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"Alright," he said with a nod and turned to look at the other woman, giving her a small smile. "Hey pet," he offered, voice a deep, sexy sound.
Hell, I felt my belly go a little liquid at that and I was all about Lazarus. He just had something.
Apparently the other woman wasn't likewise affected. Or, more likely, she was but didn't want to let on. Everything about her said 'money' and 'money' women didn't get turned on by bloody cage fighters named Pagan.
"I'm not your pet," she said, tone cool.
A deep gash next to his eye was openly bleeding down his face, something he seemed completely oblivious to as he gave her a slow, devilish little smile, clearly not taking the hint. "No?" he asked, head ducked to the side slightly as he took just a step closer, his bloody clothes threatening to stain her expensive deep green dress.
"No," she said, but I would swear her tone was slightly more breathless.
"Oh, I bet I can get you to agree to letting me pet you anywhere I want," he said, moving in closer still and the woman's breathing started going a little erratic. I didn't blame her. He was positively one-hundred percent primal, alpha male looking for a kill. Or lay. Same difference in a way. "Don't you think so, pussycat?" he asked and I saw the last of her defenses fall as his bloody hand raised, grabbed the back of her neck, and hauled her pristine body to his wrecked one. Then they made out right there. And it was making out. I'd swear he was trying to devour her.
"Pagan. Room," a deep clip of a voice sounded in front of me, making me jump guiltily, realizing I had been staring like a creep. I looked over to see Ross Ward standing there, face impassive, like it was normal to find his men half-getting it on in his club. Pagan kept going for a short minute before dragging the woman off with him. When I looked back at Ross, he shrugged. "Most of them need a woman after a fight," he explained, moving in beside me, nodding toward the bartender. When he held out a glass to me, I immediately started shaking my head, but he pressed it into my hands. "It's ginger ale," he explained. "You're obviously detoxing." With that, he took his drink and moved off.
Obviously?
Obviously?
Was it really that apparent? I mean, I knew I looked a little pale and drawn and maybe I had sleepless bruises under my eyes and that kind of thing, but I didn't think it was in any way obvious.
"What's that look for, sweetheart?" Lazarus asked. I hadn't even seen him coming, having been watching his boss walk away. So when I looked up and found him in basketball shorts and nothing else, I was pretty sure my mouth fell open as my eyes moved down his chest, his abs, taking in the scar I understood more, and maybe then even sliding lower. "Keep looking at me like that, honey, and I am going to miss my fight because I'm fucking you in the locker room."
Caught, I shook my head, trying to save my pride. "Do I look like I'm detoxing?" I asked, voice a little needy.
His head cocked to the side and he let out a breath I was sure made his abs do an awesome contracting thing, but I was keeping my eyes on his face before I eye-fucked him anymore than I already had.
"Ward," he growled, shaking his head. "Sorry, he's a fuck sometimes. No social skills to speak of. No, Bethany. You look beautiful and maybe just a little tired. And like your feet hurt," he added with a smirk. "That's it. And once I get this shit over with," he said, gesturing toward the cage where a few of the guards were carefully cleaning up the blood as best they could, "I will take you back to the clubhouse and make you forget all about the aches and pains," he promised and, with those lovely parting words, moved toward the cage.
Maybe a little bit too turned on, I walked over that way myself on numb legs and screaming feet. I didn't exactly have any desire to watch Lazarus get hurt, but I thought it might seem unsupportive or like I was uninterested if I didn't stand there for support.
"Draga mea," Edison greeted me as I moved in beside him. "Don't be worried," he offered, obviously picking up on my nerves. "I've gotten into it with Laz. He can hold his own."
"You fought with Laz?" I asked, brows drawing together in confusion. Weren't brothers supposed to be... brothers? "Why?"
"Disagreement on culinary opinions," he offered, smiling.
"You... fought over cooking?" I asked, completely not understanding.
"To be fair, I was fresh outta being held in a basement for months. I was on-edge."
