Chapter 29 #3
After she turned on the shower, I stepped closer to her. My fingers brushed her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. Her breath hitched as I traced the warm skin along her jawline.
“God, I’ve missed this,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered closed.
Dylan moved behind her, resting his hands on her hips and pulling her back against him. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, and she shivered. “We all have,” he murmured.
I leaned in, my lips capturing hers in a gentle kiss that deepened quickly. Her hands gripped my shirt, pulling me closer, and my dick stiffened.
Her chest heaving, Faye broke the kiss and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head.
Dylan’s hands slid up her stomach, cupped her breasts, and she arched into his touch.
My heart pounded as I watched him slowly unhook her bra, letting it fall to the floor.
Her nipples hardened under his thumbs, and she let out a soft moan.
I stepped back, my eyes roaming over her body, taking in every curve and line. She was breathtaking, and the way she looked at me, with such desire and trust, made my heart ache. I reached for my own shirt, pulling it off, and Dylan did the same, his eyes never leaving Faye.
The shower was ready and steam had filled the room. Faye stepped in first, the water cascading over her body. Dylan followed, pulling her into his arms, and I joined them. The three of us stood pressed together under the spray.
Our hands roamed, exploring and teasing, and the room filled with soft moans and whispered words of desire. Faye’s hands were everywhere, her touch electric, and I could feel the tension building, the need for more intensifying.
Dylan’s lips found mine, his kiss deep and hungry, and Faye slid her hands between us to wrap her fingers around my length. I groaned, my hips jerking forward, and she chuckled.
“Someone’s eager,” she teased, her hand moving in a slow, torturous rhythm.
“Someone’s a tease,” I countered.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she turned to Dylan, her lips capturing his in a fierce kiss.
I watched, my heart pounding, as their tongues danced, their bodies pressing together.
Then Faye turned back to me, her lips finding mine, and Dylan’s hands slid over my body, his touch sending shivers down my spine.
We didn’t stop at kissing; once all three of us came, we hurried to wash, then dressed for dinner and the fight before we were late for our reservation.
Dinner went exactly how one might expect in Vegas—loud, dark, good drinks, and great food.
By the time we left, we were full, a little buzzed, and ready to watch some ass kicking.
We took a rideshare to Mandalay Bay, got dropped near the entrance, and followed the crowd through the casino toward the arena.
Marcos had already told us to meet him backstage before the fights started, so we flashed our VIP passes and followed the signs marked CREDENTIALS.
He spotted us near the arena floor and waved us over. “There you are,” he greeted, holding out his hand for us to shake. “I wanted to introduce you to Keaton before the fight started.”
“Cool,” Dylan answered.
We followed him down a hallway until he stopped outside one of the locker rooms, knocked lightly, and opened the door partway. “Stafford.”
Keaton Stafford approached, hoodie on, hands wrapped, his attention sharp but not closed off.
“These are Jase and Dylan,” Marcos said, then turned toward Faye. “And this is Faye.”
Stafford looked at each of us. “Appreciate you coming out.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Good luck tonight.”
“Yeah,” Dylan added. “We’ll be watching.”
“That means a lot,” Stafford answered, then glanced at Marcos. “Thanks for bringing them.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” our agent responded. “We won’t keep you, but let’s grab a quick pic for socials, then you can get in the head space you need for the fight.”
Stafford nodded, and Dylan and I took a picture with him before he headed back inside.
Marcos turned toward us. “All right. Go grab your seats.”
We found our seats with time to spare, and the first few fights went by in a blur of punches, kicks, takedowns, and the crowd losing their minds over every clean hit.
Faye watched everything, even with a hand over her mouth.
When the announcer’s voice changed and the lights shifted, the whole place got louder.
The guy Stafford was fighting came out first, bouncing his big frame on his toes and soaking up the noise like it fed him. He pointed at the stands and ate up the boos and cheers with a huge grin on his face.
Faye’s brows lifted. “That Vega guys is feeling himself.”
“He wants people to think he’s in control,” I replied.
Then Stafford walked out—calmer, more focused, less hype. He walked straight down the ramp, eyes forward, shoulders loose.
They touched gloves and took a step back, then the bell rang.
Stafford came out ready, hands up by his cheeks, chin tucked like he was trying to give Vega as small a target as possible. Vega stayed on the outside, circling, snapping quick straight punches to see what Stafford would do.
Stafford leaned out of the way of the second jab and popped Vega right back with his own, fast and clean.
Faye leaned forward, eyes wide. “He’s fast.”
Dylan’s focus stayed locked on the cage. “He’s sharp. He’s not wasting anything.”
Vega rushed in after that, throwing bigger punches, swinging for power. Stafford didn’t stand there and trade hits. He took a quick step out, reset his feet, then kicked Vega low in the leg.
The sound of it cut through the crowd.
Faye winced. “Jesus.”
Dylan spoke without looking away. “Those add up. It’ll slow him down.”
Vega fired back and stepped in hard, and Stafford threw a straight punch with his right hand and caught Vega clean in the face. Vega’s head jerked back, but he kept advancing. He dropped low and grabbed at Stafford’s legs, trying to take him down to the mat.
Faye’s voice jumped. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s trying to wrestle,” Dylan answered, still calm. “Get him on the ground.”
Stafford sprawled fast, shooting his legs back and dropping his weight onto Vega’s shoulders to stop the takedown.
Vega stayed locked to his legs anyway and kept driving forward, head down.
Stafford planted one hand on the mat to steady himself, then used his forearm to push Vega’s head to the side and throw off his grip.
Vega still shoved him backward and forced him toward the fence, but Stafford turned his hips, yanked one leg free, and circled away before Vega could lock his hands and finish the takedown.
Faye blinked. “That’s allowed?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s not like boxing. It’s a little bit of everything.”
Vega came forward again and ate another quick jab, then another, and suddenly, Vega looked like he was working harder to get close.
Then the bell ended the first round.
Faye’s eyes flicked to the cage. “What happens now?”
“They sit,” I answered. “Their coaches rush in, give them water, wipe them down, yell instructions, then they shove them back out there.”
Her mouth twisted. “That’s insane.”
“It’s a choice,” I replied. “A choice I don’t understand.”
Dylan’s lips twitched. “You play sports for a living too. Don’t act superior.”
“Baseball doesn’t involve someone trying to choke me,” I shot back.
The minute went fast, then the second round started.
Vega came out aggressively, trying to swarm early.
Stafford stayed calm, kept his hands tight, then snapped a quick one-two, one straight punch, then the other, and it landed clean enough that Vega had to stop and reset, blinking hard as blood started to bead at his nose.
Faye’s fingers curled around the edge of her seat. “Oh.”
Dylan leaned forward more. “There it is. Timing.”
Stafford kicked Vega’s leg low again. Vega’s stance changed after that. He tried to hide it, but his movement gave him away.
Vega rushed again, more desperate now, and Stafford slipped to the side and cracked him with a right hand that froze Vega for half a beat.
Faye gasped. “Is he going to knock him out?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
Vega dropped low again for another takedown, slower this time. Stafford read it, threw his hips back to stop it, then spun around behind Vega when his momentum carried him forward.
Dylan’s voice dropped. “This is bad for Vega.”
Faye glanced at him. “Why?”
“Because Stafford’s in the safest spot, and Vega’s in the worst. He can’t turn into him without giving something up, and that’s when Stafford finishes.”
Stafford got control from behind, pulled Vega down, and flattened him out so he couldn’t scramble up. Then Stafford slid one arm under Vega’s chin and locked his hands.
Faye covered her mouth. “What is that?”
“A choke,” I answered. “He’s cutting off blood flow. Vega either gets out of the hold or he taps.”
Vega fought it for a beat, his hands trying to peel Stafford’s arm away, but Stafford adjusted tighter.
Vega slapped the mat with his hand to submit.
The referee jumped in immediately and pulled Stafford off.
The place erupted. People stood, screamed, threw their arms up, and a guy a few rows down spilled his drink on himself and didn’t even care.
Faye stood too, staring at the cage. “He won.”
Dylan stood. “Yep. You two ready?”
I rose and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”
We moved with the crowd toward the exits, my hand in Faye’s, Dylan’s hand in her other so we wouldn’t get separated, and I kept my focus forward because the hallway was packed and people were shoulder-to-shoulder.
We were almost out when both Dylan’s phone and mine buzzed at the same time.
I pulled mine out, and Dylan did the same.
Marcos: Had to leave early. Call me!
Dylan stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. “Someone probably got a picture of us.”
“It’s always about a fucking photo,” I replied automatically.