Page 165 of Handsome Devil
And I wondered how he felt about it.
And if that was why he got so surly about Shane.
I didn’t want to wonder about things like that.
I kept sleeping in my own room at the penthouse, night after night, because I really needed the space. And I did not want to get too caught up in the crazy-hot sex, just because it was crazy-hot. I was not yet convinced that I could fuck my husband—because if I fucked him, I wasn’t sure I could hold onto this tenuous sense of power.
I was too afraid I’d lose it the moment Dane’s magnificent dick slid into me.
Every time the man walked into a room, any room, like he owned it… and our eyes met… I wanted to claw him right down to his knees and shove his smug face between my legs again. Or get down on my knees and make him lose it again, like I did on our wedding night.
I was a little freaked out about what might happen if I ever ventured into his bedroom. Hours of night, just the two of us…
I was pretty damn sure by now that fucking Dane would be… amazing. Physically.
But hate-fucking my hot, fake husband on the regular did not seem like a healthy move, psychologically, any which way I looked at it.
That night, Rolf drove us to a building near the industrial waterfront, east of downtown, which appeared to have been abandoned mid-renovation. We had to park outside a chainlink fence, where some guy in gym clothes and a dark beanie pulled low met us and walked us around the back. To a section of the fence that had been cut and peeled open.
Then he patted us down. For weapons, I assumed, but also, phones. We’d been advised ahead of time: no phones, no cameras of any kind.
Then he waved us in. It kinda felt like we were participating in a B and E, right down to the gloves the dude was wearing as he held open the chainlink for us.
“Is this legal?” I muttered to Dane.
“No.”
He took my hand, and we climbed through, following the dude up to the building. Then he took off, possibly to escort some other fight spectators into the ruins.
There was construction shit everywhere. Some of the walls were half-open or missing completely. We made our way through the dark corridors, lit only by a flashlight that Rolf had brought along. We’d been given no directions, but it was easy enough to follow the sounds of crowd noise coming through the dark.
I didn’t bother asking if this was safe, or if the roof might cave in on us.
It was safe enough, or Dane wouldn’t have come.
And the fight? Since we were just here to watch, I figured we’d be okay.
“What happens if the police crash the party?” I whispered.
“Then we leave, the way we came,” Dane said simply. “They’re not going to concern themselves with dozens of spectators who scatter into the night.”
“What about Shane?”
“He knows the risks he takes,” was all he said.
When we emerged into the room where the fight was taking place, there were indeed several dozen people. It was loud and chaotic. I’d seen larger rooms on the way in. It was like they’d chosen this one on purpose to squish us in and ramp up the tension. You could feel it in the air as soon as we walked in.
A kind of bloodlust you could almost smell.
I also smelled beer and weed. There were a couple of girls selling both out of a stack of cooler bags in the corner while a couple of big, scary dudes stood watch. Another couple of guys were obviously taking bets. I couldn’t even see where the fight ring was.
Then Dane drew me through the crowd, and I realized there was no ring. There were several rows of bodies in front of us, and when I managed to glimpse between them, I could see the bounds of the fight area beyond; it had been hastily painted on the floor. I could smell the fresh paint.
And there were Shane and his opponent, pacing on either side of the rather small octagon shape.
The fight was imminent.
There was a guy in the “ring” with them, and I’d barely gotten a decent vantage point between some people’s heads when a deafening horn blew. Then the guy in the middle of the ring shouted, “Fight!” He backed out and the fighters started circling each other.
