The Underground: The Complete Series

by Snow, Jenika

  “My apologies, miss. Dinner will be served in half an hour in the dining room. You can clean up in the facilities to your left. Mr. Wessen will be home shortly. He was tied up with business and sends his apologies.”

  Yeah, she just bet he felt really sorry about this whole thing. He wasn’t even here, yet he’d told her to be ready right at seven to be “escorted.”

  She didn’t respond because she really didn’t know what to say. Jacob smiled and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Eating was the last thing on her mind, and she didn’t think her appetite would increase once Tate arrived. She went over to her suitcase, dug around in it, and was about to pull out something nice to wear when she stopped. No, she wouldn’t change.

  She’d first been wearing a nice outfit, but a rebel spark inside of her had risen up. She’d already agreed to be his for the predetermined amount of time. She wasn’t going to impress him with her clothes, ones that he would probably call rags once he saw them. So, she’d changed into a pair of worn jeans and a plain white tee that had shrunk slightly in the dryer. They were the clothes she cleaned her house in. A smile curved her lips at the thought of distaste that would surely be on Tate’s face when he saw her attire. No doubt he would be wearing a Gucci suit, or maybe Armani, or whatever the hell designer clothes he stocked up on.

  She shoved the outfit she had been about to change into back in the bag and went into the bathroom. She clicked the light on and was just as impressed with all the gleaming black granite and crisp white tile as she’d been with the rest of the house.

  A glance in the mirror showed a stranger. When had she turned into a woman that would so easily sell herself? The girl that stared back wasn’t anything special, and she certainly didn’t know what Tate saw in her. She didn’t look like any of the women that had been hanging off his arms in the tabloid pictures she’d seen. Her boobs were of average size, but she was curvy, far curvier than the supermodel types she was sure he fucked. Was it because she was so plain that he wanted her? Did he see her as some kind of challenge? The thought of being corrupted by Tate had a shiver crawling up her spine, and she wasn’t completely sure if it was from fear or anticipation.

  She’d jumped into this situation with both feet, and the sooner she completed this task in her life, the sooner she could move past it. Tate Wessen might own her for the next fourteen days, but it was only her body that would submit.

  7

  The smell of chicken and potatoes entered her nose, and her stomach growled in earnest. Although the food in front of her smelled delicious, the man sitting five feet from her made her so nervous she didn’t think she could even force herself to lift her fork to her mouth and eat. She’d sat at the table for ten minutes before Tate decided to grace her with his presence.

  His demeanor had been foul, and the way he was dressed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie off, and the first three buttons of his shirt undone, led her to believe he might have had a tough day at the office. He hadn’t said one damn word to her, just looked in her direction. There was no mistaking the look of disgust when he’d stared at her attire. Well, fuck him and his self-righteous attitude. She hadn’t said one word to him either and tried her hardest not to even look at him.

  “Your dinner is going to get cold if you don’t start eating.” The clank of his fork being set on the china seemed to echo in the room.

  The awkwardness was palpable, and she was having bigger doubts about agreeing to be here with him.

  “The polite thing to do is respond when someone says something to you.”

  The sharpness in his voice had her snapping her head up and narrowing her eyes at him. “You didn’t say anything that would have required a response from me.” They stared at each other for several moments. He finally grabbed his glass of wine and leaned back in his seat. The way he seemed to be scrutinizing her made her increasingly uncomfortable. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.”

  “And what way is that?” His voice was calm and smooth, and she thought she heard a hint of amusement laced within it. It pissed her off more.

  “Like I’m some kind of pet project.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of chicken. She almost poked herself on the inside of the cheek with the prongs of the fork when she angrily jammed the food in her mouth. A chuckle left Tate. She wasn’t hungry now, but the fact that he thought this whole situation was funny made her anger rise, and she found herself continuing to eat.

  The sound of his laughter and her fork banging against the china as she ate were the only noises in the dining room. After she was done eating, she pushed her plate away and grabbed her wine, downing the whole glass in three swallows. The sound of a side door opening had her turning her attention to see a butler walking in. He held a silver platter, and when he set it down on the table, she could see strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce adorning it.

  “Are you finished, miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He cleared off her dishes and went to remove Tate’s as well.

  “Sir, is there anything else you request of me before I retire for the evening?”

  Tate poured himself another glass of wine and then brought his gaze back to hers. “Has my bedroom been set up?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then no, Miles, that will be all.” Miles nodded once and left out the same door he’d come in. “More wine, Stella?”

  She still had her fingers wrapped around the stem of her now empty glass. Alcohol would go a long way in making this night and his company a lot more tolerable. “Yes.” At his raised eyebrow she said, “Please.” The fact that he wanted her to use common courtesy after everything he had said and done was humorous.

  “Come here, Stella.” Voice pitched low, Tate smirked at her and lifted the bottle of wine.

  The way he said her name, almost breathy, had her heart racing. This was it, wasn’t it? This was the start of the fourteen days. There were no rules he had laid out aside from one.

  She would give him whatever he wanted.

  To say she was afraid was an understatement. There was no doubt in her mind that he was dangerous, but did she actually think he would harm her? He would have plenty of opportunities to do so, and all he wanted her for was easy sex, which was strange on its own. Tate Wessen could have any woman he wanted, but he wanted her. A homely plain Jane.

  Pushing away from her seat, she stood and walked over to the chair beside him. She wasn’t blind to the fact he let his gaze rake fully down her body and then back up again. If his eyes had been fingers, she would have surely had an orgasm. When she was seated beside him, he reached for her glass.

  Their fingers touched, and a second passed when neither of them moved away. Tingles started where he touched her and made their way up her arm and eventually through her body. For such a slight touch, a heady feeling encompassed her. He took the glass from her and poured it full before sliding it back. She grabbed it right away and took a long drink, needing a buffer for how Tate was making her feel.

  “We have all night to get you trashed, Stella.” He was teasing her, but she wasn’t in the mood. She held his gaze and brought the glass to her lips, taking another long drink. Maybe it was childish, but that small act of defiance made her feel like Tate didn’t have all the control.

  “You know—” He leaned back in his seat, one of his arms straight on the table, long fingers stroking his wineglass, while his other was on the armrest. “Defiance will only get you punished. And let me tell you, Stella…” He leaned in slowly, so close that she could feel his breath on her face and smell the sweet aroma of the wine on his breath. “How I’m going to love punishing you.” His grin was slow, moving across his face, and she felt her breath catch. Eyes a mixture of brown and gold, Tate watched her intently. His face was harsh and rugged, and there was a hint of a five-o’clock shadow gracing the hard planes of his jaw.

  She felt herself leaning forward as if her body had kicked her mind in the ass
and told it to take a hike. The alcohol warmed her blood, and she felt her gaze drawn to his lips. His bottom one was slightly fuller than the top, and although she wanted to say they were kissable, that word didn’t fit the hard slash of them.

  The sound of her haggard breathing wasn’t lost on her. Whether it was the wine or the fact that she was insanely attracted to a man so dangerous that people made a wide berth around him when he walked into a room, Stella wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t about to deny the draw she felt. Not when he was so close and her body felt like it was on fire.

  “Stella.” Her name sounded like sex on his lips, and she found herself leaning forward another inch.

  “Tate.” God, had she ever wanted to be kissed as much as she did right now? She was disgusted at herself for the reaction she was having toward him, and she was pissed at him for bringing it out in her.

  “How many men have you been with?”

  His question was like a bucket of cold water over her head. Snapping her head back, she blinked a few times and processed what he’d said. “What?”

  It took him a moment to resume leaning back in his seat, but when he did, his expression was serious. He didn’t even look like their almost-kiss had affected him. “Men, Stella. How many men have fucked you?”

  The crude way he phrased it had her cheeks heating and mortification washing through her. “Excuse me? I don’t think that is any of your damn business.” Voice rising, she was even more embarrassed at the squeaky tone it now held.

  “It is my business. By the end of tonight I’m going to have my cock inside of you, and I want to know how many other men have fucked you. So”—his eyes became hard and his jaw flexed—“answer the question.”

  She was shaking with anger and embarrassment. “Mr. Wessen, I signed up to have sex with you for the next two weeks. I did not agree to divulge my personal business to you because you have some caveman complex and want to know information that doesn’t concern you.” His silence frightened her more. She wished he wasn’t always so calm and collected. Why didn’t he ever show any emotion? “I mean, how many women have you slept with?” Why she even asked that was beyond her. Maybe it had to do with the fact her filter was no longer working when it came to Tate Wessen.

  He smiled and brought his glass to his mouth, downing all the champagne-colored liquid. “You’ll tell me what I want to know. May I remind you why you’re here?” He stood and walked around to stand behind her chair. She was frozen to her spot, and even if she’d wanted to move, the heat and scent of him right behind her would have made it impossible. His hands came around her and rested on the table by her arms. The tanned, tattooed and muscular flesh of his forearms took up her entire view. His body told her exactly how masculine he was. Next to Tate she felt wholly feminine.

  The feel of his breath right by her ear had her closing her eyes and biting the inside of her lip. He didn’t say anything for so long she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. She swore she could feel his lips brush against the shell of her ear. His chest pressed firmly into her back, and she curled her fingers around the arms of the chair. Goose bumps formed on her skin, and she wanted to yell at him to kiss her, touch her already. This teasing abuse was driving her mad. The sooner they got started, the sooner the ache between her thighs would be appeased.

  Another minute passed of him doing nothing but standing behind her, enveloping her with everything that was him. All too soon his heat and intoxicating scent left, and she found a chill racing up her spine. She opened her eyes, saw him standing beside her with the tray of strawberries in his hand, and groaned internally. He was grinning at her, all straight white teeth and full lips. He knew damn well what he had done to her, and he was claiming victory in it.

  Why didn’t he just have sex with her already? Why prolong the inevitable? Maybe he liked drawing things out, taking his time. That thought had her nipples beading when she pictured what else he would take his time on.

  8

  Tate picked up a strawberry and dipped it in the bowl of warmed chocolate before holding it out to Stella. When she made a move to reach for it, he clicked his tongue and pulled his hand slightly back. A frown marred the skin between her eyes.

  “I want to see your lips wrapped around it. I want you to eat it from my fingers.” The rapid rise and fall of her chest was evident beneath the thin material of her shirt. He could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, as evidenced by the prominent nipples that poked through the fabric. He wanted to take them in his mouth, right through the fucking shirt, and suck on them until they could cut glass.

  It took her a minute to lean forward, but when she did, he could smell the scent of her arousal. She might not be willing to admit it, but she wanted him with a passion. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, wrong things that made him a bastard.

  He was a selfish man, one that was going to have his way with her body because he could. She’d agreed to it already and that was as good as it being written in stone. Tate wasn’t a man that got the word “no” often, and when he did, the ones who uttered it to him never did again.

  He could see the urge to disobey him on her delicate features. She wanted to go against the grain, but what Stella Vincent didn’t know was that he was determined to have her. If she knew nothing else about him by the end of these two weeks, she would know what it was like to be fully and completely possessed by him.

  “Take it off my fingers, Stella.” His cock was harder than the granite that lined his kitchen. He ached to be inside of her, to feel her tight, hot, wet pussy clenching his shaft. She leaned forward almost as if he frightened her. She was a smart woman, but she would still give him what he wanted.

  When her lush, ruby-red lips opened, he could feel the little pants of her breath brush across the tips of his fingers. His cock gave a hard jerk. It took all his self-control not to adjust the aching length. The sight of her lips wrapping around the red flesh of the strawberry had his mouth going slack. Had he ever seen a more erotic sight than that?

  Hell. No.

  Her gaze was trained on his, and she let out a little moan as her teeth sank into the berry. A bit of juice slid out of her mouth and down the side of her lips. A groan left him, and he saw her mouth curve. Yeah, the little minx knew exactly what she was doing. Driving him fucking mad.

  She pulled away slightly, and he moved fast. Taking hold of her chin with his fingers, he tilted her head to the side and caught the bead of juice with the tip of his tongue. He moved slow, savoring the taste and feel of her. A small, mewling cry left her, and he pressed his mouth to hers. He swallowed her gasp and trailed his tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting the wine and strawberry she’d just consumed. It was an addicting combination, and he couldn’t stop himself from fully pressing his mouth on hers. Her moan was a sweet sound, and when she opened her mouth, allowing him access to the hot, wet, tempting cavern, he gladly slipped his tongue inside.

  She pressed her tongue along his, moving it in a slow cadence that had him growing impatient. She was hesitant, careful. The fact that she was so unsure had something inside of him waking. He wanted to take that innocence for himself, claim her like no man had ever claimed her. He would take her in every way possible, and when she didn’t think she could take any more, he would give it to her, making her take it all. He wanted her complete and utter surrender more than he wanted anything else.

  And damn it, she would give all of herself over to him.

  * * *

  Stella didn’t know what the hell had gotten into her. She hated Tate Wessen, hated everything he stood for and what he was forcing her to do to save her father. A small voice inside of her told her he really wasn’t forcing her to do anything. He had given her a choice, and she’d accepted the one that would benefit her the most. Of course, to an extent, maybe she didn’t have a choice, but there was a part of her that had wanted Tate the moment she saw him.

  He was dangerous and violent and stood for everything that was wrong, but by Go
d she wanted to feel him touch her. She wanted those strong, long fingers stroking over her flesh, those lips caressing the most sensitive parts of her. To have all that raw power wrapped up in a six-foot-five frame and over-two-hundred-pound package was almost too much for a woman to handle, but she wanted to try. Desperately.

  The way he kissed started off almost gentle, but as if he caught himself acting out of character, it became demanding. She felt his hand slide along the back of her neck, gripping her nape tight and pulling her forward. Hands on the table to brace herself, she let him fuck her mouth. And in all honesty, that was exactly what he was doing. He was fucking it fast and hard, and she could almost picture him above her, his cock thrusting into her with all that aggression. God, had she ever met a man that had raw sexuality pouring off him like it was from Tate?

  He tilted her head to the side, deepening the kiss. Her heart pounded hard, and she heard it in her ears, felt it in her throat. Her pussy was wet, so incredibly wet that she felt her panties become saturated. He used his teeth to bite her lip, causing a flash of pain before he smoothed the sting away with his tongue.

  “I want inside of you, Stella. So. Fucking. Bad.” He broke the kiss, and she was left feeling bereft. A chill coasted over her and cooled her overheated flesh. The feel of her nipples poking obscenely against her shirt wasn’t lost on her, and the way Tate zeroed in on them made her painfully aware that it wasn’t lost on him either.

  Tate pushed his chair back, the wood scraping against the tiled floor. It took him two steps to get to her, and she straightened when he was right in front of her. His height and muscular width had her feeling small. The white shirt he wore was crisp, accenting his toned body just beneath the thin cotton. The urge to reach out and touch him, to just run her fingers along the stretch of skin that was revealed at his neck was strong. He wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her flush with his body. All his hard, defined lines were pressed against her softer ones. A gush of moisture left her at the contact, and when she felt the impressive outline of his erection pressed against her belly, she had to clench her thighs together to stem her intense arousal.