by Jenika Snow
“Give me your hands.”
She complied right away, and he gripped her wrists with one of his hands at the small of her back. He held her immobile as he started to slide into her body. There was resistance as he pushed through the tight ring of muscle, and then he was fully in her. He didn’t wait to give her time to adjust to his massive size. He just plowed into her until she felt his balls slap her wet pussy. “Oh, Christ, sweetheart.”
Turning her head to the side, she sucked in a lungful of air and bit her lip. The way he was moving in and out of her was driving her mad. His movements were far too slow, and she wanted more, needed more. “Harder, faster, Tate.”
“Yes.” The hand holding her wrists tightened, and he started doing what she asked. He was crazed in his movements, pounding into her body like he owned it. The way his balls slapped against her slit, occasionally rubbing her clit, was driving her closer to climax. She had tried anal before, but it had been less than memorable.
Doing it with Tate was something completely different. There was no doubt in her mind that she was going to get off again, and that thought had her body tensing. The action caused Tate to grunt and increase his thrusts even more.
“God, I’m so close.” She lifted her ass, trying to make him go deeper although she knew it was impossible.
The hand not holding her wrists snaked up her back and gripped a chunk of her hair. He pulled slightly until her neck was exposed. She opened her eyes and turned her head as far as he allowed so she could see him. His gaze was heavy-lidded as he watched his cock disappear into her body. Sweat glistened on his skin, and she wanted to lick it all off.
As if he sensed her stare, he lifted his gaze to hers and started really pounding into her. She opened her mouth as the orgasm unexpectedly tore through her. Her ass tightened around his cock, and he growled before thrusting several more times into her and then stilling. His cry of completion sounded more like an animalistic growl that filled the room.
“Holyfuckinghell.” Those words spilled from his mouth in a rush, and then he slumped over her. His hand let go of her wrists, and she braced herself so his weight didn’t crush her. They stayed in that position until she felt like she couldn’t get any air into her lungs. Tate must have realized he was crushing her, because he swore and rolled off her, murmuring an apology.
For several long moments nothing was said. The only sound was their erratic breathing.
“Stella?”
“Hmmm?” When he didn’t respond right away, she cracked open her eyes and turned to look at him. His expression was serious, and she wondered what had brought it on. Since he had touched her in that alley, she hadn’t thought about the girl at the club or her feelings. Now though, as she stared into his face, that was all she could think about. She swallowed hard, not knowing what he was about to say. He watched her intently, scanning her face with a look of concentration. “What?” It was a soft word because she didn’t have the strength to make it any louder. Their gazes stayed locked for so long that she shifted on the bed.
“That woman, Alyssia.” He looked up at the ceiling and breathed out. She really didn’t want to hear this. Even her name sounded provocative. “There is no comparison.”
His words were like a slap to her face, and on instinct she rubbed the center of her chest. Of course she didn’t compare to that Alyssia girl. That woman had been beautiful, with long legs and a big chest. Whereas Stella was a little person compared to Tate, and lacking in more areas than one.
“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have said anything because what we have…” She rolled onto her back and brought the sheet up to her chest. The incredible sex they’d just had seemed so insignificant now. To her it included her feelings, but it was nothing to Tate. At that moment all she wanted to do was leave, because in all honesty that was what she was good at.
She felt Tate shift on the bed and assumed he was leaving, but when he ran his hand over her cheek, she turned around in surprise. “What are you doing?” she whispered and then gasped when he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, and he sighed.
“Alyssia doesn’t compare to you, Stella. No one does.” He opened his eyes and leaned back, and she had no doubt that he could see the confusion on her face. Had she really heard him right?
“Tate?” His name was spoken so low that she wondered if she’d actually said it out loud.
He stared down at her, his fingers running along the edge of her lips. She parted them because she couldn’t get enough air. “I’m not good for you, but I can’t seem to stop myself.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“God, Tate.”
“I know, baby.” He tucked her against his side, and she willingly curled beside him. It felt so good being next to him, and the fact that he felt a semblance of what she felt made the experience even more superb. The only problem she faced now was getting to know who the real Tate Wessen was and what would happen when their time was up.
* * *
Two days had passed since Tate had told Stella how he felt; well, as much as he was comfortable admitting. There was a lot more he could tell her, about his past and who he really was, but he knew if he opened that can of worms, Stella would hightail it as soon as their time was up. He wasn’t ready for that, and he wasn’t ready for her to leave him. In the end, though, it didn’t matter what he wanted because she could never fit into his world. She was far too innocent to be associated with his dark circle.
He ran a hand over his face and cursed. It was too late, though. Hadn’t he already brought her into his world? The arrangement, the parties, the cage fights, they were all done because he was a selfish bastard. When he first saw her, he’d wanted her. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t known about her after their first meeting. If she hadn’t agreed to be his, then he would have found a way to make her submit. She might only be twenty-two years old, but her eyes spoke of a woman much older, with experience.
He wanted to see her let go, to lose herself in feeling and emotions. Her father had put her through enough shit to last a lifetime, but she just kept hanging on, giving everything until there was nothing left of her. He wanted to make her whole again. That might not have been his initial purpose for forcing her to be his, but now everything had changed. Now all he wanted was to free her.
His past put her in danger. All around he was bad news for her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her desperately. Never had there been such strong and all-encompassing emotions inside of him regarding a woman. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was so much more.
There was a hard knock on his door, and he told the person on the other side to enter. Beau, the day-shift bouncer, pushed the door open, his face stoic.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wessen, but there is a Miss Hamilton here to see you.”
He cursed mentally. Fucking Alyssia. “I’m busy and can’t see her.” He didn’t keep the rough growl out of his voice. He did not need her shit right now. This was so like her, to just fucking come to his office expecting to be seen.
“I explained that to her, sir, but she insists that it’s important and can’t wait.”
Tate rubbed his hands over his eyes and slumped back in his seat. “Fine, send her in.” He might as well get this done and over with because she was relentless. A minute later Alyssia sauntered in, wearing mile-high fuck-me shoes and a dress so short he knew if she bent over, her pussy would be in clear view.
“Hey, baby.” She made herself at home by walking over to his bar and pouring herself a drink.
“What the fuck do you want, Alyssia? I thought I made myself clear the last time I spoke with you.”
She flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder, the strands brushing her ass. “You know what I want, Tate.”
He raised a brow and tapped his fingers on his desk. She slipped into the leather seat across from him and crossed her legs, her dress creeping up her thighs and showing him something he had no desire to see.
“Do I?�
�� He didn’t have time for this shit.
The ice clinked together in her glass as she brought it up to her mouth. She didn’t speak for several long moments, and he knew she was trying to be dramatic, trying to make him wait it out in what she assumed was nervousness. She was fucking wrong because all it made him was pissed off.
“I don’t want you seeing that girl anymore.”
He stared at her with shock at first, and then his anger built slowly inside of him.
“What the fuck?” He felt his face heat with his rage. This female thought she could come into his club and spout off orders to him?
She looked completely unfazed by his outburst. “Listen, I don’t know what you have going on with her, and I don’t really care. What I do care about is you blowing me off.” She uncrossed her legs and stood. “I landed you a lot of good deals, Tate, and what do I have to show for it?” She moved around to the other side of his desk and leaned on the corner. He could smell her perfume, an obnoxious odor that had his nose crinkling in disgust. “If you don’t want her finding out about your past, I suggest you think long and hard about me and you.” She licked her lips and gazed up and down his body. “I want you, Tate, for more than just a body to warm my bed. We would be so good together, baby.”
Tate was so shocked at what she’d said—because no one who was smart threatened him—that all he could do was stare at her. When he finally found his voice, it was a sneer. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” He pushed out of his chair and stepped back from her. He didn’t question how she knew about his past. Although he’d made sure it had been buried, it wasn’t under lock and key, and anyone willing to do a little digging could find out what they wanted.
He clenched his hands at his sides and took a deep breath. Her smile was slow and deliberate. She jutted her chest out, and he didn’t stop the growl that left him. She thought she’d won, but it was clear she didn’t know him very well. Tate did not, under any circumstance, roll over for anyone.
“I know who I’m dealing with, baby.” She moved closer and slid one red manicured nail along his arm. “You’re the man who can snap his fingers and people bow before you.” She took her hand away and stood, smoothing her dress. “And you’re the man who is going to make the right decision because I see the way you look at her, Tate.” Her lip curled in disgust. “Her pussy isn’t made out of gold, so I’m sure she’s easy enough to forget about.” She walked toward the door and stopped when her fingers curled around the handle. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled brightly.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
She pouted and thrust her chest out farther. “You know how to get ahold of me, but, Tate?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Don’t take too long, baby.” With that, she left him there seething and needing a good stiff drink.
20
Stella sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room with a dusty photo album in her lap. She had found it in a box hidden beneath the stairs. She hadn’t meant to snoop, but with nothing to do all day, she was desperate for any kind of interaction, even if that interaction was with an old book.
Miles had left for the night, and she was alone in the big house by herself. Since the night of the cage fight, when both of them had admitted a little about how they felt for each other, Tate had been so attentive. He’d called her several times, and she couldn’t help but admit that she looked forward to talking to him. That had not been the case today.
The day had passed with cold shoulders, distance, even withdrawal when it came to them having sex. Oh, Tate didn’t forget about the sex, but it was so clinical, so unemotional. It was such a stark contrast to the man who had opened up a small portion of himself to her. Even her attempts to call him had come up unsuccessful because all she got was his voice mail.
She was too proud to keep calling him, to try and show him that she did care about him, that their “arrangement” had helped her out in more ways than he could possibly understand. It might have started off tainted, but the longer she spent with him, the more she realized he had given her a way out of her crummy life. He had helped her take a step back and really examine what she was doing. There were a lot of things she wanted to change, was going to change, once this was all said and done. She didn’t want this to end with Tate, and she planned on telling him tonight.
She looked at the clock for the hundredth time and sighed. It was well past midnight, but she couldn’t make herself go to bed, not until she knew Tate was okay and not until she talked to him. What she wanted to tell him had been an ache in her chest all day, and she just needed to get it out in the open.
She picked up her phone again, saw he hadn’t called, and forced herself not to call him. She knew something was wrong. How could he go from calling her several times a day to not calling her at all? Why was he pulling away from her? Was he scared of what was growing between them? She admitted it was frightening because she had never felt emotions this strong for a man, but even though she knew Tate might not be a “good guy” in the traditional sense, he was different with her. She wanted to see where it would go between them.
Turning her attention back to the photo album, she ran her fingers over the frayed and discolored edges. She didn’t see any pictures of Tate as an adult, but she had a suspicion that the little boy and teenager with a mop of dark hair was him.
She flipped the page and saw an older woman with a teenage Tate. The woman’s smile was big, and she had both arms wrapped around him. He was smiling also, and it was a genuine one. Running her finger over his face, she wondered what had happened to the happy kid in the picture. What made Tate the way he was?
The sound of the front door opening had her setting the album down and standing. The sound of keys clanking in the kitchen had her feet moving in that direction.
Tate’s back was to her as he leaned against the counter. He straightened and swayed as if to try and keep his balance.
Brows knitted, she said, “Tate?”
His shoulders stiffened when she called his name, but he didn’t turn around or acknowledge her otherwise. Instead he walked over to the cupboard, grabbed a shot glass and a bottle of liquor out of the freezer, and poured himself a drink. It wasn’t hard to see that he was drunk, not with him swaying and having to grip the counter to steady himself.
“Tate? Are you okay?” She forced herself to go to him even though the idea that he would come home drunk was upsetting. She had seen her dad intoxicated so many times, she should have been immune to it, and maybe she was when it came to her father, but it sickened her to see Tate this way.
“Will you please look at me?” Her voice shook, and she didn’t even try to make it sound stronger. It was clear he’d had a rough day, but deep down she knew it was more than that. Had everything since spending time with her changed so drastically that he couldn’t even speak to her? “Please.”
Why did she have to sound so desperate? Because she had fallen in love with him, that’s why. It hurt her so bad she couldn’t breathe. It was like a premonition. Of course she had seen this coming, but there had been a little part inside of her that hoped things would work out the way she’d imagined them in her mind.
He turned around after he threw back another shot. The first thing she noticed was his glassy eyes that were slightly bloodshot. He crossed his thick arms over his wide chest and stared at her. Why isn’t he saying anything?
“What, Stella?” He cocked one of his eyebrows. He sounded bored, irritated with her.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re perceptive.”
She gritted her teeth at his sarcasm but kept her mouth shut so she didn’t spout off a smart-ass retort.
“Nothing to say, baby?” He lifted his hand and ran it across his mouth, but the movement caused him to sway once again.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He grinned, all straight white teeth. “I think it’s pretty fucking clear.” He leaned in and rested his forearms on the island
in front of him. “I’m trashed, intoxicated, inebriated, loaded, lit, drunker than shit.”
She was gritting her teeth so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked a few. “I can see that, but why?”
His condescending look made her chest hurt, and once again, because she found herself doing it more and more in Tate’s presence, she rubbed the center of her chest. A frown marred his face as he watched her hand run circles over her heart.
She dropped her hand and swallowed. “Why are you acting like this toward me? You didn’t call all day—”
“Why should I call, Stella? You aren’t my fucking girlfriend! I don’t need to check in with you.” His voice was starting to rise, and she took a step back. “I’ll remind you that I am paying you an extravagant amount of money to spread your legs, not fucking hound me like a jealous female that thinks she has some kind of claim on me.”
A gasp left her, and she covered her mouth with her hand as tears threatened to spill. You need to remember who this is, Stella. He doesn’t care about you, never has. You were a damn fool to think differently.
“You’re absolutely right.” Dropping her hand, she straightened her shoulders. She turned and made her way upstairs. She had nine, really eight more days left with him, and then she wouldn’t have to see the bastard again. When she entered the bedroom, she wished she didn’t have to share it with him, but she wasn’t about to bring up the fact she couldn’t stand him.
When the door hit the wall behind her, she spun around. Tate stood in the doorway, the photo album in his hand and a look of rage on his face. “What the fuck, Stella?” He slammed the album on the table beside the door, and a few of the pictures fluttered out. “You think you have any right to go through my shit, to look at my personal things?” He was yelling now, and she felt her fear morph into anger.
“First of all, stop yelling at me!”
