down.
Steel let him get in two more hits. One to the gut and a kick to the thigh
. But that last kick was the big guy’s downfall. He was so tired, he lost his balance before he could plant his foot back on the ground. Steel saw his opportunity and went in for the kill. He swept the weight-bearing leg out from under the guy and as the big man tumbled to the ground, Steel got in a good kick to the temple and a punch square in the guy’s face.
The guy’s head flopped backward as he landed heavily to his knees onto the concrete and then slowly toppled over like a huge felled tree.
Even after all that, he wasn’t knocked out. He was still conscious and was attempting to get to his feet.
Steel solved that problem by squatting down, grabbing the guy’s head and introducing it to his knee. Once, twice and...
Goodnight.
It was over.
A roar went up around the room since the big guy was probably a local favorite. That meant a lot of people lost money.
Which didn’t make them happy.
Steel would probably want to grab his winnings and leave quickly, but she wasn’t ready to leave yet.
She watched him leave the ring, approach Sleazemeister and grab a handful of cash, tucking it into a zippered pocket of the nylon running pants he wore. He came back over to her, sweat dripping off his face as he pulled on his sneakers and put his hand out for his tank top.
Before he pulled it on, he used it to wipe off his face, leaving blood smears and sweat stains on it.
“Maybe we should’ve brought a towel,” she muttered, her nose wrinkling up.
He didn’t answer. He was obviously still too pumped up. Kat didn’t miss the veins popping out of his shoulder and arm muscles.
And, holy shit, that was hot as fuck.
If they weren’t in a disgusting room full of smelly strangers, she’d tackle him right there.
He tipped his head toward her, his eyes still jacked, his blood probably still humming through his veins. She knew how she felt after a fight, especially after a win and it was a complete high.
Invincible. That’s how she felt after they held her fist up declaring her the winner.
“Let’s go.”
Because he was jacked, she knew he wouldn’t like what she said next, “I want in.”
Steel Page 11