Shane threw a couple of quick jabs but missed. His opponent kicked, Shane caught his heel and flipped him on his ass, and that was it.
First blood.
It all happened so fast; Shane dropped a fist across the other guy’s face while he was down. I couldn’t even see it all, but the crowd screamed with pleasure. And no sooner had the guy on the ground hopped back up than Shane’s fist cracked across his jaw and sent him reeling. The guy stumbled and fell and dropped out of my sight.
I tried to hop up on my tiptoes but I kept stumbling in my heels as people bumped into me. My heart was racing. Pure adrenaline. It was impossible not to get caught up in the energy of the crowd.
“I can’t see.” I grabbed Dane’s arm. “Let’s go around to the other side. There’s an open spot. We can squeeze in by the beer girls.”
“You’d be wide open,” he growled. “You want those guys falling right into you?”
“Sounds fun,” I said dryly. He did not look amused. “We’re here, aren’t we? Might as well soak it all up.”
“We’re fine right here,” he informed me, with a stony look in his eyes. Bossy as ever.
“Whatever. I’m going.”
Before he could say another word, I took off.
Yes, I was in a pretty dress and high heels, but I’d been to enough rock concerts to know how to work my way through a crowd to get a good vantage point. You didn’t go to a Dirty show and just sit back while people jumped in front of you. You found your spot and you held it. Otherwise, what the hell were you there for?
I made my way over to the beer girls and stood just in front of them, where I had a virtually unobstructed vantage point of the fight.
At which point I realized that I really had no interest in the fight.
There were two built, almost naked men, sweating, panting, beating the crap out of each other right in front of me… and all I could see was what lay beyond the spectacle.
My husband, standing still in the crowd, right where I’d left him.
He looked polished in his designer sweater and swept-back hair. Anyone would think he was a gentleman to look at him. But as he stared at me and his tongue played at his lip, I could see the anger smoldering through.
And the very ungentlemanly thoughts in his eyes.
I knew it pissed him off when he saw how I’d dressed tonight. He’d told me to dress casual. He’d specifically told me not to wear heels.
I ignored that advice.
I’d gotten all done up like I was going on a date. Most people here were dressed casually. Jeans, hoodies, whatever. I’d worn a purple knit dress, short and sexy. Of course, Iwasgoing on a date. A fake date, with my fake husband.
Two could play at this game.
He wanted to act like it didn’t bother him if another man took an interest in me?
I could act like I didn’t give a crap about our mutual fidelity either.
And now he was pissed that I defied him. That I didn’t follow his orders and stay put.
He wanted me to sit and stay when he told me to, like a nice, obedient wife. He didn’t care what I wanted nearly as much as he cared about his image and his own power, and he never would.
When he leased that amazing office space for the agency? It wasn’t about me or how happy it made me. It was about appearances. Leveling up his assets.
I knew that was true the moment he bent me over the desk and fucked me with his fingers. And jerked off on me.
He got off on having control. Making decisions that affected other people’s lives, including mine. He got off on the power he had over every little thing around him—including me.
Making me come? It wasn’t an act of generosity but an ego stroke.
And making himself come on me? Straight-up alpha dominance.
