The Fight Club - Boxed Set

by Becca Jameson

  Her belly quivered with need.

  Just as she was about to beg him to stroke her clit, his hand snaked around her body and pinched the little nub hard. “Come, baby. Show me how much you like it,” he growled.

  Angelica let go, pulsing around Leo’s cock as her orgasm swept through her.

  God yes. It was that good. The best she’d ever had. If she didn’t have a serious hard-on for another man, she would consider keeping this guy.

  Leo came right behind her, grunting his orgasm into her pussy. When he finally stopped humping her and relaxed his hands, she collapsed onto the bed, her hair falling across her face in complete disarray.

  She breathed heavily as she glanced around without moving more than her eyes.

  She had no idea where she was. She’d met him at a club, same as always. This time she’d really laid it on thick—short skirt, tight shirt, plenty of cleavage, perfect makeup.

  They’d never exchanged numbers, but she’d seen him the last four Saturday nights at that particular club.

  This time she’d hit the jackpot. He’d taken her home.

  Or so she thought. This place didn’t seem like anyone’s home, but she didn’t care. She had a good buzz, and since she had not managed to make any headway with Dr. Bascott no matter how hard she tried, Leo would do. He was at least as sexy as the professor.

  He was ripped. His cock was huge. Tattoos covered his back. She couldn’t make out any of them in the darkened room, and she hadn’t seen him without his shirt on before now. But she longed to run her fingers over every line on his body.

  Leo left her on the disheveled bed and made his way to the adjoining bathroom. When he returned, he sat beside her and slapped her ass. “Time to go, sweetheart. I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I need my beauty rest.”

  What? She shifted her body enough to look up at him. He was kicking her out? Already?

  She had hoped to spend the night and repeat that performance a few times. She stuck out her lower lip and pouted, lifting her chest off the bed enough to tempt him with her ample tits. “Ahh, Leo. I was hoping we could do that again.” She lifted one hand and cupped his face as she rose up onto her knees and climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

  Her pussy was primed. She was ready for more.

  He didn’t wrap her in his arms as she would have liked. Instead he lifted her off him and set her on the bed, standing as he did so. “Sorry, babe. You can’t stay any longer.” He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on.

  Leaving the fly open, he tossed her the shirt she’d worn and then located the other pieces of her clothing and gathered them off the floor to set next to her also.

  Seeing no other option, and somewhat annoyed with his behavior after fucking her, she jerked her clothing on and stooped to find her heels. She picked them up, but held them in her hand instead of putting them on. Her purse sat on the bedside table. She grabbed it last.

  “Ready?” Leo opened the door and led her out of the room.

  She was steaming mad by then. She wasn’t used to being tossed out quite so unceremoniously. The gall.

  She followed him silently on bare feet, noticing more about this strange house on the way back through. She hadn’t bothered to pay attention to much of anything on the way in. She’d had one thing in mind. Getting laid.

  They rounded a corner and stepped into an enormous living room. The room was bright, even though it was the middle of the night. And even more shocking, a man sat on one of the many couches, reading glasses on his nose, his head buried in a magazine as if it were midday.

  He lifted his gaze as she followed Leo into his line of sight. The man was older. Perhaps fifty. He stared at her, as if assessing her and finding her lacking.

  Angelica shivered. For the first time since she’d entered the compound, she had a sense of dread.

  The gray-haired man didn’t smile. He didn’t seem capable. His brow was permanently furrowed. “Leo, my boy. Who do we have here?” he asked, not taking his gaze off Angelica. His accent was similar to Leo’s and unrecognizable to her, but English wasn’t his first language.

  “Just a girl I picked up at the bar.”

  She flinched. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of their evening either, but that didn’t mean she liked the men she fucked to so flippantly refer to their tryst.

  “Sit.” The man patted the seat next to him. Too close to his side.

  For a second, Angelica thought he was talking to Leo, and then Leo pointed to the couch and stepped out of the way.

  She almost swallowed her tongue. Sit? What the fuck for? Any residual buzz she’d had from drinking at the bar earlier disappeared in an instant. “I need to get going,” she muttered, pointing over her shoulder. She didn’t have the foggiest notion where the exit was, nor did she have a car. Leo had brought her in his sports car. Hers was still at the bar.

  “I’m sure you have a few minutes to spare. Sit.” His voice was firmer this time, his accent sending a chill down her spine. He turned his gaze to Leo. “Leo, be a good boy and get me a brandy, would you?” He didn’t finish the sentence as though it were a question. It was far closer to a command.

  Leo shuffled across the room toward a long bar she hadn’t noticed until then.

  “Sit, my dear.” The man lowered his face to stare at her over the top of his glasses. His face was unreadable. Hard. He wasn’t a man she wanted to cross. That much she knew.

  Tentatively, she took a seat on the couch, not quite as close as he probably intended, but close enough to temporarily appease him until she could figure a way out of the mess. She set her shoes and purse on the floor at her feet.

  “So, tell me about yourself. What’s your name?”

  “Angelica.” Why was he asking her this?

  “Relax, Angelica. I’m just making conversation. What do you do?”

  “I’m a student at the university.”

  He lifted a brow. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.” She sat up straighter. She was old enough to make the choices she made. Who was he to judge?

  “And you met Leo at a bar? How did you get in?”

  “Fake ID,” she muttered. Hell, everyone had a fake ID. So?

  The gray-haired man ignored her infraction. “The university, huh. An intellect. How precious. What’re you studying?”

  “Literature.”

  “Oh.” His brows rose. “A lit major. Then you must know Dr. Bascott.”

  She flinched. Could this night get any weirder? “I do. I have a class with him this semester.”

  The man grinned for the first time. “Ah. Excellent. He’s an amazing professor. Is he not?”

  “He is. How to you know him, sir?” She tried for polite, relaxing marginally. If this man knew Bascott, how bad could the guy be?

  “We go way back.” He waved a hand through the air, dismissing her question. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while. I should really give him a call. Is he still fighting?”

  “Sir?” What did he mean by fighting?

  The man narrowed his gaze at her as though assessing her reaction. “Perhaps he doesn’t reveal that side of himself to his students.” Gray-haired guy twisted his neck to look at Leo. “Leo, when was the last time you saw our friend Conner?”

  “It’s been a few weeks. We sparred for practice together, oh, I don’t know, maybe three weeks ago?” Leo glanced up at the ceiling as if pulling the answer out of his memory.

  “You know Professor Bascott too?” She whipped her head fully around to face Leo.

  “Only in the MMA circles.” Leo returned and handed Gray a tumbler, notably not offering Angelica anything. Leo plopped down in a chair across from them, nursing a drink of his own. Something dark and on the rocks.

  “MMA?”

  “Mixed Martial Arts,” Gray responded.

  She had no idea the professor was a fighter. But holy shit that was hot. Just thinking of the buff professor battling it out in the ring made her pussy clench. No wonder he was so smokin
g hot.

  Was his fighting a secret? Maybe no one at the university knew what Dr. Bascott did in his spare time. If it had anything to do with these guys, it was probably illegal. Something about this older man seemed illicit.

  The older guy tipped his head back and chuckled. “I wonder what he’s up to these days? Leo, is he still with that girl he was dating a while back?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Huh. Too bad. She was cute.” The man seemed to be commenting to nobody in particular.

  What girl? Angelica’s curiosity was piqued. Surely he wasn’t referring to that bitch Sabrina. Was he?

  “Yeah, she was hot,” Leo added. “Tiny though. She didn’t have anything on Angelica.” He winked at her as he spoke.

  Holy fuck.

  “Sabrina?” she asked.

  The older guy snapped his fingers. “Sabrina. That was it. Long brown hair. About this tall?” He held one hand up in the air.

  Yep, that had to be her. How had that bitch managed to ruin Angelica’s night without even being present? Fuck her. And how the hell long had she been seeing Conner?

  Angelica almost smiled. She’d suspected, but if Conner really had been fucking Sabrina all last semester, he truly would be in a heap of trouble.

  Perhaps the reason he’d been so curt with the woman was simply to throw the rest of the class off of his dalliance.

  Oh, Professor Bascott. Shame on you…

  “What was her last name, Leo?” The older guy seemed to be ignoring Angelica.

  “Duluth,” she responded.

  “Yes. That was it. Huh. Small world. How do you know her?” Gray asked.

  “We were in the same class last semester.”

  “She’s a student? Dating the professor? Isn’t that against policy?”

  Angelica nodded. If what this guy was saying was true, then it would seem Dr. Bascott had been a very naughty boy. She should have thought of that sooner. If the two of them fucked in a restaurant in July, it would stand to reason they had screwed around before that also.

  “Huh, well ain’t that a crazy coincidence?” The guy stood and slammed the rest of his drink down. “I really need to hit the sack. Leo, are you taking this lovely lady home?”

  “No. Her car’s at the bar where we met. I’ll get her a taxi.” He lifted his drink as though after consuming it he wouldn’t dare get behind a wheel, even though he’d driven her to the strange compound in the first place after drinking.

  Bastard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was bright. Too bright. Sabrina opened one eye to get her bearings.

  Then she moaned.

  Shit. Conner’s house.

  Soft music reached her ears from somewhere in the house. Classical. Soothing. In contrast with her confused mental state.

  She was afraid to move. How bad would her ass hurt?

  Shit.

  She’d slept in Conner’s bed, in Conner’s house. She’d let him spank her. Hard. And he hadn’t permitted her to come.

  Had she lost her mind?

  She shifted a few inches, still on her belly, but testing the rub of the sheet against her ass. Not bad.

  Deep breaths. She needed to get up, take a shower, go home. She had work to do. Taking entire days off wasn’t her style.

  Sabrina eased from the bed until she stood naked in the room. She didn’t make a sound.

  She was okay.

  She spotted Conner’s black T-shirt from the night before and snagged it to pull over her head. She needed to face him at some point. Better to get it over with.

  She had no idea why she felt shy about seeing him.

  Because you let him spank you hard.

  Yep. That was a little embarrassing.

  First she silently made her way to the adjoined bathroom, realizing with every step she still wore his plug. What would he say if she took it out? Better to leave it for now. She used the toilet and washed her hands.

  When she padded into the living room, she paused to take in her surroundings. She hadn’t paid very close attention to anything the night before. She’d been too worried about what Conner’s intentions were, and then she’d been too horny to see straight.

  His couch was an enormous black leather piece that was currently occupied by its owner. Whatever he was doing must have been very interesting because he hadn’t noticed her enter. She was behind the back of the couch, so from her angle, she couldn’t see what he was engrossed in. His head was dipped low. Reading?

  She took a moment to soak in the rest of his great room. Everything was warm and inviting. Not nearly what she would expect from a bachelor pad. All browns and blacks. Throw pillows graced the matching black leather arm chair and were tossed on the floor in front of it.

  She inched forward until she was feet away from Conner.

  Finally, he lifted his gaze. A huge smile spread across his face, and he raised one arm over the back of the couch toward her. “Hey, sleepy.”

  She closed the gap between them until he could grab her and tug her up against the back of the couch. That’s when she realized what he was reading. And his chest was bare. Delicious.

  He lifted up the book. “Gotta apologize to you again. This isn’t half bad.”

  She smiled. “Told you.”

  “I admit, I expected only smut. But there’s a story under it.”

  “Of course there’s a story, doofus.” She swatted at his shoulder, wondering if doofus was an acceptable word. He didn’t comment, so she assumed her sore ass was safe.

  “Come.” He nodded in front of him and released her.

  She rounded the couch, realizing his intention when she reached him. He nodded at the floor, intending for her to kneel.

  She eased onto her knees, relieved to find he wouldn’t require her to sit. She was still leery about what her ass might feel like.

  He cupped her face. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Surprisingly yes, Sir.” She let her gaze roam down his face to stare at his chest. The tattoo over his right shoulder was so intricate and amazing it made her lick her lips. And his pecs… Jesus. There had to be a law against such divine exposure.

  He grinned. Good. And then he kissed her nose and leaned back to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “I’m a mess. I need makeup remover and a shower. I really should get home.”

  He frowned. “Is there a rush?”

  She shrugged. “I need to do some work today.”

  “Do you work every day?”

  “Most days. Yes.”

  He sat back and picked up the book again. “You edited this?”

  “I did.”

  “You did well, Sabrina.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I continue to amaze you with my less-than-stellar profession.”

  He chuckled. “True. Do you write also?”

  “Mmm. A little.”

  “Published anything?”

  “No.”

  “Why? You’re a fantastic writer. And so knowledgeable about the genre.”

  She laughed. “That’s the second time you’ve told me you found my writing acceptable. It still sounds odd coming from the man I thought detested my work for so many months.”

  “I told you already that wasn’t true.”

  “Yes, but it will take a while for it to sink in. To answer your question, if I were independently wealthy, I would probably take the time to write a book. But since I’m not, and there are bills to pay, I edit. Writing is a risk. A risk only those who can afford to take may assume.”

  “Really? How long does it take to write a book like this?”

  She shrugged. “Depends on the muse, I suppose. Some authors can do it in weeks. Others need years. I like to pay my bills every month.” She grinned widely.

  “Shame.”

  “Perhaps. There’s no guarantee I would even be any good.”

  “But you have some writing already? Something stashed under your mattress, so to speak?”

  “A bit.” She
chewed on her lower lip. Don’t go there, Conner.

  “So, you’re also scared.”

  He went there.

  “Of course. Everyone is.”

  He frowned. “Don’t hold yourself back out of fear. Your life will slip by while you watch.”

  “Thanks, Freud.”

  Conner leaned in and cupped her face again. “I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you. I just think you should think about it.”

  “Noted.”

  “Stay. I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Sabrina didn’t move. She wondered about his version of dominance while he was gone. This was the first time they were truly alone together for an extended period of time. He’d made it clear he was very dominant. Would he expect her to submit every time they were alone? And what about the exchange of dialogue they’d just engaged in? He let her speak freely, look at him, and even drop the title of Sir.

  Suddenly he was back. He took the same spot on the couch and held out a glass. “Juice?”

  “Thank you, Sir.” She took it from him after a slight hesitation where she hedged, wondering if he intended to feed her himself or let her take control.

  It seemed he would allow her to drink at her own pace.

  He also held a plate of food that smelled delicious. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Her stomach growled.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat in the morning. I’m a pretty big breakfast eater, so I made you some too and kept it warm.”

  “Thanks. I don’t always eat so much, but I’m actually starving.”

  He handed her the plate and took the glass of orange juice from her to set it on the coffee table, freeing up her hands so she could hold the plate with one and eat with the other. She did so while he watched. It was unnerving. But she was hungry.

  A phone rang, jarring her to glance toward the kitchen.

  Conner didn’t move.

  “Feel free to get that, Conner.”

  “The machine will pick it up. I’m sure it isn’t important.” His gaze never left her.

  Sabrina continued to eat, the ringing piercing the otherwise silent room several times before the machine loudly announced in Conner’s deep voice that the caller should leave a message.